Why it’s better to be a werepanther than a werewolf
I’m sure you’ve heard me say that I designed my story around the main character, Violet, and that her transformation needed to be something out of the ordinary even in the shapeshifting world to show that she was not only special in the normal world, but special among the special people. I’m sure you’ve heard me lecture about how all your decisions as a writer need to have ties to the emotional arc of the character and that each decision is specifically made to best challenge your main character.
But, let’s be honest. When you really boil it down, werepanthers are just cooler than werewolves and here’s why.
- Panthers are sexy as hell. All sleek and muscle. Their inky black fur, their yellow eyes illuminate on the darkest nights. They are dangerous and impulsive. They are everything that a woman wants. Werewolves are hot-ish. They’ve got the animal thing going for them, but when was the last time you said to yourself, “Man, I like a man with kibble breath.” No, we want power and muscle and slink and mystery.
- Panthers are rare. This makes them an even hotter commodity. Among Those Who Wander, panthers are a very rare breed, only three families in the US. They believe in pedigree and if you fall in love with a panther, you know that you are something amazing too. Those werewolves are all over the place. Falling in love willy-nilly with any little thing that flips its tail the right way.
- Privacy. Panthers are lone creatures. While they might hunt with other big cats, they tend to keep their own company and their own space. As a woman who married into a big family can tell you, you don’t want the wolf pack. As nice as it sounds in the beginning, it gets tiring and quick. All those noses sniffing around in your business. You want to be able to go home to a quiet house with just you and him and …
- Panthers are fierce. If you come across one in the middle of the night, or let’s say in the back alley of your townhouse, you’d be afraid. Their exotic eyes locked on you, that high pitched scream into the night. The whites of their fangs gleaming. They are walking fear (hence part of the attraction). People keep wolves as pets. Though their howl might frighten on a dark and stormy night, my beagle can let out a blood curdling howl too. Wolves are fluffy and talk in movies because they can be tamed. Do we need to say “Squirrel?”
- Hygiene. We all know that cats are clean. They have a sense of cleanliness that seems to escapes those in the canine family, or at least my canine family. Like any other dog, wolves are not the keenest on self cleaning and their hair will just end up on all your furniture. Have you been around a werewolf when it’s shedding? Do we even need to get into the flea issue?
So, let’s break this down. With a panther, you’ve got a hot guy, whose one of a kind, who can kid major ass and who knows about hygiene. With a werewolf, you’ve got a hot guy, who is one of an identical set, who might be able to sink his teeth into something, but will just get slobber all over the place.
So that’s why is better to be a werepanther. There is a sense of pride in saying that you are one of the few, the proud. However, it also puts a target on your back.
If you’re not convinced, pen me a line. If you still not convinced, pick up a copy of Diaries of an Urban Panther and you’ll see just how panther is the only way to shift.
Diaries of an Urban Panther Excerpt #3
It was dark and quiet and there was no dog smell on the wind, no Chaz smell either. I sucked in the cool safe air as my head cleared.
What the hell was I doing? I asked myself. Who were they? Have
rty’s men come to collect? And why the hell had I run? I’d just left him there, to fight my battles. Just left Chaz to deal with the beasties because they were his thing; they were part of his world.
Screw that. When the last time Violet Jordan let someone else fight her battles?
Oh, that’s right, until I met Chaz, there were no battles to fight. And if there was anything that invaded my little fortress, I ran. It’s what I had always done. Run, move, and start all over with a fresh slate when things got hairy.
Wasn’t getting any hairier than this.
I looked up at the waxing moon and felt the stir of the cat in my chest. I wasn’t the Violet Jordan who ran anymore. I was the Violet Jordan who threw drinks in men’s faces and threw sensei’s across the room. I was the Violet Jordan who dated male models.
And those jerks had just ruined the first good date I’d had in years.
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