Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 37

Advent Calendar Day 14

Happy Friday!

Whether you plan on spending the weekend working, holiday shopping or just enjoying the general merriment of the season, we're giving you a cheery little send off with another fictional charmer from Haldis.

Enjoy!



Knit One, Murder One, Miss Butterwith Haldis

“Oh hollyhocks!”, swore Miss Butterwith with the force and vehemence she usually reserved for indiscriminate herbicides. It was enough to make Mr. Pinkerton abandon his nap and investigate the potential disaster.
               “Meow”, inquired Mr. Pinkerton as he left his cozy perch to join Miss Butterwith.
               “I can tell you the genus and species of every single plant in our garden, Mr. Pinkerton, but I can not for the life of me figure out how to purl. I think I’ve managed knit, but purl…. look at this, Mr. Pinkerton.” She pointed out an illustration in the book on the little table beside her chair. “And now this.” She held up the tangle of multicoloured Christmas yarn hanging from her knitting needles, silver and gold threads appearing to mock in their cheerfulness. “They’re are supposed to look the same!”
               Mr. Pinkerton jumped lightly up on to the table and looked at the picture. Then he turned his attention to the knitting. The only resemblance that he could see was the inclusion of both knitting needles and yarn. That was the end of any similarities.
               “Meow”, offered Mr. Pinkerton, his best attempt at a combination of both sympathy and encouragement. Though probably a bit heavier on the sympathy.
               “Yes, you’re probably right, Mr. Pinkerton. I don’t know what possessed me to come up with idea to knit matching jumpers for Inspector Appleby and Geoffrey for Christmas.” Miss Butterwith leaned over to whisper conspiratorially into Mr. Pinkerton’s ear, “Honestly though, they would have looked so cute together.” 

               Honestly, if you asked Mr. Pinkerton, he could not picture the gruff Inspector Appleby in anything in silver and gold cheer whether matching Geoffrey or not. Although, Inspector Appleby had loosened up a bit since he started seeing Geoffrey, so maybe Miss Butterwith was right. But probably not.
                “I really hate to give up on anything, Mr. Pinkerton. Dear me, I don’t know if this is supposed to…. oh, my….” Miss Butterwith was pulling at a loop near the beginning of her work and the whole piece was starting to unravel. “I do believe this might be the death of it, Mr. Pinkerton.”
               “Meow,” agreed Mr. Pinkerton.
               “Well, you also know how I also hate to waste anything.” She held up the ball of yarn and then tossed it across the floor.  “It’s all yours. Happy Christmas Mr. Pinkerton!”
               Mr. Pinkerton pounced.

Advent Calendar Day 13

One of my favorite posts from last year's Advent Calendar was when I asked you all to submit some of your favorite lines from my stories for possible use in teasers. I got some terrific quotes which I really did end up using a bunch of in teasers this year.

So we're going to do that again--and like last year we'll select four people from the comment section below to receive a magnet of one of these gorgeous teasers created by my dear (and ridiculously talented) friend Johanna Ollila. (If you don't know Johanna, she's one of the wonderful mods of my Goodreads group.)

We're actually going to do this creative exercise twice. This time around, just choose any favorite line(s) for any favorite Josh Lanyon book and post below. NEXT week I'll be looking for best lines from the Dangerous Ground series (Blind Side is coming out next year) and I haven't yet figured out what the prizes will be in that case. ;-)

So here are some samples of teasers and the lines that make them so effective.

Advent Calendar Day 12

Welcome to another day of the Advent Calendar! We have more fresh and delicious fiction from talented Sarah Atkinson. She's chosen to revisit the characters from Stranger Than Fiction, but not the characters you might think. I love this unexpected view of the characters and their possible fates . Perception is everything. ;-)


