Julia Huni's Blog, page 6

Oh, Zark!

I’ve been running around telling everyone that Space Janitor Three will launch today. But the bots are conspiring against me! This is the first time I’ve changed the date on a pre-order, and I didn’t realize it still takes three days for the book to go live. If you just publish it usually takes less than 24 hours, but pre-orders take longer for some reason.

So Space Janitor Three will go live on Amazon on Thursday, and on the other retailers on Friday. If you’ve pre-ordered, that’s the day you’ll get the download. If you haven’t, you still can pre-order, or just wait.

I’m so sorry if you were hoping to start reading today. As soon as I can find my time machine and space ship, I will bring you some Dolce Amour apology chocolates.

In the meantime, here’s the first chapter:

Crossing the cargo bay requires timing, speed, and an unhealthy disregard for human life. Your own life, that is. If you get crushed by a cargo bot, you better hope it kills you. Because if it doesn’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life paying off the damage assessment.
I’ve been prowling around the cargo bays for years without getting hurt. Although, to be honest, it doesn’t really require anything except a good eye for patterns. Or access to the cargo bay schedules, so you can look for down times.
My name is Triana Moore, and I’m a station maintenance technician, so I have access to virtually everything on the station. I’m also the daughter of the chair of the station board of directors, which grants its own gold-card access. I try not to use that access unless I absolutely have to—explaining to my mother would be worse than paying off the damage assessment.
Tonight, Charlie Bay is quiet. Bots are unloading a freighter from Grissom over in Bravo Bay, and there’s a cruise liner taking on supplies at Delta. But the last ship docked at Charlie left two hours ago, and the next one isn’t due until morning.
With a wave of my holo-ring, the door to Charlie’s control booth slides open and lights spring on. I take a quick look at the console, but all readings are nominal. Out in the bay, five neatly arranged stacks of crates wait for tomorrow’s ship. I squint at the markings—looks like Kakuvian brandy from the surface and a shipment of zero-grav veggies from the farm levels. The brandy might merit some extra security scans, but it won’t require eyes-on inspection until just before loading.
I dim the windows so lights from the bay won’t disturb me. Then I hook my hammock into the tie down rings—thoughtfully placed at chest height so workers can tether in the event of gravity loss—and climb in for the night.

