Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 146

Kicking that thing awake

*  This post owes its existence to Christy Duke, who did not make it to GRL.  Her besty, Giselle Kay, brought her cardboard cutout (I WISH I had a picture-- it was awesome-- Giselle gave her superwoman boobs!) so that we could have pictures taken with her.  Christy pinged me on FB tonight, and got an odd and discombobulated rant-- and greeted it with humor and sweetness, and for that alone I owe her. Thanks hon-- I have the best fans in all of explored space.

Squish has said it three times today.

Mate gave me an extra long hug as we passed in the night-- me on the way into the house with kids and him on the way to a soccer board meeting.

Zoomboy keeps bringing me chocolate kisses.

Even Big T tiptoes gingerly around me, trying really hard not to talk.

Chicken hasn't noticed because she's got cramps so bad she's begging strangers for Advil and has opened the PMS channel on my phone texting service.

But still-- I can tell.  I must look like dog crap that ran the marathon and dropped into a pile at the end, too tired to even steam.

I'm officially toasted to dark brown.  Stick a fork in me and I'd fall apart.  The Chiwhowhat keeps licking me for the salt gravy.

I'm done.

Or at least I thought I was done.

And then tonight, as I sat in front of my computer for what promises to be a big long whack of editing (Fuck. Me. Harder.) my FB screen popped up.

"Super quick.  What're your favorite colors?"

*blink*  "Purple and gold-- like the cover of Racing for the Sun."

"Don't ask what it's for."

And that's when it occurred to me-- it hadn't occurred to me to ask what it was for.

Omigod-- it had happened.  A week of GRL-- two weeks beforehand of stressing about GRL-- and two days at home trying to recover from GRL, and now, when I could least afford it--

My curiosity took a nap.

Or was bludgeoned to death--I'm hoping for the first one.

I should have known!  I mean... seriously.


See-- I was taking Squish to dance lessons and she was talking.  She was talking all the way there and she was talking all the way back--but while she was talking all the way there I got stopped at a light and witnessed the following thing:

There were four ( count 'em!) cop-cars in front of a little house with a shitty view of a busy intersection.  There were at least three officers of our little podunk force with their weapons drawn, and in front of them, getting his hands ziptied together was...

Well, I was passing him from far away, and you know something?

He was still stoplight gay.  Skinnier than a Congressman's conscience, black as a branch, tummy thrust forward, ass popping backwards, he was wearing red and white stripped shirt, white plastic beads, fuck-me hip-dropping black jeans, and I didn't even have to see his eyes to know he was rolling them.

Holy crap.  What was that kid-- that bright as the sun bit of trouble-- doing in our dingy white-trash suburb?

Or that's what I should have asked myself.

But I didn't.

I fought my way through traffic (Squish talking nonstop) and then sat through dance lessons (the dog fighting for my attention like my chest without a Chiwhowhat was like a man without an ego) and then managed the Taco Bell queue in a sort of semi-detached trance.

It wasn't until Christy pinged me on FaceBook that it hit me.

My curiosity was asleep.  I'm not sure when it happened-- it might have been when I woke up from my nap too early.  It might have been when I went grocery shopping and realized that the only thing that looked good was cookies.  (Cookies have, to date, never made me throw up.  It's a point in their favor--I'm saying!)  It might have been when I hauled my achy, tired ass to the gym to work out in aqua-- but at some point in there, when I was up and moving, I left my curiosity face down on the bed, snoring into the gray matter, one pudgy finger extended in salute toward anything that should attempt to pique it until it was ready to stir.

And then I started to whine at her.  (You were very sweet, Christy, but it was true.  I was whining.  I'm not proud.)  I whined about my day and about how I passed the stoplight gay criminal and our white-trash guys with guns and how my curiosity wasn't even batting an eyelash, and when I was in the middle of my rant--

My curiosity woke up.

And now I'm left with a burning question:

What was the stoplight gay criminal doing in the white-trash backyard, why did those cops have their guns drawn, and why did someone need to know my favorite color?

And will my curiosity go to bed with me tonight, or will it stay awake and produce something really interesting on word in the morning!

GRL 2013

That's funny-- it doesn't LOOK like Amish Country!  And yet, seriously, with so many of us trying to use the internet, most people who've been here will tell you that if you didn't have hotspot, well, you were back to the time when cable was the most interesting thing a hotel could provide.

But, other than that?  It's been a HELL of a time.  People?  This genre is amazing.  I was just talking to Jesse Potts, one of the contributors to USA Today HEA Blog, and she said that there was so much about this genre that seemed to heal the bruises that we all incur in the bumps of normal life, and I loved that.  And the thing about our readers is that they're so very grateful for that little bit of healing that reading gives them (or, in some places, that lot of healing) that being here, with the writers who heal and are healed by their craft, is sort of a sublime thing.

Folks-- even the hotel staff thought we were wonderful.  (Mary-my-Mary's awesome husband reported that when he checked into the hotel to join us, the woman at the desk told him, "Oh yes!  There's an erotic book convention here.  It's so exciting!")  Melia Hotel?  Your internet may have pissed us off, but your service and kindness more than made up for it.  Thank you so much for everything.

So, that being said, mostly, I'm just going to show you all pictures.  Maybe with some captions.  Maybe not.  Honestly?  After a weekend like this I'm a little out of words.

 Myself, J.P. Barnaby, & K.A. Mitchell at the Angst & Pain Storyteller's panel, where, I'm told, we made people laugh.  A lot.
Myself and Tara Lain at the RRW scrapbooking panel, where nobody told me that my hair looked like a wild wildebeest had rooted there for the entire frickin' day.
A big woman in a paisley dress, along with Shannon Shell, Amy Di Martino and Damon Suede at One Enchanted Evening.
Who is that woman?  She's in an awful lot of Twitter and FB pictures! But that shawl looks TERRIFIC!  
And there she is again-- along with A TWO HEADED FROG that Vanessa North knitted for her.  I just... I'... NO FRICKIN WORDS!!! You'd probably have to be us to know why we teared up.  I know I did.

