R. Cooper's Blog, page 6
February 11, 2016
Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep.... (aka Valentine's Day fun and stuff)
But, since no one expects me with my serious little face to enjoy those things, people don't think I enjoy the day. Consequently, I will be doing nothing this Valentine's Day but eating chocolates I bought myself, drinking champagne, and talking about silly romance stuff over on Tumblr. If anyone wants to watch that, or chat with me, they are welcome to. <3
(Okay, I will also be trying to do some of my actual writing that day. Until the champagne kicks in anyway.)
If that's not your cup of tea, but you still want to watch me talk nonsense about romance stuff, I will be making a blog post on the Dreamspinner Press blog on February 23. I'm thinking I will talk about fairy tales or something similiar and you all can talk or ask stuff or whatever. :) This, of course, will be to promote The Winter Prince.
(Guys, I am nervous about that one. It's one of those stories that I know won't be popular, but I do adore those characters and I get nervous for them like they're real. Sigh. They are my fav kind of stupid dorks with all the pining, but at least they get the excuse of being young when they made their dumbass decisions, and then we get all that glorious yearning and boys being stupidly noble.)
In other news, been looking for a narrator for Zeki and Theo for A Beginner's Guide to Wooing Your Mate audiobook, and Dreamspinner, which has been doing ebook bundle specials by theme or author, wants to do a Being(s) in Love set in October. Some Kind of Magic through The Firebird. !!!! Yaaaay! Hopefully if I finish my current project soon, it would be released around then. Meanwhile, Tulip's story will be out in June or July. :)
Um. Did I actually mention The Winter Prince's release date? Aah, I am terrible at this. It comes out on the 24th of February.

Description:
His heart stolen by a powerful pari’s magic, a young prince’s veins slowly fill with ice. That is what the stories say. Three years have passed since, and all efforts to save Kisin have failed. He won’t survive another winter. To save the prince’s life, Razin, the court wizard and Kisin’s childhood friend, plans to seek out the pari. But unbeknownst to Razin, Kisin’s heart was never stolen; he gave it freely to escape the pain of impossible love—his love for Razin.
Razin won’t accept Kisin’s fate, for reasons obvious to anyone who knows anything of love. Kisin agrees to the desperate quest, out of duty and a need to protect Razin. But it isn’t long before Razin realizes saving his prince will require more than simply retrieving his heart. Razin will have to convince him to want it.
(Or, as a friend on Tumblr described it, sort of a Snow Queen meets Beauty and the Beast.)
Feel free to come visit with me at either event. Or both. (Does tipsy blogging on Valentine's Day count as an event? Hmm)
January 6, 2016
it's been a long time
It will be slightly slower going than usual, for work reasons, and I have to get back in the swing again. But it's happening! I'm very excited. It's been too long since I've had a real story to work on. I guess I needed my lonely dorkbabies.
At least I did a lot of writing last year, which is about to pay off, well for you guys anyway. (I got my pay off when I wrote them.) Dancing Lessons is going to come out in about two weeks. January 20, in fact. Another story I needed to write, even if I don't really know why. (Well I do. Rebuilding your life in a new town, feeling sad and uncertain, just like Chico. I needed to talk about it.)
Dancing Lessons is a contemporary story, with no magic in it. I write those occasionally. Weird, I know. It does contain a fairy tale however. Imagine a senstive little pretty thing, his self-esteem destroyed by a jerk ex, scared to try again, encountering the flirtiest of flirty dance teachers, who is also patient and charming and aaahhh. And who makes him laugh.
I don't know how to celebrate it. Q&As on Goodreads don't seem popular, and Tumblr seems to scare people. I'll have to think about it.
Then, in a month, you get another story. This one has all kinds of magic, although it is not a beings story.
The Winter Prince. I confess, this is a personal favorite of mine. I don't know how popular this will be, considering it's fantasy, and not urban fantasy but fairy tale-ish fantasy. But aaah, I just love it. There is a noble prince, who is missing his heart. A prince who perhaps gave it away to a beautiful pari, and now must have it back, or he will die. And there is a quest. And there is a wizard, clever and brave, and so, so devoted to our prince.
They are so lovely I can't stand it. But, they're mine. So they're also complete dorks.
I thought that was all the news I had for you, and such good news it is. (Writing again! I'm so happy with myself! Yay brain! Thank you!) but today I received an email telling me Dreamspinner would like to publish Tulip's story. Oh my patient, patient Tulip. He's waited so long. I don't have anymore details yet. You guys are so awesome, btw, putting up with all these different sorts of places the beings keep taking me to. I love you.
December 6, 2015
Hanukkah Fluff!
Riley was willing to do a lot for Eli. Like, a lot more than he’d ever done for anyone he’d dated. Which… admittedly wasn’t a lot of people. Pre-Eli, his romantic life had been more a sex life, and dating hadn’t really been an issue.
But he liked Eli. If he was being honest with himself, he more than liked Eli. He had more than liked Eli for nearly as long as they’d been roommates, and definitely before they had starting dating.
Which now meant they were living together, as well as living together, and made them the kind of disgustingly domestic couple that guys like Chase sneered at. Although fuck Chase, seriously. Because Riley had never expected this but he thought it was good. Which should have been sort of strange considering it had taken Riley all of two weeks into waking up with Eli before he’d accidentally called Eli his boyfriend when introducing him to someone.
Eli, thank fuck, had turned to Riley in astonishment a second before his face had been split in half by the widest, most shit-eating grin Riley had ever seen.
He’d gone shy about it once they were alone though, frowning that sweetly uncertain frown he did whenever a new recipe threw him, or when one of the kittens followed him into the bathroom.
“No, baby! Baby, please, listen. Just because I see you poops in the litterbox, doesn’t mean you need to see me poops.”
