Luisa Prieto's Blog, page 5
January 23, 2012
after dark
As I write this, my awesome editor at MLR is beating the crap out of-I mean, working on the edits for After Dark.
I don't know yet when it'll be released but I do know that when the edits are done, AD will be brilliant. Here's a pre-edited peek:
The rain slipped past the edges of Andrew Sutter's black umbrella, driving cold slivers into his fingers. Frowning, he drew his umbrella lower.
The movement cut his world in half. The Oak Hill Memorial Park graveyard disappeared, taking with it the trembling sequoias, oaks, and rows of gray stones. It was just him, the midnight silver casket before him, and the bottom halves of his fellow mourners.
The subtle dismemberment sent a thread of unease through Andrew. It was just a trick of his sight. They were fine.
_Flesh is so fragile, Andrew._
Andrew raised the umbrella, giving the people around him life.
The three other mourners stood in an uneven circle around the casket. Their umbrellas were low, doing their best to shield them from the storm. Past them, the gravestones circled out, creating a precision of death.
Thunder rumbled above.
An old childhood game clicked in Andrew's mind. It was something he'd picked up after watching Poltergeist, a film that had made others fear clown puppets and old trees and things that might be under the bed. Andrew hadn't. His older brother, Tyler, had shown him that people could be scarier.
Tyler was dead, though, and the lightning, while ephemeral, could be deadly. Andrew focused on the game, the numbers. One one thousand, two one thousand, three-
Light flashed overhead.
The brief brightness cast everything around him into monochrome. As it faded, shades of gray and green returned. There was an open grave to Andrew's left. Before him, Tyler waited beneath the casket's slick surface. Above, the sky mourned his brother.
Its tears were heavy. Cold. When it cried, its voice thundered close. Tyler Sutter was dead.
Thank God.
A sob cut through the rain.
A few feet away, Julia's umbrella shifted. Her son's umbrella followed as he leaned into her. The domino movement made something inside Andrew ache. In spite of how long he'd been on the phone that week, the service was small. Besides them, there was a caretaker, haunting the edges of Andrew's sight. Across from Andrew were Julia and Sean. Beside Andrew-
The wind yanked his umbrella forward.
Wet shards slipped past the brim, stabbing Andrew. His wireless frames tried to shield his eyes but the rain darted around the glass, attacking him.
Andrew tightened his grip, fighting to bring his umbrella up.
Something moved at the edge of Andrew's sight and then Devon was there, grabbing the brim of his umbrella and steadying it.
"Thanks," Andrew said. "For a moment I was afraid I was going to lose it."
The wind jerked Devon's umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over the casket, past a startled Julia, and then disappeared into a cluster of oaks.
"Damn," Devon said. "That worked a lot better in my mind." An English accent haunted his voice, turning the quiet words into a secret.
Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind and then stepped up behind Devon, shielding him. Sometimes things worked out better in his mind too. Sometimes things were worse.
Devon glanced at him. In the moment the rain had with him, it had left its mark. His hair was drenched, making the pale blond strands cling to his face and half hide his eyes. The tips of his hair brushed over his shoulders, leaving wet shadows wherever they brushed over the black wool of his coat.
Andrew suspected that his partner kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an embarrassing truth: he was beautiful.
It wasn't something most thirty-odd year old men wanted to hear, but it was there, hidden behind the long coat and shoulder length hair. Devon had a boyish face, long lashes, and eyes the color of deep woods, a green so sharp, so alive and beautiful, that...
That sometimes Andrew was left without words.
He didn't know if he'd ever find them, just like he didn't know where Tyler had buried the body of Andrew's first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to keep looking.
"How're you doing?" Devon asked.
Andrew shrugged. He'd killed his brother. He felt better than he probably should.
He could never say that out loud so he said, "Okay."
The wind tugged at the umbrella, allowing shards of rain to strike him. Andrew drew it down over them.
After the summer fires devastated hundreds of acres across the Santa Cruz Mountains a few months before, Andrew had worried that the first rain in September would weigh on the soil. Trees would break free, pulling down wires, smashing cars, houses. In the more damaged areas, the very earth might slide free and sweep over everything in its path.
His brother had smiled at the thought and reminded him that their closest fire had been far enough away to not be a concern. It'd been difficult to breathe outside for a few days but then things settled down.
Tyler had been wrong. Those few days had stretched into nearly three weeks and the danger, while subtle, was as subtle as him.
September came and went, dry as the yellow grass along the hills. October came, bringing with it the lightest of rain. It had Tyler's teasing touch, letting Andrew know it was close, and then disappearing when others noticed.
Then November came. Day of the dead. Encroaching clouds. Tyler's accident at Castle Rock Park. The sky trembled.
And broke free.
The wind mourned. The trees shook. The clouds cried.
Wait. That wasn't the clouds.
Andrew looked across the casket.
A tremor shook Julia's thin form, allowing the rain to stab her. Her black hair hung limply, with several strands clinging to her pale face. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at the casket. Her husband was dead. Something inside of her probably was too.
Thunder snapped overhead.
One one thousand. Two-
Light.
Fuck. It was getting closer.
Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon's hand. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Take the umbrella."
"No. I-" Thoughts and emotions jumbled together, destroying Andrew's ability to create a pleasant excuse. The rain was cold. The afternoon dark. Between the two of them, Andrew would rather Devon be safe.
The words were caught inside of him, so Andrew gently squeezed Devon's hand and left.
One step out from beneath the umbrella and the rain attacked him, driving cold into his skin and creating a chaotic smear across his glasses. Andrew walked around the black shape that was the casket and approached Julia and Sean.