My family at home, making sure I don't forget them, and that I want to go back.  It worked.  
The dashing and incomparable Andrew Grey, along with the very creative Goblin Queen (aka Nessa Warrin, EIC of Harmony Ink Press :-)
Troublemakers, all three of them. The one in the middle is Jesse Potts, and the pretty gypsy is Mary-my-Mary
Snow White claims to be a virgin.  His little devil fairy is doubtful. (Emond Manning and Anne Tenino, Goddess love them!)
Andrew and Mary set up my swag for me.  I LOVE them.

The skyline in Atlanta and the fan who was mean to Bruce Springsteen. AWESOME. (I mean that-- it was a good story!)
Those two troublemakers on the left, as well as Nessa, Shannon, and the always elegant Nicki Bennet.
HAPPY PEOPLE!

This is the burger I ate at this awesome place called The Vortex.  Click the link, read the menu, laugh your ass off.  I shit you not!  By the way?  The white stuff is the marshmallow sauce for the sweet potato fries. DUDES.
T.A. Chase is one of my favorite people.  For one thing, she's always frickin' adorable.  For another, she and her bestie, Devon Rhodes could be the nicest frickin' adorable people I've ever met.  Love them.  And doesn't she look FRICKIN' ADORABLE?
Damon Suede and Heidi Cullinan, looking serious and prepared for our signing.

The always elegant and adorable Tara Lain, who was a joy to sit next to during the signing.
Mary-my-Mary and Andrew, who both make my world better.
Clare London, M.J. O'Shea and L.C. Chase, who were their awesome and wonderful selves.
OMG OMG OMG OMG-- The whole room heard me scream when Vanessa gave me Cal and Catherine from Clear Water.  And then I cried.  CRIED. Am still crying. Isn't she amazing?  OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG... I'm still in that place of joy.

Rhys Ford-- That costume says it all.  (But we helped, when we told the story of the Great Alpaca Roller Coaster Ride.)

The radiant Meghann Ord (right) and the HILARIOUS and wonderful K.A. Mitchell (left) mugging for the camera.  I so enjoyed getting to know them both!
ZAM. I mean, you know, ZAM!!!! And K-Lee Klein--because you can NEVER have too much awesome in one place. 
Certainly not at GRL.


*whew*
I mean-- that's a LOT right there, right?
And so much happened, I don't even know if I can tell it all without prompting.
But you get the idea.
Beautiful, awesome, amazing people.
A whole lot of wonderful things to do.
A really good reason to sleep and be happy when I get home.  

Greetings from GRL Atlanta...

And now I must abed.

But first let me give thanks for...

Long hugs from strangers,
Joyful greetings from friends
A hand held in a moment of confusion
Telling old stories to new people
Being proud of my children in public
Being proud of my work to people who appreciate it
Being proud of my friends in any circumstances
Being associated with amazing people
Chocolate thrown in a crowded room
Teaching a group of my peers
Diet coke
Hearing my kids at the end of the evening
My husband who still loves me
A stunning view from a pool balcony
A quiet bed at the end.

Need a magnifying glass to find it...

So Mate is on the soccer board, which means that when we have a tournament, Mate has something of a big furry deal.

I, on the other hand, am left to run support, keep the troops fed, make sure everyone is dressed and delivered on time.

I also, uhm, make sure Mate doesn't yell at the ref, because usually we know that kid's mother.

Today was a prime example.  I remember this kid-- he was a the fresh baby on the soccer team (the newborn) the year before Zoomboy was a fresh baby.  His sister was one of Chicken's best friends--we've been to her house before many times, and this kid and Zoomboy-- they used to be inseparable.  (In fact, her home and her daughter's birthday parties and description of her family in Mexico were all part of my inspiration for Rafael's home in It's Not Shakespeare. And her husband is the best of men.)  Besides-- like Mate, she's become a board member.

Anyway, the kid was making some sort of crappy calls, and Mate and his co-coaches were LOSING THEIR MINDS.  (For one thing, we were winning, and that's just such a rare occurrence in itself... they were terrified of jinxing it!)

And then Mate caught my eye-- and I was not happy.

He turned to the parents and said, "Okay, okay, calm down, calm down."  Then he winked.  "I know that kid's mother.  She's going to hear all about it."  The parents laughed, and sure enough, the kid's mom heard all about it.

And said, "That's a horrible call!  I would have yelled at him too!"

So, bad feelings averted.

Anyway-- the weekend has been... well... full.

Definitely full.  Some other things of interest?

Zoomboy-- on his way out the door the other day said, "Bye, Mom!  Don't get killed by Tuscan Raiders!"  That kid is going to be damned disappointed when he doesn't grow up to become Darth Zoomboy.

Zoomboy... I am your mother!Big T-- got sick yesterday.  I think that means that it wasn't food poisoning-- it really was that rare stomach bug.  From Squish to me to Big T.  Lucky Dad & Zoomboy.  Bastards.

Squish-- is going to be a Ninja Bunny for Halloween.  In order to facilitate this cutting edge fusion of Ninja and Bunny, we had to buy an adult Bunny costume.  Which means that every time someone comes over, she shows people the Playboy Bunny costume we got for her for Halloween.

Chicken-- just texted to tell me that I'm the smart daughter from Modern Family. I hated to break it to her, but honestly?  I'm Phil.  Yes, yes I am.  And poor Mate is Claire.  Poor family.  So sad.  Feel for them.

And Mom?

Mom just finished Shiny! and that's sort of a big deal.  See, I thought I finished it last week, but it was a novella, at 44K.  And I told Elizabeth, "You know, I think I can make it full length."

So she put me on the schedule for full length, and now it's a novel.  And the challenge?  I didn't put one drop of angst in it.  Not ONE.  Okay, a moment of melancholy-- but I swear-- it was so FLUFFY!!!  And gorgeous.  I really loved the guys-- they were fun to spend time with.  All gentle plot arc-- meet, have doubts, fall in love.  The end.  Sorry folks-- not twists and turns, just sweet, sweet fluff.

Elizabeth needed some candy, and, well, I'm her friend and that's what friends do.

And in the meantime?

Well, I told Mary, "You know... I've got five possible edits pending-- some of them have been delayed for months.  What are the odds I'll get a whole whack of them before I leave for GRL?"

Now, one of them I finished the day before yesterday, but still.  That's like, five days before I leave.  And I have two more in my inbox.

