'Nathan Burgoine's Blog, page 91

For the Krampus Lover

I’m not a reader of horror, but I do occasionally read tales from the darker side of prose, and I had a good run this year with books that are more bloodthirsty, or creepy, or unsettling than usual. So, again, as I try to take some time to discuss great books I read this year for other readers (or, as it’s the holidays, for those buying for readers who like books with a dark turn), here are some titles I think it would surprise me not at all to find in Krampus’s sack, alongside some terrified (but deservedly punished) children.

[image error]I love urban paranormal, and to find an urban paranormal series set in Sydney is just an added bonus. Beginning with The Beast Without, Christian Baines’s Arcadia Trust series delivered a gripping follow-up with The Orchard of Flesh. Reylan is a vampire (sorry, blood-shade) unlike any I’ve read before, and where Beast got a bit grimmer and darker than most urban paranormal I’ve read, Orchard doubled and tripled down. Baines has a gift for twisted psyches, playing the supernatural to expose the human evils at play, and a talent for turns of phrases that leave you shuddering even as you turn the page.

That isn’t to say lovers of Urban Paranormal who also like their books to have a slice of the erotic will be let down, as that’s there too, just through Baines’s lens of the darker side of the psyche. And in this second volume, there’s not just lust and bloodlust, but a protectiveness against something so powerful that even Reylan might not be able to keep those he cares about from coming to harm.

I also started Baines’s Skin, and though I’m not finished it yet, I can already tell you at the half-way point it will fulfill the loves of readers who lurk at the corner of darkness and desire.

[image error]Ohmigosh, this book. First off, Michael Thomas Ford never met a genre he couldn’t nail, and Lily nails the twisted, dark, lesbian, folk-tale-ish retelling vibe completely. That’s a thing, by the way, not just something I made up. Honest.

Lily is a brilliant character who is facing life with a terrible gift: by touch, she sees how someone will die. It’s a gift that seems completely without merit, and it also brings her nothing but anguish from the moment it first manifests at her father’s touch. What follows is a fantastic weaving of Baba Yaga, folklore, carnival sideshows, and a twisted and tangled journey where Lily has to risk it all to find a way to happiness, while she is surrounded by those who would use her, abuse her, or lead her to greater darkness.

You can get this one on audio, which was performed to freaking perfection by Pyper Down and chilling to listen to, or in gorgeously illustrated volumes from Lethe Press. It is so freaking lovely.

[image error]I can’t resist a good short, and don’t believe anyone should, so this next piece of just-a-shade-darker-than-my-usual-fare from Matthew Bright being a short fiction piece will likely not surprise anyone.

I loved this. The Library of Lost Things is full to the brim with a slightly off-kilter weird fiction vibe that, in the hands of a skilled writer such as Bright, is entirely endearing.

A library of lost works? A librarian with a dark desire for those of zero imagination or expansiveness to sort–without reading–those works? Rats who’ve nibbled enough fiction to learn polysyllabic verbiage? And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of romance of a forbidden sort? Bring it.

Oh, and because even though all of that should be enough, if for some reason you still need more, allow me to point out you can read it for free, at Tor.

[image error]Another piece of shorter fare, The Head I listened to as an audiobook via Audible. The audio performer really did a great job of sustaining the off-kilter vibe of the story: A woman finds a head in a garden, and the head starts to speak. She doesn’t call 911, despite her initial freak-out, and what develops between her and the head (who can talk, and drink, and seems otherwise pretty ‘together’ for a head without a body) is a relationship that might just spell doom.

The narrative voice of this short piece has a kind of drip-drip-drip of tension to it. It starts off weird, and almost a little silly at first, and the listener has at least a little amusement when considering the heroine (who isn’t completely socially adept, and is, frankly, falling for a head). But that amusement fades into something that chills, then darkens and then, so gradually it’s almost an unnoticed shock, steps right into a horrifying conclusion. I had no idea which way the tale would turn, and I enjoy that feeling when it doesn’t feel like a cheap trick, and at no point did The Head feel like a cheap trick.

[image error]A collection of weird and dark and horrific (and sometimes all three), Seventeen Stitches has a worthy place on any weird fiction or horror lover’s shelf. I’ve read enough Sean Eads to know, upon starting his collection, that I was in for a mix of dark and disturbing tales. With Seventeen Stitches, however, Eads often dialed up both beyond my expectations.

As I said, I rarely read horror, and when I do read horror, I shy completely away from zombies as something I know I will never enjoy. Given that many of the stories in Seventeen Stitches are ones I could describe as horror, and more than a few of those are also zombie stories, this collection left me more than a little off-balance, but honestly, the whole had me disturbed in a good way, and like I said, for those of you who like things a bit dark? Eads is there for you.

Waiting. Probably smiling and making little humming noises, too.

[image error]Insatiable is the first novel-length Derek Maclaine story, and it is so undeniably Jeff Mann that it leaves me struggling for a good term. The dichotomies that Mann handles so deftly: pain and pleasure, dubious consent and erotic release, death and renewal, vengeance and justice… I don’t know anyone else who can write a character so violent, so fueled by anger and vengeance and a passion for defending his own that completely engrosses me. Derek should be terrifying and horrifying in turns, instead, in no small part I think due to the setting and contemporary placement of the villains being so recognizably representative of everything that seeks to ruin both nature as well as certain political slants that have never been friendly to queerfolk, I cheer him on. I want to see him rain death and destruction down on those around him. He’s a vampiric Magneto, and he’s right, and I want him to make the world safer for his kin, and all those he protects, to hell with the body count.

If anything, Derek evokes the Green Man and the Horned God he worships: of nature, yes, but of the merciless tooth and claw sort. And if he also happens to be a leather daddy with more than a passing interest in bondage and BDSM..? Well, in Mann’s capable hands, even the most deadly scenes have a habit of turning erotic, and that’s just another dichotomy to watch him skillfully juggle for the reader. Indeed, there are many kinky, unapologetic odes to leather and hairy bodies and knots and gags that those seeking erotica are bound (no pun intended) to be satisfied on that level alone.