Good GuySarah Atkinson

Good Guy / Bad Guy – well I guess it just depends whose story you’re telling…
Can a murderer ever be a hero or a good guy? It was a question he was often asked at book events and he always skirted around the issue, turning the question back on the questioner. Once (and this was something he was careful never to mention in front of an audience) he was pretty sure someone had thought he was a killer. A killer? No, not unless being a killer of passion counted.  Even now, two and a half years later, as his car made its way along the desert highway, bringing him back to the scene of his crime, Karl Hagan could feel the heat rising in his handsome face as he thought back to that day of disaster and hope.
It had been summer then, a hot, dry summer made for swimming and long, cool drinks of beer. Karl was keenly aware of his disastrous social skills: in spite of being in the football team, he had always found it hard to form friendships, let alone a partnership, so he had gone over and over the words he would say.  He remembered going over to Ethan’s house intending to make his declaration but Ethan had seemed strangely alarmed – scared almost – to see him, and then Michael had turned up. Frustrated, Karl had left. The following morning had brought him renewed hope and determination and he’d sallied forth only to forget everything he had planned to say, instead he had blurted out the words: “We’re the only two queers in 500 miles.” It still made him cringe. How could he have been so crass? How could he, a writer, have uttered something so utterly unromantic, so lacking in sophistication and (as he later fortunately discovered) so factually incorrect?
* * *
Although he had been apprehensive on the journey there, the signing at Red Bird Books  & Coffee went well.  The turnout, for a town the size of Peabody, was surprisingly good and he was pleased to recognise members of the Coffee Clutch Writing Group among those queuing to buy. The content of his latest best seller was similar to the writing he’d shared with the group, he wondered if fame made the words more palatable. Ethan was positively chipper, whether it was the spirit of Christmas present or the presence of the archangel Michael, Karl was unsure. The coffee, unsurprisingly – yet reassuringly – was terrible. A heavily pregnant Erin, who served him, was still not quite able to look him in the eye… The season of good will led to an invitation to join the three of them and Erin’s partner for dinner. He declined, citing a prior engagement.

At last he was on his way to his final destination and following the exact route he’d taken after Ethan had rejected him that hot summer day. Driven by embarrassment and self-loathing, he had avoided the noise and cheer of Denny’s and headed for The Drifters to drown his sorrows. Now, on a crisp winter’s eve, he again turned left before the railroad crossing, then drove down the narrow road to the small white building. True to form, there wasn’t a Christmas decoration in sight, but a blue neon cocktail glass pouring bubbles lit up both the sky above the bar and Karl’s heart.
Eager steps took him across the chilly parking lot towards the door.  Joyfully, he slid past the leather-clad bikers gathered near the jukebox, skirted the small tables occupied by plaid shirts and headed for the bar and the barman who had his back turned. This time, with no rehearsal, social misfit Karl Hagan got the words right. They were short, sweet and delivered with love: “Babe, I’m home.”  George - the man who’d disproved his statement about there being only two gay men in 500 miles, the very day it was uttered – turned around, smiled widely and leaned across the bar to receive his kiss.

We interrupt this broadcast...

...for a quick word about prizes. :-)

Here's what we have so far in the way of winners.

The Yule Log

Our winners were Sam Spayde, PI and Ariel. It turns out WS will not ship to Alaska so Ariel generously requested that her log be gifted to someone else. So our second winner is now Binkabunny with that glorious coconut cake recipe.

If you do want to collect this prize, I've got to have your address ASAP because these yule logs go very quickly!

Audio Book Download Codes
My three winners are:Tina
Booksandmore
 El gato sobre el tejado

If Only in My Dreams (print Christmas collection)

Debby Zoey Brouthers Ariel
And because it's the holidays and I'm feeling generous:
fangirl1981HannahAlmatheaHappy, happy holidays to all of you! 
(And don't you worry! Lots of prizes and giveaways still to come!)

Advent Calendar Day 11

Good morning! Less than two weeks until Christmas!

This morning we have more fiction! Today's offering is a sweet and sexy little coda to Winter Kill by the ever-so-talented Natasha Chesterbrook. There's a little story behind this coda. Remember last year when I asked everyone to "write the beginning paragraph of a holiday coda for your favorite Josh Lanyon couple?" Well, that's what Natasha did--and then went on to write the coda too! Isn't that wonderful?