She slouched near her son, half hidden beneath the wide brim of her umbrella. When she trembled, Andrew caught flashes of her. She was dressed in a long black dress, and when she shook, the sleeve of the hand holding the umbrella slipped down, exposing the limb to the cold.
Andrew stepped up to Sean. He wanted to ask his nephew something. How he was doing, was he okay. Andrew wanted to know, but he was afraid the questions would sound foolish. How was he doing? Oh, great. Dad just died. And you?
"The lightning's getting close," Andrew said. He didn't feel right asking what he wanted, so he kept his tone gentle. Steady. "Why don't you and Devon head back to the car while I talk to your mom?"
Sean glanced at him and then at the casket. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
An ache gathered in Andrew's throat. He wanted to tell Sean that a part of him would always be waiting for Tyler to return, for him to walk in the door and tell him there'd been a mistake. God knew Andrew still hoped Garret would one day appear. It was all a misunderstanding. I've been okay all along.
Time would work its erosive magic on the hope, filing it to a sharp edged sliver. It'd be easier to live with then, though it would always have the power to cut him.
"Sean." You won't ever be ready.
Andrew squeezed Sean's shoulder. The words, while true, were cruel and edged. Andrew wanted to keep them inside.
Thunder cracked overhead. The sound was the snapping of bone, the scream of tearing tissue.
One one thou-
Light.
Sean lowered and closed his umbrella.
"It's not safe," Andrew said. "The lightning's getting closer. Your dad wouldn't have wanted you it to strike you."
"I know. I-" Sean shrugged. His eyes were shiny. Trembling. "I don't want to leave my mom."
Thunder rumbled above them.
Andrew stepped toward Julia. "I'll talk-"
Light.
"-to her." Andrew headed for Julia.
She stood close, perhaps two feet away, but the rain turned each step into a wet, muddy mile. Andrew stepped beside her. "Julia-"
"I'm fine."
Yes. And no. Losing someone hurt, and however Andrew felt about his brother, he knew Tyler had loved her. He'd never put a needle through her finger to see how much she would bleed. The mere insinuation of it had once made her laugh.
"I still can't believe it," Julia said. Her lips twitched. "I know everyone must say that."
But she felt it. In her gut, she expected Tyler to come home.
Andrew understood. He'd once felt the same way about his first love.
"If there's anything I can do," Andrew said.
Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. "Can you go back in time?"
No. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If he could do more...
Andrew looked away. If he had the power, he wouldn't do it. He'd sell his coffee shop and give her the money, but he didn't want to have Tyler back.
Lightning flashed across the sky. One beat of silence, and then thunder cracked. The sound was sharp, like breaking glass. Andrew hoped the shards wouldn't strike anyone.
"We should go," Andrew said. "The lighting's getting closer."
Julia glanced at the sky, the casket, and then at him. "It would be the perfect end to a perfect day."
Yes. Tyler would have approved.
The caretaker that had thoughtfully kept to the edge of Andrew's sight inched closer. Too polite to hurry them, too wary of the storm to stay back. Andrew understood. Sometimes, one needed to take risks if it meant keeping someone else safe.
Andrew touched Julia's shoulder. "Do you want me to drive you back?"
"No." She slipped her hand over Andrew's, bleeding cold onto him. Then, she drew away, slipping her hand over Sean's shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow."
"All right."
Sean glanced at Andrew, and then Julia pulled him away. They walked, half leading, half led, to the parking lot.
Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of trees. He should have wished them something. Drive carefully, take it easy, sleep well. He couldn't. He'd never been very good with goodbyes.
Wet footfalls drew close. Andrew turned.
Devon stepped up before him and moved the umbrella to cover them both.
Light flashed over them. Thunder chased after it. The sound swept over them, shaking the ground.
"Maybe we should drive them home," Devon said.
Andrew shook his head. "Julia doesn't want the company right now."
"They shouldn't be alone tonight. Tyler-"
"Wouldn't have wanted me there." Tyler would have wanted him to remain where he was. In the cold. Surrounded by death.
Devon slid his fingers over Andrew's shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful. Sad.
Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown Andrew so many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.
"Andrew?"
"It's going to be all right." Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt anyone again. "Let's go home."
I don't know yet when it'll be released but I do know that when the edits are done, AD will be brilliant. Here's a pre-edited peek:
The rain slipped past the edges of Andrew Sutter's black umbrella, driving cold slivers into his fingers. Frowning, he drew his umbrella lower.
The movement cut his world in half. The Oak Hill Memorial Park graveyard disappeared, taking with it the trembling sequoias, oaks, and rows of gray stones. It was just him, the midnight silver casket before him, and the bottom halves of his fellow mourners.
The subtle dismemberment sent a thread of unease through Andrew. It was just a trick of his sight. They were fine.
_Flesh is so fragile, Andrew._
Andrew raised the umbrella, giving the people around him life.
The three other mourners stood in an uneven circle around the casket. Their umbrellas were low, doing their best to shield them from the storm. Past them, the gravestones circled out, creating a precision of death.
Thunder rumbled above.
An old childhood game clicked in Andrew's mind. It was something he'd picked up after watching Poltergeist, a film that had made others fear clown puppets and old trees and things that might be under the bed. Andrew hadn't. His older brother, Tyler, had shown him that people could be scarier.
Tyler was dead, though, and the lightning, while ephemeral, could be deadly. Andrew focused on the game, the numbers. One one thousand, two one thousand, three-
Light flashed overhead.
