Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 132

Happy Holidays

Even though my family is an uneasy mix of pagan, Christian, and agnostic, I've never had a problem being wished a Merry Christmas or a Happy Hanukah or Happy Ramadan or Blessed Yule or Solstice or Pancha Ganapati or Saturnalias or Imbolc or really any holiday for that matter. Whatever culture you grew up with or faith you've practiced, wishing someone joy because you are practicing an event that celebrates gratitude and the blessings we have isn't an insult or an attempt to force a faith or belief system down anybody's throat.

It's just a wish for joy. I just can't take exception to that, no matter how it's phrased or which belief system engenders it.  I can see no evil in a wish for generosity and celebration, and I will take no exception to that wish for myself.  

Pretty much any winter holiday is a celebration of generosity and good will and blessings received and the hope of a good year to come.  I will accept this wish from anybody with an open heart.

And on that note…

Mate and I were grocery shopping today, because I made him go grocery shopping with me so we could have a quiet moment today after the madness of going car shopping on Monday.  

"So," I confessed, almost tearful, "my present for you is really frickin' lame."

"Well that's awesome, cause I got you a Honda Odyssey!"

Well, after we cracked up for a semi-hysterical 10 minutes or so, I tried to impress again the lameness of my frickin' present.  I'm embarrassed.  I had an hour, and a bunch of stuff to get, and I didn't manage to make it down to Macy's.  I had to settle for Tops.  

And I let the kids talk me into a Marvel belt instead of a leather belt.  

I'm embarrassed.  

"But," I told him, "the thing is, I wanted to get you SO MUCH STUFF, and all of it is like too expensive, or stuff you need to get for you."

"Like what?"

"Like an I-Phone 6, or a brand new pair of running shoes--"

"From where?  You could get me a gift certificate."

"Remember last year, when I got you a gift certificate from the wrong place?"

"Yeah."

"And the year before from the other wrong place."

"Yeah.  I get all my running shoes from Fleet Feet now."

"I did not know that.  SEE!"

"Well, what else?"

"Plane tickets for the whole family to see your dad in February."

"Yeah, that would be nice.  We can't do that."

"I know."

"What else?"

"Well, I'd give you the new car, for one, since yours is falling apart too."

"That would be nice.  We could give the old one to Chicken."

"Yeah.  That would be nice.  But oh!  The other thing!"

"What?"

"One of those $200 Letterman jackets for the Sacramento Kings."  

"Ooooh…"

"Yeah.  I actually thought of getting you one of those.  If the car hadn't blown up, it was on my list of maybes."

"That would have been nice."

"I know."

"Well, I'll have to settle for lame."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

So, given that, here's my wish for you.

Happy holidays--whichever holiday you celebrate.

May you make it through the worst times with your humor and your faith intact.  

May you enjoy the best times without a shadow over your head.

May your loved ones give you joy, even when they're being a pain in the ass.

May your fur-babies live long, healthy, lives full of scratches behind the ears and with a minimum of fleas.

May at you have at least one person in your family at any given time who gets your jokes. 

May your favorite holiday special never go off the air.

May your appliances die off one at a time and not all at once.

May you manage to give gifts that give joy.  

May the gifts you receive show thought if not taste.

May your mishaps be survivable, and your catastrophes make you strong.

May all your surprises be as pleasant as a puppy in a stocking.

Thank you everyone who's read and commented-- either here, in Twitter, FB, or GR-- for letting me and mine be a part of your lives.  May our holidays-- any holidays--be joyful.  May we have love in our hearts all year.

Amy

*gorilla arms*

So this happened about five minutes ago.  It's fifty degrees outside, and Zoomboy is standing in front of me, doing the pee-pee dance, asking me if there really is such thing as Gravity Falls, Oregon. (He likes the show on Disney-- as do I!)

Anyway-- I look from his Perry the Platypus shorts and his exposed knees and back up to his face.  And back down to his knees and up to his face.  And down to his knees and up to his face.

Finally, I interrupted his monologue.

"So why am I doing this?"

"Uh, because I'm wearing shorts?"

"What should you be wearing?"

"OKay okay okay!!!"  And with that he goes tear-assing down the hallway, his hands above his head like a wild man in a gorilla suit.

Yeah.  That.  That is our Christmas right now.

"Christmas cards."

"Oh yeah."

"Crap."

"Oh yeah."

"auuahauaahuahauahauahauah!!!"

And the Christmas cards get done.

Oh!  Except while we're doing the cards, we have the kids involved in "Santa's Little Sweatshop"-- a process of folding, stuffing, stamping, and label-affixing that usually happens in sort of an assembly line fashion.

And then Mom tells the kids, "Sign these cards, "Amy Lane and company."

Mate says, "Some of those are going to people who don't know who Amy Lane is."

Me: 0.0

Mate:  Did I just make your head explode.

Me: Splodey out my ears….

And that's just Christmas cards.  It gets worse!

"So what are we doing for relatives?"  (me)

"Baking."  (Mate)

"When?"  (me)

"When you've got the kids at the mall, and I can lie and say I'm baking but I'm wrapping gifts instead." (Mate.)

"Okay… so we need a car to do that, and we're getting your car serviced so that it might not explode and die, per my car last week."  (me)

"So I'll start the baking now.  While the kitchen is still a mess." (mate)

"I'll be here, editing.  LIke I've been for days."  (*sob* me)

"AUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!!!"  (Mate, trying to repair the damage Big T has done to the kitchen over the last year, when Mate last baked.)

"We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas… from Gravity Falls…"  (The little kids, who have completely ducked the entire rest of that conversation.)

And of course, Chicken is here, stealing my stuff.

"Hey, mom.  Where'd this hat come from?"

"A friend sent it to me. (Thank you Rhae from FB!) It has a matching--"

"Look.  It fits.  I know it won't fit you.  Your head is too big."

"She made it just for you.  You know she adores you!"

"Yeah-- tell her thanks for me.  It's awesome!"

And there she is.  Wearing my, uhm, her hat.

And in the middle of this, we have puppy!

Chicken:  She's photoshopped from another universe of cuteness.  I'll call her Photoshop from now on. (And so she has.)

Mate:  Actually, she's sent from Satan to distract us from all sorts of things we should be doing.  Like baking and putting together Christmas cards.  That's her function.  Now we know.

Me:  You guys don't even know.  I was walking the dogs tonight and a woman comes tear-assing out of her house to squee over the damned puppy.  It's not even the first time it's happened.  And what's worse?  Her husband was cuddling the puppy and melting all over her-- that's what got the woman's attention in the first place.

Geoffie, the impossibly cute puppy:  *******CUTE***********

Family:  Awwwwwwwwwww…

And of course, none of that even covers the damage done to our gift wrapping time when the dogs are on the bed at one in the morning, wondering what in the hell the humans are even doing.

*whew*

Oh, wait…

This just in…

Our one remaining car needs a brake job.

Because that is just our life.

Christmas is when?

We're doing what?

You'll get your cards when?

They'll be signed by who?

We're giving what as a present?

Which kid is cleaning what part of the house for me at what time, and who's making sure the puppy hasn't escaped??????????

We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas…

And a shiny new brain!!!!

