K.A. Mitchell's Blog, page 3

Songs In My Head–Beach and Tai–Day 7

(This was supposed to happen yesterday, but if you go look at my tweet stream, we had a minor medical emergency at the homestead.)

We writers do like our playlists. I know a book is ready to be written when I start putting together a playlist, when I hear a song and think OMG that is so him/them!. For the most part, I listen to the play list in the car or shower. Sometimes, I have a special playlist for a particular scene. I guess may be different for me is that I rarely listen to my playlist...

I Want It Now! (Day 5 of Beach and Tai)

One of the things about Beach’s personality is that he’s a giant Id walking around. He wants and he sees no consequence to having what he wants right now. One of the hardest things in the world for me to wait for is book release day. Not just mine, but books in series or by authors I love. Those greatly anticipated dates I can rattle off like my own birthday.

Wouldn’t it be cool to not have to wait? Here’s a chance to win an early copy of Bad Behavior! Ask me a question or even better, ask on...

Name Issues: It’s Like My Theme or Something-Beach and Tai, Day 3

Like the characters in a lot of my books, the names on the birth certificates for Beach and Tai aren’t the names they are used to hearing themselves called, or even how they think of themselves.

Beach, as I mentioned in the earlier post has the first name David. He’s much more accustomed to his prep-school nickname of Beach, and that’s how he thinks of himself. However, from the first, Tai calls him David. As their relationship progresses, that one word David comes to mean something very spe...

Then Along Came Tai–Day 2

Once David Beauchamp had firmly set himself up as a candidate for his own story, he needed a hero for his HEA. He assured me he didn’t particularly have a type, he knew what he liked when he saw it, so my brain started interviewing candidates for him. I’d done a class disparity story with Gavin and Jamie so I didn’t want the conflict focused on that. I kept seeing a glimpse of Beach’s guy, but couldn’t pin him down. Then at the end of Bad Influence, Silver got probation and the first thought...

This Wasn’t Supposed to Happen

Bad Behaviorwasn’t a book I was planning to write. Beach wasn’t a character I saw as a hero. Proof positive, his name.

Back when I was writing Bad Attitude, I needed Gavin to fall off that bridge. I wanted him to have a damned good reason, so the eternal party boy friend Beach was created. I named him David, which is one of my favorite placeholder names. It’s solid, but with no particularly strong feelings for me. When I went to college, it seemed like every other guy was named David, or more...

Joey and Aaron short!

In honor of But My Boyfriend Is releasing next week, I give you a preview. No News Is Good Newsfor Andy. Happy Birthday. 
Aaron narrowly avoided tripping over the foot of the bed. He wasn't drunk. Wouldn't have let himself drive if he were. He was just exhausted, the kind of feeling that made him want to dive into an empty blackness and stay there as long as he could. Bumping the bed would be bad, because Mr. Fucking Sunshine was asleep in it, and Aaron was not in the mood.

That Old Familiar Feeling

Years ago I was at a conference chatting with a writer whose career had recently taken off to the kind of NYT best-sellerdom I can only dream about. I'd been reading her since her early days, and we'd exchanged a few emails back then so I felt emboldened to express sympathy over a scathing review for her most recent book in one of the industry magazines. (Please note, this is not an anti-reviewer blog post. I firmly believe that if someone took the time to read a book and wants to share his or her opinion on it, he or she should. ) This book was the third or fourth in the series that had really taken off for her and what had struck me and annoyed us both was the reviewers complaints about it because it was in a series. The review sneered about the characters getting more book time because they were "beloved." My thought was that revisiting beloved characters is kind of the whole point to reading series.

