Intestinal fortitude

Last week my intestines fell out.

And if that's not a conversation stopper, I don't know what the heck is.

I did not even know this was a possibility.  I had never even HEARD of this. That's the reason I'm writing about this, so other women will know A.) it can happen, OMFG!!!!! and B.) What to do when you find yourself looking at your own intestines. Here's a hint: running around the house screaming "What the F*CK should I DO!!?!" is not it.

I'm actually hoping for black humor as the tone of this piece. I don't know if I can pull it off, but that's what I'm trying for. Because really, I've tried balling up in a corner and sucking my thumb, and that didn't seem to do much.

So I was minding my own business in the bathroom, and I was sort of cleaning up, and Jesus, that doesn't feel right, and I looked between my legs, and there it was: a loop of my intestines, bright red, between my thighs.

It was a really surreal moment. "What the F*CK is THAT?!"

I since have been told that it could have been a uterine prolapse: that's when your uterus kind of turns inside out and tumbles out--or it could have been an intestinal prolapse, which is the same thing. Inside out and out your backside. Either way, may I say: EEEEEWWWWW!!

This turned out to be neither of those things. I had a full hysterectomy in August to clear up  this little ovarian cancer problem, so there was no uterus to fall out. Instead, my va-jay-jay, which had been sewn shut as there was nothing up there, tore. And my intestines said, "Hey, look, there's somewhere we've never been! Let's EXPLORE."

Holy God.

So here I am, erotic romance writer with her guts hanging out her naughty-bits. And for y'all who are thinking it's God's Judgement on me for being a Ho, let me say PBBBBTTTTT!!!

It was like being trapped in a horror movie. I went looking for somebody to help me. Half-nekkid, mind you. I didn't want to pull my pants on, because I figured cotton and red bits would be a bad combo. I knew my son had just left for school, and does not carry a cell. No way to contact him.  I went halfway up the stairs looking for my housemate James before I realized he must be at work. Lucky for him. I'm sure the sight of a 54-year-old half-naked woman with her intestines hanging out would have rendered the poor bastard impotent for the rest of his life.

I knew this, and I did not care. I was all, like, [Insert SAW-victim screech here.]

Now, I know there are those of you yelling "CALL 911, IDJIT!" Yeah, see how calm YOU are with your guts going walkabout.

Me, I was all like, "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!!" I wanted them back where they were supposed to be, and I figured there was something I should do. Problem is, no, there really wasn't.

Anyway, here's my guide to surviving your own personal splatter flick:

1.) Find phone

2.) Do not climb stairs or run around the house in a crouching position because it feels like someone is gutting you with a crochet hook.Running around is bad. Anything that contracts core muscles--and so encourages intestines to leave--is bad. I know this, because it's what I did for several moments of raw terror.

3.) Lie down.

4.) Call 911

5.) Stay there. Do not move. This is something you cannot fix.

My sister does CTs--that's CAT scans, to us mortals. She is always the voice of sanity whenever I'm losing what passes for my mind. I called her. No answer. Called my husband, the cop, who said he'd meet me at the ER. (I had finally called 911.)

I then called my gastric bypass surgeon's office. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi. I'm a patient of Dr. Ross's, and my intestines have fallen out. I would like him to put them back."

Loooooong pause.

"UH, he's out of town."

"Of COURSE he is. Because where else would he be when MY INTESTINES FELL OUT."

I love Dr. Ross. He is my doctor deity. He actually was in town, and I think he did consult on putting me back together.

Anyway, the Spirit of AUUGH! still had control of my brain, and I called my mother and said, "Mom, I need you. Intestines, dangling, ACK! Please come over!"

Now, there is no doubt I am going to hell for that phone call alone. There are several reasons for this. First, my mom hasn't driven a car since 1993; she developed a phobia, and can't drive. She's also morbidly obese, can barely walk, and uses a walker. Even though she lives about a block away, there was no way in hell she could get to me. And of course she's 76.

