Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 28

Cover Reveal: BELL, BOOK AND SCANDAL

Available for Preorder pretty much everywhere...



Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
iBooks
Google Play
Smashwords


And yes it will be available in audio and print as well. :-)

Happy New Year!!!!

Wishing each and every one of you every possible happiness and success in the New Year! 

Advent Calendar - Day 28

I had started a couple of codas before I got sick, so depending on how I feel in the next day or so, I might finish them up and plug them into the calendar, but for now I'll use this space to wind up the giveaway prizes. Thank you so much to everyone who participated!

The three winners of the Bedknobs and Broomsticks mug are:

Rin
Booksandmore
Almathea

But I have to say, ALL these quotes were so great! Thank you all so much! <3 <3 <3


And our two winners of the print copies of All I Want for Christmas are:

Natasha
Smitty

I really, really hope all of you keep going with those coda beginnings because they were so terrific!


Winners, once again, contact me through the email address on my website with your ship to information. :-)

Advent Calendar - Day 27

And now for the winners of our audiobooks! 

Debby
Loretta
Kathy P
Ingrid
Mari
Ariel
Zoey Brothers
Anonymous
BooksandMore
Binkabunny
Natasha
Juniper G
Susan
Sparklygrl
Cyn
Merrik
Cathy


YES, EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED AN AUDIO BOOK GETS AN AUDIO BOOK. :-)  HAPPY FLIPPING HOLIDAYS! 
Contact me through the email on my website with the following info: your email address, whether you're in the UK or the US, the title of the audio book you wanted. 

Advent Calendar - Day 26

Okay! Here are the results of our Holiday Mad Libs. :-D :-D :-D  Maybe it's the cold meds, but I found these pretty funny.

Our "winners" are....

Margie with this delicious and delectable offering:


Using a fork and a small hermit, I mashed the craisinsand walnuts, added thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps left, I rode the mixture into one of those small pastry buffaloes fitted with a quarter inch round plain igloo.               All the time I worked, I snuggled. I was waiting for the moment when Henry admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Alexander to cook a romantic Christmas Eve dragon for seventeen. But they were eliciting more quietly, so I had only their trees to go by. Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his ornament.               And wonderfully I didn’t want to hear anymore.               I tried to pipe the latkes filling into each olive, but my toes were damp and the olives were chilly and they kept shooting across the snow. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and hid one of the olives. I drew a long breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The caviar stayed in the olive and the olive stayed in my finger.               Not for long though. The olive frolicked away as Rocky said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He sounded snowy, almost frosty.
Binkabunny with her finest work to date:


Using a fork and a small hat, I mashed the hot fudge cake and ribeye steak, added thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps left, I swiped the mixture into one of those small pastry kittens fitted with a quarter inch round plain snow.               All the time I worked, I swam. I was waiting for the moment when Sam admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Jake to cook a romantic Christmas Eve flower for eighty-eight. But they were driving more quietly, so I had only their blankets to go by. Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his train.               And recklessly I didn’t want to hear anymore.               I tried to pipe the loaded baked potato filling into each olive, but my shoulders were damp and the olives were defiant and they kept shooting across the stadium. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and stretched one of the olives. I drew a long breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The cranberries stayed in the olive and the olive stayed in my toe.               Not for long though. The olive trotted away as Rocky said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He sounded voracious, almost caught.

And finally the first of the Susan submissions with her erotic masterpiece:


Using a fork and a small mansion, I mashed the chili and pasta, added thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps left, I saved the mixture into one of those small pastry friends fitted with a quarter inch round plain fever.               All the time I worked, I crushed. I was waiting for the moment when Shane admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Devon to cook a romantic Christmas Eve floor for three. But they were relating more quietly, so I had only their boots to go by. Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his money.               And willingly I didn’t want to hear anymore.               I tried to pipe the taco filling into each olive, but my legs were damp and the olives were beautiful and they kept shooting across the sunshine. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and killed one of the olives. I drew a long breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The quiche stayed in the olive and the olive stayed in my shoulder.               Not for long though. The olive loved away as Rocky said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He sounded amazing, almost cruel.

Oh! And the original text? It's the cooking scene from Baby, it's Cold.


Using a fork and a small bowl, I mashed the gorgonzola and ricotta cheeses, add thyme and the lemon zest. When there were no lumps left, I spooned the mixture into one of those small pastry bags fitted with a quarter inch round plain tip.               All the time I worked, I listened. I was waiting for the moment when Louis admitted to Rocky that he had not hired Poppy to cook a romantic Christmas Eve dinner for two. But they were speaking more quietly, so I had only their tones to go by. Louis still sounded nervous. Rocky sounded….like he had sounded the first night he had asked me back to his place.               And suddenly I didn’t want to hear anymore.               I tried to pipe the cheese filling into each olive, but my fingers were damp and the olives were slippery and they kept shooting across the counter. I swore quietly. I picked up the olives and started over again. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive and squashed one of the olives. I drew a long breath and tried again. Fucking eureka. The cheese stayed in the olive and the olive stayed in my hand.               Not for long though. The olive sprang away as Rocky said from behind me, “Hey, I guess I owe you an apology. Look who’s here!” He sounded cheerful, almost bright.
******

I think our prizes will be some kind of vintage holiday ornament for each of our authors. I shall scour eBay for something apropos.  :-D Please contact me through my website with your mailing address!

Advent Calendar - Day 26 NEEDS TO BE FILLED IN

Advent Calendar - Day 25 MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Ugh. Nothing like being sick for the holidays. But hey!

