Kaje Harper's Blog, page 43
December 29, 2011
"Where the Heart Is" releases tomorrow
My holiday short story from MLR Press, Where the Heart Is , will be released tomorrow, December 30th. This is the one I talked about in November, that is part of MLR's 42 Days of Holidays. I'm second to last, as that wonderful series winds to a close. Those of you who have read some of these stories know it has been a great line-up. I hope you will enjoy mine too. When I wrote it, I was in the mood for simple and sweet. So here is the blurb:
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Dr. Trevor Carson had a good life as a city veterinarian, until his father died. Taking over his dad’s remote country practice was supposed to be temporary, but Trevor found himself loving the place. If only it didn’t mean separation from his partner, Michael. A Christmas visit from Michael gives each of them a chance to decide if home is a place or a person.
And if that sounds like something that would entertain you as 2011 comes to an end, you can buy it at MLR Press or from Amazon and All Romance eBooks as soon as it posts there.
I want to wish all my friends and readers a wonderful 2012 with lots of amazing books. (Looking at my own To-Be-Read list, I don't think anyone will be running out of great books to enjoy any time soon. So many wonderful authors I've found this year!) I'm sure I'll be back on New Year's Eve to post something about the amazing ride this year has been - until then, happy reading.
December 24, 2011
Happy Holidays!
Best wishes to one and all for a joyful holiday weekend. May you find fun and simple pleasures with family, friends and good books. And I wish for each of you some unexpected moment of sweetness to make your holiday bright. Mine was finding, when I dragged in from work late last night, that my teenagers had baked the holiday cookies I had promised to do and not had time for. There was the cookie box, filled and complete.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
Happy Holidays, everyone!
December 22, 2011
Win Unacceptable Risk and see an excerpt from The Rebuilding Year
Today, Dec. 23rd, I'm doing a guest spot on Kathleen Hayes' blog Romancing the Word. Kathleen has been doing a wonderful 12 Days of Christmas Extravaganza with author interviews and excerpts and book giveaways and more. There are just a few days left. Visit her website for the chance to win a copy of Unacceptable Risk. You can also read the excerpt that Samhain has selected for The Rebuilding Year. This one finds my two main characters, John and Ryan, the afternoon of Halloween. After their first meeting, in the Chapter 1 excerpt I posted this week, Ryan is now renting a room from John. This new excerpt shows the guys becoming more comfortable with each other, or perhaps that's less comfortable. Enjoy another brief glimpse of the book, which will release on March 6th, and good luck with the free book contest.
December 20, 2011
The Rebuilding Year Chapter 1
OK, I couldn't resist. On those rare occasions when I read any excerpt, I like the first chapter. So for those who do like to get a taste of a book ahead of release, and prefer to begin at the beginning, here is the first chapter of The Rebuilding Year. Hope you enjoy meeting Ryan and John.
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The Rebuilding Year from Samhain Publishing
Copyright © 2011 by Kaje Harper
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
He felt it before it happened. After all these months, he was sickeningly familiar with the sensation as the ligaments in his knee failed to hold, spilling
him on his ass. Only this time it happened as he took that first step down a set of stone stairs. Shit! He grabbed for a rail, realized there was none, and that he was going down hard. He slid, felt the crunch as his tailbone hit, and then the back of his head met the concrete.
Jesus! For a long moment there was nothing but flashes of light and a ringing in his ears. He would have begged it to stop if he’d thought it would help. Eventually, his vision cleared a little and he was looking up into a pair of concerned eyes. Really pretty eyes, the hazel that mixes grey and green and gold, framed by long auburn lashes.
Great. He’d managed to fall flat on his ass right in front of that gorgeous, tall redhead from his class. The one with the nice, um, assets. Way to go, Ryan. Great first impression. Except his vision was still clearing, and those pretty eyes were bracketed by laugh lines and the eyebrows were thick, and okay, so not a tall, gorgeous redhead. The man bending over him had to be in his late thirties, tanned and craggy-featured. His mouth was moving, and Ryan strained to make out the words through that damned ringing.
“...and I’ll get some help, okay?” There was a hand on his shoulder, pinning
him down. “Don’t move.”
When the face receded, Ryan made a grab and caught hold of fabric. A sleeve. “Wait. I’m okay. Just give me a second. I’m fine.”
The man leaned closer. “You don’t look fine.”
“Rang my bell a little.” More literally than he had imagined. But the ringing was easing off.
He tried to sit up and was pinned in place by that firm hand. “You should hold still and let a doctor look at you.”
“I’m fine.” Bad enough that he’d left his cane at home, hoping not to start med school as the old guy with the cane. He would be damned if he’d start it as the guy who left halfway through the first day in an ambulance. It was just pain. God knew he could handle pain. “I’m just going to sit up. I’ll go slow.”
“Um, okay.” The hand left his shoulder, but slid behind his back to help him ease up.
The guy was strong. Ryan barely made an effort and he was sitting. And
wow, the world was tilting. He held as still as possible and waited for it to pass. “See, I’m good. I don’t need a doctor.”
The man kneeling beside him offered a wry grin. “There’s lots of them around. You should take advantage.”
Meet your professors up close and personal. No thanks. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I just need a minute. You don’t have to wait.”
“I don’t mind.” The man sat, clasping his arms around his knees, and watched closely.
“I’ll get up in a minute,” Ryan said. He hoped. Because when the knee gave out like that, it sometimes was really stubborn about going back to work. He looked around. He was at the bottom of the steps of the back door to Carlson Hall. It was pretty secluded, screened by bushes. This door evidently didn’t get a lot of use. He had figured it would cut a few steps out of the trek to Physiology class, save the leg a bit, to come out this way and cut across the grass. Talk about a plan that backfired.
Still, so far he hadn’t drawn a crowd. He’d be all right if he could just get up. And then walk. Shit.
He rolled over to his hands and knees and pushed up carefully, mainly using
the right leg. A strong hand under his elbow steadied him.
“What did you do to the leg?” The man’s hip was close to his own, bracing him as he swayed. “Sprain it?”
“No. God, no.” He tried a laugh. “I have a trick knee is all. It gives out on me sometimes. It just takes a moment to get better. I’ll be fine now, thank you. You can get back to...” Class? Work? The guy looked too old to be a med student, but not dressed like staff. And he’d indicated he wasn’t a doctor. A really laid-back professor? Ryan shifted his weight onto his left leg, and felt the knee give. Nope, not yet.
Those fingers still held his elbow in a secure grip. The man leaned closer, and then Ryan felt a gentle touch across the back of his head. “You’re bleeding.” The man showed him a smear of red across callused fingertips.
“Shit!” Ryan looked at his watch. Ten minutes to get to class. “I don’t have time for this.” He staggered a step. He didn’t fall. But that was about all that could be said for it.
“Did you have a cane or something?”
“Left it at home.” Ryan bit off the words. Yeah, that had been stupid. But he’d been better lately. And he got tired of the looks and the questions. But he’d underestimated the amount of walking between classes, and the dearth of elevators. And the stupid pride that made you climb the stairs twice, because your classmates were doing it.
“Okay,” the guy said. “Look, just stand there for a minute. Can you do that?”
