S.M. Johnson's Blog, page 23

Whoa, Mavis...

...what do you think of this "flipcard" homepage I found on Blogger?

I kind of love it. The tiles look pretty cool, and what's really awesome is that when you click to read a post, what slides into place is a window with black text on a white background - much easier to read than white text on black, yes?

My concern is I've lost a lot of page elements and haven't figured out how to integrate them into this template -  the scrolling "click to buy from Amazon" ribbon, for instance. (Not a crisis - I truly believe that people are good at finding the books they want on Amazon, if that's their preferred vendor).
But this one might be a bigger deal: the "follow by email" feature is missing. Honestly? Email following is the only way I can keep up with other blogs. Between writing, networking and promoting, my time for reading blogs for pleasure and entertainment is really limited, so the follow by email function is an absolute treat - they hit my inbox, land on my iPhone, and I read them on the go.
So, for those of you who visit me where things go naughty in the night on a regular basis - what do you think? Is the tile format cool and visually stimulating? Is it cool-er? Is it too busy, hard to look at, feels disorganized (in a bad way)?
Did you like the dark red and black blog? Was it hard on your eyes to read the white print on black, especially for the actual posts?
Feel free to talk back, I would so appreciate feedback!

SM Johnson ~Dinosaur Logic

Because it is Memorial Day, and because I can't remember the title of the book I want to talk about, AND I haven't even been able to find it with a keyword Google search, I am resurrecting a blog post from Gen-X: Parenting without a license.

My father passed in 2007, from cancer that he'd been battling for eight years. He was  sixty-six - and it was awful. I was a genuine Daddy's Girl, and my father was my hero. He was a good man, a fine, upstanding man, and he loved us well. He was a fireman. We didn't always agree, (he was a lot more conservative and I'm a lot more liberal), but we could argue our views, come to a stalemate, then let it go and move on.

So. Here is a tribute to my dad.

Dinosaur Logic


She says, “Mom, I can’t go to sleep because I’m scared.”
I’m more aggravated than sympathetic, because this just has the feel of a ploy to stay up past bedtime.  Or at least get me to snuggle in her bed for awhile longer, even though the alarm signaling the end of cuddle-time just went off.   “What are you afraid of?”
“Bears and dragons and dinosaurs.”
Well, okay, I’m thinking this is easy enough to fix.  “It’s winter time and all the bears are hibernating.”
“Every one of them?” she asks.
“Every one.  So there’s no reason to be afraid of bears.  And there’s no reason to be afraid of dragons because dragons aren’t real.”
“But dinosaurs are real!” she exclaims.
“Ah, well, dinosaurs used to be real.  But dinosaurs are extinct, which means they all died long, long before there were ever people on the earth.  God made the dinosaurs first, and then they all died, and maybe God thought people were a better idea.”
“But Mom, how come dinosaurs and people never lived on earth together?”
“Because the dinosaurs would have eaten all the people, and God wanted people to live on the earth for thousands and thousands of years.”
“But Papa didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” I retrace my words in my head trying to figure out what she’s telling me. It’s funny how we get to know our children so well that we can do that, isn’t it?  Like she’ll start telling me a story that started silently in her head a few sentences back, and after a couple more sentences I’ll have caught on to her logic, or realized what movie she’s talking about. We have conversations that would sound so random to a passerby they might think we’re speaking in code.
So after rethinking how I’d just explained God and people and dinosaurs, I figured it out. “No, Papa didn’t live for thousands of years. Maybe God needed Papa more than we did.”
“But we need our Papa!” She’s very definite on this point. 
I had no idea my dinosaur explanation would lead to a discussion on why people have to die. But I’ve been expecting these questions, so I’ve had some time to think of answers. And I know my daughter will never settle for just one answer.  “I guess we had our turn with Papa and now it’s God’s turn.”  
That sounds pretty good – she does a lot of taking turns in preschool.
“Do we get another turn?”
I was doing fairly well until this point, but the answer to this question slays me.   I feel that squeezing cringe in my nose and behind my eyes, and here come the sniffles.  “No,” I tell her, hardly able to speak, “we don’t.”
“That’s not fair!” she says in her angry, little-girl voice.
I have to agree.  It doesn’t feel fair, not one little bit. I’m not talking anymore because trying not to sob out loud. Partly I’m crying for me, and I know that. But mostly I’m crying for her. I have thirty-six years of memories of my father in my head. Thirty-six years of lessons in right and wrong and honesty and dignity and humor and goodness. She only has four. How much will she remember for herself?
And then I think of my nieces and how they got less time with my dad than I did. And my great niece.  She lost her great-grandpa who she knew and loved -  how do you explain that to a  two year old?  I cry some more.
And my mom, oh, my mom, who’s lived every marriage vow written. Who’s been strong, and scared, and sad, and hopeful and everything in between. She’s been his nurse and his cheerleader, his sweetheart, and his partner. And here she is, cut loose to find a new life. It surely isn’t fair.
I’m really on a crying roll now.
But then I realize that we’re lucky, in a way. My dad was only one half of a great set of parents. We still have one half of greatness here on earth to love. I feel a little better when I remind myself of that.
Now that my crying jag is under control, I still need to get my daughter to sleep. “Hey,” I tell her, “we’ll get another turn when we see Papa in Heaven, okay? And we’ll see Grandma tomorrow, so that’s all right.”
She was still awake a few minutes later when I was talking to my mom on the phone. One “good-night, sleep tight” from Grandma, and she snuggled right in.
Yeah, we’ll be okay.