Fortunately, she was able to get my brother in law, who quickly arrived with my sister, Angela, AKA Saint Sanity. (I named my pen name after her. All my heroines are actually Angela. No matter what weird shit she has to contend with, she always handles it with level calm and an iron refusal to put up with any BS.)

With Angie there, I calmed down considerably. The paramedics arrived soon afterward, and loaded me up on a stretcher for my trip to the hospital.

By now, I had quit panicking and decided to Deal With It, even if "It" meant, you know, like, dying. Or something. Because really, I am 54 years old, not 14. So I had a verrrrrrrrry calm conversation about my current book, and writing romances, and OH SHIT, WHY IS MORE OF IT COMING OUT?! IS IT ALL COMING OUT? GET BACK IN THERE!!"

See, here's the thing, I was in pain, and my abs kept tightening, and every time they did, it encouraged my runaway bowels to go further and further. It felt unpleasantly like giving birth to a Burmese python.

I really want to thank that paramedic, even though I can't remember her name.

Got to the ER, where the attending trauma doc, whose name I again can't remember, gathered up my errant intestines and gently but firmly stuffed them back where they were supposed to be. I lay on my side with my jaws clenched shut and worked really, really hard on not deafening every human in the room by screaming my lungs out.

One of those humans was my dear husband, Mike. Mike has been a cop for 26 years, and has worked murders and car crashes and all kinds of god awful shit, but he had a ring-side seat to watching the doc work on me like somebody re-stuffing a Raggedy Anne, and this was something that freaked even him out. I gather he's currently every bit as shell-shocked as I am. He said it looked like a bright-red balloon animal the size of a grapefruit.

 I am told I was actually very calm by then. Calm, or just in psychic lockdown.

Anyway, my oncologist whisked me back upstairs and stitched me up, and my snaky bits are up where they belong, and please God, will stay there.

Somebody, trying to look on the bright side, pointed out that I now had a new experience I could write about in my books. I replied, "This kind of crap doesn't happen in my books."

So anyway, here's the cover of the newest book, which I just finished. Now I'm working on the next volume in the trilogy.

I also keep having these really disturbing flashbacks. This post is intended to help me recover from the experience. Thanks for taking a look at it.

And I hope to hell you never have the same experience. But if you do, at least you'll have heard of it, and you'll know what to do. Lying down and calling 911 is a very good idea.

I'm teaching a Savvy Authors class on Police Techniques

I teach a lot of online classes. I don't make a hell of a lot of money doing it -- it sometimes pays my book bill for the month -- but I absolutely love helping other writers either learn their craft or learn something they didn't know about the topic they're writing on. Since Romantic Suspense is currently very big, I decided to teach an online lesson on police techniques.

If you’d like to attend the class, you’ll find more information and a registration link here. The basic cost for the month-long class is $35.

It's a topic that especially interested me since I'm currently writing a romantic suspense about a cop couple with the working title of SOUTHERN SHIELDS. Now, I'll admit I have an advantage when it comes to researching the topic, since I'm sleeping with a cop.

I have been Lt. Mike Woodcock’s wife for 30 years, and he’s been in law enforcement for 26 of them. He began his career as a uniformed patrol officer during the most violent years of the drug war, and indeed was a member of the Spartanburg Police Department's Complex Team, which patrolled the city's dangerous housing projects.

He worked his way up to sergeant over a team of detectives who dealt with murders, domestic violence, and burglaries. He went on to become a polygraph examiner who has interrogated everyone from accused pedophiles to murderers to rogue cops.

He then created Spartanburg County’s first hostage negotiation team, which handled barricaded subjects threatening to harm themselves and others. As a hostage negotiator, he dealt with subjects who were often violent, including a schizophrenic who opened fire on him and other cops.

I've also had first hand-experience with police that had nothing to do with Mike. Though I’ve been a published author for the last ten years, for ten years prior to that, I was a reporter who covered everything from murders to fires to court cases.

I’ve followed particular cases through the entire criminal justice system, from the actual commission of a murder, its investigation, and through out the court trial of the subjects all the way to sentencing. I’ve also seen people get off when I was fairly sure they were guilty.

