Reesa Herberth's Blog, page 19

Ménage a trois

Good friend and fellow writer Connor Wright tweeted the following:

Unless the characters are living together, it's NOT a ménage, it's a threesome. Stop abusing a phrase you don't understand. #petpeeve #argh

The Slipstream Con is a legitimate ménage story. A random couple or trio hooking up for a one-night stand is not. #petpeeve #example

Obviously this is a topic of interest for me!

The definition of ménage a trois is a household (emphasis mine) of three, generally a married couple and a lover. A threesome, however, is just that: three people of varying combinations of gender having sex. Is there sex in a ménage a trois relationship? Sure. Is it the be-all, end-all of the relationship? Nope.

I think this is where we might have confused some folks with Slipstream. Generally when readers hear "ménage", the automatic assumption is that the story will favor sex over relationship. This isn't a bad thing. Read those stories, enjoyed those stories. But it's not Slipstream.

Let's go back to that key word… household. There's inherent equality in that word. (SPOILER ALERT) Tal and Vanya are married. Happily married. They each love Kellen. Kellen loves them. It's balanced. Think back to your geometry class and picture that equilateral triangle. Will there be all sorts of carnal shenanigans? You bet. But it could be Tal/Van or Tal/Kellen or Kellen/Van or Tal/Van/Kellen. You get the picture. The point is, all three of them want this, whatever the particular configuration of the moment happens to be.

So yeah. Thank you Connor for letting me ramble about this!

Now the other twingy thing is Slipstream containing three bisexual characters. I dunno, apparently this is unusual as well. But I'm going to save my "Yes Virginia, Bisexuals DO Exist" lecture for another day!

Connor Wright can be found at http://www.connorwrites.com

Title of Book

Titles are worse than summaries, taglines, or pitch packets. A title has to grab you, has to promise something about the story, has to invoke an instant reaction from a reader, so they'll pick up your book and get a look at the pretty cover, or the blurb that makes them want to buy it.

Naming books is like naming children – unless something strange happens, they're going to be stuck with that name for the rest of their lives.  Sure, some of us do things like randomly rename ourselves, or get packaged up into omnibus editions.  But by and large, you're making a decision that is going to influence everyone that book ever comes in contact with, and you don't want to get your manuscript beaten up on the playground.

My current working title for this manuscript is The Memory Keeper.  There's nothing wrong with that title, but it rings kind of boring in my ears.  It tells you something about the story, but makes it seem distant, as though the grand adventure has passed, and someone is telling you about it.  That's absolutely nothing like the story itself, and I can't saddle my book with a title that makes it sound like a pensioner recounting his glory days of hunting mutant river otters.  This story is about movement, fighting, the family you make, and the home that finds you, even if you can't stay in one place.  It's not a stationary story, and it needs a title with some hustle and flow.

Because it's such a stumble for me, I decided to take the main concepts and keywords that jumped out at me and write them out on Post-It notes, so I can shuffle them around and play with the language until I find something.  Even the notes for this book are fidgety, it seems.

After careful consideration, the only possible title has been chosen:

Jessup's Wasted Running Memory of Dust Stained Wind

Or not.

I'll hit on just the right title soon enough, and then this poor book will finally have a name of its own.  Until then, I'll just keep adding to the Post-It's.  But I probably won't go with For God's Sake, Please Buy Two Copies, either.

 

 

Book Review – Something Secret This Way Comes, by Sierra Dean

Something Secret This Way Comes by Sierra Dean


My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Full disclosure: I read this book because I know the author through our shared editor, not because I had any real zest for yet another scrappy first-person urban fantasy heroine. I was expecting decent writing, but I wasn't expecting to really LIKE the book.

Secret's biology reads like something out of a RP chat room in the mid-90′s (Glenshadow's Tavern, represent!) – half vampire, half werewolf. She's a supernatural bounty hunter. She's a young, pretty woman in a gritty urban setting. She's a smart-ass (which I really enjoyed) and she can kick your ass.

Not only does Sierra Dean's writing save her concept, it completely overshot my expectations and pulled me right into the story. I think first-person narration, almost the default for this genre, and most often meant to create an instant relationship between the protagonist and the reader, can actually work the opposite way. Done poorly, it buffers the reader from really feeling the book with distracting commentary, or my least favourite trope, the narrator refusing to see what everyone else does. Secret avoids that. She's knee-deep in the action all the time, and most of her witty asides keep pace with that. I also really enjoyed that while Secret is sarcastic, she's not needlessly antagonistic.