She's Dead, Jim

I texted Mate yesterday morning, when I was dropping the kids off for school

 I think someone's been fucking with my car. The steering wheel position was off, and it's making really bad noises.

He texted me back.  Ha ha! No-- I took it last night. Sorry about the noise. That just started on the way back from dance lessons.

To which I responded:  It's getting worse.

It was, too.  I was actually embarrassed in the McDonald's drive-thru-- and so was the girl helping me.  She didn't even fawn over Geoff and Johnnie like she usually does, just sort of went about her business, wincing in reaction to the loud "brap brap brap brap" issuing from under the car's hood.

But still, the car had been making noise for a long time.  The guys at Car Czar said "Well, your engine's going.  Could be in fifty miles, could by five-thousand, could be fifty thousand-- but it's going. And, you know, old car…"

It wouldn't be worth it to replace the engine.

So we planned to get a new one in January, with my next big check.

I was picking the kids up from school early, so we could go see The Hobbit with Mate and his friends in El Dorado Hills.  For those not from the area, El Dorado Hills is sort of a swank suburb, and the Palladio is a vast, outdoor mall, that is really nice. When Mate wants a real nice date--like, when I've done makeup and worn some of my con-clothes just for him-- he takes me to the Palladio, and we hope my car doesn't attract the nearest traffic cop.  (There seems to be an unspoken "no driving while white trash" rule in Folsom and El Dorado Hills, because if my registration even smells close to expired, I get pulled up when I'm there getting Mate.)

By the time I got to the Palladio, my car sounded like Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang.  But it wasn't gonna fly.  In fact, it lost power with every acceleration. By the time I'd finished the 12 mile drive to Folsom, it topped out at 25 miles an hour, and every time I stepped on the gas it got slower.

And I don't know the mall that well, so, because it was me, and because my car was echoing off the hills it was so loud, I took a long, embarrassing tour, around the bronze horse-statues and the fountain, and the stores with names like "Apricot Lane" and "Pink", while my car was screaming "BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP, BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP" and the kids tried to talk over it.

By the time I got to the parking lot by the theatre, I was nearly in tears.  Mate was standing by the entrance, his eyes wide.

"It didn't sound that bad last night," he said numbly.

"You heard me drive up, did you?" I asked, feeling surly.

"Yeah."

"Well so did the rest of Folsom!" I snarled, and he winced.  He watched me find a parking spot--in front of his friends from work and his boss, mind you-- and pull in.

The car sputtered to a stop and coasted the last three feet.

After the movie (which, by the way, I really loved, in spite of its flaws and the way it strayed from canon) we went back out and faced the problem.

The problem was, the car was dead.  I'm pretty sure it threw a piston rod, which his bad.  It means you have to take the engine block apart in order to reattach the rod, and the cylinder is probably too damaged to compress the fuel-vapor mixture effectively, and it will have to be rebored.  There's probably damage to the camshaft and the timing gears too.

In short, the cost of repairing this engine is probably more than we could get for this car if we sold every workable piece of it on e-bay at top dollar.

She's dead, Jim.

And she died the week before Christmas.  Now, we had just enough money for Christmas and a little left over.  We weren't tapped out--but…

We don't have a down payment in the bank.  Not right now, after Disneyland and the new washer and Christmas.

And as much as I talk about maybe getting a big sedan instead of a minivan, the fact remains, we've got eight or nine more years of soccer ahead of us.  A minivan would be the smart choice at this point, because we'd get the same amount of use out of it as we got out of my poor, poor, dead companion of the last thirteen years.

Oh hell.  I wasn't going to get maudlin about the fucking car.  It wasn't our first new car.  It didn't even stay pristine for longer than two weeks after I got it.  (I practically peeled the door off a brand new car after two weeks of ownership.  Oi.)  It's been to Disneyland three times (so we didn't feel too bad for not taking it a fourth) and it was my buddy for the interminable trip down the I-80 corridor for nine of the years I worked a really painful job. We've had that car longer than two of my children, and the two older children have both practiced driving it.  We've camped in that car, when we were still camping, and we used to pull the seats out of the back at the drive-in theatre and watch the movie in style. As I got fatter, it expanded to accommodate me, and that should be mechanically impossible.  Yeah, sure, she's been looking a little weathered lately-- her last coat of paint/protective vinyl coating just came off in a big sheet the other day as I was driving, but I didn't think that meant anything permanent, you know?

But this… this is permanent.

And it would be one thing if we took it to the car lot and traded her in and had her all cleaned up and looking her best.  We could say, "It's been a good run. She's served us well, but we're ready to move on."  She'd get a wax job and a pedicure, and some kid with less money than sense would drive her for her last few thousand miles and that would be okay.

But now, she's just dead in the rain, her inside full of trash and my gym bag and the soccer chairs and the wheat thins that have lived under the seat since early summer when ZB got addicted to them.  It's just not right.

We're also a six person family with a car that seats five in a pinch, and that's not doing us much good either.

So there you go.  She's dead, Jim.  And all I can do is sit inside and watch it rain.

Dear animals...

Dear animals--

I understand you have the need to dominate my time every single waking moment of the day.

I mean, who could blame you?

I am fat and warm, and fun to sleep on-- I see that now.

When I am not sitting still, you know, trying to work, I am doing entertaining things like trying to cook, or clean the kitchen, or pack my gym bag so that I might go work out someplace that does not involve me picking up your crap.  It is way too fun for you to run in and out of my feet when I am doing these things for you to stop because of pesky details like me making the humans food, or not getting the dishes done, ever, or, hello, I might step on you because you are made of busy and my own feet are made of slow.

So I understand that I can be fun.

I do take you on walks, and this is great. I admit that often I go too fast or too slow-- often at the same time, and I shall try to adjust my speed.  I also admit, it would help if one of my walkable creatures did not have absurdly deer-like legs while the other is like a bread-roll on legos, but that is not your fault. You did not choose to be so tall or so short, and I'm the one who put the halter on you and said, "Walkies!" so, yes, I'm the one who shall have to deal.

I understand.

I understand that for one of you my time would be better spent on the potty, so that we might commune spiritually, as opposed to in my computer chair, where you can glare at the world as though you own the place. I understand that you would also prefer my ass be smaller, so that we could share space, but I am loathe to stop eating cookies just so you can own my chair, so deal with it.

I totally get that it might be difficult to go find another part of the couch, or a bed, or one of five dog beds, or even another one of the other four humans to sleep on when we're all gathered in front of the television. I understand that my repetitive movement with sticks and string might possibly disturb you while you are snoring in and among my clothes and that perhaps I might want to just fling my hobby of 17 years to the four winds and blow off any possible chance of using even 1/10th of the yarn I've accrued over that time, because, you know, what's money or a perishable consumable, or even, you know, a criminal waste of beautiful fiber?

The Christmas tree was cruel of us, I know. Silly, really, to bring a tree from the outside to the inside, and then hang it with toys for you, and not expect you to completely destroy it as often as possible.  That was, in fact, our bad.  Completely. Can't argue.

So, yes, animals, I understand completely.  You own us for companionship and to dispense food and water at appropriate intervals, and it is our job to comply.

I only have one little, itty bitty, teeny tiny, minuscule little consideration.  One completely unobjectionable bit of maintenance I wish you all would attempt, just to make my life so much easier.