» «

Thump.
My eyes pop open and I stare into the darkness. The glow from the console power button gives the ceiling a faint blue tinge. I peek over the edge of the hammock, but the console itself is dark.
I lay back and listen. The faint, ever-present hiss of the air handlers sounds loud when I’m paying attention, but that’s all I hear. Wait. What is that? A kind of sliding sound, like something heavy being dragged across carpet.
I lean out of the hammock and reach for the window control. The hammock swings wide and I grab at the console edge to steady myself. My fingers smack the edge of the console, but I can’t—-waaaaghh!
Laying on the floor, I stare up at the dimly lit ceiling. From down here, I feel a rumbling vibration and shuddering thud. Something is going on in the cargo bay.
Rubbing my backside, I climb to my feet and clear the windows. The cargo bay looks just like it did last night. Six neat stacks of crates, waiting for the—
Hang on. Weren’t there five stacks last night?
The sixth stack doesn’t really merit the name. It’s two small crates, about a meter square and maybe two meters long. They have no visible markings, so I fire up the console to consult the manifest. Probably just a late delivery, but I’m awake now, and curious.
Tomorrow’s ship is a freighter headed for Sarvo Six. That’s out on the fringes and we’re the last stop before the long transit. The manifest still shows a huge shipment of Kakuvian brandy and a small produce pickup. Probably to be consumed by the crew on the way—the produce, not the brandy. Although the total bottle count might decrease by the time they arrive. Fresh fruits and veggies are provided by most big freighters to keep crew from jumping to another ship, and a tiny discrepancy in the brandy count will probably be overlooked. Good crew are hard to keep these days.
That’s odd. No other items appear on the manifest. It’s possible they were misrouted. I snoop around through the data for a few minutes, but no one has flagged a missing shipment, yet.
I look out the window again. There is something odd about those two crates. Beads of moisture have gathered along the sides of the crates. They almost appear to be… sweating? With a shrug, I crank up the lights and head out into the cargo bay.
A rapidly drying trail of splotches leads from the internal station doors, across the wide bay to the crates. Whatever it is, it’s leaking, which is not good. I follow the trail to the crates, and walk around them, shining a focused beam from my holo onto the shadowed side of the boxes. No markings, anywhere. No shipping chip, no bar codes.
A bead of moisture collects on the corner of the top crate. It grows, clinging to the edge, then lets go, sliding down the side. Eyes narrowing, I reach out towards the rolling drip. This crate isn’t leaking. It’s melting.
I yank my hand back before touching the crate and spin on my heels. I run back to the control booth. It takes three tries before I manage to get my hammock down and bundled back into its conveniently attached packing bag. I take a swift look around to make sure I’ve left no evidence and scoot out the door.
The warehouse takes up most of Levels 36 and 37. The ring of cargo bays occupies the outer ring, but the rest is a massive open space with bots pushing cargo from one bay to another and into the huge cargo float to distribute items to the rest of the station. I find a convenient stack of crates and sit down, flicking my holo-ring. A quick hack erases my visit to the cargo bay. Then I call Station Operations.
“Ops, Carter.” A small bald man with bright green eyes and a neck tattoo answers the call.
“Carter, it’s Moore,” I say. “I’m off duty, but I need to report a cargo issue.”
“Triana, it’s oh-dark-thirty!” He peers around me, obviously reading the data on his screen. “What are you doing in Cargo if you’re off duty?”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep, figured a walk would help.”
“A walk—through Cargo?” He gives me a look. “Does Kara have a visitor again? You can always crash in my place.”
“Thanks, Carter, but I’m fine. Besides I don’t think your partner would appreciate me randomly barging in.”
Carter waves his bony hand. “Not a problem. We’ve all had roommates before. Tracy gets it. But that’s not why you called.”
I flick a picture of the drip trail to him. “I noticed something dripping. I followed the trail to Charlie, but it’s dried up now. You might want to send someone in to investigate.”
A smile flashes across Carter’s narrow face. “You must be tired. You forgot to strip the metadata from this still, Triana. It places you inside Charlie.”
Zark.
He laughs. “Don’t worry, I deleted it. I’ll send Farquad up on a ‘routine’ check. You mind waiting to show him what’s going on?”
“I don’t think he’ll need me to show him,” I say. “But I’ll wait.”
I look for a place to stash my bag but give up after a few minutes. Carter obviously knows why I’m here, and I’m sure Farq does, too. He’s the biggest gossip in the station. I dash across the warehouse to wait for him by the float tubes in the center of the huge space. Forget what I said about crossing a cargo bay—if you want to take your life in your hands, try crossing the warehouse at peak time. It’s like playing that Ancient Earth vid game with the frog.
A few minutes later, Farq steps out of the float tube. I’m pretty tall for a woman, but Farq makes me feel tiny. He’s well over two meters tall—tall enough he has to duck to go through a standard sized door—and broad as a planet. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with his white teeth and sparkling gray eyes. Blond dreadlocks fall to the middle of his back, but since he’s on duty, they’re tied neatly back into a bundle.
“Yo, Tree, talk to me!” He smiles and slaps me on the shoulder. I stumble and catch my balance against a nearby crate. “I hear you discovered a mysterious trail of moisture!” His voice, like the rest of him, is huge.
He leads the way down the brightly marked safety path, carefully staying between the lines and stopping at the crossings. Farq rolls his eyes at me. I shrug and we both laugh. No doubt this “routine” check is being recorded, or Farq would have bounded across the space like I did earlier. Safety first, at least when the boss is watching.
Farq opens Charlie Bay and we hike across the empty space to the six stacks of crates. I half expected the mystery boxes to be gone, but they’re sitting there, dripping like crazy. In fact, a puddle has formed around the bottom one. We exchange looks, and Farq calls Ops.
“You seein’ this, Carter?” He asks, ignoring the standard protocol. “There’s no ID and it looks like the box piddled on the rug.” He waves a device near the box and puddle. “Nothing on the haz scan, so I’m going to open her up.”
“Roger,” Carter replies, his formality a rebuke. “Proceed with extraction.”
I snicker and Farq grins.
“Proceeding as ordered,” he replies in a robotic voice, shaking his head. He hooks his scanner onto his belt and pulls out another device. He reaches up and attaches it to the top corner of the upper crate. The device latches onto the corner and begins cutting around the top edge like an Ancient Earth can opener.
“Can you see anything up there?” I ask. If I stand on my tippy toes, I can peek over the top edge, but I can’t really see anything. Farq’s extra centimeters give him a distinct advantage here.
“Nothin’ to see. Grab a lifter, will you?”
While the cutter whirs away, I trot across the bay and pull one of the box lifters from the rack by its convenient handle. Bots do most of the heavy lifting, but these hand-held anti-grav lifters make shifting cargo much easier in tight spaces. I grab a second lifter and head back to Farq.
When the cutter finishes its circuit, Farq unclips it and sticks it back into his belt pouch. The smell of hot plastek curls the hairs inside my nose. He attaches a lifter to one end of the box lid and turns it on. With a soft hum the lifter lights up. Farq presses the link sequencer to connect the two lifters and attaches the second one to the other end. He presses a green lighted button. The lifters whine and with a grate and a chunk, the lid comes loose. He tugs the closest handle towards us, and the whole lid slides forward.
“Saints and angels preserve us!” Farq stares down into the box, transfixed. His hand makes a ritual gesture, seemingly without input from his brain.
“What?” I cry, jumping up and down like a spoiled child. “I can’t see! What is it?”
“Not what,” Farq says, still staring into the crate. “Who.”