There's a point to this rambling. and like I said, it's not about reviews. It's about series. Right now I'm writing another book that has Joey and Aaron from Collision Course in it as secondary characters and they are about two pages from hitting the stage. I think back to that conversation with and I get nervous. Not about reviews, but because of wanting to do right by the story, my characters, and the reader. I want to deliver the kind of connection with the characters that the readers who've been asking for more will enjoy, while not pissing off anyone who reads it no knowing them. Sequels or connected books should always stand alone. I've come into series out of order and the writers have been kind enough to let me in. I've also been there since the beginning and enjoyed sharing with the writer that in-joke, a trace of "Yeah, that's how we go on" that feels familiar and cozy and like hanging out with old friends.

There's a reason series are popular, from my childhood friends like Trixie Belden and The Black Stallion to any of the latest series books gracing the bestseller lists. There's a reason publishers, authors and agents love them. They come with a built-in readership and following. Sometimes as a writer, they feel like the easiest and the hardest thing to do. The world buildings done—but you're stuck with what you've done before. There are characters already made, but you'd better not bore new readers with them or make assumptions.

And if it could unnerve a NYT bestseller like my acquaintance in the first paragraph, the weight of that expectation hanging pretty darn heavy on me as Joey and Aaron are making their way onto the scene. I'll try not to make them seem "beloved by all."

The book is Dylan's story and if all goes well, you should be able to get it when things get warm here in the Northern Hemisphere.

Happy Tenth Book Release To You

Hey. Not Knowing Jack is my tenth release and I'm really excited about that. I wanted to do something cool, but I suck at organizing anything like that. Then I wanted to write you a prequel of that how-Jack-and-Tony-met blowjob, but I'm still trying to finish up Bad Company. If I can, I'll try to do a little scene Joey's been nagging me to write for him after I turn this book in. In the meantime, to say thank you for making my tenth book possible, here's another snippet of number 11. It's without the deft touch of my fabulous editor, Sasha Knight, but I hope you can make it through.

Previous chapter



Kellan wasn't sure if the tiny bike had sputtered to death on this back street or if this was where Nate was taking them, but when Nate took off his helmet, Kellan eased himself off the back of the seat where he'd been trying to keep himself. He swore that when they zipped up Broadway, weaving in and out of traffic Nate was trying to dump him off.

Still without saying anything to him, Nate dragged the scooter up over the sidewalk and unlocked a green painted door. The street was only one car length wide, the buildings all squat squares of painted bricks with different color doors. Nate hauled the scooter through the door and put it next to a stairway that needed a fresh coat of baby blue paint.

"Is this your house?"

Nate reached back out toward one of the three mailboxes next to the door. "It's my apartment."

Without a this way or c'mon, he started up the stairs. Without options, Kellan followed. Nate's apartment was bigger than Kellan expected from the outside. A good-sized living room held a couch and a desk. One wall made up the kitchen, with a counter separating it from the rest of the room.

Nate put his keys on a hook near the door and walked over to drop his mail on the desk. Kellan hesitated next to the door, but when Nate took two beers out of the fridge and put them on the counter, the ache in Kellan's shoulders relaxed a little and he took the beer Nate held out.

There weren't any chairs, so they leaned, facing each other across the counter.

Nate took a long drink, though Kellan could feel Nate watch him around the neck of the bottle. Kellan drank a little of his, but the nerves multiplying like bunnies in his stomach weren't exactly interested in any liquid being dumped on them.

"So explain." Nate put his half-empty bottle on the counter.

Life should really have a fast-forward button so Kellan could get to the part where Nate was on his side without having to rehash all this shit in a way that didn't end up with Kellan wandering around Baltimore with seventy-five cents in his pocket and the clothes on his back.

A last minute stay of execution arrived in a ball of gray fur leaping onto the counter. The cat sauntered between them, licked the lip of Nate's bottle and sat down to aim an appraising stare at Kellan.

"Quan Yin." Nate said, and Kellan assumed he was naming the cat and not starting a random discussion.

Kellan loved animals; Nate had too. There'd always been a few cats or a baby squirrel in need of nursing at the Grays' house. Kellan was more partial to dogs, but after Keegan didn't come home from Kuwait, their setter T-rex died of grief and they never got another dog. Slicking his fingers with the condensation on his bottle, Kellan held them out toward the cat.

