A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

You have the personality of a werewolf

June 28, 2010
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I did a personality test in the LA times the other day and the end result was something along the lines of:

I’m a confident explorer of the world. I’m energetic and curious, with a love of life and an infectious enthusiasm for new adventures. Whilst being a romantic at heart with a voracious appetite for fun.

Yep, that certainly sounds like me.

Which shouldn’t come to such a surprise I guess, since the LA times then goes on to state the damn obvious with “Psychologists who study the infinite variety of humans’ personalities and temperaments often find themselves drawn to biological explanations of the personality traits that make us who we are.”

But they forgot a few details, like has energy because Werewolves are built for stamina and endurance. Our enthusiasm for adventures, is part of being who we are. The human part is happy to settle and stay still and be in one place and be a collective part of society. Depending on the werewolf in question, you’ll probably find the werewolf wants out, a lot, to roam, to be free, to explore and see and scent the world it’s almost always constantly denied access into. The werewolf within wants it’s chance at life outside and all that it brings.

Romantic at heart because, well, I’m a girl who likes to be romanced. I can honestly say my track record in the romance field of life, is fairly shabby. When I’m not being naive, I’m usually making some mistake I told myself I wouldn’t make in relation to picking the right guy for me. I’ve fallen into bad relationship territory before and I seem to emanate towards the wrong boy type. Whether their werewolves or humans. Although my track record for dating humans, is appallingly unsuccessful. The words, “Ultimate Fail” come to mind.

I mean, do you have any idea what’s involved in dating a human guy when you’re anything but human?

Well, you know, half human as it were. Werewolves, humans and romance, a whacked out mix I’ve never been able to get to work. It’s why I’ve stuck to the werewolf males. I can read them a lot better than I can human males. I think werewolf males are less complicated to understand. Because I’ve been around werewolves my whole life, I understand the culture, the ways, the expectations. I know the rules, the history and what’s involved in being one. I’m more prone to thinking like a werewolf than I am a human. Most of the time. Thinking as a human, man that shit is hard.

So I guess that puts me onside with the werewolf males of New York. It’s why I’m dating an Alpha werewolf at the moment. That and he’s completely hot and the sex is incredible.

And fun, what werewolf doesn’t like using that word?

Of course, our version of ‘fun’ compared to the average person’s version of fun, is probably, vastly different. Being a werewolf means we know we can do things, humans can’t. So we use these attributes to our favor, fortune and entertainment fun. Kind of like testing the limits. It’s why werewolves like to fight, why they’re more like adrenaline junkies and more likely to try whatever you dare them to do, guaranteed, at least once.

We push our bodies to limits, because we can take on more than most humans. You might think it’s curiosity but it’s more to do with just doing things because we can. Because werewolves don’t understand limits naturally. We don’t stop to think about them, until we have reason to.

If we ever have reason to.

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The Reviews are in

June 21, 2010
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What are people saying about A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn’s first zine?
Read the reviews to find out.

” great blog and cool zine…love the composition paper look.” – @youngwerewolves

“awesome work on the zine. Love it! Is that you on the cover? if it is, yer hawt” – @Ozwonderdog

“you made me want to start a zine again.” – Alison Nastasi

“my fav werewolf many thanks for the pdf darling… looking awesome.” – @HazyBlueNights

Download Zine 1 for your own free copy of A Werewolf Blog In Brooklyn.


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Welcome to Brooklyn, now you’re dead.

June 17, 2010
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So what are you when you don’t know what you are? Lost?

Vargr, didn’t strike me as someone who was lost. A petty criminal and a shape shifter, he definitely was. But after his run in with me, back in 2009 when he robbed me of my belongings on the streets of Brooklyn, he became something else. All because I bit him. I don’t know if anyone’s every done studies on what a werewolf bite can do. When I bit Vargr, I was in human form, had very human teeth, that had all the powerful force of a werewolf’s bite and strength. I bit through his skin, till I hit bone. His collar bone. I bit so hard, I chipped my tooth.

Non’s just can’t do that. It might sound simple and easy, but muscle is tough, sinew is tougher. Breaking skin is easy, getting past the broken skin, sinking into someone’s bone, that’s actually harder than you’d believe. Of course, not to a werewolf like me. It’s kind of like forgetting your own strength and all that.