SM Johnson ~A Year of Sundays ch 11 pt 5

Chapter 11Part 5 of 5
Elizabeth and Melanie, it seemed, had reached an impasse. Each had said what needed to be said, and they certainly weren't agreeing to disagree.
"What do you think?" Silas asked Joe, the therapist. "What if she was your sister?"
Joe seemed to think for a few seconds before answering. "I wouldn't like it," he finally said, and I could see a sort of raw honesty in his face that not everyone can project. "I mean, we do ECT every weekday, so it's pretty routine around here. But it's not a treatment option that should be considered lightly."
"Would you stop your sister?" Elizabeth asked. "Can we, as her family, stop her from doing this?"
Joe flashed us an exaggerated frown, almost a wince, and then he shrugged his shoulders. "None of you are living inside Melanie's skin, so you can't know the weight of her depression. You don't have to live with it, Melanie does. And if she trusts her doctor, and this is what he's recommending, well…" he spread his hands wide, palms up, and raised his eyebrows.
"See?" Melanie said. "He knows where I'm coming from. I told Jessie yesterday, I can't wrap my head around going through a dozen med adjustments right now. I'm grieving mom, I'm practically losing Caleb, and I feel like I've already lost myself. 
"Dr. B says that sometimes ECT works really fast. I think it's worth a try. He's always known how to help me." She looked at Joe. "Hey, you know that video, the one about ECT? Can they watch it?"
So we watched an educational video about ECT that didn't make any of us feel any better about it whatsoever. Liz didn't melt, Josie didn't say a word.
I wasn't sure what Melanie expected, if she thought it would help or what. And then she said, "I just want you guys to know what I know. I'm scared, too."
Ultimately, what we figured out, with Joe's help really, was that Mel was going to do what she would do, and the rest of us had very little control over it.
Liz asked me to go to her car and get a pair of slippers and a robe she'd brought for Melanie. I could see she was still pissed as hell that this "treatment" could go on without her approval, but she didn't want to fight about it with Melanie to the point where their relationship was damaged.
Silas said goodbye to Mel and walked out with me, collecting Jeremy along the way, and holding his hand all the way to our cars.
He caught me looking at their joined hands in the elevator, and mouthed "perv," only to receive a soft-knuckled punch from Jeremy.At their car, I pressed my arms around Silas' neck in a hug, and he let go of Jeremy to hug me back, briefly. Then he pulled away, firmly, and said, "All right, Sissie, no need to get clingy and emotional."
I laughed. "You're getting different, Si, softer. I like it."
His head jerked back and slightly to the side, like he was offended.
"Gayer, you mean? Light in the loafers?" His tone stung like a needle-tipped dart.
"No, that's not what I meant at all. Just… kinder. More rational. It's a good change. Mom would be proud."
Jeremy rolled his eyes at us. "Ugh, such a sappy family," he said, but he was grinning as he opened his car door. "Can we go home now?" he asked Si, just before pulling the door closed.
"Cohabitating, are we? I thought you didn't have room."
"I'm pretty sure I said there was no room on the couch. I never mentioned my bed." He gave me a wide-eyed innocent look. "Mostly he stays with Josie. He only stays with me a couple nights a week."
I bit back a giggle. "Almost sounds like shared custody."
"Ha-ha, not funny, Jessamine."
I thought it was funny. He was still being offended that I said he was soft – maybe I chose the wrong word, what I meant was more that he seemed settled, relaxed, as if his sharp edges had been worn smooth.
Happiness can to that for a person, I guess. I got the bag of stuff for Melanie out of Liz's car and headed back into the hospital. When I walked in the door, there was Alex.
Before I could even be startled, she had her arms around me. "It's so good to see you, Jessie! How's Sam?"
A good feeling rushed into me like liquid sunshine, making this whole difficult day better.
"He's good. We're good," I said and hugged her back. She rocked me back and forth, hard, until I lost my balance and started giggling.
"It's great to see you, I've missed you!" I said. then wondered immediately where that came from. Had I missed her? And if I had, why, exactly?
"I'm visiting Mel," I blurted without thinking, and immediately regretted those words. Mel might not want people to know she was in trouble.
"Oh, no, is she in psych? I haven't seen her at any meetings, so I was wondering. Ah, man, I'm sorry." And, indeed, she looked quite crestfallen.
I shrugged and tried to do some damage control. "Yeah, well, med changes, I guess."
"That's too bad," Alex said. "I’d chat with you more, but my meeting starts in about five minutes. Hey, give me your phone number. I'll call you later."
She programmed my number into her phone, gave me another tight hug, and left me for her AA meeting.
Back on the psych floor nothing much had changed. Josie's cheeks were slightly red and her eyes huge in her face, and I could tell she was working hard to keep her emotions under control.
Liz's lips were still a tight line across her face, set in angry disapproval, and Melanie's silences were punctuated by the long, drawn-out sighs of the misunderstood.
I handed her the robe and slippers, and sat down on her bed.
The silence was deadly.
Again, I was transported back to my teenage years, feeling now the same heavy stone settling into the pit of my stomach when my sisters had fought about something neither could win, and had stopped speaking to one another.
I figured I'd give them three minutes, and then I was out of there.
I waited. The silence stretched until the room felt as tense as a balloon about to pop.
Two minutes was all I could stand. I wanted to say something really profound, something that would fix this whole mess.
But of course, instead of saying something profound, I said something completely stupid.