Could you try not to be so frickin' cute?

Love you all so much, my fur babies-- thank you for celebrating the holidays with me and my hairless kittens.

Amy

The Bells of Times Square

 Okay-- I'll be honest.  I spent four days writing up the posts and choosing the excerpts for the blog tour for this one, and *whew* I'm exhausted. Part of the reason I left Whiskey and Patrick up for the extra day was that I was all blogged out.  Between the tour, a blog I wrote for the Script Chics about Sidecar, and a couple of interviews, I honestly couldn't talk about myself, my life, or my connection to my books for one more post--not to keep my blog posts current, and barely to explain to Mate why I was sort of taciturn and unresponsive.

Anyway, I took a day just writing fiction and running errands, and we're about to go out to dinner and get a Christmas tree, and I might actually clean off my table and put my Christmas cards up on the cupboard like I do every year.  Sweet!  Mate and I are finally feeling like Christmas!  (Last weekend we were like, "Do you wanna get a big tree?  And get out the pretty lights? I think the time is overdue, to… oh hell… I'm hearing "Do you want to build a snow man?" simultaneously with "Do you want to hide a body?" as I write that.  Maybe stop. I'll do that for another blog post, kk?  The upshot was, no, we were not ready for Christmas. We were, in fact, ready to sleep extra long.)

I also, during that day, helped celebrate Big T's birthday. He wanted two of his friends--a couple-- to come with him and his dad to the movies (they were seeing something his dad would like, but that the little kids and I would not) and Mate ended up giving them a ride, because they'd just moved into a shitty apartment and their car had been stolen.

"Oh my God!" I said to Mate. "He's got friends that were just like us when we were his age!"

"I know," Mate said in wonder.  "I sprang for their movie ticket."

So good to know that young, together, and desperately broke hasn't changed.  It was nice to be on the benefactor side of that-- I remember those "real" adults who would buy us dinner and such when we were that broke. Am still grateful.

And I've been taking the dogs for a walk around the block in the last couple of days.  Today, Squish came with me, and I put the following perspective on Johnnie, peeing every three seconds.  (I posted this on FB too, so you're not imaging it if it feels like you read it twice.)

Squish, as we're walking the dogs: Johnnie, you don't have to smell EVERYTHING!Me: Actually, taking a walk for Johnnie is like surfing Facebook. He puts his nose to the ground and gets a feeling for who's doing what and what's doing who. 'Oh, the Great Dane was here. No, he hasn't eaten the Pomeranian yet-- must be biding his time.'Squish: So when he stops to lift his leg…Me: That's just him, pushing "Like".Squish: And when he took a poop?Me: He was COMMENTING on their ass.Squish--watching as both dogs stop completely and start sniffing a guy-wire post springing up on the side of a yard: And what are they doing there?Me (grimly): Man, watch out for Buzzfeed-- I'm telling you, that place will stop you dead every time.
And there you go-- That's why the dog has to lift his leg every house or so.
So, on to the other things here.  
On Monday, The Bells of Times Square will be released from amazon, but it's already available from Riptide as of last night!
Wait-- wait-- let me give you the blurb:
Every New Year’s Eve since 1946, Nate Meyer has ventured alone to Times Square to listen for the ghostly church bells he and his long-lost wartime lover vowed to hear together. This year, however, his grandson Blaine is pushing Nate through the Manhattan streets, revealing his secrets to his silent, stroke-stricken grandfather.When Blaine introduces his boyfriend to his beloved grandfather, he has no idea that Nate holds a similar secret. As they endure the chilly death of the old year, Nate is drawn back in memory to a much earlier time . . . and to Walter.Long before, in a peace carefully crafted in the heart of wartime tumult, Nate and Walter forged a loving home in the midst of violence and chaos. But nothing in war is permanent, and now all Nate has is memories of a man his family never knew existed. And a hope that he’ll finally hear the church bells that will unite everybody—including the lovers who hid the best and most sacred parts of their hearts.- See more at Riptide! Or purchase at Amazon :-)
Pretty good blurb, right? Hints at tragedy? The "Titanic" ending as I've been calling it.  Or, you know, instead of HEA or HFN, the HAE! Happy After Ever!  (I want that to catch on-- everybody with me?)
Anyway-- so this book, that's gotten so much critical acclaim (Publishers Weekly, Romantic Times, Library Journal-- no lie!) is finally coming out!
And now I'm sort of really frickin' nervous. 
Still. 
People think you get over that, but some projects are so very personal.  I've said before--a lot--that my grandparents inspired this one, and if you read the afterward, you'll see how.  But I also put some of that connection into the blog posts for my tour, and by all means show up and sign up for the Rafflecopter (which Andrea is setting up for me. God, I'm dumb. I seriously can't deal.)  There will be a prize. Some sort of prize.  (I was going to offer something from my backlist, but I've gotten a lot of LOVELY reviews lately, and between that and writing this many blog posts, I think I just totally blew out my capacity for self involvement for a while. Seriously. I felt incredibly douchey-- and don't get me started on looking at my Twitter feed. I'm like, "I am a self-pimping HO-BAG!" So I'm going to try to change that to Riptide credit, because it will let me feel less like a douchey, self-pimping ho-bag.) 
So, if you want to read some of the stuff that went into this book-- which I am still SO AMAZINGLY proud of-- here are the stops on the blog tour!  I'll probably post this again, as the blogs are posted, but one of the things to keep in mind is that (usually) the ones labeled "Spotlight stop" are mostly just the blurb and the contest.  The ones without the label "Spotlight stop" will have an original blog post, or an excerpt with some exclusive commentary from yours truly.  So, I'm gonna be everybody's favorite slutty internet surfer next week-- feel free to join me and surf!
December 15, 2014 - Cup O' PornDecember 15, 2014 - The Jeep Diva - Spotlight StopDecember 15, 2014 - Scattered Thoughts and Rogue WordsDecember 16, 2014 - The Novel ApproachDecember 16, 2014 - Things I Find While Shelving – Spotlight StopDecember 16, 2014 - The Blogger GirlsDecember 17, 2014 - TTC Books and MoreDecember 17, 2014 - Butterfly-o-Meter BooksDecember 18, 2014 - Book Reviews and More by KathyDecember 18, 2014 - Love BytesDecember 18, 2014 - Sinfully Sexy Books - Spotlight StopDecember 19, 2014 - Joyfully JayDecember 19, 2014 - Prism Book AllianceDecember 19, 2014 - Creative Deeds - Spotlight StopDecember 20, 2014 - MM Good Book Reviews – Spotlight StopDecember 20, 2014 - Smoocher's VoiceDecember 20, 2014 - Crystal's Many Reviewers
And with that, I'm signing off for dinner and a tree!  

But first-- please-- if you read it, and especially if you love it-- be sure to review it-- amazon.com, Riptide, GoodReads-- it's always good to see people loving the work.

*smishes*

Off to eat! Ciou!

Cheap Sunglasses-- A Whiskey and Patrick fic, for RJ Scott's Christmas Bash

So, folks, a bunch of us are posting fics for RJ Scott's blog for a holiday celebration.  Now, I met RJ at GRL this year, and she's charming and bubbly and I read her book, The Christmas Throwaway, and I'm so excited to be a part of her shindig!

