Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 34
January 8, 2019
A Good Change
So, some of you know that I started blogging long before I started blogging.
Part of it was when Mate was working and going to school and I was alone with Big T and Chicken when they were in diapers. I would save up kid stories to tell him on his one day off, so he wouldn't feel like he was missing too much.
The other part was teaching. We were encouraged to tell kids about ourselves, to humanize ourselves. "Yes, I have a family and a husband and you'll hear me tell kid stories--I try to make them fun."
So when I started blogging, even though it was supposed to be about knitting or writing or whatever, I also told kid stories--and every now and then one of you tells me that the family stories mean more to them than I ever imagined. (Which is why I keep telling them, honestly, even though the blog is pretty passe as a marketing tool atm.)
My students told me the same thing. Having a teacher who talked to them as someone with experience in a family made them feel more comfortable about their OWN families--even if sometimes they were dysfunctional.
We were supposed to be role models and authority figures and accessible all in one.
Unless of course we were gay.
Because if a teacher told students he or she was gay, then the administration could use that as a tool to keep them from getting tenure and everybody knew it. (I didn't. Seriously. It's one of the things I had to open my eyes to, because I didn't realize the world was THAT STUPID. But I did learn. *sigh*)
My daughter came home today all excited about a new teacher. The old one got fired for being a racist douche and not that I'm glad she was a racist douche but I was glad to hear she wasn't allowed to be one.
The new one is nice and fun and has a lot of good energy and does standup in her spare time.
And has a wife.
And that was okay.
The kids were fine with it. The teachers wear little rainbows on their nametags to tell the students that they're LGBTQ friendly and the kids can confide in them and they're safe. This teacher was just doing what the other teachers do--share details about their lives so the students know they're interacting with human beings.
Eight and a half years ago I was pulled out of my classroom for giving kids a book that said romance was just fine for gay kids.
Is everything perfect? No. Can there be positive change? ALWAYS.
But I'm pretty sure that the same thing that happened to me eight years ago wouldn't happen to another teacher like me now.
And this makes me really happy.
It seems I've spent the past twelve years blogging looking for a reason to have faith in the world. Sometimes it was betrayed and sometimes it was rewarded and sometimes it was renewed.
This teacher may never know it, because my kids don't talk much about me and what I do for a living, but I'd like to thank her for teaching and fighting the good fight and being a human and an authority figure all rolled into one.
And for giving my faith a win.
Part of it was when Mate was working and going to school and I was alone with Big T and Chicken when they were in diapers. I would save up kid stories to tell him on his one day off, so he wouldn't feel like he was missing too much.
The other part was teaching. We were encouraged to tell kids about ourselves, to humanize ourselves. "Yes, I have a family and a husband and you'll hear me tell kid stories--I try to make them fun."
So when I started blogging, even though it was supposed to be about knitting or writing or whatever, I also told kid stories--and every now and then one of you tells me that the family stories mean more to them than I ever imagined. (Which is why I keep telling them, honestly, even though the blog is pretty passe as a marketing tool atm.)
My students told me the same thing. Having a teacher who talked to them as someone with experience in a family made them feel more comfortable about their OWN families--even if sometimes they were dysfunctional.
We were supposed to be role models and authority figures and accessible all in one.
Unless of course we were gay.
Because if a teacher told students he or she was gay, then the administration could use that as a tool to keep them from getting tenure and everybody knew it. (I didn't. Seriously. It's one of the things I had to open my eyes to, because I didn't realize the world was THAT STUPID. But I did learn. *sigh*)
My daughter came home today all excited about a new teacher. The old one got fired for being a racist douche and not that I'm glad she was a racist douche but I was glad to hear she wasn't allowed to be one.
The new one is nice and fun and has a lot of good energy and does standup in her spare time.
And has a wife.
And that was okay.
The kids were fine with it. The teachers wear little rainbows on their nametags to tell the students that they're LGBTQ friendly and the kids can confide in them and they're safe. This teacher was just doing what the other teachers do--share details about their lives so the students know they're interacting with human beings.
Eight and a half years ago I was pulled out of my classroom for giving kids a book that said romance was just fine for gay kids.
Is everything perfect? No. Can there be positive change? ALWAYS.
But I'm pretty sure that the same thing that happened to me eight years ago wouldn't happen to another teacher like me now.
And this makes me really happy.
It seems I've spent the past twelve years blogging looking for a reason to have faith in the world. Sometimes it was betrayed and sometimes it was rewarded and sometimes it was renewed.
This teacher may never know it, because my kids don't talk much about me and what I do for a living, but I'd like to thank her for teaching and fighting the good fight and being a human and an authority figure all rolled into one.
And for giving my faith a win.
January 7, 2019
Kermit Flail-- HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
Whew! I mean WOW!
It has been some holiday season!
And the NewYear is shaping up to be positively sizzling in the romance department--I mean this lineup is TRULY amazing!
First up is the STUNNING, LOVELY, and HILARIOUS Ms. E.J. Russell, with my favorite motif-- the demon with a heart of gold! She leads us off this month with her Dreamspun Beyond story, Devouring Flame!
Devouring Flame (Dreamspun Beyond #35)An Enchanted Occasions story
by E.J. Russell
Reunited and reignited.
While cutting through the Interstices—the post-creation gap between realms—Smith, half-demon tech specialist for Enchanted Occasions Event Planning, spies the person he yearns for daily but dreads seeing again: the ifrit, Hashim of the Windrider clan.
On their one literally smoldering night together, Smith, stupidly besotted, revealed his true name—a demon’s greatest vulnerability. When Hashim didn’t return the favor, then split the next morning with no word? Message received, loud and clear: Thanks but no, thanks.
Although Hashim had burned to return Smith’s trust, it was impossible. The wizard who conjured him holds his true name in secret, and unless Hashim discovers it, he’ll never be free.
When their attraction sparks once more, the two unite to search for Hashim’s hidden name—which would be a hell of a lot easier if they didn’t have to contend with a convention full of food-crazed vampires on the one day out of the century they can consume something other than blood.
But if they fail, Hashim will be doomed to eternal slavery, and their reignited love will collapse in the ashes.
Luckily Smith is the guy who gets shit done. And Hashim is never afraid to heat things up.
Buy Here
Next up is August Li, who is known for his complex and lyrical fantasy novels, and, of course, his stunning covers. (Also, for being kind and funny, whenever I've seen him at conferences--and for doodling the most magical things, and then letting me gush over his doodles until he just gives me one. Okay, maybe that's just me ;-) Anyway, August's next offering is Nomad's Dream, and it does look dreamy indeed.
Nomad's Dream
by August Li
Two men, each with a hidden destiny. Can they defeat a web of deceit and dark magic to ensure their fates intertwine?
Bedouin Isra al-Grayjaab’s dreams lead him to Janan, an amnesiac beggar on the street of Qena—one who steals his heart and starts him on a seemingly hopeless quest. With only their wits, Isra’s knowledge of the desert’s secrets, and the aid of a mercurial djinn, they must recover Janan’s past. But neither can predict his true identity or the lengths others will go to see that his mind remains broken and his true power out of his reach.
In a sweeping romantic adventure that takes them across the Eastern Desert to the modern streets of Cairo and on to the luxurious Red Sea Coast, Janan and Isra seek a truth that will either bring them into each other’s arms or tear them apart forever.
Buy at Dreamspinner
Second chance at love stories are the ultimate in hope--and nobody does hope better than L.A. Witt. She's known for her gritty heroes and her real life choices--and for her happy endings. Is It Over Yet looks like L.A. Witt at her best--and most heartbreaking--and dammit, Lori, we'd better have happy at the end!
Is It Over Yet
by L.A. Witt
Rhys Powell and Derek Scott are divorcing. Mistakes have been made, lines have been crossed, and there’s no going back. Both men are exhausted and ready to move on.
But their daughter is getting married soon. In the name of not putting a damper on her wedding, Derek and Rhys agree to keep the divorce on the down-low and show up as the happy couple everyone still believes they are.
And between a roller coaster of a road trip and the love and joy surrounding the wedding… Derek and Rhys just might remember why they fell for each other in the first place.
Are they only kidding themselves? Or can a rekindled spark really light the way to forgiveness?
This novel is approximately 59,500 words long.
Buy at Amazon
Parker Williams is an enthusiastic, whimsical, slightly naughty presence in social media--and a truly good friend in any context. I look forward to his cheerfully wicked teasing--and the chance to sing his talent to the skies was simply too delicious. The Spirit Key is dark urban fantasy--and it looks amazing! And, knowing Parker, I'm sure there's some deliciousness in there as well--he can't deny it. It's just his nature.
The Spirit Key
by Parker Williams
Lock and Key: Book One When he was eight years old, Scott Fogel died. Paramedics revived him, but he came back changed. Ghosts and spirits tormented Scott for over a decade until, thinking he was going mad, he did the only thing he could.He ran—leaving behind his best friend, Tim Jennesee.Scott’s had five normal, ghost-free years in Chicago, when the spirit of Tim’s mother comes to him and begs him to go home because Tim’s in trouble and needs him.He isn’t prepared for what he finds when he goes home—a taller and sexier Tim, but a Tim who hasn’t forgiven Scott for abandoning him… a Tim whose body is no longer his own. The ghost of a serial murderer has attached itself to Tim, and it’s whispering dark and evil things. It wants Tim to kill, and it’s becoming harder for Tim to resist. To free the man who has always meant so much to him, Scott must unravel the mystery of the destiny he shares with Tim.
Buy at Amazon
T.N. Tarrant has some high fantasy here that looks stunning and original--and romantic. *clutches hands to chest* That's my favorite kind! With a lovely cover and an "us against the world" storyline, how can you lose? Please check out Killian, Whispers from a Hidden World, Book 1!
Killian (Whispers from a Hidden World, Book 1)
Regent Killian Larrestes survived a harrowing attack and the betrayal of his family by his mother, and has since worked to help them all recover, learning the complexities of protecting and commanding a large, sprawling Clan.