I let his words sink in, with the maniacal expression building on his face.

“I’m a, what those native indians call a shape shifter, I looked it up.”

Vargr was a shape shifter. Thanks to me? I frowned heavily. How did that even begin to work? I don’t really know how shape shifter become what they are. I don’t really know that much about their kind at all. But I am like ninety nine percent certain, you don’t become a shape shifter from a werewolf bite. If anything, he should have become a lycan.

My bite did something to him. Maybe, I infected a shape shifter with lycanthropy. Like he didn’t know he was a shape shifter or something and then I bit him and it activated it or messed things up in him? How is that even possible?

I glanced at Conall, ever ready to pounce on this guy, should he make a wrong move. What had I done to this petty criminal? Had I made a bad person, worse?

“How?”I asked him, because the question had to be asked. I had to know. I didn’t just walk through a cemetery for no reason, and not to confront Vargr. I hadn’t worried about this guy for a whole year, because I didn’t have reason to. I wanted an answer.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After you bit me. I become different.” He said cryptically.
Asshole.

“How different?”

He smiled with a cat’s got the canary kind of smile. Like he knew something I don’t know which should seem so obvious to me, if only I damn well knew what it was.

“You freed me.”

A chill ran over my body.

Freedom usually sounds like a good thing. Something to celebrate and enjoy. Only this was a criminal, an from what I could tell, he rather enjoyed being a criminal. Which didn’t make him the nicest person on the planet according to my judgment scale.

He moved away from me and started gathering up his stash pile of stolen items, shoving the small bits of jewellery and wallets into the larger handbags, he’d stolen from people.

Freedom to a werewolf was open spaces, and running and roaming without fear of anything being after them. It was the moonlight coursing through our veins when we were in tribal form on a lunar week. It was…

Moonlight. The moon. The lunar cycle. Lunar week. I kept jumping my thoughts along, trying to piece it together with what I knew, as Vargr seemed to pack up his stuff.

Shape shifters are bound by moonlight. At least, I’m pretty sure they are, I’ve only ever seen shape shifters change form on a lunar week. As far as I was aware, that’s the only time they can. Where as werewolves can change form at any time but have to shift on a full moon night.

“So, how does the whole, changing shape thing work anyway?” I asked curiously.

Vargr shoved his stash into a large duffel bag. “I don’t know lady and if I did know, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling no werewolf about it.”

“Why not?” Conall asked, beside me.

“When you’ve been on the streets as long as I have, and you do what I do for a living, you learn to have some street smarts about you. You’re the first two werewolves I’ve ever met, but I’ve heard about your type before. Plenty of times. I ain’t stupid.”

“Well, you’re something alright, wandering into werewolf territory, twice now, attacking me once, stealing my stuff.”

Vargr straightened up, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder quickly.

“The crypt’s all yours. I got other places I can crash.”

Both Conall and I stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance of the crypt. So there was no way out.

“You don’t want to do that.” He said at me, his voice getting deeper. Did he think he was testing me? Frightening me? Going to intimidate me, a werewolf, into backing down? Oh he really didn’t know werewolves that well. I won’t back down for anyone. Let alone a shape shifter.

“Oh yes, I do.” I replied, letting my growl come through in my voice. Vargr flinched, taking a step backwards. What an amateur. He really had no idea about messing with werewolves or playing the card he’d been dealt. He sighed heavily and started sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder. Then he threw the bag out at us, slamming into Conall and trying to shoulder past me. Conall swatted the bag aside and moved to grab him.

I’d half been expecting him to pull out his knife on me again. I was beginning to dislike Vargr, a lot. I barely fell off balance as I growled and grabbed him first, throwing him back into the marble centre piece in the crypt. Causing him to bounce off it, grabbing his ribs. I heard something pop inside him.

“Welcome to Brooklyn.” I muttered as both Conall and I strode towards him. “Now you’re dead. For the crime of pissing me off.”

