Jaime Samms's Blog: Stories Between Men, page 5

Why The Day Shouldn’t Start…

…Yet.

A) Because I’m self-employed, so damnit, I should get a say in this. Only today, I had an appointment (which I will tell you about in a minute) so I had to get up at stupid o’clock.

As anyone who knows me can attest, any trip out of the house for any occasion will be carefully planned around the location of the most convenient (and hopefully closest) Tim Horton’s. It just will, and if you want to be a part of my life, you accept the fact.

And for the “I-was-bored-and-wanted-to-play-with-my-phone” illiterate, that would be: My wallet minus a twonie, plus a Tim’s XL equals Jazz!Hands.

Of course, buying a vat of the elixir of life can only lead one place, sooner or later. Now public restrooms have never been my thing, even on a nice, “cute-dress-and-a-hoodie” day. On a “winter-coat-scarf-touque-mitts-and-tights” day? This is proof in some other life I had a wicked streak. There is no other way to explain why I was born into a life lived out mostly in this northern realm where layers and bulk clothing are essential.

Anyway, leave the house I did. And I got my precious Tim’s and my dreaded twenty-minute bathroom break, so I could go to the aforementioned appointment, which was with the audiologist. (And to remind us all that everything does balance out, not only does this far northern realm freeze my ever-loving ass off, it also pays for me to go see the ear doctor free of charge. Silver lining and all that).

So. The charming young audiologist did all his fancy stuff with me in the sound-proof room that looks like a giant refrigerator, and the upshot of it all is that he confirmed what I have long suspected. Those low, male voice/vowel sounds are, in fact, mildly outside my hearing range.

What does this mean for my job? Nothing. The diagnosis doesn’t actually change anything except that now I know I have not been making this shit up all these years. I really can’t hear some things. I’m not going deaf or anything. I’m probably not even in need of a hearing aid. To paraphrase the doc, it’s mild and has probably been this way for a long time. (He’s right on that score. I know it’s been this way a long time, like years long, if not always)

So if we’re in a noisy place and you say something to me, especially if you’re a guy or have a low-register voice, and I look blankly at you like I have no idea what you’re talking about, it’s not you. It’s me. If I seem to be squinting at your mouth as you speak, you probably don’t have anything between your teeth, I’m just trying to make out what’s going on. Ultimately, though, it boils down to “now I know”.

And getting out of the house allowed me to do a bit of scouting. You see, I worked hard this last little while, and because I have a fair and generous employer, it netted me that elusive thing called a bonus. Remember these?

Well. Hard work does win out in the end, because when that bonus hits the bank, these will hit my private boot shelf. Or something very like them, as I might opt to be practical (wonder of wonders) and buy an actual lined pair of boots if I can find one suitably stylish. It is winter in the close-enough-to-not-matter far north, after all.

And I guess there never was a B) Self employed seems like all the reason I need not to have to get out of bed until I feel like it most days, I guess.

New Digs

So I may or may not have mentioned that I recently started a new-ish job. I still work from home and still for the same company, I just took on some extra duties. These duties are nicely conducive to being among the family chaos while I’m working. (Unlike writing for which I still have my cozy, Do-Not_disturb retreat)

Trouble was, I had set up a work station on the kitchen table, and that got awkward around meal times and any time anyone needed a flat surface to put down, say, a coffee cup or something.

So I nagged my husband to create a space for me that I could use while the tv was blaring and the kids were doing homework and he was cooking that didn’t banish me when the writing day was done.

He finally sifted through the remains of various pieces of furniture we have stashed around the premises and this is what he came up with.

The table top came from an antique piece of built-in furniture long ago ripped from it’s original home and stored in our basement before we lived here. The legs from a disused kitchen table we decided we didn’t like. The pillow was a bit of hooking I found in my grandmother’s linen closet 15 years ago when we moved in, and the chair came from his mother when she downsized. The lamp is from my daughter’s dance teacher who found one she liked better and so we volunteered to re-home her old one. Now I can work in the family room and my work station is stylish when I’m not working as everything tucks away into the drawers when I’m not using it.

My earth-friendly daughter will be thrilled with the outcome. I feel all tree-huggy right now, and I’m uber-thrilled with the outcome.

Thanks, hubs and boy-child for the fantastic use of a few scraps of wood, screws and ingenuity. You’ve both made me very happy today.

