Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 99

*Kermit Flail* March (And Friday!)

So, some rather hoarse apologies from my couch.

I've reached the nearly healthy but exhausted stage of the game here, and I figured I'd post Kermit Flail so the happy folks publishing this month can get to celebrating, and I can maybe get to my regularly scheduled life-- cause I'm saying, Ick. Airborne. I need to remember it for RT, because I do NOT want to do this again this year.

Anyway-- enough of that.

First off on Kermit Flail isn't a book, it's a blogging opportunity from Nicole Dennis, and she wants you to celebrate her birthday! Take a look at the link and give her a buzz, okay? Cause she's kitten-sweet awesome!

http://nicoledennisauthor.blogspot.com/2016/02/help-celebrate-my-40th-birthday.html

Excellent! This is an excellent way to begin our flailing!

And next we have books-- lots and lots of books, wonderful books!  
Followed by some info on the Flail and the Backlist Ba-Dump-Bump from yours truly, as well as an interview with the scrumptious Ms. Iris Glass :-)
So hang in there-- writers have been laboring hard for you all-- enjoy! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!



For Never and Always
By Ana Phoenix





Seth finds himself alone at an abandoned train station, with no idea what happened, or how he got there. He boards a train, only to discover it’s a special express transporting the recently deceased to their final destination. The conductor tells him he’s having a near-death experience. Seth wonders if it has something to do with his violent boyfriend, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is getting the hell off the train before he actually dies. But when he spots his best friend and secret crush among the traveling dead, the urge to leave fades...

Buy At Amazon



Rise of the Alpha Squirrel: Book Two of the Nutty Romancesby Kate Lowell



Nathan's met Vince's family, but Vince hasn't met Nathan's, and Nathan would like to keep it that way. Holy smoked almonds, what else do you do when you know how completely nuts your relatives are?

Why, you ease your man into it, by introducing him to normal shifters. Assuming you can find any.

But with a gossipy werehummingbird spreading the news, and a pair of young red pandas wreaking havoc with their fainting goat friends, Nathan’s about ready to climb into a pine cone and pull it in after him.

Then the local playboy weremoose hears about Vince, and Nathan has to find his inner alpha or the consequences will be worse than moldy hazelnuts.


Buy At Amazon




Sleight of Heart by Aisling Mancy 




Lord Taliesin Solitaire was born albino, cursed mute by the fey, and betrayed by a vampire lover. For two hundred years the vampire mage has vowed never to love again and has only used sex as a means to a meal. Until a palm-reading gypsy finds himself in peril and Taliesin can’t resist rescuing the beautiful young man.



Pesha is the eldest but smallest son of King Vaida Sinclair, the oppressive ruler of the Kåle RomaniCompania. Deemed impure by his father, Pesha is shunned and mistreated by his band and four half-brothers, and one brother in particular wants him dead. His pale, silent savior gives him safety, security and a love he never could have imagined. As Pesha falls in love with his handsome white knight, his half-brother does the unthinkable.



Can Taliesin rescue Pesha from the cruel clutches of his half-brother a second time?
Buy At Publisher


Comfort Zone
by Alexa Milne



What would make you reach outside your comfort zone?

Aron Roberts helped his previous love discover a new one, so now he’s on his own, living only for his work and the times he manages to escape into the sky. He meets Joe Welsh again—a man he met at the roadside a year ago, a man who became an out-of-reach figure in his fantasies. Aron discovers Joe’s life has undergone major changes since their last meeting. The spark of attraction ignites into flames only to be put out by uncomfortable truths.
Can Aron overcome his fears and step out of his comfort zone to find love? Can Joe help Aron to deal with his past and trust him enough to allow Aron into his life?
With the help of family and friends, and a very determined one-year-old girl, Aron and Joe have a journey to make and obstacles to overcome, if they are ever going to get their happy ever after.

Publisher's Note: This book is linked to Sporting Chance but can be read as a standalone novel.


Buy At Amazon 



Six Days to Get Lucky

by L.E. Franks 



Mixologist Nick Valentine never thought love was in the cards, but after a scorching Valentine’s Day kiss from bouncer Davis “FatBoy” Newman, he’s beginning to think it’s possible. After four weeks of dry spell, Nick’s losing patience—it’s time FatBoy stop acting the gentleman and just throw him over the bar or Nick may just change his mind.

All FatBoy wants is a shot at winning Nick’s heart. As long as meddling bosses, an Irish hurling team and a bar riot don’t ruin his chances forever, he might just get lucky and take the man of his dreams, home.

Buy at Amazon






Oh yeah! And don't forget the FREE short out from me this month, Phonebook. Now, it's $.99 from amazon.com if you like to get your books there, but remember-- no one's twisting your arm to pay the ninety-nine pennies. Hopefully, this story is a little bit like adverbs--very tasty and absolutely free. And if you enjoy it--especially the ABSOLUTELY FREE quality to it that you can get from DSP and ARe, remember that the first in the series-- Shirt-- will be out in May.
Also...