“Okay, okay, you want to know?” He winced holding his arms up in a defensive position, like he thought he was going to get hit. He sounded winded. Conall and I stood over him. What a whimp. I felt my wolf start to get restless. Whimps are weaklings and weaklings are prey, to a werewolf. Vargr seemed like slim pickings made easy.

“I can become animals, at any time. That’s it, I swear, after you bit me, I could just do it. It’s handy, It helps me get into houses easier, people have those pet flap door things, I just change into a dog or a cat and wander in, whenever I need the cash, I grab their stuff and leave.”

Vargr sounded like a stupid criminal if you ask me. Especially since it clearly didn’t occur to him to shape shift to fight either Conall or I.

“Versipellis.” Conall muttered lightly. Vargr looked over at him.

“What?”

Versipellis, the word rang around in my head. I’m sure one of the pack elders had told me the story of Versipellis before. Basically it translated to a shape shifter not bound by the usual limitations. They weren’t controlled by the lunar cycle and they didn’t neccessarily respond to the moon. The story I’d been told, made Versipellis sound like a trickester bogey man. Scary and troublesome. Of course, being told as a child, probably meant, a lot of things sound scary.

So I’d created a bogey man? Shape shifting had to have advantages. But I doubt Vargr knew that and I wasn’t about to let on. He clearly didn’t get the gift he’d been given or know how he’d gotten the way he was. He’d choosen to be criminal and now, he’d choosen to come back into my home. Brooklyn.

Conall clamped down again and continued to glare down at him. Vargr looked over to me desperately. He was literally backed into a corner. How utterly pathetic, my wolf was getting far too excited about how easy it would be to hurt him. I could feel the urge for blood lust coming on. It would be so easy for both Conall and I to take this douche bag out of existance. For god sakes, we were in a cemetary. Who’d look there for a freshly dead kill?

But I knew it was wrong. So I fought the wolf’s urges down.

“I should thank you for what you did for me.” Vargr stammered out quickly, still gasping slightly from his rib injury.

I shook my head and fought the urge to slap him senseless. I hated myself even more for having ever bit this scumbag. But maybe it wasn’t my doing, the Versipellis thing. Maybe that was a myth. A story told to children to keep their curosities and manners in line. Maybe Vargr had always been a shape shifter and never known how to activate that part of himself. Maybe it was all just a horrible coincedence.

Turning my back on him, indicating to Conall I was ready to get out of there. We moved towards the entrance.

“Get out!” I spat at him over my shoulder. “Tonight! Don’t ever show your face in Brooklyn again. If I hear about you robbing anyone in Brooklyn, I will see to it that you’re shredded out of your skin till you’re bled dry, and cut into pet food pieces.”

We walked out of the crypt.
Me leaving Vargr behind me, for good.


Vargr

June 16, 2010
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When important things happen in your life, you catalogue them internally. There are instant reactions and sensations that your body does that make them, that much more memorable to you.

When I spied Vargr, the world pretty much stopped on it’s axis. I mean, I didn’t hear a sound for a good twenty seconds. I was so focused on him.

I could barely remember what he looked like, because the mugging had happened so swiftly with movement and motion. I’d never got a clear look at his face, or a lock on his scent because of the adrenaline surging through me. Because I’d been reacting.

It was the sight of him and the realization, that I was finally catching up to my mistake. That’s what had me frozen beyond all other comprehension.

“This crypt’s taken find your own.” He muttered at us, as we entered the mausoleum he’d decided to camp out in. Then slowly, as if he realized something, he turned his head and sniffed. Jumping up to his feet. Looking at me and Conall with renewed interest. He knew we weren’t homeless bums looking for a place to crash. “Don’t I know you?”

“You ought to. About a year ago, you mugged me, stole my handbag, my ipod, my wallet.”

His eyes brightened. “Lady, you could be anyone, muggings happen all the time. New York’s not a safe place these days.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Conall asked him stepping towards him. The damp air in the crypt suddenly felt tense. And still, I couldn’t get a fix on Vargr. Mould, dampness and dank, rife air that felt like it’d been compressed for some time, was showering my sense of smell. We’d already been in the cemetery too long, not to get overwhelmed by the mixture of it’s essence, which was essentially rot and decay, a smell animals know strongly.

