Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 92

Cricks and Critters

Recital season is in full swing, and I find that continuing life as I know it, per usual, makes me a horrible person.  On Friday I tried to work out and then go to the full night show, and I was, if I say so, a face-ripping cow by the end of the night. Today, when it became apparent my day was not going as I'd planned, I took a long nap and was a human being. Live and learn.

As for my day--well, Chicken's day was worse.

We have a teeny-tiny house, and when she made it clear she was not moving back in after graduation, her father decided to use her room as a game room, because hey, free space! To that end, in December, we put her bed in the garage and moved in a futon so she would have some place to sleep when she visited. Now, her first apartment was furnished with a bunk bed and a futon--we figured she was young, she was spry, she could deal.

Apparently futons are evil.

This morning she texted us from bed. I don't usually sleep with my phone--it was in the living room on the charger. Her father had his under his pillow, and it didn't even faze him. Big T--THERE was our contact point. He apparently leapt out of bed as though stung and walked the five feet across the hall to see why she was texting him.

She had a crick in her neck and couldn't move.

I got her advil, her father helped her roll over and get up, and we got her some new pillows and made plans. A doctor's appointment? Well, a doctor's appointment would get her an actual appointment for a massage and some PT. How about an appointment for a massage? Done.

So, she got advil, a massage, new pillows and an air mattress (quickly destroyed by the cats because why wouldn't they destroy an air mattress sprung up in their room like a mushroom) and we'll try very hard not to break our Chicken anymore this week.

And figure out an alternative for the next time she's here, because we like her visits and would like her to keep coming back.

So that happened.

Also, I ordered THIS T-shirt from Traxel Tees--all of the proceeds go to the victims fund for Orlando, and the artwork was done by Paul Richmond who has done, among other things, my Candy Man covers.  The sales department chatted to me on FB, and they are a wonderful company, completely local to Paul in Columbus Ohio, and very dedicated to a better world and quality and--as one guy in the company video said, walking out of their door and seeing SOMEBODY on the street with one of their products.  I'm talking them up because they were so nice to ME and because what they're doing with the T-shirt was really wonderful. I would love to walk down the street wearing this shirt and see somebody else wearing it, and know that my weird little corner of the world is yearning for peace just like I am.

So, I've peppered this post with pictures (alliteration, whee!) because now that I'm not rambling and sad, I thought you'd like to see the amazing creatures from the birthday party.

The Goddess really does love her unique and amazing creatures, doesn't she?

May we one day wake to a world in which all humans cherish their unique and amazing brethren as well.

Split Attention

It was the oddest day.

My kids had a birthday party to go to--and a really fun one at that! My friend Berry Jello had a reptile petting zoo come to her son's birthday party, and the kids had SO much fun. So did I for that matter-- the lizards, the bugs, the frogs, the sneks!

I loved them-- petted all of them, even the vinegaroon, which looks like a cross between a scorpion and a giant madagascar cockroach. The presenter was amazing-- every animal she produced, including the myriad stick bugs in all sizes, she introduced with, "Oh my God! This is THE most amazing creature--look at all of the special things about it! Let's celebrate it, let's give it some attention. Let's tell it how beautiful it is and how lucky we are that there are so many fabulous creatures in the world!"

I was down to do just that.

Because the rest of the world...

Goddess. The rest of the world seems determined to squash all of the wonderful diversity of our world flat and dead, and my heart was so broken I was surprised to find it beating.

For those of you who didn't hear about Orlando, well, I have no words.

The preliminary reports were happening on Twitter as I went to bed, and when I woke up... it was so much worse than anybody could imagine.

And my heart constricted with the most awful, familiar fear.

I know this fear. There are mornings when telling Squish to hop out of the car is ridiculously hard. What if there's someone there with a gun? Someone who decides he doesn't like the demographic of her school, as diverse as it is? Someone with a grudge? Someone who just flat out doesn't like children? They're not safe--we've seen it, felt it, heard the echoes gunshots throughout American history, of stupid abominations of metal and machine that rip apart small bodies like tissue paper, and nobody wants to talk about how to get rid of the machines, they just want to pretend that an idiot with a knife could do the same damage as a semi-automatic that can take out a city block.

I live in fear for my children. Going to the theater, walking into a restaurant, sitting in a classroom--over 10,000 people a year are killed by gun violence, and my children are in the crosshairs just like anybody else's.

All children are in the crosshairs.

So when I saw "nightclub in Orlando" I was not automatically thinking, "gay club" in Orlando. I was thinking, "Somebody's children!"

Which they were--they were somebody's children who thought they were safe. They were in a gay night club during Pride Week--a time when the LGBTQ community has made a stand for solidarity and safety in the world by showing that they are not afraid.

These children were gunned down in a place of safety. A place of celebration and joy.

And my fear for my children--all the children, all the Goddess's children-- just twisted like a knife in my belly.

And I have no words.

The girl at the party today, pulling out traditionally frightening creatures-- stick bugs, geckos, monitor lizards--and saying, "Look at this! Look at how beautiful it is! Look at how amazingly it's made! How it's body does exactly what it's supposed to, and how easy it is to admire and love!"

So easy to love a frog or a bearded dragon or a vinegaroon. We protected those creatures, treated them gently--nobody stood up and stomped on them or tore them apart. It was unthinkable.

Why is it so easy to think violence for our children? Our sons and brothers, daughters and sisters? "Look! Here is a child, sitting in a desk! Isn't she clever and industrious and kind? Look! Here is a gay man, dancing in a club! Isn't he brave and beautiful and happy? Look at the woman standing next to him, dancing with her girlfriend? Aren't they amazing?"

Why can't we look at the beautiful humans in our world and think they're supposed to be protected too? Why is it so easy to rip apart their bodies with guns designed to kill hundreds in the span of a single song? Why do we think it's okay to make it so easy? To provide machines to facilitate sickness and hatred and fear? To let our religious and political leaders spit out rhetoric that makes it easy to hate, and to be afraid?

WHY IS THIS OKAY?

I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I just know that it was so surreal, cradling a giant monitor lizard in my arms and thinking that he was delightful and affectionate, and marvelous, and realizing that such hatred exists in the world that couldn't love and accept a human being with even half the love I gave that damned lizard in a sweater.