I JUST found out that The Deep of the Sound has been nominated for an award at The Romance Review. If you enjoyed this book, by all means visit THIS LINK and nominate it.  It needs fifty nominations to move on to the next round, so, uh, you know. Nominate away!



I also had the great distinction of being interviewed by Ms. Iris Glass this last month ;-) You can find the interview right here:




Please ignore the singing-- I beg of you.  We'll just say it never happened, okay?
*whew*  
And ALSO...
About Kermit Flail!-- just a reminder that I accept submissions in the last week of the month, AND that I would prefer the cover attachment, blurb, and buy link to be all IN THE BODY of the e-mail. Please, folks, the fewer things I have to open on my computer, the happier moo I am.
And ALSO--
Don't forget the backlist Ba-Dump-Bump.  This is a one-two person event only, and Alexa Milne said it generated a LOT of interest in the book we presented here last month.  What I want from you is (in the body of the e-mail!) the cover .jpg, buy link, blurb, AND a discussion + youtube videos or buy links (but NOT PICTURES because odds are, I don't have permission to reprint them here) of what inspired you to write the book, or interesting backstory, or, really, something people may not know about the book itself. This works best if you have a backlist of over ten books--this is a place to bring people's attention to a book that maybe isn't so prominent now but that you feel was important.  I'll be posting the Ba-Dump-Bump on the fifteenth, so I'll be taking submissions until the 14th.  If I get so many I have to turn you away, I'll put you on notice for next month, kay?
Anyway-- *whew*  There we go. LOTS in the Flail tonight-- thanks everybody for being so patient and waiting for me to post it.  I'm going to go sleep off the last of my cold now, because ugh, I don't want it to visit again.

Big N, Little Y, Big F--ing Q...

Okay-- tomorrow, I swear.

I will do Kermit Flail tomorrow. I'm getting close to better--fever's down a little, and I actually managed to run an errand and cook dinner without completely disintegrating. I needed a nap, but I didn't disintegrate.

So, for today's blog, two things.

A. The results of the errand:













Were frickin' adorable!





B. The actual reason there's no Kermit  Flail tonight. Hey, we're a full disclosure blog here, folks--I hide nothing. But in this case, I'm going to let Dennis Leary do the talking:



And for the record? I weenied out and went for cherry flavor, because the green-death flavor scares me.

Mostly dead all day...

Ugh! You know that thing when you get home from a trip and every airborne virus in  the airplane has attacked your lungs and you're spiking a fever and at 102 you don't make any sense but at 100.2 you can't stand your own stench but you know if you get in the shower and wash your (ugh) hair, you'll spike a fever again?

Yes.

That.

I cannot tell you the number of things I have to do.

I mean everything from being Art  Docent next week to buying stuff for Squish's birthday to shopping for Easter... all of it... all of it needs to be done in the next week, and besides taxiing the kids to and from school, my other big accomplishment is to get out of bed to pee.

And I was going to get a new computer, too.  And clean the house. And finish the novella that is, at present, not close to done and due TOMORROW.

And walking the dogs would have been a nice touch too.

Anyway-- my one bright spot (besides my beautiful Squishie, who laid down next to me and read quietly when I was feeling punk, and thus made me feel better emotionally when my body was not doing so hot) is that Phonebook is out.

It's a short-- 6K?  At most. It was written a lot like my fanfic stories are written--not as a submission, but to please Gloria Lakritz-- who said that she would read anything I wrote, even the phonebook--as well as Elizabeth North and Lynn West--who were so pleased they put it up for sale on the DSP website. When the rights came up for renewal, I asked if we could just put it out there as a free short, and they were kind enough to say yes.  The first book in the series-- Shirt, which has, heretofore, only been found in the now out-of-print Curious anthology--will be out in May, and then the only story left in the series is Puppy, Car, and Snow.  This story has sentimental value to me in that it's one of my firsts, and that it was written purely to revisit Scotty and Ryan again. After  Puppy, Car, and Snow  I didn't feel a pressing need to make a novel out of the guys--but they do come up in my little world of gay that I've established in the greater Sacramento area. (Scotty-the-rebound-guy has showed up in a couple of stories, because he was an unapologetic boyslut before the more earnest Ryan came into his life. Ryan the lawyer shows up on occasion too.  So, you know, if you see their names in Bewitched by Bella's Brother and The Fenestra Penetration,  it's probably not a coincidence.)

So no-- it's not high literature, and it's barely more than an amuse bouche of romance-- but I'm glad to see it available, and I hope you enjoy it.

You can find it for .99 at Amazon, free at ARe, and free at DSP.  So enjoy-- and if you do enjoy, even as short as it is, be sure to leave a review, yeah?

Thanks ever so!