Part of the prompt was that we pick an established couple, and, well…

These guys have been on my mind a lot.

Enjoy!

Sunglass Hut
A Whiskey and Patrick Fic
By Amy Lane
“I’m going down to work on the boat—you want to come with?”
  To his credit, Whiskey’s voice didn’t have a note of recrimination in it, even though it was sort of Patrick’s fault that the boat had sprung a leak and needed repairs right before Christmas.  All things considered, though, it was probably better that Patrick had other plans, so he looked up from his bed and smiled guilelessly but regretfully.

He hoped it was a guileless smile. He was trying for “innocent” and “inoffensive” and “not planning to buy your boyfriend’s Christmas present while he went to work on the boat.”

“Uhm, no,” he said, as casually as possible. “I hope it’s okay—I’ve got some homework to do. I, uh, need to study for finals.”

Whiskey had shaved recently, and the brown scruff on his cheeks wasn’t as deep as usual. Which meant when he rubbed it, the rasping sound filled the room. 

Patrick smiled winningly and looked right past his left temple, avoiding all contact with his gold-brown eyes. 

“Study, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Your dad wants us to stay until after the New Year—Lori Ann even asked if that’s okay.”  Well, Dad’s girlfriend was pretty awesome. And she was afraid Patrick and Whiskey would catch cold, which made since he’d been trying to install a space heater when he’d accidentally popped a hole in the boat—but that’s not what was on Whiskey’s mind right now.  “I don’t have to go do repairs right now.  Did you want to go ‘study’ at the mall together?”

Patrick flailed his long-fingered hands and then covered his eyes.  “No! Because you’ll know what I’m getting you! Because I suck at surprises! So… you know. I’ll go by myself and get your Christmas gifts and hide them.” His grin felt much more sincere now.

Whiskey grimaced.  “You, uhm, know we’re spending most of my money on our leaky home, right?  I mean, at this point my present for you is—“

Patrick launched himself off the queen-sized bed they were sharing in his father’s house until the houseboat was livable in the winter.  “You!” he finished, excited.  “You’re my present this year!” His melted into Whiskey’s arms, shorter, but strong and lithe.  “This is our first Christmas together, really,” Patrick whispered against his ear. “So I need to get you something really awesome.” Whiskey had been gone the year before, researching in the arctic, and their relationship had survived until he'd returned. Patrick wanted it to be special--even if they weren't celebrating in their home.

Whiskey laughed into the hollow of Patrick’s neck, tickling him. “You’re awesome. Don’t worry about the present—I told you, we’ll keep it small this year so I can take you with me in the summer.”

Patrick beamed at him. “Okay.”

Whiskey shook his head and sighed.  “Yeah, well, don’t break your bank, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Whiskey—I’ve got it nailed.”

He pretended not to see Whiskey grimace. He had plans.
Whiskey missed Patrick’s company when he was working on the boat, but he didn’t mind missing the “help”. Patrick tended to forget what they were doing in the middle when they were doing it—which is sort of how the hole in the hull had happened in the first place.  Whiskey, in fact, spent the bright December day squinting against a headache because his last pair of sunglasses had been knocked off his nose and into the river by Patrick’s elbow when they’d been pulling the winterizing tarp over the deck so, yeah—he’d made progress and nothing had been broken. He was calling it a win.

However, he was glad to get back to Patrick’s father’s house, up in the rich part of Orangevale, and he was even happier when he walked in and smelled two of Patrick’s favorite things: cookies and pizza.  Yes, he was getting too old to eat them both but after the day of gluing indoor/outdoor carpeting to the inner hull in an effort to insulate, he would eat anything as long as it was warm.

“Pizza?” he asked hopefully.  “And cookies!”

The cookies were, in fact, purchased from the Otis Spunkmeyer (the name cracked him up every time) store at the mall, and Patrick had bought a truckload of them.

“Hrm, ‘arf mm,” Patrick offered, from the kitchen table, waving his current victim in a shower of crumbs.  The table itself was covered in wrapping paper, tape, and scissors. The wrapping paper was cut, torn, and shredded into tiny pieces, the tape was strewn from one part of the table to the other in big, tangled strips, and the scissors were wide open and in the dead center of the table.

The cookies sat in a big red box on top of all of that other stuff, in front of Patrick himself.  To Patrick’s immediate left, in danger of being knocked over with every wave of his cookie, sat three perfectly wrapped packages, tied together with gold ribbon, and topped with one big, purchased, glittering bow.

Whiskey stared at the mess in a daze and took a cookie from the red box.  “Has, uhm, your father seen this?” he asked.  Please God, no, please God, let me have time to clean this up…

Patrick nodded and swallowed. “Uh-huh.  That was when he went to order pizza, since Lori Ann is going shopping tonight.  He’s showering right now.”

Whiskey stepped forward and began to pick up big handfuls of wrapping paper. God, if he hadn’t seen Patrick in action before, he would never have guessed such a skinny man could create such a giant fat mess.  “So, you couldn’t resist Otis, huh?”

Patrick smiled before his next bite of cookie.  “Yeah, well, it’s right by J.C. Penny’s, that radio control booth, and Sunglass Hut – it was pretty hard to miss.”

Patrick kept gnawing on his cookie, apparently thrilled with a mission well accomplished, and Whiskey looked at the three packages—one the size of a sweater and jeans, one the size of a radio control toy, and the other the size of sunglasses—before he continued to sweep the remains of the gift-wrapping frenzy off the table.

He very carefully didn’t meet Patrick’s eyes.

4…3…2…1…

“Oh fuck!” Patrick moaned.  He shoved the box of cookies away so he could thunk his head on the kitchen table. Repeatedly.

Whiskey sighed and squatted next to him, kissing him gently on the shoulder.

“You, Patrick,” he said, meaning it.

“I wanted to--”

“You’re my best present.”

“—surprise you!”

“I couldn’t ask for a better man in my life.”

“I was trying so hard—“

“I love you more than sunglasses. You know that right?”

Patrick turned to him and blinked, his blue eyes shiny with embarrassment. “I hope so,” he said with a little sigh. “But just in case, you’d better not trust me with state secrets or anything.”

“Just my heart.  I swear.”

Patrick smiled a little, and Whisky had to kiss him. It was imperative.  That’s what they were doing when Patrick’s father walked into the kitchen. Whiskey barely heard him as he loaded up his plate with pizza and then walked out. 

“When you two are done in there, bring the cookies to the living room! We’re watching Christmas specials because I said so!” he hollered.

Patrick grunted and pulled back.  “Christmas specials?”

“Santa Clause is Coming to Town,” Whiskey said, because they could hear the music through the doorway.

“Good. Let’s go eat cookies, I mean dinner there.  Here—I’ll clean up, you can put your stuff under the tree.”

Whiskey did as ordered, wishing he could open his present right now.  Man, those sunglasses would come in handy the next time he took Patrick out on the boat.

Letters to the World

Okay-- I've had one of those "sleep catch up" days that only happen when you don't get enough sleep for, like, a month. I'm not sure if I'm capable of holding a single thought through a whole blog post, not to mention a cheery disposition.  (If you're wondering why I posted the picture of the crazy transformed minion? It's because that's me on the inside. Now you know.)

