Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 104
January 10, 2016
Beary Sick -- SuperBat
Okay--I'll be honest. A lot of you saw my post on Twitter/FB that said I wasn't feeling great--and I'm not. Nothing dire-- just a fever, sore throat--mild, but, well, draining. As in, I woke up, head hurt, everything hurt, and I could find no reason whatsoever to get out of bed.
Story of my day.
So, for tonight's episode of Fanfic Friday (technically on Sunday) we're going to talk about the flu. More specifically, we're going to talk about the one thing that Bruce Wayne can get that Clark Kent... can't.
* * *
"Oh my God!" Clark actually landed on top of the Batmobile because it was squirreling all over the road. "Get out of the car."
"Get off of the car!" Bruce pounded on the ceiling with his fist, forgetting that the armor reinforcements could crack glass.
The wraparound window on the driver's side exploded upwards, and the car fishtailed on it's ginormous wheels before coasting to a halt a hair's breadth away from the guard rail.
Inside, Clark could hear Bruce coughing so hard he was gagging on his own phlegm.
Oh fuck this.
Clark hopped off the car and ripped the door off, chucking it over the guardrail and into the crashing ocean below. Then he stood by the car and waited until the coughing fit stopped.
"You fucked up my car!" Bruce wheezed when he could actually breathed.
"You fucked up my property! Now hit the seatbelt release and let's go home!"
"My car!" Bruce complained, and Clark squat down so they were eye to eye.
"If you don't hit the fucking release, I will rip the seat out and the car will be in for repair longer than you will. Now hit the release."
"Asshole," Bruce grumbled, but the automatic safety netting that cocooned Batman in a complete cushion of poly-kevlar retracted, and Superman reached into the car and scooped Bruce out.
"My car!" Bruce snapped.
Clark pushed the mic in his ear. "Alfred?"
"Sir? Have you retrieved the item?"
"The item is inbound. If you could activate the remote control?"
Below them, the Batmobile began it's remotely driven trip the last ten miles toward the BatCave. "Done, sir. There is a hot bath and appropriate beverages waiting."
"Traitor," Bruce muttered. "You're fired."
"Sure I am." Alfred's voice was uncharacteristically sarcastic.
"Alfred, what's his temp."
"104, sir. He shouldn't be out of bed."
"It was 101 this morning," Clark hissed. "I will sit on you to make sure you get better this time."
"You have things in Metropolis to do," Bruce said, sounding petulant. "No time to sit on me. Have to go sit on somebody else's face." He broke into giggles, and Clark and Alfred both groaned.
"Please don't drop him, sir," Alfred begged. "We need his signature on the checks, or we'll lose the house."
Clark laughed grimly. "That would be a shame." He tightened his hold on Bruce, who was beginning to shiver uncontrollably with the chill of flying on his fever-hot skin.
"Everybody's a smartass," Bruce muttered. "The Joker. Has everybody forgotten I put him back in Arkham tonight?"
"The Joker never escaped," Clark muttered. "I don't know who you put in Arkham, but I'm sure they're very confused."
"Commissioner Gordon called while you were chasing him down," Alfred said dryly over the intercom. "He wanted me to know that the poor man who was behind the counter at the drugstore was in hysterics and needed to be sedated. I told him a charity foundation would be paying all his hospital bills and taking care of his family until he felt better."
"You terrified a sales clerk?" Clark demanded, and Bruce's reply was a dry chuckle.
"Asshole kept telling me not to use the green cough medicine while driving heavy machinery. See how he likes being imprisoned with the Joker! That'll teach him what green cough medicine is for!"
"Oh dear God!" Clark said, at the same time Alfred said, "Sweet mother in heaven."
"All this, because you didn't want to take a sick day?"
Batman broke into a coughing fit, and that occupied him until Clark got him safely into the cave.
It took all three days, all told, for the antibiotics, cold baths, and fever meds to finally get Bruce to come down from the delirium, and in that time, Clark sent his blood up to the Justice League three times, trying to make sure there was no biologically engineered superbug running through his system.
"For fuck's sake no!" Diana finally exploded. "He was just an asshole who thought he could power through it. He forgets that he goes to Arkham and exhausts himself and anything running through that population is going to be ready to kill him on general principle."
"But he's so weird!" Clark burst back. "Today, he asked me if I had a teddy bear, so he could spar with it!"
Diana cocked her head, and a totally alien expression crossed her face. "Aw," she said, sounding like any other girl Clark had ever known. "Bruce Wayne? Wants a teddy bear? Isn't that the cutest fucking thing on the planet?"
Clark--who hadn't slept in nearly three days--suddenly realized what he'd done.
"No," he said, horrified.
She just looked at him with googly eyes.
"No, please tell me that--"
"The flu?" Barry said, sounding enraptured. "Teddy bears?"
"Yessssssssss!" Hal whooped, pumping his fist. "Oh my God. You have no idea!"
Even Hawk Man and Hawk Girl looked devious as Clark was burying his face in his arms and wishing for death.
"Please don't," he croaked. God. Maybe he'd get the flu, and he wouldn't have to live through--
But it was too late.
* * *
Bruce's fever eventually broke, and he was left to sleep in peace for the next four days, with occasional breaks for baths in Clark's arms, and soup, spooned into him by Alfred, who seemed to enjoy reminiscing about the times he'd gotten sick as a child. It was nice that he did that, actually, because one of Bruce's few weaknesses was that he remembered very little about being sick. Wounded, yes, he could recall wounded in excruciating detail, but not so much sick.
So he didn't notice the damage until about a week after Superman had landed on top of the Batmobile on the cliffside highway.
"Clark?" he called, suddenly panicked in the middle of the day.
Clark's voice sounded on the intercom near his bed. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
"Tell me this isn't--"
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I got nothin'," Clark said wearily. "See you at home."
He looked around his room--his billionaire's room with the great canopy bed and the mahogany furniture with the hand embroidered cushions-- and hid his head under his pillow.
When he came out again, it was all still there.
The biggest teddy bear was in bed with him-- it was dressed in a Superman outfit, complete with leotards, cape, and a little hole for the puffy teddy bear tail. It stayed there as he got better, until Clark could actually get into his bed and touch him like he meant it--that was the best punishment Bruce could think of, and Clark felt so guilty that he seemed to agree.
But that was only the biggest.
They were everywhere, all shapes, all sizes, from Ty beanie baby teddy bears to a big trio of Gundt Teddy Bears dressed like the Justice League, to--thank you Barry and Hal-- four fully operational robotic sparring teddy bears, made for the practice room, to be used with everything from batarangs to nunchucks.
For weeks, Bruce or Clark couldn't walk across the fucking room without uncovering a new fuzzy, furry, saccharine little horror either under the bed, or in the corner of the canopy, or strung up from the light fixture. Those last ones were all wearing Superman outfits too, and Bruce had known he wasn't ready for active duty yet when he'd tried to throw them through the window and they'd only splatted there like wet ravioli.
And the worst part was that they seemed to be some sort of... of wellness test.
Because just like Clark couldn't get back into bed until he was ready to fuck Bruce blind, Bruce wasn't allowed out of the Batcave until every last bear, ninja bear, superbear, beanie baby, and robot bear, had been found in his room and put away.
Three years later, Bruce was coming in from a long, hard week of crime fighting and saving the world as a wealthy industrialist, and he sneezed. Superman heard him from ten miles away and swooped into the Batcave at warp speed--but not before Alfred cornered him with a thermometer and aspirin and NyQuil.
By the time the man of steel got to Bruce's bed, he was safely ensconced in bed, arms crossed, pout fully evident, and a steaming mug of tea at his elbow.
Clark hovered over the end of his bed and crossed his arms back.
"So?" he said sternly.
"So, I've got a fever, sue me."
"And...?" He pushed.
Bruce sighed. "And I will stay in bed until the fever breaks and I can walk across the floor without tripping over my feet or thinking everybody not Superman and Alfred is the Joker."
Clark dropped lightly to the floor and walked close enough to stroke his hair back from his brow, feeling with sympathy how very hot his forehead was. "I," he said deliberately, "Am beary glad to hear that."
Bruce glared. "Bring me the big bear. I want to sleep with it."
"Not on your life. Scoot over. I want tea."
"Stupid aliens and their germ resistance. Outta be a law."
"There is." Clark kissed his cheek. "It's the all superheroes get sick days law."
Bruce sighed and scooted over, and allowed Clark to snuggled.
Well, better him than the damned bears.
Story of my day.
So, for tonight's episode of Fanfic Friday (technically on Sunday) we're going to talk about the flu. More specifically, we're going to talk about the one thing that Bruce Wayne can get that Clark Kent... can't.
* * *
"Oh my God!" Clark actually landed on top of the Batmobile because it was squirreling all over the road. "Get out of the car."
"Get off of the car!" Bruce pounded on the ceiling with his fist, forgetting that the armor reinforcements could crack glass.
The wraparound window on the driver's side exploded upwards, and the car fishtailed on it's ginormous wheels before coasting to a halt a hair's breadth away from the guard rail.
Inside, Clark could hear Bruce coughing so hard he was gagging on his own phlegm.
Oh fuck this.
Clark hopped off the car and ripped the door off, chucking it over the guardrail and into the crashing ocean below. Then he stood by the car and waited until the coughing fit stopped.
"You fucked up my car!" Bruce wheezed when he could actually breathed.
"You fucked up my property! Now hit the seatbelt release and let's go home!"
"My car!" Bruce complained, and Clark squat down so they were eye to eye.
"If you don't hit the fucking release, I will rip the seat out and the car will be in for repair longer than you will. Now hit the release."
"Asshole," Bruce grumbled, but the automatic safety netting that cocooned Batman in a complete cushion of poly-kevlar retracted, and Superman reached into the car and scooped Bruce out.
"My car!" Bruce snapped.
Clark pushed the mic in his ear. "Alfred?"
"Sir? Have you retrieved the item?"
"The item is inbound. If you could activate the remote control?"
Below them, the Batmobile began it's remotely driven trip the last ten miles toward the BatCave. "Done, sir. There is a hot bath and appropriate beverages waiting."
"Traitor," Bruce muttered. "You're fired."