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Project Unifiy

We spent Saturday at Oregon State University’s Dixon Recreation Center watching the 2019 Oregon Unified Basketball Tournament. Project Unify is a part of Special Olympics.

Two of my kids play on our high school’s Unified Team–one is an “athlete” and the other is a “partner.” The athletes are neurodiverse students–kids with developmental or intellectual disabilities. Some of them have physical differences, as well. The partners are their neurotypical classmates.

These kids take a class in which they play sports together all year–soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter, and softball and golf in the spring. Then they compete against other high schools, sometimes traveling several hours to away games. Some of the partners have been on the team for two or more years–they love it that much. It allows the jocks to play sports in which they don’t normally get to compete, and it lets kids who otherwise would never even consider sports to play on a team and compete at the league or even state level.

Our high school has an amazing culture around Project Unify–thanks almost exclusively to Josh, the incredible special education teacher who brought the program to our school. Unified teams get big send-offs just like the state-bound varsity teams. The Project Unify class had to close registration early this year because too many kids tried to sign up for it. And last time we had a staff vs Unified game, we drew more spectators than the varsity team.

I love attending Unified games. I’m not really into sports, so going to a high school basketball game is just embarrassing–I’m constantly asking someone to explain the arcane rules to me. Seriously, it’s like Bring your Muggle to Quidditch Day.

But at a Unified game, no one cares if you clap for the wrong team, or you don’t remember if we’re “home” or “guest,” or if you don’t understand why that guy just got three free-throws, even though the final buzzer had already sounded. (Really, the last game yesterday ended 28-27 with a foul on a three-point attempt.**)

You just get to cheer on some amazing kids who are playing their hearts out. You get to watch a kid with leg-braces and a helmet make two points–after the opposing team passes him the rebound and gives him another chance to score. And you get to see your own team win the Sportsmanship award because they are the most generous and helpful kids of all. They took Bronze, too, but as Josh said, after bringing a stack of pizzas to the bus for the four hour ride home, “You won the most important award.” And they all knew exactly what he was talking about.

That’s Project Unify.

Yours truly with my son’s bronze medal and the team’s Sportsmanship trophy.

** “foul on a three-point attempt”: I hope I got the verbiage right.

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Space Janitor Three Cover Reveal!

I’m almost finished writing the third Space Janitor novel. After working with my cover designer, I decided to change the title. I was never really enamored with my early title: Space Cruise Scrub Down. And it was too long to fit nicely on the cover.

Now that it’s ninety percent complete, I’ve decided to rename it. So, with no further ado, here is the cover of the soon to be released Stars, Stiffs and Stains: Space Janitor Three.

