S.L. Armstrong's Blog, page 19

“An Angel’s Soul” Teaser

This is the second freebie K. Piet and I are working on. Man, we do love our angels!

—

Cole groaned as he shifted on the floor, a beam of sunlight across his face. His back and head hurt, his muscles stiff. What the hell had happened? He slowly sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. Rob. Rob had brought him some coke. Had he overdosed? Or had he just passed out? If he’d overdosed, wouldn’t he be dead? Maybe he was dead and this was Heaven. Or Hell. He didn’t much like the idea of Hell being his apartment, which smelled of stale cigarettes and booze.

He looked around, noting the shattered whiskey bottle and the angel asleep beside—

Angel?

Cole stared at the naked creature beside him with massive white wings. That was an angel. Angels weren’t real, though. He rubbed his eyes again, but when he opened them once more, the angel was still there. Maybe there had been something in the coke. Maybe Rob hadn’t gotten the good stuff after all. He reached out and ran his fingers along the feathers. Christ, he’d never felt anything so soft! The wing shivered under his touch, but the angel didn’t move.

It was real. The angel. Was real. Angel. In his apartment. Maybe that was why he wasn’t dead. He brushed the angel’s blond hair back from the perfect, beautiful face. Male. He had an unconscious, gorgeous, male angel sprawled on his office floor, and his mind didn’t quite believe it. Cole cleared his throat and gave the angel’s shoulder a little nudge.

“E-Excuse me,” Cole murmured, his voice rough. “Hello?” A pained flutter of a sound escaped the angel, and he hesitated to touch again. He didn’t see any wounds on the angel, but maybe his touch was a little too hard. He swallowed thickly and, as gently as possible, pet over the blond hair and the feathers. “Are you all right? Come on. Wake up.”

The wings shifted, and another of those bird-like sounds twittered from the angel, followed by a soft moan. Cole’s heart jumped up into his throat, and he scrambled back a little, dodging the feathers of one wing as it lifted and flapped. A sudden pain jolted up through his hand, and he cursed under his breath. He’d forgotten about the broken glass, and now he was paying for it. The cut wasn’t too terribly deep, but it stung like a motherfucker, and he cradled his hand against him.

“Cole…”

"An Angel's Soul" Teaser

This is the second freebie K. Piet and I are working on. Man, we do love our angels!

—

Cole groaned as he shifted on the floor, a beam of sunlight across his face. His back and head hurt, his muscles stiff. What the hell had happened? He slowly sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. Rob. Rob had brought him some coke. Had he overdosed? Or had he just passed out? If he'd overdosed, wouldn't he be dead? Maybe he was dead and this was Heaven. Or Hell. He didn't much like the idea of Hell being his apartment, which smelled of stale cigarettes and booze.

He looked around, noting the shattered whiskey bottle and the angel asleep beside—

Angel?

Cole stared at the naked creature beside him with massive white wings. That was an angel. Angels weren't real, though. He rubbed his eyes again, but when he opened them once more, the angel was still there. Maybe there had been something in the coke. Maybe Rob hadn't gotten the good stuff after all. He reached out and ran his fingers along the feathers. Christ, he'd never felt anything so soft! The wing shivered under his touch, but the angel didn't move.

It was real. The angel. Was real. Angel. In his apartment. Maybe that was why he wasn't dead. He brushed the angel's blond hair back from the perfect, beautiful face. Male. He had an unconscious, gorgeous, male angel sprawled on his office floor, and his mind didn't quite believe it. Cole cleared his throat and gave the angel's shoulder a little nudge.

"E-Excuse me," Cole murmured, his voice rough. "Hello?" A pained flutter of a sound escaped the angel, and he hesitated to touch again. He didn't see any wounds on the angel, but maybe his touch was a little too hard. He swallowed thickly and, as gently as possible, pet over the blond hair and the feathers. "Are you all right? Come on. Wake up."

The wings shifted, and another of those bird-like sounds twittered from the angel, followed by a soft moan. Cole's heart jumped up into his throat, and he scrambled back a little, dodging the feathers of one wing as it lifted and flapped. A sudden pain jolted up through his hand, and he cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten about the broken glass, and now he was paying for it. The cut wasn't too terribly deep, but it stung like a motherfucker, and he cradled his hand against him.