Insatiable is an all-too-rare sort of read for me, and almost especially so at its darkest and most visceral: here, the queers gather and face off against literal demons of capitalism and conservative politics, and together this pack of powerful, merciless queer people prove they are exactly that: powerful, and merciless.

 

Friday Flash Fics – Nice Kitty

So for this week’s Friday Flash Fics picture, our fearless leader Elizabeth Lister chose the image from that awesome meme making the rounds. It’s a joke, of course, that the man posted about finding a lost cat and washing it after feeding it three cans of tuna, but as Elizabeth noted, there’s a handsome wrist there, and c’mon, how could we not try to write something?

My entry once again returns to Matt and Jace from “Bound” in Not Just Another Pretty Face and Triad Blood and Triad Soul, and makes mention of Taryne, a druid you meet briefly in Triad Soul who runs an animal rescue operation.

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Nice Kitty

“Jace?” Matt called. He hung his jacket on the hook by the front door. Just being in Jace’s small home relaxed him.

“In the bathroom,” Jace said. “Come on up.”

Matt smiled. Maybe there was about to be bathtub hijinks? Jace’s tub wasn’t large, but Matt would give it every attempt. He took the stairs two at a time, and pushed open the bathroom door, ready for anything.

Except…

“Don’t freak out,” Jace said.

Jace was shirtless, which Matt liked. But he was shirtless because he was apparently in the middle of washing—

“Lion?” Matt said. He pointed. “Or. Wait. Bobcat?” This wasn’t really his area of expertise. It was a wild cat, though. He lowered his hand when the… feline… looked at his hand in a decidedly grumpy way.

“Hey babe.” Jace poured some more water down the animal’s back, rinsing off some of the suds. He was working one of the big cat’s paws.

“Uh. Hon?” Matt said. “That’s… Why?” He shook his head. “What’s happening?”

“Taryne got a call about this beautiful girl here. I was closer than she was. She’s dealing with a coywolf thing, so I handled it.”

“So… This isn’t… a friend?”

“What? Oh. No. Weres don’t lose mass when we shift. She’s way too small to be a shifter.” He poured more water over the cat’s back. The cat pushed its head against Jace’s palm, and… purred.

Actually purred.

“So, you’re giving a wild animal a bath. Do we have these here? In Ottawa, I mean.”

“No, she’s not local. And someone hurt her.”

“What?” Matt took a step forward.

The cat eyed him warily. He stopped moving, but he could see over where Jace was carefully washing the creature’s fur and there were ugly marks across her left flank.

“I can help. If you think she’d let me?”

“Hey,” Jace said. The animal made eye contact with him. “This one? This one’s a friend.”

A warm rush of something passed between his boyfriend and the wild cat. It was almost out of reach, something not-quite-magical, but other enough for it to register to his own magic.

“I didn’t know weres could do that.” Matt took a step forward. The cat looked at him, then leaned more into Jace’s strokes.

“Some of us are better with beasts than others.”

“Good to know.” He eyed the wounds. “Doesn’t look deep. Can you pour some fresh water over it?”

Jace did, and Matt let his magic loose. Water was his element, and he felt the flow touch fur and skin. He nudged it, speaking quiet, calm words of healing. Healing was more an earth magic than water, strictly speaking, but blood and water went hand in hand. All wizards learned how to do what they could. When it came to doing what could be done with water, Matthew Stirling prided himself on his reputation. Magic and water worked to heal skin and staunch the wound. Infection that had begun to take root was washed away. The animal flinched, then relaxed as Matt drove out potential rot.

Matt reached out, flicking the dirty water out from the tub to the sink with a quick nudge of magic.

A moment later the cat’s head was there, pressed against his hand.

Along his forearm, his ink bloomed from a small triangle into images of a wild cat moving through woods, a man with a crossbow and a dog and a crate, and as the vision played out on his skin, Matt took a deep breath.

“So,” Matt said, once his tattoo had collapsed back into a simple triangle. “How do we feel about men who specifically order and hunt wild cats for sport?”

Jace eyed him. “Strongly. We feel… strongly.”

“You’ll probably want to put on a shirt before we go,” Matt said. “But only if you promise to take it off again once we’re back.”

 

F/Fa-la-la-la-la!

Okay, it’s possible that is my saddest title yet, but hey. This year I had a bounty of awesome lady-love reads, and I figured I would do what I usually do and try to list of some of the great books I read this year, in case you’re looking for gift ideas, or just awesome books for yourself. I’m going to start off the posts with some wonderful lady love.

[image error]Jessica Webb’s debut novel Trigger takes the medical thriller narrative and gives it an ever-so-slight sci-fi twist. We meet our heroine, Dr. Kate Morrison, in a Vancouver ER, where fate puts her in the right place at the wrong time: a man stumbles in off the street and collapses, and while Kate tries to save him, police arrive and demand she not touch him at all. When she does—and when nothing bad happens and she manages to save the man’s life—instead of praise, Kate finds herself in the harsh criticism of RCMP officer Sergeant Andy Wyles, the woman who ordered Kate to keep her hands off the patient.

Someone has turned human beings into bombs. Triggered by touch, people like this man have been exploding, and Kate is the first human being who seems somehow immune to triggering the effect. Mystery, a dash of sci-fi, and a pretty awesome spark of a romance begin in this book, and you can enjoy more of the characters in Pathogen and Troop 18. (And after that, pick up Repercussions, too, because Webb is just that damn good.)

[image error]Yolanda Wallace’s 24/7 was a book I read while I was on vacation in Hawai’i. (Yes, I was kind of trying to go for a vacation read theme about a hot place while visiting a hot place on vacation. I’m a nerd.) Here we meet Finn, a travel writer who isn’t so good at making long-term connections, and Luisa, an officer with the Mexican Federal Police.