Snippets and Random Stuff

so, Halloween. It snowed. Almost two feet. Now, around here, even here, that is crazy shit. I would have taken a picture, but it was pretty depressing, especially since I also dropped my phone in the bath that day. It was a long one. But there are costumes to see. They chose to go with a twisted, steampunk-y version of Alice in Wonderland, in part based on the Tim Burton version.

The Field Mouse and The Mad Hatter

And while that snow went away, it seems to have come back today. *Le Sigh*

In other news, Overheard Conversation Between the Kids:

Him: Make up a day of the week using food.

Her: Thorsday.

Him: Thor isn’t food.

Her: “Yes. He’s eye candy.

I don’t really know that there’s anything to add to that…

Happy Saturday, all.

Spoiler Alert: Life

 

So today walking through the mall, I saw a kiosk. It’s called “Personalized by Santa”. Really?

Parents with kids who still believe: let me introduce you to construction paper and magic markers. You don’t have to be an artistic genius to figure this out. Cut a square of paper and write “To: [My Kid] from: Santa.” Use colour. Glitter, even. But be careful. You might have fun and feel a weird kind of connection to your long lost childhood. It can be disconcerting if you’re not used to it.

Also. To the woman in the bathroom stall next to mine for who relieving yourself is apparently and audibly orgasmic experience. Just. Really? Some things we don’t need to know about. Honest.

*Sigh* I know this is just quite a bitchy post. But sometimes I just don’t get people, and am not sure how else to react. Sorry.

And to mitigate my apparent judge-y bitchiness this morning and prove the world is not entirely without merit: these.

 

Matt Alber

Rick reed posted this video in one of the groups I belong to today, and it sort of made me tear up a bit. Love can be so sweet. Sometimes that can be hard to remember, but it’s important.

I went off and bought the rest of the album here because I do want to remember that tenderness is a part of loving another person.

A Little Bit of Fun

So, I don’t actually write shifters or anything, but I saw this picture and there they were. Not sure what kind of shifters, beyond really big cats, but I thought it was interesting, so I wrote it down.

Here is the picture, first of all. 

And the 100 words to jump off from, if I ever get a chance…

Hierarchy. Everything was about hierarchy. Pride rule. Though his harness wasn’t required in public, Des wore his collar. Always. It irked him that New Guy didn’t. He strutted in his hot pants, heels and harness like he wasn’t lowest on the totem pole.

“Smile!” The camera shutter clicked.

Des hated these public displays disguised as photo shoots and parades. His animal rippled under his skin. How long since his last release? Ten days? Twelve?

Too long.

New Guy liked chains. Maybe he was tame. Des wasn’t.

Humans shouldn’t play Pride games. Master or not, no human could chain Des forever.

Not completely sure about writing this, both because of the shifter content, (which I’m not experienced with) and because the plot suggests to me that there is a certain amount of involuntary, non-consentual stuff of one sort or another going on in these guys’ lives. Not sure if I want to write that….

Thoughts? Opinions? Suggestions?

Today is the Day ~ Patchwork Heaven

I’ve been so deep in the bowls of my latest WIP that I almost forgot!!!! Today is the day! Patchwork Heaven is out!!!

The cover, I love to pieces. It’s so pretty. I’m pleased with how the story turned out, and I’ll be talking about it (among other things) tomorrow on Dreamspinner Press’s Facebook page. I hope y’all come on by and ask your questions, chat and keep me company

The Blurb

Singer Coby Kennedy and his drummer twin, Bruce, have a band called Patchwork Heaven. They have been rising steadily up the country music charts, but unfortunately, that rise has attracted unwanted attention. Faced with anonymous letters, sinister gifts, and the wanton destruction of their personal space, they hire The Detail, a specialized security firm. Coby never anticipated Gregor, The Detail’s owner and his personal guard, would be quite so intriguing.

As the stalker gets closer and more violent and questions pile up, Gregor fears his past might get in the way of him finding who is threatening his client when he becomes suspect number one. Even though Coby is convinced Gregor is not behind the threat, Gregor is not sure he’s the right man to keep Coby safe, either from the stalker, or from his own interest in the singer.

Friend Release: The Path by Ariel Tachna

A week or so ago my friend Ariel had a new release of a book that was inspired by something she did that I admire so completely.

She hiked The Inca trail. Now I think doing such a thing probably would have killed me. I’m just not in that kind of shape.