Duh-duh-duh-daaaaaah!

Cleaning the galaxy, one cruise ship at a time.

When maintenance technician Triana Moore gets temporarily transferred to a passenger liner, she doesn’t expect luxury and relaxation. Bot-minding is the same on a station or ship. But with twelve-hour workdays and five roommates in her cabin, Triana thinks she should have read the employment contract more carefully.

Days into the cruise, her boss, Les, goes missing. Triana dusts off her sleuthing skills to start snooping. Together with a retired Marine Corps dance instructor, a socially inept hospitality intern, and her favorite security agent, she must navigate more than just the solar system. They dodge dance competition divas, reality show cameras and the occasional wealthy sociopath to search for the missing supervisor.

Will they find Les before she goes dancing through the stars? And will they find time to hit the buffet before all the chocolate strawberries are gone?

Space Janitor Three will be available on pre-order within the next week, with a publishing date of March 2019 (or maybe sooner!) I’ll come back and add the purchasing link as soon as it’s available.

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Space Opera Libretti

I have some super exciting writing news!

Late last year, my sister, writer AM Scott, told me about an anthology called Space Opera Libretti. They were looking for humorous Science Fiction, which is kinda my jam. So, I wrote a story called Time Paws. By the way, it has nothing to do with Space Janitor. My sister (who’s always my alpha reader) and my good friend, Gwen Chapman, gave it a good read-through and their suggestions made it even better. I sent it off.

In January, I was thrilled to find out my story had been selected for the anthology! Today, the team officially announced the authors who will be featured (in no particular order):

Ingrid Garcia
K.G. Anderson
Jean Graham
Julia Huni
Tom Barlow
Harry Turtledove
EDE Bell
James Dorr
Larry Hodges
Cait Gordon
Dave D’Alessio
Minerva Cerridwen
Bruce Taylor
Alex Kropf
Dawn Vogel
Lizz Donnelly
Dean Brink
Spruce Wells
Jennifer Lee Rossman
Brian McNett

Do you see that name, two below mine? Yeah, that’s the Harry Turtledove!! I’m going to be in an anthology with Harry Turtledove! Excuse me if I’m fan-girling over here, just a little. Getting accepted for this anthology was exciting enough, but now I’m hyperventilating.

So, why the picture of the Cat’s Eye Nebula? You’ll have to wait until the anthology comes out in August to find out…

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Do you believe in signs?

I’ve been unhappy in my day job. The best thing about it is I get two months off in the summer. That, and the crappy pay check, are what have kept me coming back for the last few years. I almost quit this summer, but it’s hard to argue with a regular income.

It’s not a hard job. In fact, it gives me lots of time to do my own things — like write. But I was raised in a strong-work-ethic, Catholic-guilt family, so doing my own thing on the clock brings so much emotional baggage that I can’t really focus. So I spend a lot of time being bored, trying to make work for myself that will somehow benefit the organization.

Now, I’ve had some feelers out, and there’s rumor a job will be opening up come July. It will be in my local area, so less driving for me. It’s part time but has good benefits, so I’d have more time to write without the guilt. The people who work there would love to have me on-board. But, as with so many places, there’s some discussion as to whether the position will be filled, if it will stay the same or change, and if someone internal will have priority.

So there I was, two weeks ago, driving up the hill to work. I was having a conversation with The Big Guy, about what I should do with my life. It went something like this: “Listen, God, I need a sign. I need to know if I should stick it out in this job until next summer, in hopes the new job will be there for me, or if I should seriously start putting out resumes and try to find something new, now. I need direction–a sign. And it needs to be a BIG SIGN. None of these subtle little ones, but a big-ass “DO THIS” kind of sign.”

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t say “big-ass” to God, but He and I go way back.

I got to work, and my boss came out of a meeting, came in my office, and shut the door. In the three and a half years I’ve worked for her, she’s never done that before, so I was a little apprehensive.

She gave me the scoop: a soon-to-be-announced reorganization had been finalized. Major departments were to be shuffled. She and our admin assistant would be promoted. The other directors in the building will be given more responsibility.