They have a very quick—and fiery—connection that they both enjoy, never really thinking they’ll encounter each other again, but when the all-woman resort adventure Finn is enjoying for work turns out to be an opportunity for them to maybe get to know each other since it’s within range of Luisa’s life, things get a bit more complicated. And then, when the criminal element Luisa is trying to defeat also gets involved? Things go from complicated to deadly.

Wallace has a real knack for turning up the tension and for heart-stopping thriller moments. Also? I rooted for those ladies something fierce.

[image error]I want to start with a note about the world-building. From that point of view, Pegau completely nails a science fiction story on an icy, mining-centric planet with an effortlessness I’ve only really before seen with Stephen Graham King. You “get” her world without having to do any work, the characters and moments provide such simple context that words like “pirq” and concepts like “the void” just slide right into common vernacular for the reader. The narrative immerses the reader from step one.

With an agent investigating corruption is herself falsely accused of actions just as corrupt meets a woman on the run trying to protect her two children who has an idea of just how deep that corruption goes, the characters are both heavily invested in seeing things through. But they’re also unable to trust each other, given the barriers between them—and despite the attraction they feel—which makes their relationship crackle from the first step.

Deep Deception hits all the right notes: action, mystery, thrills, sci-fi, and love. It’s all here. And frankly, I can’t wait to hop back in an air-car and revisit more of her worlds. I’m so glad I found this book.

[image error]You should really start with the first in this series, Miss Match, but this year I read Unlikely Match (and the third book, Strike a Match). There was a secondary character in the first book, Shelly, that I had high hopes would be part of the romance in Unlikely Match. Wish granted! Shelly is a mix of super-smart, nerdy-hot awesomeness, and self-consciousness. And there’s Claire, an up-and-coming PR whiz at Lucinda’s company, and it turns out she gets to play opposite Shelly and I was on board from step the first.

Fiona Riley has three strengths: One, her dialog is Melissa Brayden-good, with the verbal jousting reaching laugh-out-loud on multiple moments. Two, Riley handles family in such a perfectly queer way. Three, the sizzle (which is awesome) is so in character. Fiona Riley knows chemistry, and the simmer-sizzle-burn is set up to perfection.

So,  if you haven’t started with Miss Match, do so. Then hit this one, and then grab Strike a Match. You can thank me later.

[image error]Speaking of awesome series! The first of Maggie Cummings’s Bay West Social books hooked me in on a couple of levels: it has a bit of a “chosen family” vibe to it (albeit entirely with women) and I loved the ensemble feeling to the setting, a lesbian-exclusive housing development.

There are two main characters in Totally Worth It, Meg and Lexi, and they’re an interesting pair of lenses to see the story through. Meg offers the “new girl” perspective: she’s in awe of the lesbian mecca, and in her twenties, and flying pretty solo. Her romantic entanglement is secondary to her character’s journey of finding friends and becoming a part of the Bay West group.

Lexi, on the other hand, grew up enmeshed in the culture of Bay West, is very much Meg’s “entry” into the place, and has a more central romantic storyline (a forbidden relationship and something of a May/December one, to boot, which was nice). Meg’s arc takes the rest of the trilogy to play out, but each book in the series deals with another couple, too. So you get four romances in three books.

[image error]Oh! Melissa Brayden. You are my rock of lady love. Strawberry Summer has a lovely then/now split to it, where you visit the heroine in the present as well as her teen years, and her love from then collides with her present day, and might just be a possible “now” too. This is a second-chance romance that takes place in wonderful small town and oh, it’s lovely.

Margaret is a farm girl. Courtney is a city kid who arrived during high school. They sparked. Hearts slowly opened, and then…

Well. There’s a reason they call these stories second-chance romances, right?

Brayden spins her usual strengths here: amazing dialog, heartwarming family vibes, and a setting (in this case, a strawberry farm) that lives and breathes like it’s a character in and of itself. Toss in a sudden, heart-breaking turning point, and you’re in for yet another wonderful ride.

 

Writing Wednesday – The Most Wonderful Update of the Year

Okay, it’s possible I’m overstating, but here’s the thing: as of this week, both Of Echoes Born (which now exists as a pre-order!) and Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks are drafted. They’re off in the wheels of publishing, awaiting the next steps, and that means both my major deadline projects are done.

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Now available for preorder!

So, scratch that, it is totally not overstating that this is the most wonderful time of the year.

What Next?

With both major deadline projects off my plate, and with the holiday novella released, I’m kind of in a lovely bubble of not having something with a due date to work on at the moment. I mean, there are the open calls for submission (which are below, as usual) and I’m still considering some of those, but honestly? I might just take December to percolate.

If I had to answer this moment? I believe I’m going to pitch Triad Magic to my publisher, and I’m going to work on my village novella series (those poor things have been beyond back-burner for so long) and I’m also going to attempt another holiday novella for next year. Releasing Handmade Holidays was a lot of freaking fun, and an idea occurred to me with a fake relationship trope, and… well, we’ll see what happens.

Open Calls for Submission

On Writing Wednesdays I also track open calls for submission I’m keeping an eye on, as well as keeping honest how I’ve done thus far for the year in submitting things for publication myself.

Previously this year: January was: 6 submissions (4 reprints, 2 new), with 1 acceptance (new) and three acceptances (three reprints); in February was bare minimum: 1 submission (1 new); March brought 1 rejection, and 1 submission (new); April saw 1 submission (new) and 1 acceptance; May: 1 submission (new), 1 acceptance. June: BUZZ! (Let’s not talk about that). July: 1 submission (1 new). August: 1 submission (1 new). September and October: 2 submissions (2 new), and 1 acceptance. November: 1 submission (1 new). December has been 1 submission (1 new). So, I officially managed to submit something at least twelve times this year, but not quite at once-a-month pace near the end there. Also, if I made it through to the last round of the NYCMidnight Flash Fiction contest, I’ve got one more flash fiction piece to write.