So that's three-- who wants to put down money I'll go for five?

Oh!  And I"m packing swag for GRL.  How much will they charge me for a suitcase that goes over 80lbs.  No, seriously-- I really want to know.  My swag case is that heavy, and I have no idea how to get it down.

Anyway-- I leave on  Tuesday.  On Wednesday I'll let you know how that goes!

And I'll see some of you at GRL-- bye!  I'm looking forward to it!

*monster smishes*

Amy

True Colors

Okay.  Big dumb knitting metaphor here.  But it was just so timely!

So Mary and I talk about our characters all the time.  The two of us in public are Sam and Jory.  The platonic relationship she wrote to most capture our dynamic is Julian and Cash.  I can even tell you her top five favorite characters (of mine:-) in order.  On a good day, when the list is solid, I can give you the top ten.

I can tell you the very distinct things that make her Logan different from Sam different from Rand.  (Of the three of them, you want to fuck up in front of Logan--Sam doesn't suffer fools gladly and Rand is straight up an asshole.  Sayin'.)

And she can tell you the little tiny bits of me that are in every character I write.

There's a Jace in me.  (Well, yeah, I wish, but that's not what I'm talking about.)  Parts of Jace are in me.  (DAMMIT!)  I am very like Jace, from Gambling Men, in some ways. 

Of all my characters, you would least expect to see a similarity between me and Jace.

If you've read Gambling Men, you know that Jace is sort of a shark-- and sort of an ass.  Jace is fierce, and he doesn't like being crossed, and he likes being the boss.  He gets snarly when he's thwarted, and he's toppy and cold blooded and he needs Quentin because Quentin reminds him not to be an asshole and that sometimes he really is a human being.

Most people do not see the Jace in me.  Of course, when I was actively in teaching, before I accepted the fact that as a big woman who laughed I'd never be taken seriously or respected in pretty much any way, my colleagues would have said Jace and I were twins separated at birth.  I was ambitious, I did have ideas, and I did have the impetus to see them through.  I started the creative writing program and the AP program, and before the big Vainglorious Prickweenie, I did a damned good job implementing them (and I have test scores to back me up.)  I have some of those same qualities now--but I try harder to squash them.

Jace hurts feelings, and he leaves people behind.  Quentin was the only person he consciously let keep up, and that was because Quentin could hold his own 95% of the time.  Jace is irrationally attached to his own opinion, even when it's not good for him, and he likes drawing blood, feeds on it, and is perfectly content being the biggest, baddest shark in the tank.

I think these qualities are dead sexy qualities in a character, but I don't particularly like them in myself, so I've gotten good over the years of letting my inner Quentin win those battles.  "It isn't life threatening, no lives will be lost, back off."  Quent can be stubbornly insistent, and I listen to him because he's a nice guy, and most of me respects niceness.

Now, that's very introspective (and, yes, a little self-involved, which is probably the Chase in me) but what does it have to do with knitting?

Well, there's this thing I'm working on.

Now, when I bought the yarn for this project--for me-- I thought, "Geez, this is ugly yarn.  I don't understand my attachment to these colors.  They're just sort of funky and antique-y, and usually I sway toward Monet colors, or Manet or Van Gogh.  I'm not usually a fan of the off-kilter boldness of Matisse, and gray/brown with bright gold, fuchsia and lime green highlights seems... well.

That can't be me, can it?

And I was telling Chicken this, emphatically, in the plane to San Diego, and she was nodding and laughing, and then I looked down.  I had a scarf wrapped around my neck--in the same colors.

Ah-ha, my self said to myself.  These ARE your colors.  They're just your subliminal colors.  They're your JACE.

 Complete accident, myself assured my self.  I just bought this scarf.  I must have been in an icky color sort of mood. 

Well, today I was reaching for my fall clothes.  You know-- because it's much cooler now?  And I came up with a sweater.

In the same colors.

And I have to face the facts.

It's like when my inner snark-princess swims to the surface and starts taking a bite out of the slower fish in my way.  These colors are a part of me.

These are the colors of my inner Jace.

Goddammit.  I'm going to have to embrace them.

Tossing Cookies

*warning-- this post requires a strong stomach.  I'm not even kidding.  It's gross.  Remember you were warned.

Okay-- remember Cory and Deacon?

My two characters with the hair-trigger stomachs?

See, the thing is, I usually don't have a hair trigger stomach.  In fact, usually if it involves any sort of involuntary weight loss, mother nature has clocked me right out.  Carbs comfort me, I can look at most gross things on television without ticking an eyelid, and while I used to be a technicolor vomit comet on a windy road, once I learned the trick to basic knitting, that seemed to settle my stomach just fine.

I threw up exactly once with each pregnancy--and the first time it was on purpose as my bulimia gave one last twitch before dying a guilt ridden death after the pregnancy test turned blue.

So when I gave Cory this problem that I most definitely do not have and Deacon this problem that I'm sort of envious of, I thought, "Hey!  It's balance in the universe.  I personally hang on to every calorie I've ever met with gnarled fingers of intestinal villi, but my people can toss their cookies at will.  It's almost a blessing."

Uhm...

Sorry guys.  I take it all back.

Once, long ago, on mine and Mate's honeymoon, I managed to get food poisoning twice, within days of each incident.  Granted, I gave myself the first bout by attempting to cook (I've been telling you for years it's a bad idea!) but the second bout was firmly on the head a local pizza place in Crescent City that I shall not mention.  We were camping, which meant my biggest blessing was that nobody saw my complete intestinal meltdown as I was hauling ass for the big bathroom, but the humiliation-- oi!  If Mate and I hadn't been cohabitating for a year prior, I might have just ditched out on him completely so he never had to see me in that sorry of a state.  As it was, as I was hiding behind a ginormous fucking tree in complete mortification, he said, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"A change of clothes and a washcloth and a bucket of water and don't look at me while I use these things!"

"I'm soooooo sorry."

But, well, he did all that, and bless him anyway.  He is a good and just Mate, and I love him.

Especially because vomit is one of the things Mate does not do.  Mate's aversion to vomit has gotten me out of cleaning the cat box for 20 years.  He's made one exception, when I was in labor with Zoomboy, and that alone proved to me his undying love.