"Cole…"

Nothing of Import

The household is sick. I don't mean a little under the weather, I mean full-out sick. K. brought it home with her from the Rainbow Book Fair, and within days, we were all sick. Fever, congestion, coughing like you wouldn't believe, and fatigue. K. is almost over her bout of it, and the husband-thing is doing better, but I was the last to get sick, and I'm about three days behind everyone else. Add to it that I have the immune system of a cabbage, and I've not done much of anything since I got sick.

Almost no writing, no editing, no typesetting, no blogging, nothing. I barely have the oomph to occasionally post up on Twitter. Email's a bit backed up, I think. The SMP site relaunch is behind. My ear has become sore and muffled. I'm trying to keep on top of the symptoms, doping up on DayQuil and NyQuil, but when I'm sick, I feel like doing very little.

This has put our stories for the Love Is Always Write event a bit behind. I'm going to try to add something to Jungle Law tonight. I know each story needs two sex scenes written, and maybe one or two scenes flanking them, so they're over halfway done, it's just hard to make my brain work.

It's also been unbelievably hot here in Florida. It was hot in January, but now? Holy hell. Our electric bill was $300 this month from trying to cool the house. I finally bought blackout curtains for the master bedroom. It's the hottest room in the house. I'm going to see if that helps things, and if it does, I'll buy them for the rest of the house. Right now, we have a dark comforter tacked up over the window, and that's helped quite a lot.

We've been mainlining Supernatual. Just about to finish season five. There are great moments, yes, but a lot of not-so-great moments. I miss it being about the supernatural. The angels/demons/God thing has gotten really old. I miss the ghosts and creepy creatures. Overall, though, we're enjoying it.

So, yeah, that's why there isn't much in the way of blogging happening, and I'm really hoping to get back to writing… as soon as this flu bug thing finishes raking me over the coals.

Guest Post: Evie Kiels on Text Readability

Please welcome Evie Kiels to the blog! I'm so glad to have her here today, and I have to say, I like what she had to share.

—

Hi there! Evie Kiels here. S.L. said, in a manner of speaking, that I could write about whateeeeever I wanted, so today, I'm writing about text readability!

*crickets*

This might be of interest to those of you who have blogs or who self-publish online writing.

*more crickets*

Oookay, moving right along.

What is Text Readability

When I say text readability, I mean how easy it is for your eye and brain to observe the little black squiggles (letters) on a screen and make sense of those observations. This blog post only addresses text readability for computer screens (as opposed to paper).

tl;wr (too long; won't read)

If you don't want to read anything I have to say, but want a nice body font in a nice size with nice line spacing, here are the specs:

Typeface: Georgia, or another serif web font (such as Times New Roman)

Font size for web: 16px (don't be afraid to go larger)

Text Alignment: Left

Background Color: Solid White (or something very close)

Text Color: Black (or something very dark)

Musings on Pretty Text

There are a couple of different ways to view the aesthetic purpose of text. The first is as art. There are some gorgeous representation of letters and text, and the point is often to present something aesthetic pleasing that is meaningful through color, letter, and shape. Another purpose is to be part of the design as a whole. Designers can put a lot of time and effort to choosing the right font, tweaking the space between words and letters in order to get a blob that is the perfect shape to fit in the design they are creating. These are both valid layout considerations, but they don't necessarily yield text that is easy to read. I want people to be able to read text, so that's what I'm talking about today.

Standard Web Fonts

There are standard fonts that every operating system (and browser) supports and supports well. The most common of these fonts are: Verdana, Arial, Georgia, Times New Roman (follow this link for a full list).

My font of choice, for both blogging and e-books, is Georgia.

As the web is evolving, using "browser safe" fonts is becoming less of a concern. Google is doing some really neat things with web fonts, which I'll discuss at the end. That said, still of concern, is readability! Verdana, Arial, Georgia, and Times New Roman are easy to read. These fonts have good readability on computer screens. If you use one of these fonts you can be confident that the text appears correctly and is ideal for screen reading.

Font (serfis vs sans serif)

Broadly speaking, there are two types of letters: letters with serifs and letters without serifs. As such there are serif fonts, and sans serif fonts. Serifs are little embellishments at the ends of some of the lines that make up letters. It is thought that serif fonts are easier to read because the serifs help to guide the eye to the next letter. In defense of sans-serif, the text often has a cleaner, more professional and authoritative look (think text books).

