For as long as I could remember, the story ran through my mind. It wasn’t festering as long as some of my stories now as they battle for my time and attention since I was only about ten at that time. Finally, an assignment in junior high provided me the opportunity to write the story of a girl who could talk to the animals. (I should’ve known then that I’d fall hardest for the paranormal genre.) My heart dropped, and my dream was shelved, when I got the story back covered with the dreaded red markings.
I’ve since grown a much thicker skin, and now anticipate the red markings to make the story better, but I can’t help but wonder if that teacher hadn’t been a little bit more encouraging if I would’ve found the courage to seriously pursue my writing sooner. I did continue to feed my writer’s soul through journaling, writing poetry and flash fiction stories for the years that followed.
Then about eight years ago I sat down as a new year geared up and wondered what was missing. I let the words flow onto a blank page as I tried to ferret out what would fill the empty space inside. As I dug through the layers of doing all the right, responsible, expected things year after year I found what had always been there underneath it all, waiting for it’s time to shine…what brought me joy, writing. I’d always been a writer. I just hadn’t embraced that part of myself. So I did.
I began taking online classes, reading books on the craft and pretty much devouring anything related to writing with an unquenchable thirst. I no longer had to make the time to write, I had to make the time to do other things rather than write.
An assignment for one of my classes was to submit a short story for publication; this turned into my novella, That Magic Moment, and was published by The Wild Rose Press. Since then I’ve written several other novels and had the first published in 2014 by The Wild Rose Press, Destiny Calling.
So when my twin daughters starting writing their stories in elementary school…I praised them, encouraged it, and told them their stories were wonderful. Sure they might have plagiarized a bit in the stories they wrote at age seven or eight, but they were good and they’ve gotten better. They’re thirteen now and actively write short stories as well as Percy Jackson fan fiction on Wattpad. When they tell me they want to be writers, I tell them they already are.
Maureen L. Bonatch
A Paranormal Romance from The Wild Rose Press
Released: December 22, 2014
Hope Doesn’t Know If The Man She Can Touch Is A Dream Come True, Or A Nightmare Just Beginning.
Hope only wants to find out if her ability to infuse euphoria or despair with her touch makes her the devil’s spawn, or his exterminator. But when the woman who raised her is murdered by something not human, she loses the only family she knew and discovers one she might wish she hadn’t.
Drawn back to the hometown she vowed never to return to, her ability is seen as an asset to everyone but Hope, and she doesn’t know who to trust. Her family wants her to help them overcome an enemy oppressing the human population, while the man of her dreams is courting her for the Underworld.
Time is running out, and Hope’s choice may be made for her, as she discovers she’s a pawn in a bigger game played by a merciless ruler who doesn’t lose.
I strained to release my arm from Griffith’s vise-like grip while scanning the surrounding trees, trying to determine which was less of a threat, the beast of a man holding me or those who might be waiting for me in the woods.
“You will come inside, now.” Griffith spoke slowly and deliberately as if I were a small child.
I batted at the hand Griffith placed on my head. “I’m not a puppy, quit petting me.”
“I will protect you.” Griffith’s warm breath caressed my ear. “If for no other reason, to find out what I’m giving up and why she wants you so badly.”
I inhaled his masculine scent, like musky earth. It washed over my face, and the tension in my jaw released. I stopped struggling. “Are you the devil?” My tongue was thick and heavy so the words came out slurred.
“Not even close.” His words soothed and comforted, like having a weighted blanket cocoon me. Each movement was an effort. It wasn’t the same as the thing in the woods. This was more like the feeling after a long massage or bubble bath.
“It’s not safe.” Griffith wrapped his arms around me, and I rested against his broad chest.
“It’s not safe.” I nodded. My muscles relaxed and my eyelids grew heavy.
“It’s cold. We’re going inside.” Griffith kept his arm supporting me as he steered me toward the house.
“We’re going inside.” I parroted and walked up the steps, leaning heavily on him.
Out of the corner of my eye, something was cautiously moving at the edge of the woods. Branches snapped as whatever was observing us crept closer.
About the Author:
Growing up with four siblings had Maureen familiar with escaping into a good book, or the recesses of her mind. She realized later in life everyone didn’t have characters telling stories in their heads, or weren’t envisioning magic and mayhem within the everyday. This, and long walks in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania spawned a love of writing.
Since her desire to become a Solid Gold Dancer was thwarted when the show was discontinued, Maureen opted to pursue other paths. Attempting to conquer new endeavors proved fruitful with her first novella, while other attempts, such as challenging a fear of heights with parasailing, were unsuccessful.
Therefore she’s chased other interests, though none-the-less-daring, but closer to the ground, such as belly-dancing, becoming a self-proclaimed tequila connoisseur, fulfilling her role as biker babe to her alpha hubby and surviving motherhood to twins (so far).
Penning stories boasting laughter, light suspense and something magical in the hope of sharing her love of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary world.