Haiti, Hurricane Matthew

This is me with children at a Haiti orphanage back in 2007. These little ones lost their parents during a storm. Now Haiti is faced with yet another disaster - Hurricane Matthew.

I don't travel to Haiti anymore, now that I work part-time. Yet in all my 21 years of travel, Haiti was always close to my heart.

Weather forecasters say Matthew's 135 mph winds and torrential rains may cause "catastrophic" damage to the island nation. I've been all over Haiti, from Cap Haitian in the north, to Les Cayes in the South. They say Les Cayes will get badly hit by this hurricane.

I was in Haiti shortly after the 2010 earthquake. The destruction was staggering. Some of those buildings that survived the earthquake are still fragile.

Haitians are still recovering and many families still sleep in tents. I can't imagine being in a tent during a bad rainstorm, let alone a hurricane. Some are refusing to leave. It sounds insane, but you have to understand the poverty and desperation. They fear losing all they own, and they can't comprehend how bad this storm can be. I pray it won't be that bad, but from the look of it, Hurricane Matthew will deal a devastating blow to the country.

One of the many mountainous areas in Haiti I traveled to.

The biggest fear I have is not the wind in that country, but the rain. Torrential rains. Up to 40 inches of rain locally, they are predicting. Haiti has few trees and many denuded areas, as you can see in the photo to the left. This means flash floods and mudslides, as there is nothing to hold back the ground.

One of my last trips to Haiti was to Les Cayes, the city in the south end. The ocean there is lovely, and there are little shops where you can order fresh fish. I keep wondering what will happen to all of those vendors and those living in that area after this storm.

Haiti just can't seem to catch a break. All I can do is wait...and watch..and hope and pray.

Remembering the Haiti earthquake, Jan. 12, 2010

The Hotel Montana, before the earthquake

Last night, I dreamed of Haiti. I was in some kind of very lovely Haiti, like what Haiti would be like in Heaven. And I was with the four women from Lynn University who were on a mission trip and died when the Hotel Montana collapsed. Britney, Stephanie, Courtney and Christine and I were sitting at a table by a large glass window overlooking the country. It was very pretty, and not poor. The women were so happy. They wanted to stay.

I told them I had to leave. It was time for me to go. And then I took off, as if I had angel wings, and lifted higher and higher into the sky until the women and Haiti were a small pinpoint on the earth, and I flew back to my home. 

The Hotel Montana, after the earthquake

The dream left me sad, but peaceful. I'm not surprised I had a dream like that. I'm leaving for Haiti next week, and I've been to Haiti several times, and stayed at the Hotel Montana. 

I never met the four women who died along with their professors, when the Hotel Montana collapsed during a 7.0 magnitude earthquake that struck just outside Haiti's capital shortly before 5 p.m.

The earthquake happened five years ago today. I have traveled to Haiti for 21 years as a writer for a large international charity and I always stayed at the Hotel Montana while in Port-au-Prince. I was in Haiti shortly after the earthquake and saw the rescue mission at the hotel, as search crews grimly combed through the rubble in a desperate attempt to look for survivors. The hotel had pancaked and turned from a pretty, tropical and airy paradise into a deathtrap.

The week of the earthquake would have been the week I'd have been in Haiti, but for that mission trip. Because the students from Lynn University were going to Haiti at the same time, we'd decided to delay our trip by two weeks in order to give the Haiti office staff time to prepare for our visit.

A room where I stayed at the Hotel Montana

While in Haiti, I always had a routine when we got back to the Hotel Montana from the day's visits. The photographer and I would arrange to meet for drinks at the News Bar, where we would sit in one of the hand-carved wood chairs and discuss the day's visits, or current events. We'd sip rum punch as a cooling breeze drifted in through the doorway by the mahogany tree that stood in the courtyard as a proud old sentinel. Then we'd go downstairs to dinner.

Sometimes we'd arrive back at the hotel around 5, or maybe a little earlier. Had we stayed there that horrid, fateful Tuesday five years ago and we arrived back early, I would have gone to my room, showered and maybe worked on my notes from the trip. 

And I might have died.

But we didn't go that week, because the students from Lynn University were already scheduled to visit. I never met those four young women, only caught a glimpse of them in the lobby when they poised for the group photo before they left on their mission trip. From reading about what others have said about them, they all seemed like lovely young people with compassionate hearts.

I try not to think too much about the earthquake, and why some people died, like the four beautiful women who wanted to help people, and their professors, who were encouraging them to find their calling in life.  I try not to think about what might have happened had I been at the hotel that day. Instead, I go on, and try to be grateful for my life, and for every moment God gave me on this earth. 

Maybe Lester Burnham says it best in American Beauty, "And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

Haiti

People frequently ask me, especially after I return from a trip for work, "Has Haiti improved any since the earthquake?"

Good question. My quick answer is, "Yes, the rubble is mostly gone."