The brief brightness cast everything around him into monochrome. As it faded, shades of gray and green returned. There was an open grave to Andrew's left. Before him, Tyler waited beneath the casket's slick surface. Above, the sky mourned his brother.
Its tears were heavy. Cold. When it cried, its voice thundered close. Tyler Sutter was dead.
Thank God.
A sob cut through the rain.
A few feet away, Julia's umbrella shifted. Her son's umbrella followed as he leaned into her. The domino movement made something inside Andrew ache. In spite of how long he'd been on the phone that week, the service was small. Besides them, there was a caretaker, haunting the edges of Andrew's sight. Across from Andrew were Julia and Sean. Beside Andrew-
The wind yanked his umbrella forward.
Wet shards slipped past the brim, stabbing Andrew. His wireless frames tried to shield his eyes but the rain darted around the glass, attacking him.
Andrew tightened his grip, fighting to bring his umbrella up.
Something moved at the edge of Andrew's sight and then Devon was there, grabbing the brim of his umbrella and steadying it.
"Thanks," Andrew said. "For a moment I was afraid I was going to lose it."
The wind jerked Devon's umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over the casket, past a startled Julia, and then disappeared into a cluster of oaks.
"Damn," Devon said. "That worked a lot better in my mind." An English accent haunted his voice, turning the quiet words into a secret.
Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind and then stepped up behind Devon, shielding him. Sometimes things worked out better in his mind too. Sometimes things were worse.
Devon glanced at him. In the moment the rain had with him, it had left its mark. His hair was drenched, making the pale blond strands cling to his face and half hide his eyes. The tips of his hair brushed over his shoulders, leaving wet shadows wherever they brushed over the black wool of his coat.
Andrew suspected that his partner kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an embarrassing truth: he was beautiful.
It wasn't something most thirty-odd year old men wanted to hear, but it was there, hidden behind the long coat and shoulder length hair. Devon had a boyish face, long lashes, and eyes the color of deep woods, a green so sharp, so alive and beautiful, that...
That sometimes Andrew was left without words.
He didn't know if he'd ever find them, just like he didn't know where Tyler had buried the body of Andrew's first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to keep looking.
"How're you doing?" Devon asked.
Andrew shrugged. He'd killed his brother. He felt better than he probably should.
He could never say that out loud so he said, "Okay."
The wind tugged at the umbrella, allowing shards of rain to strike him. Andrew drew it down over them.
After the summer fires devastated hundreds of acres across the Santa Cruz Mountains a few months before, Andrew had worried that the first rain in September would weigh on the soil. Trees would break free, pulling down wires, smashing cars, houses. In the more damaged areas, the very earth might slide free and sweep over everything in its path.
His brother had smiled at the thought and reminded him that their closest fire had been far enough away to not be a concern. It'd been difficult to breathe outside for a few days but then things settled down.
Tyler had been wrong. Those few days had stretched into nearly three weeks and the danger, while subtle, was as subtle as him.
September came and went, dry as the yellow grass along the hills. October came, bringing with it the lightest of rain. It had Tyler's teasing touch, letting Andrew know it was close, and then disappearing when others noticed.
Then November came. Day of the dead. Encroaching clouds. Tyler's accident at Castle Rock Park. The sky trembled.
And broke free.
The wind mourned. The trees shook. The clouds cried.
Wait. That wasn't the clouds.
Andrew looked across the casket.
A tremor shook Julia's thin form, allowing the rain to stab her. Her black hair hung limply, with several strands clinging to her pale face. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at the casket. Her husband was dead. Something inside of her probably was too.
Thunder snapped overhead.
One one thousand. Two-
Light.
Fuck. It was getting closer.
Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon's hand. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Take the umbrella."
"No. I-" Thoughts and emotions jumbled together, destroying Andrew's ability to create a pleasant excuse. The rain was cold. The afternoon dark. Between the two of them, Andrew would rather Devon be safe.
The words were caught inside of him, so Andrew gently squeezed Devon's hand and left.
One step out from beneath the umbrella and the rain attacked him, driving cold into his skin and creating a chaotic smear across his glasses. Andrew walked around the black shape that was the casket and approached Julia and Sean.
She slouched near her son, half hidden beneath the wide brim of her umbrella. When she trembled, Andrew caught flashes of her. She was dressed in a long black dress, and when she shook, the sleeve of the hand holding the umbrella slipped down, exposing the limb to the cold.
Andrew stepped up to Sean. He wanted to ask his nephew something. How he was doing, was he okay. Andrew wanted to know, but he was afraid the questions would sound foolish. How was he doing? Oh, great. Dad just died. And you?
"The lightning's getting close," Andrew said. He didn't feel right asking what he wanted, so he kept his tone gentle. Steady. "Why don't you and Devon head back to the car while I talk to your mom?"
Sean glanced at him and then at the casket. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
An ache gathered in Andrew's throat. He wanted to tell Sean that a part of him would always be waiting for Tyler to return, for him to walk in the door and tell him there'd been a mistake. God knew Andrew still hoped Garret would one day appear. It was all a misunderstanding. I've been okay all along.
Time would work its erosive magic on the hope, filing it to a sharp edged sliver. It'd be easier to live with then, though it would always have the power to cut him.
"Sean." You won't ever be ready.
Andrew squeezed Sean's shoulder. The words, while true, were cruel and edged. Andrew wanted to keep them inside.
Thunder cracked overhead. The sound was the snapping of bone, the scream of tearing tissue.
One one thou-
Light.
Sean lowered and closed his umbrella.