Which is a good thing he loves me, because what happened to my digestive track last night puts that whole week of our honeymoon to shame.

The Mantis Shrimp Can see in Ultraviolet and InfraredTwo exits, no waiting. For hours.  I threw up colors that the human eye can't even see.  I threw up colors that even mantis shrimp can't see.  My body gave me just enough of a break to clean up and go back to sleep so I would have the strength to do it all over again.  After two trips to the garbage can in the middle of the night with trash bags, Mate brought me a bucket.  A cat litter bucket.  He begged me not to tell him how full it got and I obliged.

But finally, after two showers and a whole basket of laundry, it was over.  I could literally feel it in my bowels.  Nothing left.  All done.  The purge was over.

I crawled back into bed and delivered the final insult to Mate's injury of having to actually listen to that for three hours.

"Mate?"

"Nungh?"

"When you drop the kids off tomorrow-- and you will take the kids to school tomorrow--I need a favor."

"Anything."

"Could you buy me maxi-pads before you go to work?"

"I am sooooooooo sorry."

"I know you are.  Night."

"Night."

And thus, nearly twenty-five years after my honeymoon, I know that the magic is still there.

And so, thank Goddess, is Sprite and Top Ramen, otherwise I may not have survived my day.

And Introducing Ethan in Gold

Way back in the way back, when I was in seventh grade, my default best friend who stepped in after my bestest best friend passed away introduced me to Bruce Springsteen.  Her college aged brother listened to Bruce, and so we must listen to Bruce too.  My first favorite song was "Thunderroad" followed by pretty much all of the Born to Run album, followed by pretty much all of Darkness on the Edge of Town.
And my very favorite track on Darkness was "Candy's Room." 
Remember, I was in seventh grade-- it took me a while to figure out why strangers from the city would bring Candy fancy clothes and diamond rings-- but something there must have stuck.  "Cause they don't see that what--what--she--she--wants--wants--is ME!"






That idea that although parts of Candy were for sale (and yes, I did figure out which parts) there was still a part of Candy that wanted pure, unswerving devotion--that stuck.  That was real to me.  
There's a moment in Ethan in Gold in which Jonah recalls movies and songs about men in love with prostitutes, and how he'd never been able to figure out why a man would want a woman who was "cheating" on him.  I remember trying to wrap my head around that, and the answer I came to in the end was that sex was sex and love was love, and sometimes they were exactly the same thing and sometimes they were as far apart as fish and flowers.  The hard thing-- the human thing--was negotiating the space between. When Ethan starts out this story, he is young, and he's had a hard initiation into the differences between sex, love, exploitation, and power exchange.  He could probably write his own psyche manual by the time he's twelve but all he frickin' wants is a goddamned hug.  
I like Ethan.  He's proactive.  He wants a hug, goddammit, and he'll do what he has to to have that need fulfilled.  
In the end, what he chooses for that need is Johnnies.  
There is a quote from Supernatural, when Castiel has been ejected from a brothel, where he says, "That young woman has a deep seated need for a father figure," and Dean replies, "The whole world stays in business because of daddy issues."
And mommy issues.
And that's where we go with Ethan in Gold.  
This story made me cry--ugly, snot cry-- in a lot of places, some of them places people probably would not even guess.  It snuck up on me that way.  The whole time I was thinking, "Well, it couldn't possibly be as painful as Chase," but I forget all of the lesser ways people can hurt each other without even trying.  The scenes in which Ethan is interacting with his peer group, and they are all in so much pain but no one ever talks about it-- those made my stomach clench.  In the end, Ethan and Jonah needed their happy ending because we need to believe that all people can have a happy ending, in spite of pain, in spite of past, that happiness can be reached for in the now. 
Anyway-- Ethan in Gold is out!  It's available from Dreamspinner Press, All Romance e-books, and (eventually in Kindle) from amazon.com.  I hope it makes you cry-- and I mean that in the best possible way.  I hope it touches you.  Ethan was... well, irrepressible, mostly, and damaged, and fun, and Jonah gave me faith in so very many things.  
Here's the blurb and the excerpt-- enjoy.  Oh yeah- and we can't forge the prayer!  Can you join with me?
 Holy Goddess, merciful God-- let it not suck!  Cannyagimmehallelujia?  Iknewyacouldamen!


 Ethan in Gold
Johnnies: Book Three  

Evan Costa learned from a very early age that there was no such thing as unconditional love and that it was better to settle for what you could get instead of expecting the world to give you what you need. As Ethan, porn model for Johnnies, he gets exactly what he wants—comradeship and physical contact on trade—and he is perfectly satisfied with that. He’s sure of it. 

Jonah Stevens has spent most of his adult life helping to care for his sister and trying to keep his beleaguered family from fraying at the edges. He’s had very little time to work on his confidence or his body for that matter. When Jonah meets Ethan, he doesn’t see the hurt child or the shamelessly slutty porn star. He sees a funny, sexy, confident man who—against the odds—seems to like Jonah in spite of his very ordinary, but difficult, life. 

Sensing a kindred spirit and a common interest, Ethan thinks a platonic friendship with Jonah won’t violate his fair trade rules of sex and touch, but Jonah has different ideas. Ethan’s pretty sure his choice of jobs has stripped away all hope of a real relationship, but Jonah wants the whole package—the sexy man, the vulnerable boy, the charming companion who works so hard to make other people happy. Jonah wants to prove that underneath the damage Ethan has lived with all his life, he’s still gold with promise and the ability to love.
Part I: Baby Steps to Porn-Star Success
Step 1—find an appropriate mentor