Shiloh Zahirris is seeking Sanctuary from a marriage he doesn't want when he ends up under the protection of Killian Larrestes. Killian takes him in, and they find themselves falling in love. But will social objections, personal insecurities, and someone seeking revenge destroy their chance at happiness?
by T.N. Tarrant
Buy at Amazon
Ah, the lovely, the fluffy, the exciting, the escapable Dreamspun Desire! Where fantasies come true, right? Well an athlete and an aristocrat in Paris is certainly fantastic, and Louisa Masters looks to have done her genre proud! Also, check out the new cover design--Louisa's hero looks doubly dreamy, right? Come check out The Athlete and the Aristocrat by Louisa Masters!
The Athlete and The Aristocrat
by Louisa Masters
Sometimes love takes balls.Newly retired championship footballer Simon Wood is taking on his next challenge. His plan for a charity to provide funding for underprivileged children to pursue football as a career has passed its first hurdle: he has backers and an executive consultant. Now it’s time to get the ball rolling.Lucien Morel, heir to the multibillion-euro Morel Corporation, is shocked—and thrilled—to learn his father has volunteered him as consultant to a fledgling football charity. Better yet, the brains behind it all is heartthrob Simon Wood, his teenage idol and crush.Although Simon and Lucien get off on the wrong foot, it’s not long before they’re getting along like a house on fire—sparks included. But with the charity under public scrutiny, can their romance thrive?Buy at Amazon
Roe Horvat is quickly making a name for himself as a writer of engaging, heartfelt drama--and The Other Book has all the earmarks of a romance that might bring you to a couple of tears. The good kind of tears-- the ones brought about by frozen hearts thawing in the heat of blazing hot sex. I mean, if that doesn't make you want to read, nothing will!
The Other BookRoe HorvatIt was supposed to be just sex... Famous last words.Tyler doesn't overthink pleasure and avoids complications. He knows it might be stupid to get involved with his closeted boss, but the temptation is too great. At first, the cold and beautiful Joel Sandstrom seems to loathe Tyler's guts.Except one late night at the office, his reasons become clear...and his control breaks.Every time they touch, Joel's stony face comes alive, harsh lines smooth out, and for a minute, he looks serene. Happy, even. Just sex - dirty, intense, spectacular sex.During their covert encounters, Tyler discovers the power he has over the lonesome man, and it's a heady feeling. What if he could set Joel free and give him peace of mind? When Tyler realizes how much Joel needs him, he doesn't regret breaking his own rules.Gay erotic romance. Contains explicit scenes and sexual interactions between more than two partners. For adult readers only.Buy at Amazon
Racing into Love is brought to us by newcomer Noah Steel features a daring racer and a quiet bookseller--and the end of a dating rut that will start your heart! Come check Noah's debut, the first in a series--it looks like a winner!
Racing into Love
by Noah Steele
Aiden Reed is stuck in a major boy rut.
Every date ends in something worse than disaster—boredom.
That is, until star racer Derrek Luna crashes the end of a terrible date at Aiden’s cozy bookstore. Derrek’s confident charm and killer good looks throw Aiden’s quiet, cautious world into chaos when he says he wants a shot at Aiden’s heart.Derrek is sure Aiden is different. He’s sure Aiden won’t just vanish without a word. Not like the others did. But the closer Derrek gets to the man who charmed him without a word from across a crowded room, the more his life on the track threatens to keep them apart.Aiden is ready to take the risk—he thinks. What if Aiden’s panic attacks scare Derrek away? What if Derrek’s ghosts come back to haunt him? …what if it doesn’t matter because they’re already in love?Racing into Love is an instalove romantic drama ready and waiting to take you from zero to sixty with every turn of the page.
Buy at Amazon
This next debut writer is a regular on my FaceBook group! She's been working hard on craft and marketing these last few years and watching her take this dream and stick to it has been a lovely, wonderful thing. Please say hello to Joy Rose, and her angsty rent boy story, Want!
Want
by Joy Rose
Although college life was over the learning curve still existed for Jason Stephens. Naive and young, Jason and his best friend Ethan Rosen owned and operated Love Inc., a high-class male escort agency in New York City. While Ethan ran the day to day, Jason was an escort—his androgynous, angel like beauty afforded him this opportunity. However, Jason or Jace for short wanted out in a bad way, Ethan wanted him to stay and keep at it. The money was good, and those student loans and his apartment would not pay for themselves.
A chance encounter at the laundry mat has Jason dreaming of an ordinary life with possibly the man of his dreams. Damien Prescott was that man or so Jason hoped. Damien was British and refined, a perfect gentleman and he smelled so good he just had to be gay according to Jason. Apartment info is inadvertently exchanged much to Jason’s horror. What if this guy was a masked murderer or rapist? Jason’s past abuse at the hands of clients and his own parents forced him to form negative opinions regarding anyone that showed him the least bit of positive interest. Then there was Ethan his bestie and soulmate. Their relationship consisted of comfort sex and comfort eating, not exactly in that order. Five years strong and still kicking, why couldn’t they ever get serious enough to at least play house together?
Buy at Amazon
My January release is sort of a Rerelease. I wrote Regret Me Not as a novella--and the shape of it was perfect, and it had a "ride into the sunset" sort of ending I always wanted to end a book with. Except, me being me, I wanted to know what happened in the sunset.
So I wrote (on this very blog) the extras for Regret Me Not-- and Dreamspinner put them into paperback. And I'm so excited to have them for you! Come see Hal and Pierce's ride into the sunset, as the unicorns they are.
Regret Me Not (Paperback)by Amy Lane
Pierce Atwater used to think he was a knight in shining armor, but then his life fell to crap. Now he has no job, no wife, no life—and is so full of self-pity he can’t even be decent to the one family member he’s still speaking to. He heads for Florida, where he’s got a month to pull his head out of his ass before he ruins his little sister’s Christmas.
Harold Justice Lombard the Fifth is at his own crossroads—he can keep being Hal, massage therapist in training, flamboyant and irrepressible to the bones, or he can let his parents rule his life. Hal takes one look at Pierce and decides they’re fellow unicorns out to make the world a better place. Pierce can’t reject Hal’s overtures of friendship, in spite of his misgivings about being too old and too pissed off to make a good friend.
As they experience everything from existential Looney Tunes to eternal trips to Target, Pierce becomes more dependent on Hal’s optimism to get him through the day. When Hal starts getting him through the nights too, Pierce must look inside for the knight he used to be—before Christmas becomes a doomsday deadline of heartbreak instead of a celebration of love.
New novella Pierce and Hal's Road Trip is exclusively sold at Dreamspinner in this print edition!
Buy it AT DREAMSPINNER
AMY AT PROLIFIC WORKS
Hey all! I've got some stuff out at Prolific Works, which is a place to put free stuff, and I thought I'd share.
In December I added A Gentle Shove of Human Kindness, which used to be in the Grand Adventures anthology, but it was taken out of print. It's a short, sweet little piece, and I hope you enjoy it!I also added the extras to Beneath the Stain. These were originally released with the book as extra content to the serial edition, and once the book did so well, people wanted to read them! Dreamspinner authorized me to release them now, as sort of a prelude to Paint It Black, which should be out in August. (Let's just say that Paint it Black will make a lot more sense if you read the extras!)
Whew! I mean WOW!
It has been some holiday season!
And the NewYear is shaping up to be positively sizzling in the romance department--I mean this lineup is TRULY amazing!
First up is the STUNNING, LOVELY, and HILARIOUS Ms. E.J. Russell, with my favorite motif-- the demon with a heart of gold! She leads us off this month with her Dreamspun Beyond story, Devouring Flame!
Devouring Flame (Dreamspun Beyond #35)An Enchanted Occasions story
by E.J. Russell
Reunited and reignited.
While cutting through the Interstices—the post-creation gap between realms—Smith, half-demon tech specialist for Enchanted Occasions Event Planning, spies the person he yearns for daily but dreads seeing again: the ifrit, Hashim of the Windrider clan.
On their one literally smoldering night together, Smith, stupidly besotted, revealed his true name—a demon’s greatest vulnerability. When Hashim didn’t return the favor, then split the next morning with no word? Message received, loud and clear: Thanks but no, thanks.
Although Hashim had burned to return Smith’s trust, it was impossible. The wizard who conjured him holds his true name in secret, and unless Hashim discovers it, he’ll never be free.
When their attraction sparks once more, the two unite to search for Hashim’s hidden name—which would be a hell of a lot easier if they didn’t have to contend with a convention full of food-crazed vampires on the one day out of the century they can consume something other than blood.
But if they fail, Hashim will be doomed to eternal slavery, and their reignited love will collapse in the ashes.
Luckily Smith is the guy who gets shit done. And Hashim is never afraid to heat things up.
Buy Here
Next up is August Li, who is known for his complex and lyrical fantasy novels, and, of course, his stunning covers. (Also, for being kind and funny, whenever I've seen him at conferences--and for doodling the most magical things, and then letting me gush over his doodles until he just gives me one. Okay, maybe that's just me ;-) Anyway, August's next offering is Nomad's Dream, and it does look dreamy indeed.
Nomad's Dreamby August Li
Two men, each with a hidden destiny. Can they defeat a web of deceit and dark magic to ensure their fates intertwine?
Bedouin Isra al-Grayjaab’s dreams lead him to Janan, an amnesiac beggar on the street of Qena—one who steals his heart and starts him on a seemingly hopeless quest. With only their wits, Isra’s knowledge of the desert’s secrets, and the aid of a mercurial djinn, they must recover Janan’s past. But neither can predict his true identity or the lengths others will go to see that his mind remains broken and his true power out of his reach.
In a sweeping romantic adventure that takes them across the Eastern Desert to the modern streets of Cairo and on to the luxurious Red Sea Coast, Janan and Isra seek a truth that will either bring them into each other’s arms or tear them apart forever.
Buy at Dreamspinner
Second chance at love stories are the ultimate in hope--and nobody does hope better than L.A. Witt. She's known for her gritty heroes and her real life choices--and for her happy endings. Is It Over Yet looks like L.A. Witt at her best--and most heartbreaking--and dammit, Lori, we'd better have happy at the end!
Is It Over Yet
by L.A. Witt
Rhys Powell and Derek Scott are divorcing. Mistakes have been made, lines have been crossed, and there’s no going back. Both men are exhausted and ready to move on.
