Archive for » July 3rd, 2012«
I am pretty eager to get a copy of this new book, Wolf-Girls: Dark Tales of Teeth, Claws and Lycogyny, edited by Hannah Kate, from Hic Dragones. And how sad am I that I didn’t learn about the Manchester launch party until after it occurred? I could have asked my bff to hit it up for me.
Here’s the book trailer:
And the blurb: Feral, vicious, fierce and lost… the she-wolf is a strange creature of the night. Attractive to some; repulsive to others, she stalks the fringes of our world as though it were her prey. She is the baddest of girls, the fatalest of femmes – but she is also the excluded, the abject, the monster. The Wolf-Girls within these pages are mad, bad and dangerous to know. But they are also rejected and tortured, loving and loyal, avenging and triumphant. Some of them are even human…
Seventeen new tales of dark, snarling lycogyny by Nu Yang, Mary Borsellino, Lyn Lockwood, Mihaela Nicolescu, L. Lark, Jeanette Greaves, Kim Bannerman, Lynsey May, Hannah Kate, J. K. Coi, Rosie Garland, R. A. Martens, Beth Daley, Marie Cruz, Helen Cross, Andrew Quinton and Sarah Peacock.
I hope the stories are dark and snarling. I’ve been eager for the nastier, more dangerous side of werewolves for awhile. Plus, I’m always interested to see how female werewolves are portrayed in fiction. (Generally, more sexually dangerous, I think, while male werewolves are often the tortured sympathetic monster, even if still dangerous against their will, and generally not sexually dangerous. The sexuality of the male werewolf tends to come into play when the werewolf is the romantic hero.)
(DUDE! This publisher is going to put out murder mystery and horror games. I WANT TO PLAY A MURDER MYSTERY HORROR GAME. Like The Werewolves of Miller’s Hollow, only more complicated. I probably need to find a new tabletop gaming group and do some werewolf gaming, as much as the thought of that filled me with excitement.)
A werewolf reference more than anything about werewolves, Fiona Apple’s new album as a song called “Werewolf” and I really like this little bit of the lyrics:
I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead
But I admit that I provided a full moon
And I could liken you to a shark the way you bit off my head
But then again I was waving around a bleeding an open wound
And you are such a super guy ’til the second you get a whiff of me
We’re like a wishing well and a bolt of electricity
Not a lot of werewolf news lately, but hopefully I will have reviews and such soon. Happy fourth, otherwise. Try not to set any werewolves on fire with your fireworks.
Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting it up. One of the pups whimpered, but Dot couldn’t tell them apart. Couldn’t, didn’t want to, it all came out the same. They all looked like her brother in different ways, even the one that wasn’t actually related to him, sounded like him, smelled like him – she couldn’t take it.
“Shh.” The hay rustled as Trouble crouched next to them. The sharp scent of their fear faded, leaving that familiar-strange mix of family and not.
Patch was three weeks gone, his old lady said. Skittish under the last full moon, quiet where he was normally loud, talkative. Dot didn’t know him like that. He was the runt three litters after her, always silent and still.
Big shadows like bruises stained the skin beneath his old lady’s eyes. Manda, she was called, a human name for a wolf. “My parents liked to play pretend,” she said, and bared her teeth.
Patch gone, and their nearest neighbors, too, three of the four adults in the wolf pack. Five pups, four Patch and Manda’s, one their neighbors’, and Manda left to watch them. She slept fitfully in the corner of the barn, hugely pregnant, hands pressed against her belly even in her sleep. It rose like a full moon, third litter and maybe the last.
The breeze shifted, blowing into Dot’s face. She gulped it down, searching.
Behind her, a yip, cut off sharp, and she spun, crouching low, hands and feet against the boards she’d cleared of hay, ready for her shift. (Hay stuck to fresh-changed fur, made her itch, with no hands to scratch it free.)
Manda was awake, and on her feet, arms curled under the swell of her stomach, holding its weight, and her eyes were wide and dark, all the color bled out of them.
“They’re coming,” she growled, teeth sharp behind bloody lips. “They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming.” Her words rose into a howl by the end, high and thin, wolf crying for her pack, but only silence after.
Then, quiet at first, gaining volume and strength, Trouble raised her voice, head tilted so that her dark braids tumbled down her back, covering her bare brown skin. Around her, the pups lifted their heads, weak calls that made her jaw ache like claws on glass.
Too much like pack, and Dot was lone wolf nose to tail.
Thunder rolled, and with it the rain, gusts of it shaking the barn doors, covering their trail, the marks they’d left behind and their smell. From nothing to thunderstorm, and the snap of wind strong enough to knock over small wolves, nothing could track them through it.
“Shift,” Dot ordered, drawing herself in tight, muscles straining. The others turned toward her, watched her, and she shook her head, shifting back on instinct. She ran alone, no others to slow her down, but their hearts raced, and each breath pack pack pack. “We’re running.”
Running meant one more night safe and free.