Seeing that it yielded great results, maybe we'll try that exercise again this year! :-)

Winter Kill CodaNatasha Chesterbrook

Rob was surprisingly nervous as he offered the brightly wrapped gift to Adam. Light from the fireplace glinted off the gold and silver wrapping cinched by a large red bow, curling ribbon snaking in all directions and a silver bell no less to round out the ostentatious display. The store’s wrapping department had gone beyond festive into Christmas mania. That’s what you get for waiting until the last shopping day - Santa’s elves had nothing on the seasonal worker stressed out from the overload of too much glitter, faux fir scent and one too many peppermint lattes. He didn’t want to admit why he waited so long to shop. Adam could be so hard to read even after over a year together. So yeah, he was nervous. What was the worst that could happen?
When the paper fell away and Adam opened the box, Rob wasn’t expecting his next words, “And here I thought neckties were as kinky as you got.”
“Huh?” Well, Rob looked inside the box to confirm its contents. The shiny black leather collar with brushed silver studs lay nestled in the tissue paper with the coiled length of matching leather leash beneath. “That’s a – “ 

He blushed hot at the joke and reached for the box. Adam deftly moved away while snatching the collar and held it up to his neck. “Is this what you were thinking?” Adam’s laughter uncoiled the tension in Rob’s shoulders.
“They’re not for you, Darling.” Sometimes he couldn’t help himself even if Adam has heard all the jokes before.
Rob noticed how Adam’s smile shone bright in the winter morning sun from the front windows. The day was beautiful much like the man before him.
“Yeah? So you’re going to wear it?” The single lifted brow on Adam’s handsome face was the last straw to Rob’s restraint. He swooped in, grabbing his man around the waist, serving up the kiss with more enthusiasm then finesse because he knew Adam wouldn’t care, would actually prefer it.
Once they’d parted for breath as much as to finish the moment, Rob stated, “Sally Gardner’s Rhodesian’s puppies are weaned.”Adam looked at Rob with a mixture of wry amusement and fondness and said softly, “You got me a dog.”
“No, I got you a collar. The dog’s for me.” The kiss this time was tender and soft and seemed to last forever.

Advent Calendar Day 10

Tonight is the final night of Chanukah, so I thought perhaps it would be appropriate to share this little jewel of a poem by Mark Strand.


The Coming of the Light
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.

Advent Calendar Day 9

Day 8 already! It seems the holiday season is flying past as fast as the rest of the year.

Today I'm giving away three copies of If Only in My Dreams, the print collection of my five Christmas novellas. This is the only collection that has all my Christmas stories in one nice big package.

Share the three elements you personally find essential to a holiday romance story in the comment section below, and I'll randomly choose three participants to receive a free copy.

Advent Calendar Day 8

I can't remember if I shared this cartoon last year or not. It's about eight minutes of "The Night Before Christmas." I'm sure I saw this many times as a little kid because it's so familiar--starting with all those kids packed into that bed with the pink quilt. ;-)

Anyway, enjoy! Have a lovely weekend. May you get all your shopping done!

Advent Calendar Day 7

Today I'm sharing my current (admittedly kooky) Christmas Playlist . An eclectic mix of old and new and occasionally just peculiar songs I'm listening to a lot right now.

Are you a fan of holiday music? Share one or two of your favorite holiday songs in the comment section below and I'll randomly select a couple of people for an audio book download code. :-)




White Christmas - Louis Armstrong
All I Want for Christmas - Mariah Carey
Winter Was Warm - Jean Kean
The Rebel Jesus - Jackson Browne
Christmas Waltz - She & Him
Little Jack Frost Get Lost - Frankie Carl & His Orchestra
There's Always Tomorrow - Shawn Southwick
Il est né/Ça bergers - Kate and Anna McGarrigal
Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt

Just Like Christmas - Low
Snow! - Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen
My Dear Acquaintance - Peggy Lee

Advent Calendar Day 6

Brrrrr. It's very chilly this morning here in the high desert, but we have some fiction from Meg Perry herself to warm the cockles of your heart. Also make you chuckle. ;-)

