Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 122

Code Chocolate, Wine, and Kittens (Orange!)

 Okay, so this is the "code" or "color" I made my name with.

Sort of.

I didn't mean to, really.

The first thing I wrote for Dreamspinner Press was the beginning of Gambling Men. That's not on this list.  The second thing was a short story called Shirt.  Also, not on this list.

The third thing?  If I Must. 

And all of those covers are going on my next entry about the new logo and the marketing code, the one titled yellow.

They're quirky and fun and a little happy.

The fourth exclusively M/M gay romance that I wrote was Keeping Promise Rock.

And THAT is on this list.

In fact, that is what made my name, "The Queen of Angst."

In fact, my tagline? Was the result of signing a thousand vellum sheets for Keeping Promise Rock.  I used to sign The Little Goddess series, "Blood like Rain… Amy Lane," from a line from Vulnerable.  I got a little loopy on my sixteenth vellum and signed it "Angst and Pain, Amy Lane", and BOOM. My identity was born.

And I have enjoyed living up to that reputation.

If you look at this list of stories, I'm damned proud of them all.  They are sad and complex and happy and joyful and painful and the whole spectrum of human behavior and emotions-- and that's not easy to write, but it is gratifying.  I love writing contemporary romances this way.

But it's not the only way I can write.

My next entry in this series is going to be about Sunny, Bright, Happy, Lemony, YELLOW!

But this one…

Well, yeah.

I've got a dark side.

And although a lot of my readers haven't cried at EVERY title here-- most of them have cried over at least one.  And there is something in me that is happy writing all of this sadness. I think it's because most of the time, there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and a moment at the end when all of the pain is worth it.

Sometimes, it's a small pot, and sometimes, you have to wash the crap off the diamond to see it shine--but for me, there's always a diamond at the end.

So that's what Angsty Orange is for me.  It's not JUST sadness--- but it IS a hard road through the complexity of life. It's a hard won ending. And the conflicts are usually big ones-- some of this is the shit part of surviving life's curve balls.

But there's usually survival, and it's hopefully glorious, and let's hear it for human triumph.

But here's the thing-- and it's a hard thing to get across to people. Not every sad story is your sad story.  For some people, Black John was a horrible tear fest.  But not for everyone.  Some people could identify with the recovering addicts, with the pulling your shit together in your thirties after some horrifying personal failures.  Some people wanted to see that brilliant first passion of the younger guys. For some people, realizing that Jared in Behind the Curtain was really all on his own just destroyed them.

For some people, it was no big deal.

And so on.

If I'm putting myself in the shoes of every kind of character, I need to feel for that character-- but it's got to be something that resonates for me.  But not for everyone.

So, while some folks tend to measure my angstiness in terms of chocolate, wine, and kittens, it doesn't that work for everybody.

Some people think I'm not that sad at all.

And that's fine.  But for the people who read the words and find their hearts bleeding on the page, these books are for you-- because there's a sweetness in that pain, a catharsis, and hopefully a happiness that follows.

And for folks who hate that feeling?

Well, that's what Code Yellow is for. And we'll talk about that later.

It's a Fresh One!

Okay, so when my family sees a baby, almost to a one we all squeal, "Oooh, it's a fresh one!"  We like newborn babies.  (Here is Mate, holding a friend's baby. Yes, I needed a spatula and a spoon to scrape my heart off the floor too.)

Anyway--

Imagine a baby that tiny when you hear the rest of the story.

So, there we were-- about forty of us--mothers and grandmothers in the aqua pool, aqua-ing our little hearts out.  Now, the instructor stands on the side of the pool that gets a little shade sometimes, and on that side, the pool is separated from an apartment complex by a big jasmine coated fence.  The fence isn't tall enough to block out the second story of the apartment complex though, and one balcony in particular overlooks the pool.

So we all noticed when a woman our age (and I'm a young-un in this bunch) came out on the balcony with a newborn. We let out a collective "Awwwww…"  and she turned and smiled.  At that moment, a younger woman-- her daughter, or daughter in law-- came out on the porch and her mother (or MIL) gestured to all of us.

The daughter smiled and took her baby from grandma, holding the baby up to show us, a little like the creepy little monkey held up the Lion King at Pride Rock.

We all applauded, and mom and grandma bowed and took the baby inside.

So there you go, folks-- THAT'S how every baby deserves to be welcomed into the world.

HUZZAH!!! *CLAPS*

Socrates

 So, the kids don't really have an 8th grade graduation from Jr. High-- but they do have an in-house, 6th grade promotion ceremony, with some sweet traditions.  At the beginning of the year they take their kinder-buddies around and show them the school.  At the end of the year they take their kinder buddies from class to class and each class sings them a song and gives them a flower-- parents not invited.  I love that, a little. It's all about the kids.