EVAN COSTA’S mother was Italian and his father was half-Italian, half-regular-white-bread, and Evan was the youngest of five. By the time he was born, the family fight as to what to name the child was beyond old. His sisters were named Allegra, Belladonna, Carmina, and Daniela. By the time Evan popped out (or so his father liked to say), all of the Italians had to be content with his middle name—Fernando—because there really weren’t a lot of Italian names they liked that started with an E.
Of course, family legend said that was the last time either parent agreed on anything, but Evan remembered that wasn’t always the case.
Evan, in particular, remembered the last time his mother hugged him. Specifically, he remembered the thing that happened before she hugged him for the last time. It seemed innocent enough.
He was five years old, riding his bicycle on the front drive. The new bicycle was sized exactly for him—a sturdy kindergartner—and it had his favorite monster on it: Godzilla. The streamers from the handlebars were green and silver, and it had one of those little clippy things on it that made it go “bap-bap-bap-bap” with every push of the pedals, and he loved it. He rode faster and faster, going around the circle of the little neighborhood and waving at the man in the house behind his with every circle. On his third pass around the block, the bike lurched abruptly, the back end flipped over, and Evan found himself flat on his face with skinned palms, skinned knees, and a skinned chin.
The neighbor he had waved to came running, laughing a little bit breathlessly and checking to see if he was okay.
Evan controlled his wobbling lip and pulled himself up to his hands and knees. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice wobbling as much as his chin. “I’m okay. It was just bamboo.”
The neighbor, a perfectly nice middle-aged bachelor who drank too much beer and kept his front and backyard like a showplace, blinked at first. “Bamboo? Little man, you hit a rock. I don’t see any bamboo—everyone here has too much sense to plant it.”
Evan’s hands hurt and his knees stung and his chin was screaming bloody murder, and he couldn’t hold back his tears or remember his promise to be quiet anymore. “But the aide said that’s what bamboo does. It fucks you from behind.”
The poor man. He jerked his head back at hearing the five-year-old swear, and Evan picked up his bike, completely demoralized.
“Kid, where’d you hear that word?”
Evan’s whole body started to shudder. “I know what it means,” he wailed. “It’s what the teacher’s aide says before he sticks out his bamboo!”
“Oh Jesus,” the guy muttered. “This is completely above my pay grade. C’mon, kid. Let’s go find your mom, and then we can tell her about the teacher’s aide’s bamboo.” His hands fluttered near Evan’s shoulder then, and Evan was kind of hoping for a hug or a reassuring shoulder squeeze, but then the guy must have rethought, because he jerked his hands back and hefted the bike over his shoulder. He didn’t even hold Evan’s hand as they rounded the corner and walked up the hill in the sweet little Folsom suburb.
Evan’s mother had already started looking for him—was, in fact, running in their direction—and Evan was so very, very glad to see her. He ran into her arms and let himself cry, glad because that was what moms did, right? They took the bad away. Nothing ever felt as good as a mother’s hug, right?
That hug, folded in her arms, smelling her sweat in her pretty polyester shirt and the heavy rose-scented powder she wore—he could close his eyes and feel that, feel the heat from the bright June sun, feel her softness, her love. She stood up and put her hand on his back, and the man set his bicycle down and then stopped her with a tap on the shoulder.
“Uhm, Carolina, can I talk to you a minute?”
Evan’s mom sent him in the house with Allie, who was actually a pretty good nursemaid. She scrubbed his hurts thoroughly, which wasn’t fun, but by the time his mom came in, her eyes dripping ugly black makeup, and reached for the phone, Evan was on his second giant bowl of ice cream.
He had to finish in the living room, though, because his mother, her voice hysterical and shrill, sent him and Allie there to watch cartoons while she called Evan’s father at work, and then called the police.
And that was the last time Evan got hugged by his mother.