And the long answer is, "The people are still suffering, but there is hope."

But last week I visited an area that I saw days after everything collapsed and killed more than 250,000 people, and it's like a knife to my heart.

It was in downtown Port-au-Prince.

Downtown is where much of the colossal damage took place. By that I mean, five-story buildings pancaked, entire government buildings destroyed. The presidential palace with its pretty wedding cake cupolas.

And the nearly 100-year-old cathedral, with its beautiful pink stone and soaring arches. I was there, long ago, for a prayer service. The cathedral was a peaceful place in a heavily populated city, a landmark for all who lived in PAP and a stronghold of religion for many. I remember seeing the elderly homeless on the steps. I also remember how my NGO built them a village where they can live out their last days with dignity and comfort.

I've been traveling to Haiti for nearly 18 years. I visited the cathedral days after the earthquake, and saw the bodies crushed by falling debris.

I was there a few days ago, and except for the fact the rubble is now gone, the structure is still the same. Still standing as an eerie skeletal frame, a pink scar on the downtown cityscape.

It was painful for me to see the church still standing as if the earthquake were last month, not last year. I can't imagine how heartbreaking it is for Haitians. A constant reminder of that horrific day.

How can you push on and forge a future when the wreckage of your past still stands like a tragic moment suspended in time?

Haiti has a new president now. I am cautiously hopeful. Not because of the new government, but because I have seen the resilience and courage of a beleaguered people who have suffered much, and keep going.

And enduring.

Again.

And again, against all odds.

The Cobra and the Concubine now on Kindle

I uploaded THE COBRA AND THE CONCUBINE to Kindle this weekend. This is the third book in my Khamsin Egyptian romance series.

Click here to order.

Last week I was in Haiti and offline. I'll be posting an update on my trip, soon as I catch up.

Nook, Kindle book updates

The Sword and the Sheath is now available on Kindle. This is the romance between Jabari's son, Tarik, and Ramses's daughter, Fatima. Fatima is psychic and assigned to guard Tarik, the sheikh's proud heir. Tarik wants her removed and in a different position... in his bed.

Click here to order.

Also, The Falcon and the Dove, my first Khamsin Egyptian romance, is now available on the Nook! Click here.

I was hoping to finish formatting The Cobra and the Concubine and upload that to Kindle, but too much happened this week. Now I'm packing for Haiti, another day job trip. I'll be offline all next week as there is limited internet access where I will be traveling.

Have a great week! I post if I can.

A plane of starving children in Haiti

Leaving for Haiti tomorrow. I have to get up at 3 a.m. to catch the early flight. Gulp.

One thing on the agenda, we are returning to the area in the Artibonite region where the cholera outbreak first began. This photo is a graveyard with unmarked graves of some of the cholera victims.

A relative asked me this weekend what good I have accomplished in my 17+ years of helping Haiti's poor? Why do I keep working at this day job? The country looks like it's getting worse and worse.

I honestly had no real concrete answers. It's a question that haunts me each time I return from a trip. All I could say was that I have to keep trying. For every starving child I meet who ends up dying soon after I leave, there is a another who IS saved.

Someone, I forget whom, put it this way... the amount of children in this world who die from hunger equals nearly 200 plane crashes per day. Can you imagine 200 plane crashes a day? The media would crawl all over the story. Yet each day, airplanes filled with starving children crash all over the world and they die in silent suffering. We can't save them all. But we can save some.

Even one is worth the effort, isn't it? If you were the mother of that child, I know what your answer would be.

Have a good week, all. Also, if you are in the Boca Raton area, be sure to check out a terrific booksigning by authors in my Florida Romance Writers chapter this Saturday, Feb. 12. Glades Road Branch Library, 20701 95th Avenue South, Boca Raton, FL. The event starts at 12:30 p.m.

Authors include Heather Graham, Allison Chase, Nancy Cohen, Linda Conrad, Marcia King-Gamble, Traci Hall, Karen Kendall, Michael Meeske, Aleka Nakis, Kathy Pickering, Sue Peek, Mary Ricksen, Mona Risk, Carol Stephenson, Cynthia Thomason, Jan Washburn, Patrice Wilton and Pearl Wolf.

For more information, click here.

Haiti during the time of cholera

"Momma, momma, I want my momma." The plaintive cry from the little girl lying in the quarantined tent soon gave way to soft snuffles. Then she dozed again, her thin arm hooked up to an IV dripping lifesaving fluids into her dehydrated body.



Suddenly she began coughing, leaned over the side of her cot and threw up on her pair of sandals.



Haiti, during the time of cholera.




My visit this week was my first trip back to Haiti since February. The images of rubble and destruction have faded, replaced by the white tents tucked away in the back of hospitals. The misery is worse.




