Reesa Herberth's Blog, page 17

Random Interview – Stacy Gail

We've got Stacy Gail with us today.  She's a fellow Samhain author, twitter crack monkey, and all around awesome person.  Her latest release is Best Man, Worst Man, but don't miss her first novella, the cyberpunk sci fi romance, Zero Factor.  - Reesa

Tell us a little about yourself.  What do you like to write?  What's your latest release about?  What have you read recently that knocked your socks off? (Note: Feel free to talk about your body of work, not just your most recent release.  Don't feel limited by genre lines when talking about what you like to write and/or read.)

SG: Believe it or not, this is a toughie!  The problem is that I'm crazy in love with ALL subgenres of romance.  When I first started writing romance (at the age of fourteen *cough*precocious*cough*), I wrote nothing but contemporaries, which is what my latest release, BEST MAN, WORST MAN is.  I've since found new frontiers in the romance world, primarily thanks to Samhain Publishing and THE SLIPSTREAM CON.  Viva la Sci-Fi Romance!

Do you sometimes sing your sentences to yourself? (Do you think good singability is a quality criteria?)

SG: (Pfffft, Do YOU sing your sentences to yourself, Reesa & Michelle???)  Nope, I couldn't sing my way out of a paper bag.  I do the talking-out-loud thing.  Which is kinda embarrassing when you realize—too late—that you're doing it in public.  In an elevator.  A CROWDED elevator.

We don't sing them to ourselves. I do read them aloud when I'm editing, but nobody wants to hear me sing that much. – Reesa

What is the most important thing about your favorite pair of socks?  Do you have a favorite pair of socks? – Submitted by Gabi from Boston

SG: NOVELTY SOCKS!!! Oh, I have so many!  My favorites are the ones with the limbo-ing giraffes that are saying "How low can you go", even though they now have a hole in the toe.  After that, it would have to be the pink pair with flying pigs all over them.  Oh, and penguins.  I have hoarded VAST QUANTITIES of penguin socks.  Because penguins rule. (Sorry.  Was that a little too enthusiastic?  I guess I'm too much of a Dumbledore devotee.  I like socks…)

How do you see your writing- words, pictures, or something else entirely?

SG: There's a never-ending movie going on up in here, yo. ^_^

How many of your daily meals make it into your writing? (That is, if you make pecan waffles on Saturday mornings, do you ever have a character do the same?)

SG:  For my cyberpunk romance, ZERO FACTOR, I showcased both MREs and an elaborate formal tea, and the reason I had those scenes in there was to underscore a vast social dichotomy.  But for the contemporary romance, BEST MAN, WORST MAN, I just wanted to show off the unique cuisine of South Texas.  I guarantee that after reading this one, you'll crave authentic Tex-Mex the way a zombie craves brains.  Taquitos, gorditas, chimichangas, enchiladas de mole poblano… *drools*

Have you ever eaten raw squid? Did you like it?

SG:  I can only stomach it sashimi-style, and even then it's a struggle.  It's not too bad taste-wise, but I'm a texture-person.  The overall sliminess is… not for me.  *shivers*

 ~_~_~_~

Still reading?  Good!  That means you would just LOVE to take a peek at this blurb and excerpt from BEST MAN, WORST MAN, available October 25th from Samhain Publishing, right?  Of course, right!

 

Blurb:

He's the one problem she can't solve.

From hysterical bridezillas to grooms with sub-zero feet, renowned wedding planner Claire Pomeroy has never met a disaster she couldn't handle. Then she runs afoul of her client's not-so-best man, a devilishly flirtatious rogue with a killer smile and a chest as solid as a concrete roadblock. Yet their sparks of attraction only highlight his obvious quest—to make sure this wedding knot never gets tied.

Confirmed bachelor Ryder Price knows one unshakable truth: marriage is nothing but a fairy tale. No way is he going to stand idly by while his wingman face-plants into the dreaded marital trap. But there's a problem. A dark-eyed, dangerously curvaceous problem who's bound and determined to pull this wedding off.

As her suddenly skittish clients teeter on the edge of cancellation, Claire challenges her nemesis to imagine long-term as something more than a quickie and a vague promise to call. Ryder counters with a challenge of his own. Let him give her a taste of just how fulfilling a little no-strings-attached passion can be.