"It's not safe," Andrew said. "The lightning's getting closer. Your dad wouldn't have wanted you it to strike you."
"I know. I-" Sean shrugged. His eyes were shiny. Trembling. "I don't want to leave my mom."
Thunder rumbled above them.
Andrew stepped toward Julia. "I'll talk-"
Light.
"-to her." Andrew headed for Julia.
She stood close, perhaps two feet away, but the rain turned each step into a wet, muddy mile. Andrew stepped beside her. "Julia-"
"I'm fine."
Yes. And no. Losing someone hurt, and however Andrew felt about his brother, he knew Tyler had loved her. He'd never put a needle through her finger to see how much she would bleed. The mere insinuation of it had once made her laugh.
"I still can't believe it," Julia said. Her lips twitched. "I know everyone must say that."
But she felt it. In her gut, she expected Tyler to come home.
Andrew understood. He'd once felt the same way about his first love.
"If there's anything I can do," Andrew said.
Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. "Can you go back in time?"
No. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If he could do more...
Andrew looked away. If he had the power, he wouldn't do it. He'd sell his coffee shop and give her the money, but he didn't want to have Tyler back.
Lightning flashed across the sky. One beat of silence, and then thunder cracked. The sound was sharp, like breaking glass. Andrew hoped the shards wouldn't strike anyone.
"We should go," Andrew said. "The lighting's getting closer."
Julia glanced at the sky, the casket, and then at him. "It would be the perfect end to a perfect day."
Yes. Tyler would have approved.
The caretaker that had thoughtfully kept to the edge of Andrew's sight inched closer. Too polite to hurry them, too wary of the storm to stay back. Andrew understood. Sometimes, one needed to take risks if it meant keeping someone else safe.
Andrew touched Julia's shoulder. "Do you want me to drive you back?"
"No." She slipped her hand over Andrew's, bleeding cold onto him. Then, she drew away, slipping her hand over Sean's shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow."
"All right."
Sean glanced at Andrew, and then Julia pulled him away. They walked, half leading, half led, to the parking lot.
Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of trees. He should have wished them something. Drive carefully, take it easy, sleep well. He couldn't. He'd never been very good with goodbyes.
Wet footfalls drew close. Andrew turned.
Devon stepped up before him and moved the umbrella to cover them both.
Light flashed over them. Thunder chased after it. The sound swept over them, shaking the ground.
"Maybe we should drive them home," Devon said.
Andrew shook his head. "Julia doesn't want the company right now."
"They shouldn't be alone tonight. Tyler-"
"Wouldn't have wanted me there." Tyler would have wanted him to remain where he was. In the cold. Surrounded by death.
Devon slid his fingers over Andrew's shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful. Sad.
Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown Andrew so many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.
"Andrew?"
"It's going to be all right." Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt anyone again. "Let's go home."
January 22, 2012
ack!
Well, ack for me, yeah for Ergot lovers...
I messed up my e-mail address in my original post. I'm very sorry about that. Because of that, I'm going to keep the contest open until Tuesday morning and give out two copies. Please e-mail me at l_prieto @ sbcglobal.net to enter.
Thank you to everyone who e-mailed me about this (especially you, Chris :). I really appreciated it.
I messed up my e-mail address in my original post. I'm very sorry about that. Because of that, I'm going to keep the contest open until Tuesday morning and give out two copies. Please e-mail me at l_prieto @ sbcglobal.net to enter.
Thank you to everyone who e-mailed me about this (especially you, Chris :). I really appreciated it.
January 21, 2012
ergot and friends
While I was quietly fretting over in my corner of the world these past few weeks, MLR released the e-version of Cooking with Ergot. In honor of Ergot, I'm going to hold a contest. To win an e-copy of Ergot, please drop me an e-mail at l_prieto @ yahoosbc.com. The contest will end Monday morning (8 a.m., western time).
In the meantime, to whet your appettites, here's a snippet I wrote.
8 T cocoa powder
3 packets instant cocoa
2 c milk water
2 ice chips
Pinch of kosher salt
Get the milk out of the fridge.
Hear Dominic throw up. Suspect that now is not the time to give him dairy products. Put the milk back. Heat some water.
Discover that you're out of cocoa powder. Break down and use the box stuff that Dominic's brother left the last time he was over.
Hear Carter say something about it being okay, the carpet can be cleaned. Realize Dominic did not make it to the bathroom. Be happy that Dominic has a soul mate and that the soul mate has a strong stomach.
When the water boils, pour it into a cup.
Add chocolate to the cup. Stir.
Throw in a pinch of salt to bring out the flavor.
Hear Carter say something about it being okay, he didn't like that sweater anyway. Be glad Carter is there; vomit is difficult to get out of fur.
Remember that Carter is leaving for a workshop in the morning. Accept you're going to get vomit in your fur at some point.
Add ice to the cup so the chocolate doesn't burn Dominic. Stir.
Hear Dominic throw up again.
Fight the temptation to crawl into Carter's suitcase and go with him to his workshop. Vomit can be removed from fur. It can. You just have to hold your breath when you're in the machines of wonder (aka: the washer and dryer).
Pain twisted in Dominic Abernathy's stomach. He wrapped his hands around himself and stumbled the last few feet into his shadowed bedroom to his half made bed.
The landing was soft but the movement sent a sharp tendril through his abdomen, making the pain worse. If he hadn't already thrown up, he suspected that would've sent him back to the bathroom.
Crap. He was never eating tilapia again.
More importantly, he was never making it again either.
Cool air ghosted over him. It felt good against his face. Against the rest of him, not so much.