She sniffed then licked once or twice with a rough tickling tongue. Kellan rubbed her chin and cheeks and she purred enthusiastically, bumping his hand in encouragement.

Nate sighed.

"Animals like me," Kellan said in apology.

"I remember."

"That baby skunk you insisted we take to the vet? Remember?"

"You were the only one who could carry it without it spraying us."

"Yeah. Still had to take tomato soup baths. Made my hair orange."

Nate's laugh turned into a quick sharp cough.

Quan Yin managed to twine herself around his forearm, and Kellan kept rubbing and stroking. Her purr rivaled the engine on the scooter, and probably had more power. Between the cat on his side and Nate's almost laugh, Kellan thought he might not end up in a homeless shelter.

"My father had some kind of meltdown after Delia and I broke up. I don't know what caused it." That wasn't completely true. His father had been apoplectic about the pictures that popped up in some online rag of Kellan with his face in between the tits of some waitress in Miami.

Delia had been nice and sweet, so Kellan couldn't exactly tell her that the thought of marrying her kept waking him up with cold sweats—once he'd even thrown up. He'd even been saying that he wanted to make their wedding night special to explain away the fact that he hadn't been able to get his dick hard enough to fuck her for the last month. So when she started picking out dresses, he'd brought some of his douchiest friends down to Miami, hit the skankiest clubs, downed Jager mixed with Blast until he couldn't think, and let nature take its course. This way Delia could tell herself she was lucky she found out now, be mad instead of crying. And hey, at least his dad should have been happy that he'd been out proving the fine qualities of Blast brand energy drinks, ensuring the family fortune.

Kellan would be a little more freaked about his dick's performance than about why he didn't want to marry a sweet girl who loved him, except he hadn't had any trouble getting off between the lips of that waitress—or between those huge tits.

"So dad starts going on about the cost of the ring—"

Nate's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"—well, I couldn't ask for it back. And it was fifty grand. But then with her dad being a senator and the national bottle deposit shit happening—'

"Yeah, that's a crisis, all right. Actually expecting companies to stop fighting recycling so we don't end up on Planet Garbage."

Talking about his dad's company wasn't the best way to get Nate on his side.

"So this morning, he made me come over to the office in Dundalk to see him."

"Made you?"

Nate couldn't get it. Would never get Kellan's dad. Nobody said no to Geoffrey Brooks. Not till today. And even then Kellan hadn't managed to spit it in the old man's face.

"Told me, whatever. When I got there, he started in on me about wasting my life and not accepting responsibility, and how I never had to work for anything in my life."

"Shit, now you've made me agree with your father. Just when I thought I couldn't hate you more."

"Yeah, well, I don't even think you would say you wished I'd never been born because I'll never live up to Keegan."

Nate bit his lip and looked away. "No, I wouldn't have said that."

"It's not like I didn't know he was always thinking it. He just finally said it." Kellan managed a shrug even though the words were still churning through him, stirring a rage he never knew he could feel. Even worse than what his father had said, was the idea he'd put there, that Kellan had done anything to dishonor Keegan.

Kellan remembered a lot about his brother Keegan. How tall he'd been. The way he could throw Kellan in the air, like he did when he got home from school every day. The Keegan in his head didn't look anything like the somber picture of him in his uniform next to the boxed American flag that was always on the display wherever his mom was living.

Nate came along after the Brooks family moved away from the house with "too many memories." Nate had only ever met Keegan next to the stone in the cemetery.

Catching Kellan's eye, Nate asked, "Then what? Your dad threw you out? He's done that before."

"Not like this. None of my credit cards work. He told me the house is off limits, that he'd changed the codes and would have me arrested for trespassing. He said the same thing about any of my cars. They're all in his name because—"

"You still don't have a license?"