We met these two children, in the photo, at a hospital our organization has helped extensively over the years. To get inside the quarantined area, you step on a dirty sponge soaked in bleach. The tent is behind the hospital building, away from prying eyes and other patients. You wash your hands in a bleach solution, don a disposable gown to gain access.




The father of the two children was coaxing his son to drink the serum that rehydrates. The father's name is Fritznel. His pregnant wife, due any moment, also contracted the disease and was in another clinic across town. Fritznel's house was destroyed during the earthquake and he lives in a tent city. Two older children were at home, watched by neighbors.



Fritznel has no job. No home and no money. He was extremely worried about his wife, who was very ill. When I asked him what he was going to do, what he would eat tonight and feed his healthy children, he began to weep.



In all my 16 years of traveling to Haiti and talking with dozens of poor people, I have never seen a Haitian man cry.



Later in the week, Fritznel took us to visit his tent. The tent city, near the half million dollar flagpole Artistide had erected in Cite Soleil, but never added a flag, is called Aviation Field Number 3. The thousands of residents here came after their homes were destroyed because it was the closest open field they could find.

The original tent where he lived is abandoned. He sleeps at a neighbor's tent because he worries the original home is contaminated with cholera. Behind this tent is a deep gully filled with trash and excrement. There are few latrines in Aviation Field Number 3. There are gullies and an overpowering stench.

It doesn't take much to see how quickly cholera can spread among the people.

We then visited Fritznel's wife in another cholera clinic. The same procedures of washing your hands, having your shoes disinfected. Patients lie on cots listlessly. Some had IV's attached to their arms. Fritznel tenderly helped his wife sit up, got her cot out of the sun. His worry was a living thing, eating at his face with deep lines much like a freshly plowed field.

His wife complained her belly hurt. The doctor told us she could go into labor any day. There had been a fetal heartbeat, but it was faint. There was some question about if the baby would live, since the mother had been dehydrated and on an IV for more than 3 days.

At night, I'd lie on my hard mattress at the small but clean motel and think about Haiti since the days of the earthquake, and Haiti now during the time of cholera. Much of the rubble has been cleared, but you still see buildings tilted crazily on their sides like lurching drunks. Our motel is next to one building. It still tilts at a dangerous angle, as if it would come crashing down with a hard shove. In the morning, I'd get up and nod at the Russian aid worker sharing a room with his colleague, both with the World Food Programme. He'd sit on a lavender chair, shirtless, and chain smoke.

The heartland of the outbreak is the Artibonite Valley. As we visited villages in Grande Saline, which is fed by the now-famous river filled with Vibrio cholerae, we drove alongside a canal the color of milk chocolate. Vibrio cholerae is probably present in this canal as well, as it's fed by the river.

It's the only water the villagers have to drink, which is why our organization installed a water purification unit.

Mounds of rocky brown dirt cover the graves of a few cholera victims buried in the local graveyard. The simple mounds, covered with memorials of plastic flowers, are a sharp contrast to the surrounding stone mausoleums. Children following us to the cemetery recited the names of those buried. "Madeline. Titi."

The small government hospital in Grande Saline had only 5 patients when we arrived. "Four," the medical assistant corrected. "One died this morning."

The man had been brought into the hospital on a bed. He lived only an hour away, but they had to find a boat to cross the river. By the time they reached the hospital, he was dead.

This is why there are so many dead bodies in Gonaives. Doctors told me people live so far away that by the time they get to the city, they drop dead in the street. Cholera can kill in 4 hours if not treated.

In the morning, the city dump trucks come by and pick up the dead bodies and burn them, salt them with lime so they decay faster.

The hospital is small and usually quiet. It wasn't when the cholera first arrived. The assistant said she knew the exact date when the sickness started. "October 20," she recalled. "Hundreds of patients began arriving. We had people all over, in beds, on the floor. I've never seen anything like it in 14 years."

On the first day, only a few died, but then the death toll started multiplying. Five a day. Fourteen a day.

On our way back to the city, we passed by the black smudges of burnt tires. There had been protests and blockades. Most of the violence was centered downtown by the still-crumbled presidential palace.

All over the city, the country, were posters of the 19 presidential candidates. One of them, with a white gleaming smile, sharp as a shark's tooth, is wealthy. Very wealthy, I was informed. He has 80 million dollars for his campaign.

Eighty million dollars.

The thought circled in my head like a buzzard. Eighty million dollars, while the streets of the city are potholes, the cholera clinics are filled with the sick, and the tent cities are filled with potential victims. If he gets elected, will he effect change?

Doubtful. The only certainty these days in Haiti is that cholera is here to stay, it's getting worse and spreading fast, and the death toll continues to rise.

As I write this, cholera is now in the largest prison and it's infested Cap Haitien, the port city where we have a large operation. They are putting patients in a gym because there is no more room.

This is Haiti, during the time of cholera.

Now what?