“Who are you, man?” Vargr said tilting his head and putting his hands on is hips as he moved towards Conall. Not the least bit intimidated by Conall or me. He was rather smug about stepping up to Conall.

Conall stood still. Also not the least bit intimidated or worried about Vargr.
Vargr glanced back across at me.

“Oh you her man? Is that it? You come to make sure she’s going to get her stuff back from me?” Vargr said laughing as he backed away again slowly, his arms out wide. “Well you’re a little late, I don’t have it lady, I don’t have anything to give you!” He said slapping his arms down by his side.

I needed to get closer to vargr, to get a fix on his scent. I was struggling to figure out what we were dealing with other than a shady street criminal in a crypt.

“So what are you going to do about it?” His eyes twinkled. I know that look, it’s rather gleeful and simmering. It’s the ready to rumble look. Vargr was ready for a fight. I got the impression he wanted one. Maybe to test himself out, against us. To test his new abilities. Whatever they were.

“I’m pretty sure you remember me. I bit you on the collar bone when you mugged me.” I moved past Conall and kept walking towards him. His grin got bigger.

“Lady you got some balls on you, I’ll give you that.”

I inhaled him. I got past the dankness of the room, the stench of his body odor, the grease of his hair, and the stale smoke and beer smell his clothes seemed to be coated in. I got a faint tint of animal. But Conall was right. Not fur. Not exactly. Feathers? Fluff? Something else. He wasn’t a lycan.

Vargr wasn’t a lycan. Definitely not a lycan. Maybe this wasn’t vargr. Maybe we’d got the wrong guy. I mean, what was the likelihood we’d ever run into the mugger again?

“Oh, now, I remember you.” Vargr stated, locking eyes with me. “That bite, stung like a bitch with the clap.”

Some sort of animal, but why couldn’t I figure it out. It wasn’t coming to me clearly. Something about him. Vargr, I wasn’t making out.

“About that bite, did anything happen afterwards? Did you get sick? Have body spasms, anything like that?”

“Why, you try to infect me with AIDS or something?”

I hadn’t created a lycan. A small part of me was relieved. This guy would’ve make a psycho lycan. Which would be, so beyond bad. I heard Conall shuffle forwards and saw vargr’s eyes dart towards him.

“Not Aids. Lycanthropy. It’s not lethal.” I lied. It was only lethal if you didn’t survive it’s initial infection into the bloodstream. Vargr had survived it, clearly. “But you’d have had symptoms.”

“Lycanthropy.” He muttered softly back at me. Before chuckling. “Well now, that explains a few things.”

Shit.

He was a lycan? What things did he mean? How could he be a lycan? Why was my sense of what he was, so screwed up? I wanted to glance at Conall. But if he’d have figured it out, he’d have muttered something to me. We were both at a loss as to what Vargar was.

“What do you mean?” I asked suddenly nervous.

“So you’re what a lycan looks like, huh?” He said slowly circling around me, visually examining me.
Okay, so vargr didn’t know about werewolves.

“Werewolf.” Conall muttered angrily at him. I would’ve let the insult slide, with his ignorance, not armed him with information.

“And you too, am I right?” Vargr said looking over at Conall, who gave no response, other than a stoic face.
“So I mugged the wrong woman huh? I got myself bit by a damn werewolf in New York. Well now, that is a first.”

“You seem to be taking it pretty well, considering you stole from one of us, your in a confined room with two werewolves, and we’re blocking your only exit out of here.” I replied as vargr stood opposite me again. He was about my height, hard to make his build under his layers of baggy clothing. But two werewolves against one man, the odds were in our favor, should we fight. Not that I wanted this reunion to come down to that.

“Why wouldn’t I be lady? No harm, no foul. I mugged you and I got bit. It’s my own fault, hazard of the job. I don’t have your stuff with me. But you can help yourself to whatever I do have that might be of value to you.” Vargr said indicating his latest stash pile of no doubt, assorted stolen items.

I frowned, not liking the sound of his words. A gnawing feeling of tension built in my gut. It wasn’t about the stolen goods, he was trying to fence me. It was about what he wasn’t saying, about why he was so at ease with being infected with lycanthropy, with being confined in a room with two werewolves and no way out.