As Ryan watched him, yeah, standing there because right now that was about all he could do, the man went over to a backpack on the ground. He reached in and pulled out, of all things, a short pruning saw. Ten feet away, a big maple tree spread its branches out over the grass. The guy walked over to it and, cool as you please, began cutting off a branch.
“Um,” Ryan called, “I don’t think...” The branch hit the ground, and the guy gave him a grin.
He brought the stick over, flipped it, and grounded the butt at Ryan’s feet. “Up to wrist level okay?”
“Um...”
The saw flashed, short sharp strokes, and then the twiggy end fell away, leaving a thick cane with a serviceable bend as a handle. The lunatic with the saw held the improvised cane out. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said automatically. He took it, leaned his weight, and yeah, that was better.
The guy was still grinning at him. “Don’t worry.” His voice was an amused rumble. “You won’t get arrested by the campus cops. Trimming that dead branch was on my to-do list anyway. This just means I got to it sooner.” He held out a hand. “John Barrett. I’m the head groundskeeper.”
And not a lunatic. Ryan was surprised at his relief. “Ryan Ward. Med school, first year.” The guy’s grip was firm and dry, rough and callused.
“Great first day, huh?” Barrett said.
“Peachy.”
“Hang on one second. I’ve got something for your head.” Barrett went over and rummaged in his pack. He came up with a disinfectant wipe in a foil pouch, and passed it over. Ryan must have looked bemused, because the older man smiled. “I have kids. You get used to carrying those around. And I like to get the pine sap off my hands sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Ryan reached up, awkwardly swiping at the back of his head.
After a minute the other man said, “Here, let me.” He took the wipe from Ryan’s fingers and stepped behind him. The man’s touch was gentle. Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, as careful fingers parted his hair, dabbed at his scalp.
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to bleed much more, but you’re going to have one hell of a bruise. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor? You might have a concussion.”
“Nope.” Ryan propped his eyelids back open and reached for a smile. “I’ve taken a whack or two in my day, and I know what a concussion feels like. This is just a pain in the...head. Thanks again. I imagine patching students up isn’t in your job description.”
“Now that’s what I like about this job. I make my own job description.” Barrett folded the red-smeared wipe into the foil, and stuck it in his pocket. “So if you’re really going to walk to class, I’m going to tag along, just to make sure you don’t fall over.”
Not like there was any way Ryan could stop him. He took a careful step. With the help of the cane, he could do it. It wasn’t fun, and tonight would be bad, but for now he could still walk. Physiology class was in Smythe Hall. He could gimp that far.
Bonaventure College had a pretty campus. Paths between the buildings wound through flowerbeds, bright with fall annuals. The trees showed just a hint of the color to come. This path was crushed rock, not paved. The edges were bordered by embedded bricks, a color contrast with the stone. Ryan would have admired the effect, if he hadn’t had to grit his teeth and concentrate on just putting one foot safely in front of the other.
Barrett walked beside him. The man was three inches taller than Ryan — he had to be holding back his stride, but he made the easy pace seem natural. Ryan fumbled for something to say. “Don’t worry about the blood,” he offered. “I mean mine, on your hands. I’ve been tested recently and I’m negative for anything blood-borne.” Which sounded like he’d done a gay date panel... “I mean, I tested because I had some transfusions and...” Oops, not going there either. “I mean, you should wash up, but you don’t need to be worried.”
The man had a great smile, slow and wide. “I wasn’t.”
“So, been working here long? I mean...the campus looks great.” What was wrong with him? Maybe getting whacked on the head knocked out all of his small-talk skills.
“Two years. And thank you.”
And here was Smythe Hall, thank goodness. And his classmates still streaming up the steps. Ryan pivoted partway and held out his hand. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ryan shifted his backpack on his shoulder, and gripped the cane a little harder. Ten feet of path, seven wide stairs with, thank you, Jesus, a railing. And then the last class of this long day. And at the base of those stairs, one of his classmates, the little, perky blonde, was smiling at him. He headed her way as evenly as he could manage.
**
John watched as Ryan walked over to a short, blonde girl. The guy was tough, no doubt about it. He’d really taken a fall. John remembered his own flash of fear as he’d seen the man go over, the loud crack of head on unyielding concrete. For a panicked moment, John had thought he was dead. Ryan must have a skull like iron to get right back up from that.
The guy was older than most of the students around here, probably pushing thirty, from one side or the other. Although with the medical school on campus, it wasn’t all undergraduates. Bonaventure College was small, and not prestigious. The students were perhaps a more mixed group than at your standard Ivy.
Today there was a new crowd among the old familiar faces. A new school year, the seniors gone, freshmen coming in. Although John had nothing to do with the students officially, he grew to recognize many of them. He’d worked the past two years to encourage them to spend more time outdoors on his campus, in the fresh air. New paths, new benches, arbors that invited romantic cuddling. He had a lot more plans, but he liked the way the campus was shaping up. His predecessor had been a dour traditionalist, known mainly for yelling at the students the moment they got off the paved paths. John wanted those kids to enjoy the space.
His pocket crackled as he turned, and he made a detour to unload the wipe wrapper into a trashcan. Good thing he’d had that. Although his smile dimmed as he remembered. I have kids. Closer to say I had kids. Cynthia had called that morning to postpone the kids’ visit again. New year of school, hard to adjust, too much stress to travel right now—she had all kinds of excuses. Truth was, she just didn’t want the kids around him and he didn’t have the money or the energy to fight her for his visitation rights every time. He’d call them tonight. Or tomorrow, when he wasn’t so angry and disappointed that it would show through.
He hadn’t seen them in two months. And they were changing so fast. When they visited in July, his Torey had been wearing makeup! Not very expertly, but still, Jesus, last he remembered she was a tomboy climbing the trees. That maple tree he’d lopped the branch off had been a favorite of hers just last summer.
He shook his head hard to banish the mood. Kids grew up, that was life. He was still their father, whatever Cynthia’s new husband, Brandon Pretentious Carlisle, might think. And so what if he was now a groundskeeper and not some fancy high-priced lawyer. The kids had fun here. And he’d better finish trimming up that maple, before someone else tried climbing it and found the other dead branch with their feet. He headed off with long strides to take a sharp saw to some nice hard wood.
It was several hours of cutting, raking and uprooting invasive buckthorn before he felt calm enough that he was ready to head home. If he was tired enough, the shower beckoned more than the barstool. He’d hung around the entrance to Smythe Hall when classes let out. Just in case. The Ryan guy had made it down the stairs okay, and headed for the bus stop. He’d been moving pretty crap, but he got a lot better when the blonde ran up and walked with him. The wonders of testosterone.
His grounds crew had called it quits an hour ago. He had five guys, all immigrants. Legal, he assumed, but it was the college’s problem to verify that. He just kept them on track. Truth be told, these guys worked harder than a lot of the native-born Americans he’d dealt with over the years. All was currently peaceful in his mini United Nations, since Manuel had left. Take out the one complaining hothead, and the others turned out to be a nice bunch. He expected some would leave as unpredictably as they arrived, but for now he had enough good hands to think about a serious run at the buckthorn bushes. He wandered toward his truck, plotting his assault.
