Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 54

Dear Deceased Garage Cat--

Otherwise known as Shula-monster, the small brown shadow:

Bye sweetheart. You had a good long life out here.

I'm sorry that you had to live in the garage--it's what happens when cats can't use the cat box in the house though. You were really sweet, just not indoor cat material.

I hope that was okay with you.

I hope it was okay that you lived with us for seventeen years, mostly in the garage. I hope it was okay that you got to sleep on all the old blankets, and that we'd pet you on those rare occasions that we saw you and you didn't run.

I hope it was okay that the kids dragged you inside sometimes just to cuddle--I hope that wasn't cruel. You always waited an hour or two before asking to be let back into the garage.

I hope you forgive us for the dogs. They're assholes to all cats, not just you.

I hope you forgive ZoomBoy for that one time he tried to stick a dog diaper on you so you could come inside. He forgave you for the bite to his thumb.

I hope you knew that we loved you in a distant way--you were the Great Aunt of cats. You didn't visit often, but you were appreciated when you were here.

I hope it's okay that ZoomBoy forgot his right from his left and dug your little grave so close to the garage. On the one hand, you're probably comfy there. On the other hand, the other side was more often in sunlight, and you didn't get a lot of that.

I hope it's okay your graveyard is getting a little crowded. We put the Altoids box/fish sarcophagus back with you when we covered you up. At this point the more the merrier, right?

I hope you enjoy Halloween--it's going to be a riot there. Guard us well, protective spirit, okay? And don't worry, the dog's got the backyard. You've got the easy job.

I hope it's okay that I cried a little for you. You were such a delicate, quiet thing, but you did love the occasional show of affection. It's hard to fault a creature that poops outside and asks for little more than food, fresh water, and occasionally getting her whiskers smoothed back. In a house of fuzzy attention whores, your retiring nature was much appreciated.

I hope you know ZoomBoy and Squish and Chicken and Big T all miss you now. You were never as invisible as you tried to be.

And I really hope your spirit can give the useless furry meat sacks around here some anti-vermin lessons. I have the feeling you were carrying a whole lot of that burden on your own. These floofy assclowns just don't seem that bright, I swear to Goddess they don't.

Mostly I hope your life was content here. Not every cat is made to be box-trained, but I hope being queen of the garage made up for that. I know even though it's filled with teetering columns of crap, the garage us a lot emptier without your skittish little presence. Thanks for hanging with us. I hope you know you were loved.

Sincerely, Amy Lane and company--

Also known as the wonderful bringers of food and the terrible distributors of small-dog retribution.

May you get to sleep in all the sunspots now.

Amen

Worm Gamucking

So, uh, took the dogs for a walk today.

Yes, it had rained a lot the day before, but still.

I mean, what on earth could go wrong?

I mean, I knew one part of the path would be flooded--but I've got that mastered, right? I walk on the side of the path for part of the flooding, and then I move into the residential area so I can swing around the second part of the path and then, Bob's-Your-Uncle, I can take one of the residential paths back to the loop. Yeah, sure, it's an extra quarter mile onto my walk--I can use the exercise, right?

Of course, when I get down the path and realize that it's twenty feet of standing water, my can-do attitude sort of dissolves.

And as much fun adding a quarter of a mile to my walk has been, in order to go back and avoid all puddles altogether, I'd be adding another mile to my walk, and, well, I've got things to do!

So I suck it up, roll my pants up to my knees, take my shoes off, and walk across the pond, ignoring the little air bubbles coming up from the seams in the concrete, stepping over the piles of oak leaves and God knows what's in them, and apologizing profusely to Geoffie who is actually swimming during the last bit because the water was that deep, and she is that short.

Oh--and trying not to completely bite it by slipping on the mud which is way slippery without the traction of my shoes.

I make it.

I walk to my car, let the dogs jump in and get on a towel, and then I sit in the heat until my feet dry and I can put my shoes back on.

And the whole time, I'm pretending that there wasn't a chance... not even a teeniest hint of a chance... that I stepped on any worm carcasses during the entire trip.

Don't tell me, folks.

I just don't want to know.

Kermit Flail--A Quiet but Hopeful January

Yayayayayayayayayay!!!

So, welcome to the first Kermit Flail of the year!

It's a little bit small, and that's my fault--I was thin on social media over the last few weeks for family reasons, but I'm SO pleased about the people who submitted!

Alix Bekins and Connie Bailey are some of my oldest and best friends in the writing business. They write because they love it, and they teamed up together because they're great friends and they wrote sci-fi because it's their passion and they're both funny, witty, awesome people and I'm so happy to see them writing for the helluva it again, and SO proud to have them on my blog!

And Mercy Celeste! Who hasn't heard of Mercy Celeste! She breaks your heart every time! This book looks like no exception and I'm proud to host it on my blog :-)

And as for me? I've got a book that folks have been waiting for--for a long time at that! Can you guess? I bet you can--and if you haven't read the rest of the series watch this space, and follow me on social media for some sales going on so you can read the whole whack of them without going broke!

So exciting stuff--and some much needed good news.

Let's have a better year, everyone!!!





Song and Key
by Alix Bekins and Connie Bailey

The Men from GLEN


Dreamspun Beyond | #11
So-called monsters won’t hold these spies back!

For two secret agents on a mission to a secluded Romanian village, the toughest fight they face may not be against the folktale monsters lurking in the foggy mountains and old ruins, but against their unlikely attraction to each other.

Keller Key is the top operative at the covert Global Law Enforcement Network—and boy, does he know it. Sexy half-Ukrainian, half-Korean Sevastyan Song is a close second. When the agents go undercover to investigate an old friend’s suspicious death, it soon becomes clear something sinister is afoot in the ancient forest and decrepit abbey. If an evil organization doesn’t spell the end of them, the angry locals might. But if they’re going to conquer their enemies, they need to keep their hands off each other and their minds on the case, in a rivals-to-lovers paranormal mash-up that gives new meaning to spy-on-spy action.