The incredible experience that must have been, I can’t even imagine. The pictures she brought back are stunning. It must have been amazing to see the sights in person.

I can only imagine the scope of the love story inspired by such vistas. I can’t wait to read it myself. In the meantime, here is the blurb and an excerpt, and I can promise you that the little snippets I was privy to along the way were beautiful. These two guys really deserve a happy ending.

 

All his life Benicio Quispe has dreamed of being a guide on the Inca Trail. He gets his chance when the top travel agency in Cusco, Peru hires him. Alberto Salazar, his assigned mentor, fits Benicio’s idea of a perfect guide, but he’s also everything Benicio never dared to dream of in a boyfriend. Alberto learned a long time ago to be discreet about his sexuality. It’s a necessary sacrifice to keep the respect of the guides and porters whose help is critical in a successful hike. So he pushes aside his attraction to his new junior guide and goes on as usual. But when a group of old friends arrives to hike the trail again, they convince him a relationship with Benicio is worth pursuing. His newfound resolve is enough to get them on a first date, but no amount of courage can change the attitudes of their family and friends. The risks on the trail are easy compared to finding a path through the challenges keeping them apart.

https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5384

EXCERPT:

BENICIO QUISPE took a deep breath as he stood at the base of the Monkey Steps and stared up at the last section of the climb before Machu Picchu. They had been hiking for more than an hour already, with the sky slowly lightening over their heads, but the sun had yet to make an appearance over the highest peaks. Sheltered between the mountains as they were, they would not see the sun for another hour or more. Atop the Sun Gate, though, the view would be entirely different.

Gripping his walking sticks more firmly and ignoring the pain in his knees from overuse, he set his foot on the first step and began to climb. His thighs burned by the time he reached the final step. He was glad there were only fifty steps in this flight, because they were too narrow and too steep to climb with the typical zigzag walk that had made the first three days of the hike bearable. He paused for a moment to appreciate the clean lines of the Sun Gate. He had studied it, along with all the other Inca remains along the trail, as part of his preparation for becoming a guide, but this was the first time he had ever seen it in person.

The sun peeked over the mountain behind him, reminding him of the time and driving him forward so he would not miss the highlight of the trip and the whole reason for the three-thirty wake-up call that morning. He stepped beneath the arch and froze, heedless of anyone on the trail behind him. Machu Picchu lay spread out in the valley before him, cloaked in shadow still, though the sun’s rays had begun their descent into the valley. All his life he had seen pictures of it, even before he started studying to be a guide. He had learned about it in school, seen pictures his friends and fellow guides had taken, but standing there and seeing it with his own eyes after three days of hiking stole his breath. His eyes prickled with tears as he forced his legs to work while, around him, other hikers snapped photos.

His guide began to give information about the Sun Gate and Machu Picchu and the final leg of the hike. Benicio knew he should pay attention to what the other man was saying. In a few weeks, he would be the one standing there with tourists looking to him for information, but the voice was a wordless drone in his ears. He had attention only for the holy city and the inexorable march of the sun’s rays down the mountainside. The sunlight reached stone and turned it golden, and Benicio could only imagine what it must have looked like during the reign of the Inca, when the city would have been filled with real gold. Even now, a ruin instead of the vibrant center of worship it had once been, the city captivated him.

One group after another moved forward to have photos taken as he stood there, but he ignored them. He could not tear his eyes away long enough to see if one of the groups was his. They did not matter in the face of the splendor and wonder that was Machu Picchu. Finally his group’s guide came up to him and put a hand on his arm, startling him out of his contemplation.

“It’s time to go.”

Benicio nodded and gathered his gear, but his gaze returned to the city as he walked. When the path curved enough that the city was lost to view and Benicio could tear his thoughts away for a moment, he made a promise.

When he was a guide, he would wait for his guests to bask in the full glory of the city before dragging them away to continue the hike. They would get up earlier or linger less in storing their gear before the guided visit, but he would not spoil their communion with his words.

Release Day!!!!

Okay. So, me being me, I kept meaning to talk about this book as release day approached, and never seemed to find the time. Well, it’s release day, and it’s time, whether I have a few spare moments or not.

SO here it is, Scars on his Heart. 

Mostly, I want to make this post because this book requires a very special thank you to Elizabeth North (and all the Dreamspinner team) but most especially Elizabeth, and I’ll tell you why.