A light in the gloom of the aspen grove caught his eye. It looked like a flame, maybe a lighter. He hadn’t spotted that location as a favorite for lighting up, but new students, new choices. He headed over to have a word.
He wasn’t a fanatic. The smell of cigarettes offended him, but everyone was entitled to their vices. Heaven knew he had his own. A little pot didn’t bother him either. He figured it was pretty harmless stuff. It was the open flame down there that worried him. The aspen leaves were falling early this year, and the ground was dry and carpeted. The last thing he needed was a fire.
As he neared the grove, the flame still wavered. Not a lighter, then. A soft voice was singing in a breathy whisper, something about the moon’s orb. He spotted the singer and paused, surprised.
He didn’t know the girl’s name, but he’d seen her around. She’d been a drab, mousy thing when she’d arrived on campus two years ago. Mid-brown hair, mid-brown eyes, bad skin and a slightly hunched posture that screamed, kick me. She was one of those who had bloomed in college. Her skin was now clear, her hair long and braided.
But she’d always seemed, if anything, too serious. She worked in the lab of one of the medical faculty, helping with some kind of research. Sometimes he saw her leaving work in the evenings. She always strode quickly down the well-
lit paths to the dorms. She had never wandered the grounds with, of all things, a lighted candle.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said softly from a distance. He didn’t want to startle her into dropping the candle. The girl turned slowly to face him, her eyes shining in the flickering glow.
“The trees live, you know,” she said, with a smile.
“Um, yes, they do.” What the hell?
“It breathes, all around us. It speaks, if we could only understand it.”
Okaaay. He edged closer. “What’s your name?”
“Alice. I’m Alice. All of this is Alice too, in a way.” She smiled again, and made a wide gesture with the candle that set the flame flickering and spilled wax. A drop of hot wax landed on her hand, but she ignored it. “Isn’t it great?”
“Listen, Alice.” He kept his voice gentle. “I think we should blow out the candle now. This place is a bit dry to have a flame burning.”
“Is it?” She bent and puffed a breath onto the flame. It went out, leaving a small red glow at the tip of the wick. “Oh, that’s lovely too.” Her face was joyful and serene.
He wondered what she was on. He wondered where he could get some. “Come on, Alice,” he said, holding out a hand. “I think you should head back to your room. I bet it’s lovely there too.”
“It doesn’t sing like the woods.” But she stepped toward him obediently and put her hand in his. He slipped a finger across her wrist. Her pulse was strong, slow and even. Her skin was cool, not feverish. He didn’t smell booze, or pot.
“Come on.” He led her carefully up the slope. No way was he going to leave her to wander around the campus in her state. They were a small school, and the campus was probably safer than many, but if some man walked up to her and invited her home tonight, he’d bet she would find that lovely too. At least until morning.
“Which dorm are you in, Alice?”
“Where the moon shines down. Where the chestnuts grow.”
As far as he knew there were no chestnut trees on campus. Horse chestnuts, yes. Maybe it was poetic license. He headed in the right direction for undergraduate housing. Maybe when they got close she’d give him a clue.
They walked past the first tower, the freshman dorms. Then past the second block of midyear rooms. He was rethinking his strategy when she turned abruptly in on the path to Clarence Hall.
“This is my stop,” she said gaily. “Good night, sweet prince. Night’s candles are burnt out.” She pulled her hand out of his and gravely handed him the half-
melted candle.
“Um?” said a voice from behind John.
He turned quickly, and found himself face-to-face with a sardonic young woman with dyed red hair.
“Oh good,” he said quickly. He didn’t want to give her time to start speculating. “Do you live here? Because this girl seems to think she does too. I found her wandering around the grounds with a candle. Whatever she’s on, I think she’d be better off safe in her rooms. Could you see that she gets there?”
The girl made a face, but then shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve seen her around. She’s on the third floor.” She went to the door and swiped her card through the reader. The door clicked and she pulled it open. “Come on, then.”
“Go on to bed,” John urged Alice gently.
Alice looked at him. “If the moon lasts, there’s always a tomorrow.”
“Whatever you took tonight, I think it’s a little strong for you,” John said. “I would stay away from it tomorrow. Go on in now.”
She gave him another radiant smile, but turned obediently and followed the redhead inside. John breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed. Not that she couldn’t just leave again, but the other girl didn’t seem the type to take any nonsense.
It was a lovely night, in fact. The air was soft and cool. The moon had risen, and where the electric lights dimmed, it was still bright enough to see the beds of flowers, and the waving stalks of plume grass. The shapes of his bushes and trees took on a bulk and a softness they lacked in the sunlight. Maybe Alice had things right. There was always a tomorrow. John headed for home.
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The Rebuilding Year from Samhain Publishing
Copyright © 2011 by Kaje Harper
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
He felt it before it happened. After all these months, he was sickeningly familiar with the sensation as the ligaments in his knee failed to hold, spilling
him on his ass. Only this time it happened as he took that first step down a set of stone stairs. Shit! He grabbed for a rail, realized there was none, and that he was going down hard. He slid, felt the crunch as his tailbone hit, and then the back of his head met the concrete.
Jesus! For a long moment there was nothing but flashes of light and a ringing in his ears. He would have begged it to stop if he’d thought it would help. Eventually, his vision cleared a little and he was looking up into a pair of concerned eyes. Really pretty eyes, the hazel that mixes grey and green and gold, framed by long auburn lashes.
Great. He’d managed to fall flat on his ass right in front of that gorgeous, tall redhead from his class. The one with the nice, um, assets. Way to go, Ryan. Great first impression. Except his vision was still clearing, and those pretty eyes were bracketed by laugh lines and the eyebrows were thick, and okay, so not a tall, gorgeous redhead. The man bending over him had to be in his late thirties, tanned and craggy-featured. His mouth was moving, and Ryan strained to make out the words through that damned ringing.
“...and I’ll get some help, okay?” There was a hand on his shoulder, pinning
him down. “Don’t move.”
When the face receded, Ryan made a grab and caught hold of fabric. A sleeve. “Wait. I’m okay. Just give me a second. I’m fine.”
The man leaned closer. “You don’t look fine.”
“Rang my bell a little.” More literally than he had imagined. But the ringing was easing off.
He tried to sit up and was pinned in place by that firm hand. “You should hold still and let a doctor look at you.”
“I’m fine.” Bad enough that he’d left his cane at home, hoping not to start med school as the old guy with the cane. He would be damned if he’d start it as the guy who left halfway through the first day in an ambulance. It was just pain. God knew he could handle pain. “I’m just going to sit up. I’ll go slow.”
“Um, okay.” The hand left his shoulder, but slid behind his back to help him ease up.
The guy was strong. Ryan barely made an effort and he was sitting. And
wow, the world was tilting. He held as still as possible and waited for it to pass. “See, I’m good. I don’t need a doctor.”
The man kneeling beside him offered a wry grin. “There’s lots of them around. You should take advantage.”
Meet your professors up close and personal. No thanks. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I just need a minute. You don’t have to wait.”
“I don’t mind.” The man sat, clasping his arms around his knees, and watched closely.