But there is a little promotion ceremony after that, and I went to see it, and was very happily surprised.  They gave the usual awards-- academic, citizenship, perfect attendance--but then, because the sixth grade always studies Green and Roman history, they give out the Hercules award-- for best effort in all things-- and the Socrates award, for best critical thinking. Guess who got the Socrates award.We were so proud of him. 
But then, we're always proud of him.  He's smart and funny and kind.  And the other night, when we were watching @midnight, they asked for #greekpickuplines, and Zoomboy said, "Hey, wanna ride in my X-Wing?"  So he's quick on his feet too.
Do you all see how tired he looks?  He was obsessing about this day. Today, as we were eating cake, he said, "It's the end of childhood."  
I said, "Bullshit. You're still my little boy. You've got a lot of days left to be a kid."  Oh my God, he was so comforted.  He may even sleep tonight.
But still… after school when I went to pick the kids up, I had a moment. I watched Zoomboy and Squish walk from the picnic table by the Kindergarten room, down the fence line to the gate, and then up the sidewalk to the car.  It hit me.  
That's the last time they'll ever do that together.  
And I teared up a little. And asked Mate to take a picture of them as they got to the car.  There they are. They're gorgeous. And they're still my babies.  
But oh, hell. Not for much longer.

Sometimes...

Romance is just…
A yes, a no, a maybe so, A "Can I touch?""A little… not much…"Even teeth biting a ripe lipA wistful glance, a Freudian slip.
Sometimes it's 
A touch of handsA breathless kissA shy suitorWalking out of the mist. A thumb on a cheekboneA carefully held chairA blush when somebodySees what's "down there!"
Help with a homework,A well-timed joke.Not going dutch treatCause a friend is broke.
A sandwich made after a long hard day.A warmth in your bed that won't go away.
A caressAnywhereThe stroke of a hipSmoothing of a flankTongue tip tracingThe upper thigh.
Or a giggled, "Not yet."Or a blushing "Goodbye."
Sometimes it's a drive in the twilightSummer breeze in your faceWarm hand on your knee.
Or someone else getting upTo turn off the TV.
Sometimes it's, "I've got the kids."Or "I want kids."Or "I'd rather have you."
Sometimes it's a dog.Or a cat. Or two.
A give, a take, a thrust, a come.A sure knowledge somebody's gonna get some.The body in your bed being your only home.Not having to wake up alone.
Sometimes romance is…A quiet momentAn afternoonA gasp, a moan, in a locked bedroom.
Sometimes it's a kiss in the dark,Half awake,Random body partsOrgasm!  Sleep.
Sometime it's a text without reason.Or a smiley face.Or a trouncing in Words.Or a phone call, to say hiTo just make sure.
Sometimes it's nothingBut not being alone.
Sometimes that's all.That's everything.It's the only thing known.
Sometimes…Romance is.

Purple

So, it's going to show up on the website eventually, but I thought I'd start talking about it here.

I've been making a bit of a thing about my new logo (still pretty! Still love it!) and I've been dropping little hints here and there while describing books. If you look at the sidebar of the blog, I've got my most recent "sunshine yellow happy" and my most recent "angsty orange".

And my "Dark twisty purple AU."

And the thing is, we (Damon and Poppy!) were talking about my logo, and how the dragon was pretty and all, but "What does it mean?"  My response, "That I'm ADORABLE!" was greeted with scowls.  Apparently "adorable" does not necessarily let people know they want to read your book.  But what to do?  I've seen it on FB, on GoodReads, on Amazon-- people already know that there are different flavors of Amy-- how do I advertise that?  I mean, I know when something is going to be angsty orange or AU purple.  Hell, I know pretty much when I'm planning the book.  Sometimes I write light and quirky contemporary and that's my yellow, and sometimes I write dark and painful contemporary and that's my orange, and sometimes, when I'm taking a left turn into my first love, I'm addressing truly painful things about humanity in the way that only sci-fi or fantasy can do.

And then I'm purple.

So we're currently working on a website update.  In this case "we" is Mate, who greeted my news that I was going to hire a web designer with scowls and an air of hurt dignity. He's learning to code WordPress for me. I couldn't ask for a better Mate.  The update is going to gather my books into different categories and explain them, but I thought I'd say a few words now, while the rush of re-working the thingies on the side is still with me.  (Seriously-- I accidentally made gadgets go about two years ago and have been fumbling with blogger ever since to make it happen again.)

So now you know-- if I say something is "code purple" that means it's Alternative Universe (AU) and this tells you a bunch of things.

For one thing, it should tell you to expect sci-fi, fantasy, urban fantasy, or steampunk. Flat-out, this is not contemporary romance, in any way shape or form.  And for me, not grounding myself in reality means that things might get just a tad more…

Real.