"Sure I am." Alfred's voice was uncharacteristically sarcastic.
"Alfred, what's his temp."
"104, sir. He shouldn't be out of bed."
"It was 101 this morning," Clark hissed. "I will sit on you to make sure you get better this time."
"You have things in Metropolis to do," Bruce said, sounding petulant. "No time to sit on me. Have to go sit on somebody else's face." He broke into giggles, and Clark and Alfred both groaned.
"Please don't drop him, sir," Alfred begged. "We need his signature on the checks, or we'll lose the house."
Clark laughed grimly. "That would be a shame." He tightened his hold on Bruce, who was beginning to shiver uncontrollably with the chill of flying on his fever-hot skin.
"Everybody's a smartass," Bruce muttered. "The Joker. Has everybody forgotten I put him back in Arkham tonight?"
"The Joker never escaped," Clark muttered. "I don't know who you put in Arkham, but I'm sure they're very confused."
"Commissioner Gordon called while you were chasing him down," Alfred said dryly over the intercom. "He wanted me to know that the poor man who was behind the counter at the drugstore was in hysterics and needed to be sedated. I told him a charity foundation would be paying all his hospital bills and taking care of his family until he felt better."
"You terrified a sales clerk?" Clark demanded, and Bruce's reply was a dry chuckle.
"Asshole kept telling me not to use the green cough medicine while driving heavy machinery. See how he likes being imprisoned with the Joker! That'll teach him what green cough medicine is for!"
"Oh dear God!" Clark said, at the same time Alfred said, "Sweet mother in heaven."
"All this, because you didn't want to take a sick day?"
Batman broke into a coughing fit, and that occupied him until Clark got him safely into the cave.
It took all three days, all told, for the antibiotics, cold baths, and fever meds to finally get Bruce to come down from the delirium, and in that time, Clark sent his blood up to the Justice League three times, trying to make sure there was no biologically engineered superbug running through his system.
"For fuck's sake no!" Diana finally exploded. "He was just an asshole who thought he could power through it. He forgets that he goes to Arkham and exhausts himself and anything running through that population is going to be ready to kill him on general principle."
"But he's so weird!" Clark burst back. "Today, he asked me if I had a teddy bear, so he could spar with it!"
Diana cocked her head, and a totally alien expression crossed her face. "Aw," she said, sounding like any other girl Clark had ever known. "Bruce Wayne? Wants a teddy bear? Isn't that the cutest fucking thing on the planet?"
Clark--who hadn't slept in nearly three days--suddenly realized what he'd done.
"No," he said, horrified.
She just looked at him with googly eyes.
"No, please tell me that--"
"The flu?" Barry said, sounding enraptured. "Teddy bears?"
"Yessssssssss!" Hal whooped, pumping his fist. "Oh my God. You have no idea!"
Even Hawk Man and Hawk Girl looked devious as Clark was burying his face in his arms and wishing for death.
"Please don't," he croaked. God. Maybe he'd get the flu, and he wouldn't have to live through--
But it was too late.
* * *
Bruce's fever eventually broke, and he was left to sleep in peace for the next four days, with occasional breaks for baths in Clark's arms, and soup, spooned into him by Alfred, who seemed to enjoy reminiscing about the times he'd gotten sick as a child. It was nice that he did that, actually, because one of Bruce's few weaknesses was that he remembered very little about being sick. Wounded, yes, he could recall wounded in excruciating detail, but not so much sick.
So he didn't notice the damage until about a week after Superman had landed on top of the Batmobile on the cliffside highway.
"Clark?" he called, suddenly panicked in the middle of the day.
Clark's voice sounded on the intercom near his bed. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
"Tell me this isn't--"
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I got nothin'," Clark said wearily. "See you at home."
He looked around his room--his billionaire's room with the great canopy bed and the mahogany furniture with the hand embroidered cushions-- and hid his head under his pillow.
When he came out again, it was all still there.
The biggest teddy bear was in bed with him-- it was dressed in a Superman outfit, complete with leotards, cape, and a little hole for the puffy teddy bear tail. It stayed there as he got better, until Clark could actually get into his bed and touch him like he meant it--that was the best punishment Bruce could think of, and Clark felt so guilty that he seemed to agree.
But that was only the biggest.
They were everywhere, all shapes, all sizes, from Ty beanie baby teddy bears to a big trio of Gundt Teddy Bears dressed like the Justice League, to--thank you Barry and Hal-- four fully operational robotic sparring teddy bears, made for the practice room, to be used with everything from batarangs to nunchucks.
For weeks, Bruce or Clark couldn't walk across the fucking room without uncovering a new fuzzy, furry, saccharine little horror either under the bed, or in the corner of the canopy, or strung up from the light fixture. Those last ones were all wearing Superman outfits too, and Bruce had known he wasn't ready for active duty yet when he'd tried to throw them through the window and they'd only splatted there like wet ravioli.
And the worst part was that they seemed to be some sort of... of wellness test.
Because just like Clark couldn't get back into bed until he was ready to fuck Bruce blind, Bruce wasn't allowed out of the Batcave until every last bear, ninja bear, superbear, beanie baby, and robot bear, had been found in his room and put away.
Three years later, Bruce was coming in from a long, hard week of crime fighting and saving the world as a wealthy industrialist, and he sneezed. Superman heard him from ten miles away and swooped into the Batcave at warp speed--but not before Alfred cornered him with a thermometer and aspirin and NyQuil.
By the time the man of steel got to Bruce's bed, he was safely ensconced in bed, arms crossed, pout fully evident, and a steaming mug of tea at his elbow.
Clark hovered over the end of his bed and crossed his arms back.
"So?" he said sternly.
"So, I've got a fever, sue me."
"And...?" He pushed.
Bruce sighed. "And I will stay in bed until the fever breaks and I can walk across the floor without tripping over my feet or thinking everybody not Superman and Alfred is the Joker."
Clark dropped lightly to the floor and walked close enough to stroke his hair back from his brow, feeling with sympathy how very hot his forehead was. "I," he said deliberately, "Am beary glad to hear that."
Bruce glared. "Bring me the big bear. I want to sleep with it."
"Not on your life. Scoot over. I want tea."
"Stupid aliens and their germ resistance. Outta be a law."
"There is." Clark kissed his cheek. "It's the all superheroes get sick days law."
Bruce sighed and scooted over, and allowed Clark to snuggled.
Well, better him than the damned bears.
January 7, 2016
Dog Kisses
Mate let the house this morning with this parting shot: Here's your phone. Don't forget the dog's appointment. And the cat crapped somewhere in the kitchen and then dragged stuff on top of it to hide it. Good luck finding it!
Needless to say, sleeping in (which I usually do on Thursday) was a complete bust.
Anyway, I took Johnnie to his usual vets appointment today-- you know, pedicure, ass squeezing, shots and heart worm. Geoffie was sorry to see him go--but ecstatic to see the people at the vets office, I will tell you that.
She's a riot-- she licks and wriggles and gets held and cuddled by no fewer than three vet techs whenever she goes in. Geoffie is very popular, the little slut, and she gets her belly scratched any time she wants.
Of course when Johnnie wasn't there she spent her day wandering around the house with big sorry eyes. When I went down for my nap (because no sleeping in, duh!) she crawled under the blankets and cuddled extra close. Her buddy wasn't there. It was very sad.
But my real lesson of the day was when I went back to get Johnnie-- sans Geoffie this time-- and I was waiting for him to be brought out. Now, the veterinarian had gone home sick-- they'd told me that earlier--and the other vet on that day had been trying to see all the appointments, so the place was a madhouse.
Nevertheless, one of the girls brought out a dog--a twenty pound dog, at the bare minimum-- on it's cushion, with an e-collar on, and proceeded to try to talk about what sort of medication the dog should be on. It became apparent that some wires had been crossed, and that the woman getting the dog was unaware of some things she should have known.
The vet tech cheerfully told her that she'd go back and get the veterinarian to come straighten things out, and the woman was cold and unresponsive. "You are obviously under water here and--"
"Yes, but this is important, and we want your dog to have the best care. Give me just a moment, okay? We want to make sure your dog gets healthy and happy!"
Now I love the vet techs in this place--they are, to a one, extraordinarily nice people. They are organized, they work for each other, and, generally, I get the feeling of a happy work place--and thus far, in more than ten years of animal care, they have yet to fuck up. And that's saying something.
But this woman wasn't happy, and as she went to sit down, dog on cushion, on lap, the dog started to whine. And the woman started to verbally abuse the dog.
Now, I verbally abuse my animals all the time. "Steve, nobody likes you and you have no friends." Since I'm usually scratching Steve's ass and rubbing her whiskers as she says this, she's okay with it.
"Geoffie, you are dumber than a box of diapers and you are not a badass! Here, have a treat."
Yeah-- the dogs may not understand the words--but they get the tone--and the tone usually screams, "I'm a pushover! Come pee on my rug and sleep on my coat!"
Verbal abuse is okay because dogs actually understand tone.
This woman's tone made me cry--and I was sitting across the room.
"Stop it--shut up. You are a horrible nasty creature. You're stupid. We shouldn't be here. Look what you did you nasty thing. I hate you. Hate. You." She stared straight ahead. The dog stared straight ahead on it's large cushion and whined. And both of them looked supremely unhappy.
Enter the vet tech, with Johnnie.
She is all wet--and no, not with water.
"He was pretty excited to get fetched," she said apologetically. "I, uh, hope he doesn't go all over you too."
"Oh my God! I"m so sorry!" I put out my arms and she gave him to me and I got covered in doggie kisses. "Johnnie--no! No you goofy thing! Okay, let's go down, shall we? Okay, yeah, mommy loves you. You were missed. Now get down. Yeah, no more kisses. Down. Down."
And I took my instructions and took the happy, excited dog on my way.
And thought about that unhappy woman and her unhappy dog.
I mean, I've yelled at Geoffie to stop turding on the carpet and she's looked at me from under her bangs as if to say, "Isn't it wonderful that you feel so passionate about this subject. As soon as I'm done with this turd, let's find out what subject it is you feel so passionate about, shall we?"
I've told Johnnie to "Stop licking me, dammit!" and he has continued on.