But their daughter is getting married soon. In the name of not putting a damper on her wedding, Derek and Rhys agree to keep the divorce on the down-low and show up as the happy couple everyone still believes they are.
And between a roller coaster of a road trip and the love and joy surrounding the wedding… Derek and Rhys just might remember why they fell for each other in the first place.
Are they only kidding themselves? Or can a rekindled spark really light the way to forgiveness?
This novel is approximately 59,500 words long.
Buy at Amazon
Parker Williams is an enthusiastic, whimsical, slightly naughty presence in social media--and a truly good friend in any context. I look forward to his cheerfully wicked teasing--and the chance to sing his talent to the skies was simply too delicious. The Spirit Key is dark urban fantasy--and it looks amazing! And, knowing Parker, I'm sure there's some deliciousness in there as well--he can't deny it. It's just his nature.
The Spirit Key
by Parker Williams
Lock and Key: Book One When he was eight years old, Scott Fogel died. Paramedics revived him, but he came back changed. Ghosts and spirits tormented Scott for over a decade until, thinking he was going mad, he did the only thing he could.He ran—leaving behind his best friend, Tim Jennesee.Scott’s had five normal, ghost-free years in Chicago, when the spirit of Tim’s mother comes to him and begs him to go home because Tim’s in trouble and needs him.He isn’t prepared for what he finds when he goes home—a taller and sexier Tim, but a Tim who hasn’t forgiven Scott for abandoning him… a Tim whose body is no longer his own. The ghost of a serial murderer has attached itself to Tim, and it’s whispering dark and evil things. It wants Tim to kill, and it’s becoming harder for Tim to resist. To free the man who has always meant so much to him, Scott must unravel the mystery of the destiny he shares with Tim.
Buy at Amazon
T.N. Tarrant has some high fantasy here that looks stunning and original--and romantic. *clutches hands to chest* That's my favorite kind! With a lovely cover and an "us against the world" storyline, how can you lose? Please check out Killian, Whispers from a Hidden World, Book 1!
Killian (Whispers from a Hidden World, Book 1)
Regent Killian Larrestes survived a harrowing attack and the betrayal of his family by his mother, and has since worked to help them all recover, learning the complexities of protecting and commanding a large, sprawling Clan.
Shiloh Zahirris is seeking Sanctuary from a marriage he doesn't want when he ends up under the protection of Killian Larrestes. Killian takes him in, and they find themselves falling in love. But will social objections, personal insecurities, and someone seeking revenge destroy their chance at happiness?
by T.N. Tarrant
Buy at Amazon
Ah, the lovely, the fluffy, the exciting, the escapable Dreamspun Desire! Where fantasies come true, right? Well an athlete and an aristocrat in Paris is certainly fantastic, and Louisa Masters looks to have done her genre proud! Also, check out the new cover design--Louisa's hero looks doubly dreamy, right? Come check out The Athlete and the Aristocrat by Louisa Masters!
The Athlete and The Aristocrat
by Louisa Masters
Sometimes love takes balls.Newly retired championship footballer Simon Wood is taking on his next challenge. His plan for a charity to provide funding for underprivileged children to pursue football as a career has passed its first hurdle: he has backers and an executive consultant. Now it’s time to get the ball rolling.Lucien Morel, heir to the multibillion-euro Morel Corporation, is shocked—and thrilled—to learn his father has volunteered him as consultant to a fledgling football charity. Better yet, the brains behind it all is heartthrob Simon Wood, his teenage idol and crush.Although Simon and Lucien get off on the wrong foot, it’s not long before they’re getting along like a house on fire—sparks included. But with the charity under public scrutiny, can their romance thrive?Buy at Amazon
Roe Horvat is quickly making a name for himself as a writer of engaging, heartfelt drama--and The Other Book has all the earmarks of a romance that might bring you to a couple of tears. The good kind of tears-- the ones brought about by frozen hearts thawing in the heat of blazing hot sex. I mean, if that doesn't make you want to read, nothing will!
The Other BookRoe HorvatIt was supposed to be just sex... Famous last words.Tyler doesn't overthink pleasure and avoids complications. He knows it might be stupid to get involved with his closeted boss, but the temptation is too great. At first, the cold and beautiful Joel Sandstrom seems to loathe Tyler's guts.Except one late night at the office, his reasons become clear...and his control breaks.Every time they touch, Joel's stony face comes alive, harsh lines smooth out, and for a minute, he looks serene. Happy, even. Just sex - dirty, intense, spectacular sex.During their covert encounters, Tyler discovers the power he has over the lonesome man, and it's a heady feeling. What if he could set Joel free and give him peace of mind? When Tyler realizes how much Joel needs him, he doesn't regret breaking his own rules.Gay erotic romance. Contains explicit scenes and sexual interactions between more than two partners. For adult readers only.Buy at AmazonRacing into Love is brought to us by newcomer Noah Steel features a daring racer and a quiet bookseller--and the end of a dating rut that will start your heart! Come check Noah's debut, the first in a series--it looks like a winner!
Racing into Love
by Noah Steele
Aiden Reed is stuck in a major boy rut.
Every date ends in something worse than disaster—boredom.
That is, until star racer Derrek Luna crashes the end of a terrible date at Aiden’s cozy bookstore. Derrek’s confident charm and killer good looks throw Aiden’s quiet, cautious world into chaos when he says he wants a shot at Aiden’s heart.Derrek is sure Aiden is different. He’s sure Aiden won’t just vanish without a word. Not like the others did. But the closer Derrek gets to the man who charmed him without a word from across a crowded room, the more his life on the track threatens to keep them apart.Aiden is ready to take the risk—he thinks. What if Aiden’s panic attacks scare Derrek away? What if Derrek’s ghosts come back to haunt him? …what if it doesn’t matter because they’re already in love?Racing into Love is an instalove romantic drama ready and waiting to take you from zero to sixty with every turn of the page.
Buy at Amazon
This next debut writer is a regular on my FaceBook group! She's been working hard on craft and marketing these last few years and watching her take this dream and stick to it has been a lovely, wonderful thing. Please say hello to Joy Rose, and her angsty rent boy story, Want!
Wantby Joy Rose
Although college life was over the learning curve still existed for Jason Stephens. Naive and young, Jason and his best friend Ethan Rosen owned and operated Love Inc., a high-class male escort agency in New York City. While Ethan ran the day to day, Jason was an escort—his androgynous, angel like beauty afforded him this opportunity. However, Jason or Jace for short wanted out in a bad way, Ethan wanted him to stay and keep at it. The money was good, and those student loans and his apartment would not pay for themselves.
A chance encounter at the laundry mat has Jason dreaming of an ordinary life with possibly the man of his dreams. Damien Prescott was that man or so Jason hoped. Damien was British and refined, a perfect gentleman and he smelled so good he just had to be gay according to Jason. Apartment info is inadvertently exchanged much to Jason’s horror. What if this guy was a masked murderer or rapist? Jason’s past abuse at the hands of clients and his own parents forced him to form negative opinions regarding anyone that showed him the least bit of positive interest. Then there was Ethan his bestie and soulmate. Their relationship consisted of comfort sex and comfort eating, not exactly in that order. Five years strong and still kicking, why couldn’t they ever get serious enough to at least play house together?
Buy at Amazon
My January release is sort of a Rerelease. I wrote Regret Me Not as a novella--and the shape of it was perfect, and it had a "ride into the sunset" sort of ending I always wanted to end a book with. Except, me being me, I wanted to know what happened in the sunset.
So I wrote (on this very blog) the extras for Regret Me Not-- and Dreamspinner put them into paperback. And I'm so excited to have them for you! Come see Hal and Pierce's ride into the sunset, as the unicorns they are.
Regret Me Not (Paperback)by Amy LanePierce Atwater used to think he was a knight in shining armor, but then his life fell to crap. Now he has no job, no wife, no life—and is so full of self-pity he can’t even be decent to the one family member he’s still speaking to. He heads for Florida, where he’s got a month to pull his head out of his ass before he ruins his little sister’s Christmas.
Harold Justice Lombard the Fifth is at his own crossroads—he can keep being Hal, massage therapist in training, flamboyant and irrepressible to the bones, or he can let his parents rule his life. Hal takes one look at Pierce and decides they’re fellow unicorns out to make the world a better place. Pierce can’t reject Hal’s overtures of friendship, in spite of his misgivings about being too old and too pissed off to make a good friend.
As they experience everything from existential Looney Tunes to eternal trips to Target, Pierce becomes more dependent on Hal’s optimism to get him through the day. When Hal starts getting him through the nights too, Pierce must look inside for the knight he used to be—before Christmas becomes a doomsday deadline of heartbreak instead of a celebration of love.
New novella Pierce and Hal's Road Trip is exclusively sold at Dreamspinner in this print edition!
Buy it AT DREAMSPINNER
AMY AT PROLIFIC WORKS
Hey all! I've got some stuff out at Prolific Works, which is a place to put free stuff, and I thought I'd share.In December I added A Gentle Shove of Human Kindness, which used to be in the Grand Adventures anthology, but it was taken out of print. It's a short, sweet little piece, and I hope you enjoy it!I also added the extras to Beneath the Stain. These were originally released with the book as extra content to the serial edition, and once the book did so well, people wanted to read them! Dreamspinner authorized me to release them now, as sort of a prelude to Paint It Black, which should be out in August. (Let's just say that Paint it Black will make a lot more sense if you read the extras!)
January 4, 2019
SuperBat--Batman's Hot Cousin Part 2
So, it's the lazy part of winter break, where the kids play all the games and chill all they want, and I go out of my mind because there is SOMEBODY THERE all the time.
Mate and I are going on a date tomorrow night--that's exciting.
Anyway-- it's time for some SuperBat--and I feel dumb because I have written some SUPERHOT sex in my fanfic before on this blog, but there's going to be girl parts here.
Most of my readers will deal, I know, but... *rolls eyes* Here's your warning. Imminent vagina.
Anyway-- enjoy the hot girl sex and some angst.
*
Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 2
If Bruce had ever thought about it, he would have assumed there would be something different while kissing someone as a woman instead of a man. There was certainly something different about kissing a man or kissing a woman--but Clark's mouth felt the same as it always had.