Though I worked in Cherokee County for the most part, several times I had to watch my husband handle crimes in Spartanburg County, including two different bomb calls. I once watched him hunt 14 pipe bombs at one scene with a team of officers, and listened in horror when a bomb went off. Luckily, no one was hurt.

The two of us have given talks about hostage negotiation at the Romance Writers of America National Convention, as well as other writer’s conferences around the country. I’m happy to say these talks have been well-received.

I’ve been thinking about doing a more general talk on police techniques for several years now. Mike and I finally got the chance to present a RWA National Convention workshop called “Hearts and Handcuffs: Creating Believable Police Heroes.” It was very well received, so I decided to present a more detailed online version of the class at SavvyAuthors.com. 

During this class, I’ll be interviewing Mike and a number of his police friends, and presenting lessons based on their comments. Here’s a rough outline of the lessons I intend to present.

1.)Introduction 

2.)  Finding, Screening and training cops. How do you figure out who would make a good cop? How do you make sure they're ready to go out on the street without getting themselves, their fellow officers, civilians or suspects killed? What do you teach them during field training and  what do they learn at the Criminal Justice Academy?)

3.)  Female officers—Why do women become cops? What are some of the advantages that women bring to the job? How do they deal with people that are generally larger and stronger than they are? How do they handle hand to hand? Since women are often the chief caregivers in the family, what are the techniques they use to juggle those demands and policing? I'll also talk briefly about my experience as a cop's wife and reporter, and how I handled my fear when he was in danger.

4.) Police tactics — How television gets it wrong; characteristics of a good police firearm and the techniques of using one; using lethal force — Why do cops aim center mass rather than trying to hit the legs, etc? What’s the professional, emotional, social and legal toll on officers who have to use lethal force? Non lethal tactics and their drawbacks; Police driving tactics for auto stops and high speed chases. What are the warning signs that a driver in a traffic stop intends to attack you?

5.) Hand to hand—What warning signs do officers look for that a suspect is going to attack them?How do you handcuff a suspect who is resisting? Why do cops pile on suspects? What’s it like fighting hand to hand with someone? What special pitfalls does a male officer encounter with female suspects?

6.) Investigating crimes — What techniques do detectives use to investigate murders? Sexual assaults? Child sex crimes? Criminal domestic violence?What's the impact on the victims, and how do you question victims of violent crimes, particularly children?

7.) Interrogation — How does television get it wrong? What are the techniques you use in interrogating suspects? How do you approach family members differently than other suspects? What are some of the signs a suspect is lying? What are techniques you use to obtain a confession?

8.) Evidence handling—How do you collect evidence of a crime, particularly blood evidence, DNA, hair, fiber, and fingerprint? What sort of evidence can the tech process in the department's own lab, and what type must be sent out? How do techs handle photographing autopsies? How do the tech handle the chain of custody? How does he or she handle court testimony?

9.) Uniformed patrol—What are the particular challenges faced by uniformed cops? What kind of dangers do uniforms face that other cops don’t? How do senior officers help rookies adjust to the job? How do they deal with adrenaline? What’s their shift schedule?

10.) Arson investigation — What are the signs that a fire is an arson? What are the particular challenges of handling an arson case?

11.) Narcotics—What’s the current drug that is causing the most problem on the street? What role do gangs play in towns like Spartanburg, SC, which is a blend of rural and suburban territories? How do you handle drug stings? Who becomes a confidential reliable informant? Why do you use them? What do they do? How do you ensure their safety? How do you make sure they’re not ripping off the department? Do cops in your department go undercover? If so, how do they deal with the problem of posing as drug users without actually using drugs?

12.) Forensic chemistry — Testing the different type of drugs. How do you tell marijuana from oregano or some harmless substance? High-tech mass spectrometers used in drug testing, and how they work. How meth is manufactured, and how do you dispose of a meth lab safely.

13.) Bomb techs — Why would a relatively small southern city like Spartanburg SC need bomb techs? What do bomb techs do? How do bomb techs deal with explosives while keeping safe? How do you disarm an explosive? The different types of explosives bomb techs must dispose of. Wearing a bomb suit. Using robots to deal with explosives. What reasons would people in Spartanburg, SC use bombs, and how common is it?