And now, the open calls:

Chicken Soup for the Soul—Various titles, various themes, various deadlines, 1,200 word count limit.
Mischief Corner Books—Open to submissions for various themes, including Legendary Love, Everyday Heroes, Cowboys and Space; these are open rolling calls, so no deadline.
NineStar Press—Open to submissions for various length prose, paranormal, science fiction, fantasy and horror; Click “Currently Seeking” header for details; word count limit variable.
Spectrum Lit—This is an ongoing patreon flash fic provider, 1,500 hard word count limit; LGBTQ+ #ownvoice only; ongoing call.
Best Gay Erotica for the Year, Volume 4—Cleis Press; 2,500-5,000 word count limit. Original stories strongly preferred; deadline January 5th, 2018 (but the earlier the better).
Fantastic Beasts and Where to F*** Them—Circlet Press; Erotic short stories with magical beasts and shapeshifter tropes; 3,000 to 7,000 word count limit; deadline February 1st, 2018.
Lost—NineStar Press. LGBTQIA+ romantic pairing. Both HEA and HFN are acceptable, Click “Lost” header for the theme. 30k-120k word count limit; deadline April 30th, 2018.
Happiness in Numbers—Less than Three Press; Polyamorous LGBTQIA+ anthology, non-erotic polyamorous stories that explore the idea of “Family”; 10k to 20k word count limit; deadline April 30th, 2018.

Ornamental

If you’ve read Handmade Holidays, my wee holiday chosen-family romance novella from NineStar Press, you probably noticed there’s a theme around the ornaments Nick decorates his tree with. Not in the sense of an actual matching theme, but in how they’re added to each year, one or two at a time, building up his story on the tree.

It’s a wee bit biographical. Okay, it’s a lot biographical.

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I’m a wee bit more happy about Christmas these days.

I’ve had a tradition since 1996 that deals with Christmas ornaments in a similar way as Nick. Now, the inciting incident—being on my own during the holidays—goes further back much further than that, but 1996 was the first year there was enough space and I could afford it. Just like Nick, I bought a floor-model tree that was on clearance the night before Christmas and just like Nick I lugged it home on a bus and just like Nick I realized I didn’t have any ornaments only after I put the tree up.

Prior to having an actual space to put up a tree (I had a long succession of living with roommates post-disowning), I often was lucky enough to be included in the holidays of my friends, especially those who stayed in Ottawa during the holidays.

And sometimes? I went out and saw movies on Christmas Day. I always volunteered to work both Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, since it meant a nice paycheck and also meant someone else could have a day off.

But that first year with that tree in an apartment, my roommates already gone home for the holidays? Kind of sucked. Funnily enough, a friend who did cross-stitch ended up giving me a cute little ornament in a Christmas card, so on Christmas Day it turned out I actually did have an ornament. A box of candy-canes dealt with the rest of the tree, just like Nick.

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One of the few remaining “filler” white ornaments.

The next year, I had picked up a package of inexpensive plain white ornaments, and a couple of strings of lights. And, once again, that year I received another ornament from a different friend when I hosted a small party I called “Christmas for Losers.” And a tradition was born. I hosted parties for anyone with nowhere to go, and I kept an eye out for ornaments, adding them to the tree as the years went by.

 

So, yes, that went into Handmade Holidays, too.

When I first met my husband-to-be, I was still working retail and was a manager, so I was still working both Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, and so Christmas wasn’t really a favourite holiday by any means. Now, he liked themed trees, and I had my box of mish-mash nostalgia ornaments, and so we did the only responsible thing: we put up two trees. One at my apartment, and one at his house.

As I decorated the tree with him that first time in my awful little apartment, I walked him through the ornaments. “This was the year I got the job at the bookstore!” “This was the year I finished my degree!” “This was the year I started reconstructing my jaw!” (That last one isn’t a favourite, but hey, not all memories can be winners, right?)

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Husband’s First Frog ™

That year, in his stocking, our first Christmas together, I got him a little glass frog ornament (he likes frogs). And when we hung it on my tree, I said, “This was the year I met you.”

 

When I moved in? We had a long talk about it that Christmas and decided to do the only responsible thing: we put up two trees, one in the entrance way, and one in the living room. Every year, we added to our ornament collection: a trip to Scotland we picked up a Thistle. In Houston? We found a beautiful star. And our friends, who have always liked and supported my ornament tradition would also gift them to us. When we renovated a spare bedroom and turned it into a library? A little Mr. Moose Fix-It ornament showed up under the tree. And so on.

1996 was twenty-one years ago. Quite literally half my lifetime. And because all those years have passed, there was a tipping point: there were as many ornaments about us as there were from before us.

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Husband. Dog. Tinsel. It’s a thing.

Four years ago, when I snuck in permission to get a dog inside my first novel’s acknowledgements, a realization smacked us: the dog’s bed was where we always put one of the trees. There was nowhere to put two trees. And so we sat down, and my husband looked at me and said, “Let’s just do our tree. The nostalgia one.”

That was a big year for me, sniffle-wise.

The holidays can be a special slice of awful for queer kids who were kicked to the curb. There’s a relentlessness to the message of the holidays about family that—much like Nick in Handmade Holidays—I’ll likely always struggle with. But now, when I put up the tree with my husband and the dog (he helps by letting us cover him in tinsel), that tree? It’s full. It’s full of us, and the life we have together. And every ornament we hang on that tree makes us smile, and every year, somehow, we’ve forgotten a few of them and have this wonderful moment of remembrance.

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This year’s ornament.

This year it was: “That was the year we paid off the mortgage!” “Our first Christmas with the dog!” and “Moe’s thumbprint ornaments!”

Oh, and this year? This year’s official ornament we picked up in Hawai’i, the same day I finished writing acknowledgements for Triad Soul. It’s made of wood, it’s super-light, and it’s a lovely reminder of a brilliant vacation that recharged and restored us both from a pretty wretched Ottawa winter.