Amy (Who is now going to try to write her Christmas novellas and not give someone the plague. The last time I felt this shitty I gave Skip the walloping chest crud in Winter Ball, and while it was amusing at the time--because I was in a fever delirium-- it's not so much fun to relive that bout of illness in print. Poor Skipper. He's going to have that flu bug as long as that book has an ISBN--be careful what you sic on your characters people--it rebounds, I'm sayin'!)

Not Dead Yet!

Heya...

So, uh, yeah.

I ran away to Florida, and I brought my computer, but I did NOT bring my keyboard.  And I sat down to write at one point, and what I got was " he uic rown ox ump over he azy o."  Which should be "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," except, you know, the other version is missing most of the middle row of the keyboard.

Now people who have met me in public have often said they can't imagine what me being bitchy or losing my temper would look like, and I assure them that it happens--not as often as it did when I was young, because hey, that thing about red-heads and temper isn't just bullshit-- but trust me, my inner bitch is not an oppressed creature by any means.

In this case, she showed her squinty-eyed gaze in a very terse series of texts to Mate:

Me: My computer keyboard isn't working. I have a chance to write and blog and I can't.

Mate: I'm sorry.

Me: We're going shopping for a new computer Tuesday night.

Mate: Okay.

And since I'm usually, "Uh, is it okay? Can we get me a new thing? I hope that's all right. I mean I need it. It's part of my job. I can't work without one. It's okay, right?"  This was the equivalent of Amy going, "FUCK A DUCK. NEW COMPUTER FUCKING NOW."  And Mate knew this.

So guess what I'm doing tonight.

But as for the DSP gathering?

Well, I don't have any pictures-- I have to admit, I've started to enjoy leaving my phone in my pocket recently and being more in the moment than documenting it.  In this case in the moment means I spent more time enjoying my friends' company than I spent proving I had friends.  (Hey-- we've all had those low points in our lives when we were pretty sure Tom Hanks and Wilson was the truest and best platonic relationship ever and that if we could only find a volleyball and a Sharpie, we too would know the fulfillment hinted at in our first grade primers. Sometimes when we come out of the writing cave, pictures are to say "Look, I know real people!" as much as they're for anything else.)  But I loved every workshop I attended, and I'm grateful for the folks who understood that when I wasn't able to stay for their presentation, it was for good reason.  (Since I got in at three a.m. Friday morning and fell asleep at four, then woke up at seven-thirty, I do admit that I missed Tara Lain's superb insights on marketing mostly because if I didn't sleep, I would have gotten sick. She was very gracious.)

Anyway-- some of my texts home went, I'm in a workshop about forensic procedure, and there's going to be a case study. I'll see a dead body! Yay!  Or, I'm in Mary's room, darning her socks. Oi, never again with the worsted weight 100% wool, because those blogs that say it works as well as fingering weight wool with nylon LIE. Or, in one case, Chicken, Terri Culverville's tattoo looks OUTSTANDING. You do good work and she can't say enough nice things.

So, you know, the gamut.

It was lovely. As usual, the quiet, small moments were the best. The quick joke between friends, the lunches with unexpected companions--but the fact is, the authors and staff of Dreamspinner Press are amazing, kind, funny, generous people. You really can't go wrong in company.

And I got to spend part of my return trip with Kim Fielding, which was as unexpected as it was awesome. (And it's a good thing we get along so well together-- we've committed to a road trip to Vegas for RT. Sayin'. If we didn't like each other, that would feel like it lasted a year, but we DO like each other so it will go by really quick :-)

Anyway-- there will probably be a *Kermit Flail* up on Thursday, which means if you have anything to add, send it in now!  And there will definitely be a fanfic weekend.  And I have a free short releasing on DSP and ARe tomorrow (it's $.99 on amazon too.)  And Squish's birthday to plan, and hey! Let's not forget about Easter ;-)  So, we've got things, folks. Lots and lots of things. 

But for now, I'm going to try to catch up on a week's worth of stuff that I couldn't get to, and I'm going to leave you with this.  I wrote it out freehand, and posted it to FB from my phone, and let's say it was inspired by Elizabeth's story of a jellyfish shifter story being pitched, Elle Brownlee's adorable jellyfish impersonation, and less than four hours of sleep...

The Jellyfish and Seahorse went a courting,
And the problems they had weren't few.
The Jellyfish, he was asexual.
And the seahorse was where babies grew.But there's nothing stronger than true love,
Even when under the sea
"Oh hit me big boy with that stinger!"
The seahorse had been heard to plead."Oh ride me with all of your tentacles,
I'm your gay oceanographic steed.""Who doesn't get an erection."
The Jellyfish said once again.
"All I really want to do is to cuddle,
And have you fondle my brain.""But your brain is really quite tiny,"
The Seahorse said with a sigh.
"And I know that I'm overly spiny,
But the relationship is still worth a try."The essence of love is compromise,
And the two of them did make it work.
The seahorse massaged that tiny brain
And went to sea porn to jerk.

A brief running away...