Hard, demanding, tender, responsive.
Bruce pushed the kiss like he ordinarily would and twined his arms around Clark's neck, only a little frustrated because he felt so... so delicate.
He was still strong, still muscular, but the manhandling he usually indulged in because Clark could take it didn't feel appropriate. And then Clark reached gently for his breast and massaged, thumb on the nipple in the classic "boobs are good" maneuver.
Bruce's nether-parts gave a tremendous throb and he let out an audible gasp.
"What's wrong? Did I hurt?"
Clark pulled his hand away and Bruce grabbed it back. "That was great. Don't stop." It came out as a command, in his flinty Batman voice, but about two octave's higher and sort of whiskey soaked.
Clark's eyes all but rolled back in his head and he lowered his mouth to the edge of Bruce's tightly-clenched towel.
"Wha?"
"You thought that felt good..." Clark said, lips quirking like he was battling a smile.
Bruce moaned and gave up the towel, and there they were, boobs, and a slender waist and lush hips and plump, muscular thighs.
"Damn," Clark said, pulling back and smiling slightly. "Bruce, my beloved, my man, you are built like a brick shithouse!"
"I'm a horny brick shithouse!" Bruce complained. "Now do that thing... that thing with your mouth you just promised! I need to not feel like this so I can think!"
Clark laughed throatily, and Bruce's uterus practically caught fire. "You can think fine when you're horny," he said before licking a circle around Bruce's aureola. "You do it all the time. You once ordered an op when I was balls-deep in your ass!"
Bruce moaned, the thought turning him on far more than it should--and damn Diana for making an off-coms override for emergencies.
"But I know how those parts feel!" he panted. Clark closed his mouth over the whole pink-tipped sugar mountain and it was all he could do not to squeal. "Right now everything is a surprise--flick your tongue! God yes, like that! No, don't stop--yes!"
An earthquake went off in his lower parts. That was the only way he could think of it--everything below his navel clenched and quivered and practically pranced with joy.
Without thinking about it, Bruce leaned back and pulled his feet up to the edge of the infirmary bed, opening up the whole area to exploration.
Clark chuckled. "God, this is fun."
"My... my... oh my God I don't even know what to call it anymore! It's on fire!"
Clark laughed some more and Bruce could swear his uterus exploded.
"Jesus--lick that or something!" he begged.
"You know, it is your pudendum. You can call it anything you want!"
Except he couldn't, could he? He was still a man underneath that glistening labia. He still didn't have the right to claim that naughty word, even for erotic use, did he?"
Confusion swirled around his brain and then Clark very carefully swiped his tiny erotic button with a rough tongue and confusion went to fuck itself because Bruce was in need.
"OH dear God fuck that thing!"
But Clark just licked again, this time the aching area between his spread lips, and he must like doing this for women as much as he loved doing it for Bruce because he buried his face in there and really went to town.
Bruce lost time.
He was wandering in a sexual havoc, Clark's tongue, his fingers, his surprising expertise sending him into the stratosphere, so high, so intensely, that he barely noticed the two fingers of intrusion until the faint twinge of pain.
"Hello..."
Clark gave him a heated glance over his new playground body. "Sorry sweetheart--it appears you have a hymen."
Bruce wiggled his hips, impaled on Clark's fingers, and pushed down. Another twinge of pain, but he didn't care. He wiggled some more and Clark spread them and stretched him a little and the pain bit a little bit deeper, and then faded.
"Not anymore," Bruce panted. "Fuck me."
"One more minute."
Clark's tongue on his clitoris was no joke and Bruce didn't even have a brain cell to question it. The two fingers inside him were wonderful--but not enough, not when Bruce knew what would fit perfectly in there, and then, oh God, one gentle, tentative finger, slick with juices he didn't ordinarily have, knocked on his back door.
This time the orgasm was enough to make him scream.
Clark lunged up over his body, driving inside of him and claiming his mouth at the same time.
For a moment, Bruce was caught up in sharing girl juices with his male lover--his taste on Clark's mouth, different, sweeter, ear-to-ear--and then he realized oh my God where is his penis and oh wow it really fuckin' fits there doesn't it!
He wrapped his legs around Clark's hips and screamed. "Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Ever! Fucking! Stop!"
Clark drove into him so hard Bruce could swear he tasted cum in the back of his throat, and then, oh dear lord, the big one, the 10 on the Richter scale, the orgasm that split the foundations of the world, washed over him, clenching around Clark and taking them both over.
The infirmary table gave out underneath them and collapsed in a puddle of useless chrome with a mercilessly uncomfortable mattress.
And Clark was still buried inside him, hot and pulsing and amazing.
"Can you," Clark panted, collapsed on top of him, "think any better now?"
Bruce chuckled, and then chilled. Clark inside him felt right--but everything else felt... empty. He closed his eyes and ran his hands along Clark's familiar muscles, along his back, down his spine, at the same time feeling his breasts squashed under Clark's chest, his vagina parted and welcoming--when usually it would be a penis, thrusting and deflating. The aftermath to sex felt much the same--except for the loneliness that swamped him.
And, oh fuck, fucking estrogen levels, rising.
His eyes burned.
"It was wonderful," he whispered. "You were exactly right. You feel exactly right. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Sh." Clark kissed his temple, where the first tear slid. "I may feel right. But you don't."
"That was amazing," Bruce said, trying to make it clear. He'd wanted it--wanted everything they'd done. Would want it again, and again--although hopefully now that he knew how it felt, it wouldn't consume his brain. Diana and Barbara and the other women functioned perfectly well with bodies like this--he was pretty sure it was just the newness that had overwhelmed him.
"But it wasn't you," Clark clarified.
And the tears wouldn't stop. "I want my body back," he said, feeling foolish. "I...you feel great, and the sex was awesome but it wasn't me."
"Or not the you you're happy with," Clark said, kissing his temple. "Believe me, Bruce. I knew exactly who I was fucking. It wouldn't matter what the parts were--I'd know who you were in the dark. But it's not my body we're talking about. It's yours. Now that we're both thinking again, tell me about the rest of it."
Clark rolled off him and grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the broken bed. He pulled it up over both of them and Bruce rested his head on Clark's chest, bitterly aware that they often traded back and forth, who spooned whom.
And then he told Clark about the virus that infected his chromosome, and how he could stay a woman forever, probably, and be fine, or he could not re-infect himself and maybe die and maybe go back to being the person he'd worked so hard to be.
"So," Clark said, and now his eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was raw. "You'd really rather die?"
Bruce was pretty sure the tears now weren't just a matter of estrogen. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But yes. Oh God. I want myself back. I want you to hold me as I am."
Clark nodded without words and held him tighter, and Bruce sobbed into his chest.
Mate and I are going on a date tomorrow night--that's exciting.
Anyway-- it's time for some SuperBat--and I feel dumb because I have written some SUPERHOT sex in my fanfic before on this blog, but there's going to be girl parts here.
Most of my readers will deal, I know, but... *rolls eyes* Here's your warning. Imminent vagina.
Anyway-- enjoy the hot girl sex and some angst.
*
Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 2
If Bruce had ever thought about it, he would have assumed there would be something different while kissing someone as a woman instead of a man. There was certainly something different about kissing a man or kissing a woman--but Clark's mouth felt the same as it always had.
Hard, demanding, tender, responsive.
Bruce pushed the kiss like he ordinarily would and twined his arms around Clark's neck, only a little frustrated because he felt so... so delicate.
He was still strong, still muscular, but the manhandling he usually indulged in because Clark could take it didn't feel appropriate. And then Clark reached gently for his breast and massaged, thumb on the nipple in the classic "boobs are good" maneuver.
Bruce's nether-parts gave a tremendous throb and he let out an audible gasp.
"What's wrong? Did I hurt?"
Clark pulled his hand away and Bruce grabbed it back. "That was great. Don't stop." It came out as a command, in his flinty Batman voice, but about two octave's higher and sort of whiskey soaked.
Clark's eyes all but rolled back in his head and he lowered his mouth to the edge of Bruce's tightly-clenched towel.
"Wha?"
"You thought that felt good..." Clark said, lips quirking like he was battling a smile.
Bruce moaned and gave up the towel, and there they were, boobs, and a slender waist and lush hips and plump, muscular thighs.
"Damn," Clark said, pulling back and smiling slightly. "Bruce, my beloved, my man, you are built like a brick shithouse!"
"I'm a horny brick shithouse!" Bruce complained. "Now do that thing... that thing with your mouth you just promised! I need to not feel like this so I can think!"
Clark laughed throatily, and Bruce's uterus practically caught fire. "You can think fine when you're horny," he said before licking a circle around Bruce's aureola. "You do it all the time. You once ordered an op when I was balls-deep in your ass!"
Bruce moaned, the thought turning him on far more than it should--and damn Diana for making an off-coms override for emergencies.
"But I know how those parts feel!" he panted. Clark closed his mouth over the whole pink-tipped sugar mountain and it was all he could do not to squeal. "Right now everything is a surprise--flick your tongue! God yes, like that! No, don't stop--yes!"
An earthquake went off in his lower parts. That was the only way he could think of it--everything below his navel clenched and quivered and practically pranced with joy.
Without thinking about it, Bruce leaned back and pulled his feet up to the edge of the infirmary bed, opening up the whole area to exploration.
Clark chuckled. "God, this is fun."
"My... my... oh my God I don't even know what to call it anymore! It's on fire!"
Clark laughed some more and Bruce could swear his uterus exploded.
"Jesus--lick that or something!" he begged.
"You know, it is your pudendum. You can call it anything you want!"
Except he couldn't, could he? He was still a man underneath that glistening labia. He still didn't have the right to claim that naughty word, even for erotic use, did he?"
Confusion swirled around his brain and then Clark very carefully swiped his tiny erotic button with a rough tongue and confusion went to fuck itself because Bruce was in need.
"OH dear God fuck that thing!"
But Clark just licked again, this time the aching area between his spread lips, and he must like doing this for women as much as he loved doing it for Bruce because he buried his face in there and really went to town.
Bruce lost time.