“I’ll get up in a minute,” Ryan said. He hoped. Because when the knee gave out like that, it sometimes was really stubborn about going back to work. He looked around. He was at the bottom of the steps of the back door to Carlson Hall. It was pretty secluded, screened by bushes. This door evidently didn’t get a lot of use. He had figured it would cut a few steps out of the trek to Physiology class, save the leg a bit, to come out this way and cut across the grass. Talk about a plan that backfired.
Still, so far he hadn’t drawn a crowd. He’d be all right if he could just get up. And then walk. Shit.
He rolled over to his hands and knees and pushed up carefully, mainly using
the right leg. A strong hand under his elbow steadied him.
“What did you do to the leg?” The man’s hip was close to his own, bracing him as he swayed. “Sprain it?”
“No. God, no.” He tried a laugh. “I have a trick knee is all. It gives out on me sometimes. It just takes a moment to get better. I’ll be fine now, thank you. You can get back to...” Class? Work? The guy looked too old to be a med student, but not dressed like staff. And he’d indicated he wasn’t a doctor. A really laid-back professor? Ryan shifted his weight onto his left leg, and felt the knee give. Nope, not yet.
Those fingers still held his elbow in a secure grip. The man leaned closer, and then Ryan felt a gentle touch across the back of his head. “You’re bleeding.” The man showed him a smear of red across callused fingertips.
“Shit!” Ryan looked at his watch. Ten minutes to get to class. “I don’t have time for this.” He staggered a step. He didn’t fall. But that was about all that could be said for it.
“Did you have a cane or something?”
“Left it at home.” Ryan bit off the words. Yeah, that had been stupid. But he’d been better lately. And he got tired of the looks and the questions. But he’d underestimated the amount of walking between classes, and the dearth of elevators. And the stupid pride that made you climb the stairs twice, because your classmates were doing it.
“Okay,” the guy said. “Look, just stand there for a minute. Can you do that?”
As Ryan watched him, yeah, standing there because right now that was about all he could do, the man went over to a backpack on the ground. He reached in and pulled out, of all things, a short pruning saw. Ten feet away, a big maple tree spread its branches out over the grass. The guy walked over to it and, cool as you please, began cutting off a branch.
“Um,” Ryan called, “I don’t think...” The branch hit the ground, and the guy gave him a grin.
He brought the stick over, flipped it, and grounded the butt at Ryan’s feet. “Up to wrist level okay?”
“Um...”
The saw flashed, short sharp strokes, and then the twiggy end fell away, leaving a thick cane with a serviceable bend as a handle. The lunatic with the saw held the improvised cane out. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said automatically. He took it, leaned his weight, and yeah, that was better.
The guy was still grinning at him. “Don’t worry.” His voice was an amused rumble. “You won’t get arrested by the campus cops. Trimming that dead branch was on my to-do list anyway. This just means I got to it sooner.” He held out a hand. “John Barrett. I’m the head groundskeeper.”
And not a lunatic. Ryan was surprised at his relief. “Ryan Ward. Med school, first year.” The guy’s grip was firm and dry, rough and callused.
“Great first day, huh?” Barrett said.
“Peachy.”
“Hang on one second. I’ve got something for your head.” Barrett went over and rummaged in his pack. He came up with a disinfectant wipe in a foil pouch, and passed it over. Ryan must have looked bemused, because the older man smiled. “I have kids. You get used to carrying those around. And I like to get the pine sap off my hands sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Ryan reached up, awkwardly swiping at the back of his head.
After a minute the other man said, “Here, let me.” He took the wipe from Ryan’s fingers and stepped behind him. The man’s touch was gentle. Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, as careful fingers parted his hair, dabbed at his scalp.
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to bleed much more, but you’re going to have one hell of a bruise. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor? You might have a concussion.”
“Nope.” Ryan propped his eyelids back open and reached for a smile. “I’ve taken a whack or two in my day, and I know what a concussion feels like. This is just a pain in the...head. Thanks again. I imagine patching students up isn’t in your job description.”
“Now that’s what I like about this job. I make my own job description.” Barrett folded the red-smeared wipe into the foil, and stuck it in his pocket. “So if you’re really going to walk to class, I’m going to tag along, just to make sure you don’t fall over.”
Not like there was any way Ryan could stop him. He took a careful step. With the help of the cane, he could do it. It wasn’t fun, and tonight would be bad, but for now he could still walk. Physiology class was in Smythe Hall. He could gimp that far.
Bonaventure College had a pretty campus. Paths between the buildings wound through flowerbeds, bright with fall annuals. The trees showed just a hint of the color to come. This path was crushed rock, not paved. The edges were bordered by embedded bricks, a color contrast with the stone. Ryan would have admired the effect, if he hadn’t had to grit his teeth and concentrate on just putting one foot safely in front of the other.
Barrett walked beside him. The man was three inches taller than Ryan — he had to be holding back his stride, but he made the easy pace seem natural. Ryan fumbled for something to say. “Don’t worry about the blood,” he offered. “I mean mine, on your hands. I’ve been tested recently and I’m negative for anything blood-borne.” Which sounded like he’d done a gay date panel... “I mean, I tested because I had some transfusions and...” Oops, not going there either. “I mean, you should wash up, but you don’t need to be worried.”
The man had a great smile, slow and wide. “I wasn’t.”
“So, been working here long? I mean...the campus looks great.” What was wrong with him? Maybe getting whacked on the head knocked out all of his small-talk skills.
“Two years. And thank you.”
And here was Smythe Hall, thank goodness. And his classmates still streaming up the steps. Ryan pivoted partway and held out his hand. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ryan shifted his backpack on his shoulder, and gripped the cane a little harder. Ten feet of path, seven wide stairs with, thank you, Jesus, a railing. And then the last class of this long day. And at the base of those stairs, one of his classmates, the little, perky blonde, was smiling at him. He headed her way as evenly as he could manage.
**
John watched as Ryan walked over to a short, blonde girl. The guy was tough, no doubt about it. He’d really taken a fall. John remembered his own flash of fear as he’d seen the man go over, the loud crack of head on unyielding concrete. For a panicked moment, John had thought he was dead. Ryan must have a skull like iron to get right back up from that.
The guy was older than most of the students around here, probably pushing thirty, from one side or the other. Although with the medical school on campus, it wasn’t all undergraduates. Bonaventure College was small, and not prestigious. The students were perhaps a more mixed group than at your standard Ivy.
Today there was a new crowd among the old familiar faces. A new school year, the seniors gone, freshmen coming in. Although John had nothing to do with the students officially, he grew to recognize many of them. He’d worked the past two years to encourage them to spend more time outdoors on his campus, in the fresh air. New paths, new benches, arbors that invited romantic cuddling. He had a lot more plans, but he liked the way the campus was shaping up. His predecessor had been a dour traditionalist, known mainly for yelling at the students the moment they got off the paved paths. John wanted those kids to enjoy the space.
His pocket crackled as he turned, and he made a detour to unload the wipe wrapper into a trashcan. Good thing he’d had that. Although his smile dimmed as he remembered. I have kids. Closer to say I had kids. Cynthia had called that morning to postpone the kids’ visit again. New year of school, hard to adjust, too much stress to travel right now—she had all kinds of excuses. Truth was, she just didn’t want the kids around him and he didn’t have the money or the energy to fight her for his visitation rights every time. He’d call them tonight. Or tomorrow, when he wasn’t so angry and disappointed that it would show through.