I’ll also take questions from the class and get them answered either by Mike or one of the other officers. It should be a really great opportunity for anyone who is writing romantic suspense.

There will be a special forum for the class where I will post lessons three times a week on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule.There will be twelve lessons, plus any additional ones I decide to include. You can also ask questions at any time, and I’ll get them answered for you.

Savvy Authors' workshops are held on a forum: a bulletin board based system. Instead of an invitation to join a loop you will receive a reminder notice one or two days prior to the start of the workshop that includes instructions on how to access the workshop forum and register to receive your user id and password. If you have not received instructions by the day the workshop begins, please check your spam filter.

The forum will be available the morning (EST) of the day the workshop starts and will remain accessible to all participants thereafter, until 1 month after the workshop ends. With instructor approval you will be provided with a PDF of all the class lectures and assignments after the class is completed.  You will also be given simple instructions on how to create a  PDF of all your discussions along with our privacy and data retention policy.

I hope you’ll be able to join us. Thanks!

Angela Knight

Here's another excerpt from LOVE BITES. This one is from the story "The Bloodslave," in which Verica, a 25-year-old virgin, gets captured by three horny vampire mercenaries.

"Shit," Verica growled, cursing her weapon in the Terran of her childhood as her stomach sank like a stone. It was over. She was finished.

"Rifle gone dead?" a human voice asked in the same language. "Tough luck."

With a gasp, Verica jerked around to face the man who'd taken her so thoroughly by surprise. He must have come up the other side of the cliff, she thought wildly, looking up at the first human she'd seen in seven years.

Big. Much bigger than her father. And handsome, like the actors on Jonas' collection of simmies – dark, amused eyes set in a sculpted, angular face with a full, sensuous mouth and short-cropped black hair. Too bad he wore the enemy's colors on his black unisuit. And it was a safe bet the rifle he held so casually was fully charged.

"Don't you think it's time you surrendered?" he asked, his tone polite and interested.

Verica threw herself forward into a roll that carried her away from the edge of the cliff and gave her room to bounce to her feet. As soon as she got her legs under her, she swung the dead rifle like a club, right at her enemy's dark head. "The T'tcha Ker do not surrender!"

The weapon slapped into a casually lifted palm. His jerk ripped it from her hands so hard her arm muscles screeched in protest. Moving deliberately as she gaped at his strength, the human swung his own rifle by its strap across his back, out of the way. "You're not T'tcha Ker, girl. Or hadn't you noticed?" He tossed her beamer over the cliff edge.

She leaped forward into a hand-to-hand attack, throwing punches and kicks with every ounce of her strength. He blocked each blow with insulting ease, his big hands blurring to knock her fists and feet away.

"You know, she's pretty good," another male voice said.

"If he were mortal, he'd probably have his hands full," another agreed.

Jesus, there were more of them. Verica darted a look in toward the source of the voices. Two men watched her hopeless struggle, both almost as big and handsome as her opponent, one blond, the other with the darkest skin she'd ever seen in her life. The dark one crouched casually on top of an enormous boulder higher than his head, while his companion leaned against it.

With a defiant snarl, she snapped to face her foe and swung her booted foot in a high, hard kick at his head. He caught her ankle. Shocked at his speed, she just stood there for an instant, balanced on one foot as he gripped the other. Then another pair of powerful hands clamped around her shoulders. It dawned on her she was well and truly caught.

"I'm Captain Julian Bender," her enemy said. "And I really think it's time you gave up, don't you?"

But Verica had been taught to fight as long as she was conscious, so she drove a head butt back at the man who held her arms, simultaneously ramming her free foot toward Bender's groin.

Her head smacked back into a big hand just as Bender caught her by the ankle.

"Thanks, André," the blond man who held her arms told the third one, who wrapped his dark fist in her hair. "She might actually have caught me with that head butt."