A (very) Brief History of Me

I don’t speak up in crowds. I sit quietly and I listen. I have bouts of confidence in which I might voice an opinion or agree with someone about something, but for the most part, I don’t – and have never – been a vocal, out-there person.

To illustrate: I was taking archaeology in University. I was two and a half years in, even suffering through taking statistical analysis by correspondence (in the days before internet was commonplace) to get the credits I needed. I was loving the course, the digs, the lab work, all of it. Then came the class where the professor told us our mark would be based, about 80% on presentations, because in our line of work, the money for all that digging around with spoons and an old toothbrush came from the government or private funding. As scientists of ancient humanity, it was part of our job description to convince those with the cash to hand it over to us to dig holes in the ground on the off chance of finding something interesting.

I QUIT

No word of a lie. I packed up my school bags half way through the semester and walked away from a career I was invested in, emotionally and financially, because just the thought of getting up in front of my classmates to present an argument of any kind made me want to build a blanket fort in my living room and stay there forever.

So along comes this thing called a writing career, and I am bound and determined to fumble through it never having to do a reading in front of even one other person, ever.

Fly me to New York

In March of 2012, I attend a workshop for Dreamspinner writers and we break into groups to do some writing exercises. Unbeknownst to me when I signed up, a part of the exercise is to read the impromptu writing to our small group of four or five other writers. I was already nervous enough to discover that Ms. North has sat her illustrious self down at our table and intends to participate. Then I have to read brand new, written that moment work with the group, in front of my publisher. The nerves. They are beyond the beyond.

Back to the Now

The scene I wrote for the workshop that day became this book. The woman I had help up as a professional example became a personal hero, as well. Yes. She publishes my stories. But she inspires my life, and she took a bit of the fear from me that day and turned it to confidence in my abilities. There are never words to describe what that is worth, and that is why this book is dedicated to her. Thank you, Elizabeth. 

Friend Release: Chasing the Sunrise by Lex Chase

“Chasing Sunrise (The Darkmore Saga: Book One)” By Lex Chase

Chasing Sunrise
(The Darkmore Saga, Bk 1)
by Lex Chase
 
Blurb:
On the Coastal Bend of Texas, a hidden kingdom called Darkmore lies in ruins, and King Sevon Maraté is trapped. Using Sevon as a mouthpiece and a scapegoat, Lord Dominic rules from the shadows. Sevon copes with the unrelenting abuse by dressing in women’s finery and casting an image of graceful nobility. Born of royal verkolai blood and as beautiful as he is lethal, he possesses the ability to part the Veil separating his world from hundreds of others. His gift is his chance to escape, but Dominic refuses to relinquish his tool for power. Dominic forges an ambitious plan to invade the prosperous land of Priagust. Only a select few know the mythic kingdom of shifters exists. Sevon is out of options for his people’s survival, and cooperating with Dominic is his only chance.On their foray into Priagust, Dominic’s men kidnap and interrogate a shifter named Jack. Even under torture, Jack’s loyalty to his kind never wavers. But as Jack’s knowledge about Darkmore’s king and its history unsettles Sevon, a curious bond begins to form. Despite Sevon’s mistrust, Jack is determined to tame Sevon’s wild heart and perhaps earn his freedom. As invasion looms, Sevon wonders if trusting Jack will lead him into another trap or if he should forget about chasing the sunrise and remain Dominic’s compliant prisoner.





Available for purchase at





Excerpt



Jack shuddered against the cold bite of his

shackles. The iron cuffs held him upright, and his arms were stretched tight

over his head. Gravity pulled him sloping forward painfully against his bonds.

His umber hair swayed in sweat-slicked strands and clung to his face. The

humidity hung like milky fog visible against the gray stones. He could smell

the herbal traces of algae glazing the walls. No moans, no cries for release,

not even a rattled chain sounded throughout the dungeon. He deduced he was the

only prisoner—or the only one currently living.

It had happened so fast. He was at the shoreline of the lake when

two figures shot from the water. Shrouded in black, the demonic men yanked him

into the lake. Jack had expected his end. But he didn’t expect a dungeon, and

not just any, but Darkmore’s dungeon. He knew it as well as any ghost story. He

had teased Sevon mercilessly for crossing his fingers and turning in a circle

three times as he walked by the entrance.