He hadn’t seen them in two months. And they were changing so fast. When they visited in July, his Torey had been wearing makeup! Not very expertly, but still, Jesus, last he remembered she was a tomboy climbing the trees. That maple tree he’d lopped the branch off had been a favorite of hers just last summer.
He shook his head hard to banish the mood. Kids grew up, that was life. He was still their father, whatever Cynthia’s new husband, Brandon Pretentious Carlisle, might think. And so what if he was now a groundskeeper and not some fancy high-priced lawyer. The kids had fun here. And he’d better finish trimming up that maple, before someone else tried climbing it and found the other dead branch with their feet. He headed off with long strides to take a sharp saw to some nice hard wood.
It was several hours of cutting, raking and uprooting invasive buckthorn before he felt calm enough that he was ready to head home. If he was tired enough, the shower beckoned more than the barstool. He’d hung around the entrance to Smythe Hall when classes let out. Just in case. The Ryan guy had made it down the stairs okay, and headed for the bus stop. He’d been moving pretty crap, but he got a lot better when the blonde ran up and walked with him. The wonders of testosterone.
His grounds crew had called it quits an hour ago. He had five guys, all immigrants. Legal, he assumed, but it was the college’s problem to verify that. He just kept them on track. Truth be told, these guys worked harder than a lot of the native-born Americans he’d dealt with over the years. All was currently peaceful in his mini United Nations, since Manuel had left. Take out the one complaining hothead, and the others turned out to be a nice bunch. He expected some would leave as unpredictably as they arrived, but for now he had enough good hands to think about a serious run at the buckthorn bushes. He wandered toward his truck, plotting his assault.
A light in the gloom of the aspen grove caught his eye. It looked like a flame, maybe a lighter. He hadn’t spotted that location as a favorite for lighting up, but new students, new choices. He headed over to have a word.
He wasn’t a fanatic. The smell of cigarettes offended him, but everyone was entitled to their vices. Heaven knew he had his own. A little pot didn’t bother him either. He figured it was pretty harmless stuff. It was the open flame down there that worried him. The aspen leaves were falling early this year, and the ground was dry and carpeted. The last thing he needed was a fire.
As he neared the grove, the flame still wavered. Not a lighter, then. A soft voice was singing in a breathy whisper, something about the moon’s orb. He spotted the singer and paused, surprised.
He didn’t know the girl’s name, but he’d seen her around. She’d been a drab, mousy thing when she’d arrived on campus two years ago. Mid-brown hair, mid-brown eyes, bad skin and a slightly hunched posture that screamed, kick me. She was one of those who had bloomed in college. Her skin was now clear, her hair long and braided.
But she’d always seemed, if anything, too serious. She worked in the lab of one of the medical faculty, helping with some kind of research. Sometimes he saw her leaving work in the evenings. She always strode quickly down the well-
lit paths to the dorms. She had never wandered the grounds with, of all things, a lighted candle.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said softly from a distance. He didn’t want to startle her into dropping the candle. The girl turned slowly to face him, her eyes shining in the flickering glow.
“The trees live, you know,” she said, with a smile.
“Um, yes, they do.” What the hell?
“It breathes, all around us. It speaks, if we could only understand it.”
Okaaay. He edged closer. “What’s your name?”
“Alice. I’m Alice. All of this is Alice too, in a way.” She smiled again, and made a wide gesture with the candle that set the flame flickering and spilled wax. A drop of hot wax landed on her hand, but she ignored it. “Isn’t it great?”
“Listen, Alice.” He kept his voice gentle. “I think we should blow out the candle now. This place is a bit dry to have a flame burning.”
“Is it?” She bent and puffed a breath onto the flame. It went out, leaving a small red glow at the tip of the wick. “Oh, that’s lovely too.” Her face was joyful and serene.
He wondered what she was on. He wondered where he could get some. “Come on, Alice,” he said, holding out a hand. “I think you should head back to your room. I bet it’s lovely there too.”
“It doesn’t sing like the woods.” But she stepped toward him obediently and put her hand in his. He slipped a finger across her wrist. Her pulse was strong, slow and even. Her skin was cool, not feverish. He didn’t smell booze, or pot.
“Come on.” He led her carefully up the slope. No way was he going to leave her to wander around the campus in her state. They were a small school, and the campus was probably safer than many, but if some man walked up to her and invited her home tonight, he’d bet she would find that lovely too. At least until morning.
“Which dorm are you in, Alice?”
“Where the moon shines down. Where the chestnuts grow.”
As far as he knew there were no chestnut trees on campus. Horse chestnuts, yes. Maybe it was poetic license. He headed in the right direction for undergraduate housing. Maybe when they got close she’d give him a clue.
They walked past the first tower, the freshman dorms. Then past the second block of midyear rooms. He was rethinking his strategy when she turned abruptly in on the path to Clarence Hall.
“This is my stop,” she said gaily. “Good night, sweet prince. Night’s candles are burnt out.” She pulled her hand out of his and gravely handed him the half-
melted candle.
“Um?” said a voice from behind John.
He turned quickly, and found himself face-to-face with a sardonic young woman with dyed red hair.
“Oh good,” he said quickly. He didn’t want to give her time to start speculating. “Do you live here? Because this girl seems to think she does too. I found her wandering around the grounds with a candle. Whatever she’s on, I think she’d be better off safe in her rooms. Could you see that she gets there?”
The girl made a face, but then shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve seen her around. She’s on the third floor.” She went to the door and swiped her card through the reader. The door clicked and she pulled it open. “Come on, then.”
“Go on to bed,” John urged Alice gently.
Alice looked at him. “If the moon lasts, there’s always a tomorrow.”
“Whatever you took tonight, I think it’s a little strong for you,” John said. “I would stay away from it tomorrow. Go on in now.”
She gave him another radiant smile, but turned obediently and followed the redhead inside. John breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed. Not that she couldn’t just leave again, but the other girl didn’t seem the type to take any nonsense.
It was a lovely night, in fact. The air was soft and cool. The moon had risen, and where the electric lights dimmed, it was still bright enough to see the beds of flowers, and the waving stalks of plume grass. The shapes of his bushes and trees took on a bulk and a softness they lacked in the sunlight. Maybe Alice had things right. There was always a tomorrow. John headed for home.
December 18, 2011
The Rebuilding Year - upcoming excerpts
So I said a week ago I would have some excerpts from my upcoming book to post. And I've been thinking about them. (I've been overthinking it, I suspect.) In the past the only excerpts I've done have been the first chapters that MLR makes available with each new release. I've heard mixed opinions about using the first chapter. Some people like it, because there's no spoiler effect. They get a look at the book and the author's style without worries about giving away any of the story. Other people have said that they don't like first chapters. I've had readers tell me that then when they start the book, it isn't fresh and new and they end up skipping ahead.
Samhain has a different approach. They select a couple of sections from in the first quarter or so of the book, for their website and as teasers in the back of other published stories. For The Rebuilding Year they've selected a few scenes that show my two guys gradually coming together. They say the best enticement is a good scene from after the story gets moving. And they've chosen a couple of my favorites.