Read an excerpt below:

Excerpt:

Claire sighed and followed Rachel into the living room, only to have her vision filled with Rachel's houseguest sitting on a sofa, coffee mug in hand as he chatted with Matt. He was impossible to miss. Even though he was seated it was obvious the man was built like a warrior of old, with wide shoulders and a chest you could play handball on, narrow hips and long legs that filled out his jeans in all the right places. His dark hair was as black as a raven's wing, and the sweep of his shoulders was so breathtaking she couldn't help but suffer the innately feminine desire to explore the muscular terrain with curious, wanting-to-squeeze fingers. The smile he gave Matt was a devilish white slash against bronzed, sun-kissed skin, made that much darker with a hint of a five-o'clock shadow. Then he looked up at their approach, and Claire found herself freezing solid, from the tips of her toes all the way to the orderly movement of her lungs.

He had silver eyes. God help her, silver eyes.

Wow.

"Ryder, I'd like you to meet wedding planner extraordinaire, Claire Pomeroy. Claire, this is Matt's best friend, Ryder Price. Since he and Matt are settled in so nicely here, why don't you and I have our consult in the kitchen while the boys do whatever it is they do?"

Matt shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"Absolutely not." To Claire's surprise, the man named Ryder pushed to his feet and crossed to them, and for no fathomable reason Claire's heart decided to do its best impersonation of an 808 drum machine. "Please Rachel, I insist you go about your usual routine and just pretend I'm not even here. Remember, you swore I wouldn't be a bother, so don't let me get in your way now."

"My goodness," Rachel said through a tight smile that made her look like she wanted to bite something. "How considerate of you, Ryder."

"And I wouldn't want to inconvenience your wedding planner." Ryder turned the full brunt of his smile on Claire as he took her hand in his. "Claire, is it?"

It took most of her strength to get her tongue unglued from the roof of her mouth, mainly because the heat of his hand was branding her nerve endings with the glorious feel of him. "That's correct." What wasn't correct was how her brain slipped its gears to plunge her into the heart of fantasyland the moment he touched her. With shocking ease she imagined how the glide of his hands, as big as baseball mitts, might feel against other, more intimate parts of her body. With one glance at his made-for-sin lips, she could almost feel them molding against hers, seducing her with the promise of dark pleasures. She had no doubt he would be a reckless lover. This modern-day gladiator looked as though he lived to conquer his intended target inch by tantalizing inch, unveiling her as he would a piece of fine art to revel in a slow, sensual exploration first by his gaze, then his hands, then his mouth…

A flush of heat rolled through Claire until she thought she glowed with it, and to her dismay sensual warmth bloomed between her thighs. Way to be professional, she thought, horrified. Apparently her little voice of reason was suffering an epic case of laryngitis. And the worst part of it—all he'd done was touch her hand.

Tell Me Tuesday – October 25, 2011

Tell me about this picture. What it makes you think of, who took it, what you see that someone else doesn't. Write a story, a poem, a comment, an essay. Leave a picture of your own.

Tell me something.

(If you write something on your own blog, leave a link here so we can all enjoy it.  Or, if you prefer, go crazy in the comments.)

Home is where… ?

A lot of my writing explores the theme of "home", whether directly or indirectly.  In my worlds, home and family tend to be things that are created and worked for, rather than given.  If a character ends up in the same place they started, I feel like I haven't done my job as a writer.  (Well, honestly, if a character in any book I'm reading winds up exactly the same on the last page as they were on the first, I die a little inside.)

Many of my characters have nomadic tendencies, no matter what they use to get around.  (Solar-powered flying car?  Check.  Someone else's spaceship that they've "borrowed"?  Check.)  I like taking that old saying, "Home is where the heart is", and going one further.  Home is the people you love, maybe even the people you hate.  It's simultaneously the place you seek your whole life, and the place that drove you to move, to change, to be more than you were.