Buy at Dreamspinner

Buy at Amazon:



Long Way
by Mercy Celeste

Death Waits for No One

Former Marine Chad Mayes planned to honor his father’s last wishes and lay him to rest in California.

Estranged from his family for so long he wasn’t prepared to return to the life he left or the people he barely remembered. He planned to do his duty and drift away to figure out his place in life.
That was the plan, right up until he laid eyes on his first crush.
Skip Simpson didn’t have time to worry about his son’s life.

An emergency call from his best friend requesting a get together sent him packing north. He went, never expecting his world to be flipped upside down when the Marine, half his age, walked in the door.

The plan was to scatter his best friend’s ashes. Not end up on a trek through the woods, with his friend’s son.

But what exactly does a free spirit and a lost soul do in the woods? Alone. For days. In one tent… when one is one’s best friend’s son and should be off limits.

Chad and Skip are about to find out.

Book 2 in the Adventures INK series. Should be read in order.

Buy at Amazon



Bobby Green

by Amy Lane

Vern Roberts couldn’t wait to turn eighteen and get the hell out of Dogpatch, California. But city living is expensive, and he’s damned desperate when Dex from Johnnies spots him bussing tables.

As “Bobby,” he's a natural at gay porn. Soon he’s surrounded by hot guys and sex for the taking, but it’s not just his girlfriend back in Dogpatch—or her blackmailing brother—that keeps him from taking it. It's the sweet guy who held the lights for his first solo scene, who showed him decency, kindness, and a smile.

Reg Williams likes to think he's too stupid to realize what a shitty hand life dealt him, but Bobby knows better. What Reg lacks in family, opportunity, education, and money, he makes up for in heart. One fumbling step at a time, they connect, not just in their hearts but in their bodies, where sex that’s not on camera, casual, or meaningless, becomes the most important thing in the world.

But Reg is hampered by an inescapable family burden, and he and Bobby will never fly unless he can find a way to manage it. Can he break the painful link to his unrealized childhood and grow into the love Bobby wants to give?


PRESALE ON DREAMSPINNER

Zombies from Timothy

So, I've been going back and forth about how much to share.

On the one hand, this blog started out as a document of my kids and life in general and all of those pithy, amused observations that I was frequently making for the people around me that weren't getting a whole lot of response. I figured if I could make them here, at least they'd be out of my system and I could stop boring people with them.

But it grew, and I get a few hundred hits an entry, and then there was that whole "You can't talk about your old job" thing that happened when I was let go from Natomas, and I got good with compartmentalizing, and eventually I learned a thing that my nearest and dearest could never seem to teach me: Some things were not meant to be shared publicly.

So my family has been grieving and my husband has been grieving, and I'm not sure about how much of that I want to broadcast on the internet as it happens--but this thing, I think it's okay to share.

So one of my biggest complaints about services is when the pastor or reverend or whoever speaks, because so often, this person seemed to know the absolute least about the deceased, but suddenly he gets to dominate the floor and talk about how much luckier that person is to be away from all THESE tacky people and up in their heavenly home.

I haven't been to a single funeral when the pastor had anything to say that sounded like the person I once knew.

But my MIL had recently found a church she really loved--one where she could be quietly of service, and much beloved. I was hoping this time, we'd have a winner.

Mmm...

See, the poor man--he was very young--was feeling super super bad about not getting to see Dee the day she passed. He'd gone two days before and she'd just moved so he'd missed her, and had made time on Wednesday, but he called her and she told him she was enroute to the hospital, and of course she passed Thursday morning.

So, his first words were about how bad he felt that he'd missed the chance to visit her, and for a moment I felt hope. Hey--this guy at least knew her, knew her personally, had been to her home.

And then he seemed to notice Dee's grandchildren--who had been featured a few times in Mate's lovely and touching photo montage.  (He'd set it to Simple Things, because, like me, he'd found the song lovely, and thought it represented her life in a touching way.) But suddenly he saw the four people under thirty in the room, and he knew they were special to her...

And he pulled out his YA Bible Study skills and oh my God, we were in the book of Timothy and Revelations...

And a rather lurid retelling of the story of Lazarus.

Mate and I stared in horror as he started leg two of the sermon, and I had a sudden thought. Our kids were sitting in the row next to us, one row back. They were not church kids. Big T was filming the service, so he was mostly out of trouble, but... but the younger kids.

Quietly, I craned my neck to see what they were doing.

Squish was wiping a spot from her pristine pink boot. ZoomBoy was in full sprawl.

Big T and Chicken were staring at the poor pastor with ginormous eyes, and Chicken did a slow pan toward me and mouthed, "Zombies?"

I tried not to respond, because church! Respect! A service! But my eyes got big, and she later said, "You pursed your mouth like you were trying not to laugh."

The rather odd eulogy finally ended, and I stood up to thank the congregation. I noted that there were people from all moments of Dee's life there--the people who knew her when she'd been the smiling little tot in the video montage, her family who knew her best, and Mate and I and her grandchildren and nieces and nephews, who knew her as a full and productive adult, and her spiritual family who gave her such comfort in her last years before she passed. I told everybody how grateful we were that so many people had appreciated the woman with the quirky smile and the sly sense of humor and the hidden determination that we had loved, and how her grandchildren got to see a little bit of her, from child to grandmother, in their stories of her during the service.

As I was finishing the final thank you, I was surprised by a sound from my peanut gallery.

Squish had broken as I was speaking, and Chicken and ZoomBoy joined her, and as everybody left the room to have snacks in the foyer, Big T draped himself over them and we had a big group hug of devastation.

I was reassured.

For a moment as the pastor had been speaking, they'd lost sight of why we were there--but once they connected with the woman they will miss so much, they were able to grieve.

I managed a moment to console the kids--and then poor pastor. Like I said, he was young, and I told him to please forgive himself for not being there on her last day. Like I've said, she hadn't demanded care or attention, and if her sister and the hospital hadn't called us, we wouldn't have known. He'd done his best to take care of his parishioner, to give her solace and kindness, and I fully believe that counts.