So is it better to pick the most appealing early scene you can? (One reader who approved said, "then when I reach it while reading the book, it's like finding an old friend.") Or is it like a movie where some of the best jokes are in the trailer? I don't think there is a consensus. And I don't read excerpts myself, (other than the first chapter of new-to-me authors' work.) So my opinion's not worth much.
But I'm going to try this Samhain's way. With a hedge.
The excerpt that Samhain has selected for their website shows my two main characters, John and Ryan, the afternoon of Halloween. And I'm going to have that scene up on a guest spot on Kathleen Hayes' blog Romancing the Word on December 23rd. Kathleen is doing a wonderful 12 Days of Christmas Extravaganza with author interviews and excerpts and book giveaways and more. So check it out now, and look for me there on the 23rd.
But it's possible I might put a bit of the first chapter up here first. If there are any first-chapter-excerpt enthusiasts out there let me know. This is all a fun experiment in how to present my writing to readers. And I'm learning every step of the way.
Samhain has a different approach. They select a couple of sections from in the first quarter or so of the book, for their website and as teasers in the back of other published stories. For The Rebuilding Year they've selected a few scenes that show my two guys gradually coming together. They say the best enticement is a good scene from after the story gets moving. And they've chosen a couple of my favorites.
So is it better to pick the most appealing early scene you can? (One reader who approved said, "then when I reach it while reading the book, it's like finding an old friend.") Or is it like a movie where some of the best jokes are in the trailer? I don't think there is a consensus. And I don't read excerpts myself, (other than the first chapter of new-to-me authors' work.) So my opinion's not worth much.
But I'm going to try this Samhain's way. With a hedge.
The excerpt that Samhain has selected for their website shows my two main characters, John and Ryan, the afternoon of Halloween. And I'm going to have that scene up on a guest spot on Kathleen Hayes' blog Romancing the Word on December 23rd. Kathleen is doing a wonderful 12 Days of Christmas Extravaganza with author interviews and excerpts and book giveaways and more. So check it out now, and look for me there on the 23rd.
But it's possible I might put a bit of the first chapter up here first. If there are any first-chapter-excerpt enthusiasts out there let me know. This is all a fun experiment in how to present my writing to readers. And I'm learning every step of the way.
December 14, 2011
Interview and a free book giveaway
Tomorrow I'll have a fun interview up on the blog of author K-lee Klein. You may know her from her excellent (and free) Hot Summer Days short story Outfoxed. She is having an amazing series of guest authors with interviews and book giveaways. Today is Z.A. Maxfield who is giving away a copy of her holiday short story. Go check it out!
Tomorrow Thursday Dec 10th will be my turn. I've decided to offer a pdf or epub copy of any one of my published stories, winner's choice. I hope you'll come and enjoy a little look at me and my writing process. And while you're there, look back for interviews with Ethan Day, Amy Lane, William Neale, and Megan Derr. Then keep going back daily for J.P. Bowie, Missy Welsh, Christopher Koehler, S.J. Frost and James Buchanan. What a wonderful line-up of writers. (And freebies!)
You can find K-lee Klein's blog at http://chaosinthemoonlight.blogspot.com/ See you there.
Tomorrow Thursday Dec 10th will be my turn. I've decided to offer a pdf or epub copy of any one of my published stories, winner's choice. I hope you'll come and enjoy a little look at me and my writing process. And while you're there, look back for interviews with Ethan Day, Amy Lane, William Neale, and Megan Derr. Then keep going back daily for J.P. Bowie, Missy Welsh, Christopher Koehler, S.J. Frost and James Buchanan. What a wonderful line-up of writers. (And freebies!)
You can find K-lee Klein's blog at http://chaosinthemoonlight.blogspot.com/ See you there.
December 10, 2011
The Rebuilding Year
I wanted to put out a little advance notice about a book of mine that will release on March 6, 2012 from Samhain books. This story, The Rebuilding Year, is a contemporary m/m romance with just a hint of a mystery in it. I've enjoyed writing it, and I even enjoyed several rounds of editing it. Which is unusual (since I usually dislike doing editing) and I hope means that it will appeal to readers as well.
This book is coming from Samhain Publishing. I had previously worked only with MLR Press, and I love my MLR editor's style and the way an author has so much control over the process with them. But I had extra manuscripts floating around and I decided to try out another publisher. Samhain has also been good to work with, although quite different.
With MLR, I pretty much determine the timing of book releases by how fast I work (well, along with however fast or slow my editor is, and how many rounds she wants with it.) When she and I decide a book is done, it goes to proofing. Then it comes out in ebook release as soon as the formatting is done, with the paperback a couple of weeks later. This means no hard deadlines (Yay!) and no long wait for my work to appear (double yay!) but little advance warning and opportunity for publicity.
With Samhain, they gave me the release date along with the book contract. It was six months out, so not a tight deadline. But it was set before editing even began. And they had deadlines for the edits as we worked through them. Surprisingly early deadlines - the book is now completely proofed and ready, other than the cover, with release still almost three months away. Different styles of doing the same job. They also gave me a paperback release date of February 2013, FYI. Hopefully most of my readers like ebooks.
Samhain also has a professional blurb writer and tag-line editor. I'm torn between liking having those parts done for me (writing short is not my forte) and the loss of control feeling of having someone else's words selling my book to readers. I've decided to go for "Oh good, I don't have to agonize over those." I like to look on the bright side.
Since this one is now done, I thought I would share some bits of it over the next couple of months, hopefully to pique interest. Today I'll post the blurb for the story. Excerpts will follow. I'm new to the building-up-publicity thing. (I'm used to "here's the cover and the blurb and it will be out next week.") Hopefully you will enjoy a few advance glimpses of The Rebuilding Year here and on some guest blog spots to come.
The Rebuilding Year - Blurb
A few excruciating minutes pinned in a burning building cost Ryan Ward his
job as a firefighter, the easy camaraderie of his coworkers, his girlfriend, and
damn near cost him his left leg. Giving up, though, isn’t an option. Compared to the alternative, choosing a new profession, going back to school, and renting a room from the college groundskeeper are simple.
Until he realizes he’s falling in love with his housemate, and things take a
turn for the complicated.
John Barrett knows about loss. After moving twice to stay in touch with his kids, he could only watch as his ex-wife whisked them away to California. Offering Ryan a room seems better than rattling around the empty house, but as casual friendship moves to something more, and a firestorm of emotions ignites, the big old house feels like tight quarters.
It’s nothing they can’t learn to navigate, though. But when dead bodies start
turning up on campus—and one of the guys is a suspect—their first taste of real love could go up in smoke.
So that's a glimpse of things to come. Now I have to decide what to excerpt. Decisions, decisions... There are a lot of things involved in this becoming a writer business, beyond just putting the words on paper.
This book is coming from Samhain Publishing. I had previously worked only with MLR Press, and I love my MLR editor's style and the way an author has so much control over the process with them. But I had extra manuscripts floating around and I decided to try out another publisher. Samhain has also been good to work with, although quite different.