Riley planned on never letting Eli forget that moment. Not ever.
But it was a reminder that the two of them had sort of jumped from roommates to friends to lovers to boyfriends with shared custody of two cats very quickly. Riley couldn’t have helped it, really, despite his lack of boyfriend experience. There was no way, no way possible in the entire world, for him to have denied Eli the chance to have a kitten—or two—of his very own. And there was no way, no way in fucking hell, that he could ever have seen Eli cautiously letting himself adore two helpless, weak, little baby cats, and not confessed his feelings.
The rest was… like having a roommate who let you sleep in their bed, and sucked your dick, only freaked out a little in trying to figure out your pain thing in bed, which was only a little pain thing, and Eli had been so concerned he was doing it wrong that Riley had immediately lov—more than liked him even more.
Eli did a lot for him, so Riley shouldn’t complain.
And he wasn’t.
Really.
But if there was one thing he knew as much as how much Eli made his heart beat faster, it was that Eli’s mother hated him and did not want him at their family gatherings.
And yet here he was, wearing a tie, his hair slicked down, an electric blue scarf around his neck, waiting somewhat anxiously outside the bathroom door as Eli finished preparing himself to take Riley to his mother’s house for dinner for the first night of Hanukkah.
Eli, hilariously, had told him not to worry, it would be fine.
Eli was most likely throwing in the bathroom at that very moment. He’d had a similar reaction before leaving for his parents’ house on Yom Kippur.
In his defense, or so Riley had heard from Eli’s youngest sister Rachel, Mrs. Bernstein had done her version of ignoring Eli the entire night. For her that meant not commenting on his allergies, his choice in career, or his weight. Things Eli all disliked hearing about up until his mother stopped talking about them. Riley supposed it was how she showed she cared. He found it strange, but he knew better than to comment on anyone’s relationship with their mother, especially Eli, who might complain about his mom all day, but would defend her to the death if necessary.
Riley cleared his throat, loudly, hoping Eli would hear him through the door. Then he looked into their living room and sighed.
Their living room. His cheeks were warm and he wanted to smile and yeah, okay, he was as ridiculous as Chase thought he was.
The Christmas tree, tiny but real, was on top of an end table which had been moved against the wall, and on top of another end table. Pretty Princess, now nearly seven months old, liked to climb trees. The lights were pretty, and Riley—who had never decorated a tree of his own before—had basically covered it in soft blue lights.
In the window next to it was a gold colored menorah, waiting for its candles.
Riley glanced down at his hands, and the three—three—boxes of Hanukkah candles he was holding.
“Why am I bringing candles again?” he asked the door, and glanced back to their living room, where smug Pretty Princess and chubby little Butterbean were curled up next to each other on the couch. Butterbean was called just Butter now more often than not. She was a soft puffy cloud of lazy kitty, content to let her sister aggressively clean her ears for hours on end. Her sister, the Pretty Princess when Eli was feeling formal and just Princess when she greeted him at the door, had grown into her unfortunate splotch of black fur under her nose. She looked less like a German dictator now and more like a silly French clown.
She didn’t greet Riley at the door, although she would find his lap the second he sat down when he came home. He didn’t blame her for loving Eli more. Eli had never been allowed to have pets, and was making up for it by spoiling these two rotten.
The couch had not survived summer, the shedding season. Black fur seemed embedded in the weave of the cushions, and yet Eli, fussy, neat freak Eli, had only bought more lint rollers and hadn’t said a word about it. Eli didn’t celebrate Christmas although he didn’t mind that Riley did, yet somehow there was a brand new cat tree by the other window with a giant silver bow on it. He kept insisting it was a Hanukkah gift, not that it mattered. Both cats had so far pretended not to see it, although Riley had noticed black fur on the cat bed on top.
For now, with a human there to watch them, the cats were again disdaining the cat tree in favor of the couch. They looked comfortable where they were.
“I’d stay in if I could,” Riley whispered at them. “But Eli needs the support.”
Two cats stared at him, probably curious as to why Daddy Riley—Eli’s name for him when talking to them, and yes, Riley found it stupidly adorable—was whispering. He didn’t really know either. Better to deal with this directly. They were already late.
“Eli?” He tried again when there was no answer. “You know candles aren’t going to make her better about this.”
This, of course, being this, being them. Because Eli’s mother knew about them. Knew about Eli, and about the two of them.
He couldn’t even blame Rachel for that, although she had been drunk, and trying to get Riley drunk, at Eli’s dad’s birthday dinner in August.
“She’s twenty-four. Getting drunk is still a hobby for her,” Eli had hissed, not especially quietly, into Riley’s ear. Rachel had smacked his shoulder, and Riley probably would have commented if he hadn’t caught Mrs. Bernstein giving him the stink eye.
Riley wouldn’t have been able to win with her anyway, so having more wine or not having any wouldn’t have mattered. Eli was the one so nervous that he’d sipped cabernet on an empty stomach and kept forgetting where he was. Then he’d whisper into Riley’s ear, or put his hand on his shoulder, or take the breadsticks off Riley’s plate so could eat them, all the while oblivious to his mother’s stare.
Rachel, less oblivious, even with the booze, had apparently had enough of the whole situation just before the cake.
“No, I’m not going to settle down. I’m still in grad school,” she’d burst out, silencing her older siblings and making her father raise his bushy eyebrows.
Her mother had taken a drink from her martini, dry with a sweet onion—before replying. “I’m not saying you have to settle down. When did you hear me say that? I’m merely asking if you’ve considered something serious. Look at your brother Elijah. He’s always known what he’s wanted, my boy.” She’d said that with a proud look at Eli.
Eli had, understandably, choked on a breadstick. His mother had not approved of his career choices, ever, and yet he was being held up as the golden boy.