So that’s the real world origins of the ornament tradition that waves its way throughout Handmade Holidays. Nick, Haruto, Phoebe, Fiona and Matt are a group of queers modelled very much on people I know and love, who face off against the holidays every year with each other, in the warmth of a chosen family that grows and evolves, and brings some warmth to the season.

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Handmade Holidays

At nineteen, Nick is alone for the holidays and facing reality: this is how it will be from now on. Refusing to give up completely, Nick buys a Christmas tree, and then realizes he has no ornaments. A bare tree and an empty apartment aren’t a great start, but a visit from his friend Haruto is just the ticket to get him through this first, worst, Christmas. A box of candy canes and a hastily folded paper crane might not be the best ornaments, but it’s a place to start.

A year later, Nick has realized he’s not the only one with nowhere to go, and he hosts his first “Christmas for the Misfit Toys.” Haruto brings Nick an ornament for Nick’s tree, and a tradition—and a new family—is born.

As years go by, Nick, Haruto, and their friends face love, betrayal, life, and death. Every ornament on Nick’s tree is another year, another story, and another chance at the one thing Nick has wanted since the start: someone who’d share more than the holidays with him.

 

Monday Flash Fics — Last Performance

Over on the Monday Flash Fics group, the latest photograph was moody and conflicted, to my gaze, so I tried for something in that vein. I pondered on reasons for someone to be studying their reflection so very much.

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Last Performance

The laser eye surgery wasn’t pleasant, but now I’ve recovered, I can see how far I’ve come.

Almost.

The beard pulls double-duty, hiding the little scar on my chin.

The gym is helping, too.

And, okay, I’m getting used to the hair. It takes forever, and it’s fussy, and who knew it could take so much time to look like you just rolled out of bed, but there you have it.

He used to mock me for taking so long. Now I know it took him longer.

I’m not sure about the tattoo. The fake I’ve got right now might be enough at a glance, but then again, by the time my beard grows in enough I don’t think long-sleeves would be out of place.

“I’ll find out,” I say.

In the mirror, someone with almost my brother’s face says the words with me.

 

*

 

No body, no charges. But I know. I feel it. He’s gone, and it was either the son of a bitch he worked with, or his wife. They’re together now. I’ve seen them.

Maybe it was both of them, but I hope not. I don’t want it to be his wife.

She was always pretty nice to me. His partner was the homophobic ass.

But they’re both living in his house, running his business, both have access to the money he left behind.

No body, no will. Just the same-old, same-old.

 

*

 

As plans go, it’s not complicated. They think I’m on the other side of the country, mourning in some small theatre in a mountain town. Now and then reach out. Maybe they’ll come visit?

Right.

 

*

 

Months. Almost years, and when I see the calendar, it’s too perfect. I wait for the anniversary. The business partner works late, like usual. Getting in to the building isn’t hard—they never did change the keys or codes, and they probably didn’t know he gave them to me.

A little stage presence. Working the light. Voicemail I’ve had cleaned up and reorganized.

It’s the role of a lifetime, really.

I tap the phone, and the voice calls his name.

“Hello?”

It takes him longer than I expected to come out of his office, but when he does, he sees me.

Well, no.

He sees him.

 

*

 

I tap the phone again, hidden in my pocket.

“Why?” It’s his voice, not mine, but I make the right movements with my lips. And in this light? With the make-up I’ve used?

I am my brother’s ghost.

“Oh God,” he says. He falls back against the wall, slides down it as his legs go out from under him. “Oh God, no,” he repeats. “She… She said you knew… she said you found out… she said she had to…”

He babbles on, and I let the phone record. I jerk toward him and he cries out and covers his face and whimpers, begging and whinging.

I shoot before he opens his eyes.

 

*

 

One more performance, then. My sister-in-law’s house.

 

 

Sunday Shorts – “Hearts Alight,” by Elliot Cooper

[image error]Dave Cunningham hates the rampant consumerism that’s come to dominate his family’s Hanukkah celebrations. But a chance to bring a bit of a holiday happiness to his long-time crush, Amit Cohen, helps put him in a more festive mood.

In the quest to craft the perfect gift, Dave tries to urge a few personal details out of stoic Amit. Unintentionally, he learns the Cohen family’s secret: Amit is a golem. But Amit has a problem that runs deeper than his magical origin, and a Hanukkah miracle might be the only thing that will keep the budding flame between him and Dave from going out.

This was such a lovely little holiday novella on so many fronts, and I snuggled right into it. Dave was so easy to identify with: he’s a gaming nerd, so done with holiday consumerism, and frustrated at feeling the guilt of not being able to be “on par” with the gift-giving going on around him. He’s also just awkward enough to get in his own way, and overthinking himself out of confidence. In short, he’s adorable.

The dash of holiday magic here is in the Golem, yes, but also in the blending of family, friendship, compassion and the shared desire to give, but not in the consumerism way. That it also involved some Dungeons & Dragons, latkes and a little bit of golem magic just made it all the more up my alley. Also, the wide range of queer identities included here bears mentioning, including a bi main character, and a trans man supporting character.

Hearts Alight is completely charming.

Handmade Holidays: Third Christmas

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Chosen family, Christmas, and a happy-ever-after fifteen years in the making.

If you picked up my wee Christmas Novella, “Handmade Holidays,” you may have noticed that over the course of the book, a few years get skipped. The third year—where the most famous of all the ornaments was up for grabs—is one of those skipped years.

If you’d like to revisit the Misfit Toys, here’s “Third Christmas,” where the ornament game was born, and the five original Misfit Toys spent their last Christmas in Nick’s terrible, tiny bachelor pad.

“Handmade Holidays” is available from NineStar Press, as part of this year’s seasonal themed series for the holidays.

Third Christmas

“So, just to be clear, what are the rules?” Nick said.

“You’ve never played the White Elephant game?” Matt’s eyebrows rose.

“Nope.”

Fiona laughed. “Of course he hasn’t played the White Elephant game. This can’t surprise anyone. I mean, come on. You’ve all seen him open presents. He doesn’t even rip wrapping paper.”