Bender, both her ankles in his hands, pushed them apart and up, then stepped between. Verica squirmed and cursed, but the three men held her effortlessly.

Slowly, the mercenary captain moved closer, lifting and spreading her thighs until her shoulders were forced into the solid, muscular body of the man behind her, her head held in an arch over his shoulder.

"You know," the blond said in her ear, "this is starting to give me a hard-on."

"Everything gives you a hard-on, Dominic," André told him.

Bender moved his grip to the bend of her knees and stepped fully against her crotch. Looking between her trapped legs, she saw something cylindrical bulking under his unisuit, stretching in a long thick ridge the length of his belly. The feeling of that alien rod pressing against her cunt sent a trickle of heat through her.

So that's what a cock feels like…

Bender's eyes widened. "What do you mean, 'That's what a cock feels like?'"

"Good God," André said, astonished. "She's a virgin!"

Verica felt her face heat at the horrifying realization they had somehow read her thoughts. But the only humans who could do that were...

Dominic purred out a laugh in her ear. "That's right, darling. We're vampires. Very, very hungry vampires who've been living off synthblood since we were hired to fight this wretched war. And you, my love, are an answer to some very dark prayers."

"And maybe we can answer some of yours." André cupped her breast through her unisuit. His thumb brushed one nipple, which instantly hardened, sending juicy curls of heat up her spine. Watching her face with calculating eyes, he caught the little bump and began to roll it. She caught her breath in astonishment at the pure, liquid pleasure he conjured with such a simple gesture.

Opening her mouth to protest, Verica discovered she couldn't bear to say anything to stop that delicious sensation.

"Not so fast," Julian snapped at André. "How old are you, girl?" Reading the answer out of her thoughts, he looked relieved, then puzzled. "How the hell does a twenty-five year-old woman stay a virgin?"

"Shit," said André, on a tone of revelation, his hand going still on her breast. "She's been living with these fucking aliens since she was thirteen!"

Stung, Verica snarled, "Would you do me the courtesy of letting me answer your questions instead of just reading my mind?"

"Did it ever occur to you that a captive who's a hungry vampire's wet dream should keep a civil tongue?" Dominic growled back, tightening his grip on her arms in warning.

She started to tell him what he could do with his hunger, but before she could open her mouth, a waterfall of alien clicking filled the air. Her translator brain implant turned the voice into words: "I see you've captured the sniper. Good work, captain."

Turning her head, Verica saw one of the Jeranth holding a beam weapon in two of its six limbs as it clawed its way up the cliff, accompanied by a shower of rocks. "You're worth every cred the High Command paid you," it told the captain.

"Thank you," Julian said in English. Evidently the Jeranth had a translator of its own. "Luckily the charge ran out on her rifle just as we came up."

"Lucky indeed. But why haven't you killed it?" the Jeranth demanded.

Julian's hands tightened on her knees. "She's one of our species. We're taking her captive."

"Squeamish, eh? Would you like me to kill it for you?" The Jeranth scrambled over and put the muzzle of his weapon against her head. Verica's heart skipped.

With a growl, André grabbed the barrel and shoved it away from her skull.

"No!" Speaking rapidly, Julian said, "We have a use for her. She's valuable to us."

The Jeranth jerked and moved all its limbs in agitation. "It has killed a dozen of my soldiers! I want it dead!"

Julian lifted an arrogant brow. "Oh, she'll be punished, sir, far more thoroughly than any quick death."

"Yesss," Dominic whispered, his neat blond beard brushing her ear. "We'll punish her for hours and hours. In every single virgin orifice."

Verica's reckless temper snapped. "Shoot me, alien," she spat, glaring at Bender. "I'd rather die like a soldier than be tortured by the likes of these bastards!" She tried to kick at the vampire, but he controlled her effortlessly.

"Idiot!" Julian growled, tightening his grip on her thighs until she winced.

"It seems to find a beam in the head preferable to your company." The Jeranth produced a hissing sound the translator rendered as a laugh. "Keep it, then, if it dreads you so. In the meantime, Captain, my general wants to see you."

To Pre order Love bites, click the link.