Riley had frozen, not sure what to do or even what face to make, and then Rachel, young, drunk, and pissed-off Rachel, had dropped a bomb.
“Of course he’s always known what he wanted to be. You might say he was born that way.” She’d tossed back another whiskey sour while her older sister Gilda had tried to shush her.
Riley had never actually known terror before that moment. He had instantly understood the reason Eli had never come out to his family in the second that Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein had turned from their youngest daughter to their youngest son, and then turned to him.
“Oh, please.” Rachel scoffed. “You know, you just won’t admit it. They come to every family gathering together. They own cats together. Riley covers up his tattoos for you. They’re boyfriends in gay love together forever.”
Riley did not have good memories of the rest of that night. When everything—and he meant everything—had been said and done, he and Eli had come here—come home—still shaken.
Eli had been trembling, and his nose had been running like that was the Eli version of crying but no tears were coming out, and he’d curled up on top of Riley on the couch with Butterbean in his lap and his face in Riley’s neck.
Riley had kind of felt like a jerk, because his family hadn’t freaked out at all when he’d come out or told them he was seeing Eli, so all he could think aside from petting Eli’s back until the trembling stopped, was that after that, with how much Eli loved his family, he had still chosen him.
Eli had come home with Riley. And stayed with him. And refused to take his mother’s calls for a whole three weeks, which was a record for him.
So yeah. Riley would do a lot for Eli. Almost anything, in fact.
Including trying to make nice with his mother. Who had never liked him. Who kind of hated him.
Not for turning her son gay. Mrs. Bernstein wasn’t that stupid, or that prejudiced to think that, even Riley could admit it. She could have accepted her baby being into men… eventually. She didn’t like Riley because Riley wasn’t good enough for Eli and they both knew it.
It was unspoken between them, and had been since their first meeting over a year ago. Long before Eli had dared to kiss Riley for the first time, Mrs. Bernstein had disapproved of Riley in her son’s life, with his tattoos and his interest in radical art and whatever else she didn’t like about him. Probably that he didn’t know anything about Hannukah, for starters.
Which was possibly why Eli had thrust three boxes of candles at him before dashing into the bathroom.
Riley sighed, but a lot more fondly than he had a few minutes ago.
He leaned against the door. “Eli?” It still amazed him that sometimes Eli, who was so together he owned Tupperware and a set of mixing bowls, needed Riley to help him with things like this. He stuck two of the boxes into the pockets of his leather jacket and scratched at the wood. “Look, you know I’m not the hugest fan of your mother—”
The rude snort was at least a reply.
“But she loves you.” Riley said the words, then considered them. “That’s the menorah she gave you, right? And it’s her latke recipe you use. And the really thick comforter on your bed? She bought you that because she thought you weren’t sleeping enough, and that thing is expensive and amazing. It’s like passing out while wrapped in a cloud.”
Riley’s mother, although she had never baked bread or gone to college, had squished Eli in a tight hug when Riley had brought him home, and absolutely delighted in sending them catnip-filled cat toys for her “grandbabies.”
She was embarrassing, but Eli knew where he stood with her. As long as he made Riley happy, his mother loved him. She might even love him if he didn’t. Eli had made her his risotto and possibly earned a friend for life.
Mrs. Bernstein however, was… she was just….
“Your mom is being stubborn. That’s… well, it’s not ideal, but it’s done out of love. Or… protectiveness anyway. She thinks you can do anything, be with anyone. And she’s right. You could. That’s how she sees it. She probably… she probably picked out the perfect lawyer husband for you the second she came to terms with your sexuality. So.” He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to say, but Eli was listening. “So while she could be handling all this better, that’s her fault. Not yours. She’s just not expressing it well. I mean, you told me how she reacted when you said you were going into tax law to work for non-profits. Did you really think this would be any different?”
In the months since that dinner, Mrs. Bernstein and Eli had started speaking to each other again. Eli had gone to his parents’ house for Yom Kippur and some other holidays, and come back tense and quiet until Rile had gotten him to relax. But they must have reached some sort of weird standoff situation that one of them, Riley didn’t know who, had decided to end.
All he did know was a week ago, Eli had come home, picked up Princess, plopped onto the couch, and said, in one breath, that his family was having dinner the first night of Hanukkah and he would like it if Eli went with him as his boyfriend if that was okay and if it wasn’t that was fine really it was fine.
So now. Tie. Candles. Talking to his boyfriend through the bathroom door.
“If it will upset her, you don’t have to take me along.” Riley swallowed. “Really, I… your dad is cool, and I can talk to Rachel, but your mom hates me. You can say it. And that makes it harder for you. I mean…” he paused to look at their living room again, their life. “I mean, she wants what’s best for you, and that isn’t a goy tattoo artist.”
“Goy?” Eli startled the shit out of him by opening the door. He was wearing one of his cute, soft button downs and a very brown, very adult blazer that made him look like an earnest teddy bear. He already needed to shave again. He fixed Riley with a not very stern glare. “I thought we discussed how goy you sound when you say things like goy.”
“Did I say it wrong?” Riley really wanted to pat Eli’s collar down, and then his hair.
“No, but….” Eli let out a breath. “Just don’t. She’ll pick a fight about it.”
“Even though that’s what she’s thinking?” Fuck it. Riley smoothed down Eli’s collar anyway, and then his hair. “She doesn’t care nearly as much about the gay thing as she does about the me thing. It will be easier for you if I’m not there.”
The glare that took over Eli’s face was almost terrifying. “How can you say that like you don’t make things better?”
“Eli, you know I meant that she’ll go easier on—better?” Riley interrupted himself. “How do I… How would I make it better? I still don’t even know why I am holding three boxes of candles.”