I've always understood Alternative Universe work to tackle human problems that were too painful to deal with in contemporary genres.  Teaching students everything from Robert Heinlein to Nathaniel Hawthorne means you get a chance to see that authors have gotten uncomfortably real with fantasy.  It's like satire, in which you address social criticism and human foibles with humor-- the humor and the world building put up a barrier of sorts, and people are less likely to see themselves and be hurt. And if they're not getting hurt, they might be more likely to see what's wrong with the world and change it.

At least that's my theory--that's what I've seen the writers of the ages doing, and that's where I laid my foundation.

So that's what you're getting when you open a purple title.

When I say something is "purple", it's more than just a stripe on my logo-- it's the way I think of speculative fiction.

And it might be a tad bit dark-- but it can also be a twisty purple surprise.

For those of you who think that might just be their favorite "Lane to love", I hope you enjoy.

*Kermit Flail* Monday, June Style!

Okay-- so you know how some summers (not this one) you see the crop of upcoming movies and think, "Gee, I wish I was more into camping?" Because sometimes the summer entertainment is just not going to be popcorn worthy enough to make it worth your ticket time, right?

Well this summer is exactly the opposite of that when it comes to books.

This month's *kermit flail* books look fanTASTic! I am actually really excited to have a book coming out this month, just because I'm in such awesome, amazing, terrific, insert-superlatives-here kind of company!

For those of you who are fan of Jaime Samms and her haunting crystalline prose, we've got Bound to Fall.  For folks who like a good police drama, we've got Andrew Grey and Fire and Ice. For fans of urban fantasy, we've got Rory ni Coileain and Hard as Stone. For foodie love we've got In the Distance and for simple, rip-yer-heart-out, we've got Felice Stevens and Embrace the Fire. See? We've got it going ON! And don't forget Deep of the Sound, my humble addition to Riptide's Bluewater Bay world.  I've coded it angsty orange, and I'm so hoping you all enjoy.

So without further ado, I'm going to let the books speak for themselves--everybody, let's hear it for *kermit flail* Monday, June edition!

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!




Bound to Fall
by Jaime Samms

With so many fences between them and happily ever after, two men wonder if it’s worth opening the gate.


Ten years ago, Eddie Crane, an actor on the rise, loved his costar and dreamed of the day they could be together. But his love, with his submissive nature, couldn’t handle fame, and before Eddie could help him, he died in a car accident—with Eddie at the wheel.


Now guilt-ridden, Eddie buries himself in bad decisions and prays that a stunt—on or off camera—will go wrong.


Teenaged fantasies about the actor on his wall distracted Arthur Pike from real life—his dead father, runaway mother, gruff grandparents, and his unrequited love for his cousin’s straight husband. Now grown and off the farm, Pike is a horse stuntman hired to teach a reluctant Eddie to ride.


Pike is drawn to Eddie’s dominant nature despite the sadness clinging to the actor. Eddie let one lover down, but in Pike’s submissiveness, he sees the possibility for redemption.

Buy at DSP






















Embrace the Fire
by Felice Stevens


Brandon Gilbert has spent years in hiding, but finally he’s accomplished his dream of working as a public school teacher. When offered the chance to help bullied children, there was no way he could say no. Not to mention that meeting Dr. Tash Weber, the psychiatrist who helps them, a sad yet sexy older man, ignited a spark inside Brandon he’d never had before.


Though five years have passed since the death of his lover, Dr. Sebastian "Tash" Weber has no interest in relationships or love. But young, enigmatic Brandon awakens his heart and his desire. Despite Tash’s best efforts to push him away, Brandon unlocks the passion for life Tash thought he’d lost forever.


Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan for either Brandon or Tash, but neither family disapproval nor self-doubts can stop them from embracing the fire that burns between them. And when Brandon returns home to fight for a future he never imagined possible, he and Tash discover that the one thing worth fighting for has been with them all along.


Buy at Amazon
Buy at AllRomance






HARD as STONE
by Rory Ni Coileain

Tiernan Guaire was exiled from the Fae Realm a century and a half ago for his brother’s murder. His soul torn in half, he lives by his vows — never to trust, never to love. And if he can only be whole by finding and loving the human with the other half of his soul? He’s content to live broken and half-souled.


Kevin Almstead’s future, the career he’s worked for as long as he can remember, has been taken away by a vote of the partners at his law firm. Chance brings him to Purgatory, the hottest all-male nightclub in Washington, D.C., to a meeting with a Fae, with long blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a smile promising pleasures he’s never dreamed of. But there’s no such thing as chance.


But Tiernan isn’t the only one to find Kevin in Purgatory. The most ancient enemy of the Fae race sees in the handsome lawyer a way to destroy the world from which it, too, was exiled. And only the strength of a true SoulShare bond can keep it from what it seeks.