Gabriel, my Draicon werewolf whose eyes turn a gorgeous shade of amber when his wolf emerges, has reason to to celebrate.

He finally got the girl, had wild and crazy sex, resolved all his problems and is living happily ever after.

Yes, his book is DONE and was mailed off to New York this week.

Can I shout with relief and giddy joy that I finally finished the book?

YAY!!

It wasn't an easy book to write. Back in January, when I got final approval on the synopsis and the green light to write the book, a terrible catastrophe happened. The 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Haiti diverted all my attention. I worked long hours at the day job, took nearly back-to-back trips to Haiti, and struggled with my own emotional response to the disaster.

I've worked in Haiti for 16 years and what I saw broke my heart.

I also could not write romance for two solid months afterward. So I took a vacation to recover from the turmoil of Haiti, and to make a good, solid effort in writing Gabriel's story for Harlequin.

It worked. During the two-week vacation, I finished and turned in a Nocturne Bite. I also wrote an amazing 20,000 words on Gabriel's story, thanks in part to spending three days at a neighbor's cottage they kindly loaned me. I worked from morning until late night, concentrating on my writing.

When I returned to the day job, I finally had recovered my writing stride and was able to stay productive.

For three years, I've worked at a demanding day job, traveled, and had numerous deadlines and author responsibilities. And a home life!

And now, for the first time in three years, I'm without a contract.

It's a feeling of relief, not worry. It means it's time for me to take a break.

When you work at a day job and you're an author, you have different demands and different issues than when you write FT. The benefits of having a day job are simple:

Money!

A steady paycheck and benefits like vacation time mean you're not relying on contracts to pay the mortgage. I can honestly say I don't know one single author who writes FT who doesn't work extremely hard for every single dollar she earns. I have lots of respect and admiration for their productivity and talent.

The down side to working a day job, especially when you travel like I do, is time.

You must effectively budget your time. It's not easy, especially when life has a habit of interfering. Family health problems, job demands, sudden twists of fate, they happen. But the deadlines remain.

Writing is hard work. If you want to publish books, you must treat writing like any other demanding career. Publishing is unpredictable at best. But it's an amazing feeling to walk into a bookstore and see your name on a book where your ideas and imagination took flight...

or having readers tell you they loved your work. And receiving a check for the work you did and realizing you are being paid to do what you love.

I honestly don't know what's next. The fact that my brain is saying "Beats me, Bonnie" is a sign it's time for a break. Already I started playing around with two new story ideas, just for fun and because I'm a writer.

I can't stop writing!

But for now, I'm sitting back and not worrying about what comes next. Instead of spending the weekend writing and editing and gulping down caffeine, I'm going to the gym this morning. DH has obligations with his club, so I'm meeting a friend for lunch I haven't seen in way too long.

Next week I'll be in Honduras for the day job. It will be the first trip in three years I've not had to worry about writing in the hotel at night, or having a deadline hang over me.

I'll take my netbook and write for fun if I feel like it. But at night, if I'm too wiped out from the day's visits, I'll set it aside.

The other day I told a friend that every time I pick up The Falcon & the Dove and read a certain scene, I don't envision the desert and the hot sand and the handsome sheikh.

I see the hotel room in Haiti where I wrote that scene years ago at night, while visiting that country for the day job. I still can see myself sitting on the bed, typing like mad.

It's freeing knowing that I have no more writing obligations. It's a good thing as well because it enables me to visualize new ideas, have fun with my imagination and envision new possibilities.

I don't know what the future brings. What I do know is I've published more than 12 romance novels and short stories in the past 8 years, had a great time doing it, met lots of wonderful people and readers and publishing professionals, made some terrific friends, and achieved a dream I've had for years.

I'm grateful for the opportunities given to me, I've worked extremely hard once granted those opportunities and now...

I'm taking a break!

Report from Haiti

Internet is finally back up. Our trip got off to an auspicious start when the car in the DR broke down and we had to wait two hours for a new one. But we made it, and yesterday spent a good day in the field.

We went into the countryside and visited a couple of tent cities. The damage in the country, which I haven't seen until this trip, is extensive. There are lots of smaller tent cities along the roadside.

At our last stop, where we're feeding the residents of a tent city of about 1,000, things got a titch ugly when the crowd started growing restless. There's just so much need and people are living in conditions that no one should have to endure.

Today we're sticking to the city and tent cities we've visited before.

Our hotel yesterday had no water in the morning, but when they finally did, it felt great to wash my hair. I've discovered the trick to washing your hair in ice cold water in the a.m. It involves something like a yoga position and a glass to dump over your soapy head.

Darkness of the Wolf wins CataRomance Reviewers Choice

DARKNESS OF THE WOLF, my Nocturne Bite, has won a CataNetwork Reviewers' Choice Award for 2009.

This personally means a lot to me, as that story was set on a fictional island meant to resemble Haiti, and one of the hotels was modeled after the Hotel Montana, the hotel where I wrote part of the story while in Haiti.