“Because when you find a place that sells Hanukkah decorations, you buy everything you can before it disappears,” Eli recited at him, just like he had when they had been in Bed Bath and Beyond and Eli had seen the endcap full of streamers, napkins, and battery-powered dreidels, all in bright silver and blue.
“Also because my mother will be happy to see them, whatever she says,” he added a moment later. “Which is why I want you to be the one to give them to her. Perfect lawyer husband, my ass.”
“You want your mom to like me?” To this day, despite everything, Riley still said dumb things around Eli. Eli was just that cute.
He blinked his big brown eyes at Riley and then wrinkled his forehead in an expression Riley knew only too well. Eli’s streak of stubborn determination had gotten him through his parents’ disapproval of his career path, and enabled him to deal with some of Riley’s bitchier friends and their comments. When he frowned like that, he absolutely meant whatever he was about to say, as his mother had learned that night.
“I want my mother to fucking love you,” he growled in his soft, baby bear voice, and then clenched his jaw before speaking again. “Like I do, which I told her and I made sure she heard me. You make me happy and she knows it, and that’s why she’s terrified. You can influence me, and she doesn’t understand you, and you might not realize this, but my mother is a bit of a control freak.”
“Just a bit,” Riley echoed, then reared back. “You love me? I mean, you told her you love me?” He took a breath while he tried, and failed, to be less of a dork. “Did you throw up? We absolutely do not have to go someplace that makes you feel sick. Do you really?” That was a stupid question; when Eli decided to stand his ground, he stood it.
“I—” Eli stopped short. His frown intensified, then lightened before his cheeks turned pink and he glanced away. “Well, I said it, so…. And no, I didn’t throw up. It was mostly me staring into the mirror over the sink and reminding myself that my mother means well.”
“So then I can kiss you.” Riley didn’t get that out nearly as smoothly as he meant to, but he did lean in—a second too late—to plant a kiss on Eli’s mouth. The kiss was too short, too forceful, but he was feeling a lot of things at once. Eli sighed into it anyway, with a small, sad puff of breath, before curling his hands into the lapels of Riley’s jacket.
“She hates this jacket,” he grumbled, while kissing the corner of Riley’s lips. “She says you look like trouble in it.”
“I could wear something else.” Riley loved this jacket, but there really wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Eli.
Eli’s breath caught in his throat with a noisy little sound, as if he had realized that only in this moment.
“I like this jacket.” Eli said it simply. Then he tugged Riley closer, although they weren’t doing anything but breathing together. Occasionally Riley’s nose would brush Eli’s cheek. He smelled like soap. “Okay,” he added, after a while, and straightened up. Riley took it to mean he was ready to go, and that they were still going together.
“I’ve got the candles,” Riley assured him, watching Eli fidget with his shirt. “What do they mean again?”
Eli fixed him with an unamused look that quickly shifted into something more exasperated than angry. “You know what they mean. I told you the story of the oil like six times.”
“Yeah, but I like the way you tell it.” Riley smiled at him, because Eli loved him. Which he’d known, but trust Eli to actually say it when he wasn’t expecting it. Eli had kissed him first, after all.
“You’re messing with me,” Eli decided, and crossed his arms. Then he sighed. “This is going to suck.”
“I’ll get the wine,” Riley offered. “But you ate all the chocolate last night.”
“Chocolate isn’t going to cut it anyway,” Eli said mournfully, and stepped closer until their shoes bumped together. Then he leaned forward and got a death grip on Riley’s jacket again. “But wine? You should be the one drinking. You have to deal with this and her, and you’re being so nice about it, and you shouldn’t, and I still don’t get why.”
“You really don’t?” Riley heard himself asking in an embarrassingly uncertain voice. Somewhere, Chase was laughing at him.
Eli immediately lifted his head as if he heard Chase’s imaginary sneers. “Of course, I do. Riley, we have cats together,” he pointed out, breathlessly sarcastic, and then returned to quietly panicking against Riley’s shoulder. “I like our cats.”
“Me too,” Riley agreed, and then stood there, holding candles and his boyfriend until Eli’s phone rang in his pocket. Riley knew that ringtone. Eli’s mom wanted to know where her son was and why he was late.
Eli didn’t take the call, but he did straighten up when the ringing finally ended.
“Okay.” He drew in a sharp breath. “Okay. We are going to do this, and you are going to be you, thoughtful and pretty and a good boyfriend, and you are going to give her kosher candles and wine and she is going to love you. Or, all right, she is going to at least like you, because it’s Hanukkah and that is a time for miracles, goddamn it.”
He huffed another breath, then met Riley’s stare. “Okay?” he wondered, shy again, and Riley grinned at him.
“Okay.”
December 2, 2015
ALL the precious cinnamon buns!
Uh. Well. I have mood issues anyway that tend to get in the way, but I guess I had a really productive year, and the past two months my brain decided to take a vacation. Not entirely sure it's fully back online, but I finally (FINALLY) wrote a little something the other day, and I feel so much better about everything. I might even submit Tulip this month if I can find the time.
Although, you guys might have things to say about that one. If anybody is still reading the Beings by that point (months from now, if it gets accepted), you are most likely to going to demand stuff about the side characters. One or two in particular. Ahem.
In other news, both Dancing Lessons (out in January) and The Winter Prince (out in February, I think) have covers. AND Little Wolf (that little punkbutt) is getting an audiobook. Pity the narrator who has to read all that mate on mate werewolf action. Poor man.
Wanna see the covers?


I'm partial to the Dancing Lessons one, although I am most eager for The Winter Prince to come out, because I wantneedwantneed to talk about it with people. I don't know why. But Razin is a precious cinnamon bun. (Before you ask me, it's Rha-seen. Like the softest pronunciation ever. Because he is a cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure.)
Also Tulip. (Tentative title is A Dandelion for Tulip) Ah. Tulip. So patient. So shiny.
