Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 61

Can We Talk?

BEGIN RANT.
 
Did your heart just sink?  
Mine does every time I see those words--and I seem to see them more and more. In fact, it feels like every time I go on Faceback or Twitter there’s an endless stream of links to the outrage du jour. The initial rant is promptly followed by rants in response. And then rants in defense of the right to rant. And then rants in defense of the right to be angry about other people’s rants. And then meta rants, which I guess is where I come in. 
I know--we allknow--that ranting is the result of fear, frustration, outrage, anxiety--or, yes, sometimes just general anti-social acting out--but mostly it’s about stuff people feel strongly about and want other people to…to… 
Well, this is the problem, isn’t it? When someone jumps up on a soapbox it’s because they are moved to speak about important issues or valid concerns. Certainly important or valid to them (though mileage may vary for the rest of us). We should assume, it is only fairto assume then, that the author/orator is hoping for some productive result. Like people will change their votes or stop posting nekkid pictures or donate to a worthy charitable institution or quit abusing semicolons or adopt a pet NOW.  
The problem is, when someone resorts to screaming and kicking, the audience inevitably focuses attention on the messenger rather than the message. If there is a discussion, it becomes a discussion about the delivery system and not the content.  
Blaming, berating, scolding, however righteous, is not conducive to conversation. It’s not productive. It does not persuade. It does not change hearts and minds. A speech is not conversation. A rebuttal blog is not dialog. Let alone détente. And unless you’re the dictator of a small, isolated country with an economy based on the export of cucumber bath gel, you’re not going to force people to do things your way no matter how clever and cutting you are from behind your monitor screen. 
We all have the “right” to rant. That’s beside the point. Does ranting serve a useful purpose? Because if it’s just venting, then it’s essentially a temper tantrum, and however much we may sympathize with other people’s need for a nap, it’s not a good idea as a society to condone or encourage temper tantrums. Communication via shrieking provocative statements at each other is not communication, it’s verbal assault. 
What happened to our ability to discuss ideas without making everything personal? 
I partly blame social media for our culture of rant. Social media is predicated on the idea that we all have something important and interesting to say--and that there is an audience waiting for our words. There really isn’t, so maybe that’s where a lot of the frustration comes from. The dawning suspicion that nobody is listening. Because everyone is talking at the same time.  
Listening has become a lost art, and that’s not good for the future of intelligent conversation. Let alone for solving any of the world’s problems. 
When I was a kid (yes, I know, blah, blah, blah) and I would get into the occasional school yard rumble, the adults would advise “looking at the situation through the other person’s eyes.” That’s not a phrase we hear a lot these days, and I think it’s because we’re all gazing at the world from the POV of selfie sticks. 
Here’s a crazy thought. Maybe the next time we have something important on our minds we could begin a conversation and ask questions rather than start by informing everyone of our conclusions on the matter while assigning motive and blame? We have a lot of tools for communication these days. Maybe once in a while we could try…talking to each other?  
 

Happy Thanksgiving!

May you always have more things to be thankful for in your life than you can easily count...

Sneak Peek A CASE OF CHRISTMAS

Soooooo a while back a friend and I were hoping to co-write a project. It was a good idea, in fact, I still think it was a GREAT idea, but the pieces just didn't fall together for whatever reason--that's the thing with creative endeavor; the stars don't always conveniently align when you need them to.


Anyway, I hate to waste anything and since I loved the characters I came up with, after a bit of tweaking I figured out a different story for them--and that will be The Mermaid Murders. But I still had this prologue from the original idea. It didn't fit the new story or who those characters had become, but I wanted to do something with it. I thought it was such an intriguing opening. But to what story?


In fact, for about two years now (has it been that long?!) I've been batting around various scenarios and then I was lying in bed the other night worrying about whether my current Christmas project--Slay Ride--might be just a bit noir-ish for the holidays (multiple shootings, car jacking -- that's the trouble when you based fiction on true crime) and I suddenly realized I already had the beginning to what could perhaps be a kooky little Christmas story maybe a bit more festive in tone.


Which is how A CASE OF CHRISTMAS came into being.


Reworked but otherwise absolutely unedited  PROLOGUE




Cleared for duty.

Shane stared in disbelief at his cell phone.

The magic words. The good news. And the bad news.

But mostly the good news because there had been times over the past month that he’d worried he was on the beach for good. Not that this wasn’t a nice beach to land on, and not that he didn’t have faith in the system or trust in due process--how ironic would it be if a special agent for the FBI didn’t believe that justice would prevail? But the circumstances of the Fallon case were complicated. Or at least had appeared complicated to his superiors at the Bureau once the Fallon family had launched their lawsuit.

