Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to JW Troemner and her story Mark of the Dragon!
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JW Troemner was born in Germany and immigrated to the United States, where she lives with her partner in a house full of pets. Most days she can be found gazing longingly at sinkholes and abandoned buildings.
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~ * ~ TOPIC du JOUR ~ * ~
I asked JW Troemner, “What fuels you to continue writing?” and here is the response.
Hello, Jacey, and thank you so much for hosting me today!
Earlier you asked me what fuels me to continue writing. It brought to mind an experience I had recently, and I wanted to share it with your followers.
A while back I was working for a company that makes and grades most of the standardized tests taken by children in the USA (by the way, if you ever want to lose all faith in the education system, I recommend starting there). To prevent examiners from leaking answers, we weren’t allowed to have anything except for food and beverages with us while we worked. So naturally, I almost got fired because one of my managers found me with a pen.
When he demanded to know if I’d been copying questions, I showed him the notebook I had stashed in my purse. The only things copied from the test were a few inspired misspellings that sounded like fantasy names. The rest of the pages were crammed with with fragmented outlines and snippets of conversations and nonsense turns of phrase that sounded so absolutely perfect in my head that the thought of forgetting them was physically painful.
My manager told me that if it ever happened again I’d be fired, and I bowed my head and accepted the admonishment. For the rest of my contract, I struggled to focus on the drudgery while my head was buzzing with those same fragmented bits of story. It was like being in a cloud of mosquitos, and the only way to escape them was to catch each one and put them on paper for later. Otherwise they would keep repeating, over and over and over again.
I’ve had a bunch of jobs over the years, and I’ve always written during every spare moment of downtime—on paper towels, receipts, pay stubs, and on myself when I couldn’t get my hands on paper. But it’s never quite been so painful as when I wasn’t allowed to do it at all for eight hours at a time.
The thing that makes me write is the same drive that makes me eat and sleep—though I can go without food and sleep for a few days, if I need to. I’m not so sure about writing.
~ * ~ BLURB ~ * ~
Rosario Hernandez doesn’t ask for much. She’d like to sleep on a bed instead of a sidewalk, to know where her next meal is coming from, and maybe, if she’s really feeling optimistic, to get a girlfriend. More than anything, though, she wants her best friend Arkay to not murder anyone— because Arkay is a dragon, claws and all, and she has a penchant for vigilante justice. When Arkay’s latest escapade goes sour, Rosario gets stuck with a stolen van and a cooler full of human organs. Now they’re on the run, and it’s not just the cops who want answers. The owner of the cooler is still out there, and they want to replace what they’ve lost— by any means necessary.
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At the Precinct:
At least a dozen police officers had gathered in the hallway, their weapons drawn. Another half dozen moved along the walls of the interrogation room like a pack of wolves, watching for an opening in Arkay’s defenses.
My dragon crouched in the corner, snarling like an animal. The interrogation table had been torn into pieces and hurled through the one-way mirror. The ground was strewn with pulverized cinderblock and silvery crumbles of broken glass. Arkay’s handcuffs had been ripped apart, and the broken metal cut into her skin. Blood poured from her wrists, staining the twisted metal bar she brandished like a club.
One of the officers, a six-foot white guy who looked like he could bench press a horse, charged forward. She rushed forward to meet him, bending low to grab him by a thigh that was nearly as thick around as her waist. So fast I could barely follow it, she yanked him up and over her back, using his own momentum to hurl him into a wall. Blood darkened the fabric around his leg. I couldn’t tell if it was hers or his.
She snarled, and I ran past the last line of police into the tiny room. I stumbled between her and the fallen man, my hands outstretched.
“Arkay, it’s me!” I inched closer. She angled her body toward me, but her eyes kept darting to the officers around her. “See? They let me in. Everything’s okay now.”
She grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me into the corner behind her with a snarl.
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~ * ~ GIVEAWAY ~ * ~
JW Troemner will be awarding $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. CLICK HERE to enter to Win! Readers, follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates and places can be found here: Tour Schedule
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JW Troemner, thank you for stopping by today!
Love & blessings to all! ❤