But in the minivan afterwards, after we'd taken the flowers to the family plot in Auburn and then joined the caravan from my parents' house to Wong's (where many of our family moments are celebrated, from birthdays to graduations) Chicken and Big T were in our car, while Squish and ZoomBoy rode with my parents.

"So," Chicken said after we'd started. "Was it my imagination, or was he really talking about zombies?"

"Oh my God!" Big T said, "I mean he brought up Narnia, but I was wondering when the Walking Dead started to figure in!"

I swallowed and looked at Mate, to see if he wanted to reprimand the children or adult or anything of the sort and he let a bewildered smile break. "Seriously, all I could think about was Batman and the Lazarus pit of Ra'sh alGhul (sic)."

I burst into laughter, because now I could say it. "The X-Files," I said promptly. "They had that episode..." and by now, we were all laughing too hard to breathe. "The one with the bowl?" I howled. "Remember?"

"Oh my God! Yeah! I remember that one!" the kids said.

And together we got it all out of our systems--mostly--before we got to Wong's.

My parents paid for Wong's--Mate offered, and he said, "Uh, I was going to let my mom take care of it," because that's what funeral expenses were for.

My mom said, "Yeah, my mom took care of our dinner after her funeral. But we want to do this for you."

And for a moment, I almost lost it, when we'd all managed to keep our shit together, because if it's ever my turn to take everybody out to dinner on my parents' dime, I'm going to be in bad shape too.

Today, Chicken came by to do her laundry, and I gave her the now-common warning: "You know, if I have to look down from the Goddess's meadow to hear some asshole talk about zombies at my funeral--"

"Yeah, I know. You'll haunt me and I'll deserve it."

"Damned straight. Your father knows it too."

"Anything else?"

"Dad wants to be cremated--"

"And spread over the ocean. I know."

"Yeah, but we were both thinking we might want some of our ashes put in a rock, you know, like Chiquita? So you can set us outside and sometimes come out and say hi."

Her lower lip quivered. "That's sweet."

"It seemed to give ZoomBoy comfort after the dog died."

"I like that. I'll make it so."

Just no zombies. I think as a family, that's all we ask.

Two Things

* In Regret Me Not there's a part where Hal's condo had the power turned off and he went in to clean the place up. He comes back a few hours later and Pierce is concerned that his hands feel like ice. An early reader suggested that this was hyperbole because, after all, how cold would it be inside that house? Fifty, maybe sixty degrees?

I stetted. I wouldn't want to work in an apartment that was less than sixty degrees, so the part stayed in.

After a couple of days of trying to get something accomplished in a house that's fifty degrees--maybe fifty-five at the most, I would like to gently inform that reader that I win, Hal's hands would be like ice, and I'm right and they're wrong and full-on gloating WILL commence, as soon as my core temperature returns to normal.

Two days at the most.

* Mate's Aunt Sis asked me if I wanted to keep the pictures of "the dead relatives".

I responded, "No, because when I was alone in that damned house and everything creaked and it was all haunted and it was freezing and Mate was gone six nights a week and I was stuck with two babies and no car and Big T couldn't talk and Chicken had a heart murmur and the house was never clean enough, those assholes were JUDGING ME for being a failure as a mother and I HATE THEM."


I finished, breathing a little hard because my blood was up, which was great because I was freezing and it helped, and she looked a little taken aback.

"Well, okay then. Carl and I will take them if you don't want them."

"That would be fine," I said meekly.

Some wounds don't heal. Now I know.

Past and Pending

 I'm tired and it's late, but I'm going to leave you with this.

Once, a very long time ago, I took a picture of Mate with his two children.

He has four now, and everybody is very old and sophisticated, but still...

Long ago it was Mate and two babies.

And he's still pretty amazing, even when they're as old now as we were then.

A New Day

First of all, thank you all so very much--Mate was so very moved by your condolences, and so was I. Even though life can really suck sometimes, sometimes people can surprise you in the best ways. I've always believed that--thank everybody with their best wishes for making it so.

We spent last night at my parents, playing games at first, and then, entertaining Mate's visiting family, which brings me to my blog!

One of the irritating ironies about the death of a loved one is that suddenly you have an excuse to visit with all of the people you wish you'd gotten to talk to when they were alive.

Thus is the case with Mate's Aunt Sis and Uncle Carl--two of the world's most decent, hardworking people of faith you could ever hope to meet.

I know in the liberal community when I say "people of faith" that's usually a big red flag.  But real people of faith--people who give their lives to serving their communities and raising children who do the same and who do it with a deeply held spiritual belief that people can be their better selves because of a just and kind god or goddess--those people of faith are often surprisingly, compassionately liberal.

Thus it is with Mate's mother's family. They don't do social media or Twitter or Facebook. They are, in fact, too darned busy. They read print news, and spend critical thinking skills dissecting the bias and deciding if it's their bias or if their bias should change.

Smart, good people.

They get all of their stories by knowing their neighbors. ALL of their neighbors.

They live in Arizona now  but driving with them through their old stomping grounds--the 49er fruit trail, where they used to have a small community church--was an education.

They knew every parcel of property, and the genealogy of every resident, and how the property was passed down and under what contingency it could be developed. It was like having an encyclopedia at your fingertips, one who knew whose grandparents had gone to school with their parents and which route the school bus took in the 1920's.

Their knowledge and understanding of land rights and understanding of who was feuding with whom and how this parcel of land came to be owned and developed in which way was STUNNING. (Not only that, but they had an incredible list of names I've never thought of. I just want to download their cortices so I can tap that!)

Now Auburn--which is adjacent to Ophir, where all of this deep community knowledge is based-- was the site of one of America's greatest shames: a Japanese interment camp.

They knew the property that had been left vacant when citizens had been rounded up and unjustly imprisoned for four years.