Okay-- so leaving for Florida in a few hours, and while I'll have some downtime to blog etc, we all know the vagaries of travel.  My next chance to say hello or goodbye may be a few days away.

Anyway-- few things:

A. My computer crashed last night. As in, complete reboot. As in Mate said, "This is the worst screen you can see on a Mac."

B. In a related note, I discovered that peanut butter chips and white chocolate chips mixed together are DELICIOUS. What can I say-- if liquor was my drug, I would have been drinking fermented lime juice from the fridge. But it's sugar, and that's what we had.

C. Also, there was knitting. New ball of knitting, and a project for NOBODY I KNOW. Seriously-- nobody would like these colors, not even me in a moment of sanity. MY COMPUTER CRASHED. The psychic scar is lasting, just like this project in Kauni yarn.

D. I'm still not done packing. Because AUGH!

E. The dogs know I"m leaving and hate me for it.

F. The cats know I'm leaving and hate everyone else.

G. The kids know I'm leaving but are going camping with Grandma and Grandpa, so that's okay.

H. My husband knows I'm leaving and will miss me. I haven't been great company for the last few days--I have no idea why he'd do that, but I love him for it.

I.  Dudes, seriously-- I got go!

The Blurting Thing

Those of us with ADHD know this thing-- the blurting thing. The urge to just open up our mouths and charge on through any social situation with a THING WE MUST SAY.

Most of the time, this thing is not so socially appropriate.

I remember being thirteen years old in church when suddenly I knew a thing that the pastor MUST ABSOLUTELY KNOW in conjunction with his sermon.

Did you know you weren't supposed to raise your hands in church?

My stepmother knew and was mortified, even though the pastor was really kind.

Anyway--we get past the blurting thing--sort of. I used to knit during staff meetings or I would be consumed with the THINGS I MUST SAY, and some of that shit would fucking escape if I wasn't there enjoying angry knitting time.  I remember an administrator yelling at me because "I was really sarcastic and I knitted during staff meetings" and I was like, "What does this have to do with you people yelling at us in front of the entire district for our test scores when you're the asshole who didn't tell us when we were even having the tests until the week before?"  Anyway-- yeah.

Self control-- eventually (forty-ish) we learn it.

Of course like everything else with ADHD this whole "self-control" thing is dependent upon a reasonable amount of traffic with the conductor who is managing our brain impulses.  So, if like you're trying to plan for a trip and manage your dogs and buy a gift for a friend before you leave and schedule a pedicure before you leave so it doesn't interfere with picking up your kids and you're getting texts from your daughter and you need to buy those skeins of yarn dammit and get out of there before your son thinks you're dead...

Well, your mild inconvenience just blurted out of your mouth at the poor yarn shop proprietess who is usually the greatest of friends.

I apologized, of course, embarrassed. I didn't mean to interrupt her and another customer--I was so focused on my own not-emergency that I didn't even see the person who was next in line.

And Babetta knows me. She's even seen me overcome by THINGS I MUST SAY before--and she understood. But still, when it was my turn to be interrupted when I was at the counter, I knew it was my turn to be gracious and kind to the interrupters.  They weren't being intentionally rude, any more than I was.

So I turned around and told them that.

"That's okay guys-- you're not the first people today guilty of proprietess interruptus."

FTR? Babetta thought that was hysterical. 

George Orwell, Donald Drumpf, and American Politics

*Note-- I'm getting political, and I'm getting very very personally political about one particular candidate. If this offends you, by all means skip it, tomorrow I'll talk about kids or housecleaning or knitting or my writing schedule or something innocuous and non-irritating, I hope. Today, I'm getting mouthy about politics--and I apologize. I try to keep my flaming liberal flag out of sight most of the time, but... but dudes. It's Drumpf, and he's massacring the English language, and it offends me deeply.


*  *  *

So, last night we watched John Oliver's Takedown of Drumpf (Donald Trump) and it was brilliant. So much to talk about-- so very much I wanted to say about use of language, about reason, about Rogerian (if I remember correctly) debate.  Once-- a long time ago-- I wrote an essay for a Master's Class talking about the pros and cons of Pokemon, and I disguised it as a conversation between me and Big T.  I got an A++ because it was both a Rogerian thesis (or whatever that word is, dammit!) and a satirical essay along the lines of A Modest Proposal, and I thought it said something important about parents spending too much time doing the wrong kind of parenting.

John Oliver's piece was along the same lines-- it was a Rogerian (please let that be the right phrase!) argument with a healthy dose of satire--but the point it made is unmistakable.

We cannot let passion or jingoism defeat the better part of ourselves.

I know it's hard.

Critical thinking is hard-- it takes a long time. I looked up Oliver's show on the Washington Post (which lowers in my estimation every time I read it) and I saw three whines about how looooooonggg Oliver's segment is. Oh my God. It was a 22 minute segment laying out an argument--based on the words of Drumpf's supporters themselves--for why the man the American mob is planning to make a very powerful asshole out of someone who drops lies out of his mouth like spit.