Yeah, he had been worried. In fact, the longer this administrative leave had stretched, the more he had feared he--or at least his career at the Bureau--would end up as collateral damage following an out-of-court settlement. Not a damn thing he could do about it either. He had gone on the record, he had told the truth, given a full and complete accounting of the facts…and been sickeningly aware with each passing day that none of that might make a difference. The Fallon family was absolutely convinced Shane had stolen a 15thcentury samurai sword from the weapons recovered in the sting operation he had been in charge of back in December.

 Beyond the fact that his great-grandfather possessed an impressive and priceless collection of Japanese militaria, there was no reason to suspect him. But suspect him the Fallons did. They believed the Yasumitsu sword had been part of the recovered haul--a suspicion based solely on the word of Denny Green, one of the two defendants in the case. Green already had two burglary convictions and wouldn’t know a katana from a Klimt, but the family wanted to believe the sword had been in his possession because that meant there was a chance it might eventually be returned to them.

 The sword had not been there. Had never been there. But Shane had begun to wonder if that would ultimately matter.

Four weeks of waiting. Four weeks of hell--the last two weeks made bearable only by Norton.

And then just like that the case was dropped and he was cleared for duty.

Shane shaded his eyes from the glare of the spring light bouncing off white sand and the whiter hulls of the pristine boats bobbing on the choppy blue water of Santa Catalina’s Avalon Bay. Overhead, gulls mewed plaintively as they circled, ever hopeful, ever hungry. A ship’s bell rang out across the sun-dazzled water.

This welcome news meant, come Monday, he’d be back in San Francisco. Spring break was effectively over. Really, he should book his flight for today. But if he held off until Friday he’d still have the weekend to get ready for his return to work and that would leave him two and a half days to spend with Norton. Who…should have been here by now.

Shane glanced at his phone. No messages, and yes, Norton was definitely running late.

Which wasn’t really like him. Scruffy and offhand, Norton might be, but Shane had noticed he wasn’t nearly as disorganized as he let on. And he sure as hell wasn’t forgetful.

Maybe Shane had misunderstood. Maybe they were meeting for lunch and then going sailing?

Or maybe Norton wasjust running late. Yeah, that was probably it.

Shane turned from the beach and started back along Crescent Avenue, crowded with passengers from the cruise ship which had dropped anchor outside the bay. The floating cities arrived every Monday and Tuesday during the month of March.

Better to skip sailing all together and talk. Time to come clean. Maybe past time, given those little jokes Norton made about being an international art thief. Norton didn’t like sharing personal details anymore than Shane did, and Shane respected that. He did wonder about Norton’s day job. Norton never seemed short of cash. Which meant he didn’t earn his bread and butter as a painter--even if he hadn’t been, well, a really lousy painter.

Shane probably should have laid it on the line that first night, but he knew from experience that FBItended to have a chilling effect on potential romance. Not that he’d exactly had romance on his mind when he’d first met Norton in the bar of the upstairs courtyard at Mi Casitas. That had been about sex, pure and simple. But thirteen days later--and they’d been pretty much inseparable for most of that time--he owed the guy the truth. And if Norton still wanted to…pursue the options, that was okay with Shane. More than okay, if he was strictly honest.

Kind of a surprise given that Norton, with his goofy sense of humor, shaggy blond hair, and baggy Hawaiian shirts was really not Shane’s type. He wore a pirate-style earring, for God’s sake. He wore clogs. His “paintings” looked like they were done by a preschooler possessed by demons. He joked about things like having underworld contacts. But even more of a surprise because Shane had never been interested in pursuing any possibility but the most obvious and immediate. But there it was: Norton was different. In ways that Shane found both unsettling and exciting. In ways that Shane found downright bewildering.

It wasn’t just a matter of owing Norton the truth, Shane wanted to share this news with him. Wanted to hear what Norton had to say.

Shane wove his way through the throngs of sightseers in sunhats and shorts, pushing strollers, carrying shopping bags, eating ice cream cones. Yellow and blue and brick colored umbrellas dotted the beach where tourists lay baking their goose bumps. It was March, after all. Despite the bright sunshine, the wind off the ocean was chilly and the shade cast by the palm trees and beachfront buildings was deep.

He mentally ran possible scripts as he turned right on Clarissa Avenue.

I have good news and I have bad news. Which would you like to hear first?

So…remember that night you said you hated cops. Was that a firm hate or just a strong dislike?

Or there was always the classic opener: Are you or have you ever been a member of the communist party?