But we're not interested in being text-book professional, we're interested in being fiction book, people being willing to read 5,000 word blog posts or short stories professional. Serif fonts are good.

Note: Smart people have conducted studies as to whether or not serif fonts really are more readable than sans-serif fonts and… the results are inconclusive! Ack! Obviously, I think serifs make text easier to read. If you don't, that's cool. Use your sans-serif font with pride! For more information on serifs, check out wikipedia's most excellent article on serifs.

Font Size

Use a font size that's at least 16px. In dead paper media (books, news papers) fonts are rather smallish. Sometimes, way too small. This makes economic sense because less money will be spent on paper if less paper is used; less paper is used when letters are small and more of them fit on a page. Happily, we are working in pixels where we can use any font size and there are no monetary repercussions. Embrace this! Embrace the large letter!

Okay, so how big should letters on screen be? At minimum, the font size on a screen should be 13px (or 10pt or 0.8em). But why go minimum? Why put the burden on your reader to fiddle with magnification? Go comfortable!

My font size of choice for blogs is 16 to 20px. The size isn't so big that it will visually compete with a larger (but not too large) heading, but it's big enough that it can comfortably be read on a computer monitor atop a desk. For ebooks, my font size of choice is 12 to 14px depending on other settings (e.g. paper size).

Color

Use a dark colored font on a light colored background. Text doesn't have to be black, it can be a very dark gray. Often this makes the overall design of a blog more pleasant by allowing the text to visually recede just the tiniest bit… in other words, it softens thing. Similarly, a background doesn't have to be white, it can be a light cream/blue/green/yellow.

"But Evie!" you say, "White text on black background is so badass!" Yes, yes, very badass. Unfortunately, not that easy to read. What happens is the light colored text "glows", and this causes eyestrain. I'm also going to put forth my own opinion that it's not very professional.

There are times when you might want to have light text on black background for effect. For example, you've got a dark gritty hacker vampire fiction and you want the color to reinforce the feel of the story environment. Fine. Or maybe your brand as a blogger or author is to be edgy, dark, gritty, a shining beacon in the dark abyss. Well, that's fine too. It's okay to use color to reinforce that message, as long as you do it with intent.

Background Patterns

Backgrounds that have patterns, even subtle patterns, make text much more difficult to read. The background of text should always been a solid color.

It's okay to have a patterned background on your blog as long as there's another solid background behind your text (see http://tutsplus.com/ for an example of this. Note the pattern behind the headings–harder to read, right?).

Again: Don't use a patterned background behind text. Consider this rule sacred.

Text Alignment

Left-Align your text. Text Alignment refers to how the lines of text orient themselves to one another. Left-alignment means that the lines all line up and form a straight line on the left. Center-alignment means all the text line up in the center, and right-aligned means all the lines line up on the right hand side. If you're writing in English, use left alignment.

The written English language is written and read left to right, top to bottom, and as such, left aligned text is easiest to read. Left aligned is good because it allows the eye to return to the same starting point on each line–in other words, the reader doesn't have to search for the start of the line. With a centered or right aligned font, the reader has to search for the start of every line of text. (That's not good.)

I'll say again, if you're writing in English, left-align the body content. Consider this rule sacred.

To Justify or Not to Justify

Justified text means that the ends of the text lines don't have ragged edges.

Justified text tends to look more professional, and it can often be found in newspapers, books, text books, journal articles, etc… Unfortunately, it's harder to read. The ragged edges of non-justified text help your eye keep its place on the page by using line width as a cue as to where you just read, and that cue is taken away in justified text.

The blog posts in S.L.'s blog are not justified. An example of justified text can be found in one of my free ebooks, Three of Swords (links to pdf).

So, to justify or not to justify? I leave that up to you. I don't think that the gain in readability of non-justified text is greater than the gain in professional look in justified text. So, I decide on a case-by-case basis. If you want maximum text readability, go with non-justified text.

Line Width

In general, lines that are wide enough to display 10 words are good. Line width is a judgment call. If you think the line is too wide, it probably is.

Note: the line width feeling too wide or too narrow is determined by the size and amount of characters/words in a line, not the actual physical width of the line.