I should really stop writing stories about mutual pining but you can't make me, so there.
That's really it with me right now. Tryng to get through the holidays, wondering what will inspire me next. Will it be Zarrin the dragon and Joe, the hot barista who continues to pretend he doesn't know who Zarrin is even though he is a dragon and it's TERRIBLE? Will it Flor? Or Clem? Two very, very different fairies who need love? Albert? Will my brain want to skip the beings for a while and go on to Space Boyfriends? (Have I talked to you guys about Space Boyfriends? It was a Tumblr thing.) Hmm Flor is another cinnamon bun. I'm not sure who is good enough for him. Decisions!
The point is: I never know. But hopefully I will be back in the swing of things soon. And oh, I will try to edit that silly Will and Charlie Alternate Universe Christmas story I did last year so it's more readable.)
((And before I go, I just need to say, to one person on GR and Tumblr you know who you are... *hugs. because FEELINGS oh god so many feelings and now I run away*))
October 4, 2015
also there are a lot of poe references, because i am a nerd
Anyway, it's my favorite time of year, so STORY.

A powerful witch, Piotr Russell has resigned himself to loneliness, because ordinary humans can’t know what he is, and other witches are intimidated by his abilities. Generations of Russells have lived and died with only their familiars at their side. The presence of a friendly familiar is enough to keep even the loneliest witch sane, and yet Piotr deliberately hasn’t chosen one. He forces himself to keep busy instead, but the emptiness of his house haunts him even more the spirit of Great-Great-Aunt Elysia in the parlor. With Samhain and Halloween approaching, he’ll have much to do, and knowing that, his concerned coven seizes the chance to intervene and sends help to his door in the form of Bartleby Dorchester.
The rarest of rare jewels, Bartleby is a human familiar: a witch with no magic of his own, and a desire to find a strong witch to help and serve. In particular, he desires to help and serve Piotr, and everything in Piotr wants to let him. Bartleby was meant to be his familiar; Piotr knows it as surely as he knows when it will rain or when the apples in his garden will ripen. But what Piotr wants from Bartleby, all he’s ever wanted, is for Bartleby to love him, something he thinks is impossible.
Russells live and die unloved, and he won’t allow Bartleby to feel obligated to spend his life with him as his familiar if he could be happy in love with someone else. But Samhain is a time for change, when walls come down and borders grow thin, and Bartleby isn’t going to waste what might be his last chance to convince Piotr that they were meant to be. He might have no magic, but love is a power all its own.
A Little Familiar --Amazon link
A Little Familiar --Smashwords link (Please be aware I am going to take it down from Smashwords in a week or so, and then go Amazon exclusive for the 90s days and then probably put it back on Smashwords.)
And look at that cover! Kimieye made that for me. It's so awesome!
September 23, 2015
you wonderful goobs
In other news, The Winter Prince was accepted. Yaaaay! This is basically a fairy tale, about a prince who gave away his heart to a magical creature, and now has to get it back, or he will freeze to death without its warmth. (It helps that he has the court wizard along, who might be, you know, the kind of person who would make him feel things if he still had a heart.) So that should be out next year. I don't have specific dates yet, but Dancing Lessons should come out in January (ish) and then The Winter Prince in February or March.
No, neither of those stories involve beings. But in a way, they both involve fairy tales, so there is that. (Dancing Lessons is contemporary. About emotionally fragile Chico (Sheeco) with his big brown eyes, and clever, shameless Rafael, the dance teacher who would really, really like to love him.)
I, um, also wrote a short thing to release on Amazon for autumn/Halloween. It's pretty simple. I wanted a fluffy story about pumpkins and crunchy leaves, but what I got is a powerful, lonely witch and this dork who may or may not love him. There might also be a ghost and a talking raven.
There is definitely a ghost and a talking raven.
Yeah. So that will be around in the beginning of October. Probably just on Amazon at first, because they make covers for you, and I can't afford to pay an artist what they are worth.
Anyway. This is mostly for the seven of you who like me. (I feel like Sally Field right now, if that's not too old of a reference to make.) Thank you! You guys are awesome! Your reactions to the Firebird are truly fantastic. <3
September 10, 2015
your heart for a story of mine--The Firebird and Other Stories
But this post isn't about them. This post is about some stories about Beings. Specifically a handful of short stories about Beings throughout the last century, from shortly after they first came out of hiding, to about now. You may have heard me mention these shorts before. I've been working on different ones for *years* now. And now here they are. Eeeee!

The Firebird and Other Stories
Magical creatures known as beings emerged from hiding amid the destruction of the First World War. Since then they’ve lived on the margins of the human world as misunderstood objects of fear and desire. Some are beautiful, others fearsome and powerful. Yet for all their magic and strength, they are as vulnerable as anyone when it comes to matters of the heart.
A firebird in 1930s Paris is drawn to a writer with a haunted past. Upon returning from fighting in the Pacific, a jaguar shifter finds a third-gender human on his doorstep. Early rock ‘n’ roll DJ Hyacinth the fairy shocks his listeners with his admiration for his quiet assistant. During the AIDS crisis, a gruff, leather-wearing troll dreams of a settled life with a mixed-species elf across the bar. An imp, who remembers only too well how cruel the world can be, tells himself he’s content to stay behind the scenes—if only his chaotic, impish magic would stop getting in the way. And a shy human tending his poisonous and carnivorous plants is convinced no one will ever want him, certainly not the handsome werewolf grieving for a lost mate. Human or being, all must overcome fear to reach for love.
Guys, I can't even tell you how cool it is, and how honored I am, that Dreamspinner agreed to publish a book made up entirely of short stories about my magical failboats in love. This is something I would never have dreamed of. In a way, it's my own little book of fairy tales and I am a super giddy dork about it. (No, really. I was distracting myself with writing projects, and now they are done, and I am basically flitting around giggling about this to myself. Like a weirdo.)