That had to rip a human apart and destroy it.

I wanted to gather in all the children at the party and protect them. (And I've recently made it very clear I'm not a fan of other people's children.)

I wanted to round up all the guns in the world and do something useful with them. Solar panels? Space ships? Metal sculptures? The possibilities for things that are not guns are endless, while the possibility for things that ARE guns are limited to one brutal conclusion.

Tomorrow, I'll post the pictures from the party. They are charming and the creatures were truly wondrous.

Tonight, I'm too heartsore over the wondrous humans, who should have been protected in their sanctuary, and were murdered instead.

Be safe out there, humans. As the LGBTQ community gathers during Pride, remember that there are allies who are proud of you, and proud FOR you, and who love you, and want you to be well. Remember there are madmen out there, who want exactly the opposite, and keep your beautiful, diverse bodies safe from the madmen, and whole to dance another day.

Scorched Haven: Part 9-- August Starlight

In honor of The Green's Hill Novellas that are being re-released this week, I'm writing some more Scorched Haven, which sort of works as a novella on it's own, doesn't it?

For those of you who are just tuning in for Scorched Haven, you can find the rest of the stories here:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8

And now for Part 9!


*  *  *

"I think the car runs better now," Colton said, sounding surprised.

Zeb nodded, his foot on the accelerator, making sure he went fast enough to keep up with traffic and slow enough not to get noticed. They were still on the back country roads, running a series of frontage lanes and town main streets to crawl east without using the freeway.

"I think the color was more of a surprise than the tune up," Zeb said pragmatically, and Colton laughed. When they'd gotten out of the service station--after eating their weight in frozen burritos and surprisingly tasty hot dogs--the battered brown coupe had been renovated into a dent-less, crisp green mom-and-dad mobile. "Green's people--magic, it trips me out every time."

"You said only those fey can touch the cars?" Colton asked curiously, and  Zeb gave himself a mental smack in the head.

"No--see, if they treat the cars right? The salt and herb wash? Then all the fey can touch them. But the metal workers don't need the salt and herb wash. It helps, but they're good with metal without it."

"So Nibbles..." Colton inquired delicately.

Zeb laughed. "I have no idea. But I liked him."

Nibbles had been the one who had run inside and made them eat more, while, in his words, "Fey-lings, they are experimenting. Not too many chances to help wolves on the lamb." He'd pronounced the B deliberately, laughing at his own pun.

"I did too," Colton said. "He was..."

"Kind," Zeb supplied.  "Green's people are kind. It... takes a lot to get used to."

"Was that why you went there?" Colton asked.

Zeb hated talking about himself, but he sort of felt like he had to. "Yeah. I... I got pretty fucked up, dropped out of school, was blowing guys for my next fix. You know. Junkie. And one night I blew this guy... God. He was so beautiful." Zeb hadn't been Adrian's only lover by a long shot--but Adrian had a way of making every lover feel like the missing piece in his rich life. Zeb would treasure that blow job, Adrian's kindness, everything that came after."He was... a vampire, actually--no, don't laugh!"

Because of course Colton was laughing. Why wouldn't you laugh if you found out about one more impossible thing?

"But he was... special."

"Were you in love with him?" Colton sounded hesitant, like this mattered a great deal.

"No," Zeb replied promptly. "But I loved him. We all loved him. His lovers--like, his dedicated lovers, Green and Cory, who run the hill now--they loved him most of all. They almost died when he died--"

"How'd he--"

"I don't want to talk about that," Zeb said gruffly. "I'm sorry. I just... most of us can't, you understand?"

"Okay."  Colton's voice was gentle. "But if he was a vampire and you're a--"

"Werewolf."  Eventually it would get easier for the boy to say. "The change, it cleans out your blood. so, one minute I was addicted to smack and the next minute I wasn't. It took me a while to change, though. A couple of weeks. I think because my body was so weak. I needed to recover, you know?"

Colton nodded. "I get it."

"Well, you--you were strong and well--"

"Until I got shot!" He was laughing.

Zeb couldn't laugh. "Yeah. Until I got you shot. Anyway-- once your wound had healed, you could change immediately. And once you change--"

"Fuck city?" Colton said hopefully. Next to him, on the driver's island, was a little paper bag filled with lubricant and wet wipes. Zeb approved of the lubricant, but he didn't have the heart to tell Colton that the wet wipes would be unnecessary. Wolves tasted everything, even if humans weren't on board with it.

"Sure," Zeb said.  He looked to his left and realized they were passing a lightly wooded field. It used to be an orchard of some sort--there was even a pull-out and a dilapidated fruit stand. Beyond a couple hundred feet of trees, the land started a gentle slope in the general direction of an old irrigation ditch. It was no longer actively transporting water, but it apparently still carried some runoff, because a few trees before the end of the orchard, grass grew again, thick and tall.

Zeb pulled into the parking lot for the fruit stand and turned to Colton. The sun was about to go down, and besides the fact that they'd need rest, the boy was a probably trying hard not to crawl out of his skin.

"We have a tent," Zeb said brightly. "A couple of sleeping bags--shall we sleep under the stars?"

"Not in the tent," Colton said, swinging out of the car and stretching. The sky over them was a dark, smoky purple, soon to turn deepest black. "The trees are thick enough to hide us from the road, and..." Colton raised his face to the stars. "I'd really like to make love to you out here."

Zeb had to give his heart a fierce "Down, boy!" before he nodded. He didn't want to hurt Colton, injure his probably already confused feelings, but what they had done before wasn't making love. Zeb had actually made love a couple of times in his life. He knew the difference. But he nodded, so he didn't squash the poor guy, and together they got the camping equipment--including a little ice chest with about a pound of cooked hamburger patties and bread to eat them with--and moved forward.

Camp was set up in minimal time, and looking around, Zeb realized that the orchard picked up on the other side of the ditch as well. They really were hidden, especially since they'd laid the sleeping bags--zipped together-- in the center of the tall grasses. Zeb allowed himself to partially turn and sniffed the air. Rabbits, water, old fruit, frogs, grass, car exhaust, but far less than their first stop-- no wolves. A few coyotes, but they wouldn't be excited to meet Zeb and Colton.

This was a good place. This was a place where they could lie, undisturbed, and Zeb could take his time, kiss the boy slowly, show him some of the good stuff.