As long as I'm dishing out the trite sayings, let me share another.  "Bloom where you are planted."  Maybe you've seen it stitched on a sampler, or as a bumper sticker slapped on the back of a dirty Subaru.  I don't mean it in the Pollyanna-everything-is-always-light-and-beauty way.  It resonates with me, and within my writing.  Not because it demands that you open your arms and sing while the world covers you in dirt, but because it illustrates that the point isn't where you started, or even what you become.

The point is to keep growing.

Guest Blogging at Gabriella Hewitt's for LGBT History Month

I'm guest blogging at Gabriella Hewitt's today, as part of her LGBT History Month series.  Check out my nearly-coherent thoughts on the "gay for you" thing, and watch out for Surprise!Bisexuals.

Gabriella Hewitt's Blog

In other news, it's been eighty-nine days since the last velociraptor incident at my workplace.  Here's hoping for a solid three months!

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Oh, In(tro)verted World

I have a very happy life.  A wonderful, enduring partnership, a supportive family who loves me.  Great friends, some whom I've known for years, and others that I get to know better all the time.  I have the time to pursue my writing, both solo projects and with my charming co-author, Michelle.  I'm comfortable, and I have routines that make me happy.

Routine in general makes me happy, as anyone who has ever tried to make last-minute plans with me can attest.  Lately, my routine has become the same go to work-come home- go back to work (write)- come home- sleep- repeat  almost every day.  It's productive, it's comfortable, it varies from time to time, certainly, but sometimes I wonder if it's only giving rise to some of the downsides of loving routine, like anxiety when the routine is altered, or an inability to look outside the norm for new experiences.

To that end, I'm planning to have some Adventures soon.  This weekend, I've organized the first Formal Attire Miniature Golf outing with some friends.  Next weekend, it's the Maryland Renaissance Festival.  The following weekend isn't booked, but Monday the 31st is Halloween, and I'm going to a concert that night.

I think routine is great.  I'm a Virgo, amongst my many other foibles, and I like lists, and order.  I'm just also one of those foofy artists types, who thinks that different places create different thoughts, and different experiences create, period.  The fact that I've annexed my local Starbucks (hi everyone, I love you all!) as an office, while technically fulfilling the requirement for the whole "leaving the house" thing, isn't really an Adventure, so much as a habit.  (A very, very productive habit.  We've now written almost three novels in that Starbucks, and I've got the bloodshot eyes and Gold Card membership to prove it.)

I live in the suburbs, and though it will strike me forever from the rolls of the cool, I must admit, I really enjoy it.  I lived both rural and metropolitan as a kid, in the middle of the city of San Jose, and the middle of nowhere in Hawaii.  I'm okay with the middle ground, because it means I can take advantage of both, without having to drive 45 miles to buy groceries, or getting shot walking to school.  (Sorry, San Jose.  You were kind of the pits when I lived there.)

It's just actually remembering to do something outside my little bubble of Same that gets me.  So here's to bursting your own bubble, and finding an Adventure to embark upon.  If you've got a suggestion, I'm open.

Random Interview – Jessica Freely

We're lucky enough to have author Jessica Freely with us today, as the first victim participant in our new series of interviews pulled from the Random Interview Generator.  Her new release is called "Broken", and it's available now from Loose Id Publishing.  Welcome Jessica!

 

Tell us a little about yourself.  What do you like to write?  What's your latest release about?  What have you read recently that knocked your socks off? (Note: Feel free to talk about your body of work, not just your most recent release.  Don't feel limited by genre lines when talking about what you like to write and/or read.)

Jessica: For years I struggled with writing. I was driven to do it for some reason, but it was agony. I questioned every word I wrote and it took me ages to finish anything. Then one day I gave myself permission to write whatever I wanted, without worrying about whether it was any good, whether anyone would want to read it, etc. And that turned out to be the first m/m romance I ever wrote. What a difference! It felt as if someone had finally removed the fifty-pound weights around my ankles. Suddenly all I wanted to do was write. And plotting, which I'd always struggled with, just seemed to take care of itself. Of course I still find challenges in writing, but it's all so much more fun now. I think that's the advantage of discovering what you love to write about.

Story-wise, I like to play rough with my characters, but I like to reward them in the end too. My rule of thumb is the darker the journey, the happier the ending, and my new release, Broken, is no exception. It's about Eben, the closeted younger brother of a mob boss, and Xiu, a rent boy the boss just bought from a Hong Kong triad. Needless to say, when these two fall for each other, they're both in peril.