Step 2—fix the damage the first guy caused




“EVAN, I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
Evan huddled, twelve years old, skinny and pathetic, in the corner of the couch.
“I remember it,” he said stubbornly, picking at the knee of his jeans. He liked the way they felt under his fingertips, and he liked touching things. “How come you’re all so sure I remembered that thing with the teacher’s aide right but nobody thinks I remember that my mom didn’t hug me yesterday, or the day before, or the entire seven years before that?”
His shrink—the same one he’d been sent to when he was five, actually—pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He’d been a young man when Evan was five, and for a little while, Evan had heard pride in his voice when they were talking. After all, with his help, they got all the details they needed, right? They locked up the child molester, and Evan got written up—anonymously, of course—in the papers. He’d been so brave, right? Of course, he hadn’t felt brave. He just had to tell the judge who the guy was with the squirting bamboo.
He called it a dick now.
But then, that’s what he was starting to call his shrink behind his back.
“Evan, I’ve heard you say it before, and the thing is, I’ve met your mother. She seems like a lovely person. She puts her hand on your shoulder, and it looks like a natural gesture of affection—”
“A natural gesture of control,” Evan snapped, because that was true. At five, he’d thought that hand on his shoulder was support. At twelve, he was starting to feel like it… it steered him from place to place. Here, Evan—let’s go to a new school, with a new start. Here, Evan, I know you’ve got friends at your old school, but this other school will feel like a new start. Just don’t tell them, like last time. It’s not something we talk about. Here, Evan, go talk to your shrink again. If you talk to your shrink, you won’t have to mention it at home. Here, Evan, you go to your room and stop asking your sister about her boyfriend. Here, Evan, if you do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it, you’ll only need to see your shrink once, and I won’t make you go three times, because really, you should be over this by now.
He was over this by now.
What he wasn’t over was his family’s reaction to it, which had never really seemed to heal.
“You don’t see,” he said a little desperately, scratching the cotton of his jeans until the thread frayed. He liked doing that—the denim was soft under his fingers and the threads had an individual feel until they started to bloom like cotton flowers. “You don’t see. It’s like… like I grew up then. Like I was five, and I grew up, and they never had to hug me again, and they never had to hear me cry anymore. Like, it will all get better once you talk to your shrink, Evan. Yeah, let’s talk to the shrink and he’ll make it all better. And you made some of it just fine, Dr. Stottemeyer, you really did. I could… I don’t know, write a textbook on why I’m not bad because some asshole jerked off on me when I was a little kid. I… I could be a counselor myself, right, because I read all that shit you gave me, and it’s… it’s great advice! I’m not bad, he was a deviant, I know not to transfer his deviant stuff to my own life… I’m good. But my parents do nothing but argue, and nobody throws their arm around my shoulder.”
He missed that. Miserably, he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, rubbing that spot again, because that was the closest thing he could get to human contact these days. His sisters would hug him sometimes, but, God, he’d always go overboard, draping his gawky arms over them, trying to snuggle into them, and they’d usually whine and push him away, saying something like, “Evan, get off of me! You’re totally creeping me out!”
And then his mother would say, “Evan, don’t be inappropriate with your sisters!”
And his father would say, “Carol, leave the kid alone, for sweet Christ’s sake. He just wants a hug!”
And Allie or Belladonna or Mina or Danni would groan and bang their heads against the table and glare at him. “Jesus, you little psycho, do you have to make things complicated?”
And his mother would say, “I don’t know what you want me to do—Dr. Stottemeyer says he’s fine.”
“So you just leave the kid to the shrink? Jesus, Carolina, no wonder he needs a hug!”
“You hug him!”
“Right, so you can report me to the cops?”
Because after the trial, two of Evan’s teachers had gotten in trouble for hugging him when he’d wanted it, and neither one of them had done anything wrong.
“Nobody’s touching him,” his mother would snap, and then the fight would be on, all the kids would run to their rooms, and they’d eat takeout over a cold table that night.
Dr. Stottemeyer wasn’t a complete dick.
“Look, Evan—I’m sorry. I’ve tried to get your mother to come in and talk to me, and I’ve even suggested marriage counseling, but….” He shook his head.
“Yeah, I know,” Evan muttered to his blooming white knees. “It’s all Evan’s fault ’cause he let the teacher’s aide spooge on him.”
“No.” Even when he was young, Dr. Stottemeyer had been totally invested in that whole shawl-collared sweater thing, and it was one of the things that made him not look young anymore. His curly dark hair only had a few silver strands in it, but he wore it soft and sweet over his brow, and his eyes were big and brown and almost liquid. Evan sort of liked that look, actually. He lookedtrustworthy. He looked warm. But as warm as he looked, he was a complete professional. Not one hug, not one, not in seven years.
“No?” Evan wanted to get up and pace, but he wasn’t really a pacer. He was more of a settler. He could “settle” for long periods of time—usually with Lisa, the family cat, on his lap. (His sisters had named her. He would have named her Ninja, or Catzilla, or something totally cool like that.) But Lisa didn’t mind being hugged or touched or petted—in fact, she just sort of collapsed into him and returned the favor. And her fur was so soft.
So he settled farther into the corner of the couch and hugged his knees tighter and watched asDr. Stottemeyer got up and paced.
“It wasn’t your fault that the aide abused—”
“No bruises, Doc, remember? No bruises. Just took me behind the partition and dropped our pants.” People forgot that the guy had been in his early twenties—he’d been appealing to look at too. There had been no warning, no “oogies” that he was going to do something unpleasant.
“Yeah, but he took advantage of your trust. We’ve talked about this!”
“Okay, I get it. He took advantage of my trust, but here’s the thing. I… I want to whack off now too. I want to whack off all the time. What makes me different than the stupid playground guy?”
Dr. Stottemeyer sighed and rubbed his face. “Do you make anyone else join in?” he asked, and Evan shrugged. His one knee was completely exposed now, so he raised his other knee and started worrying those threads.
“Would they?”
“Well, at your age, sometimes. But the thing we’re looking for here is ‘consensual.’ Do you know what that means?”
“It means everybody’s on board.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does. That’s the only way sex is good or good for you, Evan. If everybody’s on board.”
“Does the same thing go for hugs?” Evan asked plaintively, and Stottemeyer sighed.
“Yeah. Except with hugs, everybody’s afraid of crossing the line. I think that’s what’s going on at home. You were touched in a bad way once, when you were a kid. But now everybody’s afraidevery touch is going to be a bad touch.”
“Well, why can’t you tell them it’s not?”
Dr. Stottemeyer ran his hands through his hair in the first sign of exasperation Evan had seen in him in ever. “Because unless she walks in here and says she’s my patient, it’s not my place,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and got hold of himself, and then he turned his attention specifically toward Evan.
“Evan, look, I can’t make your family hug you. All I can tell you is that you deserve all the good touches you can stand. I can’t ensure that no one’s going to touch you bad. But I can tell you that you don’t deserve it when they do. I’m not going to tell you not to whack off, because as long as you do it in private, that’s sort of one of the joys of being human. I am going to tell you that it’s not going to take the place of being hugged, and I don’t know what to do with that.” Dr. Stottemeyer linked his hands behind his head and sighed, leaving Evan with a keen sense of frustration.
“Well, is there anything you can tell me that I can actually control? Besides whacking off, that is?”
Dr. Stottemeyer turned toward him, those liquid brown eyes suddenly brimming with sympathy. “You’re twelve, right, Evan?”
“Yeah.”
“I can tell you that your peer group is about to change.”
“So what?”
“That means that you’re getting to the age where girls like to hug.”
“Not boys?” Evan was sort of disappointed about that, and Dr. Stottemeyer must have caught that note in his voice.
“Would you like boys to hug you?”
Evan shrugged. “I just… I don’t know. I like the way boys look.”
Stottemeyer made a soft grunt like he was assimilating something. “Well, some boys will want to hug you, but in this day and age, you need to make sure they’re not going to bang you on the head for trying it. Choose your friends, okay?”
“So… choose friends that hug?” Lamest. Advice. Ever.
“Yeah,” Stottemeyer said, but his lips were pursed, like he knew it wasn’t the keenest thing a shrink ever said. “Choose your friends.”
Well, why not? Mom and Dad weren’t doing it for him, right?
“Got any suggestions for how to do that?”
Stottemeyer shrugged. “Still like comic books?”
Because comic books and Godzilla were still on Evan’s top-two list of things that never let him down. “Yeah.”
“You got an animation club at your middle school?”
Evan blinked. “Yeah.”
“Are those people nice?”
He fidgeted. Those people were the kind of people you didn’t want to get involved with unless you liked your hair done by swirly. “They’re not very popular,” he hedged.
Stottemeyer grimaced. “Buddy, those are usually the people who need hugs the most.”
It was like Evan saw a bright light in front of him, shining down upon the ragtag bunch of übergeeks who spent their lunches hiding from the bigger kids but who always seemed to have each other’s backs.
“It’s a good thing it’s summer vacation,” he said practically, and Stottemeyer gave him a bemused smile. God, he was pretty. Not “pretty” pretty, because his nose was a little big and his lips were a little full, but Evan realized with a buzz that he’d been trying to get this man to smile at him since he was a traumatized five-year-old.
“Why?”
Evan tamped down on the attraction, because it would probably freak the whole world out. It didn’t matter anyway. Finally, finally, he had a plan to tackle the one thing that had been bothering him since his mother had shooed him into the living room after he flipped his bike and scraped his knees. “Because if I’m gonna hang with those people, I need to work out a little. We’re gonna need a lot of protecting.”
Stottemeyer shrugged, and his eyes measured Evan from top to toe. Evan knew he wasn’t going to be that tall, but even worse, he probably weighed eighty pounds soaking wet before a good poop. “Couldn’t hurt,” he said practically. “Physical activity is a really positive outlet for a lot of problems. Ask your gym teacher for some advice on how to bulk up.”
Evan nodded, liking this plan. He would work out, get pretty, and hang with people who liked Godzilla. So far, the proposition was win-win.
“So,” his mother said as he emerged from the tiny little office at the mental health center, “How’d it go?”
“Great,” Evan said, smiling widely. “I’m gonna work out!”
“Great, Ev,” she said, her long Italian face lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. “That sounds healthy!”
He grinned back, and she put her hand on his shoulder and steered him to the car.