He was wandering in a sexual havoc, Clark's tongue, his fingers, his surprising expertise sending him into the stratosphere, so high, so intensely, that he barely noticed the two fingers of intrusion until the faint twinge of pain.
"Hello..."
Clark gave him a heated glance over his new playground body. "Sorry sweetheart--it appears you have a hymen."
Bruce wiggled his hips, impaled on Clark's fingers, and pushed down. Another twinge of pain, but he didn't care. He wiggled some more and Clark spread them and stretched him a little and the pain bit a little bit deeper, and then faded.
"Not anymore," Bruce panted. "Fuck me."
"One more minute."
Clark's tongue on his clitoris was no joke and Bruce didn't even have a brain cell to question it. The two fingers inside him were wonderful--but not enough, not when Bruce knew what would fit perfectly in there, and then, oh God, one gentle, tentative finger, slick with juices he didn't ordinarily have, knocked on his back door.
This time the orgasm was enough to make him scream.
Clark lunged up over his body, driving inside of him and claiming his mouth at the same time.
For a moment, Bruce was caught up in sharing girl juices with his male lover--his taste on Clark's mouth, different, sweeter, ear-to-ear--and then he realized oh my God where is his penis and oh wow it really fuckin' fits there doesn't it!
He wrapped his legs around Clark's hips and screamed. "Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Ever! Fucking! Stop!"
Clark drove into him so hard Bruce could swear he tasted cum in the back of his throat, and then, oh dear lord, the big one, the 10 on the Richter scale, the orgasm that split the foundations of the world, washed over him, clenching around Clark and taking them both over.
The infirmary table gave out underneath them and collapsed in a puddle of useless chrome with a mercilessly uncomfortable mattress.
And Clark was still buried inside him, hot and pulsing and amazing.
"Can you," Clark panted, collapsed on top of him, "think any better now?"
Bruce chuckled, and then chilled. Clark inside him felt right--but everything else felt... empty. He closed his eyes and ran his hands along Clark's familiar muscles, along his back, down his spine, at the same time feeling his breasts squashed under Clark's chest, his vagina parted and welcoming--when usually it would be a penis, thrusting and deflating. The aftermath to sex felt much the same--except for the loneliness that swamped him.
And, oh fuck, fucking estrogen levels, rising.
His eyes burned.
"It was wonderful," he whispered. "You were exactly right. You feel exactly right. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Sh." Clark kissed his temple, where the first tear slid. "I may feel right. But you don't."
"That was amazing," Bruce said, trying to make it clear. He'd wanted it--wanted everything they'd done. Would want it again, and again--although hopefully now that he knew how it felt, it wouldn't consume his brain. Diana and Barbara and the other women functioned perfectly well with bodies like this--he was pretty sure it was just the newness that had overwhelmed him.
"But it wasn't you," Clark clarified.
And the tears wouldn't stop. "I want my body back," he said, feeling foolish. "I...you feel great, and the sex was awesome but it wasn't me."
"Or not the you you're happy with," Clark said, kissing his temple. "Believe me, Bruce. I knew exactly who I was fucking. It wouldn't matter what the parts were--I'd know who you were in the dark. But it's not my body we're talking about. It's yours. Now that we're both thinking again, tell me about the rest of it."
Clark rolled off him and grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the broken bed. He pulled it up over both of them and Bruce rested his head on Clark's chest, bitterly aware that they often traded back and forth, who spooned whom.
And then he told Clark about the virus that infected his chromosome, and how he could stay a woman forever, probably, and be fine, or he could not re-infect himself and maybe die and maybe go back to being the person he'd worked so hard to be.
"So," Clark said, and now his eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was raw. "You'd really rather die?"
Bruce was pretty sure the tears now weren't just a matter of estrogen. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But yes. Oh God. I want myself back. I want you to hold me as I am."
Clark nodded without words and held him tighter, and Bruce sobbed into his chest.
January 2, 2019
SuperBat--Batman's Hot Cousin
I hope you all had a Happy New Year!
Ours was simple-- ZoomBoy went to a friends and Squish stayed with Mate and I, watched comforting television, drank sparkling cider, and watched the ball drop. Happy New Year!
But sometimes, having an uneventful holiday is the best thing in the world--and in this case, I had enough time to look at Pinterest, and saw a fan-art picture for this stunning plot bunny.
The picture was Superman, holding a female Batman. What if Bruce Wayne was female?
Well, I could either do this AU--but I sort of like my Batman with a penis--or I could do it IU, and figure out what he'd do if he were, temporarily, without one.
Warning-- this is gonna be hella sexual and there's girl parts. Hide your eyes now if that's a problem, cause I'm goin' in!
Batman's Hot Cousin
The change was in the DNA-- they figured that out--and it was degrading, which was a relief. This mishegas, no matter how upsetting, really was only temporary. A couple of weeks, a month at the most, and a night of sweating, fever, some complications, and then everything would be normal.
Oh how Clark prayed for normal.
He hadn't even been there when it happened--he'd been handling a Luthor-corp reactor meltdown when he got the call from Diana.
"Clark? What's your status?"
"70% contained. I can't leave yet."
"Roger that. Let us know if you need help, and let us know when things are 100%."
Superman didn't stop this heat-gaze arc-welding, but he did detect a slight uncertainty in Diana's voice. "Diana? Is there something I should know?"
A slight hesitation. "Yes, but it is nothing--believe me--nothing that won't wait until you're done."
Uh-oh. "Bruce? Bruce, are you on com?" Arc-weld, arc-weld, arc-weld--oh! Hey! There was Metallo, Luthor's poor deluded machine, jumping in to help. Apparently nuclear detonation was bad for everybody, right?
"He's fine, Master Clark," Alfred said, and only years of discipline kept Clark from widening his eyes and searing a hole through a melting down nuclear reactor.
"Alfred, where are you?"
"Back at the mansion, with Master Bruce. Please don't concern yourself. It just needs a bit of explaining, that's--"
"I'm fine." It was a woman's voice.
Superman took two deep breaths and didn't stop arc-welding. "Who the fuck are--"
"Everybody off coms," said the woman, and there was a decided chorus of moans as the buzzing in his ear shut down.
"Who are you--"
"Clark are you going to die if we surprise you?"
Clark took a look at the reactor. 80% done. "No, but I'm still needed on site." Whoever this is, she knew her priorities.
"Then we will solve the mystery as soon as you're done. Fly to the mansion, ignore Diana, and you and Bruce can talk."
"Yes ma'am--how should I address--"
"Over and out."
Who in the fuck was on the com?
* * *
Bruce grunted and activated everybody else on his com. "You had to do that while he was working?" he demanded, and for once Diana sounded sheepish.
"Bruce, you have to admit, it's imp--"
"Am I dead?"
And now she sounded ashamed. "No."
"Am I mortally wounded, with only moments to live?"
"No."
"Am I in any sort of situation in which seeing me right now can fix anything?"
"No, Bruce. You're right. We're sorry."
"I know this is hysterical--" In the background he heard Hal and Barry snicker. "Yes, guys. It's hilarious and fuck off. But it's not... life threatening. Please remember that when you want to dick with him, okay?"
"Yes, Bruce," she said, unusually humble. "It... it felt like an emergency."
Bruce looked down at himself as he sat on the exam table, a bath towel pulled tightly around his chest. "It's not an emergency. It's not a bomb. It's not the end of the world. Jesus, Diana--they're tits. You've got a pair and we're all fine with that." He accidentally brushed a nipple and a major sexual shockwave coursed through his body. "It's just going to take some getting used to," he muttered. "How long did you say I have again?"
"Probably a month. Can you handle things at Wayne Industries?"
Bruce pulled out his palm unit and scanned his fingerprints, palm prints, and eyeball, just to make sure. "Yes. I've got breasts and a vagina, but my identity is intact. I'm just..." He studied his profile in the mirror in the infirmary, noting the thinner chin, the slender neck, the gamine features underneath his standard short haircut. "Darned fetching," he said grimly. Female Bruce looked to be in her late thirties--elegant, and probably stunning in evening wear, not that she'd ever be out in public.
Male Bruce was not particularly attracted to her--but then, he didn't like his masculine features either. Clark's wide-eyed farm boy looks were more his style.
Diana's laughter on the other end of the com was actually a relief. "If you don't send me a picture I'm doing to die of curiosity," she confessed, and Bruce was not immune to humor.
He sent her a selfie. "If I see that anywhere but your com, I'm sabotaging your jet," he promised direly, but it was too late.
"Hello, pretty lady!" Hal whistled. "What do you think, Bar?"
"She's a little old for me, but very nice."
"You think you can outrun me but you can't," Bruce threatened, and Diana laughed.
"And he definitely can't outrun me. Be respectful, youngster."
"Fine, fine. I'm going to go look at my girlfriend who is my age." The other voices faded and it was just Diana again.
"He's almost done with his assignment," she said quietly. "Look-- I get what you said. Not life threatening. But your relationship has had tremendous ripples to the Justice League in the past. Many of them good, but not all. This--this isn't going to be easy on you two."
"He's a big boy," Bruce said, not wanting her to worry. "I mean... a month. I'll have my own body in a month, right?"
Her hesitation was not promising. "This thing the Joker did--it looks like you inhaled a virus that altered your chromosomal DNA. Bruce, if you recover from this--when you recover from this--it's going to work like you're withdrawing from a drug that's been keeping you alive. You might die in recovery, do you understand that?"
Bruce grunted. "I have better than even chances of not," he told her. "And we'll cross that bridge when--"
"I can replicate the virus," she told him bluntly. "I'm not so sure about a cure."
"So... you can keep me a woman--and healthy--for the rest of my life but you can't change me back?"
She let out a breath. "That might be the shape of things."
Unbidden, Bruce raised a hand to cup his breast, rubbing his thumb experimentally across the nipple again. Wowza. "Well, not that it's not a nice shape," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I want my old one back."
"I'll look into it. We've got some time before the virus degrades so much that you have no choice. In the meantime--"
"Shit!" They both said together.
"He's on his way!" she told him frantically.
"He's here," Bruce said, grimacing under Clark's exasperated glare. "Batman out."