Headings

Headings follow different rules. They're often short and less than a line wide, and therefore, it's okay to get creative and funky here. Headings should appear visually distinct from body text. Ideally, larger. Perhaps in a different font.

Google Fonts!

For online fonts, this is seriously the coolest thing ever. Google is building a massive collection of fonts you can use online. If you have a wordpress blog there is a plugin called WP Google Fonts that makes this super easy. WP Tuts Plus has an excellent video tutorial on how to incorporate google fonts into your wordpress blog.

That's it!

Wow! Thanks for reading to the end! I hope this slightly nerdy foray into typography has been useful for you. If you have any questions or just want to say "hey!" leave a comment or feel free to contact me via my website.

—

Just thought I'd chime in a minute with my thoughts, too.

My preferance in ebooks for font is Minion Pro in 11pt. That's what we use for ebooks and print books over at Storm Moon Press, and we prefer it. In order to make the readability easier, we space the lines a little more than the default of the program, which makes it easier on the eye. If we didn't use Minion Pro, I'd probably have us use Georgia (it's the font I write everything in on my word processor).

I am not a fan of ragged right in professional, published texts. I like justified text in books and ebooks. Ragged right is fine for informal things like blogs, but proper publishing should always use justified text. Whenever I buy a book and it's in ragged right, I make a note that I probably won't be buying books from that publisher again. It just looks sloppy and detracts from the reading experience for me.

For websites and blogs, I agree that it should be BLACK text on WHITE background. OMG, the number of sites I will NEVER visit again because of horrific crimes against the human eyeball. Text size, for me, on websites should be something larger than 12px, but because I can ultimately control the size of text my browser displays, I don't worry about text size too much when it comes to websites.

Over all, though, I highly agree with Evie. Take heed and follow her gospel! Stop making our eyes ache with bad choices of color, font, size, and backgrounds.

Thank you, Evie, for visiting! I loved the post!

"Jungle Law" Teaser

I'm going to share a bit from an upcoming freebie from K. Piet and me. I really like it, and it's the first time we've tried writing a deep third person POV. It's been incredibly interesting, and I've fallen for the characters of Kaanan and Deshi. I don't think we'll write more about them, but I've enjoyed writing what we have for this short.

—

No, no witnesses. If there were no witnesses, fewer hunting parties came looking for leopards. For him. He had to find the boy. At some point, the boy had washed his stink off in a little pool of water. The boy was clever, but that cleverness didn't help against a leopard. He could still smell the boy, potent and terrified, and then the boy's cleverness ran out.

Urine.

He could smell the sharp ammonia scent on a bush nearby. It was the third bush he'd smelled it on. This time, though, he also smelled blood. It would make the boy easier to find. Blood and piss. He followed the trail, moving silently through the dense underbrush, careful where each paw landed. He was close. Blood and piss and sweat now. Sweat didn't last as long on the air, so the boy was near. Probably by the lake. Fresh water was important, even to poachers. He'd find the boy there. His tail flicked impatiently as he stalked along an edge of water, the sun high and hot, the water inviting. But he ignored the water itself.

Piss and blood and sweat and vomit. Vomit and sour mushroom. The boy must have eaten one of the floor fungi. From the acidic edge he could scent, it was one of the blue gilled ones. The boy, with or without his furious intervention, was on borrowed time. He almost wanted to leave the boy to suffer. His leopards hadn't been shown any mercy or peace, and so why should he offer them any? The boy would suffer a few days more before the mushroom's toxins took his life, and suffering…

He growled. If he did that, though, he'd be as cruel and terrible as the men who invaded his jungle. Damn it. Damn him. He followed the scent of vomit until he heard soft weeping, a rustling of dry vegetation. Cleverness, it seemed, had run out when hunger drove the boy to eat unsafe food. With a loud growl, he entered the small clearing, crouched low to the ground with his tail sweeping back and forth behind him, his teeth bared. The boy, writhing on a poorly made bed of fern fronds, saw him, cried out, and tried to scuttle back, but the pain wracking his body made it impossible.

Lucky 7 Meme

Nabbed this from Alex Beecroft on Sunday, and I thought I would use this as today's blog entry. Always nice to share bits of what's coming from me in the future!

Rules

1. Go to page 77 (or 7th) of your current ms

2. Go to line 7

3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they're written. No cheating.