Jack’s heart softened. Sevon, sweet Sevon. It had been exciting

for Jack when he was a cub to have a special friend outside of Priagust. One

who was not a shifter at all, but something different. He was Jack’s treasure,

and he would guard their memory.

But the men had taken him and tossed him in this dank cell. It had

to be a mistake. Darkmore was Priagust’s sworn protector. King Louis would

never wrongfully imprison a shifter. Jack spit a speck of grit. Was Louis

alive? Did he survive the storm? What of Anna Maria? Surely she’d know.

But Jack wasn’t sure. He had been just a child when he saw Louis

die, and all childhood memories were fallible. He could only hope it was a

misunderstanding. He squinted with the painful pull in his shoulders, and the

realization sank in. This was far more than a mere misunderstanding.

Jack’s pupils flexed into pinpricks when the sound of distant

footsteps announced someone’s approach. He jerked his chin toward the sound to

get the first look at his host.

An ethereal, earthbound spirit drifted into the dungeon. Pale as

Winter Mother’s snow and with a brilliant bloom of golden curls to rival Father

Sun’s rays, the woman captivated him. Dressed in layers of the midnight sky and

coal, her skirts swirled in a trail of goldfish fins behind her. The unusual

ladybird settled at the cell door, tossing a lock of spun gold over her

shoulder. She waited.

“What do they call you?” she coldly demanded.

A peculiar tenor tone in her voice made Jack choke on his breath. A man. The strange, colorful bird was a man.

By the way he glared at Jack as if he were of no consequence, Jack

decided that whatever the case, he had to be on guard. Jack sniffed and

mentally discerned a more masculine scent under the perfumed oils. But there

were two masculine scents, this beautiful man’s and someone else’s. He licked

the salt on his lip and smirked. He had nothing left to lose.

Jack lifted his head, and he panted against the searing pain in

his back. He focused on the curious little meadowlark shrouded in flimsy

frippery. He had never seen such an unusual hue of hair before, but he knew one

thing for certain.

“You’re not the king,” Jack said.

Something came over the strange man as he quirked his thin brow in

irritation. “Yes, I am the king,” he

growled in warning. “Your name, creature.”

Jack evaded the question and changed the subject. “The king of

Darkmore would never show a shifter such hostility,” he spat. “Go, little

meadowlark. Fetch him, now. You are of no concern.”

The supposed king recoiled on his booted heel as if he had been burned.

“Excuse me, you maggot?” he growled and his temper flared.

Jack squinted at him. He looked so much like Anna Maria, as Jack

remembered her. Perhaps her son? Perhaps Sevon? Jack swallowed. He had to keep

it to himself. He had to find out what he was dealing with first, if he

survived that long. He thought of his brother, Kaltag, back in Priagust,

probably wondering where he was and if Jack was still staring over the lake,

waiting for the day Sevon would appear.

Jack’s heart thumped.

“Louis is gone. I am the king now, and you will answer to me. My

sources tell me you’re a spy from the shifter land of Priagust,” he said. The

accusation did not bode well for Jack.

Jack took his stand against his captor. He strained against his

shackles and grinned through the searing pain in his shoulder blades. “Your

sources are clearly mistaken. I was only fishing when your men emerged from the

lake and tried to drown me. Which—” He glanced around, and his shackles

rattled. “This is some level of hell, correct?” Jack watched him, still

puzzling his way through recollections. It wasn’t possible he was Sevon. Why

would Sevon become this? He hissed a laugh and kept up a brave face. Jack

turned his gaze up. He smirked when the king leaned away from the hammered iron

bars of Jack’s cell in disgusted horror. “You are a very fussy bird. You’re no

more than a chick, peeping for nourishment.”

“You will answer my questions, shifter…. Or you will be forced to

answer them.”

“What kind of king do you think you are?” Jack asked. “Do you

understand the scope of what you are doing by holding me like a criminal?”

“Pardon me for not rolling out the red carpet and most lovely

courtesans,” he said sarcastically.

“A little bird that pecks. I like that.” Jack chuckled.

Crossing his willowy arms in irritation, the king nodded to the

stocky dungeon guard.

The guard loped forward on his gnarled legs and slipped the heavy

key in the iron padlock. With a protesting shrill, the bolt popped from its

moorings with a loud echoing clank.

The cell door swung open with an antiquated creak, and colorful bird of a man

slipped into the cell.