With MLR, I pretty much determine the timing of book releases by how fast I work (well, along with however fast or slow my editor is, and how many rounds she wants with it.) When she and I decide a book is done, it goes to proofing. Then it comes out in ebook release as soon as the formatting is done, with the paperback a couple of weeks later. This means no hard deadlines (Yay!) and no long wait for my work to appear (double yay!) but little advance warning and opportunity for publicity.
With Samhain, they gave me the release date along with the book contract. It was six months out, so not a tight deadline. But it was set before editing even began. And they had deadlines for the edits as we worked through them. Surprisingly early deadlines - the book is now completely proofed and ready, other than the cover, with release still almost three months away. Different styles of doing the same job. They also gave me a paperback release date of February 2013, FYI. Hopefully most of my readers like ebooks.
Samhain also has a professional blurb writer and tag-line editor. I'm torn between liking having those parts done for me (writing short is not my forte) and the loss of control feeling of having someone else's words selling my book to readers. I've decided to go for "Oh good, I don't have to agonize over those." I like to look on the bright side.
Since this one is now done, I thought I would share some bits of it over the next couple of months, hopefully to pique interest. Today I'll post the blurb for the story. Excerpts will follow. I'm new to the building-up-publicity thing. (I'm used to "here's the cover and the blurb and it will be out next week.") Hopefully you will enjoy a few advance glimpses of The Rebuilding Year here and on some guest blog spots to come.
The Rebuilding Year - Blurb
A few excruciating minutes pinned in a burning building cost Ryan Ward his
job as a firefighter, the easy camaraderie of his coworkers, his girlfriend, and
damn near cost him his left leg. Giving up, though, isn’t an option. Compared to the alternative, choosing a new profession, going back to school, and renting a room from the college groundskeeper are simple.
Until he realizes he’s falling in love with his housemate, and things take a
turn for the complicated.
John Barrett knows about loss. After moving twice to stay in touch with his kids, he could only watch as his ex-wife whisked them away to California. Offering Ryan a room seems better than rattling around the empty house, but as casual friendship moves to something more, and a firestorm of emotions ignites, the big old house feels like tight quarters.
It’s nothing they can’t learn to navigate, though. But when dead bodies start
turning up on campus—and one of the guys is a suspect—their first taste of real love could go up in smoke.
So that's a glimpse of things to come. Now I have to decide what to excerpt. Decisions, decisions... There are a lot of things involved in this becoming a writer business, beyond just putting the words on paper.
December 2, 2011
Win books on Lex Valentine's 30 Days of Christmas
Fellow author Lex Valentine is celebrating the Christmas season with book giveaways. Every day this month there are romances up for grabs on her website. Stories of all kinds are represented: M/M, M/F, paranormal, contemporary, BDSM, sweet and sexy, a little something for everyone.
On Dec 5th, one of the books going for free to a winning reader will be a paperback copy of my werewolf novel Unacceptable Risk, signed, sealed and delivered. I hope those of you who might like this as a freebie will check out her blog on Monday. You can find Lex at http://www.lexvalentine.com/blog/ . And there will be lots of other good stories coming up as the days go by.
As Lex says, "This year I still don’t have enough of a backlist to give away one of my books per day, but instead of just asking my friends to fill in, I’ve gathered a group of more than 30 authors to participate in this event (including my good friends.) There’s a day with all paperbacks to be given to one lucky winner, a day of romantic suspense books, several new release days and an entire week of the best gay rom out there." So check it out and Happy Holidays and good luck to all.
On Dec 5th, one of the books going for free to a winning reader will be a paperback copy of my werewolf novel Unacceptable Risk, signed, sealed and delivered. I hope those of you who might like this as a freebie will check out her blog on Monday. You can find Lex at http://www.lexvalentine.com/blog/ . And there will be lots of other good stories coming up as the days go by.
As Lex says, "This year I still don’t have enough of a backlist to give away one of my books per day, but instead of just asking my friends to fill in, I’ve gathered a group of more than 30 authors to participate in this event (including my good friends.) There’s a day with all paperbacks to be given to one lucky winner, a day of romantic suspense books, several new release days and an entire week of the best gay rom out there." So check it out and Happy Holidays and good luck to all.
November 20, 2011
Sweet love and MLR's 42 Days of Holidays
Christmas is coming and I do love the holidays. (I'm sentimental that way.) But back when this started it was late summer and I was in the mood to write a sweet love story. You see, someone had written a comment on a blog lambasting m/m readers. Apparently we were being superficial wimps for not wanting to read anything that didn't have fluffy bunnies in it. Well, maybe not in those words. But the gist was that real serious readers would enjoy a dark and gritty story, and the rest of us were airheads if we didn't like that type of work.
Now, I actually like dark and less-than-pretty stories, some of the time. But the tone of this post made me want to go out and write something with fluffy bunnies in it, just because. Fortunately, I had just received a request from MLR Press to do a short story for their holiday collection. So I wrote what I was in the mood for, a HEA with kittens. And a foal. And some loving, hot and not gritty sex. All good. The title I gave it was Where the Heart Is.
MLR got enough stories to do 42 days of holiday treats. The lineup of authors had me thrilled just to be included in it:
William Neale ......... Victor J. Banis
Derek Adams .......... Z.A. Maxfield
Vivien Dean ............. Mia Watts
D.H. Starr ............... Christopher Koehler
T.A. Chase ............... Laura Baumbach
J.P. Bowie ................. AKM Miles
Brynn Paulin ........... Elizabeth Lister
Stevie Woods .......... William Maltese
Taylor Donovan ....... Rick R. Reed
Simone Anderson .... Matthew Lang
Ethan Day ................ Ally Blue
Cherie Noel ............. Barry Brennessel
Riley Shane ............. Lex Valentine
Theo Fenraven ........ Diana DeRicci
Jardonn Smith ........ Tere Michaels
Charlie Cochrane ... Maura Anderson
Clare London ........... Missy Welsh
Neil S. Plakcy ........... S.J. Frost
Karenna Colcroft ..... K-lee Klein
William Cooper ........ James Buchanan
Kaje Harper ............. Kimberly Gardner
I'm delighted to be part of this group. The stories kick off today with William Neale's Christmasing with You. Each story will be available individually, one a day through the holiday season, from MLR Press http://www.mlrbooks.com/books.php. The schedule of authors and titles is on the website. My own story releases December 30th. There should be something for everyone to enjoy all season long.
Later in the season for those who are patient (or want all of these treats) there will be two anthologies of these stories coming from MLR. But can you wait that long? Happy reading.
Now, I actually like dark and less-than-pretty stories, some of the time. But the tone of this post made me want to go out and write something with fluffy bunnies in it, just because. Fortunately, I had just received a request from MLR Press to do a short story for their holiday collection. So I wrote what I was in the mood for, a HEA with kittens. And a foal. And some loving, hot and not gritty sex. All good. The title I gave it was Where the Heart Is.