“What about me?” I asked. I wasn’t worried about being let go, because our organization doesn’t do that–even when they should. “With you taking on a larger work load, this would be a great time to transfer more of the program management to me. You know I can do it.” I’ve been asking for more work for ages.

She nodded because she knows I can do it. Then she said, “We’re not going that direction at this time.”

Well, I asked for a big-ass sign. Everyone is getting promoted except me. That’s pretty telling. I went home that afternoon and wrote my resignation letter.

What will I do now? I guess I’ll have more time to write.

How about you–do you believe in signs?

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Curl up with a good book

The days after Christmas can be busy, if you’ve got family visiting and awesome things planned. Or they can be a drag, if people are working. Or, if like me, you have teens who want to huddle in with their new video games. If you’re looking for something short and fun to read, here’s the beginning of my Christmas novella, The Trouble with Tinsel

Chapter One

Now I’m no Grinch, but I just want to go on record saying, “I hate tinsel.” The garlands are bad enough—those fluffy ropes get caught in automatic doors and jam up the works. The long, stringy bits that are meant to resemble icicles are worse. Inevitably, someone will throw a handful, or twenty, into one of the float tubes, and we’ll find the stuff all over the station, well into February.

But the door-sized, foil curtains of fringe
are the worst. They’re all the rage on SK2 this year. Fluttering drapes of
bright, metallic tinsel wave across every corridor in the place. The loose
reflective nature of those curtains confuses the bots. And when the
two-meter-long strings break loose, they wrap around the gears inside the vacu-bots, sending them limping home to the garage.

Maybe I am a Grinch. Nothing stops up the
works like Christmas. Sticky Kakuvian pine pitch on the floors, wrapping paper
filling up the recycle shoots, drunken party-goers spewing in corners. The
cleaning bots don’t handle any of it well. Which means I have to. Handle it,
that is.

My name is Triana Moore, and I’m a maintenance technician on Station Kelly-Kornienko. In other words, I’m a space janitor. Keeping the bots working is my bread and butter, and at Christmas time, that’s no sleigh ride.

A flashing red icon catches my eye. I
shove the last of a Toasty Pie into my mouth and roll my chair up to the
console. Bot 23D is stuck. Running diagnostics tells me nothing, and the on-bot
cam shows only clear corridor. I dispatch a repair drone and turn back to my
Sweet Slurp.

A second flashing icon appears next the
first. The repair bot has stopped about twenty meters from 23D. They’re on
cross corridors, so the two bots are not in line-of-sight, but a quick scan
shows nothing near the repair bot. Now that’s odd.

I tap into the vid feeds, but that
intersection is dark. The cams are offline and can’t be rebooted. My eyes
narrow. This feels like hacking. But when I go into the operating system,
there’s no indication anyone else has been there. Hmmm.

I toggle the contact icon and tag the ops
supervisor.

“Ops, al-Rashid-Thompson.” The operations
supervisor, “Rash,” appears on the screen.

“Maintenance, Moore,” I respond. “I got a
couple bots up on Level 20 on the fritz. They aren’t responding, and I can’t
get vid.”

“Yeah, I noticed some cams were down. I
was wondering when you were going to get around to fixing them.” As he speaks,
a banner flashes across my screen.

Level 20. Cams down.

“Hello! Space janitor, here. I don’t fix
cams, I just dust them.” I lean in and swipe a sleeve over the cam I’m talking
into. Rash waits until I lean back to roll his eyes. “But I’ll take a look
while I’m out there.” I flick the banner and the details pop up. They’ve been
out for twenty minutes, so why didn’t the alert come in right away? “Why didn’t
you tag repair?” Two can play the finger pointing game.

Rash holds up his hands. “I did. I’m just
yanking your charging cable, Moore. We’ll watch the store while you’re out.”

I sign off, forward the calls to Ops, and
lock the MCC behind me. I bat the shiny green fringe of one of those zarking
tinsel curtains out of my way and stride out to the Level 2 concourse.

A thick airlock door separates the repair
and maintenance section from the rest of Level 2. I wave my ring at the door,
it cycles open. A wave of sounds slams into my eardrums.
I fight my way through another tinsel curtain, this time red, and out into the
crowded concourse.