The Montana was my "home" in Haiti for 16 years. That hotel collapsed during the earthquake and several people were killed.

I'll be back in Haiti next week, touring tent cities and areas where my organization is building about 300 houses a month. Another 100 homes will be built in northern Haiti to accomodate families with relatives who fled Port au Prince after the earthquake. We're also building pit latrines in camps.

In other news, Jennifer Ashley and I will be presenting a workshop at RWA National called "Putting on Your Shorts." Jennifer is the NY Times-best selling author of Pride Mates. WOOT! Congrats Jennifer! Pride Mates is one of the books I'm taking to Haiti to give to friends who asked me to bring them romance novels.

Here's an excerpt from Darkness of the Wolf.

They could kill him. Now. Or wait. He’d gone past caring.

No one would mourn his death. Guy Laurent was alone in the world. The thought made him ache. In his world of Draicon werewolves, anyone who used to know him thought he was already dead.

Huddled in a corner of his cage at the Savage Kingdom Zoo, he lay with his head between his paws. He stared at the steel bars prohibiting escape. Disguised as a real zoo, the facility was a prison for werecreatures who were forced into their animal forms during the day for unknowing human visitors.

A little girl licking an ice cream stopped before his exhibit as her mother sat on a bench feeding a toddler. The child looked upset. “Please don’t be sad, wolf.” She held out her cone. “You can have my ice cream.”

No one ever gave him anything without a price. But he still had a soft spot left for children. Guy loped toward the bars, wishing he could smile at her.

His keeper approached, knocked her hand away, sending her ice cream toppling.
“Hey, you stupid kid, don’t feed the animals!”

The girl started crying.

A low growl rumbled from Guy. He glared at the demon and charged the cage.
Electricity zapped his powerful body. Uncaring, he pawed through the bars, wanting to hurt the demon for upsetting the child.

The little girl screamed. “Mama, the wolf’s going to hurt me!” Guy watched in pained bewilderment as she ran off. I was only trying to help you.

When would he ever learn that nothing good came of helping others?

The demon pressed a box on his belt. The Ident chip buried beneath Guy’s skin sent painful pulses through him. He yipped, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the agony.

Later, they came for him. In human form now, he was naked. Using the Ident chips injected into each werecreature, their demon keepers restricted their magick and forced all the prisoners into their human forms long after the zoo had closed.

The garrote around his neck choked him as they paraded him off to the shed. The demons stretched him out as they tied him to the punishment posts. The leather whip cracked through the air. Guy tensed. Salt on the whip’s silver studs ensured his wounds would scar.

A cold night wind whistled over his body as they dumped him into the cage after his beating. The winter chill infiltrating central Florida felt like needles stinging his shivering flesh.

“Rough day?”

At the sound of that familiar, deep voice, Guy raised his head and snarled.

“Come to finish off what the demons didn’t, Phoenix?”

The tall, dark-haired man standing before him raised every hair on Guy’s nape. Tristan was a Phoenix, one of the immortal Justice Guardians who oversaw all werecreatures.

“If I were, I’d have given you to the Draicon executioner instead of confining you here.”

“Fine. Now get the hell out of here. You’re blocking my view,” Guy muttered.

“How would you like to be free?”

Agony flared on his back. “I’ve been tortured enough today. Save it for tomorrow, when the demons get bored.”

“I never torture. Not my style. This is legit,” Tristan sat cross-legged before him.

“They told me the only way I’m getting out of here is in a coffin.”

“I have final authority here. How does visiting Ile a Sanglier in the Caribbean sound?”

Wild boar island. “Why, they have a new zoo they want to display me?”

“You have a friend there. Bernard Belizaire. Bernard acts as sort of a resource coordinator for Draicon on the island and keeps tabs on everything that happens. He helped several Draicon packs settle on Ile a Sanglier years ago. Recently, the oldest pack vanished.” Tristan’s green gaze met his. “They were slaughtered by Morphs.”

Guy swore softly. Morphs, former Draicon who turned to evil for greater power by killing a close relative, were their race’s greatest threat.

“The Quartermaines left the States, but their alpha, Dell, kept tabs on them through Bernard. Dell wants Brianna, the youngest Draicon. She managed to escape, and make it to a Draicon safe house. Your job is to be bodyguard for Brianna and help Kayla Morris, the woman hired to find and bring Brianna back to Dell. We need a Draicon who is a good fighter and will keep Brianna safe until her return to the States.”

“Why can’t Bernard do it himself? Or this Kayla person?”

Tristan’s jaw tightened. “He admitted he can’t protect her from Morphs. He has a rare condition and his senses, especially hearing and smell, are failing. Kayla lacks Draicon powers. She’s been hired because Brianna only trusts females. If you do this, you can go free.”