To celebrate the release day, Friday, September 18th, (a day, sadly, I will be working at the day job) I have queued up a whole bunch of interesting pictures and songs and posts of subjects relating to the short stories. I've queued up so many, in fact, they will probably last into Saturday as well. If you're interested, check out my Tumblr. That's me, sweetfirebird. (ahaha my name will finally make sense to people.)
In addition to that nerdy party, on Saturday night (the 19th) I will be on Tumblr to answer any questions people might have, or if they just wanna hang out, or talk about non Beings things. I might even be tipsy on champagne, so obviously that is when people should ask anything they want to know. ;) Chatting on Tumblr is odd because of the format, but you can easily visit my askbox and say hello. It's the link that says Ask Me Anything. (But FYI I live in California, so I am on Pacific Coast time.)
In addition to *that*, you can always ask me stuff on Goodreads at the Ask the Author link. Just keep in mind that Goodreads does not notify me of questions in a timely way, so sometimes my responses will be slow unless I have Goodreads open in a tab--which I likely will that Saturday and Sunday.
This is so exciting!
And ooooh before I forget, Some Kind of Magic is now available on audiobook! SO MANY BEINGS! WE'RE SURROUNDED! Nerdy Beings party! History dorkiness! and Kazimir! My diva!
:)
Yeah okay. I will try to calm down now.
July 29, 2015
the awkward place that is my brain
Did I tell people about that? I randomly had this MIGHTY NEED to write about a somewhat broken, not as fragile as he seems Chico (that's a Portuguese Chico, not a Spanish one) and a flirty dance teacher. So that happened. And Dreamspinner decided they liked it. So it's working title was Dancing Lessons and it's novella length, and should be coming out next year. January, I think?
Yay! Even if I don't really know where that story came from. (I'll find out later. I always do. The stories are in better touch with my emotions than I am)
In the meantime, The Firebird and Other Stories, the book of Beings shorts is out in September, I believe. Maybe late August, but I don't think so. The editing is done. Waiting on the cover (dying) and the final inspection. I've been debating doing a playlist or something for it, but many of the music/playlist services, um, suck, so I don't know. I just wanna talk about itttt and I can't yet. It's agony I tell you.
And then um, someone asked about Zoe, from Little Wolf. Over on tumblr I get questions sometimes about Charlie and Will, or Wicklow and Rhoades, or Amelia and Pilar (or Louis and Amelia, or Louis and Amelia and Pilar), but not Zoe. And it was funny, because my beta and I were just talking about Zoe meeting her mate. And the resulting discussion on tumblr about the lack of lady werewolves, plus a general agreement that Zoe is adorable, gave me thoughts.
So, since LJ doesn't allow long story posts anymore, I had to go the AO3 route, for now anyway...I wrote a story about Zoe meeting her mate. (It probably needs a thorough edit, but for now I am tired and pleased with myself for finishing it.)
A Mate of One's Own
Behold! There be f/f ahead!
I really do need to make a timeline or something for all the Beings. Because it takes so long for them get published after I write them that I always assume people have all the background on things when you don't. Like, um, there is some debate within the werewolf world that perhaps their commonly held beliefs about matings are incorrect. But I suppose you have to meet Diego for that.
That's a theme in the Beings stories anyway, I suppose. Poor confused babies. I just want all the little stories of them. All the arrogant, unthinking fairies and grumpity dragons and amnesiac werewolves and reluctant seers and trolls so fucking in love with you, Flor, how do you not see how in love with you he is aaahhhhh.
But getting me to focus on any of that right now? Poo.
July 5, 2015
brief update and a commentfic (ish thing)
Meanwhile um... I had news. Oh right. So they are tentatively interested in more Beings audiobooks, so Some Kind of Magic is up next. Possibly out in September I think. For anyone who doesn't follow me on Tumblr, all you really missed was me porning Wicklow and Rhoades, as usual, and some cutesy bits of fluff, like Zoe from Little Wolf meeting her mate. Um. hmm you would also have missed me talking briefly about Tulip, and about how Tulip's story (finished) now requires a story for Flor as well. So that is happening. I have a list of things to write, but my brain interrupted and ordered me to the dancing thing first, and it's best to just let my brain do what it wants in these situations.
ANYWAY. I can't remember what snippets were from where, so have a snippety/notes/commentfic type thing from Tumblr.
So. Someone asked about Nathaniel quieting Tim without words. And I mused on the subject. (all typos left as they originally were)
He could though. Because Nathaniel tends to rely on body language and scent to convey his emotional responses. Words are secondary. Whereas Tim is all words, he just flings them at people. It’s a defense mechanism, preemptive strikes, but they are also like… radar? Like Tim sort of susses people out using their reactions to what he says, rather than say, his ears or his nose like a normal wolf.
So there he is, in public somewhere, perhaps FINALLY at the festival with Nathaniel. And it’s a weird thing for him to be in a crowd. A crowd of strangers. Of wolves, a lot of wolves. And they all know him, or seem to know him, or know things about him, aaaand he’s more than a little freaked. And the only thing there even remotely capable of calming him down or distracting him is Nathaniel.
And he’s got Nathaniel’s hand clasped painfully tight in his but so far has not directly said anything about his fear. Instead it’s constant barbs about the weather, the crowds, the events, weird werewolf traditions he doesn’t understand, until finally they are in the shade of a booth–a kissing booth because Tim somehow made that happen what is his life? And he’s staring at these really very sexy werewolves sniffing and kissing these giggling humans (and this one fairy who keeps paying for this one wolf over and over again and the wolf just looks baffled and it’s kind of adorable). Like, staring, and frowning, and his grip on Nathaniel’s hand gets tighter, and Nathaniel can actually see Tim realizing that if he hadn’t come to Wolfs Paw, Nathaniel might have been the one in that booth, being either courted or stalked by that persistent fairy. He can see Tim’s brain worrying over this fact, can hear his heart race and his breathing get distressed. But all Tim is saying is disdainful things about how the town shouldn’t pimp out its wolves and what if that wolf didn’t like that fairy, would he still have to kiss him like that?