And they knew--in detail--which citizens had stepped up, taken care of the property, and returned it, plus revenues, when the madness ended.

That last thing is important.

This wasn't the violent gesture. This wasn't the 300K Twitter likes rallying cry.

This was the, "You are my neighbor and my friend and I can't stand up to the armed people and risk my children but I can take care of you to the best of my ability."  For people who think this was a weak shit gesture--taking care of an extra 40 acres, keeping it profitable, paying taxes on it and then NOT KEEPING THE EXTRA PROFITS  is not an easy task. Making sure people had a home to return to was an act of love.

Doing the right thing doesn't always make headlines. Doesn't always garner attention. There's not a public list of the people who did this--I doubt that without the social skills of these two kind, decent people, these acts would be remembered, or grouped together to realize that there was a small rebellion in the foothills that said imprisoning innocent citizens wasn't right.

But it was done. And to the families who had a home to return to after the madness was over, it was everything.

I'm going to remember this when I feel helpless. I'm going to remember this when I grieve.  I"m going to remember this going into the new year.

So much of our time in 2017 was focused on the terrible damage inflicted by a few truly vile humanoid crapbags. I think it's time to focus on the wonderful healing that can be spread by a vast number of truly decent people.

I know more good people in my life than bad--and even if I disagree with some of them, I know that in the breakdown of who would go to the wall for a friend unjustly treated, they would be on the good side.

Let's make 2018 the time to make that a bigger deal.

Cold, cold hands

So, last night my older children were going to come get me and take me to the movies--we all wanted to see The Shape of Water, and for some reason the grown kids thought Mom would be the best grownup to see it with.

Right when we were gathering things to leave, Mate got a phone call. His mother had called an ambulance that morning and asked to be brought to the hospital. Mate was a little hurt--he'd just gone to visit her on Sunday, and she'd looked very frail, her health not great. He'd taken the kids to wish her a happy holiday, and some baby food and plain bread, because her stomach had been a little tetchy. He wanted to help. Why hadn't she called him?

Well, we asked her--she said she'd felt too horrible to actually walk through the ER. She knew the ambulance would bypass that, and then she'd asked her sister to not call Mate until she thought he got off work.

Oh.

Such a humble, sane line of reasoning.

We made sure she was okay--secure for the night, as it were. She was going in for a CT Scan on a mass in her abdomen, and trying to loosen it so it would pass. We would see her in the morning.

Before we left I went to kiss her cheek.

She'd never been a big woman--5'2", small boned, enormous hazel eyes--she'd always been so simple. So unassuming. She'd spent the last three years since her mother's death making her life as spare as possible--she wasn't going to get much on social security, right?

But as I kissed her cheek I smushed her a little (God, I'm clumsy) and I pulled back and apologized, horrified.

"No, that's okay." She grimaced and adjusted herself more comfortably. "Your hands are so warm."

I was wearing my mitts--like always.

I took them off my giant ham-fists and put them on her hands--her tiny, tiny hands.

We got home around nine and told the kids that she seemed to be holding stable. I started a pair of mitts for an absurdly small pair of hands while we watched Troll Hunters until 11:30 at night.

We got a call at 12:10--she was doing much worse, and she was asking for Mate.

We called Chicken to come watch the children. They were upset--and I told them what I tell anybody who worries about these things: Did you tell Grandma you loved her before you left?

"Yeah."

"That's all you can do, every day, with anybody you love. Tell them you love them. Hug them. Know that they knew when you parted."

They'll never know it's how I'm not rendered completely dysfunctional whenever there's a public act of violence, and I have to drop them off at school.

When we got back to the floor, we had a choice to make--balls-out surgery, full stop invasive procedures, intubation, crash cart, bells and whistles, EXTREME MEASURES RESUSCITATION, or...

Or keep her comfortable.

She had an ischemic bowel blockage--and had been suffering with it for days. She was going into sepsis, and even if they could remove it, her organs were initiating shutdown.

Her vessel--her teeny, tiny, delicate vessel was done.

That was a bad moment.

But after the decision was made, we sat in the quiet of the room while the ICU nurse monitored her vitals, and watched her slip away.

I worked on the mitts for part of it.

Mostly, I just held Mate's hand.

This morning we went up to the newly refurbished house she'd just moved into. It was once the bear trap I couldn't gnaw my way free of--but now it was lovely (if nut-shriveling cold.)  Clean, bare, neat as a pin, The new flooring couldn't hide the fact that no, they still hadn't put a foundation under it, but other than that, it was a lovely space.

She'd been there about ten days.

We looked and looked--all of her paperwork was nicely ordered, in boxes. We saw paperwork for the work done on the house, paperwork for the service work she did with the church, paperwork for the rescue cats, her medical problems, her work with genealogy and calligraphy--all in order. But we couldn't find a single slip of paper indicating where she wanted her tiny body to go.

I called my stepmom, and she gave me ideas for where to look--she's done this before. We were exhausted--we'd slept maybe three hours of shitty, shitty sleep, our grown daughter between us needing solace.  But still, I was grateful.

My stepmom, the one who'd given me common sense and practicality, who had raised me to believe in the sacred power of the DNR, who had taught me how to give the elderly and the dying respect and dignity, and to be kind to their fragile bodies while their sturdy souls ventured on, was still here to guide me.

I'm so very, very grateful.

We even searched her computer, but in the end, all we found was a surrender request for the two rescue cats hiding behind the washing machine.

"They were supposed to be barn cats," it read. "But they were wounded and now live in the washroom. I am the only one they will let touch them. They are invisible cats."

It was so very, very much my mother in law.

Practical. Kind. A touch of sarcastic humor.

We made sure the cats were secure and came home, stopping for takeout for all our kids on the way.

As we were getting out of the car, Mate suddenly laughed. (This is not as odd as it sounds--it's how we cope.)

"What?"

"Heh. Invisible cats."

We laughed softly again.

When I got home, before we both crashed to start our investigations again tomorrow, Chicken showed me the envelope she'd addressed for the mitts I'd finished. A friend of mine has a tiny teenaged daughter.