Why he didn’t fear us, especially when Conall was there, doing his dark scowling thing.

Maybe it was because Vargr didn’t know about the other side of Brooklyn. The world, he and I belonged in, more than the regular, human world. The world that came alive at night and was inexplicably linked by the moon and it’s lunar cycle.

Was that why he didn’t fear a werewolf? The thought kept playing over in my head as I stared hard at his features, trying to figure it out. He knew I was trying to decipher what he was.

“I got handbags, I got wallets, you like leather?” He asked slipping back into con mode. Conall glanced at me, silent but clearly expecting me to indicate what we should do next. What the plan was.

Animals tend to live in a hierarchy system. There’s usually something bigger, and badder than they are and that’s what they fear. It’s the difference between Predator and Prey. Like when I get close to a domesticated dog or cat, they sense my werewolf and freak out, getting their claws out and going crazy. Like that children’s poem about the fly. The fly gets eaten by the spider.

“Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly.”

Vargr stopped rummaging through his stash and looked over at me. He looked at me as If he knew I’d just figured out the puzzle that was him.

There’s only one thing I’ve ever come across that like a werewolf, lacks fear of a predator coming after them, because they can become a predator, themselves. Only, Without only being bound to the one shape.

“You’re a shape shifter.” I blurted out.

Conall looked over at me, frowning. “Are you sure?”
I ignored Conall.

Shape shifters aren’t obvious to pick up because of their multitude of shapes they can become, so their scents mingle and mix a lot. It’s been my experience, that shape shifters don’t tend to be seen in public, a great deal. They don’t act like lycans or behave like werewolves. Us werewolves, really don’t know that much about them, as a result of our limited interaction with them.

But I’ve come across three in my lifetime. Vargr, would make four.

Vargr straightened up and looked back at me. “Yeah, I believe that’s the name for my uh, condition.” He replied back at both of us grinning broadly. “Mighty useful.”


The Dead World

June 15, 2010
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I have this thing about cemeteries. I don’t like them. They creep me out. I mean, I’m not afraid of walking into one. I’m just…well, hesitant about it.

See being a werewolf has certain abilities, that carry over for me, when I’m in human form. Like ultra good hearing, strength and sense of smell, in particular. The thing about cemeteries is, it’s the smell. To humans, it’s not detectable, but to animals and me, it’s the one place, for me, that smells worse than a junkyard full of rubbish.

I’m not the only one who has this…well, I guess you’d call it sensitivity, to cemeteries. It’s actually quite common amongst beta werewolves for us to avoid, ever having to step into one. The abundance of scents, that come from within are just too much for me to handle, for all that long. So I guess, it’s why I never considered looking for vargr in one. Last place I’d want to go look-see.

Bones have a smell you know.

I deal with scents everyday, in the busy, busy, hustle and bustle world of New York. But not like this. I don’t know how to explain it, but cemeteries, are just, different.

I met Conall at the entrance to Greenwood Cemetery, he was waiting on the outside of the grounds. I wasn’t surprised to see that, considering the place was most likely smelling to him like fumes of the dead and rotting, or it was probably making his skin feel like it was being polluted in a toxic way.

Still, he was supposed to be tracking vargr. Not letting him out of his sight. I had to speak to vargr, had to confront him.

Being a lycan isn’t nearly half as fun as being a werewolf. Yes, there are distinct differences. Lycan’s aren’t allowed to live in werewolf territory. It’s pretty much every werewolf’s duty to make lycans aware of this and then to make the leading pack Alpha’s hierarchy aware of this, so they can be dealt with.

At the very least, I had to make sure Vargr was really okay, from what I’d done to him a year ago. You know, turned him into a lycan in the first place.

“Hey,” Conall greeted me with, flicking a bit of hair out of his eyes.

“Thanks for doing this.” I said walking up to the Greenwood Cemetery entrance and looking out in front of me. Even my feet seemed hesitant about me moving in there. Like my body was on alert, and knew it wouldn’t be pleasant if I stepped over the threshold of normalcy into the dead world, glazed over by perfectly manicured lawns.