The few places I felt like the book faltered were the introduction and interactions with Secret's love interests, but Dean managed to make even the rough spots true to Secret's character, and again, her strong writing pulled me out of those minor issues and kept me eagerly reading until I hit the last page, when I might actually have been heard to yelp at the cliffhanger ending.

I've got the prequel novella, The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters, loaded up to read this weekend, and I'm looking forward to the next book in the series. I loved Sierra Dean's writing, and I'm sure it's only going to get better as she goes. Secret McQueen is fun, funny, and well worth spending some time with. Something Secret This Way Comes was a wonderful surprise, and I'm glad I took a chance on it.





View all my reviews

Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling (part 8)

Part 8 – In which Our Heroes arrive at their destination, only to find that it's still out of reach, and Grays contemplates his next Facebook status update.

As always, you can catch up on the entire story (for free!) here: Inkling

Inkling
An Ongoing Flash Fiction Serial

by

S. Reesa Herberth

Part 8

~_~_~_~

The 101 to the 202, then off at 32nd Street, downtown, and somehow, Grays hadn't been imagining that their destination would be tucked in a tired old strip mall.  Everything else in the valley was, but in the back of his mind, he'd been hoping for something a little more impressive than tan stucco and a clay tile roof.

The long strand of brass bells on the door rang as they entered, and the mingled scents of patchouli, rose, and dark spice filled his nose.  There was no one at the front counter, a glass display case filled with jewelry and crystal balls, and in fact, there seemed to be nobody else in the whole store.  Some kind of noise played over a few unobtrusive speakers, not cohesive enough to be called music, nor random enough to be called sound effects.  An owl hooted, and the low whistle of a wooden pipe followed, almost soothing, until something screamed behind him.

–

Grays jumped and muffled a scream of his own, enough that he heard the second yelp and started to turn before Collin caught his arm.  "Don't turn around.  Trust me.  Just walk forward, and don't look back."

The third yelp sounded closer, and Grays shuddered as something brushed against the back of his leg, closing his eyes to avoid looking.  "You realize that telling someone not to look behind themselves is every bit as unnerving as a cat staring over your shoulder at nothing, right?"

Collin's hand was firm on his upper arm, marching them farther into the store.  Farther away from his car, and any hope of getting out of this in the next few minutes.  When Grayson slowed his steps, doing his level best to ignore the sound of clicking claws that followed them, Collin paused beside him, but didn't let go.

"There's nothing behind us.  Except that the nothing behind us looks like a giant fox, which may or may not be the corporeal form taken by the familiar of the woman who runs this place."  Collin looked at him for a second, nothing particularly comforting conveyed by the tight set of his mouth, and continued.  "If you don't see the fox, the fox can't hurt you.  So if you feel the need to turn around, keep your eyes closed, and run."

Grays jerked his arm out of Collin's grip before taking a deep breath and another step forward.  "Right.  Got it.  So when I update my Facebook status later, I can change it to Absolutely did not get eaten by any form of imaginary canine today?"

The low growl at their heels made Collin flinch, and he touched the tip of a finger to the edge of one of his tattoos, a swirling tangle of knotwork inked around his elbow.  "That's the hope."

Grays nodded.  The aisle stretched before them, longer by half than it had been when they entered the store, and darker as they went.  "Annual inventory in this place must be a real nightmare."  He didn't need to look behind them to see the flicker of motion, not when it was reflected in the facets of every crystal they passed.  The array of incense, candles, and dishes of polished stones gave way to rounds of glass, flat black and reflecting nothing until Grayson's gaze started to move away.  Then it was a glimpse of teeth, before they were obscured by the fog of breath that came from absolutely nothing.

"Do you even know where we're going?"

Collin didn't answer, shaking where he stood next to Grays, with the fingers of his right hand curled over the sharp knob of his elbow.  He opened his mouth, a creak of sound dying before it ever formed a word that Grayson could hope to understand.  He tried once more, swallowing before he was able to speak.  "I thought I did, but this won't work.  We could keep walking for days, and never get to the back of the store.  I don't think they'll help me."

Grayson took a cue from Collin, grabbing his arm and pulling him along even when one of the mirrors fell to the floor and shattered.  "Speaking as a retail employee, I have to say, that's absolutely appalling customer service.  I think you should ask for the manager."  Grays pointed ahead with his free hand, towards a dark red curtain that blocked off a doorway in the far left corner.  Delusional or not, it seemed a little closer than it had been a few moments before.  "And since I don't see anyone out on the floor, it's a safe bet that the manager must be in the back.  Come on."