He had just completed that thought when Colton's warm, shape-shifter body aligned itself along Zeb's back, and Colton moved his hands to Zeb's shoulders. "Nobody can see us," he said, quiet as prey.

"No."

Colton's hand cupped his throat, capturing his pulse and his breath, and Zeb tilted his head back, baring himself in an ultimate expression of trust. "I know you think I'm going to fuck you and chuck you," Colton said, licking his ear. "But you have no idea how much I want you."

 Zeb tilted his head and Colton nibbled on his throat. He tried to open his mouth, to talk again about the lust of the newly turned werewolf, but Colton sank his teeth lightly into the tendon on the side of Zeb's neck. Zeb whined instead.

Colton shifted to the other side, his impudent hands pushing underneath Zeb's T-shirt, exploring Zeb's chest relentlessly. HIs fingers found Zeb's nipples and pinched lightly, and again, and again, and Zeb could barely breathe for the aching erection straining against his shorts.

"And I know you're going to say it's new-werewolf lust," Colton breathed, pulling Zeb's shirt over his head. He'd taken off his own shirt--Zeb knew because his bare chest, with diamond point nipples, was pressed tightly, skin to sweating skin along Zeb's now bare-back.

"It is," Zeb got out in a rush, because oh God, the kid was nibbling at his jaw and shoving his hands below Zeb's belt line, and Zeb could hardly talk, much less give the werewolf-in-training speech.

"You want to think so," Colton whispered. "Would make you feel better, right?  You turn the kid, he fucks you and leaves you, you go back to being nobody important?"

"Works for me," Zeb panted. Colton backed up a bit and yanked at Zeb's shorts. Zeb stepped out of them almost unconsciously, kicking off his shoes at the same time. He was standing, naked under the August sky, staring at the stars while the breeze played over his distended, tingling nipples and his already dripping erection.

And this beautiful, smart, crazy awesome kid seduced Zeb into what should have been no-strings fucking.

Colton's rough hands turned Zeb around and Zeb looked down into his gold-brown eyes. "You want to think so," he whispered, letting his tongue flick out and taste Zeb's pre. He tilted his head back and shuddered. "So good," he whispered hoarsely. "Come tastes better as a werewolf- they should put that in the brochures."

Zeb half laughed, but he'd dropped his hands to tangle in Colton's hair. Colton arched his back, like Zeb meant something to him, and then licked his cock head again. "I know so," he whispered back, trying to think through the piercing shards of desire. "You, wanting me--fluke--"

Colton swallowed his cock to the root, and Zeb clutched at the kid's shoulders as his knees buckled. Colton kept up the pressure while he cupped the back of Zeb's thighs and lowered him to the blanket.
Zeb moaned, arching into his mouth, blind with pleasure, with desire--oh God, he wanted this kid's mouth on him some more. He wanted his gruff possession, his pretty words. Zeb had longed to be someone special for so long--for just this moment, he wanted to believe it was true.

Colton kept sucking and Zeb arched into his mouth, tangling his fingers in that silky hair. Colton positioned himself between Zeb's thighs and Zeb felt the spit Colton let slip through as he laved and sucked and milked Zeb's leaking cock.

It coated his buttocks, his thighs, and when Colton shoved at Zeb's legs until his knees were bent and his thighs spread, wanton and lewd, Zeb knew what was going to come next. Colton gave his cock one last, long, pulling suck, spending some time on his cockhead before he pulled away. Then, as he positioned himself, leaning on his elbows while he spread Zeb's cheeks, he began to talk again.

"I'm going to make you come," he promised. "Again, and again, until you can only say my name."

"Colton..." Zeb begged. Colton's breath dustedZeb's slick, spit-coated pucker, and his whole body was starting to shake.

"And then," Colton swiped his tongue across Zeb's taint, "I'm going to come inside you, hard, until I'm part of you."  He swiped his tongue across Zeb's balls. "And I'm going to do that again, and again, and maybe i'll bend over and let you fuck me, until I'm crying for your cock." He parted Zeb's cheeks wider, and licked his crease, once, twice, tongue falling into ground zero.

"God!" Zeb cried, lost and frightened by the intensity. This should have been over. Colton should have lubed him and fucked him like a virgin sacrifice to an angry god. This careful seduction--this wasn't planned. Zeb was weak against it.

"Not God," Colton said, licking some more. "Colton. I'm going to mate with you, if I have to hide you in a cave and fuck you blind for weeks. You need to remember my name."

"Colton!" Zeb cried as Colton dug in with his tongue. "Colton, please! God, baby, I need to... Need---"

"Me!" Colton pulled Zeb's cock into his mouth and penetrated Zeb's asshole with two fingers, all at once. Zeb gasped, crying out, fists flailing into the blanket below him.

"You!" he echoed harshly, when he swore he was going to say, "To come, I need to come!" But it was out already, and Colton sucked him relentlessly, fucking his ass with his fingers until Zeb howled, an animal in human form, and climaxed fiercely into Colton's mouth. Colton swallowed, repeatedly, then sat up and pulled his fingers out of Zeb's body. Zeb whined, wanting them back, absolutely pliant and at Colton's mercy.

Colton fumbled with the lube for a moment before surging up, placing his cock at Zeb's asshole and pushing determinedly in.

"Yes!" Zeb panted. "Yes, oh God, yes!"

Colton thrust in to the root, and Zeb wondered if he would explode, shatter like stars, join the night he was being fucked into.

"I told you," Colton panted, pulling out. "Colton. Say my name."

"Kid--ah!" Because Colton slammed into him, cock filling Zeb in ways he'd not believed an ordinary body could.

"Colton!" he snarled. "Say it, Zeb. Say my name!"

"Please," Zeb begged, not sure if he was begging for orgasm, or to feel Colton spew come inside him, or if he was begging for amnesty from the torrent of emotions cut loose in his heart.

"Say it!" Colton demanded, fucking him harder, deeper, until Zeb's soul felt split in two.

"Colton!" Zeb half-sobbed. HIs body was on fire, and Colton's intense, golden brown eyes were boring into his soul. "Oh God, please, Colton, come... I need to... you need to... oh please..."