“Where’s superman? Thought he’d be by your side.” Conall said looking away from me quickly. I’d have growled at him in annoyance at mocking my boyfriend Paris like that, but it wasn’t the time or the place to get into why he had to constantly be a prick to me about Paris.

“Let’s just do this, okay? No personal life melodrama. Just pack business, that’s why we’re here.” I replied

We walked in and kept walking. To the humans of Brooklyn and beyond it’s grounds, Greenwood Cemetary is rather beautiful.

To me, it’s a place that’s makes my skin crawl. I hate it.

Sure the concrete statues and marble mausoleums look innate and harmless enough. But what they don’t get is the smell. The cemetery smell of the earth mixed, leaves, rotted flesh, ash, dirt, fennel bitterness, tin and mould are amongst the first few scents that hit me when I take a deep breath and inhale. It’s how werewolves scent in the open. We get all the smells and we differentiate between them for what we are looking for. Then we can kind of lock onto it and track it.

You know, I can even tell when a cemetery ground has been consecrated. That’s got a distinct smell to it.

Of course, Conall was leading me to Vargr’s location anyway, but if Vargr, now a new lycan was able to sense us, he might consider two approaching werewolves a threat. In which case, if he was smart, he’d probably run. Conall and I would then have to give chase, on foot. So we needed to both be able to scent him if a pursuit was to follow.

More smells hit me. Mostly the repugnant smell of decaying bones. All around. Of course, I couldn’t see them, but the smell to me was being flooded throughout my entire body. I remained steadfast and kept walking, normally and with purpose, Conall by my side. He was doing just as good a job of ignoring the heeby-jebbies the cemetery was giving off.

“How did you come across Vargr?” I asked him, as we set off deeper into the cemetery grounds.

Conall shrugged his shoulders loosely. “The dude just walked past me on the street and I just caught the faintest whiff of your scent. Thought I had it wrong, so followed him and sure enough, I got your scent mingled with something else …I dunno, couldn’t put my finger on it exactly. Kind fluffy. I knew it had to be Vargr because your scent was entwined in it.”

“Fluffy?” I glanced at Conall. “What I bit him so now he’s a giant teddy bear?”

Conall gave me a look that silently told me to stop being so stupid.

“No, it’s something else. Kind of makes me think prey, but maybe not. I didn’t smell fur.”

I raised my eyebrows at this news. All werewolves and lycans, have a tainted fur smell to their physical being, even in human form. It’s just how it is. How could vargr not have a scent of fur to him?

“Maybe you didn’t get close enough, or he just was to fast moving for you to get a lock on all of him.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Conall muttered. His tone of voice letting me know he didn’t believe that was the case at all.


Claws and effect

June 14, 2010
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Karma is a concept of cause and effect. But perhaps in my case, that should be claws and effect. In layman’s turns, most people will say to you, when speaking of karma “What goes around, comes around.” In otherwords, you’ll get what’s coming to you in the end. It usually implies all manner of bad behaviour and doom and gloom. And it never specifies the timeline for your karmic retribuition to be layed down upon you.

In other words, karma, my friends, is a bitch.

If you don’t live your life well and good and treat your fellow beings with the same respect you show unto yourself, or would like show unto you, then you’re screwed sunshine.

I got a phone call from all people, my ex boyfriend – Conall. Yes, I know I should have deleted his sorry name from the existence of my cell phone. But I haven’t. I guess I forgot. I should have put a block on it also. But I guess I forgot to do that too.

Although now, after the phone call I received, I think I’m rather glad I didn’t block his number.

Don’t get me wrong, pack, is pack and always will be, with us Breukelen werewolves. But Conall and I will never be together again. However, despite our differences, you could say, we still look out for one another, because we’re of the same kind. Werewolves, Breukelen werewolves.

The point to pack, is this. Protecting one another. I guess that’s why he called me.

It was a shock to my system to get his call. After all the stuff that’s gone down lately, and just when Paris and I seem to be closing the gap on our own little spat together. We couldn’t be more solid, especially since Paris told me he wants to help me find out who the lycan hunter was. He’s promised to help me, look into that lycan.

Then I get this voicemail from Conall.