The snarling yip that followed them sounded almost amused.

Kittens and Writing

Quick, name two things that DON'T go together. Yeah, yeah, if you cheated and looked at the subject line, you already know. Kittens and writing. And kittens and laundry. And kittens and grocery shopping. Kittens and getting off your butt to do anything productive.

Pretty much the only thing that DOES go with kittens is hours on end of bemused cuteness coma. And here I thought the internet was a time sucker!

Cooking with Reesa – Summer Herb Pasta and Fried Squash

This is an "in theory" meal.  In theory, all the fresh ingredients could have come from my garden.  Once my tomatoes are ripe, they will.  Until then, in theory, this meal came entirely from my garden!  The parts you can grow in a garden, anyway. Except the garlic and mushrooms.

There were pictures to go with this.  Step by step, even.  Unfortunately, I'm about as much of a photographer as I am a correspondent or mime, and they all looked like something from the Gallery of Regrettable Food.  It tasted pretty awesome, though, and that's what counts. I did manage to mostly salvage a shot of the finished product.

For pasta sauce:

2 Tbs butter

1 Tbs olive oil

1 clove garlic, minced

2 sprigs/1 tsp. rosemary, minced

1/4 cup – LOTS, basil, finely chopped

1 10 oz. package mushrooms, sliced

1 medium to large red pepper, diced

4 medium tomatoes, diced

1/3 cup water

Salt and pepper to taste

Notes: I used fresh herbs out of my garden.  If you're using dried herbs, you'll need to adjust the quantities according to the ratio given on the jars. (Because I'm lazy, and I'm not going to look it up right now.)

In large skillet, combine 1 Tbs butter with 1 Tbs olive oil, heating until butter is melted.  Add the minced garlic and brown over low to medium heat, stirring as needed to keep the garlic from burning.  Once the garlic has browned, add the rest of the herbs, cooking them down for a minute or two before adding the second Tbs. of butter, tomatoes, bell pepper, and mushrooms.  Salt and pepper to taste.  I used about half a tsp. of salt, and 1/2 tsp. of fresh ground pepper.

Cook the herbs and veggies down for a couple minutes, until it starts to thicken.  Add the water, stirring it in, then set the pan on low heat for 5-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it reaches the consistency you prefer.

Meanwhile, cook some pasta.  I used spaghetti noodles, because (see above) I'm lazy, and they were what I had.  I think it would have been better with a chunkier pasta, maybe a penne or something.  Drain the pasta, the combine it with the sauce, tossing lightly to mix together.

For the fried squash:

3 Tbs. olive oil (you may need more for frying, depending on how quickly it burns off)

3 yellow summer squash, crookneck or straight, cut into rounds approx. 1/8 of an inch thick

2 Tbs. flour

2 Tbs. parmesan cheese from the can at the back of your fridge

1/4 to 1/2 tsp salt – finer is better, since this is for the dredge

1/4 to 1/2 tsp pepper, finer grind is better

Slice the squash into rounds and put it in a large plastic baggie that seals.  Add about 1 Tbs. of the olive oil, and some of the salt and pepper.  Shake the bag like it's personally offended you, until all the squash rounds have some oil on them.  In a large skillet, heat the remaining 2 Tbs. of olive oil over medium heat.

Using a fork, mix together the flour, parmesan cheese, and the rest of the salt and pepper in a shallow dish.  Using the same fork, because who wants to do more dishes, spear a round of the squash and dredge it through the flour and cheese until it's lightly coated.  Place it in the skillet, repeating this step until you have a single layer of squash pieces covering the bottom of the skillet.  By the time you're done filling the skillet, it will be about time to start flipping the pieces over.  You want them to be brown and crispy, not black and burned, so watch for that fine line, about 2 minutes or so into the cooking.  Unless you have a skillet the size of a small alien craft, you will likely need to do this in 2-3 batches.  If you're so inclined, you can put the cooked pieces on a plate with some paper towels or brown paper sacking on it to drain them, but there shouldn't be a great deal of excess oil involved.  You may need to add a splash more oil to the pan between batches, just to keep things from sticking.

Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling (pt. 7)

Confession time- I actually wrote this in 3 chunks, but never came to a good stopping point, so I haven't posted until now.  All three of you reading can chastise me soundly for this if you wish. (Hi, Mom!)