Colton pushed up just far enough to grab Zeb's cock, and Zeb shrieked, almost more wolf than man. Those final, pounding, thrusting moments, locked inside an explosion of emotions and climax and ejaculate, overwhelmed Zeb, destroyed him, until he was not much more than moaning, begging nerve endings, convulsed in one long climax.

And then Colton froze, hips rocketing away as his cockhead got dragged over Zeb's sweet spot over and over and over again.  Zeb howled--full on wolf howl, while still in his man's body, and Colton raised his head and joined him, back bowed with the force of his orgasm.

Everything behind Zeb's eyes zinged like stars.

Colton fell on top of him, body still lodged inside Zeb's, and for a moment they both gulped air like they'd been running for their lives.

"Zeb?" Colton whispered harshly, and he didn't sound lost or needy or any of the other things Zeb had remembered from being a new werewolf driven to fuck.

"What?"

"Say my name."

Zeb closed his eyes, knowing the name was probably etched on the muscle of his heart with a rusty razor. "Colton."

"Look at me."

 Zeb did, raising a hesitant hand to brush tangled hair back from those laser-intense gold-brown eyes. "Looking," he said gruffly.

"Not fucking a tree here," Colton said, not angrily, but as though teaching a particularly recalcitrant child a lesson.

"No."

"Fucking you. Zeb. You're mine."

Zeb closed his eyes, because he knew. Colton might not know, but Zeb knew. This felt like everything to Zeb. It felt like every mark of possession he'd ever dreamed of, right down to the dripping, aching, stretched and full asshole.

But nobody wanted Zeb like that. Not for keeps.

"Look at me!" Colton snapped again.

Zeb had to. Pain or not, this was part of him now. "Looking," he repeated, wrecked, broken, at this kid's mercy.

"You will know you're mine," Colton promised, bringing his mouth down in a crushing kiss.

Zeb responded because he had no choice.

And because he wanted it to be true.

Mom...

I forget how much mom-ming I do in the summer.

Today-- thought I had all the time in the world when I woke up. Just a couple of errands in the morning, followed by a walk, then, maybe some laundry, and possibly some grocery shopping and...

And talking to my kids.

All four of them.

The little kids about their day.

The big kids about their lives.

The grocery shopping turned into an excursion to the craft store because summer is here and everyone gets bored. (Chicken made us bottle cap charms-- they're adorable and clever. I'm keeping mine forever.)

Then the actual grocery shopping grew huge as I anticipated ways to not have to live and eat at McDonalds for the next five days.

There was hair to brush and hugs to give and pets to laugh at and dinner to make.

And then, when I thought I'd done it all, Big T got home, and there was conversation, one last one, for forty-five minutes because Big T needs mom too.

It's funny-- I'm relearning my kids all over again. Chicken as an adult is much more intense and private than she was as an adolescent. (One of the reasons I don't talk as much about her is this privacy--I am reluctant to trespass on her personality for my own social media.) Big T's self-knowledge of his limitations and abilities increases daily. Zoomboy is such a proud little nerd--and Squish?

She's my gentle baby. It's hard to remember that sometimes in the middle of all these other children with sharp edges and corners, but Squish needs abundance and joy or she gets hurt.

So I woke up today thinking I was going to be able to get lots of writing done, and in truth I got a little.  But I got a lot of mom-ming done, and tomorrow there's going to be more. I'm starting to remember why summer has been such a worry and a joy for the past six years. I love my jobs--mom-ming and writing.

It's just hard to do them both at the same time.

MM Memorial Day Scavenger Hunt

Welcome to the
2nd MM Memorial Day Scavenger Hunt!

10 Days, 31 Stops, and loads of prizes! The rules are simple: At each stop on the tour you’ll find a military themed picture with a word or words. Collect the words and figure out the secret phrase (HINT: It’s lyrics to a song). Once you think you have the correct phrase, enter it into the Rafflecopter at any of the stops.
Three winners will be selected from all the correct phrases for the three prize packs.
Good Luck and Happy Hunting!
Our stop’s word is:   CAN'T
























Prize Lists: 1st Place Prize                  
$25 Amazon GC from Sassy Girl Books                 
$10 Amazon GC from Aria Grace                 
$10 Amazon GC from Two Chicks Obsessed                 
$5 Amazon GC from Jessie G                 
$5 ARe GC from Kai Tyler                 
Winners Choice of 2 Audio Books from Amy Lane                 
Winners Choice of 2 eBooks Susan MacNicol's backlist                 
Winners Choice of 3 ebooks from The Rock Gods Series from Ann Lister                 
eBook of Trouble Comes in Threes by Decadent Delights                 
Winners choice of any eBook on JR Gray's backlist
2nd Place Prize                  
$10 USD Amazon GC from NR Walker                 
$10 ARe GC from MM Book Escape                 
$10 Amazon or ARe GC from Chris McHart                 
$5 Amazon GC from Andrew Jericho                 
Winners Choice of any ebook on Jessie G's backlist                 
Winner's choice of eBook from Jaime Reese's backlist title (ebook gifted via Amazon)                 
eBook from Brita Addams                 
eBook of The Shape of Honey from Ki Brightly                 
eBook of My Zombie Boyfriend by T. Strange
3rd Place Prize (US Only)                  
$10 USD Amazon GC from BFD Book Blog                 
$10 USD Amazon GC from Joyfully Reviewed                 
$10 ARe GC from Prism Book Alliance                 
$5 Amazon CG from Carly's Book Reviews                 
Signed copies of all three published Kethric Wilcox books                 
ebook Hitting Black Ice by Heloise West                 
Set of Mile High Romance eEooks from Aria Grace                 
eBook of Fire and Rain by Andrew Grey                 
eBoook of Unexpectedly Lucky from Carly Rose




a Rafflecopter giveaway
***Note: all graphics are stock photos purchased from Adobe.

How much I love kids...

Okay--so Chicken arrived yesterday morning, and to celebrate, we went to Target! (Yay?) Anyway, we were buying stuff for backstage mom-dom and recital rehearsal.

OI.

The first night is HALF the recital-- so, things are amazingly rushed. I was in charge of ten little girls, all of whom needed shoes tied, and who, during dress and actual recital, will need their costumes on.  The pace was pretty damned hectic-- sit down, change shoes get in line, go dance, get back, change shoes, get in line, WAAAAAAAIIIITTTTT, dance, get back, change shoes, go to the bathroom, get back and then line up to go.