Yeah, not really a conversation he was looking forward to. But he knew he wasn’t imagining that powerful connection. Kinetic energy. Something had sparked between them that very first night. So they would talk. Really talk. And hopefully work something out. He wanted it to work out.

Norton was renting a dusty blue and white two bedroom cottage across the street from his own. No yard to speak of, just a small potted tree on the brick walkway. A spyglass weathervane swung indecisively in the breeze. Shane walked up the two steps to the brightly painted red door. The blinds in the front window were lowered and shut tight, which was strange.

He knocked on the door.

A woman was sweeping the porch of the bungalow on the left. Shane nodded politely to her.

He knocked again. Firm and brisk.

No answer.

The woman stopped sweeping and leaned over the porch railing. “He’s gone,” she called.

“What’s that?” Shane called back. He was pretty sure he hadn’t heard correctly.

The woman, about sixty, slight and wiry in a flowered pink house coat, repeated, “He’s gone. He left on the first ferry.”

“You mean…” Shane tailed off because even he wasn’t sure what the question was. Norton hadn’t said anything about going to the mainland last night. Last night? Hell, he’d been in Shane’s bed just four hours ago. They were going sailing and then they’d have lunch and then they’d come back to Shane’s cottage or Norton’s cottage.

He said, foolishly, “But he’s coming back, right?”

The woman shrugged. “Couldn’t say. He had all his luggage with him.”

 From the bell tower overlooking Sugarloaf Point, silvery chimes began to toll the hour.  

.

Advent Calendar Day 16

Today I'm sharing another beautiful photo.

We're halfway through the month of December and the holiday season. If you enjoy the holidays, this month flies by in a blur. And if you don't enjoy the holidays, well, you're probably not reading this blog anyway.

I don't know about you, but I'm vulnerable to sentiment and nostalgia. I used to fight it because I would feel sad that things were no longer the same. And then I realized that twenty years from now these were the very days I would be feeling nostalgic for, and I was spending them struggling with not feeling sad over the past. Do you see what I'm saying? It's okay to be nostalgic, sentimental...it's a good part of what makes this season such an emotional time of year. But don't forget to enjoy all the happy moments of here and now.

New Release - Jefferson Blythe, Esquire

It’s here again. All the fun and excitement of getting ready for a trip to Europe. There’s special excitement, of course, because this is going to be a special kind of trip, but then every trip abroad is special.—Esquire’s Europein Style, 1960  To celebrate Monday's release of Jefferson Blythe, Esquire, we've got two launch parties going this weekend. One over at my Facebook fan page and one over at my Goodreads group.

Both parties feature games and giveaways. The giveaways are always cool--mugs, key chains, t-shirts, audio books, you name it--but we've got some especially neat stuff this time around. Two vintage style compasses, a couple of copies of Esquire's Europe in Style, a framed retro map of London...

Very--in the word's of Jefferson's grandpappy--groovy stuff.

If you haven't purchased the book yet, here are a couple of convenient buy links:

Amazon

Barnes and noble

Kobo

iTunes

Audible (the audio book is coming 12-14)

So enjoy the parties--and enjoy the new book!

Derrick McClain on DARK HORSE, WHITE KNIGHT

When I first started doing audio books, I used to really enjoy interviewing my narrators--they always have such interesting insights into both the characters and the story. So I thought it might be fun to see if anyone in this new batch of narrators might be up for an interview--and so far so good!

We're going to start this new series of interviews with Derrick McClain who narrates Dark Horse, White Knight (not be confused with Jason Clarke who narrates The Dark Horse novella in the Male/Male Mystery Suspense Box Set ).

In fact, it was Derrick who gave me the idea for this when he asked to interview me! (That interview should run next week on Derrick's site. )

So without further adieu, meet Derrick McClain!