With delicate, birdlike hands.

Hug all your people tonight. Be grateful for every one of them. Be sure to tell them you love them as they venture out the door. Our bodies are fragile, even if our souls are strong. Be good to your bodies, take care of your souls, nurture all the love in your life.

When I die, I want to be cremated. I only want extreme measures if my body is healthy and ready for the fight. And I want music playing--my family knows my favorites. At the end there, last night, as my husband's mother was breathing her last, I got tired of the incessant beeping, and Mate and I had already said all the things we could think to say. I sang at first--hymns, although my pagan self couldn't remember many. Finally I pulled up Simple Gifts on my phone--because the melody is beautiful, and with the faith that sustained her in her last years, I thought she might enjoy it.

I hope so.

I know she will be missed.

An Amy Lane Christmas Anthology

An AmyLane Christmas--e-book Bundle or paperback by Amy Lane

So, a few thousand years ago (eight!) DSP published their first Amy Lane story-- it featured an adorable kitten on the cover and it was called If I Must. And after that? Christmas stories just seemed to be my thing.

Now some of the stories-- Candy Man, Winter Courtship Rituals of Fur-Bearing Critters, Winter Ball--went on to have more stories attached to them, and all of them ended up in print in one way or another. (With Candy Man, you can find the print version in the same volume as Bitter Taffy.)  But some of the stories just sort of floated around a little-- they were completely stand alone, very adorable, and totally holiday, even if the holiday wasn't the focus. Those are the stories gathered in this anthology. 
I've loved writing each story--they've been proof, in a way, that I can do adorable and light (and so have the Dreamspun Desires, for that matter) and still have moments of poignance. I've got the synopsis of each of the stories here, and if you haven't read them--or even read just one--the bundle price is a really good deal.
And some folks have told me that the shorts totally made their keeper shelf, and that's why the print story.
So, thank you all so much for reading my Christmas stories, for making a big deal out of them, for loving the adorable and fluffy as well as the angsty--and I hope your Christmas was as awesome as mine.  (I have some pictures at the end of the post--crappy, as is my signature photo style, but these are some very happy kids here.)
Anyway-- here are the story blurbs, and I hope your holiday was as adorable and fluffy as possible! And I'm leaving the DSP link because the store is on sale, but also available at Amazon!
Amy
If I Must Joel Martinez, a practical and organized computer programmer, is roommates with Ian Cooper, a certified IQ-in-the- stratosphere mathematical genius who literally can't find his own underwear in the mess of his day-to-day life. When Joel uneasily leaves Ian for the holidays, he ends up telling stories to his sister and discovers he feels much more for Ian than he thought. So when Ian calls, distraught because the only other thing in his life that loves him (a half-feral cat named Manky Bastard) is going to have to be put down, Joel hurries back home hoping that opposites really do attract.
Christmas with Danny Fit In a perfect moment of cold November sunshine, pudgy accountant Kit Allen realizes Jesse, his new office assistant, is everything he's ever dreamed about in a man. Feeling supremely unworthy and desperate to get a life—even an imaginary one—Kit embarks on a self-improvement campaign featuring DVD fitness guru, Danny Fit.  In the meantime, Jesse has begun a subtle campaign of his own, one designed to bring Kit out of his DVD dream world and into Jesse's arms. Jesse isn't perfect—he's no Danny Fit—but he hopes that the kind, funny man who has been looking at him so soulfully since his first day at work has what it takes to be everything Jesse has always wanted.
Puppy, Car, and Snow Ryan’s entire life changed the night Scott surprised him in a bathroom at a party.  Now Ryan’s soulless climb up the corporate ladder has stalled—but his quality life has become a whirlwind of laughter, joy and surprises, thanks to Scotty’s playful, gentle heart.  After three years together, they’re going to Ryan’s parents’ cabin to spend Christmas.  Snowed in by the weather and locked under the icy glare of his mother’s disapproval, can Ryan show he has found the most profound happiness in the simplest of things?
Turkey in the Snow Since Hank Calder’s four-year-old niece, Josie, came to live with him, his life has been plenty dramatic, thank you, and the last thing he needs is a swishy, flaming twinkie to complicate things. But when Justin, the daycare worker at his gym, offers to do something incredibly nice for Hank—and for Josie—Hank is forced to reconsider. Justin may be flamboyant in his speech and gestures, but his heart and kindness are as rock steady and dependable as anyone, even Hank, could ask for. Can Hank trust in his dramatic “turkey in the snow” to offer his heart the joy he and Josie have never known?
Going Up! Every dreary day, Zach Driscoll takes the elevator from the penthouse apartment of his father's building to his coldly charmed life where being a union lawyer instead of a corporate lawyer is an act of rebellion. Every day, that is, until the day the elevator breaks and Sean Mallory practically runs into his arms.Substitute teacher Sean Mallory is everything Zach is not—poor, happy, and goofily charming. With a disarming smile and a penchant for drama, Sean laughs his way into Zach's heart one elevator ride at a time. Zach would love to get to know Sean better, but first he needs the courage to leave his ivory tower and face a relationship that doesn't end at the "Ding!"





ZoomBoy got three or four different models, including this one of BB-8 built of Legos. It took him Christmas Day--and no, we weren't home all day. Let's hear it for ZoomBoy!
Yes, the dogs got walked on Christmas Eve, and yes, Mate came with me. Because. 
ZoomBoy, spending his Christmas Eve the way God intended--wearing fluffy Jedi pajamas and his Jedi robe, to celebrate the birth of the New Hope and the existence of the Force. Don't tell him that's not what Christmas is all about--we've got him convinced!
The beginning of the great BB-8 assemble, while his sister looks on in amusement.
Squish asked for very little-- a phone, because most of her friends go to different schools, a long-sleeved shirt, and those pink boots. The hat was mom's idea, and the fuzzy kitten mitts were her brother's. In all, she's a vision of savoir faire. 
And everybody got fuzzy pajamas for Christmas. Because. 