There is a particular rug in our hallway that I put the pee pads on-- for a very specific reason.
My dogs aren't awesomely behaved, and they're not awesomely trained, but they do love us very much. And seriously, that's all I want from a dog. That dog's job is to love me unconditionally, and frankly, my dogs are bonkers about their job. I keep forking over the treats and the pets, and they will keep forking over the unconditional love.
I am wondering-- seriously wondering--what this woman's dog did. And then I'm forced to ask myself the obvious--what did this woman expect from her dog? Did she expect perfect behavior? Because that's a horrible thing to do to any dog. Or any human for that matter. Nobody delivers up on that one.
I don't know--although I'm sure it will turn up in a story someday.
What i do know is that my dog peed on the vet tech and licked me in the face and was generally loved by everyone around him. And that's all I've ever wanted from a furry quadruped in my home.
Needless to say, sleeping in (which I usually do on Thursday) was a complete bust.
Anyway, I took Johnnie to his usual vets appointment today-- you know, pedicure, ass squeezing, shots and heart worm. Geoffie was sorry to see him go--but ecstatic to see the people at the vets office, I will tell you that.
She's a riot-- she licks and wriggles and gets held and cuddled by no fewer than three vet techs whenever she goes in. Geoffie is very popular, the little slut, and she gets her belly scratched any time she wants.
Of course when Johnnie wasn't there she spent her day wandering around the house with big sorry eyes. When I went down for my nap (because no sleeping in, duh!) she crawled under the blankets and cuddled extra close. Her buddy wasn't there. It was very sad.
But my real lesson of the day was when I went back to get Johnnie-- sans Geoffie this time-- and I was waiting for him to be brought out. Now, the veterinarian had gone home sick-- they'd told me that earlier--and the other vet on that day had been trying to see all the appointments, so the place was a madhouse.
Nevertheless, one of the girls brought out a dog--a twenty pound dog, at the bare minimum-- on it's cushion, with an e-collar on, and proceeded to try to talk about what sort of medication the dog should be on. It became apparent that some wires had been crossed, and that the woman getting the dog was unaware of some things she should have known.
The vet tech cheerfully told her that she'd go back and get the veterinarian to come straighten things out, and the woman was cold and unresponsive. "You are obviously under water here and--"
"Yes, but this is important, and we want your dog to have the best care. Give me just a moment, okay? We want to make sure your dog gets healthy and happy!"
Now I love the vet techs in this place--they are, to a one, extraordinarily nice people. They are organized, they work for each other, and, generally, I get the feeling of a happy work place--and thus far, in more than ten years of animal care, they have yet to fuck up. And that's saying something.
But this woman wasn't happy, and as she went to sit down, dog on cushion, on lap, the dog started to whine. And the woman started to verbally abuse the dog.
Now, I verbally abuse my animals all the time. "Steve, nobody likes you and you have no friends." Since I'm usually scratching Steve's ass and rubbing her whiskers as she says this, she's okay with it.
"Geoffie, you are dumber than a box of diapers and you are not a badass! Here, have a treat."
Yeah-- the dogs may not understand the words--but they get the tone--and the tone usually screams, "I'm a pushover! Come pee on my rug and sleep on my coat!"
Verbal abuse is okay because dogs actually understand tone.
This woman's tone made me cry--and I was sitting across the room.
"Stop it--shut up. You are a horrible nasty creature. You're stupid. We shouldn't be here. Look what you did you nasty thing. I hate you. Hate. You." She stared straight ahead. The dog stared straight ahead on it's large cushion and whined. And both of them looked supremely unhappy.
Enter the vet tech, with Johnnie.
She is all wet--and no, not with water.
"He was pretty excited to get fetched," she said apologetically. "I, uh, hope he doesn't go all over you too."
"Oh my God! I"m so sorry!" I put out my arms and she gave him to me and I got covered in doggie kisses. "Johnnie--no! No you goofy thing! Okay, let's go down, shall we? Okay, yeah, mommy loves you. You were missed. Now get down. Yeah, no more kisses. Down. Down."
And I took my instructions and took the happy, excited dog on my way.
And thought about that unhappy woman and her unhappy dog.
I mean, I've yelled at Geoffie to stop turding on the carpet and she's looked at me from under her bangs as if to say, "Isn't it wonderful that you feel so passionate about this subject. As soon as I'm done with this turd, let's find out what subject it is you feel so passionate about, shall we?"
I've told Johnnie to "Stop licking me, dammit!" and he has continued on.
There is a particular rug in our hallway that I put the pee pads on-- for a very specific reason.
My dogs aren't awesomely behaved, and they're not awesomely trained, but they do love us very much. And seriously, that's all I want from a dog. That dog's job is to love me unconditionally, and frankly, my dogs are bonkers about their job. I keep forking over the treats and the pets, and they will keep forking over the unconditional love.
I am wondering-- seriously wondering--what this woman's dog did. And then I'm forced to ask myself the obvious--what did this woman expect from her dog? Did she expect perfect behavior? Because that's a horrible thing to do to any dog. Or any human for that matter. Nobody delivers up on that one.
I don't know--although I'm sure it will turn up in a story someday.
What i do know is that my dog peed on the vet tech and licked me in the face and was generally loved by everyone around him. And that's all I've ever wanted from a furry quadruped in my home.
January 6, 2016
Blondies and Idots
Okay--
So, when I was teaching, we used to have to make kids read out loud at the beginning of the year, mostly to just get a bead on how fluent they were at reading. Sometimes this really helped-- the kids who flat out couldn't keep up could, at a decent school, get help, and if an entire class had difficulties right off the bat, you knew how to attack your material, and how slow you needed to go.
One of the first things you get, though, as you're having kids do this (for points! Always for points!) is how often stuff that looks like it should be pronounced one way, is actually pronounced an entirely different way. (As Squish just said, looking over my shoulder, "It's like 'physical' suddenly has a P-H, when it sounds like it should have an F!")
I was sympathetic when kids had this problem-- I told them about how I read Alice in Wonderland when I was in the 4th grade, and for a year, I called people "Idots!" because that's how I thought we pronounced "idiot". (You may laugh. You may even kid me about "idots". The sting is gone now.)
Anyway... fast forward a couple of years to when Chicken was in sixth grade and the popular girl clique was giving her hell.
She called them "blondies". "She's a blondie, so she doesn't like me."
"Blondie? Why do you call them blondies?"
"Because they're blondies!" (As in "DUH, Mom, how could you not know that?")
Now I got it then-- the aryan girl's club in our area is particularly vicious, and although my family looks like white people, we are frequently not white enough for all the the militantly white people in our suburb. We don't like country, we enjoy reading, we love John Stewart and think the "No-Bama" stickers people have on the back of their cars here are racist, tacky, and ignorant, especially with the confederate flag. So all the blonde girls with highlights in the 6th grade and Victoria Secret boobs and high aspirations to become pregnant right out of high school were not going to be Chicken's peer group, bless their stunted, blighted souls. (Mommy is still upset about her little girl getting food thrown at her as she walked down the hallways of Junior High, can you tell? Fucking bullies. I hope they all have the same strain of herpes.)
Anyway, "blondies" they were-- but I never knew where that term came from.
Until Squish used it today. "Yes, so-and-so is a blondie, but she's really very nice, and there's only a couple of them in our school."
Maybe it was context. Squish's school has a more diverse mix of students, and she mentioned that.
Maybe it was seven years of being edited professionally and finally figuring out the difference between blond and blonde was the difference between male and female.
Whatever it was, I finally got it.
BLONDE.
The hated girls in Chicken's junior high and the nice girl in Squish's grade school were BLONDES.
Look at the word.
Blonde. Blondie.
And there you go. I know where Chicken got that term ten years ago, and I know where Squish got it now.
Lord, do I feel like an idot!
So, when I was teaching, we used to have to make kids read out loud at the beginning of the year, mostly to just get a bead on how fluent they were at reading. Sometimes this really helped-- the kids who flat out couldn't keep up could, at a decent school, get help, and if an entire class had difficulties right off the bat, you knew how to attack your material, and how slow you needed to go.
One of the first things you get, though, as you're having kids do this (for points! Always for points!) is how often stuff that looks like it should be pronounced one way, is actually pronounced an entirely different way. (As Squish just said, looking over my shoulder, "It's like 'physical' suddenly has a P-H, when it sounds like it should have an F!")
I was sympathetic when kids had this problem-- I told them about how I read Alice in Wonderland when I was in the 4th grade, and for a year, I called people "Idots!" because that's how I thought we pronounced "idiot". (You may laugh. You may even kid me about "idots". The sting is gone now.)
Anyway... fast forward a couple of years to when Chicken was in sixth grade and the popular girl clique was giving her hell.
She called them "blondies". "She's a blondie, so she doesn't like me."
"Blondie? Why do you call them blondies?"
"Because they're blondies!" (As in "DUH, Mom, how could you not know that?")
Now I got it then-- the aryan girl's club in our area is particularly vicious, and although my family looks like white people, we are frequently not white enough for all the the militantly white people in our suburb. We don't like country, we enjoy reading, we love John Stewart and think the "No-Bama" stickers people have on the back of their cars here are racist, tacky, and ignorant, especially with the confederate flag. So all the blonde girls with highlights in the 6th grade and Victoria Secret boobs and high aspirations to become pregnant right out of high school were not going to be Chicken's peer group, bless their stunted, blighted souls. (Mommy is still upset about her little girl getting food thrown at her as she walked down the hallways of Junior High, can you tell? Fucking bullies. I hope they all have the same strain of herpes.)
Anyway, "blondies" they were-- but I never knew where that term came from.
Until Squish used it today. "Yes, so-and-so is a blondie, but she's really very nice, and there's only a couple of them in our school."
Maybe it was context. Squish's school has a more diverse mix of students, and she mentioned that.
Maybe it was seven years of being edited professionally and finally figuring out the difference between blond and blonde was the difference between male and female.
Whatever it was, I finally got it.
BLONDE.
The hated girls in Chicken's junior high and the nice girl in Squish's grade school were BLONDES.
Look at the word.
Blonde. Blondie.
And there you go. I know where Chicken got that term ten years ago, and I know where Squish got it now.