4. Tag 7 other authors. (I am not doing this – anyone who wants to do it can. Those who don't want to don't have to.)

Now, I have quite a number of projects I'm juggling, so I thought… what the hell. I'll do this for each one, since they are active WIPs. I chose to snag seven lines, and if that didn't neatly end with a paragraph, I just went to the end of the paragraph.

—

Mae

Zach took the paper dumbly, and all he had time to read was the name at the top. "Wil." No, that wasn't a flush heating up his cheeks. It was just the heat of the Wal-Mart in September, despite the air conditioning. It wouldn't get cool in Tampa until January, if they were lucky, and… He jolted back to reality. "Wil. I mean… I will. Call you, I mean."

Stupid. So damn stupid. But Wil just smiled at him, so that was good. "Looking forward to it," Wil said and, taking up his shopping bags, gave a little wave before heading for the sliding doors. He watched until the next customer raised her voice again, and he scrambled to start scanning, shoving the number into his back pocket. He mumbled an apology, even though he didn't mean it—keep the customer happy, Zach—and the rest of his shift went by in a pleasant haze.

***

52 Weeks

It was him, not Rhys, not booze. It was all Aspen. It was him shoving back on those fingers with his face blazing red and sweaty. It was him with his cock rubbing against his crocheted dress, his ankles beginning to burn with the weight and position he was in while wearing three inch heels. It was all him, and he let his head fall forward with a resigned sob, his body burning with a need he didn't completely understand.

"Shh," Rhys breathed. "It will be so good, pretty boy, so good."

Rhys' voice, deep and trilling with that beautiful British accent, lulled Aspen into a state of relaxation, even as the tears trailed down his cheeks, smeared his mascara. It didn't take long before he felt the latex-covered tip of Rhys' cock nudge his hole. Here he was, about to take it up the ass for the first time, and he was dressed like a woman, bent over some stranger's sofa, looking out at the New York City skyline. It was as surreal and arousing as it was demeaning.

***

An Angel's Soul

Which led him to the unnerving question of why was he having such a difficult time of it now?

Cole leaned back on the couch, his eyes drooping and clouded from the alcohol. He picked up a framed photograph and stared at it for a long time before he threw it across the room. The glass shattered as it hit the hard wood of the bar. Cole didn't bother with a glass at this point. He picked up the bottle and began to drink in earnest. Raziel wings fluttered again. This wasn't right. It was Daniel who should be drinking, should be heartbroken, not Cole.

Daniel. He'd been the start of this whole mess. Sweet, mind-mannered Daniel who had stood beside Cole through their years at Dartmouth. Considerate Daniel who had loved Cole even when they barely had two pennies to scrape together. Daniel, who had been the ideal partner for Cole in every respect. Their families had adored each other, supported both Cole and Daniel. Everything had been theirs as Cole shot up the corporate ladder. Everything awaited them.

***

Jungle Law

He nodded, and Deshi stared at him before nearly bursting into what sounded like birdsong. Too many words all strung messily together in a quick tittering that nearly made Kaanan wish he hadn't given away his secret. "Deshi… Deshi! Wait!"

The order instantly made Deshi quiet like he'd wanted, but the wounded look on Deshi's face tugged at something in his chest, and he pet the boy's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He held up another fig in apology, offering it to Deshi with a small smile. "Food. Kaanan home Deshi home."

A smile graced Deshi's lips. It seemed his message had gotten across. Deshi was welcome here. He wouldn't let any harm come to Deshi while Deshi was under his protection. Deshi leaned into him as they resumed eating their figs, and he couldn't help but smile when Deshi tried to rub against his shoulder like a cat might. Yes, there was intelligence in Deshi's mind, even if some human habits needed to be relearned to respect the forest. A soft purr lilted from him, and he ate until his belly was full, promising himself that he would hunt that night for something more substantial.

***

Stalemate: Pawns I

"Goldenrod," Ash barked. The Spears Captain spun around, and then bowed deeply. "You are dismissed, Captain."

"Yes, my lord," Goldenrod hastily replied, quickly exiting the room.

Ash stalked toward Whirlwind, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "You are awfully interested in my military, Whirlwind."

Whirlwind set aside the spear he'd been examining and turned to face Ash with a proud tilt of his chin. "No other faerie estate utilizes spears and axes except the Red Caps. Are you as bloodthirsty as they?"