Broken just came out from Loose Id on Sept. 20: http://www.loose-id.com/Broken.aspx Leave a comment to this post and you'll be entered to win a free copy. The contest winner will be announced tonight at 9 p.m.

What is there in you or your life that you've never encountered in anyone else? – Submitted by Maggie

Jessica: My family has an expression I've never heard anyone else use. "Die the death of a rag baby." It means to retreat in shame and disgrace. When I ask people, nobody has ever heard of it before. Where did it come from? We may never know.

What music do you listen to while you write? Do you soundtrack stories while you work on them? – Submitted by Harper

Jessica: I totally create soundtracks for my books! Certain songs evoke particular feelings that fit with the story I'm telling. Here's my soundtrack for Broken, for example:

For more audio goodness, you might want to check out the free audio excerpt from Broken on my newsletter group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jessicafreely/

If you could steal one thing in the entire world without consequence, what would you steal?

Jessica: Time.

Who's your favorite member of Winger?  (Note: When we said random, we meant it!)

Jessica: LOL. I'm so out of touch, I had to look this up on Google to find out what it was. Uh… John I guess. He's got that dark, troubled thing going on. And the hair. I love long hair. I don't think I'd want to date him, but I'd definitely write about him.

 

Here's an excerpt from Broken. I also want to mention that for the first four months I am donating half of my proceeds from Broken to Project Polaris, combating human trafficking and modern day slavery.

 

Thanks to Jessica for taking part in a Random Interview.  Check out her excerpt from Broken, below.

It was Saturday night and Club 7 was packed with people in fancy clothes, dancing, partying, and shouting at one another over the pounding music.

 

This was so not Eben's scene. But Nicky loved it here. Eben waded through the crowd of girls in skimpy dresses and guys in expensive suits. The mingled scents of cologne, perfume, and alcohol made his head swim.

 

Finally Eben made it to the roped off VIP section where Nicky held court. His brother sat on a leather couch with Jimmy and Paul Shawnessy. Rhonda, Tabitha, Goldy, and Chevonne were all over them.

 

Paul looked uncomfortable, but Nicky and Jimmy were enjoying themselves, feeling the girls up and sipping champagne.

 

"And here's the guest of honor!" said Nicky, spotting Eben. He rose, holding a bottle of champagne aloft. "What took you so long? Come on. Let's get this party started!"

 

Nicky drew Eben over to the couch. "Everybody, my little brother is twenty-one today."

 

A cheer went up. Over by the VIP bar sat Bill William, Big Pete, and Sean Hoolihan. Their wives were there too, clustered around someone dressed in a tuxedo that Eben couldn't quite make out.

 

Until Brenda Hoolihan bent to pick up her purse.

 

Xiu looked right at Eben. Their gazes locked.

 

All of Eben's breath left him at once.

 

Xiu wore a black tuxedo that skimmed the lines of his slender frame perfectly. His hair was neatly combed, glossy in the dim light of the club. He held a glass of champagne in one hand.

 

He looked like James Bond.

 

"Here you go, bro." Nicky handed Eben a glass of champagne.

 

Xiu lifted his glass to him and drank.

 

Eben downed his in one long gulp.

 

"That's my boy!" said Nicky, pulling Eben down onto the couch. Eben lost sight of Xiu in the crowd. Just as well. His face was burning. At least he had the alcohol to blame it on.

 

"Got a special night planned for you, little bro," said Nicky.

 

Over his shoulder Jimmy grinned.

 

Eben suppressed a shudder. Special usually meant fucking. "You shouldn't go to no trouble for me."

 

Rhonda, looking glamorous with her blonde hair swept up and a red mini-dress clinging to her curves, leaned over, pressing her breasts against his arm as she whispered in his ear. "Don't worry, baby. Me and the girls got your back." She sat back, patting him on the cheek.

 

Eben relaxed. Rhonda knew about him. She'd put two and two together a long time ago, but she never blew his cover. In fact, she made sure all the girls covered for him too. They even spread stories about him. The kinds of stories guys wanted girls to tell about them: how big he was, how he fucked like a machine.