“I think he only does that to annoy me,” Haruto said.

Nick was about to protest, but Perry stepped in to save the day.

“I don’t know how to play either,” he said.

“See?” Nick bumped shoulders with Perry. “It’s not just me.”

“Okay, usually it’s names in a hat, but I use a deck of cards,” Matt said, holding up just such a thing. “It’s easier.”

“Clever,” Fiona said.

“Thank you.”

Matt slid the cards out of the box, and pulled out five cards. Once he was sure they were all different, he went through the rest of the deck until he had all four suits for the five cards he’d drawn, and then the rest went back in the box.

“Okay, here’s how it goes. I’ll deal out one of each of these,” Matt said, taking the top card off the five piles and shuffling them quickly. He handed them out.

“I’m the King,” Nick said. “Does that mean I win?”

“Hush,” Haruto said. “No one wins or loses. There are no losers.”

“Next we shuffle the rest of the cards into a deck,” Matt said, ignoring them both. Once he’d shuffled, he stopped, rubbing his hands. “So the first person gets to pick one of the packages to unwrap, which will be…” He flipped over a card. “Whoever has seven.”

“First and most fabulous,” Haruto said.

Between the five of them sat five small wrapped packages. It had been Haruto’s idea, of course, and built on a tradition that had sort of crept up on them over the last two years. When Nick had been alone on Christmas Eve, Haruto had helped him assemble his massive tree in his tiny apartment and shoved it far into one corner, only to realize that Nick had no ornaments. A box of candy canes and one hastily folded blue paper crane—both courtesy of Haruto—had more-or-less solved that problem, and by the following year, Nick had been able to afford some basic white baubles to decorate the tree with.

Last year, Haruto had also given him the cutest handmade ornament: a little mouse sitting at a typewriter. Both were near the top of the tree, given pride of placement.

And now, on the floor between the group of them, were five more possibilities for his tree. Haruto had suggested they all pick up an ornament, wrap it, and have a White Elephant game at Nick’s annual Christmas for Misfit Toys party, and while Nick hadn’t entirely understood what a White Elephant game was, he’d been happy to oblige.

He tried not to smile too widely when Haruto reached forward and grabbed the box wrapped in silver, which Nick had brought. Haruto positively shredded his way into the box, tossing tiny bits of paper around like the point of the process was to make as many pieces out of the wrapping as possible.

When he finally got the box open, he pulled out a white square cloth ornament. It was a cross-stitch, with a pattern of two gold bells, red ribbon, and holly. Haruto held it up. “This is pretty.”

“One of my co-workers does cross-stitch,” Nick said. “I bought one from her.”

“I like it,” Haruto said.

“Okay,” Matt said, grinning. “Now I draw the next card, but this time, the person gets to decide if they want to unwrap, or if they want to steal Ru’s ornament. If they steal Ru’s, then Ru gets to open another one. And if I draw the same person twice in a row, I shuffle the card back in and draw again.”

Perry and Nick nodded. Matt drew another card. A three.

“I want his,” Fiona said, pointing at Haruto.

Nick blinked. He was surprised. He didn’t think the little cross-stitched ornament was really Fiona’s style, but she reached over and took it from him.

“Never admit you like something,” she said, winking.

Ah. That made more sense.

Haruto, though, just shook his head, and grabbed another package. This one revealed a silver snowflake, engraved with the year, tipped with little blue crystals.

“Very bling,” Haruto said, then eyed Fiona daringly. “I like it.”

“Well played,” she said. “I see what you’re doing there.”

Matt drew again. “Ace.”

“That’s me,” Perry said.

“So you can steal Fiona’s or Haruto’s ornament, or you can take from the middle. And now if you steal Ru’s, he can take Fiona’s, too. But nothing changes hands more than once a round.”

“I’ll just take a new one.” Perry pulled out a package, and to Nick’s delight—and more anguish from Matt, Fiona, and Haruto—he carefully unwrapped it without disturbing the paper.

Perry pulled out the ornament, and smiled. “This is so cute.”

It was a rainbow unicorn kitten. Pink at its nose, moving red through purple by the time it got to its tail, it had a little pearlescent horn and as far as Nick could tell, it was the most perfect rainbow unicorn kitten ever created.

“Mine,” he said, just as Matt said, “I need that.”

They eyed each other.

“I’m beginning to see the appeal of this game,” Nick said, pointing to the cards. “Draw.”

Matt did, and got himself. The rainbow unicorn kitten was passed over, and Perry opened the fourth package, adding what appeared to be an angry elf holding up a “On Strike Until We Get Paid!” sign into the mix.

Everyone looked at Fiona.

“What?” she said. “Anyone could have brought that.”

Matt drew Fiona again, and the rainbow unicorn kitten was hers. Matt smiled at the cross-stitch, and pointed at her. “It will be mine.”

She flashed her tongue stud at him.

Matt eyed the other ornaments, but shook his head. “I’ll keep this.” He flipped another card. It was a King.

“Kitten,” Nick said. Fiona handed it over, then reached to open the last present, revealing a pair of tiny mittens that looked to have actually been knitted.

Matt looked at Perry. “This was you, wasn’t it?”

Perry nodded.

“I didn’t know you knitted,” Haruto said.

“Where’d you think I got my scarf?” Matt said.

“Wait, you made that gorgeous scarf?” Fiona said.

Nick was just as impressed. Matt had shown up with a tri-coloured scarf done in white, a very pale blue, and a kind of sparkly silver wool that reminded Nick of the snow outside. Fiona was right. It was gorgeous.

Perry shied away from the attention. “I like to make things.”

“Homemade gifts have heart,” Haruto said.

“I’m feeling a bit pathetic for buying my ornament now,” Fiona said.

“Hey, so did I,” Nick said. “That was someone else’s homemade.”

“The star was mass produced,” Matt said. “Probably by children in China.”