Tell us a little bit about your background. How did you get started in narrating/producing audio books? How many audio books have you narrated?  DM - I’m incredibly new to audiobook narration, and it’s almost embarrassing to admit that Dark Horse, White Knight is only my sixth audiobook (with another five currently in production).  As to my background and how I got into this gig, audiobook narration has long been a lingering fantasy of mine, but for years it has been just that – a fantasy. We talk about “getting your foot in the door” but I didn’t even know how to find the right door in the first place. Then, a few years ago, I stumbled into some part time work as an audiobook proofer – listening to a production along with the text and marking any errors, extraneous noises, mispronunciations, etc. Most of the narrations I listened to were fantastic, but every now and then I would find myself thinking, “I could do this so much better.” Meanwhile, I discovered that hidden door into this industry, and finally decided that I should stop saying I could do this work and actually give it a try.  How much acting is involved in narrating a story?  DM - Arguably, the entire thing is acting; there’s a reason so many narrators call themselves “voice actors”. Most professional narrators have an educational and professional background in acting. I am admittedly an outsider, though my background in public speaking and live dramatic reading of prose has certainly been beneficial.  The most obvious acting is during dialogue, but even the non-dialogue exposition requires acting. It doesn’t take listening to many audiobooks to start recognizing a difference between simply reading a work out loud, and actually bringing it to life with your voice. I
strive for the latter.
  What was the most difficult or challenging aspect of narrating DARK HORSE, WHITE KNIGHT?  DM - Had I known White Knight primarily took place in Wales I might not have ever auditioned in the first place! I’m constantly attending workshops and working with coaches to develop and expand my narration skills, and while working on accents and dialects is definitely on my training list, I haven’t quite gotten there yet.  After spending several days studying and attempting to replicate various Welsh accents, I finally settled for something more along the lines of a light hint at an accent. Hopefully the few times it comes up in dialogue won’t be too disruptive for any listeners intimately familiar with the region.   What character was the most fun to narrate? Why?
DM - I would say Dan, who was fun partly just because I enjoy a classic deep-voiced man, but also fun because of the challenge that goes along with that.  Dan is strong and stoic, but not at all one-sided. Oftentimes, he’ll only say a few words, and on the surface those words may be simple and to the point, but underneath them are all the emotions, doubts, and questions he’s experiencing – be it pain, joy, suspicion, betrayal…he’s a complicated man. Expressing those subtleties while still maintaining a distinct voice – one that’s rather different than my own – is a fun and unique challenge. I won’t say I did it perfectly, but I certainly did my best.   What character was the most difficult to narrate? Why?  DM - The honor of most difficult – other than the Welsh characters – would go to Sean’s agent, Steve. In addition to just needing to be distinct from both Sean and Dan, Steve has a lot of components I wanted to express; he has the somewhat stereotypical Southern California habit of saying “dude” all the time like some surfer bro might, he has a background in stand-up comedy, the traditional talent agent sleaze and salesman persona, all blended together into one unique character. Plus, he’s loud all the time, which is an entirely different challenge in narration.  Was there a particular scene you think you read especially well? Or that you particularly enjoyed reading?  DM - One of the things that I absolutely love about Dark Horse, White Knight is that it breaks from the traditional timeline of romances while still retaining all the defining features of the genre. Dark Horse starts out where you expect most stories to end. In White Knight we get to see how Dan and Sean met and began their relationship, not through regular flashbacks but rather through Sean’s therapeutic writing of the events as a third person narrative.  Anyway, on the written page these “flashbacks” are set apart by the use of a different font and spacing, but on audio the listener doesn’t get to have any such visual cues. It’s up to me to differentiate it orally without making it disruptive. I ultimately settled for a more traditional sounding detached narration, which was both fun to do and, I hope, effective.  How awkward is it to read erotic scenes aloud?  DM - A number of narrators I know never thought that they would wind up narrating titles with erotic content. For them, the first few times can be rather awkward.  I, however, came into this work already a fan of romance. Forgive the rant for a moment, but since discovering romance, I have a hard time with non-romance titles. The thing is, most stories include some sort of romantic subplot. But when they just fade to black, we miss something essential. In real life, erotic moments are not just about eroticism – they are major turning points in our relationships, they require vulnerability and trust and can be incredibly revelatory. In good romance, erotic scenes aren’t just thrown in for the sake of arousal. Something more is happening. Yeah, we get to read about sexy men doing sexy things, but we also get to see the bonds of trust, the expression of deep caring, the manifestation of a desire that is more than merely physical in nature.  As a narrator, I get to bring that to life. The only erotic scenes that I ever find awkward are ones that are poorly written or bereft of deeper significance. Luckily, Dark Horse, White Knight doesn’t have any like that.   What ’ s the most satisfying or rewarding part of narrating/producing an audio book?  DM - You mean, aside from the fact that I get to read books for a LIVING?! (Which, let’s be honest, is pretty much the most badass job anyone can imagine).  I’d say after the sheer awesomeness of the job itself, one of the coolest parts is just getting to better understand the industry of books and audiobooks and meeting the incredible people behind it all. So much goes into every book, and there are so many facets not just to a book’s creation but also to its success, and I find the whole thing incredibly fascinating.   Have you ever found yourself in the position of refusing to narrate a book or a scene?  DM -At this point, I work entirely with independent authors and small or niche publishers, which means that I get to pick and choose the titles I audition for. I have turned down a few unsolicited requests, but generally I’m not put in a position where I might have to refuse a title I’m otherwise expected to narrate.  The only books or scenes I think I would adamantly refuse to narrate would be ones that romanticize rape or disparage sexual or gender identities. Luckily, those are few and far between and not on my radar to audition for in the first place.  Where can readers/listeners find out more about you and your work?  DM - To find out more about me folks can head on over to my website – voiceofderrick.com or stalk me on social media – I’m on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Instagram.  To hear more of my work, that’s as simple as searching for Derrick McClain on Audible – I’m the only narrator with that name. 