 

As long as Rhonda was in on whatever big surprise Nicky had planned, Eben didn't have to worry

 

"You want another drink, baby?" asked Rhonda, standing up.

 

"Can I have a beer?"

 

Nicky laughed and wrapped an arm around Eben's neck. He pulled him close and ran his knuckles over Eben's skull. But not hard. He was just playing. "That's what I love about this guy. We got thousand-dollar Crystal Magnums for his birthday, and he wants a beer."

 

Nicky released Eben and leaned over the coffee table where a mirror with lines of blow sat. He picked up the mirror, did a line, and handed it to Jimmy. "Anyway, Paul, I'll fill you in on the rest when I have more specifics, in a week or two. But get ready. This thing is going to be big."

 

"Okay. Yeah." Paul glanced around at all the expensive clothes, the lush surroundings. "Now unless there's something else you need to talk about tonight, I'll be going."

 

"What? It's Eben's birthday."

 

Paul nodded. "Happy Birthday, Eben."

 

"Thanks Paul." Eben didn't mind Paul much. He was older. He'd been Da's advisor and he'd kept the Flannery family operating until Nicky came of age. No fuss about handing over the reigns at that point either. 'Course anyone could see Nicky was born to take over the family business. Paul was a smart guy, and no meaner than he had to be.

 

But that didn't mean he was immune to pissing Nicky off. "What the fuck? You disrespecting my brother's birthday?" A dangerous edge came into Nicky's voice.

 

Paul raised his hands. "Not at all. I have the utmost respect for your brother, his birthday, and for you. But" — Paul gestured to Tabitha and Goldy, who were making out while a bunch of the guys watched, and to Jimmy, who'd brought the blow to the bar and was sharing it with Bill, Pete, and Sean — "I'm old school. This ain't my scene. In your da's day, we met at the Shillelagh, and it was either business, or serious drinking. Never both. And not all of this other stuff. The drugs, the girls. Throwing your money around like some kinda rap star."

 

"You object to the girls?" said Nicky. "What, you a fag or something?"

 

"I'm gonna let that pass 'cause I know you don't mean it. But that's another thing. This new whore you brung over. It's a dude. What are folks gonna say?"

 

"What are folks gonna say? They're gonna say, 'Look at all that money Nicky Flannery's making off the fags. He's one smart motherfucker.' That's what they're gonna say."

 

Paul shook his head.

 

"Trouble with you old timers is you're stuck in the past. This is the twenty-first fucking century. You want a make a killing these days, you gotta think outside the box. Get it? Think outside the box?"

 

Everyone laughed, including Paul.

 

"'Sides, the ladies like him too. Check it out." Nicky nodded to where Brenda, Sally, and Colleen hovered around Xiu like honeybees. Brenda had a hand on his shoulder. Sally tossed her hair. "They're nuts about him."

 

"But he's a queer."

 

"Yeah. Go figure. Chicks are weird."

 

Rhonda came back with Eben's beer and someone brought out a cake. Paul stuck around to eat a slice, then departed. By then Nicky was too busy sticking his face in Tabitha's cleavage to notice.

 

Eben drank beers and tried not to get caught staring at Xiu. He was on his sixth Heineken and slowly sinking ever deeper into the couch when "Happy Birthday" started playing.

 

Everyone gathered around. "Time for your birthday present, little bro." Nicky placed a box wrapped in gold paper on the table in front of him.

 

Eben heaved himself upright. "You got me a present? That sure was nice of you."

 

"Open it. Open it," said Nicky.

 

The box was heavy. Eben peeled off the paper to reveal a stainless steel case. As he put it down on the coffee table, the weight of it seemed to settle on his heart. He knew what came in cases like this. He unfastened the latches and opened it to reveal a chrome-plated 10mm Glock automatic. Its polished surface gleamed in the soft light of the club. "Wow."

 

Bill whistled. "That's a beautiful piece."

 

"Time my little brother had one of his own." Nicky hugged him.