Buy at Amazon
Buy at ARe






In the Distance
by Eileen Griffin/Nikka Michaels
Because sometimes it takes some distance to finally see what’s right in front of you…

Tyler Mitchell has worked hard to rebuild his life after his family kicked him out. A culinary student and sous chef who spends his spare time volunteering with kids, he’s happy enough even though he has no time to consider a relationship.

Trevor Pratt is finally getting over losing his best friend and the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but it’s taken screwing every cute guy in Manhattan to get there. He’s vowed to repair the friendship he endangered, but that’s hard to do when his friend’s new employee catches his eye. Despite being warned to stay away from Tyler, Trevor knows the sous chef is more than just a hookup.




Romance is a terrible idea. Trevor is ten years older and a relentless playboy. Tyler is still unsure of his place in the world. Neither of them is ready for life-changing love, but as things heat up, their chemistry in the bedroom might just take that decision out of their hands.

Read about Ethan and Jamie's romance in In the Raw and In The Fire, Books 1 & 2 in the In The Kitchen Series, available now!

Amazon US / Carina Press / All Romance eBooks




Fire and Iceby Andrew Grey
Carter Schunk is a dedicated police officer with a difficult past and a big heart. When he’s called to a domestic disturbance, he finds a fatally injured woman, and a child, Alex, who is in desperate need of care. Child Services is called, and the last man on earth Carter wants to see walks through the door. Carter had a fling with Donald a year ago and found him as cold as ice since it ended.


Donald (Ice) Ickle has had a hard life he shares with no one, and he’s closed his heart to all. It’s partly to keep himself from getting hurt and partly the way he deals with a job he’s good at, because he does what needs to be done without getting emotionally involved. When he meets Carter again, he maintains his usual distance, but Carter gets under his skin, and against his better judgment, Donald lets Carter guilt him into taking Alex when there isn’t other foster care available. Carter even offers to help care for the boy.


Donald has a past he doesn’t want to discuss with anyone, least of all Carter, who has his own past he’d just as soon keep to himself. But it’s Alex’s secrets that could either pull them together or rip them apart—secrets the boy isn’t able to tell them and yet could be the key to happiness for all of them.


Available at Amazon






The Deep of the Sound

by Amy Lane
Cal McCorkle has lived in Bluewater Bay his whole life. He works two jobs to support a brother with a laundry list of psychiatric diagnoses and a great-uncle with Alzheimer’s, and his personal life amounts to impersonal hookups with his boss. He’s got no time, no ambition, and no hope. All he has is family, and they’re killing him one responsibility at a time.



Avery Kennedy left Los Angeles, his family, and his sleazy boyfriend to attend a Wolf’s Landing convention, and he has no plans to return. But when he finds himself broke and car-less in Bluewater Bay, he’s worried he’ll have to slink home with his tail between his legs. Then Cal McCorkle rides to his rescue, and his urge to run away dies a quick death.

Avery may seem helpless at first, but he can charm Cal’s fractious brother, so Cal can pretty much forgive him anything. Even being adorkable. And giving him hope. But Cal can only promise Avery “until we can’t”—and the cost of changing that to “until forever” might be too high, however much they both want it.

Buy at Riptide

Welcome to the first annual MM Memorial Day Scav...

  Welcome to the first annual MM Memorial Day Scavenger Hunt! 10 Days, 30 Blogs, and loads of prizes! The rules are simple: At each stop on the tour you'll find a military themed picture with a word or words. Collect the words and figure out the secret phrase (HINT: It's lyrics to a song). Once you think you have the correct phrase, enter it into the Rafflecopter at any of the stops. One grand prize winner will be selected from all the correct phrases. Use the other Rafflecopter options to enter to win one of the runner-up packages. Good Luck and Happy Hunting! Our stop's phrase is: Nothing   Grand Prize ($45 GC total) -Kindle Paperwhite (VWF) -Swag (VWF) -$25 GC (Jessie G) -$20 GC (Sara York) -2 ebooks (Jessie G & BFD) -Bad Boyfriends series ebooks & print (3 books) from Nya Rawlins 1st Place ($35 GC total) -$25 GC (Nya Rawlins) -$10 GC (Sloan Johnson) -CTR & backlist ebooks from Kade Boehme -Unicorns & Hidden Gem ebooks from Lissa Kasey -Winner's ebook of choice from MMGoodbookreviews -Adventures of Cole & Perry ebook from Amanda C. Stone 2nd Place ($30 GC total) -$20 GC (Aria Grace) -$10 ARE GC (Prism Book Alliance) -Love at First Site ebook from Cardeno C. -Trouble Comes in Threes ebook from M.A. Church -Winner's choice of Felice Stevens ebook 3rd Place ($20 GC total) -$10 Amazon GC (READing is FUN Da Mental) -$10 GC (Two Chicks Obsessed with Books and Eye Candy) -backlist ebook from Annabeth Albert -Winner's choice of Aria Grace ebook -Winner's choice of Andrew Grey ebook 4th Place ($20 GC total) -$10 GC (Felice Stevens) -$10 Amazon GC (Amy Lane) -Undercover Love series ebooks (2 books) from Brendan Cothern -Winner's choice of Susan MacNicol ebook -Winner's choice of Lexi Ander ebook 5th Place ($20 GC total) -$10 Amazon GC (BFD) -$10 GC (Lexi Ander) -Winner's choice of Kindle Alexander ebook -Winner's choice of Susan MacNicol ebook -Winner's choice of backlist ebook from Cate Ashwood   a Rafflecopter giveaway Participating