Chicken's duty has been--and this is going on six years now that she's done this-- to line the kids up and shoo them off stage when it's time to go. She's good at it-- it's her spec-i-al-ity.  This year, she has asked for ZoomBoy's help to occupy the little darlings, because he's good at it, so as long as he's all dressed, he has a thing he can do, and I am proud.

But I have to say, one of the most rewarding moments came when she mentioned--of all the kids backstage--one of my little darlings.

"Oh Lord, there's this little girl named Josy, and--"

"OH MY GOD!" We both said at the same time.

See, Josy is that kid. You know, that kid. The kid who, when you put her in line with her back against the brick wall, can, in the space of ten minutes, find a bug, untie her shoes, untie other people's shoes, find gum, get in the way of the people walking back and forth and disappear around the corner twice. When Chicken was shooing kids off stage, Josy was the kid who went exactly the opposite way every damned time.

Josy is one of MY kids.

Can I just say how rewarding it was to know that, yes, my daughter was awesome, and yes, she's great with kids and yes... it wasn't just me, this little blue-eyed, pom-pom-haired angel was making us both insane.

I also had one of those moments--and I had one of these as a teacher, too--where I felt like crap because I kept confusing these two little girls. In this case, they were blonde, with hair cut exactly the same, and blue eyes, and I couldn't figure out which one was Brooke and which one was Kimber. Then as they were walking back to their parents I saw they both had identical sweaters to put on.

Because they were identical twins.

It's like you need a warning label for that, because I'm saying.

Anyway--recital time. Ugh.  I know I"ll be attached to these kids at the end of two weeks, but in the meantime? As I said on Twitter, I DO love children. Mostly, my own.

Kermit Flail--Summer Flailin', JUNE!

ZOMG--YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay-- we have a KICK ASS Kermit Flail today. I can't even BEGIN to tell you how excited I am to host some of the folks we have here.  It's like... like YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!
First of all, we have LaQuette, whom I featured with the Backlist Badumpbump.  I had a chance to talk to LaQuette this last month and she was the definition of lovely--and I've read the excerpt for Love's Changes and omg--OUCHIE OUCHIE OUCHIE! This one looks GUT RIPPING and HOT and AWESOME and *hands to heart* *swoonz* So, you know, right up our alley, right? And LaQuette introduced me to Shyla Colt, who sent me the info for Broken but Breathing and... *sniffle* You need to read the blurb. You just do. You NEED TO READ THE BLURB. *fans eyes*
So, I thought I was just styling for this month's Kermit Flail, and then I got an e-mail from Jake Wells. Now Jake Wells is one of those people who's real life is just... beYOND exciting, and then he writes books too? He sent me pictures of his trip from Africa, featuring him and Jane Goodall and I showed those to my son and WOOT! Instant hero!  He's a local boy, grew up in my neck of the woods (and can testify how weirdly bland this place is) and now lives in Southern California and works as a pediatrician. He's wonderful, kind, and way too cool to hang out with me, and yet like LaQuette and Shyla, here is where he wanted to be with his new release. And again, for those of us who love a little book with their angst, look no further.
So, an embarrassment of riches, right? And then Ki, Brina, Deja and Joe all gave me a wave and said, "Oh, Amy..." and I was TOTALLY DELIGHTED. Because the more the merrier, right? So BOOM! My normally humble little flail is big and classy now, and I am thrilled!
Add to that, Dan Skinner (the awesome photographer of some of my favorite covers) has a free short story on his blog--it's down toward the bottom, and I've read it and it's lovely. You guys--don't let this one go.
Oh! And at the bottom? I've got a re-release-- The Green's Hill Novellas is a collection of three previously released works that fit into the Little Goddess World, and although we don't have the buy links yet, we have the cover and blurb for my July release. It's action suspense and... well, sort of a departure from my usual and I sort of love it. I hope you do too.
So guys, get ready for your summer reading list because Kermit Flail is here! Enjoy! It's gonna be awesome!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!





Love's Changes: A Losing My Way Novella

by  LaQuette
A near-fatal shot through his chest teaches Lieutenant Bryan Smyth of the NYPD two things: He wants to live to see more days and he wants to spend them with his estranged husband, Justice.

Poor decisions made under the strain of grief split the seams of their marriage. Now it's up to Bryan to show Justice there's still enough of their love left to salvage from the ruins, still something worth the battle ahead.

Bryan's shooting has opened Justice's eyes to new lessons too. The first, tomorrow isn't promised, the second, life's too short to live in misery. Justice has watched Bryan shuffle back and forth attempting to balance the man he is at home and the man he has to be at the precinct for too long. Now, he's done.

The only problem is Justice's heart is having a hard time adhering to the exit strategy in his head.

Desperate to repair their bond, Bryan does the only thing he can to keep his marriage intact, he calls his crazy sister-in-law, True to stir up some organized chaos. She's a wildcard, yes. As unstable and deadly as nitroglycerin, but she gets the one thing Bryan needs more than anything, results.
The only question left: Is family and fidelity enough to get them through love's changes, or is this really the end?

Amazon | B&N | Kobo




Broken but Breathing
by Shyla Colt
It’s time to move on.
You’ve grieved enough.
I’m worried about you.

Estelle Noll has heard the same things repeatedly for the past two years. How can one put a timeline on recovery from total devastation? She lost the love of her life, child, and home in one day. Broken, depressed, and lost, she battles her way from the darkness and begins to piece together a new life. Xavier “Snake” Kolton is everything her husband wasn’t—tattooed, bold, dirty talking, and free-spirited. He makes her feel alive for the first time since the tragedy. Can the M.C. Vice President ever be more than a passing phase?

Xavier “Snake” Kolton knows what it feels like to lose. The Vice President of the Wild Ones MC has spent years dedicated to nothing but his brothers and their commitment to bettering the community. When the fragile, curly-haired blonde woman comes into his life, feelings long dormant to him awaken. Can this woman who’s lost more than anyone ever should handle his lifestyle. Should he even ask her to?