Dominic curled on his side and then waved a hand toward the blanket at the foot of the bed. He didn't trust his coordination to get him anywhere near the thick looking fabric but hopefully a little magic-
Was doing nothing.
Dominic frowned. He pushed himself up and focused on the sheet, sending out a thread of magic.
The sensation of feather softness whispered against him. He reached out with his power, willing the blanket to move.
The blanket twitched.
As did his stomach.
Pain crashed over Dominic, sending him slumping back onto the bed, and the blanket onto the floor.
Goddess.
Footfalls padded closer.
"Dominic?"
"Here. Dying."
Carter stepped into the room. In the dimly lit room, his features were hazy.
At least, Dominic hoped it was the dimness. Aching stomach was bad enough without throwing in his eyesight.
"I don't quite think you're dying," Carter said, his tone gentle.
Not physically, perhaps. Emotionally? "I can't believe I gave myself food poisoning. If it gets out, I'll be laughed off the Cooking Channel."
"I don't think you gave yourself food poisoning," Carter said, stepping closer. Features emerged from the haze; blond hair, worried gray eyes, and full mouth currently drawn in on the left side. His sweater was gone, sacrificed to a dinner gone bad. Guilt ebbed against Dominic. His fault, it was his fault...
Dominic wanted to draw Carter close and lie against him.
If he moved, the pain would likely sharpen.
Dominic folded his arms around himself.
Carter walked around the bed, knelt, and then came back around with the comforter. He swept it over Dominic. "If I call my agent right now-"
"No," Dominic said.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't know what I'm about to say."
Dominic had an idea.
"If I call her right now," Carter said, "I think I could cancel my trip."
Yup. What he thought.
"No," Dominic said.
Carter trailed his long fingers over Dominic's hair, brushing the strands away from his face. "I don't want to leave you."
The words were soft. So soft, they made Carter's southern accent sound like a verbal caress. One could curl up with that sound and forget about everything.
The pain twitched.
Almost everything.
"Do you want me to go?" Carter asked.
Not fair.
Dominic didn't want Carter to go. His skin was warm against Dominic's, making him want to draw Carter close and lay against him. The pain would pass. Dominic just wanted to be still with him.
Problem was, Carter had a career to think of. Most times that career left him alone so he could write. Sometimes it needed him to go half way across the country to do a reading or talk to people. Dominic respected that. They'd met because of that.
"It'll just be a couple days," Dominic said. Two days without Carter beside him. Two days of not feeling this warmth. This connection.
"Two and a half days," Carter said.
If Dominic had felt better, he would've been tempted to say the time would likely drag. Today; "There's a good chance I'll sleep through it."
Carter chuckled. "I'll sadly be awake."
Dominic reached up, catching Carter's hand. He hadn't thought of that. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." Carter entwined his fingers through Dominic's. "Well, maybe what happened to my sweater, but... nah. You get a get out of jail free card today."
"I need it. My cooking sucks."
Carter's fingers lightly squeezed Dominic's. "You have a cooking show. There's no way your cooking abilities can suck."
"I just shared dinner with the toilet for fun?"
Carter's fingers stilled.
Dominic grimaced. While he'd been braking fast with the porcelain bowl, Carter had hovered nearby, touching his shoulder. Not many people would've done that. Could've done that. Dominic's own brother would've thrown up.
"I'm sorry," Dominic said. "I didn't mean conjure any images for you."
"It's okay. I know that's not the kind of conjuring you like to do." Carter traced his fingertips up Dominic's face, brushing his hair back. "I don't think you gave yourself food poisoning, though."
"It's the only thing that's ever made me sick so quickly."
"If it was food poisoning, Blaise and I would've been fighting with you over the bathroom. We're fine."
"You could have a stronger stomach than me." Despite Carter's less than politically correct lineage, he was the seventh son of a seventh son. It could mean more than stronger magic. It could also mean a stronger immune system. Goddess knew Carter had a stronger stamina.
Carter's head tipped to one side. He had that look, the look he usually got when he suspected Dominic was thinking about his birth order: a slight frown that looked more thoughtful than annoyed.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. What I do know is that Blaise said you seemed tired earlier."
Geesh. Have trouble concentrating because your partner had lit the logs in the fireplace that morning without matches and you were excited and wanted to sit in front of the flames but couldn't because you had to come up with recipes for the next season and-
"I had a lot on my mind," Dominic said.
"Like the fact that you were feeling run down?"
Like the fact that Carter looked gorgeous when he did magic.
And, yes, maybe a little run down. A little.
The scent of chocolate crept over Dominic.
A small orange and black shape moved behind Carter. Its movement was graceful, its form feline. A moment later, Dominic's tiger familiar stepped up beside Carter.
In his we have company form, Blaise looked like a plush tiger. He stood two feet tall, with his front paws hanging at his sides and his legs out before him. Now, when it was the three of them, Blaise was alive. His fur was sleek and soft, his eyes dark and worried, and his claws sharp and glinting against the large blue mug in his paws.
"I made you chocolate," Blaise said. His English accent was elegant, making chocolate sound like there was a k in it instead of a second c.
Dominic smiled. "Ohh, thank you."
"Can I help?" Carter asked, offering Blaise a hand.
"Certainly." Blaise clambered up Carter's arm and up onto the bed. Carter winced slightly, making Dominic suspect Blaise was using claws to keep his balance.
"Thank you," Blaise said, reaching the bed.
"Any time." Carter rubbed his arm.
Dominic pushed himself up. The pain in his stomach sharpened, making him slow his movement.