Therefore, be ready for some snark, some general bitchiness, and some general information.  It's time for Letters To The World (world… world… world…)

Dear New Puppy--

You are not only adorable, you are also exhausting.  I'm begging you, give poor Johnnie a break. For fucks sake, he's getting bald.

You're still hella frickin' cute.

Sincerely,

That human you pillowed on all afternoon.


Dear Rainbow Awards--

Thank you so much for the 5th and 6th place in the Best Gay Romance category, and the 3rd place in the Best Rom-Com category.  As always, I am so incredibly honored. I know my fellow finalists and the winners are outstanding, and it's awesome to be included among them.

Sincerely,

Amy

Dear Penguins of Madagascar Movie--

Well done.  That's all I got. Fantastic way to spend an afternoon.  Thanks!

Sincerely,

The Whole Family


Dear Family--

Thank you so much for letting me go out and get us something sweet for dessert.  I needed that parfait so damned bad.

P.S.  I expect the good old age home for doing that by the way. You all totally owe me for not just raiding the chocolate chips for the baking and blaming it on Big T.

Sincerely

Mom

Dear Big T--

You put a gallon of milk in the freezer two weeks ago. It's now a lethal weapon. I don't… I mean… I can't… I mean, I don't even… God, son, what in the holy fuck were you thinking?

And if ZB is the one who did this? Why? Just…Why????

Puzzled and out of words,

The woman who birthed you.  Either of you, you ungrateful spawn.

Mom


Dear World at Large--

I have just written my first threesome with girl parts in almost six years.  (Alas, not for Quickening, but I consider it a warm-up.)  May I just say, that as a straight woman, I know more about the boy parts. I don't actually look the girl parts in the face, per se. If I am in the head of someone with a male lover, I don't see why it would be assumed I'd write that POV better if I was writing het sex.  I mean, in a way, it's like an airplane dashboard-- some bells, buttons, and whistles.  Just got to figure out which order to push them in to coordinate with weather conditions and the projected flight plan, right? And, you know, if you want that thing to achieve lift-off, you've got to be careful what you touch.

Saying.

Amy

Dear Gymnastics Teacher--

Mate had a plan for us waking up early on Saturday, taking the dogs to the vet appointment for their flea medication, and then taking the kids to gymnastics before meeting his mother for lunch and then attending a movie before going shopping.

Upon waking up at nine-thirty in the morning, he asked me, "What the hell was I smoking?" whence I responded rather sleepily, "I don't know, but if you wanted to do all that, I wasn't going to get in your way."

So if it's convenient, blame me for not getting the kids back into gymnastics until January.  But seriously-- we haven't slept in on a Saturday for five months. We had one coming.

Sincerely,

Squish and ZB's mom


Dear Cat--

The computer is not for sits. The kitchen table is not for sleeps.  And six thirty a.m. is not a suitable time to be awakened on a weekend.

You're not too small to be an area rug.

Cranky Mommy

Dear People to People parents--

Well, you asked. We were supposed to get into groups and talk about the question the leader gave us. The question in this case was, "What was the last book you read."

I read Armed and Dangerous by Josh Lanyon.

That was fun to explain.

Sincerely,

Amy

Dear Mate--

Earlier today, at precisely 12:30, I'd laid down for a nice little Sunday nap with the expectation of waking in an hour and leaving the house at 4:30, so we could get ZB to his People-to-People meeting. I had just drifted off when you came bounding out of the bathroom screaming, "Oh my God! It's from 1:00-3:00! Get ready! Get him ready! We gotta go now!"

We were only fifteen minutes late, although the meeting is across town.

I assume my medal will be in the mail.  I just wanted to make sure you'd ordered it, that's all.

Sincerely,

Your Wife

Dear McDonalds--

The person who developed the jalapeño burger was sheer genius.

Just saying.

Sincerely,

A very, very, unhappy large woman

Dear Parents at the Middle School Enrollment Meeting I Attended on Tuesday--

As highly entertaining as it was to listen to you pin the poor principal against the wall with the infamous, "If we're trying to enroll twins, and one gets accepted and the other one doesn't, what do you expect us to do?" question, I really needed his attention for something that was answerable.

To my relief, "Do you put kids in an honors program if they have an open 504 for having the attention span of a dizzy sparrow?" was answered with a quick, "Yes, in fact we've got a lot of those kids!", and I could be on my merry way.  Good luck with that twin thing, though. I understand there were three sets of parents in there with the same question. I'm sure I'll hear about the riot in the news.

Sincerely,

I'm still boggled by that.  I mean, sincerely boggled.

Sincerely again,

Mother of the Dizzy Sparrow

**

And that's all-- I am still on the work-catchup hamster wheel, thanks you.  Mate and I were thinking about going to get a Christmas tree this weekend, but honestly, we couldn't make ourselves move enough to go get one.  As Mate pointed out (just now, as he was yawning his way to bed) part of it is the puppy. She keeps waking up to sleep with us, and we're afraid we're gonna squash her and hence not sleeping well.

Part of it is the busy.  Both of us are catching up from work in huge quantities as well as doing all the other stuff

