K.Z. Snow's Blog, page 22

New WIP Sneak Peek

If you look at the sidebar under "Pages," you'll see a new post. I've put up an excerpt from Scourge: Red, the first part of my in-progress Jackson Spey Scourge trilogy. (Still don't know if this will be a proper trilogy -- meaning, three separate books -- or one book divided into three parts. That will, I guess, depend on the length of each section. I'm currently working on the second.)

The Dove and the Pearl

Blogs don't generally warm my heart. Most aren't designed to do that. Most are meant to inform and/or entertain. (Well, I suppose there are some squeaky-clean, sappy-ass, sunshiny blogs around for conservative ladies whose lives center on church and family. However, since I don't fall into that demographic category, I'm unaware of them -- thank badness.)

But I've been pleased to discover, finally, a heartwarming blog that makes me grin rather than potentially gag. 2 Boys in Love (click on the post title to get there) centers on exactly what its name suggests: two intelligent, candid young men who are crazy about each other and take so much exuberant pride in that fact, they want to share their thoughts, feelings, and daily experiences with the world. As far as I'm concerned, the world is a better place for it.

Anybody who needs his or her faith restored in humanity should make a point of visiting Matty and Brad regularly. They aren't saccharine; they're simply sincere. I only wish all queer kids everywhere could find the kind of mutually supportive relationship these boys have forged. It's incomprehensible to me that anybody could take issue with such unshakable friendship and untainted romance, with such happiness.  

I just adore these guys. Long may they love . . . and spread their joy.

Saturday Snark VI

Once more, courtesy of the lovely and talented Marie Sexton . . .

This snip is from A Hole in God's Pocket, due out in spring 2012 from Dreamspinner Press. Greg Aubuchon, one of the main characters, is playing Good Samaritan; he's brought an inebriated man home with him to crash on the couch. But Greg's housemate, Lenny, is none too happy about this act of kindness. Lenny's a rip-roarin' redneck who swears the overnight guest is gay -- at least according to local gossip -- and his homophobia has kicked in.

* * *

Greg's mind backpedaled. Had there been any other indication Faron was gay? No, not really. Certainly nothing concrete. "That crap doesn't mean anything. There are dozens of single men around here who hang out together or share a rental. Look at us."

"Buddy," Lenny said, reaching across the corner of the table and clapping a hand to Greg's shoulder, "we don't flit around and we sure as shit don't get all touchy-feely with each other." He abruptly, and quite comically, pulled his hand back. God forbid Lenny Lorta should be mistaken for a "flitter."

Greg squelched an impulse to laugh. "Sounds like folks are jumping to a whole lot of conclusions based on a whole lot of nothing. You know how it is. One person makes an assumption and pretty soon it's being spread like the Gospel."

"Yeah, I know, but you don't often hear about dudes being pegged as homos. Where there's smoke, blah-blah-blah."

"Oh, bullshit." Greg seemed to be saying it to himself as much as to Lenny. He needed to quell the flutter of excitement he felt, the pale images that rose in his mind like resurfacing stains. "You don't know him any better than I do."

"Whatever. But the fucker better not wander into my bedroom. I'm gonna lock my door just to be on the safe side."

Greg gave Lenny a look that said, You must be kidding. "Do that. God knows we don't want a maybe-gay man with maybe-rampaging hormones mistaking you for David Beckham."

* * *

Saturday Snark V

Just a short one today -- an "afterglow exchange" from The Prayer Waltz:


"I'm a sucker for a man who licks my chest. Just keep doing it. Maybe more hair will grow."

"Shit, Evan. I'd suffocate."

Twitter Twit

That be me. I am honestly starting to get the guilts about people following me on Twitter. They have nothing to follow. I am lost in this wilderness of drive-by posts and dangling conversational bits.

I'm so sorry!

I don't know how to respond to comments. I don't know how to participate in discussions. I don't feel like hunting down and reading instructions.

So . . . how do I get involved? Do I want to get involved? I'm not entirely sure yet. There are so damned many wackos out there! I haven't felt too kindly disposed toward social networking lately, because sometimes the Web bears an alarming resemblance to a spider web, with plump, toxic arachnids just lying in wait and trembling with anticipation 'cause they're so eager to pounce. I don't want them near me!

But anyway, for future reference, how does Twitter work? I just haven't bothered to get the hang of it.

Saturday Snark IV

My fourth installment comes from my steampunk novel, Mongrel. Fanule Perfidor, the Eminence of Taintwell, is at (what turns out to be) a very dangerous meeting with his enemies. Lucky for him that his ex-lover, vampire extraordinaire Clancy Marrowbone, has come along.
Click on the post title to visit Marie Sexton's blog and see more authors' offerings!
* * *

For countless moments, chaos reigned. A gunshot tore through the night, a man uttered a strangled cry of shock and terror, Pushbin and Hunzinger tried to duck beneath the table, Will rushed into the tent and immediately dove for Fanule, asking if he was hurt, and Clancy Marrowbone's voice sounded from somewhere above.

"You can get up now, Fan," he said, placid as a pigeon.

With Will still touching his back and gripping his arm, Fanule rose to his feet. Pushbin and Hunzinger struggled up from beneath the table. The mayor, his eyes like saucers, stumbled backward and clumsily fell into his chair. Hunzinger's hand flew to his throat as a startled sound came from his mouth.

Petrified, they stared at the figure in the middle of the table.

"Hello," said Marrowbone. "As you gentlemen know, I'm not the Eminence of anything, unless it's a room full of rather short people." He licked his lips in a leisurely way. "Or lifeless bodies."

"You always did know how to make an entrance, Clancy," Fanule said as he resumed his seat.

Marrowbone, who'd been kneeling on all fours, lackadaisically fell back on his haunches. Blood streaked the lower half of his face.

Signs, signs, everywhere a sign . . . with postscript

This week, I like this one the best:

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign . . .

This week, I like this one the best:

For Tam and Tracy

THANK YOU!

One Reason Why Cyberspace Can Be a Distasteful Place

Imagine, within that crystal ball, a huge collection of URLs . . .