 

Shit. Eben forced a smile and hugged him back. "What a wonderful birthday present. Thanks!" He didn't want it. Didn't even want to pick it up, but he had to. Everyone was watching. Eben lifted the gun out of its case and hefted it. He checked the action and held it out as if to shoot with it. Can I put it back in its case now? He turned back to Nicky, trying to look delighted. Thank the Holy Mother of God I'm drunk.

 

"Wait, there's more," said Nicky.

 

Fuck. What now? Another box wrapped in gold foil appeared before Eben, which at least gave him an excuse to put the gun back in its case. He opened box number two to find a shoulder holster. "Awesome."

 

"Try it on, try it on," said Nicky, bouncing up and down like a kid on Christmas morning.

 

Eben hoisted himself up off the couch, swayed a little and then slid the holster on over his shirt. Rhonda helped him adjust the straps. Nicky took the gun from the case, snapped the cartridge in place, and slid it into the holster. It bulged under Eben's arm like a tumor.

 

"You should see yourself," said Nicky. "You look totally badass."

 

Eben scanned the gathering. Everyone was smiling and nodding in approval. It's already decided. This is who I am. But then he caught sight of Xiu, over by the bar.

 

Xiu tilted his head and gave him a crooked smile and a little shrug. Of everyone there, it seemed like he alone understood how Eben really felt, though of course, there was nothing to be done about it.

 

Someone handed Eben another glass of champagne and he downed it.

 

Suddenly the music got louder. All the girls clustered around him.

 

"Time for your birthday lap dance, Eben," said Nicky.

 

Rhonda winked at him as she pushed him back down onto the couch. Eben was very aware of the loaded gun nestled at his side as the girls writhed all over him. At least he was safe in the knowledge that none of them would mention it was the only thing that was hard. He sank deeper into the cushions of the couch.

 

Eventually the girls finished and everybody was clapping and laughing. Then suddenly the crowd parted and Xiu stood before Eben. He swayed ever so slightly and his cheeks were pink, but he carried himself like he owned the place, and Eben too. How much had he been drinking? He undid his tie and fixed Eben with a smoldering look. "Happy Birthday, to you."

 

Somewhere behind him Eben heard Nicky laughing, louder than ever. Everyone else joined in. Big joke.

 

Xiu threw his tie in Eben's face. He peeled off his black tuxedo jacket. He started unbuttoning the shirt beneath.

 

Eben tried to keep from getting hard. It was impossible, even with Nicky and everyone else standing around watching and giggling.

 

"Happy Birthday, to you." Xiu took off his shirt and tossed it in Eben's lap.

 

Thank Jesus.

 

Xiu climbed onto Eben's lap, straddling his thighs. He rested his hands on Eben's shoulders and swayed from side to side. "Happy Birthday, Eben Flannery."

 

Smells of champagne, cologne, and sweat wafted over Eben. He felt dizzy — probably all the blood rushing to his cock.

 

"Hey Nicky, you gonna let this go on?" said Sean. "Eben's too drunk to stop him."

 

"I'd do something about it, but I can't stop laughing."

 

Laughter surrounded Eben and Xiu like a shield. They stared at each other as Xiu gyrated on Eben's lap. Eben could see the outline of Xiu's erection. Eben's own cock felt like it was made of steel.

 

Xiu leaned closer, his breath warm on Eben's face. "Happy Birthday, to you." He ran a hand down Eben's chest, toward his jeans.

 

Eben opened his mouth, to say 'stop,' 'more,' or to kiss Xiu, he wasn't certain which.

 

Suddenly a hand clamped down on Xiu's shoulder. "Okay, Schoolboy, enough. You've had your fun. You've got a date tonight, remember?" It was Jimmy.

 

The invisible shield surrounding Eben and Xiu dissolved. The laughter of the rest of the party seemed louder than it had been a moment ago. It crashed in upon them like ice water, dousing Eben's arousal.

 

Xiu seemed to wilt under Jimmy's hand. Shoulders slumped, he got up off Eben's lap, taking his shirt with him.

 

Rhonda took Xiu's place, straddling Eben's thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her breasts. "Here honey, I got what you're looking for."

 

Eben's smile was one of gratitude, not excitement, but nobody else had to know that. Over Rhonda's shoulder, he watched Xiu walk away with Jimmy.