Geoffie Home

We told the kids before we left for the trip that they'd better enjoy Thanksgiving, because Christmas was going to be A. Thin, and B. Anticlimactic after eating dinner in Disneyland and coming home to a puppy. 
They totally appreciated the warning.
And they totally appreciated the trip.
I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but Universal Studios was pretty funny.  See, the kids arrived in a game frame of mind--but highly dubious. "Universal Studios. How exciting could this be? Are these going to be movies like Mom and Dad like? Jaws, Ocean's 11, The Italian Job, Super 8? Because we can see how that's Mom and Dad's cup of tea, but we, however, have a more discriminating palate that requires more roller coasters and special effects than boring old Mom & Dad!"
Boy, when they discovered everything from Despicable Me to The Simpsons to Jurassic Park, they were so excited.  The best part was the studio tour, which was great--not only because there was a lot of stuff Mate and I didn't remember, but because they had just watched Big Fat Liar which was filmed practically on the set.  It was like they bonded to Mate and I and our favorite hobby for real and for ever, right in that one ride. That, and I almost wet myself when I found out that the episode of Castle I'd just seen had been filmed on the Wild West set. Seriously-- I totally did the happy dance.  Even made the tour guide crack a smile. 
So anyway, they were all primed for Disneyland, and our first day was a success--but it was a crowded success.  Mate and I were afraid that Thanksgiving day, which would be the next day we went after picking the big kids up on Wednesday, would be too crowded for fun.
It was, in fact, just crowded enough. Now, I admit it-- by Thanksgiving morning, I was, in fact, sort of burnt on crowds and noise and being on my feet.  I recognized the signs of imminent grumpiness if I got up and did the roller coaster trek Mate had meticulously planned.  I elected to stay at the hotel, sleep in, and, quite frankly, experience the joy of having my morning BM without worrying about five people pounding on the door.  
By the time I got to the park, the kids were happy and ready for a brief rest, and Mate could get me a Fast Pass for Indiana Jones and I was ready to Disneyland again. I fully admit to doing the same thing the next night, when the older kids (who hadn't seen Fantasmic) insisted on closing the park down.  I had seen Fantasmic, we had closed down the park, and I would go back to the hotel and chill out.  I think maybe it's a sign of maturity (not the getting old kind) to know when I've had it.  Not just physically (although I'd been working on a training plan for Disney that had gone to hell in the past month, thank you pinched nerve and head cold very fuckin' much!) but also mentally. Mate thrives on that kind of thing, and I'm happy for 80% of it, but after that, I'm done. I'm starting to learn that if I say, "I'm done!" I have so much more fun for the parts I'm there for. Seriously. I'm a happier, better Mommy if I've had some quiet in my own head.
(I also confess that the more I write in the quiet of my house, the more of this I need.  I am grateful for my family which forces me to interact with the real world, or I could be a snarling old recluse in no time!)
But Disneyland was fun.  It was amazing fun. It was, "The big kids don't want to ditch mom and dad, they'd rather have their picture taken with Eyore" fun.  It was, "Let's play the Head's Up game in line to occupy ourselves and annoy the other people in line" fun. It was "Zoomboy and Chicken both want light sabers so they can fight!" fun, and "Chicken is afraid of ferris wheels?" fun.  It was, "Squish will keep up with the big kids if it kills her!" fun, and "Zoomboy will be a Jedi Knight!" fun.  It was "Mom wore the ears so she could match all the kids, even though her head was so big they looked hilarious!" fun.  It was, "Mate has mapped this thing like D-Day cause he's committed like you read about!" fun.  
It was, "My family may be getting older, but their heart is still together," fun.  
And then there was the death drive home.
The death drive was made longer by dropping Chicken off in San Diego and then turning around and driving back to Citrus Heights.  Many people have asked why we didn't just ship her back on a train, and the answer is that we needed to go fetch her rat, because she feels badly about shipping the rat off on other people.  Bon Bon is now happily ensconced where Spike used to be, and she seems to like daily cuddles just fine.   And speaking of daily cuddles…
So, the day we got back, you all may think we spent all day sleeping.
Uhm, no. 
There were three things we absolutely needed to do. 
Task the first: Pick out a new washing machine, because the old one, so help me, was scrap and destroying our garage. The whole place smells like toxic mold now because the water has been leaking from the damned thing for months, and it finally just… died. And here we were with all of our dirty clothes and a burning need to dress.  
So, yeah. We got a washing machine that is smarter than we are, and our old, basic drier is sort of looking with the newer model he's stuck with and missing his battered old mate.  I've got nothing to tell him on this matter-- I think my Mate would miss me if I was replaced too, and no amount of bells and whistles would make him like the new model, but the least you could do was uses the bells and whistles.  (Oh God-- I've anthropomorphized my clothes drier. I'm stopping now, before I start to pity my dying car with too much maudlin sympathy.)

Anyway, task the second was to drop off the rental car.  *sniffle*  Oh, beautiful $50,000 minivan, we shall miss you.  You were a part of our family for a week, and we're spoiled for the video and sound system forever.
Task the third?  Was to get the puppy.  
Yes, she's adorable.  She's tiny, but she's adorable.  Seriously-- when Big T was two years old, he sneezed and lost a booger that was bigger than this dog.  (Terrifyingly enough he had a big fight with his father over whether or not he was going to put that booger back where it came from.  T was never one for letting things go, trust me.)  
We're calling her Geoffie, because we figure we'll have Gordie, Steve, Johnnie, and Geoff.  It's like our own little Office space staff, and she answers to Geoffie already.   (Random Squish)
She's a feisty little goober-- she's the kind of puppy that gets rolled over and wrestled with and jumps back into the fray, and if she'd been part of a normal family we would have called her Tuffy or Scruffy or Scamp.  
That's okay.  Geoff suits her just fine.  
At first we were terrified that she and Johnnie wouldn't get along. Johnnie looks fierce with his little snuggle tooth, and he's like a monster next to her.  But on the third day, something amazing happened. They played.  And not just played-- they ran around for an hour, until Johnnie jumped on my bed and curled up in the middle in a "Oh for fucks sake, mom, make her stop!" sort of gesture.  
Ha ha-- not on his life.  He hasn't dumped the garbage once since her arrival.  He's too exhausted.  
Not only that, but he's got company when we're gone.  They sleep in the same bed and gnaw on the same toys and run around the front room forever.  
I am happy.  It was like adding children.  Every time we added one, I thought, "Oh no. What have I done?  My family balance was finally achieved!"  And then each child turned out to be the child we couldn't live without.  The same thing goes with Geoff.  
She's good.  
And so's my family. 
See?  Christmas?  Total anti-climax. 

*Kermit Flail Monday*: December 2014

* Note-- I'll blog about vacation next week. The truth is, we were too busy LIVING vacation for me to get it out on social media, which is a great thing for US, but not so exciting for the blog.  Tune in next week to see if Disneyland with four kids was as exciting as it was with two. Hint: Was even better!  And btw-- I'm putting this pic up because the expression Big T's face is the best ad for a *kermit flail* I've ever seen-- thanks, Big T, for doing some of my work for me :-)

And now on to *kermit flail monday*...

So-- something interesting happened for this particular *kermit flail* that made me really happy.  What happened was that  a lot of the familiar names/faces who get excited about my writing actually had writing of their own to talk about, and remember? Twenty years teaching English?  Everybody has a story to tell!  (Well, most of these authors are published multiple times-- so they have many stories to tell, which is even better :-)  So when I was approached this month about *kermit flail* from a number of people who have commented on the blog or who come and visit on FB, I thought, "Oh wow, this person is thoughtful and funny and literate and a real joy to be around! I'll bet their writing is FANTASTIC!" 
So for this particular batch of *kermit flail* let's hear it for Holiday releases, for new beginnings, and for a bunch of really awesome readers and writers who get to see their brain-babies dressed up, covered, and on display for our admiration--I do know the bestest "writers who read" in all of the explored universe!

So a funny thing about Miss Lucy Marker-- we have interacted a lot on social media, and between the funny things she says, and an avatar featuring a big smile, I assumed she was nobbut a sprout-- a wise sprout, but far younger than this old crone, given the joyousness of her heart.  It wasn't until very recently that she let drop that, yes, we are of an age--and then I was quite proud to be of an age with such an awesome woman!  So let's hear it for someone who is young at heart-- and who likes her young men just a tad bit broken--
Everybody give it up for Miss Lucy Marker!  
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!


Broken Merciesby Lucy Marker
Musician Daniel Gilchrist has decided he’s broken.

He doesn’t deserve Jeremy Evans, a sensible, sweet artist who insists they belong together. Bad choices after a hellish childhood make Dan more suited to guys like his ex-lover, a toxic mega-star who wants to resume their affair.

But Jeremy is irresistible, and he’s survived a few nightmares of his own. He challenges Dan to get rid of the false shame imposed by his mentally ill mother. Her twisted zealotry had influenced his choices, and it’s time to stop blaming himself for inadequately protecting his little sisters from her cruelty.

While Dan wrestles with old guilt, his former lover persuades him to collaborate on a song that protests religious bigotry. Dan grows suspicious of the star’s odd behavior, and then law enforcement shows up.