At another time, when he wasn't feeling like crap, he would've wanted to bottle this moment. Blaise was proper, as befitting a creation that was born of a fondness for Hammer Horror movies, Peter Cushing, and hiding in plain sight. Carter was solicitous, born of a lineage that believed in deportment, family heirlooms that were better left unspoken, and hunting witches. They were opposites. It was wonderful to see them getting along.
Especially since Dominic and Carter's families frowned on their union.
Blaise brought the cup up to Dominic. "Here you go. I even put a chip of ice in to cool it."
"Thanks." Dominic accepted the cup. He sighed, drinking in the sweet smell.
"Stomach flu?" Blaise said, glancing at Carter.
"I suspect so."
In the meantime, to whet your appettites, here's a snippet I wrote.
8 T cocoa powder
3 packets instant cocoa
2 c milk water
2 ice chips
Pinch of kosher salt
Get the milk out of the fridge.
Hear Dominic throw up. Suspect that now is not the time to give him dairy products. Put the milk back. Heat some water.
Discover that you're out of cocoa powder. Break down and use the box stuff that Dominic's brother left the last time he was over.
Hear Carter say something about it being okay, the carpet can be cleaned. Realize Dominic did not make it to the bathroom. Be happy that Dominic has a soul mate and that the soul mate has a strong stomach.
When the water boils, pour it into a cup.
Add chocolate to the cup. Stir.
Throw in a pinch of salt to bring out the flavor.
Hear Carter say something about it being okay, he didn't like that sweater anyway. Be glad Carter is there; vomit is difficult to get out of fur.
Remember that Carter is leaving for a workshop in the morning. Accept you're going to get vomit in your fur at some point.
Add ice to the cup so the chocolate doesn't burn Dominic. Stir.
Hear Dominic throw up again.
Fight the temptation to crawl into Carter's suitcase and go with him to his workshop. Vomit can be removed from fur. It can. You just have to hold your breath when you're in the machines of wonder (aka: the washer and dryer).
Pain twisted in Dominic Abernathy's stomach. He wrapped his hands around himself and stumbled the last few feet into his shadowed bedroom to his half made bed.
The landing was soft but the movement sent a sharp tendril through his abdomen, making the pain worse. If he hadn't already thrown up, he suspected that would've sent him back to the bathroom.
Crap. He was never eating tilapia again.
More importantly, he was never making it again either.
Cool air ghosted over him. It felt good against his face. Against the rest of him, not so much.
Dominic curled on his side and then waved a hand toward the blanket at the foot of the bed. He didn't trust his coordination to get him anywhere near the thick looking fabric but hopefully a little magic-
Was doing nothing.
Dominic frowned. He pushed himself up and focused on the sheet, sending out a thread of magic.
The sensation of feather softness whispered against him. He reached out with his power, willing the blanket to move.
The blanket twitched.
As did his stomach.
Pain crashed over Dominic, sending him slumping back onto the bed, and the blanket onto the floor.
Goddess.
Footfalls padded closer.
"Dominic?"
"Here. Dying."
Carter stepped into the room. In the dimly lit room, his features were hazy.
At least, Dominic hoped it was the dimness. Aching stomach was bad enough without throwing in his eyesight.
"I don't quite think you're dying," Carter said, his tone gentle.
Not physically, perhaps. Emotionally? "I can't believe I gave myself food poisoning. If it gets out, I'll be laughed off the Cooking Channel."
"I don't think you gave yourself food poisoning," Carter said, stepping closer. Features emerged from the haze; blond hair, worried gray eyes, and full mouth currently drawn in on the left side. His sweater was gone, sacrificed to a dinner gone bad. Guilt ebbed against Dominic. His fault, it was his fault...
Dominic wanted to draw Carter close and lie against him.
If he moved, the pain would likely sharpen.
Dominic folded his arms around himself.
Carter walked around the bed, knelt, and then came back around with the comforter. He swept it over Dominic. "If I call my agent right now-"
"No," Dominic said.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't know what I'm about to say."
Dominic had an idea.
"If I call her right now," Carter said, "I think I could cancel my trip."
Yup. What he thought.
"No," Dominic said.
Carter trailed his long fingers over Dominic's hair, brushing the strands away from his face. "I don't want to leave you."
The words were soft. So soft, they made Carter's southern accent sound like a verbal caress. One could curl up with that sound and forget about everything.
The pain twitched.
Almost everything.
"Do you want me to go?" Carter asked.
Not fair.
Dominic didn't want Carter to go. His skin was warm against Dominic's, making him want to draw Carter close and lay against him. The pain would pass. Dominic just wanted to be still with him.
Problem was, Carter had a career to think of. Most times that career left him alone so he could write. Sometimes it needed him to go half way across the country to do a reading or talk to people. Dominic respected that. They'd met because of that.
"It'll just be a couple days," Dominic said. Two days without Carter beside him. Two days of not feeling this warmth. This connection.
"Two and a half days," Carter said.
If Dominic had felt better, he would've been tempted to say the time would likely drag. Today; "There's a good chance I'll sleep through it."
Carter chuckled. "I'll sadly be awake."
Dominic reached up, catching Carter's hand. He hadn't thought of that. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." Carter entwined his fingers through Dominic's. "Well, maybe what happened to my sweater, but... nah. You get a get out of jail free card today."
"I need it. My cooking sucks."
Carter's fingers lightly squeezed Dominic's. "You have a cooking show. There's no way your cooking abilities can suck."
"I just shared dinner with the toilet for fun?"
Carter's fingers stilled.