The argument is flawless.  It is backed up with (wait for it) facts, often documented from Drumpf''s own words or the words of people close to him.

And the only response I've seen toward it is blatant hate speech (usually directed at John Oliver, who is so self-deprecating as to render anyone else's attempts to slam him as useless and ignorant) or people screaming how great Drumpf is.

And I keep remembering two things, one of which seems totally random.

Remember Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure? Even if you do, you've probably forgotten the part where the camera is flashing to the seniors giving their presentation while we're waiting for our heroes to get their shit and their time machine together to give theirs.  And one of the students giving his presentation is a "jock", who is floundering.

"Like, it would all be the same. But different. Because of History. Because historical things. Make it different. Because... SAN DIMAS HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL RULES!!!"

Which for me is exactly what all of GOP politics has devolved into since Drumpf hit the scene. There is no Rogerian argument, there is no reasoned presentation, there is no sane approach to real issues. The only thing of substance being said is a promise to commit war crimes as a platform of foreign policy. (Yes, that really happened.)  And it's horrible--because honestly, we expect our high school students to know better.  You all know that show, Sleepy Hollow, where Ichabod Crane is forever quoting the great thinkers of the revolution?  We teach that shit in schools. And some of it really is knee-jerk sentiment and jingoism-- but the good stuff, like, say, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are pretty solid pieces of reasoning. (Even the right to bear arms, although it's been taken out of context for a century.)

The men who wrote those pieces--they would probably cede the country back to a king maddened by syphilis before they let somebody who "Knows lots of good words" become the leader of the country.

The other thing that sticks with me--and it's the thing that scares me the most--is when Oliver looks at the camera and admits candidly that it can be "destabilizing" to have somebody lie with such obvious disregard for the fact that they are lying.  Oliver was talking about the fact that Drumpf told the world that Oliver had asked him to be on the show several times, and Drumpf had refused. Oliver said, "I actually asked my staff to make sure that had never happened."

What he's talking about is something that George Orwell feared to the bottom of his bones.

In 1984, Orwell's protagonist, Winston Smith, works for the Ministry of Truth where he changes history. If the ministry has, in the past, asserted that Big Brother is in one place or held one position on something, and then a photograph or article comes to life that contradicts that, it's Winston's job to alter all of the news media in some way to make Big Brother right at all times.

The Ministry of Truth is, in fact, the place where politicians lie.

And people are so confused by the number of times that this happens that they simply believe the lie.

The Ministry of Truth is also responsible for eliminated words from the language--anything deemed too specific or too difficult to deal with is deleted from the language and thus so is the concept.

Words control ideas. Ideas are dangerous. As Orwell stated in his famous essay,  Politics and the English Language, the more meaningless a word is, the less people understand about words in general, the more general or abstract a word is, the easier it is for a politician to tell a lie that people will not question.  If a politician screams a lie loud enough, with enough force, people will eventually forget their own reasoning and simply accept what's presented to them.

It's terrifyingly easy to "destabilize" the truth.

I've had sociopaths lie to my face before. (Hasn't every teacher?)  And even though we know it's a lie, the sociopath has no remorse, no tell--by the time the lie leaves his or her lips, the sociopath is convinced it's the truth.  Even concrete evidence will not convince them otherwise.

This is who is running for president, and a part of me is screaming at the world because I recognize he's a sociopath and why can't the rest of the world?

OKay-- I'll admit it. My neighborhood is pretty racially diverse--but I've overheard two conversations today in which Drumpf is the primary topic of conversation, and he's getting votes.  And when I open my mouth and talk, and use phrases like "fascism" and "jingoism" and "lack of clear platform" I get blank stares. And I remember that when I was teaching, every time we faced a budget cut or another hoop to jump, I'd wonder if maybe the Republicans (and sorry, but they were usually the ones in charge of another hoop or a pay cut, or, hey, the idea that if a school didn't have enough money they could just cut teaching hours at the end of the year) weren't trying to make the population so ignorant that the fascists really could win.

And now we're looking down the barrel of that possibly becoming fact.

I put a lot of stock in comedians as truth tellers in politics.  Satire is a difficult concept to grasp-- the idea of social criticism through humor implies reading several layers of the spoken or written word, and it takes brains and word mastery to both do it and get it. I know that my son--who is getting better at it every day--had to study the concept long and hard and deep, because words are not his wheelhouse, and he badly wanted to know what layers of meaning he was missing out on when his father watched Futurama or The Simpsons. I used a sense of humor to gauge where to start pretesting my classes, and I was usually pretty right. If they laughed at a joke, they understood language. If they didn't, we had some work to do. So when every comedian in the country comes down hard on someone, using the candidate's own words, own actions, own discourse to condemn them not just as ignorant, but as sociopathic and evil, I listen.

And if there is no reasoned discourse to answer the satire, I listen for a voice to respond.

Listening...

Busy

Okay-- so busy.