***

For the Love of a Master

My throat tightened, and my eyes stung as tears gathered. A member of the Human Rights Movement? My new master believed pets to be thinking, feeling creatures worthy of affection and respect? Even the mutts? I swallowed several times, and then bowed my head as I began to weep.

"You do understand," Sir Jiat murmured, cradling me against his body. His large paw-like hand continued to pet up and down my back, and then his purr burst forth. No master had ever purred for me, and I clung to him. It was shameful and disrespectful, but I couldn't help myself. I clung to him and wept as he purred and touched me. "You begin a new life today, Ewan," he promised me. "A new life."

—

There you go! A little taste of everything.

10 Random Facts About Me

I thought, as something fun, I'd offer up ten random facts about me to those reading this blog or my fiction. I'm an odd duck, so be prepared.

– I haven't fallen asleep naturally in over four or five years. I have chronic insomnia, and my doctor has me on a bit of a cocktail of meds so I fall asleep. If I don't take the meds, I can stay awake three to five days before my poor body gives up and I pass out for about twenty-four hours. It also means that, because of the meds, I spend a few hours each morning very groggy as I try to shake myself out of it. Fatigue is a constant friend of mine, probably because the sleep isn't natural.

– If I have a Big Mac from McDonalds, I eat it in sections. I eat the top and middle bun together as a sandwich with the Special Sauce. I then eat the bottom bun. Then, it's the non-cheesy hamburger patty, and finally the cheesy hamburger patty. K. and the husband-thing tease me, and my mum has always referred to it as my 'Big Mac autopsy'. I've been doing this since I was eight or nine.

– I sleep on my stomach. It's the only way I sleep. On my back, I wind up with an odd numbness from my right hip down the outside of my right thigh. Very odd and uncomfortable. I'm also not a fan of sleeping on my side. My neck always aches when I wake up on my side.

– After about three months of marriage, the husband-thing and I decided we had to have separate blankets. XD I hog the blankets, and I thrash about and shift a lot in the night. The husband-thing, many times, would wake up on the edge of the bed without any blankets. Now, he is toasty warm, but he still wakes up on the edge of the bed.

– I met the husband-thing when I was sixteen. He asked me to marry him five weeks after our first phone conversation. We married three months before my eighteenth birthday. We've been together since (and I just turned thirty-two).

– I love watching shows like Snapped, Deadly Women, and Forensic Files. The husband-thing thinks, if I kill him, I'll get away with it. XD I like watching such shows because the reasons these people commit these crimes seem so petty. Taking a life because they didn't want a divorce? Really? Just divorce the guy, don't kill him!

– I don't fly. I haven't flown since 2004, and even then, it was under duress. Even if the stories of ick from people of size flying didn't exist, the TSA terrifies me. I'm a survivor of rape, and the idea of having some strange person's hands on my body—in the pathetic excuse of perceived safety—in a public venue sends me into a panic. Unless there is absolutely no other choice, I will not fly until the TSA goes away (which, I know, isn't happening).

– I eat cake batter. I don't mean lick the beaters and scraper, I mean… I put a cupcake's worth into a bowl and munch on it while the cake bakes. XD I love cake batter. LOVE it. I'm so lucky K. loves it as much as I do. She shares my shame as we munch on our bowls of cake batter.

– I don't tolerate liars. I have no respect for them. Personally, professionally, the best way to get on my shit list and remain there is to lie to me.

– When I indulge in a Butterfinger, I eat all the chocolate from the outside, and then throw away the inside. >.> There's just something about that chocolate with the thinnest bit of that peanut butter crisp I love, but I can't stand the actual crisp itself.

So, there you go. A random bit about me.

"For the Love of a Master" Teaser

For the Love of a Master is a novella I'm working on separate of co-authored titles with K. Piet. It's an idea I got late at night while watching television and chatting with the husband-thing. It's also first person, which is something I haven't written in a very long time, but that perspective was the only one that made any sense for this piece. I don't expect it to be hugely popular, as it's pretty strange and steeped in furries, but I think it'll be awesome when it's done. I'm writing it mainly for myself, so if anyone likes it, that'll be a bonus.