Dominic grimaced. While he'd been braking fast with the porcelain bowl, Carter had hovered nearby, touching his shoulder. Not many people would've done that. Could've done that. Dominic's own brother would've thrown up.
"I'm sorry," Dominic said. "I didn't mean conjure any images for you."
"It's okay. I know that's not the kind of conjuring you like to do." Carter traced his fingertips up Dominic's face, brushing his hair back. "I don't think you gave yourself food poisoning, though."
"It's the only thing that's ever made me sick so quickly."
"If it was food poisoning, Blaise and I would've been fighting with you over the bathroom. We're fine."
"You could have a stronger stomach than me." Despite Carter's less than politically correct lineage, he was the seventh son of a seventh son. It could mean more than stronger magic. It could also mean a stronger immune system. Goddess knew Carter had a stronger stamina.
Carter's head tipped to one side. He had that look, the look he usually got when he suspected Dominic was thinking about his birth order: a slight frown that looked more thoughtful than annoyed.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. What I do know is that Blaise said you seemed tired earlier."
Geesh. Have trouble concentrating because your partner had lit the logs in the fireplace that morning without matches and you were excited and wanted to sit in front of the flames but couldn't because you had to come up with recipes for the next season and-
"I had a lot on my mind," Dominic said.
"Like the fact that you were feeling run down?"
Like the fact that Carter looked gorgeous when he did magic.
And, yes, maybe a little run down. A little.
The scent of chocolate crept over Dominic.
A small orange and black shape moved behind Carter. Its movement was graceful, its form feline. A moment later, Dominic's tiger familiar stepped up beside Carter.
In his we have company form, Blaise looked like a plush tiger. He stood two feet tall, with his front paws hanging at his sides and his legs out before him. Now, when it was the three of them, Blaise was alive. His fur was sleek and soft, his eyes dark and worried, and his claws sharp and glinting against the large blue mug in his paws.
"I made you chocolate," Blaise said. His English accent was elegant, making chocolate sound like there was a k in it instead of a second c.
Dominic smiled. "Ohh, thank you."
"Can I help?" Carter asked, offering Blaise a hand.
"Certainly." Blaise clambered up Carter's arm and up onto the bed. Carter winced slightly, making Dominic suspect Blaise was using claws to keep his balance.
"Thank you," Blaise said, reaching the bed.
"Any time." Carter rubbed his arm.
Dominic pushed himself up. The pain in his stomach sharpened, making him slow his movement.
At another time, when he wasn't feeling like crap, he would've wanted to bottle this moment. Blaise was proper, as befitting a creation that was born of a fondness for Hammer Horror movies, Peter Cushing, and hiding in plain sight. Carter was solicitous, born of a lineage that believed in deportment, family heirlooms that were better left unspoken, and hunting witches. They were opposites. It was wonderful to see them getting along.
Especially since Dominic and Carter's families frowned on their union.
Blaise brought the cup up to Dominic. "Here you go. I even put a chip of ice in to cool it."
"Thanks." Dominic accepted the cup. He sighed, drinking in the sweet smell.
"Stomach flu?" Blaise said, glancing at Carter.
"I suspect so."
January 20, 2012
updates and stuff
So far, this month has been pretty quiet on the writing front. My dad came down with pneumonia over Christmas and ended up in the hospital for two weeks. On the bright side, it didn't kill him (though the first couple of days were scary), and now he's home. I haven't written much but, tbh, I feel happy.
In other, not pneumonia-related news, my brother and his wife are expecting a son. I recommended he name the kid Sorin. He thanked me for the idea and said he'd keep it in mind.
In other, not pneumonia-related news, my brother and his wife are expecting a son. I recommended he name the kid Sorin. He thanked me for the idea and said he'd keep it in mind.
December 23, 2011
dark design news
MLR has released Dark Designs today! Yes, you have another chance to get the most awesome, epic-y dark fantasy epic evah.
And while you're picking up the e-book, may I recommend getting a print one? They make great stocking stuffers. Just ask my loved ones, who'll be waking up Christmas morning and finding-
Er. Something. Something nice.
Whew! Almost gave away the surprise there.
And while you're picking up the e-book, may I recommend getting a print one? They make great stocking stuffers. Just ask my loved ones, who'll be waking up Christmas morning and finding-
Er. Something. Something nice.
Whew! Almost gave away the surprise there.
December 22, 2011
I'm dreaming of a white (chocolate) christmas
This year, Jen and I decided to do something a little different for Christmas. Instead of spending hours in the mall or minutes at Amazon, we decided to give people something home made. Something that's yummy, something that says, "I like you."
Obviously, that something involved chocolate ;)
The gift turned out really well and everyone who's gotten one so far has loved it. Sadly, I can't get one to everyone in the world so I thought I'd post the recipe here.
Enjoy :)
--
lavender and white chocolate cocoa
2 12 oz bags of white chocolate
.2ounces of lavender
1 tsp kosher salt
1 T sugar
Put the bags of chocolate in the freezer for at least three hours.
Put chocolate and lavender in the mixer. Shred everything to bits. Then hit the button again for fun.
Pour the ingredients into a big bowl. Add salt and sugar. Stir. A lot. Trust me, you don't want to be the one who ends up with all of the salt in your cocoa.
Heat milk. For every cup, add 4 T of delicious mix.
Pour into a cup.
Mmmm. Yummy chocolate goodness.
Obviously, that something involved chocolate ;)
The gift turned out really well and everyone who's gotten one so far has loved it. Sadly, I can't get one to everyone in the world so I thought I'd post the recipe here.