Happy Halloween!

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

But maybe less lonely thanks to events like Queer Romance Month.


Tomorrow winds up what is becoming one of the biggest and perhaps one of the most important annual events in the M/M Community. I'm honored to be part of QRM this year and you can find my post here-ish.


There are many, many wonderful posts to browse and consider at QRM. Posts from authors I know but more posts by authors new to me. Posts I agree with wholeheartedly and posts that encourage me to consider a fresh perspective, a new viewpoint.

That said, I confess the older I get, the less patience I have with labels. I consider myself a humanist and while I write many stories featuring gay characters, I don't feel--have never believed--that the sexual identity or orientation is the most important or even interesting thing about the "people" I create. It certainly is not the most important or interesting thing I know about people in real life.


I think I belabor that point a bit in my QRM post, but it occurred to me as I was typing and deleting and typing and deleting that someone else had actually already said what I wanted to say--and probably said it better--in the afterward of the Japanese translation of The Hell You Say.


And because I am--and have always been more interested in what unites us, the things that are universal about humans everywhere--I'd like to share with you a bit of Japanese author and reviewer Shion Miura's words regarding Adrien English (courtesy of Aki Fuyuto, the series translator):



It may not be the problem for gay people only. Every person has a possibility to become a 'minority', if not by sexual orientation. Everyone is minority in some ways. But we hang onto the vague term as 'normal' or 'opinion of the society', comply with the voice of 'majority', we even sometimes foolishly  discriminate against other person by that.



Adrien said to himself "what chance did the rest of us have, especially those who had never quite managed to find someone to share their life?".

Can you think that feeling is only for gay men? Can you tell that? I can't.

Most people have that loneliness in their heart's core like Adrien. Because we are all 'minority', we are all different person from each other. We have different opinion, different feeling. There is no 'majority', just the minority persons gathering to organize the society.


The varieties and differences of all people, which I have a hope and faith in.


Adrien English series is for everyone who has loneliness in your heart.
 
Adrien is fair, he has faith in the society and believe there is a bridge to reach other people even they have different opinion.


Waiting the next book, I wish him the happy ending from my heart!


----------------------------------------------


Isn't that what we all wish for ourselves--and each other? To be listened to. To be accepted. To be loved for who we are.


We may not all be lucky enough to find our Happy Ever After, but we sure as hell have a right to tell our story. Please pop over to QRM and read some of those stories.

Sneak Peak - THE MERMAID MURDERS

I'm starting a four-day green juice cleanse/detox this morning, and I always feel horrible at first during this process, so I'm going to be rather scarce for a few days. I'm still trying to catch up to where I was before I left for Scotland, but my focus is just not there--one of the things I hope juicing will help with--and I find myself postless this morning.

So I'll leave you with a Sneak Peek of next year's first book (something I forgot to mention last week when I was touching on upcoming projects).

This is from The Mermaid Murders, scheduled for a February 1st 2016 release. I'm going to do something a bit different with preorders this time, so at the moment TMM can only be purchased through Smashwords (that will obviously change!)

Smashwords.