Throngs of people crowd the open space,
everyone with a cup, mug, or bottle in hand. 
Inflatable reindeer and a huge sparkly sleigh hang from the ceiling. A
vendor sells something sticky-looking from a little cart on the far side of the
space. A bar has been set up outside the small pub on my right, and a line of
people wait in line for spiced wine. Fine, white confetti whirls through the
air, floating on the wafts of circulating air. Christmas is still three days
away, but when the holiday falls on a Monday, the party starts on Friday.

“Merry Christmas!” someone sings out, and
a cheer goes up.

Scents of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg
tease my nose and I sneeze. Inane Christmas music plays over the concourse
speakers:

His little red spaceship shoots across the sky
With eight engines racing, just watch them fly!
A team full of elves printed presents all year
On the planet North Pole with the magic reindeer.
Space Santa! Watch him fly
Space Santa! He’s our guy
Space Santa! Bringing gifts to all
Space Santa! Space Santa!

Someone shoves a beaker into my hand. It
looks like eggnog, but the fumes indicate a high level of alcohol. I hand it
off to someone else as I make my way through the crowd. Puffs of white cottony
“snow” lie in drifts at the base of the float tubes. A stray tuft wafts up
inside the tube as I watch. Shaking my head, I step into the tube and follow.

At Level 20, the party continues. Here the
decorations are blue and white instead of red and green, and a two-meter-tall
dreidel spins above our heads. Someone shoves a glass of blue liquid at me, shouting
“Martzel Pop!”

I battle my way through the horde,
throwing a few gentle hip-checks along the way. Ducking into Radial 7, I hurry
out-station and turn again at C Ring. The sounds of the party fade to a muted rumble, and I wave my ring at
an access door.

Ducking through the entry, I scramble
through the quiet bot duct, bent almost double to avoid the pipes above my
head. Some of the bot access ducts are tall enough to allow easy access for
workers, but in these older, lower levels, a lot of them have been modified
over time. The conduits have been added for additional wiring and plumbing. The
space above them is often illegally co-opted by residents, providing extra
storage. Sometimes it’s rented out on the black market to bring in extra
credits.

A few meters in, I reach bot 23D. It’s
humming quietly, so I tap the control panel. The tiny screen lights up and
shows all systems green. “Why are you just sitting here?” I ask, but the bot
doesn’t answer. Which is a good thing—they don’t have voice response.

I run diagnostics, just to confirm the
green screen, but nothing pops up. Crawling over the bot, I check underneath
and all around. Nothing on the floor that would stop it from moving. Some of
the bots are designed to follow painted cues on the floor, but this is not one
of those bots. And the floor is clean. I hit the resume button, and then jump
away as the bot tries to continue on its pre-programmed route. It stops
harmlessly a couple centimeters from my legs. Looking up, I spot the girders
from which the conduits are suspended. I grab the girder and pull my legs up,
in the kind of crunch I’ve seen Kara do. As soon as my legs are out of the way,
the bot to trundles beneath me and away on its business.

I drop back onto my feet. Fixing bots and
getting a workout at the same time—way to multitask Triana! I rub my stomach,
wondering if one crunch counts as working out. It’s Christmas, so yeah, it
does.

The bot bleeps again, stopping about ten
meters away. Maybe there’s a loose chip or wire. This is going to take some
major diagnosis work. Opening the command screen via my holo-ring, I flick the
“suspend the route” button and input a “return to garage” command. Execute
another perfect gymnastic feat to allow the bot to head back the way we both
came. Two crunches—maybe I’ll reward myself with one of those sticky pastries
when I get back to Level 2.

With a yelp, I swing up into a third
crunch as the repair drone I sent up earlier whizzes toward me, hot on the
trail of the vacu-bot. I am definitely
getting the sticky bun when I get back down.

I wander further up the duct. Obviously,
the repair drone never reached the stalled bot. Maybe there was something up
here causing the trouble. I reach a cross
duct. A movement to my right draws my eyes. Then I do a double take.

A young-looking man with flowing
white-blond hair sits cross-legged in the center of the duct. His head is
bowed, his powerful shoulders nearly touch the duct sides, and a snug red shirt
stretches across his abs and pecs.