“I know you’re going to be tempted to erase this message when you hear my voice. But you need to call me. This isn’t about me, It’s related to Vargr.”

You know how people will describe having something like chills run through their body at the sound of bad news or having a sinking feeling about some approaching badness? Yeah well, Vargr is my bad thing. My doing.

When Conall said that word, the hair at the back of my neck stood to attention and pulled, like a screaming child, fighting the hand that holds it still.

I swear I felt my wolf, kick me with her claws, internally. Bile rose in my throat. Not a normal reaction to a phone call, Conall or bad news for me.

But that’s because Vargr is my doing. I still carry the shame of biting a non around with me. I couldn’t come up with a solution to the problem of me possibly infecting this human with lycanthropy that didn’t involve time travel.

What was done, was done. Even if it was in self defense. Still, that’s hardly an excuse for a werewolf. We have to be in more control than some sort of reaction state.

I bit vargr in human form. So I hoped like hell, that the lycanthropy wouldn’t carry through to his bloodstream. Although, I probably broke his skin, with my supposedly “human” teeth. I bit down so hard, I hit bone and chipped my tooth.

I’ve never known any werewolf to pass on lycanthropy to a non in human form. As far as I am aware, you have to be in your tribal werewolf form to do that.

But who knows? Not me.
So I called Conall.

“I uh, got your message. How do you know it’s vargr?” I asked him nervously.

I was alone when I was mugged. So how could Conall know who vargr was?

“His scent, it had something familiar in it. Like the lightest trace of you.” Conall replied back at me. “I’d know you’re scent anywhere. You know that.”

Of course I knew that.

Werewolves can lock scents into their systems, human or animal, for their whole life and recall, the memory associated with it.

Then again, Conall and I did go out for a long time also. So I guess you could say he knew me well.

“Shit.” I decided panicking was in order.

My mind raced. So vargr, the mugger, I had initially bitten in self defense had survived the lycanthropy. But I’d created a lycan. Seriously bad news.

“I’m following him now.”

“Where are you now?”

“Headed into Greenwood Cemetary.”

No wonder I hadn’t been able to find vargr when I’d tried tracing his where about after the mugging. I’d never thought to look in a cemetery.

Why would I?

“I’ll hop on the subway, and meet you there. Just keep your distance following him. We don’t want to spook him.”

“Sure, but what are you going to do once you’re here? With him?”

“I don’t know.”

And the thing was, I didn’t. I’m not the strategist in my family, that’s my sister Bodil. She’s got the smarts for that.

“Alright, keep you posted. Get here soon.”

“On my way.” I disconnected the call looking at the phone stupefied. My mind awhirl of mixed emotions.

What’ve I done?


The Archetype

June 12, 2010
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I read somewhere by either a werewolf psychologist or an author, I can’t remember which, that werewolves represent non’s (humans if you will) anger, and fear of insanity.

Then I read a dream interpreter of a werewolf – presumably to non’s again, that werewolves represent repressed anger and uncontrollable violence and a fear for lack of control in your personal life.

It’s annoying that non’s seem to have taken on the idea of notion of werewolves as a stereotype, or worse, an archetype of being. That is to say, that non’s and non’s alike, seem to think very one dimensionally about what a werewolf is and could be.

Again, the idea of the rage and lack of control ride high next to the concept that we’re monsters. The reality is, these descriptions are based more on lycans with their anger management issues, not werewolves (yes there is a difference, read through my blog and see) and the monster werewolf, is really stuff of legend.

Maybe once, upon a long time ago, werewolves knew no better, didn’t understand what was happening to them. There might have been a time far back in the past that this applied to. But that time has passed. Werewolves have evolved and changed. And yet the perceptions remain the same.

I can tell you right now, being a werewolf (literally) that it’s not my anger, rage, fear of insanity (as if I am insane!) that rules me or even makes me, me.

Being a werewolf is about something, that makes much more sense, and rules your life and being. That many non’s seem to take for granted or assume they know and know well. At least, for themselves.

Being a werewolf is about identity.