—

One week, and I stood in the main room, chin lifted, and Sir Jiat fastened my new tag on the ring of my collar. It was official. I was his. No one could deny it now, and I certainly didn't want to. In the course of a week, I'd gained nine pounds, my skin was golden from hours spent in the sun in Sir Jiat's rear yard, and I'd never been as well rested. Nights were spent warm in Sir Jiat's bed. My hair brushed until gleaming, my belly full from a day of meals, and my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Each night, I prayed to know what it was that I'd done to be blessed with such a master.

"I have a surprise for you," Sir Jiat said. I watched him reach for my leash. "There is a meeting of my like-minded associates today. They are bringing their pets with them, and I think it is high time you socialized."

Fear struck me to my core. Socialize? With other pets? I'd never done that before. I was a one-pet home. My previous masters hadn't taken me out. I knew the home, the yard, and the physician's office. The closest I'd come to socialization was peeking through the slats of a fence separating me from another pet or the occasional romp in the pound's lackluster play yard. Socialize? What was expected of me? What was I to do? How was I to ensure I didn't humiliate my master?

Sir Jiat fastened the leash to my collar, and then he brought our eyes together. "I can scent your fear. Do you fear going out? Meeting other owners? Or is it the pets that make you tremble?"

I'd learned, since coming to Sir Jiat's home, that if he asked me questions, he truly wanted my answers. Usually, I didn't hesitate. But I was hesitating, not wanting to ruin his outing. I didn't want to embarrass him, but at the same time, I didn't want to prevent his own ability to socialize with his friends.

"Answer me, Ewan." Sir Jiat's tone was firm, kind, and he gave just the smallest tug on my leash.

"Other than the pound, I've not met other pets. I don't know what it is you will want me to do," I said, heat rising in my cheeks.

Sir Jiat smiled. "I want you to have fun. There is a large yard for you all to run around in, sun yourselves, and Lady Freeya will provide you with delicious things to eat. I want you to have fun."

I tilted my head, unsure. Fun? With other pets?

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Sir Jiat helped me into my sandals. "Fun, Ewan. Where you laugh and talk and play. Nothing more than that. It's casual. There's no need to be nervous, and you won't disappoint me in any way unless you keep yourself apart from everyone. These pets can be your friends, if you let them."

Friends. I knew that word. It was what Kica had called the young women who'd visit her home. They'd giggle, talk about some boy or girl in their classes, and eat fattening pastries while grooming their nails. It hadn't seemed like much fun, and when I was allowed to watch, most of what they said to each other seemed disingenuous or cruel. That didn't make me think 'enjoyable' in the slightest. Maybe pets who were friends with one another were different. We didn't have classes or girls and boys to gossip about, though fattening pastries and grooming did sound promising.

Religion In Fiction

A discussion on Goodreads really rubbed at me. It was a talk about religion in M/M fiction, though what I have to say really applies to religion in all fiction.

Religion exists. I'm not big on organized religion (as I identify as eclectic pagan), and those in my life don't lean toward the religious. K. is about as religious as those in my life get, which is not all that much. She has her faith, identifies as Christian, but that's about as far as it goes. We don't discuss religion too much, as I have a very negative view of Christianity as a whole, but I respect her religion and she respects my lack of religion. I'm more spiritual than religious.

That doesn't mean I pretend religion doesn't exist or that it has no place in fiction – especially in gay fiction of any kind. Religion has its place. Characters should have wide, diverse lives and opinions. Religion, sexuality, friends, jobs, everything. Having readers demand tolerance of sexuality and race but be so very… negative and intolerant of religion makes me sad. To ask for tolerance while being intolerant isn't a pretty.

Personally, regardless of reception, I like writing in the Christian mythology. The Keeper's biggest complaint is that it has a religious backdrop. Well, it sort of had to given who the main character was. I know Morningstar has been given some negativity because it's religious backdrop (again, main character is from Christian mythology… how else could it have been told?). I also have a couple other pieces that are steeped in Christian mythology as well as others coming in the future.

I don't like making my 'villains' fanatically religious. It bothers me to depict Christianity as a terrible thing. While I know there are bad aspects of it, I don't like to include those in my fiction beyond a mention or two (like the priest Hadi sees in The Keeper). I prefer my villains to have more than religion driving them and their hate.