Advent Calendar - Day 25 NEEDS TO BE FILLED IN

Advent Calendar - Day 24

PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT WOMAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!! I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL...COUGH, COUGH, COUGH...

Yeah, so I caught the SO's cold only somehow I got it about ten times worse than him. Which is just the way it goes around here.

So today's little Advent Calendar giftie is just a nice photo. I know I'm behind on tallying up prizes and writing codas and all that, but best laid plans. I'll try to catch up once I'm not hallucinating on cold meds.

Have a lovely, lovely Christmas Eve.

Christmas Coda 57

Another coda this morning. This one is for James and Robert from Slay Ride.

================================



Surprisingly, the only person who kicked up a fuss was Mrs. Spinoza.
“Motherless boys need…mothering,” she told Robert when he went to the boarding house to pack up James’s meager belongings.
“He’s not a boy, he’s a man,” Robert said, but he tried to be patient. She had been good to Jamie—James—and that made him feel kindly toward her. “Brothering isn’t so bad, is it?”
With a bit of lovering thrown in for good measure, though he couldn’t tell her that, felt kind of hot and shaky inside even thinking of it. That was excitement, not fear--though maybe he should have been more afraid. They were taking a risk.
But then some risks were worth taking.
“He’s not strong,” she protested. “Just getting out of the hospital, he’ll need looking after.”
James had turned out to be a hell of a lot tougher than any of them had given him credit for, but fair enough. He had looked fragile as a glass ornament when Robert had gone to visit him that morning. 
He said more gently, “I know. I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
Mrs. Spinoza studied him with that dark, wary gaze, but maybe she could see Robert meant it. Or maybe she could see the battle had already been decided. Her face twisted; her shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yes. He’d like to live with the chief of police and have the inside track on every crime story in Bolt.”
Robert laughed.
Mrs. Spinoza didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. This was breaking her heart. She said, “I’ll give you the soup I made for him. He has to eat.”
“That would be very kind. I’ll make sure he swallows every drop.”
* * * *
His own mother and sisters were as jubilant as if he’d rescued James from a prison camp. He had to prevent them from dumping the tub of chicken soup “that awful woman” had made or from sorting through James’s belongings. They set about cleaning the guest room with what he considered peculiar good cheer—dusting, scrubbing walls, washing the windows, polishing the old solid furniture—they actually laughed off Robert’s reminders that Jamie was not a child or an invalid. He was pretty sure they’d have painted the room if there had been time, but Jamie was coming home from the hospital that afternoon and they had to be satisfied with merely redecorating with linens and pictures from Mrs. Garrett’s home.
In fairness, the room did look nice once they were done: warm and welcoming and homey from the granny square black afghan throw across the foot of the bed to the framed photos of Rob, Joey and Jamie on their last fishing trip.
“Now I can rest easy knowing I’ve kept my word to his poor mother,” Mrs. Garrett announced with a mournful sigh, and Robert wasn’t the only one who rolled his eyes.
Louise said, “It is better this way though. Better for Jamie. Better for you too, Rob.” 

“Now neither of you have to be lonely,” Helen agreed.
Robert stared at them doubtfully, uncertainly. Surely, they couldn’t—didn’t—?
But no, the three of them beamed back at him with what seemed to be guileless satisfaction.
* * * *
“Hell,” James said disgustedly. “I can’t believe Earl scooped me on my own damned story!”
It was much later that evening. James was comfortably tucked up in the guest bedroom, reading through the stack of newspapers Robert had brought him. There was healthy color in his face and an alert—if indignant—gleam in his eyes.
Robert laughed. “There’ll be other stories.”
“I guess so.” Jamie was scowling as he continued to read Earl Arthur’s account of the shootout on Oklahoma Street.
Robert rose from the foot of the bed and reached for the empty bowl on the tray across James’s lap. “Did you want more soup?”
“No. Thanks.” James glanced, met Robert’s gaze, and flushed. He said shyly, “Thanks for everything, Rob. I mean that. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I didn’t. Mother and the girls did.”
James said quietly, “You know what I mean.”
Robert removed the tray, set it on the bureau, and took his place on the bed next to James, slipping at arm behind his shoulders so they could settle more comfortably against the pillows.
“I know,” he said, and kissed James.
James dropped the paper, which slid off the bed with a sigh, and kissed Robert back, sweetly but still maybe a little tentative. He rested his head against Robert, and said softly, “If you change your mind--”
“I’m not going to change my mind. Why would I change my mind?”
James lifted his shoulder. “People might talk.”
Rob said gruffly, “Yep, people talk. If they don’t talk about this, they’ll talk about that. To hell with ‘em.”
“That’s not what you said—it’s not what you thought—before.”
Robert drawled, “I didn’t realize you thought I was infallible.”
“No. Just sure of what you wanted.”
“I am sure of what I want. What I want is you. I didn’t see a way before. A way that wouldn’t hurt you too. Maybe more than me. But now I do.”
James closed his eyes. Rob could see the bright glitter beneath his gold-tipped eyelashes. It made his heart twist. That’s what feeling this much for someone did to you. Made you feel their pain worse than your own.
He said softly, “Do you know what tonight is?”
James opened his too-bright eyes, wiped at them, shook his head. “I’ve lost track.”
“New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh.” James looked surprised.
“I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the ice box. Joey bought it when I left for the Philippines. We were going to drink it when I came home, but…”
But when Robert finally came home, Joey was gone.
James nodded. Robert said, “I say we open that bottle tonight and drink to the New Year.” He added steadily, “And to us.”
James gulped a broken little, “Rob,” and wrapped his arms around Robert’s neck. Rob held him tightly, kissed him, kissed his tears, and whispered reassurances and promises for the future.
This war was over.