Friday: Trip to the Crocker Art Museum as a chaperone--and hey, don't think I didn't almost get drafted as an Art Docent for the Crocker, because I shit you not, our actual docent offered Squish a job in jest, and then turned around and asked me why I hadn't volunteered yet because I really should. The kids were like, "She's OUR Art Docent at school!" and the volunteer said, "Well, she should be one here!"

Highly Satisfying.

We wrapped up the day going to Chili's, as we do a lot. Fun fact-- mentioned this on Twitter and had a few Tweet discussion with the corporate Chili Avatar-- told them good job, we go all the time, and to say nice things to our home store. And no-- I don't think we'll get a free ap from that. But I should!

Saturday: Squish had soccer-- my parents came to watch. Squish won. WOOT! Honestly, I was sort of sick on Saturday and mostly recovering today, so making it through soccer was pretty much my big accomplishment.  Anyway. Saturday evening Mate took the kids to a professional indoor game. Lucky them. I got to stay home. Lucky me.

Sunday: ZB had soccer. They didn't bring it. The it that they needed to win was not brought. It should be brought. It is not something the mom's can bring. It is in fact a strictly PLAYER thing to bring. Next season, it, whatever it is, needs to be brought. Mate would like it very much if they brought it. All I'm saying.

Afterwards we went to the King's Season Holder Member Party. Fun, games, really tall guys and photo ops. And seriously-- the world's worst pretzels.

Fun story-- Mate decided he was going to take the kids somewhere and leave me with the remains of the free pretzels, juice bars, and potato chips that were provided as part of the "Party".  The pretzel was not... yummy. I did not finish it. The kids left and I decided to eat a juice bar. It also was not yummy. In fact, it was less than yummy. I texted Mate: If I told you that the juice bars were worse than the pretzels would you let me ditch the food and come with you?  He came down with the kids then, to prove to me that the juice bars were worth my self sacrifice. He took one bite and said, "You know, I was going to say it doesn't taste that bad, but now I'm feeling sort of sick."

Which was great. We could throw them away in good conscience and get on with our thing.

Also fun story.

We were walking up the parking lot and someone said, "Amy?"

An old teacher friend was there with her family-- we spent ten minutes talking in amped 78 rpm on a 38 rpm turntable speed, and then she had to go run back to her car. It was GREAT talking to her-- even for a little bit. The last thing she said as we split up was, (and she was hollering across the parking lot) "Amy! I read Candy Man! I loved it!"

I need to remember I had some really good friends teaching-- it was lovely to see her.

And that being said, I have some items on the agenda:

*  Kermit Flail Monday-- may or may not happen on March 7th. It may be postponed to the 14th, because I will be out of town. Either way please send me stuff for Kermit Flail over this next week. I need to know what I'll have!

*  I'll be at the DSP conference this next weekend--ficlet Friday may not happen either.  Forgive me.

* I'll be at the DsP conference in Orlando this weekend. I shall have no transportation, but I can always wave at you fiercely from the Gaylord Palms Hotel.

*  Phonebook the free story available at DSP is also available at amazon.com for a dollar on March 9th.  The sister story, Shirt, will be available in May.

Scorched Haven-- Part Two

Okay-- the trip to the museum was a success, and there will be pictures tomorrow :-)

And I have good news! The Green's Hill Werewolves are moving to DSPP. This is very generous of them-- and I'll be so happy to have all of The Little Goddess at home with my DSP family. So yay!

And in the meantime, it's Ficlet Weekend (Or Fanfic Friday, but on a Saturday and Sunday, you know, for alliteration) and away we go!

Oh-- a note on "Lipsky". A long time ago when Rhys Ford read Racing for the Sun, she said, "Where in the fuck is Victoriana?  I didn't know there was anything but fucking desert east of Santee."

I said, "Victoriana is in Racing for the Sun. That book is the only place in the world you will ever find anything but fucking desert east of Santee." Thus it is with Lipsky and this story.

*  *  *

Someone was wandering into the cabin.

Zeb woke up, still in his wolf form, when he heard the voices.

"Dude-- you're sure no one's up here?"

"Naw, man. My grandpa died two years ago-- no one's used this place since."

A rough guffaw. "Someone's used this place."

"Oh, gross! Seriously! If you're going to get laid, maybe take your rubber with you!"

The floorboards creaked and the voices assumed a sudden intimacy. "Why use rubbers, dude?"

The smack that rejoined this remark was surprisingly satisfying. "Because STD's, moron. When I put out, there had better be rubbers involved."

Oh. Oh dear-- Zeb was apparently underfoot a romantic rendezvous of the two-peened kind. Well, at least one of them had a modicum of sense--because young people? Not always carriers of that particular disease. Zeb was living furry proof.

"Are you saying I'm an AID's baby? Fuck you, man!"

"Aw, Jesus Denny-- don't be a douche. I'm saying safety first."

"Yeah, well, whatsa matter, Colton--you afraid of getting knocked up and stuck here?"