How can it not be? Think about the how we all grow and go for life. About how who we are, changes, in particular at certain stages in our life – childhood, puberty, adulthood. Now think about that and add on this other part to your being, to your life, that you can only fully understand physically. Because the rest of it, is based on instinct and animal curiosities and way of thinking, that regular non’s don’t have to use. Don’t have to deal with, and never, open their minds to.

Is it like being two different people? Or like having an evil twin? Is it like the best of both worlds, or a confusion of the two?

It’s many things to many wolves, and to narrow us down to some crude concept of mass appeal to reach out to a global audience, is not oral history being repeated for the sake of anything good. It’s ignorance, plain and simple.

You don’t know us, you don’t get us, so you do what non’s do. You fear us and you believe in your irrationality of what we are because you maybe once saw it in a movie.

Well I’d like to say to that psychologist and the dream interpretation, you don’t know me, so you can’t define me. And you haven’t lived my life, being as I am, a werewolf, so you’ll never have a clue about what it means to be a werewolf.
You’ll only ever think you know.

But I know, and I know me.


Zine #1

June 8, 2010
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So you want to know a little something about this werewolf from Brooklyn, New York – me?
Download Zine 1 for your own free copy of A Werewolf Blog In Brooklyn.


3 Ewoks and Death Star t-shirt

June 4, 2010
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You know, I love it when fans of my blog just send me stuff that I can use it for a blog post.

Werewolves are becoming very popular in today’s culture, after all, we have them in the latest movies – wolfman, twilight and on tv – True Blood, soon to be Teen Wolf, and even on powerfully, accessible, everyday clothing – 3 wolves and moon t shirt.

The 3 moon and wolf t shirt in fact is such a magnet for power and the prowess it gives the wear of it’s haute couture, that it has sparked off several cheap imitations. But this should be applauded, after all, isn’t copycat-ism the sincerest form of flattery – by jealousy??

Like the 3 cat and piano t shirt – totally cheap and not even remotely stylish.

Then there was the “my what busey teeth you have” version with Gary Busey in it. Which I do have to pay some homage to, since Mr Busey, was actually in a decent werewolf movie – Silver Bullet.

But by far the best knock off of the 3 wolf and moon t shirt of awesome has to be this one.
The star wars version with “Ewoks.”

3 Ewok and Death Star t-shirt

Yes, it reminds me of when teddy bears attack and then pose. Who knows the ewoks might be long lost, twice removed, never spoken about at the family reunion cousins to the werewolf.

Then again…I think not.

Although I have to say, Chewbecca from Star Wars is somewhat of an icon for us. I know plenty of werewolves who have a Chewy t-shirt, poster or toy of some kind, of the giant wookie furball. Chewy is my homeboy.


Let me tell you

June 2, 2010
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Q) I just wanted to know, but if a werewolf dated a non, and are really close, are they allowed to tell their partner they’re a werewolf?

A) Hmmm. That is a tricky question.  Werewolves have been known to date nons (non werewolves ie humans etc) before. Including this werewolf herself.  Of course, that has never worked out for me (but more on that some other time).

Let me tell you, from my own personal experience I have never told any human I’ve dated, that I’m a werewolf. Ever.  In fact the only person I’ve told outside of pack who is a ‘non’ is my friend Aimee.  Who I’ve known for the last five years.

And even that was like a no-go zone.   In the Breukelen Pack, it’s a standing ground rule that you NOT tell nons what you are.  However, this rule has been broken more than once, by at least both myself and my sister that I can think of.

Even though the outcome both times, was eventually, good and recieved as to be expected. We both got reprimanded for our actions.  We broke a basic pack rule.  As decreed by the leading pack Alpha.  The Alpha (wether he’s your father or not) must enforce the law/rules he decrees.So punishment can be varied but must be dolled out.  At least, this is true of my pack.  We’ve both been reprimanded for it.

Ideally, we’d like to be able to tell them.

But it depends on how your Alpha rules on this decision.  If you were in a serious, long term, or close relationship, you might be able to present your case to the Alpha to be allowed to tell your partner that you’re a werewolf.

But first you’e got to have the guts to approach the Alpha on this dicey topic.

Then, you’ve got to have the guts to inform your partner, that you’re a werewolf.

Only the truly brave, enter into this heartfelt territory.


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