Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke with extra ice in a styrofoam cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals.
A former professional actress, with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the south with her family and too many animals to count. Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where you can work in your underpants works really well for her. She loves to hear from her fans.
You can follow her at http://www.robynpeterman.com.
Planning my own wedding should mean I’m having the time of my life…not defending it every time I turn around. Dragons, feral Wolves and Were Cows…I mean who in the hell knew Were Cows even existed?
All I wanna do is marry Hank, have 2.5 beautiful little Werewolf babies and live happily ever after while having sex on a very regular basis. Oh…and I still want to shoot stuff occasionally.
Released from the magic pokey and paroled with limited power is enough to make any witch grumpy. However, if you throw in a recently resurrected cat, a lime-green Kia and a sexy egotistical werewolf, it's enough to make a gal fly off the edge.
I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever. I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed – a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.
This is a spoof. A profane romance spoof not meant for anyone under 18. I was threatened lovingly and repeatedly by my readers to write the full version of Pirate Dave. He was born of the need to create a horrific career ending romance novel to destroy a really bad, nasty villainess . . . and Thank you Buddha in a tube top, it worked!