Enjoy the rest at www.dreamspinnerpress.com ;-)

*diez*

  Okay, random post here-- just, massively random.  I spent two days in San Diego with Rhys Ford and enjoyed the holy hell out of myself. However, there must needs be the return home to the lovely family, and the celebration of mine and Mate's birthdays, and, well...

*whew*

So here we go.  Random shit in random order.

*  Ethan in Gold is coming out in two days.  I'm thrilled, and it's already getting reviews.  I'll post my big "Yay, it's a book!" post on Friday, along with links to everybody's reviews. I'm pleased so far-- like I'll tell you all Friday, Ethan was really hard on me.  I think the pain was worth it, but oi!

*  I finished a novella called Shiny! that I guarantee was angst free.  I might also add another 15k to it to make it a novel-- I'll see if Elizabeth likes it short or wants it long.  (It's all for her-- lady's choice.)

*  I posted my Amy's Lane article and crossposted on my website.  It's a "teaching" post, and I enjoyed writing it very much! Jumping the Figurative Gap-- check the link and see what it's about!

*  We visited an alpaca farm in San Diego!  Do you see the cria?  Isn't he adorable?  The guy with his head cut off in the picture was a crack up-- he was such a little piggy.  He wandered around the pen whining "hyum... hyun... hyun..."  until we fed him some hay just to make him feel better.  I got a two teddy bears there for Squish and  Chicken.  Squish's is just cool-- all brown alpaca, including nappy curly fur on his ass.  Chicken's has a treasure trail.  See that picture?  She's embarrassed-- she begged for that bear!

*  I sat and watched Star Trek: Into Darkness with Chicken, Rhys, and Jenn.  There is something profoundly gratifying about sharing a moment with people who will look at a scene with Carl Urban, Chris Pine, and Benedict Cumberbach and say, "Wow.  The only thing that would make this scene better is would be if everybody was naked."

*  The woman sitting next to me on the plane had her dog with her.  She had a doctor's note that said the dog  was necessary to make her chill out, but I think it was just an excuse to be able to cuddle with the dog.  But seriously-- I have never seen a dog this chill, so maybe it was just an amicable arrangement, right?  (I thought about getting a doc's note for Johnnie, but the thought of that dog riding in my shirt for thousands of miles made me think better of it.

*  Mate did wonderful things for my birthday.  He cleaned my car (and no, I won't go into details.  Too gross for words.)  And he got me presents, and I got pizza and a cake for him, and a "I Aim to Misbehave" T-shirt.  I hope it was enough-- he is a most excellent Mate and I appreciate him muchly.

*  And I'll probably have more to talk about later--honestly, I'm still recovering.  I'm starting to realize that sleep is something I run perilously short on if I'm not careful.  I think I'll finish birthday weekend with an early trip to bed.

"Shrimpanzee!" BRILLIANT!

Chicken and I are in San Diego! Wait-- did I tell you I was coming to San Diego for two days?
Probably not.
It's been sort of a week. 
Last night we went out to Korean BBQ and followed it up with Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs II. What I loved most about this movie was how much fun it was for everyone.  No, it wasn't high art-- sort of.  It was puns, which is both the highest and the lowest form of humor, and this film, Technicolor hilarity, attempted to make every food-i-mal pun on the planet.  
Mate and I were both exhausted-- and us exhausted equals us silly.  
We loved it.  It made us giggle, and quote the stupid puns "Shrimpanzees!" and "There's a leek in the boat!"-- we love that shit!  And in our mood at the time?  We ate it up like a spoon.
Part of my exhaustion was the two releases right in a row, and part of it was trying to accomplish stuff while Chicken was in the house, and part of it was getting ready for, well, what I'm doing right now-- chilling with Rhys and her sister in San Diego, after escorting Chicken home. 
So this morning, Mate was out of the house early to set up the soccer field, and I was up not much longer, getting the kids ready and getting them to their games.  Their games were done at 12:30, there was lunch, packing, and then Chicken and I got to the airport and got on a plane.
*whew*  
Can we say stupid tired?
Yeah-- Rhys and Jenn took us out for tacos, and now here I am, gazing blankly at my screen and thinking things like, "Uh..."
Because I think, sometime in the past couple of days, I won a couple of Honorable Mentions from the Rainbow awards,( Bolt Hole, Dex in Blue, and Under the Rushes) and I'm pretty sure I scored an interview (with an accompanying giveaway.)   and I'm pretty sure Triane's Son Rising was released on Thursday.  
I know that a few people have been reading ARc's of Ethan in Gold and that they seem to like it very much, and that I finally got all my swag so I can mail it as soon as I get back.  
I know that Christmas Kitsch is available for pre-sale, and that much of the proceeds are going to charity, and that I love the cover, and I know that a bunch of hard working volunteers got Vulnerable translated into Italian, and that I'm looking into figuring out how to offer that for free on the Italian version of amazon.  (And they put this amazing cover on it.  It makes me very happy.)
And I know that Squish blocked a goal in the position of keeper today, and the Zoomboy actually remembered to play his position, and that I forgot to tell Mate that the kids are going to want to buy books for the book fair on Monday, although they already bought some on Friday. And that my stepmom treated  Chicken and me to birthday mani-pedis, and I treated her to lunch at our favorite Thai restaurant and we almost made it through without   arguing once.
And I know that I miss my husband, my booby hamster, and my comfy slouchy chair where I could watch Hawaii-5-0 with impunity, but that I'm having very much fun visiting here and that Rhys and Jenn are the awesomenest people ever. 
And that I think I'm very tired...
Why do you think that is?