“Lost-wax casting. My last year with access to all the awesome art department stuff, so…” Haruto shrugged. “I might as well use ‘em before I graduate.”

The game went on. By the time there were only two cards left, the tension in the room was almost palpable.

“I just want to point out there’s no losing this game,” Haruto said, eyeing Matt and Nick, who were the only two who hadn’t had their third draw each. He had the rainbow unicorn kitten in his hand.

“But there’s definitely going to be a winner,” Matt said, and flipped the card. A nine.

“And it isn’t going to be you,” Nick said, crossing his arms, smug.

“There is no way I can make this work,” Matt agreed, but he stole the kitten anyway, setting off one more round of trades.

“Go on, flip it,” Nick said.

“We could always stop now,” Matt said.

“Flip the card.”

“I mean, we’re all happy, and like Ru said, there’s no losers…”

“Flip. It.”

With a sigh, Matt flipped the card. The King of Diamonds had never looked so good.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Nick said.

“The Grinch has nothing on you,” Matt said, but he handed the kitten over, accepting the mittens from Nick in return. Matt traded them with Haruto for the elf, and then Haruto ended the game by keeping the mittens. Fiona had the star, Perry the cross-stitch.

“Okay,” Nick said. “That was awesome. I love you guys.”

“Says the guy with the rainbow unicorn kitten.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“I could always make another,” Haruto said. “At least until April.”

“No,” Nick said. “No, there will never be another rainbow unicorn kitten quite so amazing as this first, best, one. Better just to let the legend exist.” He stood and hung it on the tree with a flourish.

“Before this devolves into bloodshed, I have to go.” Haruto rose. “My mother will flip if I’m not home in time for dinner.”

They all hugged him in turn before he left.

Nick walked him to the door. “The kitten is amazing. This ornament trading game idea was amazing. You, Ru, are amazing.”

“You may continue the praise,” Haruto said, pulling on his hat. “You have plans for Christmas Day?” He asked every year, just to make sure Nick had something for the day itself.

“A long sleep in, of course, then I’ll open my presents—you shouldn’t have, but we’ve already covered that you’re amazing—and I think I’m going to go out this year and catch a movie. Lots of popcorn.”

“Okay. Let me know which movie and when. If my mother doesn’t mind, I might slip out and join you.”

“I will.”

They hugged again, and Haruto left.

Fiona had turned on Nick’s small television, and they settled in to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Perry and Fiona sat on Nick’s bed, and Nick paused at his stove before joining Matt on the two-seater couch. When the kettle started to whistle, Nick got up to make hot chocolate for everyone, adding a dollop or two of Bailey’s to each, and they toasted the third year of Christmas for Misfit Toys. As if on cue, the pizzas arrived, and they watched the show while they ate the slices.

“Did I tell you I got a tree?” Matt said, while Rudolph’s father covered his shiny nose with mud on the screen.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It’s not as large as your beast, but it’s something.”

They clinked glasses. “That just leaves Fiona without a tree of her own.”

“Never gonna happen,” Fiona said. “You know I hate everything about Christmas, always have, always will.”

“Do I need to put on some carols?”

“I really can’t stay,” Matt sang. Fiona threw a wad of wrapping paper at him.

Perry had to leave before the show ended, and Fiona offered to give him a ride home. Matt and Nick brought the show to a close, then rose, stretching.

“Thank you for this,” Matt said. He held up the angry elf ornament.

“I think Fiona brought that.”

Matt shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Nick said. “You’re welcome. And thank you, too. You guys make this…” He gestured to his tree, his little bachelor apartment, and the world at large. “Better.”

“We do, don’t we?” Matt said. “You’d almost think we’re worthy of a reward. Like, say, a rainbow unicorn kitten.”

“Let it go, Matthew.”

“Never,” Matt said. “And that’s a promise.”

They hugged. After Matt left, Nick went back to the tree and touched the little rainbow unicorn kitten, setting him swinging on the branch.

“There are no losers,” he said, then went to go make himself another hot chocolate.

 

 

Friday Flash Fics — Terrible Waste

Today’s Friday Flash Fic prompt had me blinking for a bit, but then I remembered my story “Lesser Evil” from The Lavender Menace: Tales of Queer Villainy, and decided to go the super villain route. Tristan Edwards, known as Psilence, was a joy to write: a telepath who cam make people think and do whatever he wants, and who has at best a loose sense of morality, but a streak of vengeance a mile wide. By the end of “Necessary Evils,” it’s obvious he’d have to amend his methods, and go for more subtle approaches to taking down the people he feels are worth destroying.

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Terrible Waste

It occurred to Tristan that of the three of them, he was the one that looked least like a threat. Even mostly naked, he was the one who likely wouldn’t earn a second glance. He wasn’t unattractive, was in decent enough shape, but compared to the other two? Well.

“You’re smiling,” Lewis said.

“Just thinking.” Lewis was a wall of a man. His metahuman body channeled any form of energy—even just sunlight—and it gave him a wrestler’s physique. Given his shaved head and thick beard, anyone encountering Lewis tended to give him a wide berth, even out of his armor.

In front of them was the young man they’d brought home last night. Like them, he was in his underwear, and while they weren’t unarmed—by their very nature, they couldn’t be—he held a bow. He drew back, and launched an arrow across the field at a target. Bullseye.

“Well done,” Lewis said.

Oskar smiled. “Thank you.”

Tristan reached into the archer’s mind through pathways he’d created throughout their athletic evening before. Oskar’s mind welcomed him. The Norwegian glanced at him, and the eye contact only strengthened the link.

“Now,” Tristan said. “Show us what you’ll do at the opening, if you don’t mind?” He stressed the last four words.

Beside him, Lewis chuckled. Oskar paid no attention.

“Ja,” Oskar picked up another arrow. He drew, just like before, lining up the shot…

He pivoted and shot the arrow into the dummy set up at the sideline, one man among four. It struck in the eye. Lethal. Oskar sank to his knees, dropped his bow, raised both hands, and waited quietly. They’d probably still shoot him, but it gave him a chance to survive. Oskar’s mind might not be particularly challenging, but it would still be a terrible waste of a lovely, lovely body.