Why Did the Snakes Cross the Road? Part 2

So this is a continuation from yesterday's post wherein I put random characters in the middle of a great snake migration for no other reason than to see what they would do.  Now, when I post these ficlets, there's usually one or two naughty scenes, but this time... well... I was having trouble.

I mean, my guys usually have pretty strong libidos, right? But they're sitting in a middle of a snake migration. I mean... snakes.

So, of course, I had to ask my bestie. "Hey--which of my characters are DTF?"

Then I had to explain what DTF meant, but then, she gave me the perfect suggestion. You'll know them when you see them.

So enjoy--and Merry Christmas from me and mine!

*  *  *




Harry and Suriel-- Familiar Angel

 One minute Harry was driving the empty U-haul along a deserted road, Suriel sitting sunnily next to him, talking about how grateful their last batch of rescues had been to be reunited with family, and the next minute, he'd slammed on the brakes, threw the truck into park, and turned cat.

Very angry, hissing cat.

"Harry!" Suriel snapped. "Harry! I know they startled you, but I can't drive the truck!"

Harry spat, leaping to the front window and clawing at the glass. Oh my God! Look at them! Writhing deadly nightmares! Harry the human could pull out a gun and kill them--but Harry the human didn't like senseless slaughter.

Harry the cat, on the other hand, would be a fair fight. Between his magic and his enhanced hunting capabilities, Harry could go out into the wild, take down the snake colony, and feel good about himself.

Except Suriel had picked him up by the scruff of the neck and was shaking him gently. "Harry!" he snapped, "You have more intelligence than this! I have no magic, but you've studied for over a century."

Harry growled, low in his throat, his tail lashing behind him. He twisted his body and gestured with his paw--could Suriel not see that one of his most primal enemies had the snake-sticles to cross the road unchecked. The logical thing to do was roll down the window and let Harry go out and fight!

Harry had always been their best fighter, and since Edward and Francis were in another car that apparently didn't take this turnoff, this was Harry's job and Harry's job alone!

"No," Suriel said, flat-eyed. Suriel didn't tell him no often.

Harry spat and tried to claw his wrist, to show him that he didn't like no.

"I don't care if you don't like no," Suriel told him, magnificent brow lowered, angry brown eyes snapping with irritation. "You know better. Killing is never the answer."

Still dangling by the scruff of his neck, Harry licked his paw to indicate boredom. Yes, telepathy was one of his first spells, but cat-language sometimes got the point across so much better.

"Harry..." Suriel warned. "You know I'm right."

Harry rolled his eyes. You would think an angel would be less tolerant of a species that was said to bring down the entire human race, but no. Apparently that was a stupid human prejudice, and Suriel was all about enlightenment.    

Harry didn't need enlightenment. He could clean his balls on the front seat of the car all day.

Suriel took a deep breath and tossed his glorious red-gold hair back. "I'm not putting you down until you turn--"

"Ouch," Harry snapped. "Let go of my hair."

"Have we come to our senses?" Suriel asked, and Harry's brother Edward would have sounded like a sarcastic snotty twat.  Suriel sounded... sincere. As though the entire hissing episode were merely a lapse in judgment.

Harry scowled at the road, but he couldn't bring himself to yell at Suriel. Of course, yelling at an angel was never a good idea, but now that Suriel's wings were gone, Harry knew that it was only his love--real, passionate, eternal--for the man at his side that kept Harry from loosing the full fury of his razor tongue on Suriel's tender back.

"What do you suggest I do?"  Harry stared at the arrogant fuckers crossing the road like his looks alone could frighten them into unmaking. "If I so much as drive the truck I'll squash them all and wouldn't that defeat the point?"

"You lack imagination," Suriel said, sounding disappointed.

Oh God. Anything but disappointment. All they'd gone through to be together, and the idea of disappointing Suriel was one of Harry's worst fears.

"What would you suggest?" Harry asked humbly, and to his dismay, Suriel shrugged.

"I don't know what skills you have, Harry--or at least not all of them. But I do know you have more at your disposal than death and killing. Please--for me? Could you at least try something besides slaughtering the innocent beasts of the brush?"

Oh, fine. Harry closed his eyes, centered himself, and summoned one of his most difficult spells.  In his mind's eye, he saw a brand of fire, and he used it to write the words, Latin this time, When serpents fly my way is clear. 

Because seriously-- couldn't the primal nightmares just get the fuck out of the way?

He grunted and waved his hand, and next to him, Suriel gasped in wonder. Harry looked up from his pout and felt his scowl loosen up a little.

They still slithered in the air, their muscular bodies sinuous and graceful. They didn't look down, they didn't panic, they just kept going, like if they made their bodies do what instinct told them, then the absence of ground beneath their bellies was immaterial. A swarm of them, continuing in their same path, their same pace, as the snakes migrated from dry high ground to wet low ground, and water, and safety, and relief from the searing heat.

They did look fairly impressive.

Harry kept muttering the spell until the last one he'd reached out for had sailed over the road and been deposited, none the worse for the air, down on the other side.

"Can we go n--"

Suriel leaned across the seat and kissed him on the cheek, and the last of Harry's resentment faded. He turned and captured his angel's mouth, tasting his very human warmth, and the joy that apparently came with not running out like a furry barbarian to battle.

"Mm..." Suriel pulled back and rubbed noses with him. "Thank you, brave Harry."

Harry's smile was unfettered and fond. "Anything for you, my angel," he told him truthfully. "Shall we--"

In his head, he heard Edward, telepathy set on "freaked out". Holy Jesus, Harry, did you see the fucking flying snakes? What in the holy hell was that? Frances is trying to chew the window glass with his fucking teeth!

Harry grunted. "We freaked Edward and Frances out," he told Suriel, only a little cross. Cool your jets. Suriel didn't want to see blood.