Rum Balls
Meg Perry 

Bunche Hall, UCLA
Historians are a strange lot. I, Jamie Brodie, am allowed to state that, since I’m one of them. (Technically I’m a history librarian, but still.) We are only truly interested in our own area of study and will yammer on for hours about it with minimal prompting. I’ve even witnessed a couple of fistfights over matters as trivial as the purpose of Hadrian’s Wall. Did he build it to keep the Picts out, or his own soldiers in?(Totallyto keep the Picts out. The Romans were vastly outnumbered, and Hadrian knew it. The Picts were determined…)Ahem. I digress.UCLA’s history department is a proud bastion of oddity. My friend, Reuben Wolfe, will launch into a detailed discourse on the distinction between Pharisees and Sadducees with the least bit of encouragement. The department chair, Oscar Medeiros, loves to expound upon the political history of Nicaragua to anyone who will stand still. My least favorite professor, Marc Ballou, has a detailed mental map of every historic rancho in California, and will be pleased to inform you as to whom the land on which your house sits once belonged.And then there’s Guy Snowden.Snowden teaches occult studies, whatever the hell that means, which IMHO would fit better into sociology, or anthropology, or psychology...somewhere, anywhere other than history. But no. We’re stuck with him.A few years ago he became entangled in a bit of police business, and was temporarily suspended when a handful of his former students was ritually murdered by a different handful of his former students. I kid you not. This was major news at UCLA, naturally, not to mention being incredibly bad publicity for the history department. Everyone in the department had dissected every detail of the crime, wondering aloud if they should have known… At the time I asked my brother Kevin, an LAPD homicide detective, about it; he’d rolled his eyes. LAPD had assigned a couple of high-profile investigators to a task force which, quoting Kevin, was “a fucking waste of time.” As it turned out, Snowden himself solved the crimes, thereby achieving his reinstatement to the university. I didn’t know anything else about it.Snowden wasn’t bad looking for an older guy. I guessed that he was in his mid-fifties. He was a few inches shorter than me and appeared to be in decent shape. He had long silvery hair and favored loose shirts, velvet vests, and Birkenstocks. Faintly ridiculous, to say the least. My husband Pete spotted him once at a gathering of Oxford University alumni and chuckled for the rest of the evening. At that meeting, to my chagrin, I’d learned that Snowden was a fellow Rhodes Scholar. To my mind, he was the worst kind of Rhodes Scholar: he’d returned from his time in England - no more than three or four years, mind you - with a fake British accent. At the alumni meeting, he and I had exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; when he’d walked away, Pete had muttered, “You’re fucking kiddingme. Does he think he’s fooling anyone with that accent?” I neither knew nor cared. But the experience cemented my opinion of Snowden as a total poser.Snowden was also gay. I knew this because I’d run into him once - figuratively speaking - at Cloak and Dagger Books, my favorite mystery bookstore. Turned out he was involved with Adrien English, the owner. I didn’t know Adrien well, but Snowden sure didn’t fit my idea of Adrien’s type. Apparently he didn’t fit Adrien’s idea, either; Snowden had since been replaced with a tall, blond ex-cop. Snowden never consulted me for research assistance, which suited me just fine. That way I only had to encounter him when, as the library liaison to the history department, I attended department meetings. Or when, as was the case today, I was invited to the department holiday party.The party was scheduled for 3:30 pm. At 3:20, Avery Roth appeared at my office door. Avery was a former librarian, now a doctoral student in history. Avery’s topic of study was notorious Roman emperor Caligula; Reuben Wolfe was her faculty adviser. Avery was balancing a party platter covered in aluminum foil and a glass bowl which looked like it might contain spinach dip. I said, “Need some help?”“Yes, please.” She handed me the bowl. “Now it won’t look as if you’re coming empty-handed.”“You said I didn’t have to bring anything!”“You didn’t.” She grinned. “But this way no one will make snide comments. Not that they would anyway.”“Not if they want their research requests answered speedily, they won’t.”She laughed. “You have a fast lane and a slow lane?”“Of course I do. Rule number one for university faculty: Don’t piss off the librarians.”