And he’s winding himself up as he gets closer to what he’s really thinking about–not being there. Never having met Nathaniel. Nathaniel being alone.
Of all things, it’s Nathaniel being alone that seems to haunt Tim the most, outside of his nightmares of Luca. His Little Wolf is not as selfish as he thinks he is.
So finally Nathaniel lets out a growl, a small one. It makes Tim go quiet but it doesn’t take his eyes from the kissing on display. He’s aroused, but distantly. This is something else. Nathaniel eases closer, coming up behind him while Tim is distracted, and then gets a hint of panic when he releases Tim’s and to wrap his arms around his waist. Panic and worry and panic again, and he tenses.
“Look at them,” he whispers, as the wolf in the booth slowly comes forward to stand before the excited fairy. There are sparkles everywhere. It’s actually a pretty sight. But Tim seemed pained. “God, look at them.” The wolf lets out a rough, encouraging sound and then the fairy is floating toward him. A moment after that they are kissing, werewolf hands big over the smaller fairy body.
Nathaniel slides his hands to Tim’s waist and hauls him back against him. Tim’s breathing makes a hitching sound Nathaniel personally finds delightful.
Little Wolf is imagining Nathaniel kissing that fairy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still thinks Nathaniel is stuck with him, does not want him. He is very foolish.
Nathaniel wants to bite the back of his neck and lets himself think about it, right there in full view of the public. He wants his teeth at Tim’s nape, his tongue on his skin. He wants to lap up desire and salt and Little Wolf.
He keeps his hands where they are, but thinks of them sliding lower, of Tim;s cock sliding through his fist, and Tim weak-kneed and begging. His voice goes high and breathless when Nathaniel makes him come, something that still takes no time at all. Nathaniel wants to spill his mate’s seed in the dirt and then push him to the nearest hard surface, spread his legs.
He wants to mount him, the way Tim fears and loves.
The people around them are starting to notice. A few of them whistle.
Tim is tense now in a new way, shivery and unsteady against him.
“Oh you…” he has to wet his lips. “You bastard. What are you doing?”
Nathaniel isn’t, technically, doing anything. So he doesn’t answer.
He can feel Tim growing hotter, even through his clothes. The air is decidedly musky. The skin of Tim’s neck will probably taste like ripe apples, ready to fall from the tree.
“Oh god,” Tim speaks again, although Nathaniel still hasn’t really even touched him. His heartbeat is fast, but strong, no longer scared. “What? You can’t keep your hands off me or something?”
His tone is cutting, but he is breathless. And his scent is plucked fruit and heat and mate.
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, begrudgingly, if you didn’t know him. “If you really want,” he adds, softer, scared and longing but not wanting it to show, so Nathaniel finally, carefully, presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and then pulls Tim around to kiss his mouth.
The crowd whistles again. He could not care less.
May 20, 2015
in which I try to post three snippets, but livejournal sucks, so you only get one today
Meanwhile, I asked for prompts for snippets over on my Tumblr. These are all Alternate Universe for existing stories. I did not include the Wicklow's Odyssey high school AU because it's more notes and squealing than a story, and the GODRIC AND BERTIE STAR-CROSSED LOVERS AU MADE ME SAD AND DOES NOT EXIST EXCEPT IN MY HEART.
Anyway. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading my stuff and who cares enough to give me fun prompts for the characters they like.
(Okay and LJ made me cut off one story because LJ sucks-so expect another snippet of Cory and Vincent later.... or remind me to post it. I may forget. And the Checking Out Love one as well)
(the AU in which Tommy and Tavio from Medium, Sweet, Extra Shot of Geek, meet at a party)
“Oh my god, look at that face.” The words came out of his mouth but there’s nothing Tommy can do about it. Nothing at this stage of the game, because they were out there. They were out there because he had a weekend with no precious little one to watch over because Kaylee was at a sleepover, and he’d felt old, elderly, ancient to know she was now old enough to spend the night with other little girls and do whatever little girls did. He’d been sufficiently confused by that feeling that he’d avoided in the stupidest way possible, by going to a party at his coworker’s house. A party full of people who might have been his age, but who felt young. None of these people had scars, or nightmares, or possibly even kids.
And so he’d felt old all over again. And perhaps compensated by grabbing three beers in rapid succession and then a shot a very hot girl had handed him, because in his head he was apparently still twenty-three and chasing after tequila and tits.
Well, he’d been about twenty-three again until he’d turned around and seen the hottest man he’d ever seen in his life.
He didn’t even remember moving. He was just suddenly here in front of him, staring into wide, probably surprised, deep, soulful eyes with dark, thick eyelashes. Eyelashes were not something Tommy generally noticed, at least not in the first five seconds of knowing a person, but here he was, staring into rich, warm brown eyes and thinking about those lashes and how they would look against the man’s cheeks, if he closed his eyes when he kissed, like a normal person, and if he’d keep them closed when Tommy sucked his dick, and god, if he bottomed ever, or if he thought it would be hotter if Tommy took it.
Which wasn’t a sober thought, because most guys who wanted Tommy to take it were kind of dicks, but not like fun dicks. Just dicks. The kind he’d learned to get rid of early in the dating stages.
Not that this was dating.