"Well, not knocked up," Colton muttered. "I'm just saying--I thought, you know. Making out in my grandpa's old fishing shack should maybe not change our lives!"

"So, I'm forgettable? Geez, thanks a lot!"

"No! I'm not saying that--c'mere."  Colton's voice sank to a cajoling tone, and Zeb thought No, Colton, don't do it. He just wants to get you to give in so he can fuck you and leave you and not have to feel like a jerk because he forgot rubbers and lube!  Well, some of Zeb's first sexual experiences hadn't been... pleasant. And Colton sounded like a smart kid.

"No, man," Denny sulked. "Cause what? You give me a blow job like always, and don't put out, and then you're on the first train outta Lipsky? And it'll be okay with you, right? Cause nothing 'life changing' happened here, and I'll just be some guy in your rearview."

"No!" Colton said, legitimately hurt. "I, you know, thought we could bail together."

Nope, Colton-- this kid's got small town myopia. Wherever the hell "Lipsky" is, he's sure it's the epicenter of the universe quake. 

"Man, you know that ain't happening. Junkyard'll never allow it!"

"Well who in the hell is Junkyard and why does he suddenly get a say in our lives?"

Suddenly Denny's voice sank, because uncertain and quavery--a child who had been disappointed in his elders. Reluctantly, Zeb felt some sympathy. "It's... I mean, unless you go to one of Junkyard's meetings, you don't get it. I mean, it's not fair, but... but we just need to listen to him, that's all."

There was some squeaking overhead, and the voices grew closer together. Suddenly Zeb got the sense that these two boys had known each other for a very long time. In that moment, Denny wasn't the villain and Colton wasn't the hero-- they were just... boys. Boys trying hard to deal with life in a nowhere town somewhere to the west of the Grapevine in the Tehachapi Mountains.

"Denny... come on. He's a guy. He's sort of the bully who ran the junkyard, right up until last Christmas. Why should that change? Why's he suddenly got hold of us like this. We should be able to come and go as we please, right? I mean, we're twenty years old! Why's he get to say whether we get to go to college or not?"

"Because he just does."  Denny's voice had the hint of tears. "And now I can't leave this place, ever. And you're planning to leave me!"

"Denny!"

Zeb smelled it then. Oh, man-- he hadn't smelled it before. Maybe because his own blood scent had been so strong, and maybe because he'd needed to recover, but he smelled it now.

There was something wrong with Denny's scent.

It was werewolf--definitely werewolf--with a little bit of ick thrown in. Oh. Oh man--this is what those wolves had smelled like last winter. Including the one who'd gotten his heart ripped out and who'd carried his switchblade in a plastic bag up his ass. 

Zeb hauled himself up to his feet and slunk to the edge of the porch, looking around. Had these kids come alone?

He smelled exhaust and cocked his head.  Car-- old Nissan sedan--a college student's car.

"Denny? What are you doing? Man, that looks painful... oh my God!"

Of course. Denny wanted to keep Colton with him-- what better way than to give him the eternally furry clap? Not the act of a sane man, but then, those boys who'd shown up from SoCal and threatened Green's Hill hadn't been sane.

Zeb didn't have time to think--he should have thought, because what he was about to do might kill him, but he'd gotten invested in the characters of the little peep show in the fishing shack. Denny loved Colton in that wholly selfish way that young men had. Colton wanted to raise them both up, but Denny would rather drag Colton down. Except this was scary, it was for real, and it was irrevocable, and if someone had been there to rescue Zeb from his first shot of heroin, he would be forever grateful now.

He woofed.

Colton's voice inside the cabin rose to a frightened shriek. "Denny!"

Zeb heard the rattle of claws on the floor of the fishing shack, heading for the door and knew Denny had taken the bait.

Balls out, no holds barred, Zeb started running.

*  *  *
As tired as he was, he was also full grown. And smarter. And he knew how to use water and he knew how to think through a problem.

He escaped hot pursuit by jumping in the lake, swimming to an inlet, and running back around to the service road the kids had used to find the fishing shack.  He stopped for a rabbit then, because starving, but after that it was just a matter of following his nose to the car by the shack.  

And, huddling on the porch, peering into the falling darkness, he found Colton.

"De--Denny?"

Well, hell. Zeb got a little closer so the kid wouldn't have the dark as an excuse, and changed.

"Oh my God!"

"Kid, look-- don't be so loud. I think he swam by  me in the lake and hopefully has another six miles to go, but that guy was going to bite you and we don't have much time!"

"You're naked."

Zeb gaped for a moment. "That's what you're worried about?"

The kid's jaw snapped shut, and Zeb got a chance to actually see him. Not a bad looking kid--about 5'7", powerfully built. Not a waif like the conversation had implied. In fact, he probably weighed more in sheer muscle than Zeb, who had a few more inches on him. Zeb had an impression of dark hair and dark eyes in tanned skin, and, well... a stunningly male handsomeness to him.