Religion should be a part of fiction, especially character driven fiction like romances. Anything a writer can add to their character gives them depth, believability. I love multi-faceted characters. In fact, most of my negative reviews for books are because characters wind up being too flat for me to identify with and root for. Giving them friends, family, religion, political view, schooling… it all adds up to character development and depth, and to simply say, 'No religion in M/M!' is about as bad as 'No women in M/M!' to me.

I might be in the minority. I might be one of the few people to take offense to something that was probably meant to be a casual conversation. But, in the end, the tone of the conversation was very negative in many ways, and such intolerance in a community that preaches tolerance was bothersome. I just needed to get that out there, out of me.

Religion isn't bad, and it shouldn't be treated like the red-haired stepchild.

"52 Weeks" Teaser

K. Piet and I have begun work on 52 Weeks. It's slow going because, well, juggling a publishing house, life, and writing can get overwhelming at times. Still, we've begun it, which is always a good step. It's about Aspen, an androgynous man who crossdresses as a woman to cocktease men and get free drinks. It's a good gig, until he hits on Rhys, a man who has been burned pretty badly in his past, and then Aspen launches on a year-long exploration into his own desires, lusts, and needs.

It's a psychological BDSM love story, and we can't wait to share it. For now, you get a little teaser.

—

Aspen danced his way across the floor of Pacha's main level, reveling in the thump of the electronica and the occasional hand on his hip as he smiled and teased his way toward the bar. It always began with a trip around the floor, as if he were casting a line into the sea of writhing bodies and using himself as bait. If he lingered a little next to a group of guys, it was almost inevitable that one of them would work up the balls to follow him, and he was an expert. A sultry look through his blond hair, a sway of hips, and a girlish laugh and twirl were usually all it took, and tonight was no exception.

He'd already made two rounds, and that had netted him three free drinks. Not a bad start, but they were appetizers, college boys looking for an easy lay. He wasn't about to give them the satisfaction, and after suckering them into a drink or two, he would usually cut them loose. Sexual frustration was a bitch, and he wasn't a complete asshole. At least, not tonight. Tonight felt good, and he was just enjoying the thrill of the hunt. Another round of the dancefloor, and he snatched an empty seat at the bar. He wasn't joined immediately, but he didn't mind. It meant a little rest, and he bent down for a moment, leaning over his crossed knees to adjust the strap on one of his heels. Definitely the best shoe purchase he had made in a while. His feet would hurt, of course, but not as badly, and damn if the heels didn't make his legs look amazing.

"Nice heels!"

The compliment nearly had to be yelled for Aspen to hear it, but it made him look up through his hair. Score. He took in the sight of the man as he straightened, pushing a lock of his hair back behind his ear with a feminine flourish. Tall, well-dressed in a button-down shirt, the color a deep green that made the man's dark hair and eyes look amazing. Aspen smiled up at him, pitching his voice a bit higher than normal as he shouted back. "Thanks! Brand new. You wouldn't believe the deal I got on them."

"They make your legs look brilliant," the man said, and now Aspen could hear a distinctly British accent. It made his heart race just a little. No matter how many foreign accents he had heard in New York City, the British ones just made him think of high society and big money. He just knew Pacha was the right choice tonight; this guy was definitely the catch of the evening.

He fluttered his eyelashes and gestured effeminately, almost swiping at him. "Aww. Stop it! You're making me blush."

The man stepped closer, just like Aspen wanted. "Can I buy you a drink, love?"

"That'd be great! Thank you," Aspen said, flicking his hair back over his shoulder with a practiced snap of his neck. The man leaned into the bar, steadying himself with a hand on Aspen's shoulder. The hand wasn't clammy like most guys' were. He usually made the guys sweat, made them so nervous about being around a hot chick that they overcompensated with their wallets, but this guy was calm and collected. Aspen loved a challenge.

"I'll have a Clear Creek Stinger and…" The man trailed off, gesturing to Aspen.

"A Yellow Bird with Bacardi for me, please," Aspen chimed in, leaning against the bar just so, his arms propping up his fake bust in a way that would look natural and alluring. He caught the Brit staring and fought not to smirk. The bartender gave him a look, but it was gone in a flash, and he just smiled. Yes, he'd had a few drinks so far, but with all the dancing, he was more than ready for another round. He would have asked for a stronger drink, but this was an investment. Something more substantial could wait for the second drink. He'd make sure there was a second from this guy.