Lord, do I feel like an idot!
On Sales and Selfie
Hi all!
So, I've been in the writing and editing cave, finishing up on Fish Out of Water-- this is going to be a first for me folks, because I've just committed to doing at least four books-- one a year-- on the same couple. As in not "oh, I've been planning on it!" as in, editors watching me write going, "Is it done? It needs to be done by THIS DATE BECAUSE WE'VE GOT RELEASE PUBLICITY FOR IT!"
It's action adventure murder mystery and... I'm nervous. A fan recently said, "Hm... strange. Didn't think you could get nervous at this point..."
ALWAYS NERVOUS.
I try hard not to write the same book.
I mean, I have some things that are trademarks-- the self-made family, for one. Sweet and sad--that's sort of an Amy Lane thing. But some of my stories are lust at first look and some of them are the love that grows on you. Some of my characters are very self-aware, and some of them are... not.
I've got good guys and sarcastic guys and snarky guys and very very literal guys--and I like to think it makes the work better, even if it doesn't guarantee I'll write each person's favorite book every time because I'm not writing the same book, every time.
This is not the same book. Some of the things I do in this book, I don't know if I've done before, and some of my usual things are set on their ear. I sort of like what I've done--I hope you do too.
Anyway--
There's that!
There's also the fact that Joyfully Jay hosted my cover reveal today, so I get to finally post the cover of Selfie, well, myself. Anyway-- I love this cover. The island in the background is really important, and so are Connor's sad gray eyes and so are his cheekbones. Yes, even his cheekbones. You will love Noah-- he's a sarcastic, grounded bastard, and you'll adore him--but this is Connor's story. He has all the growth. That's why he gets the cover to himself, but Noah doesn't mind. Noah is content to sit off camera and make snarky comments and have the real Connor all to himself in private. It's a good system-- I think you'll like them.
Anyway-- Riptide is having a sale, and lots of my stuff is discounted, and you can now go and gaze at my Connor-- and read the excerpt, if that's your sort of thing. Anyway, here's the blurb and cover for
Selfie.
* * *
One year ago, actor Connor Montgomery lost the love of his life to a drunk driver. But what’s worse for Connor is what he still has: a lifetime of secrets born of hiding his relationship from the glare of Hollywood. Unable to let go of the world he and Vinnie shared, Connor films a drunken YouTube confession on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death.
Thankfully, the video was silent—a familiar state for Connor—so his secret is still safe. He needs a fresh start, and a new role on the hit TV show Wolf’s Landing might be just that.
The move to Bluewater Bay may also mean a second chance in the form of his studio-assigned assistant. Noah Dakers sees through Connor’s facades more quickly than Connor could imagine. Noah’s quiet strength and sarcastic companionship offers Connor a chance at love that Hollywood’s closet has never allowed. But to accept it, Connor must let Vinnie go and learn to live again.- See more at: http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/selfie#sthash.nzJsrv0m.dpuf
January 4, 2016
*Kermit Flail* New Year's Style-- January 2016
YAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!
Hello, all, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I am super excited about this New Year-- of course, being old, I'm excited because I hope it's a little less exciting than last year. *whew* I'm still tired!
Anyway--this was a fun *Kermit Flail* because I put out the all-call and got a HUGE response, and that's a great way to introduce you to a brand new crop of authors, so that's really fun.
Today's offerings include Charlie Crane, C.J. Elliot, Dan Skinner, JC Wallace, Nicole Dennis (purrrrr... Nicole is very snuggly-- that needed to be mentioned here!), Rick R. Reed (*flails cause Rick is awesome!), Serena Yates (squeeeeeee!!!! You have to know the lovely soul that is Serena to understand ;-) and Elizabeth Noble!
Also, I have a few new offerings-- Winter Ball (which you all knew about, I'm sure!) and Lollipop, the third book in the Candy Man series, which is out on January 25th!!!
With that said, I'll leave you to the new books-- and definitely, enjoy!
There You Are
by C.J. Elliot
Bisexual musician Cody Bellstrom is a free spirit, easygoing and unattached. On a cross-country trip, Cody befriends young Sandy Nixon and gets him safely to Portland and his uncle, Phineas MacDonald. Beautiful Phineas turns Cody’s life upside down, and Cody learns he's not as unattached as he aspires to be. With the hard-won knowledge of what lies underneath his need to be free, Cody wins a chance at real freedom and true love.
Ever since his longtime lover Allen died, Phineas MacDonald has lived a circumscribed life. He stopped performing as fierce drag queen Phanny Hill and works part-time in a bookstore. Phineas never expected to find love again. But when sexy and caring Cody Bellstrom turns up, Phineas feels his orderly life slipping out of his control. Cody brings him alive again, but now Phineas must find the courage to let go of his grief over Allen and give love a second chance.
Buy at Amazon
Poolside
by Charlie Crane
Jack Curso is a happy man. He’s got his life right where he wants it. He plays his music at Raymond’s La Bella Vita Lounge. He has the occasional big gig in a big room, and now and hen a tune of his shows up in a movie or on a TV commercial. Life is good. He has his bourbon, his weed, his freedom, and his women on his own terms.
When he meets Terri Melnick, the beautiful wife of a wealthy man, poolside at his apartment building, Jack hopes for nothing more than another intriguing sexual encounter. But he gets more—much more—and he soon finds himself in hiding from professional killers.
The life that Jack loves has been stolen from him. If he wants it back he’ll have to fight for it. He’ll have to adjust, think on his feet, and grow, if he’s to reclaim his life. He’s been hurled into a strange world where nothing is simple or familiar, but at least, what weighs in the balance is clear. It’s that or it’s death.
Buy at Amazon
X-periment
by Dan Skinner
Monsters aren't born... they're engineered.
For nineteen-year-old, socially awkward Geoff Markham, the promise of a miracle pill to make him into the person he’d always wanted to be was everything he could have hoped for.
At first, the experiment delivered on that promise. Geoff began to change, becoming more confident, stronger, even fearless. People began to admire him and find him attractive.
As with every new drug, there came side effects: the agitation, sleeplessness, the bad temper. When the strange dreams began, the ones that couldn't possibly be his own, he realized something else was happening to him. As he continued to change, he was becoming something much more than what had been promised... something far less human. Something unimaginable, unrecognizable.
Increasingly strange and violent things begin to happen around him. Is he the hunted or the hunter?
Amazon
Smashwords
Jerricho’s Freedom
by JC Wallace
Jerricho never expected to fall in love with Rex, the sexy, construction foreman but he did. Too bad tradition forbids Jerry from marrying for love. Prince of the clandestine Anzuni demon clan, a Baelso (bearer of children), and a virgin at twenty-four, tradition dictates that Jerry marry a man chosen for him. Despite his soul deep love for Rex, Jerry has no choice but to follow through with his obligation as prince and marry someone he doesn’t love.
But Jerry isn’t prepared for his dominant, aggressive fiancé who is only interested in marrying him for the future title of king. Facing the reality that he will lose his virginity to the cold man, Jerry flees to Rex for one night of passion. When Jerry finds himself pregnant with Rex’s baby, the actions of his enraged fiancé release Jerry from his marriage obligation.
Just when Jerry believes he will marry for love, he and Rex are ripped from away life as they know it. Betrayals, kidnappings, cruel experiments, pregnant men, and the reappearance of the Anzuni’s greatest enemy force Jerry and Rex to fight for their lives… their love… and their unborn child.
Amazon
ARe
Stranded
by Nicole Dennis
Traveling for work around the holidays sucks.
Julian Tucker learns this the hard way when work sends him to fix a crisis from Australia, Japan, to several locations in the States. To make matters suck more, he's sitting in the Denver Airport on New Year's Eve. This wasn't part of his plans. Oh and his boyfriend isn't picking up the phone. His luck gets worse – the incoming blizzard shuts down the airport. He's stuck there.
A fellow traveler, Emmett Bishop, takes the delay in stride. A superhero loving photojournalist, he sails along with the trouble, sweeping Julian up with his enthusiasm and zaniness. Unable to take flight, Emmett figures out another way to enjoy the holiday with Julian.
Suddenly, a snow delay doesn't seem so bad a way to ring in the New Year.
Buy at MLR
Mute Witnes
By Rick R. Reed
The abuse of a little boy turns a community against a loving gay couple, and nobody comes out of it unscathed.
Sean and Austin have the perfect life: new love, a riverfront home, security. Their love for one another is only multiplied when Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason, visits on the weekends.
And then their perfect world shatters.
Jason goes missing.
When the boy turns up days later, he's been so horribly abused he’s lost the power to speak. Immediately small town minds turn to the boy’s gay father and his lover as the likely culprits. What was a warm, welcoming community becomes a lynching party out for blood.
As Sean and Austin struggle to stay together amidst innuendo, the very real threat of Sean losing the son he loves emerges. Yet the true villain is much closer to home, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.
1st Edition published by ManLove Romance Press, 2009.
BUY AT DSPP
The Florist (A Workplace Encounters Book)
By Serena Yates
When freelance florist Dylan White gets a call that a good friend has died and left him a flower shop, Dylan isn’t sure he wants the commitment. Still, he travels to Florida to speak with the law firm, where he meets defense attorney Sean Mellick in the corridor. Sean makes a point of “running into” Dylan again, and Dylan eventually agrees to a date.
While romance blooms between the two men, their careers aren’t going as smoothly. Dylan faces employee resistance and sabotage, and then inexplicable expenses leave him on the verge of bankruptcy. An offer to sell that sounds too good to be true makes him suspicious, and he asks Sean for help. Though they’ve had very little time together, Dylan and Sean need each other to work through the issues and plant the seeds for the future they both want.
First Edition published by Silver Publishing, 2012.
Buy at DSP
Gone Away
by Elizabeth Noble
Mason Arquette isn’t one for mincing words. In fact, he often rubs people the wrong way—with the exception of Riece Burrell. Riece came with his own set of social issues, but he saw right through Mason’s tough exterior, and they made a perfect couple. Or so Mason thought… until Riece abruptly ended their relationship without much explanation.