Buy At Amazon  




Sometimes Love Lasts
by Jake Wells
For Rone Forrester, life as a high school student is a roller coaster ride. Though he’s intelligent, good-looking, and athletic, true happiness eludes him. He’s lost his mother to cancer, his hypercritical father is a tyrant, and he spends most of his free time taking care of his little brother, Eli. And to make matters worse, Rone begins to have romantic feelings for his best friend, Carson Harrington.

When Rone is inadvertently outed, his life swirls into turmoil. His father’s homophobia and Rone’s embarrassment at the thought of facing Carson force him to flee to Los Angeles, where he hopes to find a safe haven. Instead, he quickly learns that every moment is dangerous for a homeless teenager. As time passes, Rone navigates through multiple challenges, makes friends who love him for who he is, works hard to achieve his goal of becoming a pediatric surgeon—with all its inherent triumphs and tragedies—and overcomes a failed relationship. Ultimately, his journey teaches him that in order to fulfill his dreams, he has to come to terms with his past.

Buy at Amazon




The Paranaturalist 
by Ki Brightly


As a kid, Joseph Appleyard saw things hidden from others. Now he is The Paranaturalist, an investigator and cohost of a television show that seeks to prove the existence of the paranormal. Some think Joe is crazy, but they don’t realize he knows firsthand there’s more to the world than what most perceive. The trouble is, somewhere along the way, Joe lost his vision and it left his world flat and dull. One night an investigation goes horribly wrong, and a powerful ghostly manifestation sends Joe tumbling into a river. Spirit worker Owen Watson saves Joe’s life, and once they are back on dry land, whatever has been blocking Joe’s vision has been washed away.


When a haunting goes from annoying to dangerous, people turn to Owen Watson. He hates those infuriating hacks from TV, but when he pulls Joe from the river, his mind begins to change. Joe is scared and confused, and Owen realizes he might just be the real thing. Together, they work to understand the part of Joe that has been shut away for so long. But just as Joe is reacclimating to his abilities, his career as a paranormal investigator is in danger of being ripped away. Owen would gladly battle a bloodthirsty spirit for Joe, but he’s out of his element in the world of reality television.


Buy at DSP




They Called Him Nightmare
by Deja Black
Growing up, Kai Bennu was taunted for skin dark as midnight and his otherworldly appearance. They called him Nightmare, but Alec Vasilios, a wealthy and powerful businessman, wants to call Kai his own. Kai’s past has left him with little trust in others and even more reluctance to surrender himself to Alec’s power. With both men harboring supernatural secrets, finding common ground won’t come without sacrifice.

Buy at Amazon 







The Runaway Gypsy Boy (Irish Runaway series #1) 
by Brina Brady


Twenty-year-old Daniel Serban loses his dancing job and threats of being outed to his family force him to flee Limerick, Ireland. Daniel fears his father and the other gypsy men will force him to marry his betrothed, or bring bodily harm to him for being gay.

As chance would have it, he ends up in Cleary’s Pub, a gay leather bar in Galway where he meets the grouchy, ginger-bear Ronan O’Riley. Daniel had no idea how much meeting the Dom would transform his life.

Ronan O’Riley has been unable to move on since the death of his sub a year ago, that is until a troubled gypsy boy steps into Cleary’s. Ronan’s lonely existence is about to change.

Can Ronan convince Daniel to trust him or will Daniel’s fears of his past ruin any chance of a relationship? Unexpected heated attraction in the barn ignites their relationship to move forward. Though the two men have many of the same dreams, Daniel’s secrets and Ronan’s need to gain Daniel’s trust are just a few of the many challenges they must overcome if they are to be together.

Buy at Amazon



Cozzi Cove: Bouncing Back, book 1

by Joe Cosentino 
On Cozzi Cove at the New Jersey shore, handsome Cal Cozzi’s seven bungalows are open for summer and love. Mario and Harold are brothers and college students who happen to look alike, but couldn’t be more different: Mario is searching for love, and Harold is searching for lust. Josh and Greg, a wealthy older couple, are matchmakers for their son, Christopher. When it comes to Connor, the maid, packed with muscles and a roving sponge, anything can happen. Opposites attract as wild Tim with the secret past meets shy Mark, and porn star Chuck Caliber connects with Sean, a virgin romance novelist. And what will happen when computer-game designer Arthur has a midnight sea rendezvous with a merman? Even married Cal faces an emotional upheaval when a gay bashing turns into something quite unexpected. What secrets and passions lie in magical Cozzi Cove?

Buy at ARe



Cozzi Cove: Moving Forward, book 1 
by Joe Cosentino
On Cozzi Cove at the New Jersey Shore, handsome Cal Cozzi’s seven bungalows are once again open for summer and love. The vacationers include Rodney Maxwell and Dennis O’Halloran, a Tony Award winning actor and his estranged producer/husband with their two hired studs, Jarek and Zeus. Computer analyst Sam enlists his best friend Chase in a scheme to attract hunky Raul. Middle aged Gil Van Truren wants to end it all—until he sees a vision of his first love. Cal also has his hands full with college student Michael—his new young lover—Michael’s study buddy Carlo, man of mystery George Valis, and Connor, the houseboy packed with muscles and a wondering sponge. All the while Hunter, a female gay romance novel enthusiast, experiences gay life off the page. What secrets, humor, tragedy, mysteries, and passions lie in the magical place called Cozzi Cove?

Buy at ARe

GUYS-- DON'T FORGET THIS LINK--it's the
Free Story from Dan Skinner




The Green's Hill Anthology
by Amy Lane
Welcome to Green’s Hill, a small, secret collective of the fey, furry, and undead, existing unnoticed in the California foothills for over a hundred and fifty years. Whether your passion is exotic were-animals, angels, elves, or vampires, you can find them here—although things are changing on the hill.

Bound by love and honor, Cory, Green, and Adrian work to give their followers a home—but they have no idea that the effects of their true love will spread like ripples in a pond.

Be prepared for the unexpected, and ready for enchantment—you never know who will be awakened to the romantic possibilities of a vampire, a sorceress, or a pansexual elf who finds power in the force of love.

This anthology includes:

Litha's Constant Whim

It is on Litha that Whim meets Charlie, and their vows to return next Litha and finish what they started launch a thirteen-year tradition of celebration.

1st Edition published by Dreamspinner Press, June 2010.

I Love You Asshole!

It's a good thing vampires live forever, because it might take Marcus that long to convince Phillip that gender lines are for the living.