“Perfect, Oskar.” Tristan eyed the dummy, then tapped Oskar on the shoulder.

Oskar blinked, and rose, smiling.

“That didn’t take long,” Lewis said.

“Some minds are more malleable than others.” Tristan glanced at Lewis, and saw the way Lewis was looking at the archer. Ah. Of course. He reached out telepathically.

“Oskar,” Tristan said, “If you don’t mind, go back to the bedroom, strip, and tell Lewis here the kinkiest things you’ve never told anyone you’d like to try.”

Oskar bit his lip. “Even role-playing stuff?”

“Definitely,” Lewis said. “Definitely that.”

“Ja,” Oskar said again, and left the two outside.

“I love working with you.” Lewis’s voice rumbled.

Tristan smiled.

Lewis gestured at the dummies. An arc of blue-white plasma lashed from his palm, and the dummy pierced by Oskar’s arrow all but exploded under the assault. The dummies to either side were blackened and scorched.

“Though I miss taking out the trash myself.”

“Baby, you’re too hot right now. But even NAMDA can’t screen every performer and athlete for telepathic programming. Besides,” Tristan nodded to one of the scorched dummies. “You just killed the Democrat nominee, too.”

“Let’s go inside. There’s something else I’d like to hit.” He winked, and started back for the house. Tristan watched him walk, enjoying the play of muscles in the large man’s back. Aleph. At one point, he’d been the biggest threat on NAMDA’s radar. He probably still was, technically. But partnered with Psilence, he’d become a sniper rifle instead of a nuclear bomb.

“Lewis?” Tristan called.

Lewis turned. It was obvious from his boxers that he was more than ready for what waited for them in the bedroom.

“Leave some for me,” Tristan said, and without even a pang of regret, he added, “if you don’t mind.”

December Will Be Magic Again

The hardest things about Christmas for me will likely always be twofold.

First, a couple of decades in retail took most of the shine off the season, and especially the music. It’s been a few years now, since I had my six-day work-weeks and dragged my butt home on Christmas Eve super-late (because it was time to set up for Boxing Day of course) only to also then wake up super-early on Boxing Day to drag my butt back to the store to hang signs and sticker product in time for the early opening…

Ugh. Yeah. Just writing that makes me twitch. And it’s been years. Waking up with my husband and His Fluffy Lordship on Christmas Day puts me a little further away from that feeling each year. But I’m still not ready to listen to Alvin whine about a hula-hoop.

[image error]Second? The relentless vibe of family togetherness. Part of the reason I wrote Handmade Holidays was to write a holiday story that fit what I’d lived. And now that I’m married, I really do get to enjoy something closer to a traditional Christmas, so this is wearing down, too. But man, it can be a downer.

So. What do I do?

I read. More specifically, I read (and listen to, and re-read, and re-listen to) holiday stories I’ve found and loved over the years. When I worked retail, it was a way to bring out the joy and nudge aside the operational details. Also, by re-reading or re-listening to favourites, I knew I could pick them up or put them down depending on my insane daily schedule, and there were no surprises waiting to knock me over with overwrought “family is everything!” messages.

Now that I’m not working an insane number of hours during the holidays, it’s my way to step into the season a little at a time, and find those moments of joy.

My list of comfort reads grows a bit every year, and I find myself starting to listen to audiobooks with holiday themes first, around mid-November, and then moving into print as December appears.

I’ve had some really sweet new additions to the holiday shorts/novellas group this year. They’ll be up on my Sunday Shorts posts throughout the month, but as a sneak preview? They include Hearts Alight, by Elliot Cooper, Sock it to Me, Santa! by Madison Parker, and Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles, by Eli Easton. They were all super-charming and I read (or listened to) each of them with a dopey grin on my face.

So what about my re-reads?

[image error]As always, I find time to re-listen to the Patrick Stewart audiobook of A Christmas Carol, His performance is brilliant, and—let’s be fair—it’s one of those quintessential “I’m really down on Christmas, and this story is all about turning that around” stories that is something equivalent of road-side assistance for the holiday spirit. It’s a big gun, and I generally save it for the week leading up to the big day itself.

Becky Cochrane’s A Coventry Christmas is another perennial. This one has it all: a heroine who works in the book industry, a slow-burn love story, queer chosen family (in a mainstream romance, no less!), snow, a cute hamster, and no one does friendly banter like Cochrane. When I was still working insane hours at the bookstore, my co-workers and I would sigh dramatically and wish it were we who had broken our foot and thereby had to take Christmas off. Keelie is so lucky.

Blame it on the Mistletoe is another must for me, and usually it’s the story I re-listen to when I’m baking Christmas cookies. I’m not sure how that happened, as the main character, Mick Coleman, is a health student who is super-big on nutrition, but it might be that the narration of Eli Easton’s novella is done by Jason Frazier, who is basically a big ol’ sugar cookie in audio form. (I also quite liked Unwrapping Hank, another of Easton’s holiday novellas, which I read in e-format.)

The FirFlake: A Christmas Story, by Anthony Cardno, becomes a bedside book for the month, where I can nibble at a chapter or two each night. This almost reads like a collection of short, interwoven tales that made up a larger whole, and is a clever retelling of the staple of the season, and has a gentle warmth to it that I’ve enjoyed each year since I first read it.

[image error]Oh! And before I forget, A Little Queermas Carol, by Sassafras Lowrey, takes the tale of A Christmas Carol and not only queers it, but sets it into a Little dynamic, and the result is a novella that left a grin on my face and an ember of happiness in my chest. I got it last year, and I’ll be pulling it out again this year.

There are more, of course, and I’ll probably talk about them throughout the month. What are your favourites? Do you have a holiday story you return to year-after-year? Let me know—especially if it’s a story that takes Christmas in a queer direction.