Years later, Mason and Riece are thrown back together. As a US Forestry Service photographer, Riece is sent on assignment to the Black Hills, where Mason works. When Mason is tasked with guiding Riece around the territory, old feelings quickly are rekindled.
But nothing is ever easy. Just as Mason and Riece begin to work things out, they’re targeted by people with motives so vile and twisted they defy imagination. In a desperate race for their lives, they must depend on one another and take a big step out of their personal comfort zones to find their way back to safety—and back to love.
Buy at DSP
* * *
Amy's Stuff
Lollipop
by Amy Lane
Ezra Kellerman flew across country to see if he had another chance with the man he let slip through his fingers. He didn't. Rico has moved on, but he doesn’t just leave his ex high and dry. Instead, Rico entrusts his family and friends with Ezra’s care. Ezra, confused, hurt, and lost, clings to Rico’s cousin and his boyfriend as the lifelines they are—but their friend Miguel is another story.
Miguel Rodriguez had great plans and ambition—but a hearty dose of real life crushed those flat. When Miguel finds himself partially in charge of the befuddled, dreamy, healing Ezra, he’s pretty resentful at first. But Ezra’s placid nature and sincere wonder at the simple life Miguel has taken for granted begin to soften Miguel’s hardened shell. Miguel starts to notice that Ezra isn't just amazingly sweet—he’s achingly beautiful as well. Suddenly Miguel is fending off every single man on the planet to give Ezra room to get over Rico—while fighting a burning suspicion that the best thing to help Ezra get over his broken heart is Miguel.
Pre-Buy at DSP
Winter Ball
by Amy Lane
Through a miserable adolescence and a lonely adulthood, Skipper Keith has dreamed of nothing but family. The closest he gets is the rec league soccer team he coaches after work—and his star player and best friend, Richie Scoggins.
One brisk night in late October, a postpractice convo in Richie’s car turns into a sexual encounter neither of them expected—nor want to forget. Soon Skip and Richie are living for the weekends and their winter league soccer games—and the games they enjoy off the field. Through broken noses, holiday decorating, and the killer flu, they learn more about each other than they ever dreamed possible. Every new discovery takes them further beyond the boundaries of the soccer field and into the infinite possibilities of the best relationship of Skipper’s life.
Skipper can’t dream of a better family than Richie—but Richie’s got real family entanglements he can’t shake off. Skipper needs to convince Richie to stay with him beyond winter ball so the relationship they started on the field might become their happy future in real life!
Buy at Amazon
Hello, all, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I am super excited about this New Year-- of course, being old, I'm excited because I hope it's a little less exciting than last year. *whew* I'm still tired!
Anyway--this was a fun *Kermit Flail* because I put out the all-call and got a HUGE response, and that's a great way to introduce you to a brand new crop of authors, so that's really fun.
Today's offerings include Charlie Crane, C.J. Elliot, Dan Skinner, JC Wallace, Nicole Dennis (purrrrr... Nicole is very snuggly-- that needed to be mentioned here!), Rick R. Reed (*flails cause Rick is awesome!), Serena Yates (squeeeeeee!!!! You have to know the lovely soul that is Serena to understand ;-) and Elizabeth Noble!
Also, I have a few new offerings-- Winter Ball (which you all knew about, I'm sure!) and Lollipop, the third book in the Candy Man series, which is out on January 25th!!!
With that said, I'll leave you to the new books-- and definitely, enjoy!
There You Are
by C.J. Elliot
Bisexual musician Cody Bellstrom is a free spirit, easygoing and unattached. On a cross-country trip, Cody befriends young Sandy Nixon and gets him safely to Portland and his uncle, Phineas MacDonald. Beautiful Phineas turns Cody’s life upside down, and Cody learns he's not as unattached as he aspires to be. With the hard-won knowledge of what lies underneath his need to be free, Cody wins a chance at real freedom and true love.
Ever since his longtime lover Allen died, Phineas MacDonald has lived a circumscribed life. He stopped performing as fierce drag queen Phanny Hill and works part-time in a bookstore. Phineas never expected to find love again. But when sexy and caring Cody Bellstrom turns up, Phineas feels his orderly life slipping out of his control. Cody brings him alive again, but now Phineas must find the courage to let go of his grief over Allen and give love a second chance.
Buy at Amazon
Poolside
by Charlie Crane
Jack Curso is a happy man. He’s got his life right where he wants it. He plays his music at Raymond’s La Bella Vita Lounge. He has the occasional big gig in a big room, and now and hen a tune of his shows up in a movie or on a TV commercial. Life is good. He has his bourbon, his weed, his freedom, and his women on his own terms.
When he meets Terri Melnick, the beautiful wife of a wealthy man, poolside at his apartment building, Jack hopes for nothing more than another intriguing sexual encounter. But he gets more—much more—and he soon finds himself in hiding from professional killers.
The life that Jack loves has been stolen from him. If he wants it back he’ll have to fight for it. He’ll have to adjust, think on his feet, and grow, if he’s to reclaim his life. He’s been hurled into a strange world where nothing is simple or familiar, but at least, what weighs in the balance is clear. It’s that or it’s death.
Buy at Amazon
X-periment
by Dan Skinner
Monsters aren't born... they're engineered.
For nineteen-year-old, socially awkward Geoff Markham, the promise of a miracle pill to make him into the person he’d always wanted to be was everything he could have hoped for.
At first, the experiment delivered on that promise. Geoff began to change, becoming more confident, stronger, even fearless. People began to admire him and find him attractive.
As with every new drug, there came side effects: the agitation, sleeplessness, the bad temper. When the strange dreams began, the ones that couldn't possibly be his own, he realized something else was happening to him. As he continued to change, he was becoming something much more than what had been promised... something far less human. Something unimaginable, unrecognizable.
Increasingly strange and violent things begin to happen around him. Is he the hunted or the hunter?
Amazon
Smashwords
Jerricho’s Freedom
by JC Wallace
Jerricho never expected to fall in love with Rex, the sexy, construction foreman but he did. Too bad tradition forbids Jerry from marrying for love. Prince of the clandestine Anzuni demon clan, a Baelso (bearer of children), and a virgin at twenty-four, tradition dictates that Jerry marry a man chosen for him. Despite his soul deep love for Rex, Jerry has no choice but to follow through with his obligation as prince and marry someone he doesn’t love.
But Jerry isn’t prepared for his dominant, aggressive fiancé who is only interested in marrying him for the future title of king. Facing the reality that he will lose his virginity to the cold man, Jerry flees to Rex for one night of passion. When Jerry finds himself pregnant with Rex’s baby, the actions of his enraged fiancé release Jerry from his marriage obligation.
Just when Jerry believes he will marry for love, he and Rex are ripped from away life as they know it. Betrayals, kidnappings, cruel experiments, pregnant men, and the reappearance of the Anzuni’s greatest enemy force Jerry and Rex to fight for their lives… their love… and their unborn child.
Amazon
ARe
Stranded
by Nicole Dennis
Traveling for work around the holidays sucks.
Julian Tucker learns this the hard way when work sends him to fix a crisis from Australia, Japan, to several locations in the States. To make matters suck more, he's sitting in the Denver Airport on New Year's Eve. This wasn't part of his plans. Oh and his boyfriend isn't picking up the phone. His luck gets worse – the incoming blizzard shuts down the airport. He's stuck there.
A fellow traveler, Emmett Bishop, takes the delay in stride. A superhero loving photojournalist, he sails along with the trouble, sweeping Julian up with his enthusiasm and zaniness. Unable to take flight, Emmett figures out another way to enjoy the holiday with Julian.
Suddenly, a snow delay doesn't seem so bad a way to ring in the New Year.
Buy at MLR
Mute Witnes
By Rick R. Reed
The abuse of a little boy turns a community against a loving gay couple, and nobody comes out of it unscathed.
Sean and Austin have the perfect life: new love, a riverfront home, security. Their love for one another is only multiplied when Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason, visits on the weekends.
And then their perfect world shatters.
Jason goes missing.
When the boy turns up days later, he's been so horribly abused he’s lost the power to speak. Immediately small town minds turn to the boy’s gay father and his lover as the likely culprits. What was a warm, welcoming community becomes a lynching party out for blood.
As Sean and Austin struggle to stay together amidst innuendo, the very real threat of Sean losing the son he loves emerges. Yet the true villain is much closer to home, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.
1st Edition published by ManLove Romance Press, 2009.
BUY AT DSPP
The Florist (A Workplace Encounters Book)
By Serena Yates
When freelance florist Dylan White gets a call that a good friend has died and left him a flower shop, Dylan isn’t sure he wants the commitment. Still, he travels to Florida to speak with the law firm, where he meets defense attorney Sean Mellick in the corridor. Sean makes a point of “running into” Dylan again, and Dylan eventually agrees to a date.
While romance blooms between the two men, their careers aren’t going as smoothly. Dylan faces employee resistance and sabotage, and then inexplicable expenses leave him on the verge of bankruptcy. An offer to sell that sounds too good to be true makes him suspicious, and he asks Sean for help. Though they’ve had very little time together, Dylan and Sean need each other to work through the issues and plant the seeds for the future they both want.
First Edition published by Silver Publishing, 2012.
Buy at DSP
Gone Away
by Elizabeth Noble
Mason Arquette isn’t one for mincing words. In fact, he often rubs people the wrong way—with the exception of Riece Burrell. Riece came with his own set of social issues, but he saw right through Mason’s tough exterior, and they made a perfect couple. Or so Mason thought… until Riece abruptly ended their relationship without much explanation.
Years later, Mason and Riece are thrown back together. As a US Forestry Service photographer, Riece is sent on assignment to the Black Hills, where Mason works. When Mason is tasked with guiding Riece around the territory, old feelings quickly are rekindled.
But nothing is ever easy. Just as Mason and Riece begin to work things out, they’re targeted by people with motives so vile and twisted they defy imagination. In a desperate race for their lives, they must depend on one another and take a big step out of their personal comfort zones to find their way back to safety—and back to love.
Buy at DSP
* * *
Amy's Stuff
Lollipop
by Amy Lane
Ezra Kellerman flew across country to see if he had another chance with the man he let slip through his fingers. He didn't. Rico has moved on, but he doesn’t just leave his ex high and dry. Instead, Rico entrusts his family and friends with Ezra’s care. Ezra, confused, hurt, and lost, clings to Rico’s cousin and his boyfriend as the lifelines they are—but their friend Miguel is another story.