"What in the actual hell?" Clark was jus staring at him as he hovered, his farm-boy blue eyes bigger than should be legal.
"I'm sorry she panicked you." Bruce clenched the towel around his breasts tighter. "I... I went running through a chemical plant--there was a blue cloud, I made the mistake and breathed in. When I came to..." Well, Nightwing and Batgirl had been standing over him, breathers in place, asking him what the hell he'd been thinking.
And he'd been down with cramps and nausea for the rest of the morning, which was a good thing, because listening to Dick's bitching in peak condition might have prompted him to fratricide.
Finally, after a final bout of vomiting, he'd awakened with only Barbara in attendance, and she was drawing blood and having a freaked out conversation with Diana and Bruce was in one of her old nightgowns from back in the day when they'd shared a bed.
God.
He'd come down to the control center for more tests and then Diana had tried that ill-advised contact. Looking at Clark now, he was guiltily glad that the poor man had gotten some warning.
"This... this... what are we supposed to do with this?" His arms were flailing and Bruce smiled a little.
"I... I mean, you like women, right?"
"But you're not one!"
"Well I'm still me!" Bruce felt absurdly hurt. "What--you're suddenly going to move out now and move back in when I've got my own dick?"
"Were you fucking me with someone else's?"
Augh! "No! I was just... you don't have to look at me like I have the plague! It's just... breasts! Tits! Vagina! It's not a bomb!"
Clark's lips quirked, and Bruce glared at him. "I don't know. I, uh, haven't been there yet. Maybe it will make me explode?"
Bruce buried his face in his hands and laughed and cried at the same time. What in the hell-- what in the actual hell were they supposed to do with this? Jesus, he wasn't even him--
Clark's hands on his pulled him from the brink of hysteria. "Bruce?"
"What?"
"You're a very pretty girl."
"Fuck off."
"Well, maybe we should get to know each other first."
"We do know each other! We've been living together for two years and flirting for ten years and--"
Clark's mouth on his took his breath away--and pulled his brain out of the death spiral of gender and confusion and all of the freaking out he'd been trying not to do because--as he firmly believed--having tits was not the end of the fucking world!
Clark pulled away and Bruce realized that his.... his nether-regions ached. The ache was familiar--the location was... not.
"What?" Clark asked.
"My... uh..." Bruce wiggled his bottom. "I'm wet," he said baldly. "That's... that's unusual and now I'm confused. And horny. And you're wearing your uniform and... I mean, not that I haven't noticed it before, but... you look really good in your uniform and--"
"And you'd like to know how I look out of it?" Clark said, a gentle smile on his face.
"This is not the time!" Bruce wailed, and then covered his face again.
"Why--what else do we do at the end of the day?"
"Well, usually I top," Bruce said bitterly.
Clark's smile went wicked. "Maybe not this time."
Bruce let out a sigh. "Diana," he said, tapping his ear. "I do believe we need to go off-coms."
"Try not to let your vagina blow up the Justice League," Diana said dryly.
"I make no promises." Because his unfamiliar nether-regions were... were hot and achy and needy, and Clark Kent was stripping off his uniform while still in mid-air, and...
And just like when he had a penis, his mouth was dry and his brain was toast and the world was screaming madly to a halt.
"Good boy," Diana said softly, and the com in his ear went dead.
Clark glided over to where he was sitting, six-feet-plus of naked floating alien, looking at Bruce with such compassion, Bruce's exploding lady parts turned to melted wax.
"This," he said, his breath and heartbeat unsteady, "is going to be very interesting."
"God, I hope so," Clark said. "For however long it lasts."
* * *
Okay-- full on sexy times tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!
Ours was simple-- ZoomBoy went to a friends and Squish stayed with Mate and I, watched comforting television, drank sparkling cider, and watched the ball drop. Happy New Year!
But sometimes, having an uneventful holiday is the best thing in the world--and in this case, I had enough time to look at Pinterest, and saw a fan-art picture for this stunning plot bunny.
The picture was Superman, holding a female Batman. What if Bruce Wayne was female?
Well, I could either do this AU--but I sort of like my Batman with a penis--or I could do it IU, and figure out what he'd do if he were, temporarily, without one.
Warning-- this is gonna be hella sexual and there's girl parts. Hide your eyes now if that's a problem, cause I'm goin' in!
Batman's Hot Cousin
The change was in the DNA-- they figured that out--and it was degrading, which was a relief. This mishegas, no matter how upsetting, really was only temporary. A couple of weeks, a month at the most, and a night of sweating, fever, some complications, and then everything would be normal.
Oh how Clark prayed for normal.
He hadn't even been there when it happened--he'd been handling a Luthor-corp reactor meltdown when he got the call from Diana.
"Clark? What's your status?"
"70% contained. I can't leave yet."
"Roger that. Let us know if you need help, and let us know when things are 100%."
Superman didn't stop this heat-gaze arc-welding, but he did detect a slight uncertainty in Diana's voice. "Diana? Is there something I should know?"
A slight hesitation. "Yes, but it is nothing--believe me--nothing that won't wait until you're done."
Uh-oh. "Bruce? Bruce, are you on com?" Arc-weld, arc-weld, arc-weld--oh! Hey! There was Metallo, Luthor's poor deluded machine, jumping in to help. Apparently nuclear detonation was bad for everybody, right?
"He's fine, Master Clark," Alfred said, and only years of discipline kept Clark from widening his eyes and searing a hole through a melting down nuclear reactor.
"Alfred, where are you?"
"Back at the mansion, with Master Bruce. Please don't concern yourself. It just needs a bit of explaining, that's--"
"I'm fine." It was a woman's voice.
Superman took two deep breaths and didn't stop arc-welding. "Who the fuck are--"
"Everybody off coms," said the woman, and there was a decided chorus of moans as the buzzing in his ear shut down.
"Who are you--"
"Clark are you going to die if we surprise you?"
Clark took a look at the reactor. 80% done. "No, but I'm still needed on site." Whoever this is, she knew her priorities.
"Then we will solve the mystery as soon as you're done. Fly to the mansion, ignore Diana, and you and Bruce can talk."
"Yes ma'am--how should I address--"
"Over and out."
Who in the fuck was on the com?
* * *
Bruce grunted and activated everybody else on his com. "You had to do that while he was working?" he demanded, and for once Diana sounded sheepish.
"Bruce, you have to admit, it's imp--"
"Am I dead?"
And now she sounded ashamed. "No."
"Am I mortally wounded, with only moments to live?"
"No."
"Am I in any sort of situation in which seeing me right now can fix anything?"
"No, Bruce. You're right. We're sorry."
"I know this is hysterical--" In the background he heard Hal and Barry snicker. "Yes, guys. It's hilarious and fuck off. But it's not... life threatening. Please remember that when you want to dick with him, okay?"
"Yes, Bruce," she said, unusually humble. "It... it felt like an emergency."
Bruce looked down at himself as he sat on the exam table, a bath towel pulled tightly around his chest. "It's not an emergency. It's not a bomb. It's not the end of the world. Jesus, Diana--they're tits. You've got a pair and we're all fine with that." He accidentally brushed a nipple and a major sexual shockwave coursed through his body. "It's just going to take some getting used to," he muttered. "How long did you say I have again?"
"Probably a month. Can you handle things at Wayne Industries?"
Bruce pulled out his palm unit and scanned his fingerprints, palm prints, and eyeball, just to make sure. "Yes. I've got breasts and a vagina, but my identity is intact. I'm just..." He studied his profile in the mirror in the infirmary, noting the thinner chin, the slender neck, the gamine features underneath his standard short haircut. "Darned fetching," he said grimly. Female Bruce looked to be in her late thirties--elegant, and probably stunning in evening wear, not that she'd ever be out in public.
Male Bruce was not particularly attracted to her--but then, he didn't like his masculine features either. Clark's wide-eyed farm boy looks were more his style.
Diana's laughter on the other end of the com was actually a relief. "If you don't send me a picture I'm doing to die of curiosity," she confessed, and Bruce was not immune to humor.
He sent her a selfie. "If I see that anywhere but your com, I'm sabotaging your jet," he promised direly, but it was too late.
"Hello, pretty lady!" Hal whistled. "What do you think, Bar?"
"She's a little old for me, but very nice."
"You think you can outrun me but you can't," Bruce threatened, and Diana laughed.
"And he definitely can't outrun me. Be respectful, youngster."
"Fine, fine. I'm going to go look at my girlfriend who is my age." The other voices faded and it was just Diana again.
"He's almost done with his assignment," she said quietly. "Look-- I get what you said. Not life threatening. But your relationship has had tremendous ripples to the Justice League in the past. Many of them good, but not all. This--this isn't going to be easy on you two."
"He's a big boy," Bruce said, not wanting her to worry. "I mean... a month. I'll have my own body in a month, right?"
Her hesitation was not promising. "This thing the Joker did--it looks like you inhaled a virus that altered your chromosomal DNA. Bruce, if you recover from this--when you recover from this--it's going to work like you're withdrawing from a drug that's been keeping you alive. You might die in recovery, do you understand that?"
Bruce grunted. "I have better than even chances of not," he told her. "And we'll cross that bridge when--"
"I can replicate the virus," she told him bluntly. "I'm not so sure about a cure."
"So... you can keep me a woman--and healthy--for the rest of my life but you can't change me back?"
She let out a breath. "That might be the shape of things."
Unbidden, Bruce raised a hand to cup his breast, rubbing his thumb experimentally across the nipple again. Wowza. "Well, not that it's not a nice shape," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I want my old one back."
"I'll look into it. We've got some time before the virus degrades so much that you have no choice. In the meantime--"
"Shit!" They both said together.
"He's on his way!" she told him frantically.
"He's here," Bruce said, grimacing under Clark's exasperated glare. "Batman out."
"What in the actual hell?" Clark was jus staring at him as he hovered, his farm-boy blue eyes bigger than should be legal.
"I'm sorry she panicked you." Bruce clenched the towel around his breasts tighter. "I... I went running through a chemical plant--there was a blue cloud, I made the mistake and breathed in. When I came to..." Well, Nightwing and Batgirl had been standing over him, breathers in place, asking him what the hell he'd been thinking.