Part 7 – In which Collin does not avail himself of public transportation.  As always, you can read the entire (ongoing) story here: Inkling – Fifteen Minute Fiction

Inkling
An Ongoing Flash Fiction Serial

by

S. Reesa Herberth

-

"Huh."

This time, Collin did laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face.  "Not that I go around telling a lot of people, but most of them don't react that well."

Grays shrugged.  "What else am I gonna do?  Demand that you take me back to work, where I absolutely didn't see a nightmare monster try to eat me?  Also, if I get out of the car, this becomes grand theft auto, rather than me letting you drive."

There was a beat while Collin looked around the car, from the cracked vinyl of the dashboard to the seat covers Grays had made out of thrift store quilts.  "I think you'd have a hard time making a case for anything more than a misdemeanor."

Folding his arms across his chest, Grayson glared.  "My car does exactly what I need it to do."

"Hey, it runs when it counts.  I'm not complaining."

The traffic noise rumbled through the windows, a steady whine of cars speeding by while they hugged the curb.  Grayson pulled his phone out and hit the speed dial for the store.

"Eva?  Hey, it's Grays.  I'm—Oh, the fire trucks are there?  Yeah, I got knocked down in the blast, and it looked pretty bad, so I'm driving myself to the hospital.  No, no, hands-free, I promise.  But I feel pretty beat up—Okay, yeah, I'll see you on Tuesday.  Thanks, Eva."

Dropping his phone into the pocket of his flannel shirt, Grays looked at Collin.  "I don't know what the hell is going on, but there's no way I can deal with this crazy and having to look all over the store for gum erasers today.  I have limits."

The tattoos on Collin's arms stretched as he leaned back in the driver's seat, his hands clenching tight around the wheel.  They looked normal enough, the lines sharp and clear, almost wet.  The one Collin had pulled off earlier, birds chasing each other in a circle, wasn't any worse for the wear, and Grays didn't realize that he was going to say something stupid until he'd already started talking.

"Does it grow back?"  He manages to stop short of actually touching the ink, snatching his hand back and glaring at it as though he hadn't been the one controlling the motion. "Because it looked like you took it off your skin, earlier.  Back when the black dog was trying to eat us, and I was losing my mind."

It's a good thing, his hand resting on his knee, because he can squeeze his kneecap to hide some of the shaking.  Likewise, the fact that his blood is pounding in his ears means that it's still inside him, and Grays is a pretty simple guy, so he appreciates the little things.  For a second he thinks he might rattle apart, like his car, the shaking and the pounding tearing him at the seams, but he takes a deep breath and gets a handle on himself before it has the chance to happen.

"It's a physical representation of a stunning and binding spell.  It doesn't actually come off, it just looks like it."  Collin's voice was even, not at all like he was talking Grayson down, and hopefully not like he was getting ready to wipe someone's memory and steal their car.  "I can get out here, or we can both keep driving, but either way, we should move again.  I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of this because you were trying to be nice."

"Where are you going?"  Grayson looked up from the careful study of his jeans, in time to catch the flash of uncertainty on Collin's face.

"There's a safehouse downtown, if I can find it.  So there, I guess."

Grays tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice, but he still wound up sounding like his Mom.  "You guess.  You don't know for sure?"  Art school, Grayson?  That's your plan? Apparently, breeding would tell.

Pulling himself out of whatever fit of indecisiveness he was having, Collin sat up straight, finally letting go of the wheel.  "I've got a general idea of where it is, but I don't know if they'll let me in or not."  The flash of dark in his eyes made the wry twist of his smile look almost cruel.  "Usually I'd be the person they're trying to keep out."

He'd always been a sucker for a good story, and Grays could smell the hint of redemption in this one, or maybe adventure.  Either way, he had the afternoon off, and it wasn't like things were going to get any less weird if he made Collin take the public transportation.  He waved his hand at the passing traffic, almost impatient now that he'd made up his mind.  "Just drive.  I can only imagine what a pain in the ass it would be to validate a bus transfer while you're trying to avoid getting eaten by a fire-breathing dog."

"I… Thanks.  You don't have to get more involved though."  Collin's grin wiped away the lingering uncertainty, whether sincere or not.  "I'm sure I can find someone else to steal a car from."

"Not someone who won't press charges.  It's fine.  You can buy me some gas, or a burrito or something."  He fell silent as Collin pulled the car back into traffic, and started imagining how he'd panel this, if his life were a comic book.