Miguel Rodriguez had great plans and ambition—but a hearty dose of real life crushed those flat. When Miguel finds himself partially in charge of the befuddled, dreamy, healing Ezra, he’s pretty resentful at first. But Ezra’s placid nature and sincere wonder at the simple life Miguel has taken for granted begin to soften Miguel’s hardened shell. Miguel starts to notice that Ezra isn't just amazingly sweet—he’s achingly beautiful as well. Suddenly Miguel is fending off every single man on the planet to give Ezra room to get over Rico—while fighting a burning suspicion that the best thing to help Ezra get over his broken heart is Miguel.
Pre-Buy at DSP
Winter Ball
by Amy Lane
Through a miserable adolescence and a lonely adulthood, Skipper Keith has dreamed of nothing but family. The closest he gets is the rec league soccer team he coaches after work—and his star player and best friend, Richie Scoggins.
One brisk night in late October, a postpractice convo in Richie’s car turns into a sexual encounter neither of them expected—nor want to forget. Soon Skip and Richie are living for the weekends and their winter league soccer games—and the games they enjoy off the field. Through broken noses, holiday decorating, and the killer flu, they learn more about each other than they ever dreamed possible. Every new discovery takes them further beyond the boundaries of the soccer field and into the infinite possibilities of the best relationship of Skipper’s life.
Skipper can’t dream of a better family than Richie—but Richie’s got real family entanglements he can’t shake off. Skipper needs to convince Richie to stay with him beyond winter ball so the relationship they started on the field might become their happy future in real life!
Buy at Amazon
January 3, 2016
Upside Down: A Skip and Richie Ficlet
Hi all! This is, as promised, a ficlet about Skip and Richie, my heroes from Winter Ball. If you haven't read the book yet, maybe bookmark this and come back to it later. If you have read the book--enjoy!* * *
The Christmas card arrived about a week and a half late, and Richie stared at it, wondering if it had gotten lost. Skipper got home about an hour later, and Riche looked up from the couch, where he was playing a game on the PS4, and smiled.
"Hey, Skipper!" His big, buff, blond boyfriend had the sweetest smile, and Skipper let one of those fly at Richie before hanging up his coat and coming in for the kiss.
Richie stopped and frowned at him. "You didn't wear your scarf," he muttered.
"Wasn't cold."
"Was freezing, Skipper. You just forgot-- did I tell you---Mmmffff..."
God he tasted good. He ate like, lettuce all the fuckin' time, and Richie figured he should start doing that too. He'd stopped smoking, cold turkey, but he liked a good burger at lunch time. He figured a breath mint might not cut that shit, so, yeah, a salad and some fruit, maybe, and he'd taste good like Skipper.
Richie's guy died int he game, and Richie just smiled stupid up into Skip's wide-cheekboned face. Skipper looked more like a football player than a soccer player--but he wasn't fat, just big boned and muscular. He could have looked like a sumo wrestler for all Richie cared-- Skipper took good care of him, just like he promised on Thanksgiving.
Richie tried to return the favor.
Skip broke off the kiss and moved away from the couch. "Stay there--I'm going to get some water and some tangerines. We can hydrate before we go running."
"Oh, God-- running?" Richie had to love him, because his obsession with fitness would totally be a turnoff otherwise.
"Please, Richie," Skip said seriously. "I like going with you-- you're quick and you keep me on my toes."
How was a man supposed to say no to that? "Yeah, sure. YOu're right. We skipped yesterday." Riche had blown him to get out of it. Sad, but true, and Richie would feel cheap if he did it twice in a week. Nope-- only one get out of running free card there!
"Hey, what's this?" Skip was sorting through the mail, and Richie stood to go get changed.
"I dunno. Probably the tire store, getting their Christmas cards out late. I'll go get our sweats, kay?"
When he got back, Skip was sitting on the kitchen chair, staring blankly into space, Hazel on his lap.
"Skipper?" Richie said, poking his shoulder. God-- muscled to hell! "C'mon, man-- it's hella dark already-- we're going to have to wear lights." He thrust the sweats and the reflective vest at Skip and waited for him to focus.
Skip looked at him slowly, a truly blank expression in his eyes.
"Skipper? You okay man? Somebody die?"
Skipper shook himself and took the sweats with one hand while putting Hazel down with the other. He stood and smiled faintly. "No. No, it's fine. Let me change in the laundry room-- my shoes are in there. We can go."
Cold and fucking dark. Skip ran like he was on autopilot, none of his usual breathless talking, or even any of his playful racing to make the time go faster. Richie ran a little behind him and to his right, because Skipper liked to stay on the outside, nearer the cars. It was a protective thing, and Richie let him do it, because that was just Skipper.
But the silence wasn't. Richie was the first to acknowledge that he and Skipper, they weren't brain trusts. They were average guys. Skipper said that seventy years ago, they'd be factory workers, but there weren't factories anymore. Skipper was smarter than that--Richie thought so anyway--but Richie was the first to admit that he worked better with his hands than his brain.
Being silent, keeping all the feelings inside--this wasn't a Skipper thing.
As they rounded the last corner for home, Richie stopped still in the middle of the road and shouted. "Hey! Skipper! Where the fuck you been?"
Skip stumbled and whirled around, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "I'm right here," he said, puzzled.
"Yeah, your body, maybe, but Skip-- where in the hell has your head been?"
Skip stopped in the middle of the road and came back for Richie. "Sorry, Richie," he said humbly. "I... you know that Christmas card?"
"Yeah?"
"That was from my dad."
Richie gaped, and Skipper guided him back into the house, both of them silent as mimes. Skipper's dad had taken off when Skipper had been about twelve years old. Skip's mom had been an alcoholic, and Richie didn't know all the details, but he knew Skip's life hadn't been a picnic.
He wanted to say "So the fuck what!" because God, even Richie's dad had hung around. He wanted to go get the card, track down the return address and sock the bastard in the nose.
He wanted Skip to tell him what the hell was going on.
"So..." Richie said when they got into the living room.
Skipper looked at him and shrugged. "So what?"
"What're you going to do?"
Skip thought about it. "I'm going to send him a letter from me and my boyfriend. And he'll probably never get back to me."
Richie didn't like that idea. "So... you just don't hear from him again?"
Skip's jaw hardened--but his eyes were shiny. "Can't control what he does, Richie. And you're my family now. I'm going to take a shower, okay?"
Richie watched him go, frowning. Yeah-- the shower was where Skip did a lot of his thinking--right before he did a lot of his falling the fuck apart.
Richie went to the fridge and dumped some leftover soup into a pot, then set the pot on low. It would take about an hour for it to get warm that way, and Richie figured that was right.
Then he went into the bathroom and stripped in the steamy closeness of the white tile, leaving his clothes in a pile as he went. When he slid behind Skipper's big body and wrapped his arms around that rippled stomach, Skip clasped his hands, like he'd been expecting this.
Well, Richie and Skipper had sort of a history of making up in this tiny shower.
Richie took the soap and lathered them both up quickly but thoroughly, and then turned off the water. Yeah, he wanted to get romantic-- just not here.
Skip noticed when they were both out of the bathtub and shivering under towels though.
"Gee, Richie, get naked with a guy, he sort of expects some--"
Richie kissed him.
Skip was bigger than him--Richie usually let him take control, but not this time. Richie saw that lost look in his eyes, that need, maybe, for someone in his life to know up from down, and he suddenly had to do for Skip what Skip usually did for Richie.
Richie had to take charge.
Skip melted into that kiss like butter on a hot pancake, and Richie just kept doing it, holding his face and kissing, tongue and lips, and kissing some more, and more, pushing Skip backwards, through their tiny hall and into the bedroom, both of them still damp from the shower and shivering in the air. Skip stopped abruptly and sat down on the bed, and Richie kissed him some more before pulling back and saying, "Pull back the sheets and get on your stomach, kay?"
Skip nodded, a sort of shy hope in his eyes.
Well, he'd never been hung up on being the big guy who had to top--that wasn't Skip. Richie had been the one who'd figured that as little guy he got it up the ass--partly because he liked getting it up the ass. It was being taken care of, and Richie only got that from Skip.
But Skip only got that from Richie, too, and Richie was up.
He ran and turned the thermostat up a couple of degrees, so they wouldn't have to do this under the covers, and then he came back to Skipper, laying on his stomach, pushed up on his elbows and looking over his shoulder. His knees were spread, and his thighs a little too, and all that boy mystery that Richie had gotten really attached to since they'd first had sex back in October was all shadowed in the delta between his asscheeks and his thighs.
He hoped Skip felt as open and exposed as he himself did when they were doing this--because it was sort of delicious, knowing you were laying there, spread out, and someone else was going to do to you.
Richie was going to do to Skip. He looked next to Skipper and there was a bottle of lubricant by his hip. Richie grinned then and stood by the bed, leaning over to place a kiss in that dip between Skipper's bubble-butt and the small of his back.
"Hoping for something?" he asked, smoothing his lips down the part of Skipper's cheeks.
Skipper moaned and wiggled. "Well... you know... sympathy sex and all..."
Richie laughed softly, letting his breath play at Skipper's crease. "What if I don't want it to be sympathy sex?" He darted his tongue out, just enough to brush the sides of the canyon as it were. "What if I want it to be awesome Richie fucking me sex?"
Skipper let out a strangled laugh. "Well, Richie, I'm not particular."
Richie giggled a little and parted Skipper's cheeks for real, running his tongue solidly down the bright pink line in the middle, and letting it fall a little into Skipper's clean and shiny asshole.
Skipper's moan vibrated the whole entire bed.
"You like?" Richie asked, rubbing his tongue against his palate. Body wash and water-- good job on the cleaning, Richie!
"I like a good rim job," Skip breathed, but that drew Richie short.
"You ever get one from someone besides me?"
Skipper groaned into the mattress. "There is nobody besides you," he said, begging, and Richie glared at him. He'd had girlfriends. But well, so had Richie, and who wanted to bring girls up when it was two guys in bed who liked each other better?