That clinches it—Dan really isn’t good enough for Jeremy. Somehow he’s managed to drag the poor guy into danger.BUY AT DREAMSPINNER
Now young Mr. Grey has commented on the blog on occasion--and I'm always glad to hear from him, of course.  But I have to tell you--as I read (and re-read) the blurb to this story, it made me really want to see how this one ends. That odd friction between what a family wants you to be, and what you know you are, has always been one of my favorite themes.  Looking at the blurb (and at the last line, which gets a laugh out of me every time!) I'm thinking it's something Liam Grey might have nailed, first time out.  At any rate, it makes me very curious to see what happens next--and I hope you're as curious as I am!
Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for Liam Grey and It's Christmas Everywhere But Here!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!

It's Christmas Everywhere But Hereby Liam Grey
Buy at Dreamspinner PressBlurb:

"Christmas brings dreams of peace, love, and family time for most. Sadly, Russell Moore isn’t so blessed. Since his coming out and marriage prompted a less-than-joyful reaction from his religious parents, Russ has kept his distance to avoid their conservative disapproval. With his husband David deployed overseas for the second Christmas in a row, Russ gives in to the loneliness and takes his stepchildren to meet his parents for the first time, hoping the “goodwill toward men” spirit will overcome his mother’s zealotry.

But Russ’s Christmas joy is too quickly deflated by his mother’s unmet expectations, leaving Russ to ponder if peace, love, and perhaps matricide go hand in hand."Buy at Dreamspinner Press 

Okay-- I have to admit, I sort of snuck one in here.  This is, of course, Mary my Mary, who is cruel and terrible, giving me only hints about what is coming in this book, when she knows I adored Quade and Roman ever so frickin' so!  To say I'm excited about Fighting Instinct is an understatement. I'm dying for this book to come out.  
Everybody give it up for Mary-my-Mary, and her next installment in the L'ange series--Mary Calmes!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!


Fighting Instinctby Mary Calmes
Buy at Dreamspinner Press

Only a privileged few know L’Ange’s head of security Arman de Soto is a shifter, and even fewer know he’s been systematically killing off a pack of werewolves. The reason for this vengeance is a secret Arman trusts with no one, quite the opposite of his obvious longtime pursuit of the château’s overseer, Linus Hobbes. Despite Arman’s reputation as a loner, the only thing he needs to complete his life is Linus. Predator and prey just don’t mix—but Arman won’t give him up.
 Linus has lived alone for more than seven years, sheltered at L’Ange under an assumed name and hiding secrets of his own, including his terrifying attraction to the most dangerous man he’s ever met. Arman knows Linus should be afraid of the predator stalking him, but Linus is still drawn to him like a moth to a flame, no matter how much he tries to deny his instincts. It’s not until Linus’s past and Arman’s crusade exposes their secrets and opens L’Ange to attack that Arman realizes waiting any longer is a risk he just can’t take. So he’ll have to take his quest to the source of the threat in a gamble to protect L’Ange, Linus, and any future they might have together.Felice Stevens has been a thoughtful reader for a long time now--and I was so happy to see her throwing her hat in the ring. If good book karma comes from reading stories and loving a genre with all her heart--and her formidable smarts!--then Felice Stevens has got good book karma coming out her ears!  Her first book was about rescued pit bulls, and this one? Is about rescued people.  I think it sounds like an awesome premise--and, of course, an awesome promise of some very broken boys!
Ladies and gentlemen give it up for Ms. Felice Stevens!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A Walk Through Fireby Felice Stevens
Years after running away from an abusive foster family, Asher Davis still struggles with the guilt of leaving his foster brothers behind. He’s climbed to unimaginable heights as a ruthless, high-powered attorney, creating a life of power and control. He takes whatever and whoever he wants.
Blaming himself for the death of his parents, Dr. Drew Klein retreats into a shell of loneliness, merely going through the motions of life. After a disastrous, short-lived marriage, Drew decides to leave his lucrative medical practice to set up a clinic for abused young men and women. The decision has more repercussions than Drew could ever imagine when the dark and sensual Ash Davis volunteers to help.

Although Drew isn’t gay, Ash is inexplicably drawn to him. He vows to simply bed him and forget him like he's done with every other man. However, Drew's sweet and caring nature and unexpected passion both stun and frighten Ash, who questions his right to any happiness at all. And when Ash befriends an abused young man who unwittingly draws the clinic into danger, threatening Drew’s safety and that of his beloved grandmother, Ash discovers that there is nothing he won’t sacrifice to protect the love he never thought he’d find. Amazon All RomanceLoose IdAnd speaking of book karma…

Jaime Samms has some amazing book karma coming her way.  See, Jaime's job involved editing audio books, and this time? She's got her own book out on audio.  Now, I've *kermit flailed* this book before (and the lovely, charming, funny, way the hell talented Ms. Samms) but having a book come out on audio is really a whole different kick, so I'm going to do it one more time!

Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a big hearty audio welcome to Jaime Samms and The Foster Family on audio!


YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
The Foster Family by Jaime Samms on AudioWritten by: Jaime Samms Narrated by: Greg Tremblay and 11 hrs and 45 mins of listening awesomeness.
Growing up in foster care has left Kerry Grey with little self-esteem or hope for his future. A college dropout, Kerry scrapes by on a part-time job at a garden nursery. His friendship with his boss and working with the plants are the only high points in Kerry's life. He's been dating the man who bullied him at school, but when his boyfriend abandons him at a party, Kerry wanders down the beach to drown his sorrows in a bottle of scotch.Malcolm Holmes and Charlie Stone have been together for 15 years. Despite Charlie's willingness to accept Malcolm's unspoken domination in bed, something is missing from their relationship. Early one morning, they rescue a passed-out Kerry from being washed away by the tide, and Charlie immediately senses a kindred spirit in the lost younger man. When Kerry's roommate kicks him out, Malcolm and Charlie invite him into their home. As Charlie and Kerry bond over Charlie's garden, Malcolm sees Kerry may be just who they have been looking for to complete their lives. All they have to do is show Kerry, and each other, that Kerry's submissive tendencies will fit their dynamic.But someone is sabotaging Kerry at every turn. As he struggles to discover the culprit, he fears for the safety of his new friends. If Malcolm and Charlie cannot help, their lifelong search for their perfect third may not end with the happily ever after they imagined.Buy at AudibleOkay, so you know how some people just come at you with so much good will and happiness that being in the room with them is like a bath in a peppermint spa? Kenzie Cade is JUST LIKE THAT!  Her happiness is delightful, her smile is infectious and I'm so honored to have met her.  And I was so happy to get the chance to pimp her next book!  And it looks so good!!!
So, ladies and gentlemen, flail your arms and give up a flail for Kenzie Cade and Hummingbird House!


YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!Hummingbird House by Kenzie Cade
To honor his grandmother's final request, Trenton Appleton drops everything to visit the family’s ancestral home: Hummingbird House, where he experienced his first kiss and first heartbreak with Callum Eason.
Eight years ago, confused by his attraction to Trent, Callum reacted badly. But with help he never expected, Callum found himself and learned to accept who he was.
Now Trent is back at Hummingbird House, and Callum has his opportunity to salvage their friendship, at least. But Trent is less receptive than he was all those years ago. Still, Callum is determined to show Trent he has changed and keep his promise to Trent’s grandmother. When past mistakes repeat themselves, Callum must break the cycle before his last chance with Trent passes him by.
Buy At ARe 
Buy at Dreamspinner Press
Okay, all--
Now for my stuff.  I'm almost embarrassed to put mine up here-- I feel like you've seen it forever!  But the thing is, after being on Presale for ever and ever, The Candy Man and The Bells of Times Square are finally available this month!  The Candy Man is available on the third of December, and The Bells of Times Square is available on the fifteenth, and the fact is? I'm excited. 
The Candy Man is my happy holiday story.  In a way, it's like I have to write one every year. Adam and Finn are such awesome characters they keep trying to upstage Rico in the sequel, Bitter Taffy.  I loved writing this--and it's a little longer than my average Christmas novella, so hopefully there's a little extra time for the slow simmer to hot for my guys.  So yeah.  I'm excited.  
And  Bells?  
Well,  Bells has been reviewed on RT, Publisher's Weekly, and now, Library Journal, which had this to say:
"Compassion and humor temper the dark undercurrents of homophobia, anti-Semitism, and the ever-present wartime violence in a beautifully written book that for all its practical realism seems almost dusted with magic. VERDICT: A poignant New Year’s Eve trip to fulfill an old vow brings closure to one couple and a new beginning to another in this touching, bittersweet M/M love story that leaves readers with hope but may require a hanky or two."
I mean… dudes. I'm so frickin' proud.
so here we go-- Amy's holiday offerings.  
Ladies and gentleman, let's give a big *kermit flail* for The Candy Man and The Bells of Times Square!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!

The Candy Manby Amy Lane
Adam Macias has been thrown a few curve balls in his life, but losing his VA grant because his car broke down and he missed a class was the one that struck him out. One relative away from homelessness, he's taking the bus to Sacramento, where his cousin has offered a house-sitting job and a new start. He has one goal, and that's to get his life back on track. Friends, pets, lovers? Need not apply. 

Finn Stewart takes one look at Adam as he's applying to Candy Heaven and decides he's much too fascinating to leave alone. Finn is bright and shiny—and has never been hurt. Adam is wary of his attention from the very beginning—Finn is dangerous to every sort of peace Adam is forging, and Adam may just be too damaged to let him in at all. 

But Finn is tenacious, and Adam's new boss, Darrin, doesn't take bullshit for an answer. Adam is going to have to ask himself which is harder—letting Finn in or living without him? With the holidays approaching it seems like an easy question, but Adam knows from experience that life is seldom simple, and the world seldom cooperates with hope, faith, or the plans of cats and men.

Buy At Dreamspinner PressBuy at Amazon Buy at ARe
The Bells of Times Square By Amy Lane
Every New Year’s Eve since 1946, Nate Meyer has ventured alone to Times Square to listen for the ghostly church bells he and his long-lost wartime lover vowed to hear together. This year, however, his grandson Blaine is pushing Nate through the Manhattan streets, revealing his secrets to his silent, stroke-stricken grandfather.When Blaine introduces his boyfriend to his beloved grandfather, he has no idea that Nate holds a similar secret. As they endure the chilly death of the old year, Nate is drawn back in memory to a much earlier time . . . and to Walter.Long before, in a peace carefully crafted in the heart of wartime tumult, Nate and Walter forged a loving home in the midst of violence and chaos. But nothing in war is permanent, and now all Nate has is memories of a man his family never knew existed. And a hope that he’ll finally hear the church bells that will unite everybody—including the lovers who hid the best and most sacred parts of their hearts.Pre-Buy at RiptidePre-Buy at Amazon

What you see...

He's doing the robot, can
you tell?So my original plan was to blog yesterday, and to make it all pictures of Universal Studio, but my pictures didn't send and to be quite honest, I was so tired by that point that I couldn't brain words.

So today the pictures sent, but by then, I was balls deep in Disneyland with a phone that had no battery. (There's a special sort of hell for that… I just have to think of a name. I'll take suggestions with Greek and Latin roots, and anything beyond "Fuckin' phone!" will surpass my idea in both originality, creativity, and use of vocabulary.)  I have to say, if my phone had possessed more than vestigial power resources, I would have snapped a picture of the guy who sold us ice cream in Toon Town. He looked jUST LIKE Rico from Bitter Taffy, and dudes… Rico's worth looking at.

Anyway…

She's like the poster child for
Disney adorable.It is once again late, I can't brain words, and i've 650 words to go before I win NANOWRIMO.  Oh-- and we have to go get Chicken and T from San Diego in the morning.

So, well, I'm going to deluge you with photos.  If I'm feeling generous, I'll add a caption. If I'm feeling brain dead I'll drool on the keyboard until I hit publish, and, well, no caption.

BTW-- remember that I'm WAY THE HELL FAT and I've been out of working out commission for about three weeks.  (Tweaked shoulder, head cold, rain.)  Mate tracked 18,000 steps on his FitBit, and given that I had to sit down and take five and skip a couple of rides, I figure that puts me between 12-14,000.

Dudes.

Can't brain, I've got the fricken exhausted.  

I'm pretty sure they were afraid to keep going.Old, fat, and tired sucks. I'm gonna have to do something about that middle part. That's all I've got for you right there.

But my children were adorable-- and on the way home in the bus today, ZoomBoy talked to everybody. By the time people were done with that bus ride they knew our names and the sie of our feet.

And all sorts of stuff we would rather have not spilled in between.

I only seem to get these photos when Mate is alone with them.Kids. Gotta love 'em cause you can't give them to someone else without paperwork.

Anyway-- these are somewhat out of order-- we did Universal Studios first, and Disnelyand today, but, you know.

 Enjoy!





At this point, he's unsure
what the deal is about.

Seriously-- the best thing about this classic picture in
the classic ride is that Mate caught the whole moment
on video and it made him queasy.
Guess who got to be a Jedi in training.
He almost wet his pants. 
This is Rhys Ford's cat. I gave Rhys
the scarf, but apparently it was really
meant for Neko.
This was taken with Rhys and her Horde/Crew at Zion Asian
Market. Andi, John, Felix, Marilyn, Paisley
Beth, Steve, and Andrea (and Rhys, of course!) it was SUCH
an awesome lunch. And ZB and Squish made their own legos
at Fashion Valley Mall while we were doing this, so it was
win/win.

This is Mario Lopez. I was so embarrassed
taking this photo, but you guys?
He's still FRICKIN' ADORABLE!
Guess who won their own minions at the Despicable Me
Amusement Park with the clever name that I've totally forgotten?
SpongeBob. SPONGEBOB. Do we need other words?
Fun with special effects!
And we met Betty Boop!
The Mummy. btw-- the actor
was GREAT. He wasn't letting
them get away.

This one was Mate's favorite. He loves this movie.
My family in Hollywood. They're awesome enough for it.
Homer has to be there if we're eating a donut that big.
But all together is the only way to eat it.
Know what?
It really IS so FLUFFY!
Homer is his hear. God, I'm a bad
parent.
He's calling Mars-- they're not beaming stuff in fast enough, mom.
HIs directions are unclear.