“Words to live by. Come on.”We left the library and crossed the plaza to Bunche Hall, where we rode the elevator to the proper floor. I could hear the merriment already leaking out of the conference room down the hall. When we appeared at the door, Oscar Medeiros raised a Solo cup of punch in our direction. “Jamie! Avery! You’re just in time.”We returned greetings and carried Avery’s veggies and dip to the table. I left her to unwrap the goodies and “excuse me”-d to the stack of plastic plates at the end, delighted to see that the plates were dinner-sized. Occasionally at such functions, the plates were only big enough to hold three meatballs and a celery stick. I loaded up with meatballs in three flavors, plenty of Avery’s baby carrots and spinach dip, and a mound of Reuben Wolfe’s 100-proof rum balls. Reuben’s rum balls were rightfully famous among the faculty, and they always disappeared fast. I didn’t want to miss out.I said hello to Reuben and was chatting with him and Avery about Caligula when I spotted Guy Snowden across the room - and did a double take when I saw who was with him, nearly dropping my plate.Peter Verlane.
A couple of years ago I’d taught as an adjunct in the history department for extra income. Verlane had been in my medieval history class. He’d been a lazy student, who turned in sloppily researched papers but would waste precious minutes of class time arguing with me about the most mundane facts. He’d been an insolent little prick. So when he was arrested halfway through the quarter in conjunction with the ritual murders of Snowden’s students, I thought, Good riddance. He never formally dropped the class, so I was forced to give him an F at the end of the quarter, since he’d only finished half the coursework.Why the fuck wasn’t he still in jail?I would have ignored both of them, but unfortunately Verlane spotted me as soon as I noticed him. His face reddened, and he said something to Snowden, who glanced my way and lifted his Solo cup. I nodded in return. Verlane said something else, and they headed my way.I murmured to Avery, “Incoming.”“Who, Ballou?” She turned, saw Snowden, and said, “Oh. Shit.”Reuben said, “Gee whiz. Places to go, people to see.”I muttered, “Coward.”He grinned and vamoosed. Avery, who feared nothing and no one, stuck by me. She whispered, “Who’s that with him? Is that the kid…”“Yup.”Snowden and Verlane arranged themselves so that Avery and I were trapped between them and a wall. Purposely? I wasn’t sure. Snowden said, “Jeremy. What a pleasant surprise.”Another thing about Snowden: he insisted on using my full first name. Just another of his bizarre affectations. I said, “Hey, Guy, good to see you, too. Peter, are you on work-release or something?”Snowden tut-tutted. Verlane scowled. “I served my time.”Snowden added, “Peter is on parole. He’s paid his debt to society.”I seriously doubted that. Verlane practically spit out, “I couldn’t come back to school here, thanks to you.”I had to laugh. “Whoa, there. How is it my fault that you committed three counts of conspiracy to murder?”“You gave me an F in your class.”Avery snorted. I sighed. “Well, Peter, you didn’t drop the course, and you’d only completed half the work. I didn’t have another choice.”“You could have given me an incomplete.”“You would have had to request an incomplete. We don’t just hand them out like raffle tickets. Guy should have told you that.”Snowden said, “I have explained our grading system, yes. Fortunately, Peter is continuing his education at CSU-Northridge.”“Outstanding. Good luck, Peter. If I find any pentagrams painted on my sidewalk, I’ll point the cops in your direction.”Verlane snarled. Snowden sighed. “That won’t be necessary.”I didn’t get the impression that Verlane agreed. Snowden chose to change the subject. He arched an eyebrow in my direction. “Jeremy, that’s an impressive collection of balls on your plate.”Hoo boy. Sounded like Snowden had already been enjoying the rum balls. Avery burst out laughing. I said, “I don’t share my balls, Guy. Sorry.”“No?” Snowden was smiling suggestively. He was an attractive guy...but hell to the no. “Nope.” I popped a meatball into my mouth. “Only with my husband.”“What a shame. You do realize that monogamy is not a realistic expectation for healthy adult males, don’t you?”“That depends on the healthy adult male, doesn’t it?” I speared another meatball with a toothpick and pointed it in Verlane’s direction. “What’s your position on monogamy, Peter?”Verlane clamped his lips together. He was frowning so deeply that his eyebrows met.Snowden sighed. “Ah, Jeremy. Let’s not be combative in this holiday season. Have you visited Cloak and Dagger recently?”“Yep, a couple of weeks ago. I understand that Adrien is engaged.”Snowden made a sound of disdain. “Indeed. What a rum do that’s been. I cannot fathom Adrien’s attraction to that asshole Riordan.”Verlane was still snarling. “Asshole cop.”Avery said, “Watch it, Peter. Jamie’s married to an ex-cop and my dad is a cop. You’re surrounded.”Verlane paled. Snowden shook his head sadly. “Et tu, Jeremy?”
I grinned at him. “Uh huh.”