The Moon Goddess's Karma

“I swear, if I read one more Blood, Silver or Crescent Moon for a pack name, I’m going to slam my phone against the wall,” I mutter as I deleted another unfinished book from my online library.

Another trope, another disappointment. Sure, stories like this might have worked for a few books, but after a little while, one can’t help but roll one’s eyes because it’s the same old story all over again, just with different names, worn-out notions, and all too familiar endings.

This is why I started writing in the first place. There were simply too many clichés and tired tropes in the novels I read, and it started to frustrate me. The last straw was when I read a book that seemed so promising in the beginning...then all of a sudden, bam! The female lead gets not one or two but three mates: triplets! Brothers sharing one woman. Because, according to the comments, it makes sense for identical twins to share a mate, given they were once one fertilized egg or ovum that simply split.

Ew. I can’t shudder enough.

I know, I know. I’m reading and writing about loving a werewolf which is arguably perverse enough for some people, but to me, just the idea of sharing a mate, especially between brothers is a major ick on so many levels! For one thing, I have step brothers who are identical twins and who could not be more different from each other than night and day. Their being ‘one’ ended as soon as they separated into two respective individuals, right in the womb. I’m pretty sure they’d rather drink their own piss than see each other’s dick going anywhere near the woman they love. They can barely stand sharing toys when they were kids, so what are the odds they’ll be happy as adults sharing one punani?

Huffing in annoyance, I grabbed my laptop and the screen flashed brightly, making me wince from the sudden pain in my eyes until I adjusted the light to something less harsh to alleviate the discomfort.

Muttering to myself, I open a Word program to start writing a new story.

I was supposed to be on a short break, but with nothing else to do, and as annoyed as I am after reading the last story that has completely ruffled my feathers—what with the jerk for a male lead and the usual simpering ’damsel-in-distress’ airhead for the main character—I just need to shake off the mental abuse the book caused me by busying myself writing a new book.

Of course, one could argue that I could’ve just continued writing my current WIPs (works-in-progress), but I didn’t really feel like doing those at the moment.

“See, this is why your books are not bestsellers! It’s because you don’t go with the flow, you uncultured mushroom!” I scold myself. “It’s the icky tropes that sell on that twisted platform, so you gotta moo with the cows and baa with the sheep. But no…” I prolonged word no. “’Ya had to be a moose or a whale. Loud as fuck. ’Ya had to stand out.”

Staring at the blank page, I think of what pissed me off from the novel I just deleted so I can make something that would appease my offended sensibilities.

First things first: the weak female lead. Ugh. I can’t stress this word enough.

“You get mistreated, physically assaulted, and psychologically abused by your asshole of a soulmate and you still fucking accept him!? Dumbass!” I mutter again, probably sounding more and more like a bitter old hermit that I’m slowly becoming. I really should get out more. “I mean, I know you have a tragic backstory that probably altered your brain from all the trauma and you’re currently going through a rough patch, but why did you even go through that particular patch in the first place!? You could have u-turned or side-stepped or whatever was necessary to avoid that shit.”

Okay, here’s the plan: a new and better breed of a leading lady. A girl who is one of a kind, with a dragon-like character, totally kick-ass and almost breathing fire. I don’t care if it’s unbelievable, she’ll be some sort of a ninja princess who can relieve a man of his balls even when she’s asleep. No one touches her without facing dire consequences.

Nice. I already like her.

Red hair? Flaming red, to be more specific so she stands out. No, wait, maybe black is better, with lots of curls to stress out how unruly she’ll be. It would be more dramatic if I describe it as black as midnight, Princess Jasmine style, so dark there are almost hints of blue, as untamed as an Arabian wild horse.

Wait, wait… I’ll have to research Arabian wild horses first before I can confirm that…

Clothes? Red, always red, to exude confidence and girl power. Yes! My very own little red riding hood but with a wolf spirit instead.