And he'd been down with cramps and nausea for the rest of the morning, which was a good thing, because listening to Dick's bitching in peak condition might have prompted him to fratricide.
Finally, after a final bout of vomiting, he'd awakened with only Barbara in attendance, and she was drawing blood and having a freaked out conversation with Diana and Bruce was in one of her old nightgowns from back in the day when they'd shared a bed.
God.
He'd come down to the control center for more tests and then Diana had tried that ill-advised contact. Looking at Clark now, he was guiltily glad that the poor man had gotten some warning.
"This... this... what are we supposed to do with this?" His arms were flailing and Bruce smiled a little.
"I... I mean, you like women, right?"
"But you're not one!"
"Well I'm still me!" Bruce felt absurdly hurt. "What--you're suddenly going to move out now and move back in when I've got my own dick?"
"Were you fucking me with someone else's?"
Augh! "No! I was just... you don't have to look at me like I have the plague! It's just... breasts! Tits! Vagina! It's not a bomb!"
Clark's lips quirked, and Bruce glared at him. "I don't know. I, uh, haven't been there yet. Maybe it will make me explode?"
Bruce buried his face in his hands and laughed and cried at the same time. What in the hell-- what in the actual hell were they supposed to do with this? Jesus, he wasn't even him--
Clark's hands on his pulled him from the brink of hysteria. "Bruce?"
"What?"
"You're a very pretty girl."
"Fuck off."
"Well, maybe we should get to know each other first."
"We do know each other! We've been living together for two years and flirting for ten years and--"
Clark's mouth on his took his breath away--and pulled his brain out of the death spiral of gender and confusion and all of the freaking out he'd been trying not to do because--as he firmly believed--having tits was not the end of the fucking world!
Clark pulled away and Bruce realized that his.... his nether-regions ached. The ache was familiar--the location was... not.
"What?" Clark asked.
"My... uh..." Bruce wiggled his bottom. "I'm wet," he said baldly. "That's... that's unusual and now I'm confused. And horny. And you're wearing your uniform and... I mean, not that I haven't noticed it before, but... you look really good in your uniform and--"
"And you'd like to know how I look out of it?" Clark said, a gentle smile on his face.
"This is not the time!" Bruce wailed, and then covered his face again.
"Why--what else do we do at the end of the day?"
"Well, usually I top," Bruce said bitterly.
Clark's smile went wicked. "Maybe not this time."
Bruce let out a sigh. "Diana," he said, tapping his ear. "I do believe we need to go off-coms."
"Try not to let your vagina blow up the Justice League," Diana said dryly.
"I make no promises." Because his unfamiliar nether-regions were... were hot and achy and needy, and Clark Kent was stripping off his uniform while still in mid-air, and...
And just like when he had a penis, his mouth was dry and his brain was toast and the world was screaming madly to a halt.
"Good boy," Diana said softly, and the com in his ear went dead.
Clark glided over to where he was sitting, six-feet-plus of naked floating alien, looking at Bruce with such compassion, Bruce's exploding lady parts turned to melted wax.
"This," he said, his breath and heartbeat unsteady, "is going to be very interesting."
"God, I hope so," Clark said. "For however long it lasts."
* * *
Okay-- full on sexy times tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!
December 31, 2018
The Curse of the Browser History
Most writers will tell you that they're afraid their browser history is going to end them up in prison someday--but it's not just their browser history.It's snippets of conversations they ask their friends, it's things they say when they're watching movies, it's the way they think about characters in a book or on TV.
Let's face it--our brains don't always work in ways that make sense to people living in the real world.
"So, how long would it take to die of infection after a plane crash?"
"Yeah, but in the snow?"
"But what if there's blood loss?"
"What if everyone lost their phones? Would they be peoplecicles before anyone got there?"
"Would they need cadaver dogs?"
"Can you snowboard a plane wing down a mountaintop?"
"How about with passengers?"
"What if one was tied to the wing?"
"With strips of T-shirt, of course."
"Oooh, you're right. Seatbelts from the plane would be so much smarter!"
"Could you steer that like a sled?"
"What if there was a body in the plane?"
"You know, like Romancing the Stone?"
"No, no drugs. This isn't a Johnnies book."
"No, not Beneath the Stain either. No, it's a new one. But back to plane crashes..."
"How fast do winds have to go to knock a helicopter out of the sky?"
"Does anybody not file a flight plan?"
"Okay-- good to know. So, how cold do you think it got in The Mountain Between Us?"
"No, no--I'm just wondering about the feasibility of people getting naked, that's all."
"Well, I DO write romance books. There's nakedness there."
"Well, and action adventure."
"And occasionally corpses in refrigerators and drugs in the daily newspaper supplement, but mostly there's romance and nakedness."
"Okay, fine. I'm scaring you. Did you know that cotton balls in an altoid tin soaked in petroleum jelly are used as a portable fire starter in survival situations?"
"No, I'm not going to start hauling them around in the minivan. If we go off road in Citrus Heights we can call for a tow."
"No, not going skiing either, because I would DIE in a survival situation, that's why."
"Yeah, I know. I'm mean to my characters--but there's nakedness in the end!"
* * *
Okay-- so this doesn't seem like I'm leading you astray--
Familiar Demon is available for presale at DREAMSPINNER and AMAZON,
And Freckles --with it's adorable new cover-- will be available from DREAMSPINNER and AMAZON in March!
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting up early for some sparkling cider, the better to watch the ball drop tomorrow night!
Happy New Years Eve!
December 28, 2018
Christmas moments I'd forgotten...
So, yes. It's three days after Christmas, but it was a REALLY busy couple of days, and a few stories have come back to haunt me. Enjoy!
* The Christmas gift that keeps on giving
Okay, so when Big T lived with us, socks were in scant supply. Mate, T, and myself all wore the same size, and we'd buy giant packages of two-dozen pairs and they would DISAPPEAR.
Literally, into the black hole of Big T's room.
A month later, after Mate and I had been rooting through all the sock dregs-- the hole-y socks, ZoomBoy's socks left over from when he was wearing kids sizes, Squish's socks--the socks would reappear, all in one load, looking like they'd been used for target practice.
Like, holes EVERYWHERE.
So Big T asked us for socks for Christmas and Mate and I went all out--we knew there'd be a need.
And then his girlfriend (she's AWESOME--that needs to be said!!!!!) came over for Christmas and they exchanged gifts. (I made her fingerless mitts--I'm not a barbarian.)
Folks?
She gave him socks.
SOCKS!
And as Mate and I were lOSING OUR SHIT, she said, "Yeah--first time he came over he took off his shoes and his sock peeled off half his foot--it was in tatters!"
And she asked him over again.
You guys, if he lets her slip through his fingers, I'll never let him live it down. She's perfect.
* Santa's Elves Need some Dank Weed
So, we sent our Christmas letters out on Christmas Eve. We got to the post office after it was closed, but I went in to use the kiosk to buy stamps. We really just wanted the letters in the mail, so we could say, "DONE! BEFORE CHRISTMAS! WE WIN!"
Anyway, I walked into the foyer of the closed post office and was overwhelmed by the smell of weed. Now you know people don't need to smell like weed anymore--there's vaporizers and everything--but these guys were apparently getting high old school.
It was coming through the mail slot--you know, where you put your small parcels and letters when the PO is closed?
Anyway, as I waited (and waited!) for my 80 stamps to print out, I heard the following.
BANG!
CRASH!
BOOM!
"OUCH!"
"FUCK!"
"DAMN!"
And then the sounds subsided.
I took my stamps and fled, but you guys?
I think we need to be nicer to the post office people.
They had apparently had a SUPER SHITTY day!
* Some Random Fudge
So on Christmas morning, Mate and I left five happy kids of our own to run a big box of fudge to my aunts and uncles. Now my Uncle Phil and his wife, Barb, have two pretty perfect sons. Tall, handsome, kind, smart--and totally laid back.
Anyway, they're way too cool for me and my family--I always feel blessed when they talk to me. Did I mention how nice they are? The youngest, Joe, actually came up to me Thanksgiving and told me he found the poem I'd written his mom for his parents' wedding and how it moved him to tears.
YOU GUYS!
Anyway--
So Mate and I were telling an Aunt, "Yeah, we just came by to drop off a random box of fudge and hug everybody and run!" and she laughed.
And then the oldest boy came up--after hearing us, of course--and said, "Hey, this random fudge tastes good. Peppermint?"
"Yeah-- there's some Amaretto and some plain and some gingerbread and some red velvet in there too."
"Oh my God! Layers? THAT'S THE BEST! RANDOM FUDGE FOR THE WIN!"
This kid is taking a year after college to travel the world and make movies since he majored in film at UCLA.
And we wowed him with fudge.
Random fudge--man, you can't say it's not magic.
So there you go--Christmas anecdotes that I've been dying to tell online!
Have a great weekend, and may your old year be filled with no regrets and the coming year with all the hope you can muster!
* The Christmas gift that keeps on giving
Okay, so when Big T lived with us, socks were in scant supply. Mate, T, and myself all wore the same size, and we'd buy giant packages of two-dozen pairs and they would DISAPPEAR.
Literally, into the black hole of Big T's room.
A month later, after Mate and I had been rooting through all the sock dregs-- the hole-y socks, ZoomBoy's socks left over from when he was wearing kids sizes, Squish's socks--the socks would reappear, all in one load, looking like they'd been used for target practice.
Like, holes EVERYWHERE.
So Big T asked us for socks for Christmas and Mate and I went all out--we knew there'd be a need.
And then his girlfriend (she's AWESOME--that needs to be said!!!!!) came over for Christmas and they exchanged gifts. (I made her fingerless mitts--I'm not a barbarian.)
Folks?
She gave him socks.
SOCKS!
And as Mate and I were lOSING OUR SHIT, she said, "Yeah--first time he came over he took off his shoes and his sock peeled off half his foot--it was in tatters!"
And she asked him over again.
You guys, if he lets her slip through his fingers, I'll never let him live it down. She's perfect.
* Santa's Elves Need some Dank Weed
So, we sent our Christmas letters out on Christmas Eve. We got to the post office after it was closed, but I went in to use the kiosk to buy stamps. We really just wanted the letters in the mail, so we could say, "DONE! BEFORE CHRISTMAS! WE WIN!"