 Blogs/Authors:
May 25BFD Book BlogCardeno C.Kade BoehmeMay 26Prism Book AllianceCate AshwoodReading is FunN'mentalMay 27Lissa KaseyHearts On Fire ReviewsNya RawlynsMay 28Carly's Book ReviewsJessie G. BooksTwo Chicks Obsessed with Books and Eye CandyMay 29Annabeth AlbertMM Good Books ReviewsM.A. ChurchMay 30Amanda C. StoneAmy LaneAria GraceMay 31Kindle AlexanderSara YorkTaylor BrooksJune 1Andrew GreyDivine MagazineBrenda CothernJune 2Kai Tyler3 Chicks After DarkSloan JohnsonJune 3Felice StevensLexi AnderVampires, Werewolves & Fairies Oh My! 

Power Outtage

Squish went back to school today, where she thrilled everybody with the voice of a 60 year old chain-smoking truck driver, and I actually tried to work out.  By the way? You can't cough too hard when you're doing deep water jumping jacks.  Ask me how I know.

Either way, we sort of had to get out of the house because THIS was going on outside, and the power went out around 8:15 and didn't come back on until about 2:30.  (For those of you worried about all of the ice cream I bought yesterday--AS I WAS-- it is soft but still sound. I scrupulously didn't open the freezer once the power went down, and felt like seven kinds of fool for shopping yesterday in the first place. *headdesk*)

The power is back on now (huzzah!) and I can do interwebs again.  And btw? I was heartily embarrassed to realize that while my computer may for quite a while on battery, the ROUTER on the other hand runs on electricity. You do not want to know how long I sat hitting "refresh" and wondering why Interwebs not go.  *headdesk headdesk headdesk*

However, I did continue to write on battery before going to drown myself, and the best part of that is, these guys on the phone pole provided some serious entertainment talking about their love life.

"Well, I don't think she understands me."

"Does she understand your…heh heh heh heh…"

"Yeah, but we don't want to do any of the same things.  You know go bowling..  You can only do so much heh heh heh heh…"

*mass chorus of "heh heh heh heh" as several men imagine sex at the same time*

I'm thinking, "You guys know that at least two of you are thinking of doing each other, right?  I mean, there's twenty of you--odds are good!"

Fortunately I did not shout this out my window, because they were all being nice to me and I did not want a telephone pole dropped on my head.  Heh heh heh heh heh.

Squish Down

"Hello, N--- School?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I'm calling in sick for Squishy Lane."

"Aw, well we're sorry to hear about that.  What's she got?"

"The same thing I've had for the last week. Apparently I brought it home from Dallas and decided to share."

"That's too bad. We hope she gets better soon."

"Me too-- they do all the fun shit…er, stuff… during the last two weeks of school. She hates to miss it."

"Well thanks for calling in this time Mrs. Lane. We appreciate it."

"Yeah, sorry about yesterday."

"We hope she gets better.  Goodbye."

After hanging up I turn to Squishy.

"Squish, is Miss Ellie really retiring this year?"

"Yeah, mom, that's what the bulletin said."

"I'd better get going on her socks--that woman has been so nice to us for the last six years."

"*cough cough cough wheeze blargh*  You do that mom. Can I have another blanket?"

"Yeah, baby. Here. I'll go shopping soon for orange juice."

"Next time, maybe bring home more souvenirs and no germs. The circle of germs sucks."

(Me, singing)  "It's the circle of germs… and it screws us all…."

"*cough cough cough wheeze blargh*  You're funny, mom. I'm serious."

"Yeah. Sorry Squish. Go enjoy some fine animation while you're home, okay?"

"Cartoons rock.  Love you mom."

"Love you Squish. Feel better."

*cough cough cough wheeze blargh*

An Excerpt from Deep of the Sound

Okay-- so in the excitement about Immortal (which I still love!) and the hustle about RT, and then, hello, the frickin' plague, I haven't mentioned this book in a while.

But it's out in less than three weeks…

And it's… uhm…

Well, everybody remember Nascha? And people couldn't figure out what Nascha was doing in Lights, Camera, Cupid, the anthology from Bluewater Bay?

Well this book is the reason that story was in there.