Chicken's birthday, a new release, and what the two have in common

Original CoverOkay--

So Chicken is nineteen, and I've been a little absent on the net, because, well, birthday.  I managed to get one picture of the elusive Chicken-- I talked her into coming with me as I went to purchase birthday pie, and she dressed as a slacking teenager.  That's my sweater, by the way-- and that's an entire other story!

So anyway-- Chicken is nineteen, but it wasn't so long ago that she was twelve, and that's when my story about my story begins.

Chicken, at 19See, I've been publishing my writing since February, 2005-- that's almost nine years.  And the first thing I put out was Vulnerable.  So  Chicken has been watching me write stories since she was very small-- and she and Big T were very aware that they were too young for mommy's books.  So, after three Little Goddess books, Chicken and Big T were 12 and 14, and I promised I'd write books they could read.

I both failed and succeeded.

See, when I started, I had the idea of the superhero in an epic fantasy setting, and I loved it.  But I wanted more than just the rich, handsome Duke of Earl or whatever-- I wanted to see what made this guy tick, so I started with the Seminal Event that began this schism in his personality-- the thing that made him two people.

New, Pretty CoverI pretty much wrote the exact books I wanted to-- but as I wrote, concepts that seemed so very normal in my head began to seem really frightening for middle school students.  Now, I'm not even talking about the sex (although, of ALL things, during the re-edit of these stories, I was just asked to intensify one of the sex scenes in the next story, which sort of blows my mind.)  What I'm talking about is the idea of genocide.  Of mass murder. Of the government as bullies.

Remember, this was before the terrible events in Annoka-Hennepin, when those of us in the U.S. realized that our government was literally bullying kids to death, so in a way I was naive.

But I was also pretty dedicated to the story, so I kept writing.

And I was right to do so.  In the past couple of years, Elizabeth North, the CEO of Dreamspinner Press has made YA novels a concentration-- she's developed a Young Adult imprint of Dreamspinner, Harmony Ink Press.  When she put together this secondary company, she did her homework, and asked the Young Adult Librarians specifically, what made a YA book.

The answer?

Young. Adults.  (Shocking, I know.)

And when she told me this, I realized that I'd sort of known this.  I'd been getting book reports, for heaven's sake-- and what were my kids reading?  Ellen Hopkins, David Levithan, Sarah Dessen, Scott Westerfield, Holly Black, Robert Cormier, and Laurie Halse Anderson.  These guys deal with some pretty serious subjects.  Drug abuse, broken families, death, disaster, dystopia-- you name it, they've written about it.

They have even *gasp* written about sex.  The standard for Young Adult books and sex is simply that the sex has to drive character or story, and it can't dwell too much on the intimate details.

Well, oddly enough, that's what I wrote.  I wrote a book that an adult could enjoy (and several have) but that pared back (apparently a little too much even) on the sex.  The fact that there were boys having the sex (in some parts) was not a factor.

So, yes, Young Adult Books for Young Adults.  But not any Young Adults.

My Young Adults.

If you read the blurb, you will see that Torrant and Yarri are (by the time this book is done) our central players.  (All four books add up to nearly 500,000 words-- there's going to be more than two central players!)  You will also see some vague references to the "Moon Family in Clough."

Okay, let me be absolutely transparent (for those who weren't here when this was happening.)  The "Moon Family in Clough" is MY FAMILY in Clough.

These books were started shortly after Squish was born, and Chicken had just turned 12.  When we first see Bethen Moon, she is very pregnant, and her sturdy child Roes is at her side.    At the end of the bulk of the action, Squish's character is fourteen.  At the end of the epilog, she is a woman grown, with grandchildren.

So, while I was plotting something sort of delicate and all encompassing, I was also imagining my family growing up.  It was both an amazing and a terrifying experience, and in some ways, I was both very very wrong and very very right about who they would be.  (Zoomboy, for instance, is not a "pervert wastrel" as his counterpart, Cwyn "Terror" Moon, was in the story.  But he does give his teachers fits, he is terrifyingly bright, and the places his mind goes are not always predictable.)  While I was writing the second book, my students got into the act.  I was writing something aimed at high school aged kids-- I was very comfortable putting them in the book if they asked.  Now some of you know the story of Marv and Jino, and I won't go into it here, but this had some unexpectedly poignant results, and including my students is something I will never regret.

So these books-- well, close to my heart is an inadequate way of putting it.

When I discovered that Harmony Ink Press prints not just M/M romance, but all shades of the LGBTQ rainbow, and not just romance either, I thought, "Hey!  These books came out and only my loyal faithful fans and friends read them.  Maybe they can get another chance to be read." I suggested to Elizabeth and Nessa (who runs the Harmony Ink division) that these books might work for Harmony Ink when we were all in Chicago, and I thought that maybe, maybe, they'd be out in 2014.  I had no idea they'd be out so soon.

I'm thrilled.

The books were (as I've said) divided into four books reasonably large books instead of two GINORMOUS books, they were re-edited, and tomorrow, the first one begins it's re-release.

Next week, Ethan in Gold will be out, and I will throw a frickin' party, because Ethan was a tough write, and I loved it, and I think a lot of people are excited to hear that he's on his way.

But tomorrow, Triane's Son Rising is coming out, and even though this is the second time out of the box, I still think it should get some confetti.

Holy Goddess, Merciful God, let it not suck.

Triane's Son Rising at Dreamspinner Press

Triane's Son Rising at All Romance e-books

Triane's Son Rising at Amazon.com

(I'll add the amazon.com link when it comes out :-)