Anyway, I walked into the foyer of the closed post office and was overwhelmed by the smell of weed. Now you know people don't need to smell like weed anymore--there's vaporizers and everything--but these guys were apparently getting high old school.
It was coming through the mail slot--you know, where you put your small parcels and letters when the PO is closed?
Anyway, as I waited (and waited!) for my 80 stamps to print out, I heard the following.
BANG!
CRASH!
BOOM!
"OUCH!"
"FUCK!"
"DAMN!"
And then the sounds subsided.
I took my stamps and fled, but you guys?
I think we need to be nicer to the post office people.
They had apparently had a SUPER SHITTY day!
* Some Random Fudge
So on Christmas morning, Mate and I left five happy kids of our own to run a big box of fudge to my aunts and uncles. Now my Uncle Phil and his wife, Barb, have two pretty perfect sons. Tall, handsome, kind, smart--and totally laid back.
Anyway, they're way too cool for me and my family--I always feel blessed when they talk to me. Did I mention how nice they are? The youngest, Joe, actually came up to me Thanksgiving and told me he found the poem I'd written his mom for his parents' wedding and how it moved him to tears.
YOU GUYS!
Anyway--
So Mate and I were telling an Aunt, "Yeah, we just came by to drop off a random box of fudge and hug everybody and run!" and she laughed.
And then the oldest boy came up--after hearing us, of course--and said, "Hey, this random fudge tastes good. Peppermint?"
"Yeah-- there's some Amaretto and some plain and some gingerbread and some red velvet in there too."
"Oh my God! Layers? THAT'S THE BEST! RANDOM FUDGE FOR THE WIN!"
This kid is taking a year after college to travel the world and make movies since he majored in film at UCLA.
And we wowed him with fudge.
Random fudge--man, you can't say it's not magic.
So there you go--Christmas anecdotes that I've been dying to tell online!
Have a great weekend, and may your old year be filled with no regrets and the coming year with all the hope you can muster!
December 26, 2018
Amy's Little Rules of Christmas
* She who plans to craft for Christmas inevitably ends up crafting for at least two weeks AFTER Christmas.
* She who buys gifts with a raging head cold will inevitably look at the inequitable piles wrapped for her children and think, "I could have SWORN we bought more than that for child X!"
* She who is exhausted on Christmas morning may--possibly--look at child X who is trying valiantly not to be hurt and go, "WAIT! IT'S HERE! WE FORGOT TO WRAP IT! LOVE ME!" Or, you know, something to that effect.* If she who is exhausted is really blessed, Child X will pretend that the hidden gift makes up for the teeny pile and all will be well.
* She who goes shopping with a head cold for five different pairs of pajama pants will be lucky if she doesn't end up with two in COMPLETELY THE WRONG SIZE.* She is seldom that lucky.
* She whose husband makes fudge for everybody is possibly the luckiest bitch on the planet, hands down, no holds barred.* She who thinks she has it all nailed down two days before Christmas inevitably has several fuckups to answer for on the exact day.
* She who has fucked up several times on Christmas day is entitled to a long, blissful nap of self pity the day after.
* She of the several thousand fuckups can still be the luckiest person on the planet if all her children still love her at the end, and her parents think she's done okay and if--IF--she finally gets her nap.Was a great Christmas all-- the pictures speak for themselves :-)
December 24, 2018
A Few Christmas Nuggets
So this will probably be my last post for a few days--everybody'd too busy to read the blog anyway!
But before you all hustle off to your own holidays, be sure to look at the last entry, where I talk about posting the extras for Beneath the Stain. Or just go HERE, where you can get the extras for free!
Now before I go help Mate wrap the last of the presents, I'll give you a brief rundown of the family--and our version of a happy holiday:
Mate:
Mate made eight batches of fudge of six different types--and I've boxed the majority of it up by now to send off, but I've got a picture of it here, and he's justifiably proud.
Chicken:
Chicken's grown friends have started asking for presents. I'm in the middle of my second "friend" scarf for her, and apparently there was a big demand for her father's fudge.
I packed a little box--very adorable and festive--but she flew through the door today on her way to a Christmas party, and her first stop was the Ziplock cupboard (which I had to get into because spiders which are no longer there.) She needed to fill a quart bag with fudge because there are apparently ravening hordes who will only be appeased with fudgey goodness.
Who knew?
Squish: Squish is generally a delight, and she's been poking under the tree curiously to see what presents are for her. This is a leftover from when she was very small, and she's usually so self-possessed. We adore her, of course, but today she did sort of shock us.
We were addressing Christmas cards and I looked at one label in surprise.
"Aunt Amelia? Is she still, uhm, alive?"
Both the kids asked, "Who's Aunt Amelia?"
"My grandmother's older sister. I, uh... lessee... Grandma died five years ago at 92 so that would make her...I have no idea."
"Well," Squish said, frowning, "How long can she live? I mean, what's the max?"
And that right there was when my brain blew up.
I"m going to be wondering "what's the max?" for the rest of my life.
ZoomBoy
ZoomBoy and I had a fight over Google Play tonight as we endeavored to listen to Christmas carols that didn't drive anybody crazy, and he kept randomly asking for Queen. I swear, it was like he was possessed by Crowley's car. (Good Omen's reference there-- it's coming!)
Big T
Big T read the Christmas letter and said, "You know, this is really good. Did you have a friend or an editor or someone help you with this?"
In other news, he's been disowned and may be looking for a family of his own. If anybody wants a really large 26 year old son, feel free to claim him. He seems like a good kid, but he can apparently rip your heart out with no notice at all.
*whew*
And now, off to wrap presents.
May your family delight you, surprise you, shock you, turn to you, and, occasionally, take you for granted until given a pointed reminder of how truly awesome you are.
May your Solstice/Christmas/Yule be Merry and Bright.
But before you all hustle off to your own holidays, be sure to look at the last entry, where I talk about posting the extras for Beneath the Stain. Or just go HERE, where you can get the extras for free!
Now before I go help Mate wrap the last of the presents, I'll give you a brief rundown of the family--and our version of a happy holiday:
Mate:
Mate made eight batches of fudge of six different types--and I've boxed the majority of it up by now to send off, but I've got a picture of it here, and he's justifiably proud.
Chicken:
Chicken's grown friends have started asking for presents. I'm in the middle of my second "friend" scarf for her, and apparently there was a big demand for her father's fudge.
I packed a little box--very adorable and festive--but she flew through the door today on her way to a Christmas party, and her first stop was the Ziplock cupboard (which I had to get into because spiders which are no longer there.) She needed to fill a quart bag with fudge because there are apparently ravening hordes who will only be appeased with fudgey goodness.
Who knew?
Squish: Squish is generally a delight, and she's been poking under the tree curiously to see what presents are for her. This is a leftover from when she was very small, and she's usually so self-possessed. We adore her, of course, but today she did sort of shock us.
We were addressing Christmas cards and I looked at one label in surprise.
"Aunt Amelia? Is she still, uhm, alive?"
Both the kids asked, "Who's Aunt Amelia?"
"My grandmother's older sister. I, uh... lessee... Grandma died five years ago at 92 so that would make her...I have no idea."
"Well," Squish said, frowning, "How long can she live? I mean, what's the max?"
And that right there was when my brain blew up.
I"m going to be wondering "what's the max?" for the rest of my life.
ZoomBoy
ZoomBoy and I had a fight over Google Play tonight as we endeavored to listen to Christmas carols that didn't drive anybody crazy, and he kept randomly asking for Queen. I swear, it was like he was possessed by Crowley's car. (Good Omen's reference there-- it's coming!)
Big T
Big T read the Christmas letter and said, "You know, this is really good. Did you have a friend or an editor or someone help you with this?"
In other news, he's been disowned and may be looking for a family of his own. If anybody wants a really large 26 year old son, feel free to claim him. He seems like a good kid, but he can apparently rip your heart out with no notice at all.
*whew*
And now, off to wrap presents.
May your family delight you, surprise you, shock you, turn to you, and, occasionally, take you for granted until given a pointed reminder of how truly awesome you are.
May your Solstice/Christmas/Yule be Merry and Bright.
December 21, 2018
Merry Mackey-mas, Happy Trav
So, in celebration of finishing the manuscript for
Paint it Black,
I'm releasing the exclusive extras from the serial version of Beneath the Stain on Prolific Works.
You can claim your copy RIGHT HERE!
Merry Christmas, Happy Yule, Blessed Solstice, Belated Hanukah , and generally happy winter everybody.
Also, give Kim Fielding a big shout out--she's the one who helped me convert my filed.All the love everybody!
Amy
December 20, 2018
And that's when I snapped
So, ZoomBoy has finals for three days. He gets out early.
Squish had an early day today--she got out about 45 minutes after ZoomBoy.
I got to ZoomBoy late--I had a teleconference. I had him walk to Carl's Jr. When I picked him up, he asked for food.
This is unusual.
ZoomBoy's ADHD medication ensures he's not particularly hungry for most of the day.
So of course I got him food.
A milkshake, jalapeno poppers, and five chicken tenders.
I got him a lot of food.
We went and got Squish. She wanted food too. We went to Wendy's.
While we were there he asked for fries and chicken nuggets.
I remarked upon this while we were waiting in line.
"Geez, kid, you are eating up a storm!"
He was, at this time, finishing up my water and flicking my straw across the car, after which he fumbled the cup it was in, dropping it on the floor--empty, thank God--and then picked up the empty shake cup and did the same thing flicking bits of shake all over the front seat.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I forgot my medication."
"You think?" I asked.
He fumbled the shake cup, added the empty next to my water cup on the floor and through sheer fidgetingness flung the straw out the window.
"I'm not sure. I can't remember. Squish, can you remember? We did pantomimes in class today, that was my drama final and I don't have to take a test at all, because my last one was yesterday. What were we talking about again?"
"Did you remember your medication?"
And here, give this to your sister." I handed him the bag with her sandwich and his fries.
Which he promptly fumbled all over the back seat.
And THAT, yer honor, was when I beat him over the head with the bag of chicken nuggets.