And here we get to see Nascha from the perspective of Cal, his great-nephew, who really loves him.   And he needs that adorkable kid on the cover like he needs his next breath--and another fish like he needs a hole in the head.

Here's an excerpt from The Deep of the Sound:

“You going out today, Calladh?” Uncle Nascha sounded surprised. He’d slept in the battered corduroy recliner the night before, and the corduroy wrinkles obscured his face so much Cal hadn’t seen his eyes were open in the dark of the living room.Cal had just come in from the boat dock to grab his forgotten lunch, and he didn’t state the obvious: he was wearing his hip-waders and old slicker, and it was five o’clock on a misty, freezing morning in February. There was nowhere to go but out.“Yeah, Nascha—if I can catch enough freshwater cod, the chef at the Global’ll buy ’em from me.” Nascha knew this. Cal worked two jobs—one was as a busboy at the Global Restaurant and Casino and the other was his own independent fishing business. Between the two of them, he could just barely afford the payments on Nascha’s ramshackle beachfront house, and someone to come look after Nascha and Keir. “Your brother will miss you when you’re gone.”Cal closed his eyes. “I know, Nascha. But you need to make him take his pills anyway.”  Keir didn’t listen to Nascha quite like he listened to Cal, but Cal couldn’t help that.  Cal had set the meds out in the little weekly plastic thing, the white for day and the black one for night. God, he hoped he’d got it right. Adderall, risperdone, Cymbalta—ADHD, Aspergers, anxiety, OCD, possible bi-polar—it was a powerful cocktail, and they’d gone through . . . hell, vehicles, teachers, sheriffs, and half the kitchen to get it right. Keir was prone to hitting things with rocks and fire when he was anxious or upset. Nascha used to be able to deal with him, but Nascha had his own drug cocktail now, Exelon ranking high on the list. Nascha didn’t always remember that Keir needed his medicine—morning and evening cocktails—without Cal or a caregiver around. He also didn’t remember to turn off the stove or take the bread out of the toaster or to keep Keir inside the house. Mostly, he didn’t remember that Keir was no longer a little boy running down the street screaming in a voice that would shatter glass. Keir was twenty now, with a powerful body and a fondness for all of Cal’s fishing knives (which Cal kept locked in the safe out by the boat), and a disturbing habit of tracking the girls in their neighborhood. “Cherry’s rounding the corner, yellow dress, shows her ass when she bends over. Stop yelling, Cherry. Stop yelling, it leads to hitting.”Keir’s fixation on girls wasn’t limited to the extremely young, but what was Cal supposed to do? He’d told the doctor who dispensed the meds, but his only response had been to up Keir’s medication.Cal knew—just knew—that his parents would have been able to deal with Keir. His mother and father had been so capable, had such pure hearts and such practical joy in dealing with their fractious, damaged son. But they’d gone for a drive after heavy rains six years ago, and their battered pickup had been washed off the side of a mountain in a mudslide. Cal’s dreams of college, of playing sports, of meeting a boy the way his mother had met his father—all of that had gone washing down the mountain too. At barely eighteen, he’d been left in charge of keeping things together, and part of that was making sure Keir had his medication, and Uncle Nascha got his too. And living with that gnawing worry, every day, from dawn until dusk, past dusk until he was just too tired to see anymore “I don’t mean go out to work,” Nascha said, snapping Cal back to the present through eyes gritty with lack of sleep. “I mean go out tonight. It’s Valentine’s Day this week, Cal—don’t you have a school dance to go to?”Oh. Okay. So Cal was in high school now. He understood. “No, Nascha—no dances for Cal. Cal doesn’t go to dances, remember?” Cal doesn’t go to dances because Cal doesn’t really like girls, he thought ironically. Yet one more thing he hadn’t been able to talk to his parents about since their car had gone tumbling down into the river. “If Cal was on the reservation,” Nascha said, his voice ironic too as they spoke of Cal in the third person, “Cal could dance with the two-spirit children, and nobody would think the less of him.”Yeah, sure, it always sounded like Mecca when Nascha talked about the reservation, but Nascha had left when he’d been not much older than Cal. Cal understood that Indian Gaming had improved things somewhat on the reservation—but that didn’t mean he was a fan of all the changes it brought about in the non-reservation parts of the state.“Maybe I just want to be left the fuck alone,” Cal snarled, feeling bad even as he did. Nascha and Keir were his family—his only family. He couldn’t afford to piss them off, because they were all stuck in this tiny house together, and they were all each other had. Cal would lie in bed awake sometimes, exhausted and aching because he needed more. “Maybe you just need to go dance,” Nascha said calmly, not taking offense. Just like when Cal had been a fractious kid, losing patience with Keir because he’d been fixating on the same damned cartoon for weeks, Nascha had never lost his keel.Cal loved that about him. It was why, in spite of his increasing anxiety over leaving Nascha alone with Keir, he couldn’t bring himself to put Nascha in a home either. But God, he was exhausted. “Well, I’ll let you know if a dance opens up for me,” he muttered, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. “Calladh!” Nascha spoke sharply, and the long ingrained habit of responding to his elders with respect crackled through Cal’s bones, snapping his spine erect and widening his eyes.