BLURB: Special Agent Jason West is seconded from the FBI Art Crime Team to temporarily partner with disgraced, legendary “manhunter” Sam Kennedy when it appears that Kennedy’s most famous case, the capture and conviction of a serial killer known as The Huntsman, may actually have been a disastrous failure.
 The Huntsman is still out there…and the killing has begun again. EXCERPT: Summer heat shimmered off the blacktop. In that shivery, humid light, the big, blond man casually leaning against the silver government-issue sedan—and checking his watch—looked a little like a mirage. But no such luck. Special Agent Sam Kennedy was not a trick of the light. Kennedy looked up, spotted Jason, and grimaced. Maybe it was supposed to be a smile. Probably not, given Kennedy’s reputation. “Special Agent West,” Kennedy said. His voice was deep, and he spoke with a suggestion of a drawl. “I thought maybe you stopped off to see if you could solve the Gardner Museum heist on your way over here.” Funny guy, Kennedy. Special Agent in Charge Carl Manning had already warned Jason that Kennedy was not thrilled to be partnered again, let alone partnered with an agent seconded from the Art Crime Team. But that’s what happened when you screwed up your last high-profile investigation to such an extent the governor of Wisconsindenounced you on the nightly news. An agent with less seniority would have been “on the beach” for the foreseeable future, but Kennedy was a legend in the Bureau. One of the great “manhunters.” His career would survive, but he was under a cloud, no question. His kind of success earned enemies—and not just from the usual suspects. A successful career wasn’t just about closing cases—and Kennedy didn’t strike Jason as the tactful type. “Nice to meet you too,” Jason said, reaching the car. Kennedy did not offer his hand, so Jason shoved his own in his pocket. “Just to be clear, I’m supposed to be on vacation. In fact, I busted my ass to get here. I was at Boston Airportabout to catch a flight home to L.A.” “Duly noted.” Kennedy turned away, going around to the driver’s side of the gleaming sedan. “You can throw your bag in the trunk.” He reached in and popped the trunk hood. Jason opened the trunk and slung his brown leather carryall next to Kennedy’s black Tumi. That was some serious luggage. The luggage of someone who lived out of his suitcase. Primetime TV notwithstanding, it was rare for agents in the Behavioral Analysis Units to leave Quanticoand travel around the country, but Kennedy was the exception that proved the rule. “We need to hit the road. That girl’s been missing over eight hours already.” Kennedy threw that comment over his shoulder, before sliding in behind the wheel. Jason started to answer, but restrained himself. SAC Manning had clued him in to a few facts about his new—temporary—partner. And, ostensibly, this urgency to get to the crime scene out in rural Kingsfield was all part of what made Kennedy so good at his job—not to mention the reason they were meeting in a diner parking lot instead of the division office at One Center Plaza. He slammed shut the trunk, walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. The car was still cool with air-conditioning, so Kennedy hadn’t been waiting long. Kennedy turned the key in the ignition. More cold air blasted out along with news radio. “So you know the area? Your family used to have a vacation home in Kingsfield?” “That’s right.” “How nice.” Kennedy’s tone was more like Oh brother. He wore too much aftershave. The fragrance as aggressive as everything else about him. Top note sandalwood, bottom note obnoxious. “I guess so.” Kennedy threw him a sardonic look as they exited the parking lot. Or at least the twist of his mouth was sardonic. The dark Oakleys he wore concealed his eyes. He was not handsome, but he had the kind of face you didn’t forget easily. Although Jason was going to try his best the minute this case was over. Jason said, “Clarify something for me. The Kingsfield Police Chief asked specifically for you because he thinks he might have a copycat killer on his hands?” “It’s too soon to say, but yeah. That’s the concern, of course. No girl is going to go missing in Worcester County ever again that people aren’t going to fear it’s some kind of copycat crime.” Kennedy began to bring Jason up to date on the case. It was a swift and concise summation, but then the facts were few. Rebecca Madigan, the teenage daughter of wealthy local residents, had disappeared Saturday night while hosting a party for friends. Rebecca’s parents were out of town, so her boyfriend had reported the girl missing. A search had been organized, but so far there was no sign of Rebecca. “There could be a lot of reasons a teenage girl disappears,” Jason pointed out. “Yep. But like I said, the folks of Worcester County have long memories.” Jason stared out the window at the slideshow of skyscrapers and historic buildings. Parks, playgrounds…ponds. The dazzle of bright sunlight on green water. He removed his sunglasses, passed a hand across his eyes, and replaced the shades. Worcester was an old city with a modern attitude. It was only about twenty-four miles from Kingsfield, not much more than a forty-five-minute drive, but it could have been a different planet. He said, “I remember the original case. You were behind the capture and conviction of Martin Pink.” “I played a role.” Kennedy was displaying unexpected—and undue—modesty. There was no question the Kingsfield Killings had stopped due to Kennedy’s efforts, which was no doubt why the police chief had been so quick to call him in this time. It was a little surprising the Bureau hadn’t waited to see how things developed in the Madigan case, but maybe this was as much about putting Kennedy on ice as finding a missing girl. That was certainly the way it had sounded to Jason when SAC Manning had asked him to cancel his vacation. “What kind of a party was it?” Jason asked. “What do you mean?” “It’s June. Was it a graduation party? Birthday party? Sweet sixteen? Secret baby shower?” Kennedy’s laugh was without humor. “It was the kind of party you throw when your parents are out of town for the weekend.” “Was everybody invited or was it private?” “We don’t have the details yet. You know everything I know.” Yeah, probably not. Kennedy was one of these lone-wolf types who no doubt “preferred to play his own hand” or whatever bullshit macho phrase he’d use to excuse not being a team player. It made for good TV, but in real-life law enforcement, not being a team player was how people got hurt. Sometimes you got hurt even when everyone was playing for the same team. Jason’s shoulder twinged, and he rubbed it absently.   