1st Edition published by Dreamspinner Press, May 2011.

Guarding the Vampire's Ghost

An accident of divine politics has put Adrian, a twice-dead vampire, in heaven and under the care of angels Shepherd and Jefischa.
1st Edition published by Dreamspinner Press, October 2010.
Buy at DSPP
(For a full breakdown of the Green's Hill stories and the order in which they originally appeared, please check out THIS POST HERE.  For a LOOSE calendar of the order of books being re-released along with the release of Quickening, the new book in the series, check out THIS POST HERE.)


And sorry-- no buy links as of yet, but this is due out in the early days of July. I'll have buy links up on social media as soon as I have them, but in the meantime, enjoy Reese Dante's AWESOME cover, and the hopefully kickass blurb!


Fish Out of Water
by Amy Lane

PI Jackson Rivers grew up on the mean streets of Del Paso Heights—and he doesn’t trust cops, even though he was one. When the man he thinks of as his brother is accused of killing a police officer in an obviously doctored crime, Jackson will move heaven and earth to keep Kaden and his family safe.

Defense attorney Ellery Cramer grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, but that hasn’t stopped him from crushing on street-smart, swaggering Jackson Rivers for the past six years. But when Jackson asks for his help defending Kaden Cameron, Ellery is out of his depth—and not just with guarded, prickly Jackson. Kaden wasn’t just framed, he was framed by crooked cops, and the conspiracy goes higher than Ellery dares reach—and deep into Jackson’s troubled past.

Both men are soon enmeshed in the mystery of who killed the cop in the minimart and engaged in a race against time to clear Kaden’s name. But when the mystery is solved and the bullets stop flying, they’ll have to deal with their personal complications… and an attraction that’s spiraled out of control.

Short Sunday

There shall be some Scorched Haven sometime this next week--sorry about the skipped weekend, though, it's been a little busy.

For those of you who have been here through the long haul, it's recital season, and once again, Chicken, Mate, and I have volunteered to help. Tomorrow Chicken is arriving and she's staying the two weeks for the recital, and that's exciting because, you know, Chicken coming back to roost. But yesterday was meetings and getting dance shoes, and yikes, there goes the day, and today? Well, Big T is graduating from Junior College with an AA in theater, and THAT deserved at least a family dinner at Island Burger.

By the way? I know I don't talk much about the older kids in recent years, because they have their own lives and their own social media, but I need to take a moment here and talk about how proud I am of my son.

The waitress at Island Burger asked if we were celebrating something, and we told her about the AA, and she was like, "Oh wow. I have another two years to go. That's special!"

And T? Well, he was embarrassed, but he also lit up. A pretty girl just told him he had done something impressive, and I think it hit him. He had, and it wasn't easy. I don't know many kids who would listen to the audiobook, read the regular book and check out two kinds of notes in order to get his reading material for school, but that's what it took sometimes, and T was happy to do it. Every interaction with a teacher, every interaction with a fellow student, every paper he wrote, had to be rehearsed and researched and thought about intensely. That wall in his head, the one that has defined his processing disorder--that has never gone away. He has had to scale the wall, run around the wall, drill holes in the wall, and hold a stethoscope to the wall to figure out what the rest of the world was trying to tell him. The wall will never crumbled--ever. And it hasn't always been easy. So when we tell him we're proud of him? When we make plans to buy him a bicycle and he makes plans to spend 2 hours a day on a bus to get to school?

We're proud of him. There are just no words for how awesome my son is, and what a good and brave heart he has.

So anyway-- that deserved a little bit of verbiage.  Big T is moving on to Sac State. Goddess bless him, that kid is going to forge a destiny for himself, and my heart could burst.

Oh--and so did the following moments, both of which are already on FB, but need to be made permanent on the blog:

*  Mate's aunt sent us a picture taken back in the winter of 01/02.  I said, "Oh! Hey! Was I younger and skinnier?"

"No," he said. "You're not in the picture, but here's Big T and Chicken, look how young they are!"

"I am too in that picture!" I protested. "I'm holding hands with your grandmother."

"That's not you. You don't wear vests."

"That is to me. I'm wearing a scarf."

"No it's not-- it's my Aunt Marge!"

"Yes it is--look at my glasses!"

"Oh my God."

"At least we know I'm hotter now, right?"

"Well, you're not my Aunt Marge!"

I most certainly am not.

*  And I shit you not, this next one actually happened.

I took a nap for an hour before we got ready for dinner.  I woke up, got ready, got in the car, and boom. It hit me.

"ZoomBoy?" I said, uncertain. "Did you feed me a mint Oreo while I was sleeping?"

"Yes," he said.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it was the last one in the box, and it would be rude to eat it without asking. I was being polite."

"Uh, thank you!"

Of course by this time, the whole family was dying of laughter, and now I'm almost afraid. How many cookies CAN mom be fed while she's asleep? Too many, I am absolutely sure.