 

Jimmy kept his hand on Xiu's shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Just as they reached the red velvet rope that marked off the VIP section, Xiu looked over his shoulder at Eben.

 

Eben couldn't decipher the look on Xiu's face in that moment, but it haunted him for the rest of the night.

 

AAD Bookie Awards Nomination – SciFi Novel of the Year

We're thrilled to announce that we've been nominated in the "Sci Fi Novel of the Year" category of the annual Bookie Awards, presented Authors After Dark.  You can cast your vote here – Bookie Awards Voting

Voting closes at midnight, October 1, 2011.

How I Write – Reesa

I'm pretty comfortable with my writing process.  I know what it takes to get my words out, even if I sometimes sit at the computer and play on the Twitters instead.  I may have mentioned before that when I write, I'm translating the movie in my head.  I know writers who see their work in words, but mine comes to me in technicolor picture shows that I have to find the language for.  I'm okay with that, though I know it makes me a much slower writer than someone who has the words waiting for them.

It takes me some time to settle into the translation process.  Everything twitches and shifts, and gears disengage as I realign.  The funny thing about having a Day Job is, they aren't particularly keen on my just checking out and playing movies in my head all day, no matter how great those movies are.  Once I've found my way back to that place, taken my seat in the theatre and tuned in, I have a tendency to let go of the world around me.  Those poor, unfortunate souls (it's sad! but true!) who try to interact with me while I'm checked out are often met with a rather surly response.  Once I'm in it, I'm in it, and I really don't like coming up for air.

Being transported to another world when I write is great, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.  But it means that when I get stuck, when the words just aren't right, all I can really do is block everything else out and hope I can untangle the pictures and turn them into prose.  I'm not a fan of free writing, because my personal goal isn't just to inflict my words on a page, it's to tell a story, generally one already in progress.  With free writing, I wind up feeling like I've wasted that time, since I very rarely walk away from it with anything I can use to further a plot.  I know it works to shake things loose for a lot of people, but it's definitely not my cuppa.  I wish I could get my brain to work that way, sometimes.

So that's a little of my behind-the-scenes process when I write.  The next time it looks like I'm staring blankly into thin air, give me the benefit of the doubt- I'm probably writing.  Probably.

 

The Very Merry Un-Birthday Contest

My birthday is September 19th.  I've always thought of it as my own personal holiday, because everyone should get one of those.

This year, for Reesa Day, I'm going to give someone else some presents.  Maybe you!  No, no, you don't have to give me a present, but if you wanted to, here are some things I'd like:

Blog, Goodreads or Amazon reviews – Now, I'm not asking for only good reviews, just fair ones.  If you want to talk about an aspect of the story that didn't work for you, have at it.  On the other hand, good reviews make me happy to the tips of my toes, and I'd appreciate it if nobody went out of their way to make me cry on my birthday.
Read The Slipstream Con or The Balance of Silence.  If you buy a copy, even better.
Tell someone else about either of our books.  Post something on your blog, twitter feed, or Facebook.  Word of mouth makes for the best kind of advertising, and we appreciate every single one of you who have mentioned our book to others.
Give someone a courtesy wave.  Hold the door for someone, even if you have to wait an extra moment.  Say "Thank you kindly." if someone does something polite for you.  Courtesy gives me the warm fuzzies.

What You Can Win:

A $5 gift certificate to either Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or the independent bookstore of your choice.  International winners, the equivalent of a $5 gift certificate to the Amazon affiliate or local bookstore of your choice.  In both cases, I -MUST- be able to purchase the gift certificate online, through a secure commerce site.  PayPal is fine.
OR – A collection of cool Ylendrian Empire swag.

 

How You Can Win (yes, The Rules):

Contest is open until 9 a.m. EST, 09/19/2011.
To enter, leave a comment on THIS BLOG ENTRY.  Only comments left on this entry will be included in the drawing.  All comments MUST include your NAME and your EMAIL ADDRESS.  Comments that do not include an email address will not be included in the drawing.
Two (2) winners will be chosen, using a random number generator (random.org)  The first winner will be given their choice of the two prizes available.  Second winner will receive the remaining prize.
Winners will be notified via blog entry and email.  You must claim your prize by 09/25/2011, or forfeit.
Prizes not claimed/confirmed by 09/25/2011 will be given to a runner-up.
Contest is open to US and International entries, but you must be over 18 to win.
One entry per person.