He realized he was staring, and probably about to get his ass kicked, because the most beautiful man he’d ever seen was fit in a way that spoke of discipline and hours at the gym but not idle bodybuilding, and had tattoos, cross tattoos on his wrists. He had one of those Catholic burning heart things on his arm as well, right there, across one taut bicep. When he crossed his arms under Tommy’s mute, possibly awkward and creepy, staring, the muscle there looked positively delicious. Tommy wanted to bite it.
He dragged his gaze back up and said something, he knew he did, but for the life of him had no idea what was coming out of his mouth. He’d been possessed by the spirit of Cazadores. He hoped he was apologizing for his ogling because this wasn’t a gay bar and even if it was, he wasn’t that kind of guy. He at least asked for a name. He hardly wanted to fuck a bunch of anonymous red shirts. He was a true romantic. A Kirk, if you will.
His attention faltered for a moment when he saw the dog tags outline beneath the guy’s simple white t-shirt and got his eyes up immediately this time.
That face. He hissed. He hissed out loud like Cobra Commander and felt his cheeks burning even through all the booze. Warm brown skin and a strong jaw emphasized by a short, dark beard and mustache. Thick eyebrows and a mouth that belonged on a porn star.
“I’m so sorry.” He was apologizing. But not for leering. “Taylor Swift. It’s all my daughter listens to even though she’s never had a boyfriend. She speaks to her or something. But it’s better than Let It Go, so I sort of… let it go.” Tommy pulled in a breath and regretted his every life choice.
Things he did not spill to hot guys right away: Taylor Swift lyrics and the fact that he had a daughter. He usually waited at least five minutes before he mentioned the love of his life. It weeded out the weak.
Which… so far had been pretty much all of them.
The most beautiful man he’d ever met only blinked at him.
“Your eyes are goddamn sparkling,” Tommy informed him, then noticed that in addition to choosing to stand away from most everyone else, the guy had an almost full bottle of tequila next to him. Winner winner chicken dinner. Now Tommy just needed him to a) be queer and b) actually like Tommy. This was probably why words continued to come out of his mouth. “I don’t actually think Taylor Swift is that bad. I just don’t know what to think of my preteen daughter relating to her so hard. Did I fail her? Is she already convinced every boy is going to break her heart? I don’t want boys to break her heart. It’s not nice when boys break your heart, you know?”
“Or,” Tommy went on awkwardly when this made the most beautiful man he’d ever met uncrossed his arms in surprise. “Or maybe you don’t like boys, so they don’t break your heart. Yeah. I mean. Dick’s not for everyone. And lots of people seem to think it’s not for me, or that it is but I won’t admit it and I’m busy fooling myself with women. Or that I’m the heartbreaker because bisexuals can’t be faithful. But I would. I so would be, if someone wanted me and didn’t want to break my heart. I’m like Kirk. I just keep trying.”
He stopped, breathing hard to realize those eyes hadn’t left him. He was being studied, which should have made him feel like a specimen in a lab, or an alien, but he didn’t. “Usually Star Trek references drive off the ones who managed to make it through “daughter” and “bisexual.” Maybe…” Well it seemed racist, or at least rude, to assume this beautiful man didn’t speak English. But honestly, why else would he be tolerating Tommy like this? It wasn’t like they were in a club with booming music where the guy couldn’t hear what he was saying and it didn’t matter because they were just hooking up.
“I would hook up with you, don’t get me wrong,” Tommy paused to gesture curiously at the bottle of tequila and nearly preened when he got a small nod to show he was welcome to it. His first response, and a positive one. “I mean, if you were into that, I’m not presuming. Just… you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life, and so far you haven’t kicked my ass, or threatened to, so as it is, I might marry you.”
He frowned. “When it’s legal. And of course, again, if you’re interested, and if my daughter likes you. Which is a lot to ask, which is why I won’t. Ask you. Anyway, you…” Tommy helped himself to a swallow straight from the bottle and nearly choked when serious eyes focused on his mouth. He took another drink, then set the bottle down and took his time licking his lips.
That earned him a startled look, as if the guy hadn’t expected to get caught staring.
“Suppose that answers my Don’t Ask Don’t Tell questions,” Tommy murmured, voice husky from the liquor. “Don’t talk much, do you? Safer not to. I remember it well.” He gave an easy salute and watched tension he hadn’t known was there ease out of the guy’s magnificent shoulders. “Nothing keeps me from talking,” Tommy added sadly. “Well, almost nothing.” He raised his eyebrows significantly and felt a thrumming under his skin when he was studied; a long, deliberate, searing look from his head to his toes.
“Really?” Tommy was pretty hot if you liked guys with glasses and graphic tees. But this was this man, hot, silent soldier guy with the religious tats and the heavy gaze of someone recently back. Beautiful guy. Serious guy. Tommy wanted to feel his skin under his palms and lick tequila off his lips and maybe slide deep inside him until they were both straining and breathing hard.
Yet he wasn’t moving. “It’s your face. I can’t defile a face like that. My dick hates me for saying it, but you’ve got the reserve and caution of someone not fully out, and I’ve been there, man. I have. I don’t want be your next mistake. Oh goddamn that Taylor Swift.”
“She isn’t so bad.” The hoarse, slow words shocked him into momentary silence. He swung his gaze up and found himself trapped by those brown eyes, all hot and needy and curious in that still face. Oh god, he thought in some sort of weird state of mute arousal and panic, he’d found himself a Vulcan.
The man barely moved, and yet his every breath was mesmerizing. Or Tommy was very drunk. Or there was some Vulcan mind shit at work. The hottest man Tommy had ever seen cleared his throat. “They play her music, where I work.”
“Is that an invitation to come see you in the light of day?” Tommy was an idiot, as brave and reckless as the best space ship captains.
That earned him another blink, but not a no.
Tommy grinned. “Tommy.”
The most beautiful man in the world, and possibly outer space, exhaled softly. “Tavio.”