MLR got enough stories to do 42 days of holiday treats. The lineup of authors had me thrilled just to be included in it:
William Neale ......... Victor J. Banis
Derek Adams .......... Z.A. Maxfield
Vivien Dean ............. Mia Watts
D.H. Starr ............... Christopher Koehler
T.A. Chase ............... Laura Baumbach
J.P. Bowie ................. AKM Miles
Brynn Paulin ........... Elizabeth Lister
Stevie Woods .......... William Maltese
Taylor Donovan ....... Rick R. Reed
Simone Anderson .... Matthew Lang
Ethan Day ................ Ally Blue
Cherie Noel ............. Barry Brennessel
Riley Shane ............. Lex Valentine
Theo Fenraven ........ Diana DeRicci
Jardonn Smith ........ Tere Michaels
Charlie Cochrane ... Maura Anderson
Clare London ........... Missy Welsh
Neil S. Plakcy ........... S.J. Frost
Karenna Colcroft ..... K-lee Klein
William Cooper ........ James Buchanan
Kaje Harper ............. Kimberly Gardner
I'm delighted to be part of this group. The stories kick off today with William Neale's Christmasing with You. Each story will be available individually, one a day through the holiday season, from MLR Press http://www.mlrbooks.com/books.php. The schedule of authors and titles is on the website. My own story releases December 30th. There should be something for everyone to enjoy all season long.
Later in the season for those who are patient (or want all of these treats) there will be two anthologies of these stories coming from MLR. But can you wait that long? Happy reading.
November 15, 2011
Privacy, Integrity and the Internet
A lot of different things have me considering this topic about now. On a personal level, I was in my own email and I was reminded of how private things are NOT, online. You know how you get those annoying ads popping up alongside your email on the regular sites? I happened to look at the ads, which usually I just ignore. And then I looked again.
The top five ads were for "Publish your own book" (well, I was emailing publishers,) "Firefighting Careers" (my Samhain book has an ex-firefighter in it, and I'd commented to the editor about him,) "Building and remodeling your home" (the title is The Rebuilding Year although it has nothing to do with construction,) "Helping Hands charities" (I have a short story going to Featherweight for their Helping Hands line,) and "Meet hot guys" (um, wonder where that came from...) The scary part here is that with the exception of the publishers, all these things were in the bodies of my emails, not even the subject lines. Sure, it's just some roboscavenger, picking up key words for targeted advertising. But it made me understand why my husband encrypts the grocery list when he sends it to me.
On a more general level, there has been more than enough said and written recently about author privacy. About the degree to which authors are entitled to keep their pen personae separate from their personal lives. The question of when misdirection becomes deception. And whether readers are owed anything more than a good book. There was the recent case of an author who received bad reviews on Amazon which also revealed his real name, linked to his pen name. That one's headed to court. The unpleasant furor over the use of different-sex pen names has brought pain, and outing of sexual orientation, to more than one author.
The Internet is an odd place. It is at once intimate and anonymous. As never before, people meet, converse, share bonds and friendships, based only on what they choose to reveal about themselves. It can be wonderful. I am finding a community among other writers and the readers of my books that I have never known before. It can be horrible, as people caught in frauds and deceptions will attest. And finding the balance between trust and caution is damned hard.
Integrity is an old-fashioned word. It makes me think of my father, who never once lied to me in 46 years of my life, who swore only once in my presence (when I sank the sailboat,) and who would walk a mile to return excess change given him by an inept store clerk. If everyone out there was my father, we would all have just the joy of this new community.
But people are people. There are two new phishing attempts in my email spam bucket. There are strident voices all over clamoring for witch hunts of various kinds, basing judgments and accusations on the flimsiest of evidence. And the risks exist. Someone drew a cartoon of a collie typing on a keyboard, with the caption "On the Internet, no one knows you're a dog." Truth.
I write under a pen name. And the people with whom I converse online believe my stories of family and Minnesota mosquitoes and a little white dog based on nothing more than the hope that I am telling them the truth. And some of them send me their real emails and addresses, and trust that I will be careful with them. I'm honored and a little frightened by that evidence of trust.
I don't have answers. I don't even have good advice. I myself tend to trust as long as I can, (far longer than my computer-security husband would like.) But I'm in no position to judge others on their choices.
What I do have is a request, a plea if you will, for kindness and for integrity. For each of you to judge each other with as much mercy as you would wish to receive. For you to be as kind and supportive of those around you as it is in your nature to be. For you to allow those who want privacy to have it. And to deal with each other as honestly as you can. Even the little lies come back and bite us. "I'd rather not say" is an acceptable answer to an intrusive question. This ephemeral two-dimensional community brings people together as never before; let's all try to make that a good thing.
The top five ads were for "Publish your own book" (well, I was emailing publishers,) "Firefighting Careers" (my Samhain book has an ex-firefighter in it, and I'd commented to the editor about him,) "Building and remodeling your home" (the title is The Rebuilding Year although it has nothing to do with construction,) "Helping Hands charities" (I have a short story going to Featherweight for their Helping Hands line,) and "Meet hot guys" (um, wonder where that came from...) The scary part here is that with the exception of the publishers, all these things were in the bodies of my emails, not even the subject lines. Sure, it's just some roboscavenger, picking up key words for targeted advertising. But it made me understand why my husband encrypts the grocery list when he sends it to me.
On a more general level, there has been more than enough said and written recently about author privacy. About the degree to which authors are entitled to keep their pen personae separate from their personal lives. The question of when misdirection becomes deception. And whether readers are owed anything more than a good book. There was the recent case of an author who received bad reviews on Amazon which also revealed his real name, linked to his pen name. That one's headed to court. The unpleasant furor over the use of different-sex pen names has brought pain, and outing of sexual orientation, to more than one author.
The Internet is an odd place. It is at once intimate and anonymous. As never before, people meet, converse, share bonds and friendships, based only on what they choose to reveal about themselves. It can be wonderful. I am finding a community among other writers and the readers of my books that I have never known before. It can be horrible, as people caught in frauds and deceptions will attest. And finding the balance between trust and caution is damned hard.
Integrity is an old-fashioned word. It makes me think of my father, who never once lied to me in 46 years of my life, who swore only once in my presence (when I sank the sailboat,) and who would walk a mile to return excess change given him by an inept store clerk. If everyone out there was my father, we would all have just the joy of this new community.
But people are people. There are two new phishing attempts in my email spam bucket. There are strident voices all over clamoring for witch hunts of various kinds, basing judgments and accusations on the flimsiest of evidence. And the risks exist. Someone drew a cartoon of a collie typing on a keyboard, with the caption "On the Internet, no one knows you're a dog." Truth.
I write under a pen name. And the people with whom I converse online believe my stories of family and Minnesota mosquitoes and a little white dog based on nothing more than the hope that I am telling them the truth. And some of them send me their real emails and addresses, and trust that I will be careful with them. I'm honored and a little frightened by that evidence of trust.
I don't have answers. I don't even have good advice. I myself tend to trust as long as I can, (far longer than my computer-security husband would like.) But I'm in no position to judge others on their choices.
What I do have is a request, a plea if you will, for kindness and for integrity. For each of you to judge each other with as much mercy as you would wish to receive. For you to be as kind and supportive of those around you as it is in your nature to be. For you to allow those who want privacy to have it. And to deal with each other as honestly as you can. Even the little lies come back and bite us. "I'd rather not say" is an acceptable answer to an intrusive question. This ephemeral two-dimensional community brings people together as never before; let's all try to make that a good thing.