"Good," Richie said, and then stuck his tongue in there again.
Skipper went a little nuts, and Richie liked watching him do that so much, he forgot about the taste and kept licking. Damn! Richie had no idea this was one of Skip's weaknesses--but then, Skip was so good at taking care of Richie that Richie forgot sometimes that he had absolute power over Skip.
"Richie!" Skip begged, drawing his knees up and exposing his ass--even going so far as to spread his cheeks from behind, which Richie thought was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen.
"You want something?" Richie teased, wiping his mouth on his shoulder. Damn-- look at that! His rim was slack and loose and sort of open. He ran his finger around the outside and watched as an earthquake shook his lover open even wider. Oooh... carefully, pushing slowly, he slid his finger in.
Skip's body went entirely still.
"You like that?" Richie asked, and Skip nodded and moaned. "You want more?"
"Please..."
Richie very carefully slid in two fingers, and Skip whimpered. "More than that?"
Skipper fumbled next to him on the bed, and Richie caught his hand--
And pulled away with the bottle of lubricant.
Oh. Oh wow. Oh hell yes!
Richie loved this! He loved getting fucked--it just sort of put him in this place, in his head, where Skipper could make all the bad shit go.
He got to do that to Skipper!
Richie kept his fingers inside Skip, stretching, sliding, fucking, because listening to Skip's deep throated groans was just turning him the fuck on. Richie's cock was hard and red and dripping, just from licking Skip's ass, and for a moment Richie was torn! Keep licking it, maybe suck his really huge cock into the back of Richie's throat and taste his cum? Or... oh man. Skip was wide and slack and ready, and the inside of his ass clamped down on Richie's fingers like a velvet vice.
He dumped some lube on his cock one handed and snicked the lid shut, then stroked his outside while he was stroking Skip's inside.
"Oh my God!" Skip cried. "Jesus, Richie, please!"
Richie shuddered and realized if he didn't do it now, he was going to make them both come without getting to the really rockin' stuff that came after foreplay!
He ripped his fingers away and positioned himself behind Skip, hoping the stretching had been enough. God, this had been scary the first time Skip had done this--Richie had been begging for it, needing it in a way he'd never thought he could need sex, but this, this was Richie's idea.
Oh shit! What if it was a bad idea!!!
But Skipper felt him, at the very edge of the entrance, and breathed a sigh of relief--
And then slid backwards, taking Richie inside him slowly, rocking forward, rocking back.
Richie had to close his eyes, because that sight-- Skipper's big, beautiful body, at his mercy, swallowing Richie's cock whole--that was going to send Richie over, right there. Richie wanted to be all the way inside him... oh... damn.. yes-- just like that. He closed his eyes and his cock, all those nerve endings, all of that aching vulnerability, was inside Skipper, which was safe and warm and close...
Richie put his hands on Skipper's back and groaned, thrusting himself forward into the root, and Skipper buried his face in the bed and screamed "Yessssssss!"
And Richie couldn't stop after that. Couldn't keep himself from rocking back and thrusting forward, couldn't keep his hands from clenching in the muscles of Skip's waist as he pounded. Couldn't keep himself from swearing, "Fuck, yeah, fucking you, love your fucking ass, God, Skipper, gotta get deeper, gotta go harder, Jesus, Skip, so fucking tight--"
Nonsense words, but Skipper was giving them back. "Fuck me... God, Richie, fuck me... so good. God, burns, fucking burns, so good... so good... harder, Richie... fucking harder!"
And Richie lost control, hips flying, sweat drenching him, falling into his eyes, plopping on the pink-flushed skin of Skipper's back, and God, he was trapped in a beautiful prison, but he needed... needed... something tighter... something harder--
"Jesus fucking Christ, Skipper, grab your dick and come!"
Ah! Yes! He loved seeing Skipper's hand on his own cock! It was magnificent like a magic wand, and even if he couldn't see it now, hearing it, fap fap fap fap was erotic and raw and...
"Auuuuuugghhh!!!"
Skip's asshole clenched Richie so hard Richie thought his dick would get ripped off, but the pain, the beautiful aching pain of being squeezed so tight-- that did it. Richie closed his eyes and saw fire pouring through a sword, burning come, bursting out his cock, filling Skipper's body, surrounding Richie in the scalding heat of sex and semen.
He came until his balls ached, came until he collapsed, sweating and cooling in the air, on Skip's back. Skip's knees went out, and Richie was just lying on top of him, his cock sliding out and cum slipping around and coating them both.
Richie's head was full of bells and panting breaths and the white blindness of orgasm for a really long time--but Skip didn't buck him off.
Eventually, Skip said, "Are you cooking soup?"
Richie half laughed and made him get up. They wiped down, not saying anything, and put on pajama pants and moved to the kitchen to eat soup. Hazel curled up around Skipper's feet, because he forgot his slippers and those mighty gunships got cold on the tile, and Richie just sat and smiled weakly at his soup.
Sex was awesome--but it did leave a heart and soul feeling cleansed and shiny for a while, and Skip got that too.
They finished up their soup and Skipper stopped Richie from getting up by just touching his hand.
Richie looked up expectantly. Skipper smiled.
"Richie?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you have any idea how much I love you?"
"Yeah, Skipper. You told me I was the family that mattered."
"But-- the... you know the thing--"
Richie grinned. "Skipper, I will fuck you stupid any time. But usually you're smart enough not to need it."
Skipper grinned back. "But definitely smart enough to want it-- that was pretty awesome."
Richie stood and kissed him on the mouth, tasting soup, just like him. "God, just like you are. You write your letter to your dad, Skip. He answers, he doesn't answer--I'll be right here."
Skipper smiled and Richie put his soup bowl down and stood between Skipper's spread thighs while Skipper buried his face into Richie's midriff. Richie could hug him like this all night.
Skip would do the same for him.* * *
Winter Ball is available at Amazon, All Romance e-Books, and Dreamspinner Press
January 1, 2016
Happy New Years 2016
So, one of Mate's New Year's Eve Traditions is to watch the thin Man movies back to back until the dark hours of the morning.This year, he watched them as well, and Zoomboy and Squish came to love them, just like Chicken had before him.
And this year, Ted Turner came on during an intermission and told the following story--
William Powell, sad over the death of his fiancé, Jean Harlow, and recovering from cancer treatment, was resting in Europe. While in Europe he encountered a young man who was running somewhere, money clutched in his hand, but who got so excited when he saw William Powell. Mr. Powell got a translator, and the young boy told him that his parents had given him money to go see a movie. He was on the way to see a William Powell movie, because they made him laugh.
Mr. Powell returned to Hollywood shortly after that--because he remembered why he did what he did, and how important it was to some people and how much he loved doing it.
I love this story.
This year, may we find the reasons we do the important things. May we work to bring joy to others. May we recover from the hurts the world has given us. May the good we do the world outdo the bad the world has done to us.
Happy New Years, everybody! May our reason to have faith be running toward us, coins clutched happily in its fist.
* * *
Winter Ball-- now available at Amazon.
December 31, 2015
A Momentary Rant about Knitting
So here's the thing about knitting...
Today, I neglected my house, my shopping, and even my job a little, to sit and watch television and knit. I was making a project for someone who had asked for it, and she had offered money.
I refused.
Because-- I make money at my job. When I take hours out of a day--that I had not ordinarily planned to take, mind you, because I block out a little bit of leisure time every day-- to knit instead of write, I'm doing a small amount of damage to my income--one that can't be replaced.
Ordinarily, I do it because I love it--and the person I'm knitting for.
If someone asks for something special, if I love them, I will knit the something special. Even if I just like them. Sometimes, even if I think they're dumber than diapers, but they have children who don't deserve my disdain, I will knit for their children. (Some of you may remember the neighbor who complained because a 14" baby hat was a little too large for her premature baby. Yes. That's who I'm talking about.) But mostly, I do it out of love.
I don't calculate income loss because I'm doing it out of love, and I don't put a price on watching television or going to the movies with my children or visiting my parents either.
Knitting is my leisure time. It is my hobby. It is a thing I love to do, for people I love creating for. If I knit for someone, that means I have thought about them, cared for them with wool, and it means something to me. My children want me to knit for them-- and I'll knit almost anything they ask for. Mate doesn't ask me, because he doesn't want to see me stress about getting it just right--he'd rather me have the time to just chill.
So, if you have a knitter in your life, and you want a special something--perhaps ask way ahead and offer to buy the supplies. But if you're going to offer to pay them, you might as well look stuff up on ETSY--and by all means, DON'T balk at the price. Even the quickest, easiest thing on the ETSY roster takes at least two hours to make. How much would you charge for two hours of your time as a sales clerk? A paralegal? A vet tech? A substitute teacher? Or something you trained for years to perfect? Now add a material fee to that--and remember, wool, the nice stuff, doesn't come cheap.
A friend of mine looked up an item comparable to something I had made her and was stunned at the price. I was not--and I wasn't sorry I wasn't. I'd made the thing out of love, and what mattered to me was that she felt loved. She did. The project was a success. The mistakes (and I make them, lots of them, even on simple items. I'm decently competent, but squirrel brain isn't just a word!) were character and not mark-down flaws, and the colors--which I had chosen, were surprising and beautiful.
I would not have loved this project quite so much if it had been perfect, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have either.
So, yeah. I made a particular gift for someone I loved. But I'm still working off the hurt of, "Well, I'm sorry we don't have time to get together for Christmas, but I'll pay you for this act of love."
The people I'm tight with have not yet offered to pay me. They know who they are. When I say I would knit for someone if I only had the time, that's a thought of love. When I mourn that one of my favorite people lives in San Diego and I have nothing to knit her? That's thwarted love right there.
And when I take an afternoon off to watch Haven and knit socks for someone who asked for a present for her boyfriend? I'm hoping that's a bridge I'm mending. With bright red worsted, super wash merino wool.
Rant over.
* * *
Still a Christmas story. Still has nothing to do with wool. But there's soccer. And a cat.
Available at Amazon :-)
Today, I neglected my house, my shopping, and even my job a little, to sit and watch television and knit. I was making a project for someone who had asked for it, and she had offered money.