There was a large heart-shaped sign by the side of the road on the outskirts of town. The sign read IN OUR HEARTS FOREVER Honey Corrigan June 15th 1998. The sign had not been there the last time Jason had driven this road. But it was probably familiar to Kennedy. He’d probably passed it a hundred times that long ago summer. Neither of them spoke, and a couple of minutes later they were out of the green woodland and into the shady streets of the picturesque and rustic village of Kingsfield. It was classic New England. Pretty and quaint. Clapboard houses surrounded by wide lawns or gardens of old roses, renovated nineteenth century commercial buildings of red and yellow brick, war memorials—that would be the Revolutionary War—white churches with tall steeples, all artfully positioned around the large and lush village green. Nothing like California, that was for sure. But then that had been the point of spending summers here. “Just like you remember?” Kennedy’s voice jarred Jason out of his thoughts. “Doesn’t seem to have changed much.” And that was the truth. They passed Beaky’s Tavern. Bow windows and a hanging, hand-painted sign featuring a bewigged gentleman with a nose like a hood ornament. “When was the last time you were back?” “Years.” His parents had sold their vacation home right after Honey had disappeared, and Jason had not been back since. He was not going to share that information with Kennedy, even if Kennedy had been listening. Which he wasn’t. His attention was on the information his GPSwas providing in crisp, mechanical tones. His big hands moved with easy assurance on the steering wheel, his gaze raked the pretty little shops and cafes. The police station was located in the center of the village, housed in the former Town Hall building. It was a two-story structure of faded brick complete with a clock tower—including a rooster weather vane—and gray columns supporting the front portico. The arched windows had a nice view of the Quaboag River, a blue shadow in the distance. Jason and Kennedy parked in the rear beneath a row of maple trees. “I’d expect to see a lot more cars here,” Jason said, studying the nearly empty lot. “They’re out searching,” Kennedy replied. His tone was neutral, but yes. Of course. The problem was it had been a long time since Jason had worked a violent crime. Or at least since he’d worked a crime where there was an expectation of violence. People were always unpredictable. Especially when they felt cornered. He walked beside Kennedy around the building. The air was hot and humid, scented of warm stone and daylilies. Kennedy didn’t say a word from the parking lot to the front portico. Not a chatty guy. They went in through the old wood-frame glass doors. A matronly-looking officer was busy answering the phones. She barely glanced at their IDs, indicating with a nod of her head that they should proceed down the dark-paneled hallway—all the while calmly answering the caller on the other end of the line. An incident room had been set up on the main floor. It was abandoned but for one lone deputy who was erasing something on the large whiteboard. Jason’s heart sank as he recognized Boyd Boxner. It had been a long time, but Boyd hadn’t changed all that much. Square shoulders, square jaw, square head. Well, his head wasn’t square, but his towheaded crew cut gave that impression. “Special Agent Kennedy,” Kennedy offered his ID again. “This is Special Agent West.” “We’ve been waiting for you,” Boxner said. He glanced at Jason without recognition—suits and shades provided excellent camouflage—and that was fine with Jason. “Chief Gervase is directing the search for Rebecca. He asked me to escort you to the search site.” “Fine. Let’s get moving,” Kennedy said. Jason said, “You don’t think we should maybe head over to the girl’s house? Take a look around. See if there’s a reason she might have walked away voluntarily?” Kennedy stared at him as though he’d forgotten Jason was present. He’d removed his sunglasses. His eyes were blue. Arctic blue. A hard and unforgiving color. He turned back to Boxner. “We’ll start with the search site.” Okay. That could have been handled with a little professional courtesy. But fair enough. Kennedy was the senior on this investigation. Jason was just riding shotgun. This was not his field of expertise. By the same token, he wasn’t there just to fill a second suit. He said, matching Kennedy’s blank face and tone, “Do they need us to join the search? They’ll have plenty of volunteers. Maybe we could be of more use taking a look at the case from a different angle.” Kennedy stared at him for a long, silent moment. It was not a friendly look. Nor the look of someone considering another viewpoint. “You want me to leave you two to work it out?” Boxner was looking at Jason more closely now. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with my colleague,” Kennedy said with ominous calm. “I’ll bring the car around.” Boxner was clearly in no doubt as to who would win this round. The old floorboards squeaked as he departed. Kennedy didn’t say a word until Boxner had vanished down the hall. He turned to Jason. “Okay, pretty boy. Let’s get something straight.” His tone was cold and clipped. “We both know your role here is to run interference between me and everybody else. All you need to do is stay out of my way and smooth the feathers when needed. And in return you’ll be the guy who gets to pose in front of the cameras with Chief Gervase. Fair enough?” “The hell,” Jason said. “I’ve been asked to try and make sure you don’t step in it again, sure, but I’m not here to hold your cape and deerstalker, Sherlock. I’m your partner on this case whether either of us likes it or not. And, for the record, I don’t like it—any more than you do.” “Then make it easy on both of us,” Kennedy said. “You stay out of my murder investigation, and I’ll let you know if I hear about any paintings getting stolen.” He didn’t wait for Jason’s answer. He turned and followed Boxner down the hallway.      