An Amy Fable

A Fable Aesop Didn’t Write


Does everybody remember Aesop?
He worked for a king who liked to behead people at the drop of a hat, as an advisor. So, worst job ever. And sometimes, in order to give advice, he would tell a story—a fable—and if the king liked the advice, the king would take it. If he didn’t like the advice, he would be entertained, and Aesop would get to live and breathe.
Now, I’m sure somewhere out there is a clickbait site that tells me that Aesop was running the country or the king wasn’t that bad or that this whole sitch is apocryphal—but the first person who runs out and gets me the “true, unadulterated dirt on Aesop” is going to be missing the point in a big way.
I’m about to tell a fable.
So, listen my children, to the story of the weed.
There was once a kingdom very vain about its own state. The spires were the purest gold, the flags the most fiery orange, the marble of the castle a sumptuous red, the flowers of the most outrageous hues of red, yellow, green, blue, and violet, the lawns of the deepest green, and so on.
Even the rainbows were sparklier.
It was a thing there.
This thing extended to the great pathway leading to the gateway across the moat. It was alabaster white, ebony black, and earth brown—every stone cut lovingly from the quarries that surrounded the castle, every one laid just so, so tightly not even the tiniest bit of earth or seedling could get through.
It was a marvel, really.
Everyone noticed it.
How pure and perfect and lovely this pathway to the rainbow castle was.
The groundskeepers were very vain.
And one day, one of them noticed a weed.
Oh my gods! An unsightly weed, pushing up at the corners of the multi-faceted stones. How could it! Their beautiful pathway! Their beautiful castle!
The groundskeeper plucked gamely at the weed, but the roots of the weed were far older than the stones above it. This weed had been around, in one way, shape or form, for many, many years. It predated the groundskeeper, predated the castle, predated the kingdom.
And it survived this petty plucking.
The next day, the groundskeeper saw the weed—again, and pulled—again.
And the next.
On the third day, the groundskeeper came prepared. With a crowbar and a spade, he unearthed the surrounding paving stones and dug. Finally, finally, he had a big pile of dirt, and what he thought was the tiniest hair or the tiniest root of the most pernicious weed.
He replaced the dirt, replaced the stones and swept the walkway, convinced that, although the walkway was a little dustier, and a few cracks had appeared on the fringe of the paving stones, his job was done.
The next day, he walked by the spot with a penetrating eye, and was glad. Until he got about five paces beyond, where he saw the weed had sprouted up elsewhere, while he was preoccupied the day before.
He plucked.
He unearthed.
He dug.
And the weed continued to spread.
He went to an apothecary and said, “I need poison.”
The apothecary had seen this before with a rather desperate young man and woman from opposing houses and said, “Fuck to the no. This story doesn’t end well.”
“But… but this weed! It is driving me insane!”
“My son! You cannot eradicate this weed from the globe. You can pluck it when you see it. There are places where this weed has grown. People have sought to understand it, have trained it, have blended it with more pleasant, healthy plants. There are places where this weed has changed, has become something rich and culturally important, and now harms no one. It serves as a warning there, to respect diversity in all things, to allow the ways of the gods to work slowly, to use kindness and not violence when changing the shape of our world. If we go to drastic lengths to destroy what offends us, we risk spreading its spores on the wind—as you have already done! And what will grow in our fits of temper and fear will not at all be a thing to our liking.”
And then the groundskeeper—who was a very proud man by all accounts—fell into a weeping fit, about how the weed was ruining his life and how it had abused him as a child and how amid the laughter of his peers all he saw was the evil face of this most pernicious weed.
The apothecary gave up—good men do, sometimes, when overwhelmed with someone who seems genuinely distraught.
He produced the poison and a spritzer marked with a skull and crossbones, and advised the man to wear gloves. Then he packed up and moved to another kingdom, because he’d seen this show before and he didn’t like the finale.
The groundskeeper went to work. He obliterated the weed. All traces of the weed. Anything that looked like the weed.
“But,” said a small child, “that’s not the weed!”
“I don’t care,” the man said shortly. “It’s growing where the weed might grow, and it needs to be killed.” 
“But,” said the small child again, “that weed is growing under a rose bush, and you’ll harm the pretty roses.”
“It’s worth it to kill the roses, as long as the weed does not grow!”
“But,” wept the child, “my kitty is dying, because the poison is seeping into the ground and poisoning the mice!”
“Move your kitty elsewhere,” snapped the groundskeeper. “And get out of the way, I’m setting the poison on fire so that the kingdom might be purged for once and for all!”
The child ran away, frightened, and his fathers, who had loved the kingdom so very much, scooped the boy up into their arms and ran far, far from the kingdom, as did any wise fathers and mothers who feared the people who valued purging a weed over the health of the kingdom.
And the groundskeeper set the poison on fire, stood on top of a castle rampart, and watched the kingdom burn.
The flames died down, and the remaining townspeople looked about, heartbroken. The ground was poisoned—no plants grew. The paving stones were blackened and covered with toxic residue, as were the walls surrounding the castle, and the castle itself.
The gold was covered in smoke, the orange burnt and tattered, and all of the grounds were a toxic, putrid black, where no flowers—particularly roses—would ever grow again.
The kingdom fell apart. The king begged asylum from another kingdom far away, where his child married their child and they could begin again. The townspeople all moved to some place they could farm or weave or soldier in peace, without the risk of unholy vanity depriving them of life, livelihood and beauty all in one gasp.
The groundskeeper sank to the blackened earth and cackled, secure in his life’s mission, to eradicate the…
Oh, hello. What was that? That green thing, pushing up, through the blackened earth, through the cracked paving stones, cracking the castle walls?
It was bigger, each root as big as a stool, each stem as big as a house, and the color was now the same slimy crusty greenish black of the toxic residue that coated the kingdom. It grew like wildfire, obliterating the foundations of the once cheerful kingdom, seizing the groundskeeper in its unfurling coils and ripping him in two.
His blood scattered in a fine mist, cleansing the poison from the walls and the earth. His bones ground into a fine powder, settling into the earth to feed the thing that grew there.
The one thing that grew there.
The thing strong enough to survive plucking and digging and poison, because it fed on all of those things, and on hatred too. The thing that no amount of reviling could make disappear, but would have, possibly, learned a better way if only given some patience and a dram of love.
That is the way of weeds.
So there you go. 
Amy, Aesop, whatever. I have either written entertainment or I have written something important—very often even I am not sure. But if you do find something important here, remember to treat it gently. You may pluck it—that is your prerogative—but be easy on the hate and the judgment.

They feed the most dangerous of weeds.

A Dancing Asshole King

Big T came up to me as I was writing today--so I wasn't in the best "real time" frame of mind.

"Mom, what was that song you sang to me and Chicken when we were little?"

"Which one? Was it this one?"



"No, not that one."

"Was it this one?"



"No, it was the other one. 'Dancing King'?"

Me, thinking: 

I start humming.

Big T says, "No, no, it's this..."  And he starts humming.

His humming sounds NOTHING like Dancing Queen.

But it does sound a little like 'Simple Gifts'.

And I have a lightbulb. "Was it THIS?"



"Yeah! Except, I kept singing about assholes to that same tune. Sorry-- I didn't mean to blaspheme your song or anything."

I'm a little stunned. "Uh, no. No--that's okay. It's fine. Your version didn't sound like my version anyway."

But inside, I have to remind myself that this was the song Aunt Lindy sang to Talker when he was losing his shit in the hospital.  And then, whenever I think of the word "asshole", all I'll hear is this:



You know, I love music. I just never really thought about where it could take me.