“And you’re offering me this out the goodness of that black ice you call a heart?”

His windpipe compressed as Tristan squeezed a fist, clutching nothing more than air. “Watch it, wolf.”

Tristan released him. Guy rubbed his aching throat.

“And why should I trust you when you put me in here?” he demanded.

“You’re here because you killed your pack alpha.”

“I’m here because of Anne. I warned her Simon was turning evil and I was going to take him out. So she told Simon. He went after me, I killed him and then Carl, Simon’s beta, took over. Carl got leadership and I got prison.”

He’d foolishly warned Anne to keep her safe, failing to see her blind loyalty to their leader. He should have known better than to put a woman’s needs before his own.

Tristan stood, shadowing Guy with his tall body. “Because you saved the pack by killing Simon, you’re here instead of six feet under. You knew the rules. You should have told Carl, who would have alerted the Kallan to execute Simon. The Kallan is immortal and the pack would have respected his authority. Instead, you killed Simon and nearly involved your pack in a brutal war over who believed you and who didn’t. You’re a rogue who can’t follow orders.”

“And you think I can follow rules now?” he taunted. Damn, he still had freshly bleeding stripes on his back to prove otherwise.

“I’m giving you this chance to see if you can.” The Phoenix flashed him a dark smile.

Freedom. So close he could taste it. Guy squeezed his aching fists. “I’ll do it. What about the Ident?”

“It stays in until you deliver the girl to Dell. A little insurance in case you take a detour.” Tristan looked impassive. “I’m deactivating it, but in five days, starting it up again unless you deliver the girl.”

The thought of the chip still buried inside him rankled Guy. He took a deep breath.

“Just remember deliver Brianna to Dell or you’re back here. And you won’t leave until you’re in a coffin.” Tristan paused. “When she shows up tomorrow, go easy on Kayla. She usually avoids Draicon.”

“Sure, I’ll take it easy on the human.”

Tristan smiled. “I never said Kayla was human.”

“What the hell is she?”

“Your destiny.”

Fear and rage roared through Guy. “The hell with destiny, Phoenix. I’ve spent 30 years locked up because a woman betrayed me. You call that my destiny, too?”

“Kayla isn’t Trish, Guy. She has no pack loyalty.”

Guy shook his head. “Every wolf for himself.”

“We’ll see,” Tristan murmured as he vanished.

Photos from Haiti

These are the Jamaican soldiers who guarded our convoy as it crossed the border from the DR to Haiti. Traffic was a real nightmare, but we made it. The cement for rebuilding has all been unloaded and safely stored at our warehouse.

While I still have internet, before we leave, I'm trying to post my pix. Ben just told me, "I'm going to go look for my pants." His pants were so dirty and smelled like "death," (he was downtown, where it is really bad, photographed the collapsed Cathedral where there still were bodies) he asked someone to wash them and they're out drying outside.

The main port is at 30 percent, which is good. There are 120 to 140 flights a day coming now into the airport, which is good news.

I loved this dude's Bob Marley bandana. Lots of people are wearing masks or bandanas. I'm not. There is no real stench, except in some areas of the tent cities because of lack of sanitation, and the buildings that have collapsed.

The dust is bad, but tolerable. I've visited Haiti for 16 years and the dust is the worst. Usually it's just cooking fires and exhaust in the city.

Funny, I brought this little netbook with me to work and blog at FFP's site, and to write when I can. I did work a little on the book due in May while I was on the plane. Haven't written a single word since, and doubt I will until I get home.

Good thing I had pushed back that deadline. It's hard to think about werewolves and love scenes amid death and destruction.

The baby died

Got word that Jasmin, the baby pictured here, has died.

I'm not surprised. Not even sad or numb. Just resigned. I knew she would die. The hospital in Haiti where she was lacked an incubator, hell, they didn't even have feeding tubes to keep her alive.

All they had was an IV to drip fluids into her, and a heating lamp that shone directly into the little girl's eyes.

She never had a chance.

I've added her to my "2009 Wall of Death" at work. Four children whom we've met in the field and tried to save, and failed to save. They are on a filing cabinet, staring over my shoulder. I want them over my shoulder so I can feel their painful eyes on me, watching, silently asking, "Will you forget about us? Will our deaths mean nothing?"

Today I wrote a proposal to try to get an incubator and other medical supplies for that hospital in Haiti. All I can do is try, even though some days, like today, it just isn't enough...

Haiti

This is the premie we saw and her mom...

Leaving

I'm leaving for Haiti, and will be offline all week. If you email me, please be patient. I'll get back to you when I get back to the States.

In the meantime, if you liked Raphael's story in IMMORTAL WOLF, be sure to check out the FREE online serial on eHarlequin I wrote called SEDUCING THE VAMPIRE.


It starts tomorrow on eHarlequin and will be in their online reads library.