Edward's voice in his head was just as sarcastic as Harry had anticipated. Well if you'd killed them fast enough, he wouldn't have had to see it!

Look Edward--he doesn't like senseless slaughter. They weren't hurting anybody. He maybe has a point, you think?

Tell him I'll forgive him when I get a chance to change my drawers and calm Frances down. There was a subtle shift, then, and Harry could picture is brother's cool amusement. That really was amazing, Harry. We should try that again in battle someday.

Harry grinned, fierce and feral, and Suriel's own expression in the car grew wary.

"What?" he asked. "What is that look?"

Harry just shook his head and put the truck back in gear. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I just think the next battle we have with the bad guys is going to be very interesting, that's all."

Suriel groaned. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

Harry thought of launching all nearby serpents at the last bevy of human traffickers they'd faced. "Nope," he said, chuckling evilly. "Not even at all."

Suriel sighed, but placed his warm hand on Harry's knee through his jeans. "Just drive," he said, resigned. "I liked that last hotel we visited very much. Perhaps this one will have a bed just as large."

Harry shifted to the next gear, thought of Suriel, relaxed and grateful and naked on clean white sheets, and purred.

* * *

Ace and Sonny, Racing for the Sun

"You could have fuckin' run them over, Ace. You know that, right? Fuckin' snakes got no business in the fuckin' road--you're the bigger predator, you coulda fuckin' taken them out."

I glanced at Sonny and then glanced back at the snakes, appreciating the quiet hum of the borrowed SUV we were driving even if it did handle like shit. "It wouldn't be fair," I told him. "They got no self-defense when we're in a car. It's mean."

Sonny growled. "I don't give a shit. They're in our fuckin' way."

"Yeah, well, it's we're trying to be better people than that," I told him with dignity. An old snake, a big motherfucker, started to drift close to our front tire. I caught its eye and glared, cause not on my fuckin' watch was that thing crawling up into our engine or through our ventilation, and the snake seemed to take the hint because it backed off. I reminded myself I was a better person and stared at the road ahead of me in something like despair. Next to me, Sonny was so desperate for something to dothat he practically twitched.

"We could play twenty questions," I said hopefully. Sonny didn't like word games usually, but this was not a usual situation.

"Okay, I'll start. Why aren't we runnin' over the fuckin' snakes again?"

"Because they weren't hurting anything," I snapped. "It's like us. I'm not exactly an innocent little fuckin' flower, Sonny, but unless you kick me or hurt my people I don't bite. So we're not killing snakes because they're not hurting us, so leave it at that, okay?"

Sonny moaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, Ace," he mumbled. "But nobody else is on this road--I'm starting to think that gate shoulda been closed, not open."

I grunted and moved my hand to his neck so I could squeeze gently. "I think you're right," I said glumly. "I think we might be the only car for miles. But it's almost dark, and I don't think they do this at night. Let's give them until sundown, okay? They're already starting to taper off. See over there? It's a turnoff. If we can just get the next thirty feet to the turnoff, we can turn this thing around and get the fuck out of here."

Sonny moaned softly, coming apart in my hand as I worked some of the tension out of his muscles. "That's a good plan," he conceded, melting a little into the front seat. I dropped my hand and he stretched, hands over his head, and I appreciated the tightness of his scrawny little body. I made sure the car was in park and turned a little, so I could run my hand from his neck down to the softness of his concave abdomen. He shifted, sensuous as snake under my palm.

"Mm... that's real nice, Ace. How hot is it outside?"

I glanced at the gauge on the dashboard. "High 70's," I said, wondering at the question.

"Will the snakes crawl up into the engine?" he asked, and I shrugged, hitting the gas pedal a couple of times to rev it.

"Don't think so--engine's hot and they're looking for cool. It's not exactly cold out there. Why?"

"Can we turn off the car?"

I sighed. I did appreciate good air conditioning but was probably for the best. It wasn't like we didn't live in the fuckin' desert anyway, and the swamp cooler in our house was plum defeated in the hell of the summer. I killed the engine and the dampness of night in the deep South crept along our skin.

"We good now?" I asked, making sure.

He looked at me sideways, blue eyes wicked in the fading light. "Kiss me," he said. "Then we will be."

Oh. I smiled as I leaned over the island so I could take his mouth. He lunged into the kiss, like touching my skin was cool water on this sultry night, and I mauled him like he kept me sane.

Our touch started out passionate and amped up to incendiary in short order, kicking up even higher when I rucked up his T-shirt so I could suck on his pointy little nipples. I loved the way his body quivered in my arms, loved how once there were no prying eyes on us, he was so completely mine.

He grunted and lifted his hips, shoving his cargo shorts down to his angles and then turning in the seat so his back was against the car door.

He spread his thighs, exposing his cock and taint for me and dared me with his eyes to leave him high and dry.

Like I'd ignore an invitation like that. I gobbled his cock down, sucking his hardness to the back of my throat and gagging slightly--but not pulling back.

He cried out, dragging his nails over my scalp and thrusting into my mouth. He didn't used to beg like this, didn't use to be so shameless, but two years of us sharing a bed, fucking, sharing our skin like partners, and he made me proud by offering himself like his body was the thing I wanted most in the world.

I pulled back enough to let my spit slip from under my lips, coating him, letting more spit slide down between his cheeks so I could thrust a finger inside him. He grabbed his asscheeks and spread them wide, and I groaned. Of course I wanted more than a finger, but I didn't have any lube. Sonny'd let me fuck him like an animal, but I didn't do that. He deserved better.

I spat and thrust two fingers, shivering as he moaned, and then took him in my mouth again, shuddering as he breached the back of my throat.  Nobody tells you how good a cock feels in your mouth, how badly you'll crave it when you're sucking someone you're crazy for, someone who's crazy for you.

He cried out again and bucked, and begged, "More! Harder! Faster! God, Ace--I fuckin' need--yes!"