“Yes, Great Uncle.” His hip boots were clean, thank God, so he could walk across the worn brown carpet and into the living room. The old television—36”, but pre-flat screen, so it took up about a third of the space in the small room—was set low, but a parade of Viagra commercials and spoiled rich women reflected off Nascha’s face, even as he turned his attention to Cal.“You listen to me. I know sometimes I forget—sometimes your mother is still alive, and your father, bless their hearts. Sometimes you and Keir are boys and your family is staying with me and I am so happy. But when I remember, I see what time has made of you, and you are old before your time.”Oh. This was the Uncle Nascha Cal had loved as a child. The Uncle Nascha who had been young at heart, and kind, and who had offered patience and peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches and native stories about the gods who fought each other while the people watched, leaving behind mountains in their wake. The Uncle Nascha who would wander away when his parents were having money troubles, and come back in a few days, smelling of cigars and whiskey, with more cash than should be legal in this world.Cal kneeled in front of his great uncle’s chair. “It’s not so bad,” he said roughly, thinking that it wasn’t anything, any sacrifice at all, as long as Nascha could be like this, be the elder and the confidant and the grown-up all the time.“You should sell this house, Cal,” Nascha said, and his voice warbled, became fractious. “The reservation would pay money for it, set up a casino and a marina—you could make enough money to put me in a home, to take care of your brother. You could go out and live your life.”Cal took a deep breath, and then another, willing his face to stay stoic, willing his eyes not to burn. “But what is my life without my family?” he asked, trying hard to smile.Nascha sighed. “Is that what I say to you when I can’t remember?”Verbatim. “It’s what I know to be true,” Cal said, finding his feet again, remembering who really was the grownup. He bent and kissed his uncle’s forehead, hating himself for the brief moment of hope. “Dottie will be here at eight. She’ll feed you both. I’ll try to get her to remember the medicine.”Dottie was in her sixties—which was good because it made her exempt from Keir’s pathological hatred—but she was also apparently from a time when healthy men didn’t rely on pills to keep them tethered to the earth. She was good at keeping them fed, at reminding Uncle Nascha he needed to use the john, at getting him out to walk around the neighborhood, and at not taking Keir’s shit—but she was just as likely to “forget” the meds and pretend they had no use at all. Those were the days Cal came home to find Keir banging his hand against the wall until it bruised and Nascha in tears because he didn’t know who the crazy man in the living room was. It was really better for all involved if Nascha, when he was bright and alert in the mornings, could remember the medication for both of them.“Cal!” Nascha called to his retreating back, and Cal couldn’t take it anymore.“What?” he demanded, losing control of his voice and his composure. “But make it quick, old man, because my fish today are buying our groceries, and right now there’s only about enough spaghetti left for lunch.”Nascha’s look of hurt followed Cal out the garage door and into the dory rocking gently on the waters inside.Some people kept their cars in a garage—but Cal’s battered blue Ford F-150 was parked in front of the mossy lawn of the house itself. His parents had been driving the same kind of vehicle when they’d fallen down the mountain, but Cal had long since gotten over his fear. The truck had been cheap, and it ran, and it was one of three reliable things in Cal’s life since that rainy April when half the mountain had slid away and carried most of Cal’s hopes with it.The rest of Cal’s hopes—and his father’s only dream—sat in the little docking bay attached to the house. The covered bay protected much of the twenty-foot dory, and Cal hopped in with the ease of someone who had been steering such a vessel for most of his life. The back end of the dory was flattened, to make the outboard motor effective and keep it going where Cal pointed it, and Cal handled the craft expertly—and with great wariness.Even in the quiet waters of the sound, the unexpected could turn deadly. Given that Cal’s parents had been killed by a simple drive through the San Juans, Cal made that truism his mantra.He navigated the boat steadily through the mist, grateful for his tightly woven wool sweater. It had been his father’s, purchased from one of the reservations in Alaska, and something about the small-gauged knitting of the high-loft wool made the zip-up sweater almost waterproof—and blessedly, blessedly warm. Cal liked things old school—he wasn’t a fan of the casinos or the tourists or the television show, no matter how good those things were for the town. He really didn’t like all of the strange people mucking about in the pure vistas he’d grown up in. The way he fished reflected that. He didn’t have a fish-finder or sonar—just himself, and his nets and his little boat.And the fishing territory his father had unerringly staked out, year after year. Just his. Cal knew the landmarks, the distance from his home shore, the line of sight to the Canadian shore, the dimensions of the rugged slopes of Mt. Olympus in the