Every Monday for eight weeks, there will be a new chapter, starting Oct. 19. This story features Indigo, the half-vampire, half-werewolf, who is Raphael's adopted brother. Indigo meets up with a beautiful vampire from his past. Together they must team up to save an ancient amulet from getting into the wrong hands. Raphael makes a guest appearance in SEDUCING THE VAMPIRE.

Click here to read SEDUCING THE VAMPIRE.

His name was Widelson Michel

He was five years old. This is him. His body was filled with so much fluid, he looked 8 months pregnant.

He was from Jacmel. His mother, Bienaise, 27, slept by his crib Wednesday night. She didn't really sleep because she was so worried about him. Instead, she watched, waited, while Widelson slept in her arms.

She told us, "I am afraid for him. I have no money. I don't know what I can do for him. Only God knows what will happen to my son. I cry a lot because I'm not able to help him."

A mother's worst fear... and she had no money. Her husband was injured in an accident while farming with a machete. So he can't work right now.

No money, a severely ill child.

Widelson is the little boy with the severe liver problem. The doctor treating him told us that his liver shrank to the size of a small plum.

The only thing that could save him was a liver transplant. But we had to do something. The doctor who was treating him said he could do surgery to drain the fluids from his body, but eventually he'd suffer from the same since his liver was failing. The doctor is a good guy, who cares.

We left Haiti and today I'm back at the office. I heard from our Haiti office.

The doctor did the surgery on Friday. Widelson died as a result of complications. The doctor said that with his condition, it was a miracle every 15 seconds he lived.

I heard the news, broke into tears and left the office to recover. I sat outside for a long while, trying not to think.

See, you think too much about stuff like this, little boys who never even had a fighting chance because they contracted hepatitis or they were malnourished and their immune system shot to s**t or simply because they were poor...

And you could just go nuts.

Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter what we do. You try your best, and they die anyway. They slip through your fingers like tiny grains of sand, invisible to most of the world.

I felt like I had to mention his name here, post his photo, to validate his 5 years on this planet. To make him count, instead of being another sad statistic that's rattled off in a blizzard of sad statistics.

I realize some people want to read romance authors' blogs for the fun of it, to see what they're working on, to get an idea of what goes on, to celebrate the fun of romance. I know other authors have blogs where they talk about their WIP, or their contracts, or their kudos, their great news.

And I talk about kids I've met who died. This is the reality of my life... some days I really, really wish I wouldn't have the faces of little kids like Widelson haunting my sleep and hopeless feeling that what I do, some days, doesn't mean anything because they die anyway. Sometimes the futility of it all just overwhelms me.

I'm definitely taking a break from blogging. I have nothing good to report, and this blog is just too depressing, anyway.

Crazy ass road, The Lady and the Libertine contest

We returned to Bainet Thursday and saw the family we'd visited on our last visit. Brought a bunch of food and other stuff. The father was so happy to see us, and so grateful.

That was a good thing.

On our way back to PAP, our field manager, who was driving, opted for a short cut. It was supposed to take 45 minutes instead of taking the 1.5 hours the other road took to get to National Highway Number 2 to return to the capital.

I dubbed this road, of which photos are featured here, the "crazy ass road." It started out smooth, then got ridiculous. Instead of 45 minutes, it took us 2 hours! 2 hours to drive 37 kilometers.

Still, the scenery was pretty. Haiti has so much potential.

Then we saw this sign. Good Bye in French. We looked at each other like, Uh, good bye from where?

Where the hell were we? LOL

Eventually we made it back.

Now I'm home and exhausted. Tiger is doing ok after this past Monday's scare. I'm just glad I'm home so that when we have to do what we must, I'll be there and Dh won't have to face it alone like we feared he did on Monday.

Tomorrow, Sunday, I have an interview over at the UH blog about my April historical, my last Egyptian book, THE LADY AND THE LIBERTINE. Click here to check it out. I'll be giving away a copy of The Scorpion and Seducer.

And for now, I'm not blogging for a while. I need to focus on me, and concentrate on trying to regain myself. This was a tough trip and it's going to take a while to recover.

Back from Haiti

I'm back from Haiti.

This baby, who is a year old, we met at the hospital in Jacmel. She's got stage 3 malnutrition. Still, her chances are very very good. I have high hopes for her.

Not as high hopes for the little boy we met. The doctor who escorted us around is a really good guy. He made sure the little boy got the tests he needed, and gave him some meds.

But the news is pretty sad. His liver has shrunk to the size of a small plum. They're not sure until they finish doing all the tests, but it looks like unless he gets a liver transplant, he'll die.

So there we were, trying to help a child whom we know will probably die.

This job some days can break your heart.

I have other photos, but they're too disturbing for this blog.

It's not fair

I'm sitting on the balcony of my hotel room, overlooking the pool. We stayed here last time as well, since our organization has a nice discount.