I straighten in surprise and bang my head
against the conduit. “Fork!”

The man’s head pops up and his startling
blue eyes fix on me. “Spoon?” he replies uncertainly.

Rubbing my head, I step closer. “Who are
you? And what are you doing in my bot duct?”

He cocks his head, as if considering my
question. “Is this your duct?”

“I’m a maintenance tech, so yeah, it’s my
duct.” I say, belligerent. “Who are you?”

He shakes his head, his thick hair
swinging around his face. “I don’t have a good answer for you.”

“Look, if you’re too drunk to remember
your name, I can get you some BuzzKill and send you on your way.” I’ve
encountered lost partiers before. “I won’t call security. But you can’t stay
here.”

He pushes a hand through his hair. “I
don’t feel drunk. I just don’t remember my name.” His eyes widen. “Or how I got
here. Or where I came from.”

“What do you remember?” I ran into some
criminals a few months ago who used a memory-wiping
drug. Maybe this guy got a dose somehow.

The guy’s stomach growls, loudly. “I
definitely don’t remember when I ate last.” He smiles at me, the expression
lighting up his face. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Do you want to read more? Get The Trouble with Tinsel

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Find a new book every day

I am excited to announce I will be on Romance Lives Forever Blog on Sunday, December 16, 2018! 

You don’t have to read romance to enjoy this blog — they feature a new author every day, and obviously, if I’m going to be on there, it’s not just romance! In addition to romance, they feature Science Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Regency, Historical, and Suspense.

Come on over and check out all the fantastic books!

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Cozy Mystery Give-aways

All this month, a different author is taking over the Readers Love Cozies Facebook page. If you like cozy mysteries, this is a great chance to “hang out” with some fun authors. Play some games, answer some questions, and you’ll have a chance to win some swag including gift cards, books and more. And I’ll be there on Sunday the 23rd. Come on over!

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New Release: The Trouble with Tinsel

I just published The Trouble with Tinsel, my newest installment in the Space Janitor series. It’s a novella, so longer than a short story, and shorter than a novel! It’s available at all the big ebook retailers. I probably won’t print paperbacks, since it would be a slim volume, but I’ll combine it with a couple other stories and do an anthology someday. I hope you enjoy it!

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Goin’ Wide

In the Indie Publishing world, you’re either exclusive to Kindle Unlimited (KU), or you’re “wide.” Being in KU means your books are available to anyone who subscribes to KU at no additional cost. KU subscriptions cost about $10 per month, so for people who read a lot, they’re a great deal. Some of my first readers and reviewers were KU subscribers.

But there are thousands and thousands of books in KU, and getting noticed is tough. There are also some folks who think “good” books aren’t published in KU. Since traditionally published books–especially those from the “big five” publishers in New York–aren’t available in KU; since anyone can put up a KU book; and since KU books are “free” to subscribers, there can be a perception that KU books just aren’t that good.

I’ve read a lot really great books in KU, and I know many talented authors who publish through it. So when I started out, that’s the direction I went. But I haven’t seen a lot of action on the KU front, and there are opportunities that are not available (or less accessible) if one is exclusive to Amazon, such as eBookaRoo and Bookbub. Let’s face it: being a successful Indie Author means getting your books discovered. So I’ve made the decision to “go wide.”

This just means my books won’t be available for free through KU anymore. You can still buy them on Amazon! And if you’re a KU subscriber, don’t worry, I want to take care of any loyal fans! I’ll let you know via my newsletter when any of my books are free or discounted, so just sign up if you want the deets.

It also means my books will be available through Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and other online “e-tailers” in addition to Amazon.

This process takes a while since books are in KU for 90 days at a time. Murder is Messy is no longer in KU, but Dirtside Decluttering will be available there through the middle of December. Nanobots and Pudding Pots was never in KU, since you can get it free by signing up for my newsletter and KU doesn’t allow authors to give KU books away–except through them.

Also, a new Christmas story will be coming out next month, but it will be “wide” from the get-go.

And the reality is, I may come back to KU. A lot of authors find KU is better for them in the long run. I just need to spread my wings and find out for myself.

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