distance—Call knew the relation of all these things to the waters his father fished, and he knew that within these boundaries, there would, hopefully, be fish.Cal murmured a prayer to whatever gods his uncle prayed to—Musp the transformer, Bluejay the trickster, and whoever else might be listening—and cast his net. Count, breathe, putter through the black water and the mist until the cinch at the top began to close, and stop, allowing the boat to drift while he stood, minding the way the dory would feel like it was tipping over before it recovered. Then, using a smaller net, he culled the fish, throwing out the salmon, because it wasn’t their season, and the hake because they were threatened, and hoping for cod or rockfish in the seine net. His first haul he pulled in a couple of four or five pounders, and these he dumped in the center of the boat, knowing the dory was made to hold nearly a ton, and that odds were good he’d never fill it with that much fish in a day.Still, he was making a good haul, sorting carefully, his fingers and arms aching with the work. It was good work, a part of him thought. Honest work. Somehow, when he was out on the sound, he never found himself wondering about the scholarships he hadn’t taken or the places he’d never seen. Somehow, on the bay, it was enough.Cast, cull, haul, dump--back breaking and soothing, his day continued, until he thought he had time for two, maybe three more tries. He was just pulling the net tight, the better to cull the purse seine, when he felt it. A force—a terrific, muscular pull, lunging from the side of the boat. The net distorted and the dory leaned dangerously to the port side, and Cal cast about with the culling net, trying to fight off whatever had the seine. Something huge—gigantic, too big to be in the sound, something that should have been in the open ocean—thrashed underneath his net, knocking it out of his hand. Oh fuck—he floundered, draped half over the side of the dory, trying not to lose a piece of equipment he couldn’t afford to replace. By luck, the culling net had gotten hung up on the purse seine, and he snagged it, pulling the seine close to him and ignoring the perilous tip of the boat. The waters out here were freezing, deep, and unforgiving. If he went so far as to tip over the dory, the odds of getting it upright with him in it before he froze to death were sad and thin.He fumbled with the net, trying to open the seine to set free whatever leviathan he’d accidentally caught, and found that it had cinched too tight to open, and the weight on the transom was making the bolts creak with the strain.Holy fucking hell. He had to catch this fucking fish or it would kill him. He tossed the culling net aside, grasped the seine net in both hands, braced his feet against the side of the dory, and hauled. His back, chest, shoulder muscles popped with the strain, and still that thing fought trying desperately to escape, trying desperately to live. Him or me!Pant by groan, Cal hauled one hand over the other until most of the net was in the boat and the monster’s struggles echoed against the outside of the dory, banging a hollow, pounding tattoo across the rolling waters of the sound. It made a sudden, frenzied resurgence, and Cal screamed, grabbing the fishing gaff, bunching his body to spear this fucker, still it, make it just fucking stop!He wrapped the net around his forearm for stability and leaned over the side of the boat. Oh holy God. It was huge, ugly, a primal vertebrate, a ridge of bone on either side of its body, and a sharp, pronglike snout—it must have been seven feet long, and oh, fuck. The matte scales were unmistakably green.Oh no. Not one of those. I can’t sell that!He went to drop the gaff so he could grab the knife and cut the thing free, but it gave a seismic convulsion, dragging him up and almost over the side of the boat. For a moment he dangled, watching the fish submerge again, and behind him, he heard a bolt popping as the transom threatened to burst.It was tearing his fucking boat apart.Helplessly, he hauled back on the net and hurled the gaff at the thrashing sturgeon, stunning it. The gaff stayed stuck in the creature’s skull, and he was reaching into his pocket for his knife, thinking it was best just to cut his net and cut his losses, when the fish gave another titanic heave.Cal was forced to grab the net with both hands again. The damned thing could still pull him over, even with a gaff in its head. For a few moments all he heard was his own tortured breathing and the echoes of the giant green sturgeon pounding against the boat. With a groan, deep from his stomach, clenching every formidable muscle in his body, Cal hauled the fish over the side.It wasn’t dead yet—in fact it threw itself around some more, the rough scales on the top of its body ripping through Cal’s waders and through a sizeable bit of flesh on his shin as well. Cal’s scream and kick to the thing’s head had less to do with survival and more to do with anger and pain, but it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way—not for one man—to free the fish from the net and keep the boat from capsizing. As it was, Cal finally had a chance to reach for the six-inch serrated fishing knife in his pocket. He unfolded the knife and hurled it with deadly accuracy, splitting the fish between the eyes and cleaving its prehistoric brain in two.It continued to convulse in weakening cycles, and Cal stood over it, panting, until it finally played itself out.Oh hell. This thing probably outweighed Cal two-to-one. Who in the fuck was going to eat this giant fucking illegal fish?