Jack’s heart thumped, and his face heated. It was Sevon. His Sevon. He had never been so sure. In

the twenty-two years between then and now, the boy Jack had so longed for no

longer existed. Confusion swirled through him, but Jack had to keep it within.

More parts of the puzzle would fall into place if he just gave it time.

His heart wouldn’t stop racing; all the while he maintained his

arrogant grin.

“I’d curtsey, but as you can see, I’m a little tied up,” Jack

apologized.

This new Sevon cocked his hip in irritation and snorted. “For a

vicious animal, you don’t look like much.”

The term hit Jack hard, but he wouldn’t cower.

“Funny.” Jack chuckled. “For a king, you present yourself quite a

bit like a whore.”

Before he could blink, Sevon was upon him. He yanked Jack by the

scruff of his hair, tilting his neck painfully backward on its stalk to meet

him eye to eye. Jack’s eyes rolled wildly to focus on the glacier blue of

Sevon’s. His scent stabbed into Jack’s nose, jabbing cruelly into his brain.

The delicate floral became an unrelenting assault on his mind and body. The

damning confirmation sank into Jack’s stomach. It was a matter of survival not

to show fascination or fear.

“Listen to me, you worthless shit-eating maggot!” Sevon snarled in

his face. “You don’t get to call me a whore! Do you understand? I will leave

you here to rot in this dank cell until even the rats find you too foul and

putrescent. You will be thankful we don’t outright kill you. You will be appreciative of your accommodations.”

Sevon relaxed his grip and his harsh tone eased. “You will be

eager to answer our questions. You will

make yourself very helpful. Or I will have you skinned alive and your flesh

made into jerky.” Sevon snorted a breath through his nose, and Jack’s hair

fluttered. The beautiful blond man smiled like a content feline. “Now, do we

have an understanding?”

Channeling the bravest parts of himself, and locking away the heartbreak,

Jack laughed with a crooked, toothy grin. If this was the game, then he would

play it until he was the last one standing. Finally, he had sorted the second

male scent, and his thoughts sparked with devious delight. “Did I ruffle your

feathers, meadowlark? Does the man

whose scent you’re slathered in get to ruffle more than your feathers?”

Sevon shoved him away with a wail of disgust. Jack’s head bounced

against his chest, and his manacles creaked at the added pressure. Sevon’s

offended squeal was the only warning as a hard, echoing slap cracked across

Jack’s cheek so forcefully that his vision blew out into whiteness for a

moment.

With several flustered breaths, Sevon sharply pivoted and then

stormed out of the cell. He nodded to the stocky guard. “Have him questioned

about the nature of his people and land. I don’t care how you do it, or to what

ends. Use any means necessary to milk him dry.”

The guard bobbed his head and bowed.

Turning back, Sevon regarded Jack one final time.

Jack noted the confusion mingled with a semblance of fascination.

He forced a smile through his blood-tinged teeth. “See you soon, Your Majesty,”

he purred.

Jack clung to a scrap of hope, and listened to the whispers of

Sevon’s skirts as he left Jack in the darkness.

The rats chittered.

About the AuthorLex Chase once heard Stephen King say in a commercial, “We’re all going to die, I’m just trying to make it a little more interesting.” She knew then she wanted to make the world a little more interesting too.  Weaving tales of cinematic, sweeping adventure and epic love—and depending on how she feels that day—Lex sprinkles in high-speed chases, shower scenes, and more explosions than a Hollywood blockbuster. She loves tales of men who kiss as much as they kick ass. She believes if you’re going to going to march into the depths of hell, it better be beside the one you love. 



Lex is a pop culture diva and her DVR is constantly backlogged. She wouldn’t last five minutes without technology in the event of the apocalypse and has nightmares about refusing to leave her cats behind. She is incredibly sentimental, to the point that she gets choked up at holiday commercials. But like the lovers driven to extreme measures to get home for the holidays, Lex believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

Lex also has a knack for sarcasm, never takes herself seriously, and has been nicknamed “The Next Alan Moore” by her friends for all the pain and suffering she inflicts on her characters. She is a Damned Yankee hailing from the frozen backwoods of Maine now residing in the burbs of Northwest Florida, where it could be 80F and she’d still be a popsicle. 



She is grateful for and humbled by all the readers. She knows very well she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them and welcomes feedback. You can find Lex at

                   

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