Highway to the Comfort Zone

My goal today was to do something to promote The Slipstream Con that went beyond my comfort zone.  I'll be honest, like many authors, the entire concept of self promotion is outside my comfort zone, but that's beside the point.  Today I went looking for reviewers.  I emailed a couple of genre review sites, querying them about the possibility of sending them a copy of the book, and then I girded my loins, and sent off a request to a site I adore, that I considered too big for us.

Yes, they review books.  Yes, they review books in our genre(s), from our publisher.  But they were lumped into the category in my head that I'm trying to erase – places that only deal with "real" authors.

I got a reply within five minutes, and whether or not the book makes it through the review process, I met my goal for the day.  I stepped outside my safety net, and even if they hate the book so much that they renounce technology and flee to an Amish community, emerging once a year to steal a computer and post again about the novel that ruined their life, I can cling to the fact that I did it.

Thank goodness I'm not worried about this stuff anymore. Whew!

 

Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling (pt. 6)

Some people keep goldfish, y'know.

I'm just saying.

You can catch up on the entire story so far here: Inkling

They drove a few more blocks in relative silence, the adrenaline buzzing in Grayson's head like the seeds of a headache.  After another turn, and realizing that he didn't have a clue where they were going, he tried to say something with a little more coherency.  "Can you at least tell me your name, so I know who to blame when Eva fires me?"

"It's Collin.  And I'm really sorry.  Maybe I can talk to her.  Say there was an emergency, and you had to take me to the hospital or something."

Grays shuddered at the mention of hospitals, and began running his hands through his hair, checking for any injuries he might have sustained in the blast.  Bruises on his forearms seemed to be the worst of it, and since he'd just had a treatment the week before, he hoped they wouldn't swell too much.

Taking charge of his illness was second nature by now, but still made him feel competent, on top of things.  The feeling faded, leading him right back to the questions he'd been avoiding.  "I know I'm supposed to think I'm going nuts right now.  What if we assume for the moment that I believe everything I just saw happened exactly the way it seemed to.  Could you tell me why it happened, and how I can avoid it ever happening again?"

Collin looked at him, long enough that Grays felt compelled to wave his hand in the direction of the windshield.  "Eyes front while you drive, please."

Collin made another turn, winding them past a taco shop Grays recognized, and then he pulled into a parking spot on the street, idling and wasting Grayson's gas.  "Know anything about black dogs?"

Grays nodded, because nobody had read as many ghost stories as he had when he was a kid.  "Aren't they usually sent to warn someone they're going to die, or guide them into the afterlife once they have?"

Collin made a faint noise in his throat that Grays would have taken for a laugh, if he hadn't looked a little frantic for a second.  "Yeah, well.  That one was a little more direct than most."  He took one hand off the wheel, rubbing over the tattoo he'd outlined earlier.  "My family keeps them as pets."

Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling (5)

In which Grayson wonders if his break is over yet.

If you'd like to catch up on the whole story, you can find it here: Fifteen Minute Fiction – Inkling

The resulting explosion seemed to happen in slow motion, and for all Grays knew, it did.  The shockwave knocked him over, and he barely had time to raise his arms to cover his head before he hit the ground.  He couldn't tell if he was injured, and he didn't have a moment to worry about it, because Tattooed Guy had an arm under him, tugging him back to his feet and pulling him around the side of the car.

Words weren't coming at the same time as the sounds that formed them, and it took far too long to figure out that he was being asked a question.  "Keys, can you give me your keys?"

Grays pulled them out of his pocket, and when he couldn't get his fingers to unclench, the guy pulled them away.

He unlocked the door and shoved Grays into the passenger seat.  After a pause to look through the window, he crawled over Grayson and settled into the driver's seat before leaning back across the pull the door shut.

The car started after a fitful cough of protest, and they zipped out of the parking space, whipping around to face the fire-breathing creature.

"I'm really sorry about your car," he said, and he actually sounded apologetic as he took aim at the creature and hit the gas.  It bounced up over the bumper onto the hood, and Grayson could see steam rising from its hide before it slid off the car and they sped out of the parking lot.

Grays gathered all of his wits about him, found the supply lacking, and spoke anyway.  "I think my break is over."  He glanced at the clock on his radio, then back at the man behind the wheel.  "And you're totally going to be late to class, dude."  Scrambling up on his knees, he twisted around to look behind them, but they were around the corner, and he couldn't see anything following them.  "Pretty sure you can tell them the dog ate your homework, though."