Eyes green like the leaves during early summer. Pale skin, but only because she has been inside all winter. Soon it will be sun-kissed or something cheesy like that. With a smidge of adorable freckles. Aww. Cute.

Okay, moving on. Male lead.

Definitely not a jerk. I have to create the perfect mate for my lovely fire-breathing ninja.

I stare at the page in silence, frowning in concentration, and the seconds tick by.

What the hell!? Why is my brain suddenly blank?

I mean, what is a perfect mate? Is it based solely on physical perfection? Of course not, and especially not for my dragon princess; she’s not that shallow. Although…who wouldn’t want to wake up next to a gorgeous man in the morning?

I take a deep breath. Divide and conquer.

First things first: Eyes. Most important. Windows to the soul.

Blue? No, too typical. It’s always blue-eyed devils who get the girls. I want this one to stand out. Maybe green. Ugh, no. I already have forest green eyes for the female lead.

Silver? Nah, silver for his wolf. Or one silver, one amber. Yeah, that’s much better.

Hazel, perhaps? Hmmm… now that’s an idea. Who wouldn’t lose herself in those hazel eyes with flecks of brown, green, and gold? You just can’t help but look deep into his eyes. Ah, I already feel like I’m swooning!

Okay, next, very important as well…the hair. Long or short? Curly, wavy, or straight? Maybe bald for a change? Wait, if he’s bald wouldn’t nitpickers argue that his wolf would then, in consequence, be hairless!?

Oh my god, a hairless alpha wolf. So twisted.

“¡Ay qué horror!” I don’t speak the language but I felt disgust in my bones that cannot be described better than with a heartfelt Spanish curse. I shudder, feeling the revulsion deep in my soul.

Erase, erase!

Shoulder-length hair. There, that’s much better. No, wait. Aren’t most shifters described with long hair? Maybe I should…Oh, who cares!? It works on the Perfect Mate. I will give him long shoulder-length hair and to hell with it.

Okay, color. Dark for solemn effect but with highlights for a hint of playfulness? Or maybe a shocking white, sort of platinum blond, like those of the infamous Targaryens from Game of Thrones. Tsk. I don’t know why but somehow it gives him an air of being a villain.

Oh, damn it, why is it so difficult to describe the perfect man!? I mean, I’d understand if I was having difficulty finding the perfect specimen in person but I’m only trying to describe him, for fuck’s sake.

“Focus, Sera!” I snarl at myself.

And yet, half an hour later, still nothing. My mind is a chasm a mile long and echoing with empty promises.

This is the reason I have previously decided to take a break. I’m probably burnt out and having writer’s block.

Maybe I should check Pinterest, just for inspiration. Yeah, I could do that.

I open another tab and click my shortcut, exclaiming at the first images the website shows. “Oh, that’s a perfect dream house for Zander and Anaiza!”

Two hours later, I have a folder full of images for my other WIPs and still no idea of what my ‘Perfect mate’ should look like.

Gaahh… Maybe I’m just tired. I should probably just sleep it off first. It’s late anyway; I should go to bed. When I’m well-rested, perhaps it would be easier for my brain to conjure the image of a perfect man that would make every lady drool.

I close my laptop and put it on my night table before going to sleep.

Around dawn, I jump out of bed with a determined look on my face.

Eureka! I just had a dream of the perfect mate!

I should put it in writing before my brain forgets. Deep inside the temporal lobe of my brain, the hippocampus is furiously working to erase the memory to make way for new information as I wake up.

Well, it shall not win this time.

I grabbed my notepad and furiously scribbled as many details as I could remember…

When I’m done, I stare at the page in awe. The words on paper are not enough. I will have to draw him. I have a desperate, urgent need to give him justice, with lines and colors, and shades.

And so, after a very long time, I open the box containing my art supplies again and start to sketch.

“Come alive…” I whisper, my eyes glinting with an almost manic intensity. “...Aidan.”