I plunged my fingers as deep as I could and sucked him all the way down and he cried out, ass arching off the new upholstery as he came down my throat, body shivering around my fingers, hands flailing until I held up my hand and laced fingers with him. He moaned then, tightening his fingers and spilling one last spit of come down my throat, and I shuddered, hard and aching in my own shorts.

He pushed at my head which meant he was getting sore and I pulled off, grabbing some napkins from the side of the door to wipe off my mouth and my hand.

"God, that was good," he rasped. "How you doin'? You need any, uh--?"

I grunted and turned around straight in the seat so my abs didn't cramp. I was hard and aching, but I was also suddenly aware of our surroundings again. I turned the engine over, concerned when I heard a thump, but the sound quickly resolved itself.  With the engine running, I hit the lights and saw that the road was clear now.

"I'd love some," I told him, "But we're about forty-five minutes from our hotel after we hit the main road, and I'd rather get some then, if that's okay."

Sonny grinned at me, dirty and evil. "You're way more grownup, Ace. I can let you suck me off pretty much anywhere and any time."

I winked at him as I put the SUV into gear. "I'm happy to oblige," I told him, the taste of his come strong like whiskey on my tongue.  He chuckled and pulled his shorts up and did his belt as I pulled forward.

We'd made the turnaround and were heading back on the other side of the road when I saw it. Sonny was playing with the radio, and I didn't say anything, but there it was--the mangled corpse of a snake who'd probably gotten caught up in our engine when I'd turned the key.

I felt a little bad as we made our way through the Georgia night toward a hotel and a shower and God, yes, my share of the blowjobs, cause I was in need. The snake hadn't thought he was doing wrong, just got caught in the wrong place, wrong time, that was all. But then, if he'd gotten up through the ventilation, he woulda been a problem for Sonny and me--might even have bitten one of us, and that would be bad, because I'd kill for Sonny and he didn't function too well without me.

With that thought, I stopped feeling bad. We were like snakes, Sonny and I. We did our own thing and we didn't hurt nobody--unless somebody hurt us. From one snake to another, that copperhead had been lucky. I had my brother's knife on me, and if he'd bitten one of us, his ending wouldn't be nearly so clean as the three pieces I'd seen on the road as we drove away.

As we hauled through the dark night to the safety ahead, I didn't give that snake anymore thought than he probably gave his last meal.

And I had Sonny's sweet mouth and sweet ass in my future, and after that, I had his company as we ate dinner and watched TV. That was my shelter, my low ground and water at night, and I'd kill anyone who tried to get in my way.

* * *
Dex and Kane-- Dex in Blue

"Kane, you psychopath, I love you, I love you so goddamned much, but if you open that door I want a divorce."

"But Dexter! Look at them!" The awe in Kane's voice was unmistakeable. "They're beautiful!"

Dex suppressed a shudder. "Yeah, sure. They're beautiful. But look at their heads!"  He could admit that snakes possessed a certain muscular beauty, and Kane had made him hold Tomas, their garter snake, often enough for Dex to admire the smoothness of his scales, and the miracle of the way he moved.

But that was one non-venomous snake in controlled circumstances.

This was like a cgi nightmare designed to make fun of people who liked snakes.

"Oh yeah."  Kane nodded with authority, assessing the wide, flat head of a snake with venom suppositories behind its teeth . "They're copperheads--totally poisonous. I mean, they're not interested in us, so much, but you're right. We'd need equipment and shit--gloves and those long hooks and some antivenin--but it would totally be worth it, right?"

Kane turned his shining face toward Dex and his heart melted. He patted Kane's shoulder and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and not a green death's head grimace. "Who knows, baby--maybe you finish your degree, you'll find a job that'll let you do just that."

"Yeah." For a moment Kane slumped forward. "But not this spring."  He was in all the classes that had not a damned thing to do with snakes or science this spring.  Dex knew it would happen--sooner or later every college student ended up with that semester that made them wonder if requirements weren't just some sadists way of making young people suffer. Kane had spent a year taking classes, and while his enthusiasm for animals hadn't dimmed one jot, his confidence that he'd be able to pass all his classes was a little low.

"Hey," Dex soothed. "You know, maybe you'll learn something surprising this year. Maybe you'll get to research weird jobs, or the history of zoology or something."

"You think?" Kane straightened hopefully. "Like, snake stories? Think we'd learn any snake stories?"

Dex smiled a little and took his hand, kissing the knuckles tenderly. "Like, one day two goombah's are driving down the road after a Johnnies gig in Atlanta and one of them goes, 'Hey, Dexter, I think we can take a shortcut here?'"

Kane chuckled a little, and rubbed Dex's cheek with his knuckle. "And then they saw all these snakes, and the guy driving who doesn't even like snakes stopped, because even though he doesn't like snakes he's still a good guy and didn't want to hurt things even if they could hurt him."

Aw. That was sweet. Dex would never tell him that he'd stopped out of sheer dumb panic. "Sure.  And then they had to sit and wait for it to get dark so they could turn around and get the hell out of there, and they didn't have anything to do so--"

"They fucked?" Kane said hopefully.

Dex shuddered. "No." Oh God no. Surrounded by snakes? Dex spent half his day on the computer--he'd seen footage of snakes coming through ventilation. And he'd spent a couple of nights with Tomas curled up by his balls. "Not gonna happen."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Kane said sunnily.

Even though Kane had been the one who navigated him into this situation. "Nope."

"So what did they do next?"

Dex let out a long breath. "They tell each other what they're gonna do when one of them gets out of school and the other stops editing porn."

Kane's low, dirty laugh echoed through the car. "But you said we couldn't do that here."

Dex chuckled. "Besides that. Like, what if you could work at the zoo?"

"Yeah... or what if we could manage a reptile store?"

Ooh. "Both of us?"

"Yeah. And when Frances gets older she could work behind the counter and we could all do it together and we could have bunnies and mice in a different room and..."

And together, they spun a tale of far away in the future, when Kane could have animals to his hearts content, and Dex could manage everything in their world to perfection.

And the snakes could migrate majestically on.