Zeb hadn't expected that. This kid was fully blown hot, and, well, surprise!

"What-- where's Denny?" The kid's jaw trembled. "Did you... did you eat him?"

Zeb curled his lip and wrinkled his nose, knowing the gesture was more wolf than human. "No. I just... eluded him. But it won't last for long! Who's car is that?"

"Mine," Colton replied, and Zeb shook his head.

"Then what in the hell are you still doing here?"

"My parents won't let me go away to school-- they think it's too dangerous."   This said with big, guileless eyes and a vulnerable quiver to his full lower lip.

Zeb couldn't hardly stand it. "Kid, you are killing me."

Colton seemed to pull himself back to where he was supposed to be. "Denny is my friend-- I mean... I can't just leave him!"

Oh hell. "Look, Colton? He's... he's sick. I mean, the kind of werewolf he is. There's something wrong with them. I..."  He grimaced. "The blood on my shirt? Most of it's mine--because there was a werewolf running through the brush shooting at me with a rifle-- how's that make sense?"

Colton gaped. "I don't understand."

Off in the distance Zeb heard it--the bay of a wolf who had just caught his scent.  Fuck.

"Kid--look. Do you have a gun?"

"No!"

"Good--so you can either hop in the car and take me to fucking Bakersfield, or I can throw you over my shoulder, lock you in the trunk and drop you off when we get there."  Way to go, Zeb! Scare the kid to death!

"Why Bakersfield? Is that where you live?"

"No-- but that's the outer edge of the turf war you just got involved in. What's it gonna be?"  Denny bayed again, and fuck if that kid wasn't making time.  Zeb knew his werewolf strength and speed, and he had some control after three years as a wolf. While using wolf-speed to zoom closer to the building, he closed his eyes and fixed turned only his claw. With a swipe of his paw he took out the railing of the fishing shack porch and then looked at the kid, knowing his eyes flashed gold.

"I don't want to steal your car, kid," he growled. "And I really don't want that fucker to bite you--but either way, I've got to get back to my turf and warn people that shit's about to get real."

Colton's eyes grew huge, and he unconsciously wet his lips. "Bakersfield?" he asked, voice high. "Is that as far as I can go?"

"What?"

"Wherever you're going--take me. Or I"ll take you. I'll get out, right now--just say I can tag along."

Zeb almost laughed. "You make that call when we get there," he said urgently. "But right now?"

Colton was nodding when Zeb heard another wolf bay, this one from slightly further away. Oh fuck.

"Kid, fucking move!"

They were in the Nissan, speeding up the trail when Zeb looked behind him and saw four wolves breaking into the clearing with the shack.  All four of them sniffed the air, probably smelling Zeb and Colton in the car, and howled, and Zeb's heart threatened to throttle him with the pounding in fear.

"Faster," he whispered. "Faster, kid, faster..."

Colton didn't respond, but the car jolted ahead and gave a slight fishtail. Zeb heard something bump on a divot in the road and he wondered if they were going to have to steal a car on the way back across the fucking state.

And then all he could focus on was relief as they hit actual road and sped away at faster-than-werewolf speed.

When you run out of words...

Knit!

Seriously--

All of my stresses at the moment feel sort of private--or things of which I must speak at length, and I have no time. All of my happies are small.  Maybe just small enough to list...

*  I finished this pair of fingerless mitts. They probably need blocking, but right now, they're perfect. They're long enough to feel like an ultra long sweater over my wrists and hands, and they fold down to the perfect length to type. I'm debating whether to put a thumb in--and I can tell you are riveted.  Moving on.

*  I finished the first edit of the first half of Rampant. This is a big deal--editing Bound was a horrible painful experience. This was much easier, and while I'm sure the editing team is getting the full mid-round workup from their trainer telling them to get back in the ring they can beat this thing, I'm feeling like this was a walk in the park. I am much relieved and very grateful to the editing team for their efforts.

*  I was designing swag today and Squishy came to look over my shoulder. "Oh. My. God. It's a bag. Good lord, you're designing a bag. Because God knows we don't have enough bags."  Then she smiled brightly at me and gave me a hug and a kiss. Because being that sarcastic SHOULD come easily to one so young.

* Tomorrow I'm helping to chaperone Squish's class at the Crocker Art Museum-- which makes me feel much better about not taking my kids there last week. I am much excited.

*  Big T and I talk at length in the mornings. One of the things he has always wanted to be is funny. This morning, he threw away a one liner that made me spit out my coffee. To some of us who are glib and easy with words, this is nothing of note, but for Big T? Words have been his enemies more often than not. When he gets to ride their backs with a whip and say, "Mine, bitches!"? That's a moment of exquisite triumph right there.

* My stepmom's nephew is going into teaching school. I'm so proud of him--awesome kid. (Okay, almost thirty, but still a kid to me!)

And I'll stop there! Night all! I may be tweeting from the museum-- I'm excited!

Amy out ;-)