I'm looking at the tranquil seas of the bay, the jagged hills across the water, and down at the turquoise pool where a father is playing ball with his children.

I watched him trot down the steps to the pool with his son, who is about eight, and lovingly help him take his shirt off, and help him into the pool. You can tell how much this guy loves his family, his kids, he's playing and having fun with them, splashing around. They're giggling and acting like normal kids.

And I'm sitting here, feeling like I'm going to cry.


Earlier we were at the hospital. There was another father there, and a mother, sitting anxiously by the bedside of another child, who was about 6. This father's son had severe malnutrition.


His belly was so bloated, he looked 8 months pregnant.


He was in pain, crying, and had a fever. His arms were thin, his legs swollen. He's critically malnourished.


He could die.


They sat there, helplessly, keeping cool cloths on him, because they couldn't afford to pay for a doctor to examine him before. Finally they got the money, took him in today. We were all set to pay for his exam, to help this poor kid out.


But the part of the hospital that does the exams closed today. It's a government hospital, which means there are strikes sometimes, early closings, etc. because the staff seldom gets paid.


So there the father sat, and I imagine as I write this, he is there still, staring helplessly at the son he loves, trying to comfort him, wondering if he can be saved. He's poor and has no money.


While down below, another Haitian father, who is probably a good man, plays with his son who is healthy and carefree, a son who probably will never go hungry and if he is injured or hurting, will get only the best medical care because his father can afford it.


It's just not fair.


That's life. Sometimes I just take it for what it is, and I go on.


Sometimes, like now, it just makes me cry...

Haiti

This is a mother and child we met yesterday at a hospital in Ti Goave. She has stage 3 malnutrition, as evidenced by the thinning hair, pot pelly (parasites) and twig-thin arms.





The mother is homeless and told us she's so despondent that she tried to kill herself last week. Her house was destroyed in the hurricanes last year and she now wanders from friend's house to friend's house, looking for a place for each night to stay with her daughter.





I'm glad we got there. Now the child is hospitalized and getting the treatment she needs and we gave the mom food. All they'd had the previous day, their last meal, was a cup of corn meal.





So many sad stories and sad faces, when you look into the eyes of a mother who tells you she saw no other alternative but a rope, it does something to you inside. She felt like no one cared, like she didn't matter.

I hope she realized yesterday after we left how much she DOES matter, and her child.


Haiti isn't all misery and starvation. I took this photo of a spectacular sunset as we drove to Jacmel.


And we saw two lovely incidents of fulfillment, mothers whom we had met on our last trip in Cite Soleil who now have houses. They practically beamed at us, they were so overjoyed. One of the mothers told me she looks at the house and thinks she is dreaming. And then she awakens and it's still there. It's like a miracle to her.


That made me smile.


Today we are headed up into the mountains where there are isolated cases of malnutrition. Our truck yesterday was loaded with food and meds, which are sorely needed.


I heard a story yesterday that some of the people in the mountains have walked more than 50 kilometers just to get a small bucket of food distributed by a local aid agency. Sigh...


On a brighter note, yesterday at the hospital a small SUV pulled up that read AMBULANCE. A guy jumps out, opens the back doors. Who is inside? A critical case? Someone in need of emergency medical attention?


Nope. He reaches inside and pulls out two... chickens. Trussed and ready to kill for dinner.


I guess sometimes, in areas where the hunger is really bad, delivering a meal by ambulance makes sense.

Leaving for Haiti

Sunday. Warm outside, the breeze drifting through the opened windows of the Florida room. I love this room. It's where I do most of my writing, sitting on the flowered couch, looking at the garden. In the summer, it's far too hot, but now, when it's still winter, even when it's warm outside like today, it's lovely.


Sometimes the dogs join me. Dolce will sit on the couch, looking at me to pay attention to him. Tiger, featured here, will lie on the tile, dozing in the sun.


We got some very bad news about Tiger this week. Like Tia and Rainey, the two other Shih Tzu's we had, he also is dying of cancer.

He has cancer of the spleen. So while we were concentrating on trying to save his sight from glaucoma, it was a losing battle anyway. We suspect the cancer has gone to his brain as he's been having seizures.


I can't believe I'm losing another beloved pet to this horrid disease.

So I do what I can. He's on meds to try to make him comfortable.


Tomorrow I leave for Haiti, leaving detailed instructions with the pet sitter, God bless her, she loves animals as much as we do. We'll be in the mountains again, in an area where there are more starving children.

I finished The Savage Wolf, and emailed it to my editor. I'm feeling a sigh of relief that I was able to finish it before deadline.

Next up, are revisions to Unwrapped, then the proposal for the next Nocturne. I have an historical out in two weeks, and the novella in Midnight Cravings. No time to promote these books. I just don't have any energy, either.

I'll be offline most of the week, away from email as I'll probably be without internet access. If I can get wireless, I may post from the road.

Have a good week, all.