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Robyn Peterman

Midlife is full of surprises. Not all of them are working for me.

At forty-two I’ve had my share of ups and downs. Relatively normal, except when the definition of normal changes … drastically.

New York Times bestselling romance author: Check

Amazing besties: Check

Lovely home: Check

Pet cat named Thick Stella who wants to kill me: Check

Wacky Tabacky–dealing Aunt: Check

Cheating husband banging the weather girl on our kitchen table: Check

Nasty divorce: Oh yes

Characters from my novels coming to life: Umm … yes

Crazy: Possibly

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.

The plot is no longer fiction. It’s my reality, and I’m writing a happy-ever-after no matter what. I just have to find the write hook.

Hollis McCarthy

My So-Called Mystical Midlife

The Write Hook: My So-Called Mystical Midlife

No one in their right freaking mind ever said midlife was magical.
Apparently it is.
Or at least mine is …

Once upon a time there was a paranormal romance author who caught her husband in a compromising position. One divorce later, she’s free and ready to start her new life at forty-two.

Right?
Wrong.

Divorced idiot ex: Check
Saved idiot ex from getting murdered by his new nasty gal pal: Check
Idiot ex accused me of trying to kill him: Umm check
Still seeing my fictional characters: Check
Teeny tiny crush on my lawyer: Check check
Town under siege by dark forces: Of course
Crazy enough to try and stop it: You bet

With the darkness on the horizon, I need to clear my name and get to work. Forming a Goodness Army is on the top of the list. Shockingly, my army consists of my wacky tabacky–smoking aunt, my high school counselor who can shift into a house cat, the town gossip who turns invisible after downing five beers, and a few fabulous others with nefarious talents. And of course, a cast of fictional characters … who I created and definitely have an opinion on how I should proceed.

What could possibly go wrong?

I’m going on pure gut instinct at this point, and I can’t wait to see how the plot turns out.

I may be wrong. I may be write. Either way, I’ll just keep turning the pages until I find my happily ever after.

You May Be Write: My So-Called Mystical Midlife Book 2

Going to Hell has never been on my bucket list … until now.

The fact that I can speak that sentence without laughing or losing my mind is absurd. However, my life has veered into a very tricky tale that rivals any of my books.

The villain has been banished. I’ve written her right into an infernal doom. Unfortunately, a few of my very dear friends, fictional and real, have been caught up in the horror story and they’ve taken the trip down under as well.

It’s my fault and I can only see one way out … a plot twist of epic proportions. The fairy tale is imploding and my imagination has taken flight.

The ending is murky and the stakes are up to me. There is no other alternative.

If I don’t get this ending right, my happy ever after might become a happy never after.

All the Write Moves

A forty-something Werewolf supermodel, five supernaturally screwed up bridesmaids, and a demonic mother of the groom determined to ruin the wedding.

Awesome … not.

How has my life come to this? 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—which is a lot—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 exactly two friends in total. The punishment for failure? Electrocution—which would suck.

Problem Solve—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. One night of Hell for a lifetime of happiness is a good trade. I hope …

Move over, Bridezilla. I’ve got this covered.

Welcome to my big fat hairy wedding.

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My So-Called Mystical Midlife - Поредицата книги

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