And so on and so forth

Today's post is a day late because yesterday the SO and I did something we haven't done since January. We took the day off in order to have lunch and go to a movie.

The movie was Sicario and it was an entertaining way to spend a couple of hours. I always like Emily Blunt. Lunch was okay. I am increasingly bored by chain restaurant food. I don't miss the lesson afforded by it, however, and that is that in a world full of tired, harried people, opting for the tried and true--even if the tried and true is mediocre--is frequently the best, or at least the usual, choice. This is just as true in publishing as elsewhere, which is why "discoverability" is such a challenge for writers. And why they spend so much time talking about writing rather than actually writing.

This has turned out to be a very strange year. Granted, the only real unexpected turn of events was buying a new house. Everything else was planned out last year--and went pretty much according to plan. But buying a new house...I had no idea how time consuming and complicated that would be. We're still not completely moved out of the old house, and I am increasingly nervous about the items that were left behind. Like all my Christmas stuff. All the vintage Christmas ornaments handed down through my family...that stuff worries me. The other stuff...well, I can't say I'd rejoice at losing several years worth of tax papers, but it wouldn't break my heart the way losing those 1950s mica Christmas angels would.

Once upon a time a couple of novels and two short stories would have been considered a productive year. Now days...not so much--despite the distractions of moving house, two trips to Catalina, the uproar resulting from connecting my real identity to my pen name, and a trip to Scotland. That's a pretty big year with almost no "down" time.

The one creative casualty was my story intended for an anthology to benefit the Trevor project. Unfortunately I ran about a month behind on Jefferson Blythe, which meant that I was packing for Scotland and dealing with emails from readers when I should have been writing my story for charity. Now, I can--and will--donate the cash the story would have earned to the Trevor Project. That's not an issue. But I wanted to write that story--and I hate not fulfilling my commitments. I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who were looking forward to my contribution, but the anthology is still going to be terrific. Please support the effort of these wonderfully generous and talented authors and others! I'll keep you posted on the release date details.

I'm reluctant to commit to anything for next year.  Which is to say I've already committed to a huge and complicated non-fiction project and beyond that...there are two novels contracted to Carina Press: Murder Takes the High Road (Scottish tour bus who-dunnit) and Fair Chance (3rd and final story in the All's Fair trilogy). I know what I would like to do--and that's a number of tightly written mystery novellas in the vein of the things I wrote early on--but we'll kind of have to wait and see.

As for what is still coming this year...

Well, the release of Jefferson Blythe, Esquire (as an ebook and in audio). That's November 16th.

Several audio books including Winter Kill, Murder in Pastel, Dark Horse White Knight, Baby, it's Cold,  and the M/M Mystery and Suspense Box Set are still to come.

I'm contributing an essay on James Colton (Joseph Hansen)  to Curt Evans for his untitled but upcoming book on LGBT mystery to be published by McFarland Press next year.



jbe-inspired artwork for coloring book

There are a number of Italian and French translations in the works for a 2015 release. Lone Star in Italian. The Dark Tide in Japanese. A Dangerous Thing in French. The Darkling Thrush in Italian...  I'm sure I'm forgetting other titles!

 There will be a Josh Lanyon coloring book called Love is a Many Colored Thing, illustrations by Johanna Ollilia. If you love coloring books for grown ups, there's a good chance you'll enjoy the art and excerpts in this one.

There will possibly, probably, be a Christmas story, but again, I'm leery of making promises.

And there will most likely be a number of Holiday Codas.

And that's all I want to commit to just at the moment. It seems like a lot to me, but compared to other years...well, the only less productive year I've had from a writing standpoint would have to be the year I took off. My sabbatical year. ;-)  But it's been a really good year. A really satisfying and productive year from a personal standpoint. A year of growth and change--a year that gives me a lot to write about. And that is always a good thing.