Showing results by author "Robyn Peterman" in All Categories

The 21st century is quite the horrifying eye-opener for a Vampyre warrior who's been in a magical coma for a thousand years. The Vampyre in question would be me. I’m so damned confused by the modern world, and getting electrocuted for being misogynistic—whatever that means—is getting old. It’s insanity. Apparently, there’s a species called Karens running in the wild. The Tube of You and the Book of the Faces are alarming. From what I understand, the Karens gather there.

Not sure who I screwed over in a past life to end up with a heinous mother-in-law who thinks my wedding is for her. If I didn’t love Chance more than myself, I’d rethink the entire hot mess. Problem: I’ve been instructed to show up in Hell on my wedding day with six bridesmaids. I have two friends in total. Problem solved: Go to a supernatural plasticware party at the community center and blackmail a few gals into being bridesmaids. New problem: The gals I coerced bring their own brand of crazy to the party. Whatever. Chance is the demon of my dreams. He loves me, fur and all.

Four months of wallowing in embarrassed depression should be enough. I’m beginning to realize that no one is who they seem to be, and my life story might be spinning out of my control. It’s time to take a shower, put on a bra, and wear something other than sweatpants. Difficult, but doable. With my friends - real and imaginary - by my side, I need to edit my life before the elusive darkness comes for all of us.

A movie deal for the devil's autobiography slash romance? Priceless. Maybe I should choose George Clooney to play me in the movie.... No. Too gray. As much as I can't see anyone playing me but me, I have far more important issues on my agenda - like finding the woman who stole my soul. Well, not exactly stole.... I might have made the switch and taken hers, but the siren Elle Rinoa has my soul nonetheless. Maybe Brad Pitt would be a good Lucifer.... No. Too blond.

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. Apparently no one got the memo.

What does a forty-year-old former child star do when she finds out she’s a Demon? A sitcom, of course. Age is just a number unless you’re an actress of a certain age trying to make a comeback in La La Land. Back in the day, I was the child star of the hit show Camp Bites. Today, I’m still living it down.After a disastrous soap opera audition and getting fired from a TV show for not having a bodacious enough backside, one would think I’d be smart enough to go into real estate. Nope. Just found out from the rudest, meanest, and hottest guy alive that I’m a Demon.

Midlife is sheer madness, and the facts of midlife are not taught in school. Unfortunately, some lessons are hellishly hard to learn. I thought I had it figured out. I was wrong. Proving I’m the Angel of Mercy is turning into a shitshow of epic proportions. Not too long ago, I was a 40-year-old gal with a stable and boring life ahead of me. Now? Not so much. I have celestial siblings who are no walk in the park. Their decisions can destroy my future. And of course, my predecessor has given me a month to do the impossible or I’ll lose everything that means anything to me.

I’m desperate to resign from the Werewolf Treaty Federation aka WTF. Don’t judge. I didn’t name this crew of misfit Shifters so hear me out. After investigating a deadly Jazz Cabbage outbreak, I discover we need a necromancing demon to help solve the crime. My gay vampyre BFF, Dwayne, dated one of these gems several decades ago. Seems all we need to do is summon his evil butt into this plane of existence and poof, crisis solved. The question is, can we bring him back without causing a flesh-eating, end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse?

My name is Dima, and I'm a Dragon. I'm also going to die soon. It's a battle I've waged most of my life, but now the odds are looking crappy. Before I go up flames, I have to find a way to save my horde and make sure my secret treasure is safe. There is one way I could stick around a bit longer, but the men I've met aren't exactly lining up to save me.

Welcome to Hell. Literally. The Hell where the Prince of Darkness is hotter than Hades, Hell Hounds smell like brownies, and the Seven Deadly Sins are addicted to Facebook.... Not to mention the soundtrack in the Underworld is Journey. For real. I should have known no good could come from offing my parents in the space of 20 minutes no matter how psychotic and evil they were....

Just when I thought life might be getting back to normal—normal being a relative word—I couldn’t have been more wrong. Marriage proposal from the Grim Reaper? Yes. Beautiful healthy baby? Yes. Friends and family safe? Yes. Ghost of my worst enemy sitting on my front porch? OMG. Yep. With the ghostly world imploding around me, I’m going to need more than superglue to repair it.

Johnson from My Big Fat hairy Wedding, Dwayne from Shift Happens and Zorro from Magic and Mayhem are hanging out together and having the time of their lives. Get ready for one wild and hilarious ride with Johnson Jones’s Diary—adventure, mistaken identities, love, fashion, belly laughs and of course, a happily ever after.

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. Hank the Tank Wilson was the six-foot-three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart.

Word on the street is that my brother’s son was potty trained at eight months old. Unacceptable. I shall not be bested by God. I have pilfered plastic potties, Cheerios, and bagels. I am prepared to teach my boy to put the pee in the hole. All I need now is a potty song. Or so I thought. Apparently, sending Lizard to clog all the commodes in Heaven has put me in hot water with Mother Nature.

What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle, and just like the fat bastard in red, I’ve made a list, and now I shall check it...twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an arse. It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

Sun and naughty fun is off the docket. Eliminating deadly Dhampirs is at the top of the to-do list. Crap. How in the ever-loving heck does a bloody note written on a paper towel and rag magazines left by Satan turn into a Vamp-hunt for idiots who think creating Dhampirs to attain world domination is a smooth move? The secret life of the entire Vampyre species is now on the line.

What happens when an accountant decides to grab life by the horns and try something new? Apparently a pirate named Dave, a lot of pastel fleece, and blackmail - just to start with. Visualize and succeed, Oprah said. I was sure as hell trying, even if my campaign to score a job as the local weather girl had ended in a restraining order. Okay, TV was not my strength. But a lack of talent has never stopped me before. Which is why I've embarked on a writing career. I mean, how hard can it be to come up with a sexy romance?

A dare is a dare. No self-respecting, slightly chubby, good-lookin’, crime lovin’ cat would ever pass up a dare. So I didn’t. Now, me and my boys are in hot water trying to figure out how to live on the right side of the law for a whole freakin’ week! This is complicated by a couple of hairy issues. Throw in a cryptic message from the Goddess, humans invading our town and evil, sticky-fingered groundhogs, and we have a hot mess on our paws.

How in the Goddess’s name did I get stuck at the Witchypoo Convention at Rump Arena in Hexington, Kentucky? Whoops...my bad. Rupp Arena in Lexington, Kentucky. Whatever. It’s like one cavernous indoor garage sale of “magic” crap. It’s nothing more than a convention of human wanna-be witches in pointy ankle boots and half-price black hats...Baba Yopaininmybutt sent me to root out the very evil shenanigans going down in the sea of faux witches, mummies, and vamps...Listen to find out more!

I thought being a Demon sucked, but being a Demon Goddess is a whole ’nother level. Life had been so much easier when I was just a forty-year-old has-been actress trying to make a comeback in the land of Botox and BS. For the love of everything absurd, I was just getting used to being a Demon … and BAM … all of a sudden I’m supposed to be one of the two gals in charge? I mean, being the co-star of the show is great until it involves ruling the Darkness with the evil whack job who destroyed my mother.