"It got suspended again. But I wasn't drunk this time, man. This was for speeding."

If Nate had really been sorry for what Dad had said about wishing Kellan had never been born, it was all over now. Nate probably never even got a parking ticket.

"Again, why are you here?"

"The old man said he'd give me one last chance before he washed his hands of me. If I could show some responsibility—like prove that I could do something without fucking it up—"

"Like what?"

"He said a lot of shit. Stuff like 'get a steady job' and 'stop whoring around.' " Then he said the something that had Kellan determined to throw it all back in his face. "Oh, and he says, 'Maybe some woman will take pity on you and try to make you a man. God knows I couldn't.' Fuck him." Quan Yin jerked her head away at the growl in Kellan's voice and then licked his wrist as if to tell him to calm down.

"So what the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Geoffrey thinks he wins." Kellan rubbed around the cat's ears as he dug in his back pocket for the piece of paper his father's secretary had handed him this morning."That I'm going to follow his little action plan like one of his cubicle slaves. He's in for a shock. What would make shit his drawers more than anything?" He looked steadily at Nate. "What kind of organizations can always count on Brooks Blast Energy Drinks for a donation?"

Nate's eyes widened. He'd never been slow to figure stuff out. "That's why you wanted a boyfriend?"

"Uh-huh. I'm going to find someone to make a man make a man out of me. A gay man. Geoffrey Brooks, CEO of the most homophobic corporation in America, and his gay son."

Who Needs Uncomfortable SitComs When You Can Watch Your Own Family?

Several years ago, there was a minor schism among my mom and her five siblings. For the most part, things have been smoothed over, but some friction remains between my mom (the middle child) and the second oldest girl, Bev, who has always displayed the warmth and tact of a rusting ice-breaker locked in the Arctic. Needless to say, the chill which remains emanates from Bev's side of the rift.

Just to give you an example of my mom's family's communication dynamic, when Aunt Bev wasn't speaking to my mom, she sent her a Christmas card—but didn't sign it.

So this morning, my mom is playing Words With Friends (a mobile phone app that's like a Scrabble game) with her baby brother who sends the message: "Did you hear about Ed (Bev's husband) being in the hospital?"

My mom played a word and sent back "No. What's going on?" but there was no further response from him.

She called her older brother who is also still mainly in the rearward of Bev's affections (such as they are). Apparently, Ed in the hospital on life support and has been given 48 hours to live.

How did I get this news? My mom sent me a note on Words With Friends.

The social network, taken to new heights (or the frigid depths) by my family. I wonder about the people in the family who aren't on Words With Friends. How ever will they get the news? But hey, at least mom answered my return message. And she always signs my Christmas card.

Tea, Tea, Tea, What?

Sorry for the Bertie Wooster quote and the brief interruption in bringing you updates on books, but I have to stop to sing the praises of a present I bought for me.

This Breville Tea Maker I got at Amazon does everything advertised, except have Jeeves make my morning selection and bring it to me in bed with a polite cough and a "I thought perhaps a single estate assam this morning, madam, as the air is quite robust with chill."

When I took it out of the box, my first thought was "Wow, the rich really do have different stuff." The weight and the look of it is all about quality. I'm a teacher. At a private school. For the kids no one else wants. I've never owned a small appliance that wasn't the cheapest thing available. Trust me when I say you can tell the difference, right down to the power cord.

I haven't gone through all of my favorite black teas yet to try it on my whites and greens, but it will make and keep my brew warm for me when I set it the night before and brews a perfect--I mean perfect--cup of loose tea. There must be something about the basket hitting the water as it's still boiling and the spacious area of the basket that gets the full flavor in only three minutes (I go for the strong setting on my black teas). And then the basket comes back up on its own so there's never an overbrewed bitterness because I got involved in writing a scene.

Every time I see it on my counter it makes me do a little happy dance. It is a dream come true for the tea-obsessed like me. I now return you to your regularly scheduled excerpts and release information.