 

Simple enough, right?  If you're already dropping a comment, why not link us to your review?   We'd love to see your thoughts.

Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling (pt. 12)

When last we left Our Protagonists, one of them was bleeding, and one of them was pretty sure his day had just gotten even weirder– and that's saying something, given the day he's had so far.  We now return you to Inkling, already in progress.

(If you need to catch up, you can always read the full story (for free!) here: Inkling

Inkling

by S. Reesa Herberth

Copyright 2011

 

"Just a drop for the past, and a drop for the finding—"

"A drop for the need, and a drop for the binding."  Through gritted teeth, Collin's voice remained steady, and there was a flow to the words that Grays appreciated, a rhythm that made them something more than creepy poetry.  Or maybe that was the green glow rising from the counter as Collin's blood boiled away to a mist.

The mystical mood was broken a bit when Emygdia looked up at Collin and raised one dark brow.  "You want specifics, or do we both know what we're getting out of this?"

"Specifics just make things harder to navigate.  I'm good with generalities."

The mist curled and twisted around their joined hands, drawing long shadows around them that Grays wanted to sketch, but would never quite manage, because they were cast from different directions, and moved without any relevance to the objects they sprang from.  He wasn't used to shadows with no sense of propriety.

It ended abruptly, and the sun returned in such a brilliant fashion that Grays realized it had been missing for several minutes, locked outside this strange little box of impossibilities.  He turned, trying to see where the shop sprawled out into the endless, but there was nothing stranger to be found than the vaguely organized collection of things you might expect in an occult shop.  Notably absent were a fox the size of his car, and any trace of blood, acidic or otherwise, on the counter.

"This is the most fucked up afternoon I've had since I accidentally dosed the day before midterms."  He didn't know why he thought it was a good idea to remind them he was in the room, but Emygdia, at least, cracked a smile at him.

"That's what you get for being nice."  Collin's hand fell to his side, and he took what seemed to be a measured breath before holding his hand (uninjured, Grayson noted) out to Emygdia.

She reached into the pocket of her jeans and handed him a rock.  Just a plain river rock that could have been pulled from any front yard in Phoenix.  Well, any front yard that wasn't green painted gravel.  Collin took it carefully, his thumb brushing over the smooth surface.

"Best I can do for you, Bastion.  I can't risk the safety of anyone else in my realm by letting you in, but as long as you find an established dwelling and plant that rock by the front door, inside, mind you, you'll have a safe zone unless someone comes knocking and you let them in."

"Will it work at my place?"

She shrugged.  "Sure, but if he knows where you live, a little thing like that isn't going to stop him.  It's a masking spell and a temporary grant of homestead, not a shield.  It won't work at a hotel either.  The boundaries of residence aren't clear enough there.  I'd lay low for awhile, if I was you."

"Fucking perfect."  He slipped the stone into his pocket, looking back up at her with what Grays could tell was a totally fake smile.  "And I suppose you'll just come calling for yours whenever you feel like it, right?"

"That's the plan."  Emygdia favored them both with a bland look, then crooked her finger at Grayson.  "You should come here.  You want to come here."

He very much did not, but Grays found himself compelled across the space between them, managing to stop just shy of her touch, and only because he fought the urge to move tooth and nail, twitching like there were bugs under his skin.  "I don't."  It was all he could say, the diversion of speaking enough to break his hold on what little control he'd kept.

Her fingers were too warm against his skin, and her eyes were beyond anything he'd ever imagined; endless, bottomless, ancient.  When she smiled at him, her teeth were pointed, her breath the smell of burning sweetgrass, and she licked her lips slowly.

"You shouldn't have brought your friend.  He can't see what he's seen, even if he doesn't understand it.  It's been a long time since I devoured a memory."  Emygdia leaned in close, and Grayson didn't know whether to look at her eyes or her teeth, both equally terrifying, and equally near.  "I remember what youth tastes like, though, and he'll do."