I refused.
Because-- I make money at my job. When I take hours out of a day--that I had not ordinarily planned to take, mind you, because I block out a little bit of leisure time every day-- to knit instead of write, I'm doing a small amount of damage to my income--one that can't be replaced.
Ordinarily, I do it because I love it--and the person I'm knitting for.
If someone asks for something special, if I love them, I will knit the something special. Even if I just like them. Sometimes, even if I think they're dumber than diapers, but they have children who don't deserve my disdain, I will knit for their children. (Some of you may remember the neighbor who complained because a 14" baby hat was a little too large for her premature baby. Yes. That's who I'm talking about.) But mostly, I do it out of love.
I don't calculate income loss because I'm doing it out of love, and I don't put a price on watching television or going to the movies with my children or visiting my parents either.
Knitting is my leisure time. It is my hobby. It is a thing I love to do, for people I love creating for. If I knit for someone, that means I have thought about them, cared for them with wool, and it means something to me. My children want me to knit for them-- and I'll knit almost anything they ask for. Mate doesn't ask me, because he doesn't want to see me stress about getting it just right--he'd rather me have the time to just chill.
So, if you have a knitter in your life, and you want a special something--perhaps ask way ahead and offer to buy the supplies. But if you're going to offer to pay them, you might as well look stuff up on ETSY--and by all means, DON'T balk at the price. Even the quickest, easiest thing on the ETSY roster takes at least two hours to make. How much would you charge for two hours of your time as a sales clerk? A paralegal? A vet tech? A substitute teacher? Or something you trained for years to perfect? Now add a material fee to that--and remember, wool, the nice stuff, doesn't come cheap.
A friend of mine looked up an item comparable to something I had made her and was stunned at the price. I was not--and I wasn't sorry I wasn't. I'd made the thing out of love, and what mattered to me was that she felt loved. She did. The project was a success. The mistakes (and I make them, lots of them, even on simple items. I'm decently competent, but squirrel brain isn't just a word!) were character and not mark-down flaws, and the colors--which I had chosen, were surprising and beautiful.
I would not have loved this project quite so much if it had been perfect, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have either.
So, yeah. I made a particular gift for someone I loved. But I'm still working off the hurt of, "Well, I'm sorry we don't have time to get together for Christmas, but I'll pay you for this act of love."
The people I'm tight with have not yet offered to pay me. They know who they are. When I say I would knit for someone if I only had the time, that's a thought of love. When I mourn that one of my favorite people lives in San Diego and I have nothing to knit her? That's thwarted love right there.
And when I take an afternoon off to watch Haven and knit socks for someone who asked for a present for her boyfriend? I'm hoping that's a bridge I'm mending. With bright red worsted, super wash merino wool.
Rant over.
* * *
Still a Christmas story. Still has nothing to do with wool. But there's soccer. And a cat.
Available at Amazon :-)
December 29, 2015
Exclusive Cover Reveal: Lollipop
Out January 25th:
Lollipop A Candy Man Book
by Amy Lane
Ezra Kellerman flew across country to see if he had another chance with the man he let slip through his fingers. He didn't. Rico has moved on, but he doesn’t just leave his ex high and dry. Instead, Rico entrusts his family and friends with Ezra’s care. Ezra, confused, hurt, and lost, clings to Rico’s cousin and his boyfriend as the lifelines they are—but their friend Miguel is another story.
Miguel Rodriguez had great plans and ambition—but a hearty dose of real life crushed those flat. When Miguel finds himself partially in charge of the befuddled, dreamy, healing Ezra, he’s pretty resentful at first. But Ezra’s placid nature and sincere wonder at the simple life Miguel has taken for granted begin to soften Miguel’s hardened shell. Miguel starts to notice that Ezra isn't just amazingly sweet—he’s achingly beautiful as well. Suddenly Miguel is fending off every single man on the planet to give Ezra room to get over Rico—while fighting a burning suspicion that the best thing to help Ezra get over his broken heart is Miguel.
Now Available for Pre-Sale at Dreamspinner Press
Ta-da!
The new cover for Lollipop, not even up on the DSP site yet! Are you excited about this one? I am! Ezra and Miguel threw me for a loop. So often, people say, "I want to see this character! And this one! And this one!" And I'm like, "Uh... didn't have a story for that one... I'll have to come up with one." And the one I come up with passes up my expectations by a mile.
It's one of the joys of the job-- the discovering other people's stories, and realizing that, hey! Maybe Shane and Mikhail aren't as spectacular as Deacon and Crick, but some people think their story is the best! Every sequel I've written has surprised me somehow with how much I like characters who were originally just "other people" in the world of the original couple, and Ezra and Miguel were just like that too. See the dog and the cat? That's because Ezra was a cat. In the other two stories-- Candy Man and Bitter Taffy, both the guys were dogs. Adam and Finn? That was old dog, new puppy. Derek and Rico? They were alpha dog and beta dog.
But not Ezra.
Ezra is finicky, dreamy, terrified, strong, amusing and deadly serious. He peers into the corners and sees amazing things--right before he falls off the couch. Ezra is a cat.
Miguel, on the other hand, has assumed he's a beta dog his entire life.
Miguel is an alpha dog. A dog so strong, he can cuddle that cat and not lose any big dog points. He had no idea he was that strong--until he had a cat to show him that was just the kind of dog he was.
I love this couple-- I love the way they fit. I love the fact that Ezra has no idea how cute he is. And I love that both of them have been unlucky in love. Until now.
* * *
Also, don't forget
Winter Ball
is out! Next week, for Fanfic Friday or Saturday, I'm going to post a ficlet, just to, you know, show you what the guys have been up to since the book came out.There will be spoilers.
And SMEX.
Just, you know, so you know ;-)
Now available on Amazon, ARe, and DSP!
Millertown
So, my children, once upon a time, before Squish and Zoomboy, mommy lost her job because Big T cried so very much, and he and Daddy, Mommy and Chicken all ended up living on a stretch of property in the middle of nowhere.
It looks very picturesque I know, but--yes. It's cold in here. Yes, it was cold in here back then. In fact, see that propane stove in the center of the living room? Well, it used to be a wooden stove, and then suddenly it got changed out for gas. Except the outside tank didn't have a gauge on it because it was old, and we used four times as much gas as usual, and mommy didn't realize we needed more until she smelled the five percent reek! Yes, Chicken was a brand new tiny baby then, and Big T wasn't even two, and Mommy had to raise hell to get that thing filled. Ah, fun times.
Oh, yes-- the clothes line. Yes, children, the clothes line used to be a bone of contention, you see. Because Grandma and Great Grandma wanted Mommy to be more self sufficient. They thought Mommy should hang clothes on the clothesline instead of put them in the dryer, but the problem was, the wind swept down that big hill in the summer, and Daddy got foxtails in his underwear, and he was very sad. :-( So Daddy insisted that he'd work all the overtime in the world and Mommy didn't have to use the clothesline anymore, and they were both happy!
Do we see the nowhere out there? Yes. That was the same nowhere surrounding the house when Daddy worked and went to school and was gone six days a week. No, Mommy didn't have a car--she had to abandon the car at the gas station because it would no longer go.Yes. It was lonely. Why do you ask?
Yeah, the cabinet is nice. No-- we weren't allowed to store stuff in it. Ever. And yes! They do have a phone that dials. It was the same phone they had twenty years ago before cell phones. That's special too.The carpet is new, and hey! Do you see these walls? Yes, these walls in the porch? When Chicken was born, daddy was going to take down the ugly wallpaper in this porch, and he tried to rip it off the walls. That's when he discovered that the walls were made of six layers of ugly wallpaper and cheesecloth.
Can we say "learning to drywall", people? I knew we could!OH! And these empty walls--yes, they had to run more electricity in the walls to keep the place from being a fire hazard. It's good that they are doing this, because Mommy had to plug her computer into the outside heavy equipment jack, because it was the only outlet that had three prongs!
Anyway, the walls. They used to have pictures on them!
No, honey, not pretty pictures. I used to call them the "dead relatives". Because they were all born over a hundred years before we came to live in the house, and they were all dead.
And they just sat on the walls, judging me.
Because I was a terrible mother. Because I didn't garden, I hated cleaning, and the fact that the house had no foundation and the floors tilted at odd angles and I kept losing baby bottles was driving me bugshit. Big T cried, and it was all my fault. Chicken had ear infections and it was all my fault. I'm still a terrible mother, but at least the dead relatives are gone-- that's a plus!And isn't the kitchen special?
Yes. I think so too. I especially like the way the glass looks. It didn't used to look that way. It's been all replaced, because it used to be pre-industrialized glass, and every time Big T ran around with a wooden hammer, he'd shatter that shit all over the fucking floor.It's hard to look at this place now, children. I remember what an abject failure I was. How I couldn't hold a job, I couldn't make my baby stop crying, I couldn't please my mother in law (who is, in fact, a lovely person) and her mother thought I was trash who ruined her grandson's life. (She loved me by the end, children-- patience really is rewarded.)
I'm reminded of all the things I"m bad at, and all the ways I felt helpless. I'm reminded that we needed a cash advance to get the hell out of there, and even though we eventually found our feet again, I resent the hell out of my own powerlessness, and how I couldn't live up to this old house and it's quaint charm and all it's challenges.I would have made a shitty romance heroine, my children--I would have gone running back to the big city with my tail between my legs, and here I am, living in the suburbs and making a hash out of that too.
But I do have you, my darlings. You are beautiful, and not too damaged, I hope. I must not have been that horrible a mother, if you're who your father and I raised. And your grandmother is a wonderful person--I must have been young and callow if I pissed her off enough to kick us out.
But I can't stop the pain of that time from flooding me, children. Maybe this time, seeing it so changed (and changing more every month, as Mate's uncle comes to fix it up) I can let the pain wash up like tide, and recede, and the bitterness will be flushed away, and the self-recrimination too.
Because really, we spent a lovely hour there, and watching your reaction to every memory, to every "quirk" of that 150 year old death trap, was worth it, in a way. Mommy survived a rough time. You know you can too.
* * *
Winter Ball, now on sale at Amazon, ARe, and Dreamspinner Press. 