Enjoy :)
--
lavender and white chocolate cocoa
2 12 oz bags of white chocolate
.2ounces of lavender
1 tsp kosher salt
1 T sugar
Put the bags of chocolate in the freezer for at least three hours.
Put chocolate and lavender in the mixer. Shred everything to bits. Then hit the button again for fun.
Pour the ingredients into a big bowl. Add salt and sugar. Stir. A lot. Trust me, you don't want to be the one who ends up with all of the salt in your cocoa.
Heat milk. For every cup, add 4 T of delicious mix.
Pour into a cup.
Mmmm. Yummy chocolate goodness.
December 20, 2011
goofy quiz time
You Are the Full Moon
You are most aligned with the full moon which represents abundance and possibilities.
You are open to the world, and that's part of what makes you unforgettable. You are free-spirited.
You are a vibrant person who can't help but leave a mark everywhere. You want to create something amazing.
You have a kind spirit, and you bring happiness to everyone you know.
What Lunar Phase Are You?
Ahhh. I haven't done one of these in a while :)
December 19, 2011
amp update
I know I've been quiet for a bit. I'm sorry about that. I've been wanting to keep a low profile over Aspen Mountain Press, hoping things would work out.
Things have: at midnight Saturday, Denver time, AMP had suspended their operations for sixty continuous days. According to clause XIX of the AMP contract, the e-rights to Ergot and Dark Designs have automatically reverted back to me.
--
So, plans...
I'm happy to report that I've found a new home for Ergot and DD. Since MLR has the print versions, I thought they would be a great place for the e-versions. I don't know when Ergot and DD will be released but when I find out, I'll share it.
As I wait, I'll continue working on the AM revision. AD is done, as is a horribly written first draft of AT. I'll also send out the nannite story I finished last month. I may not have completed either Nano or Netherwood but I did write a lot.
How much? 45,000. Next year, I will beat Nano!
Or at least hit 46k.
Things have: at midnight Saturday, Denver time, AMP had suspended their operations for sixty continuous days. According to clause XIX of the AMP contract, the e-rights to Ergot and Dark Designs have automatically reverted back to me.
--
So, plans...
I'm happy to report that I've found a new home for Ergot and DD. Since MLR has the print versions, I thought they would be a great place for the e-versions. I don't know when Ergot and DD will be released but when I find out, I'll share it.
As I wait, I'll continue working on the AM revision. AD is done, as is a horribly written first draft of AT. I'll also send out the nannite story I finished last month. I may not have completed either Nano or Netherwood but I did write a lot.
How much? 45,000. Next year, I will beat Nano!
Or at least hit 46k.
November 3, 2011
nano: day-oh crap, it's already the third day?
Embarrassing truth: I've yet to complete a Nano.
I usually start strong (except for last year when Jen had to go to the hospital and get her gallbladder taken out). I'll be writing, getting further into a story (except for the year before that, when I fought off a cold), and then something will happen (like the time I got food poisoning). One might almost think I was cursed.
Doesn't mean I'm not going to try again, though ;)
This year, I've decided to do something a little different. Maybe it'll kill the curse, maybe it'll just make for an interesting month. We'll find out in a few weeks.
What's so different about this WIP? The protagonist... is a girl.
It's something I've kicked around from time to time. It's not usually my kind of thing but I've read a few stories where the women are shrews who are just there to get in the way of the m/m romance and I'd like to see if I can write something more positive. It's more of a fantasy than romance but it'll be fun. Or at least interesting.
Sooo... current word count:
46 / 50000 words. 0% done!
Yup, totally off to a good start :)
Discussion from this morning:
Jen: are you going to do nano again?
me: yes.
Jen: okay. I'll pick up some Nyquil, vitamin C, orange juice, your favorite tea, chicken soup, and aspirin on my way home.
me: I might not get sick!
Darian: meow.
Jen: oh, you're right. I need to add tissue to the list.
I usually start strong (except for last year when Jen had to go to the hospital and get her gallbladder taken out). I'll be writing, getting further into a story (except for the year before that, when I fought off a cold), and then something will happen (like the time I got food poisoning). One might almost think I was cursed.
Doesn't mean I'm not going to try again, though ;)
This year, I've decided to do something a little different. Maybe it'll kill the curse, maybe it'll just make for an interesting month. We'll find out in a few weeks.
What's so different about this WIP? The protagonist... is a girl.
It's something I've kicked around from time to time. It's not usually my kind of thing but I've read a few stories where the women are shrews who are just there to get in the way of the m/m romance and I'd like to see if I can write something more positive. It's more of a fantasy than romance but it'll be fun. Or at least interesting.
Sooo... current word count:
46 / 50000 words. 0% done!
Yup, totally off to a good start :)
Discussion from this morning:
Jen: are you going to do nano again?
me: yes.
Jen: okay. I'll pick up some Nyquil, vitamin C, orange juice, your favorite tea, chicken soup, and aspirin on my way home.
me: I might not get sick!
Darian: meow.
Jen: oh, you're right. I need to add tissue to the list.
November 1, 2011
amp
So, about Aspen Mountain Press...
I don't have a lot of info to share. Other people have done an awesome job going over the problems AMP is/may be having. I can say that the site's been down for a bit now and that the e-book versions of DD and Ergot aren't currently available(though the print copies are). When I know more, I'll post.
I don't have a lot of info to share. Other people have done an awesome job going over the problems AMP is/may be having. I can say that the site's been down for a bit now and that the e-book versions of DD and Ergot aren't currently available(though the print copies are). When I know more, I'll post.