SM Johnson ~Thursday Morning Coffee~ NYC Part 1

Good morning, darlings, and welcome to Thursday Morning Coffee!

The coffee cup at the left is my gift to my husband in appreciation for him manning the home fires while I was away on vacation. The irony is that he truly doesn't like NY, and emphatically stated back in 2007 that he never, ever needs to visit the big city again.

Was I thinking thus when I purchased for him this ironic coffee cup? Ahhh, no. I had kind of forgotten that part. He laughed out loud when I gave it to him and said, "But honey, I don't love New York." So I lied and said I bought it for both of us - haha. Good save, hmm?

Anyway, my trip to the big city was awesome! Here's a quick run-down. We arrived at JFK. Oh yes, we did. Now... for those of you more experienced with the big city than I, you probably know that La Guardia is the better choice. Mm-hmm. Mistake #1. It was an hour and a half from JFK to Times Square. Oh, and it was also $65 from JFK to Times Square. Yikes!

Anyway. Wandered around Times Square Thursday evening, located the restaurant we would visit almost daily for breakfast (Edison Hotel), the deli I would visit several times per day for coffee (Danny's - the European blend was so... mmmmmm), and the corner joint where we would eat amazing pizza at midnight - more than once (Carve). We saw one of the best "shows" of the week at Danny's on Saturday night - but more on that later!
Memphis
Friday, we took the Greyline Tour Downtown/Lower Manhatten Loop all the way to Battery Park, where we got off the bus and on the little cruise ferry that took us close to the statue of Miss Liberty, without all the 3 hour wait for the actually ferry over to Liberty Island. Whew. She was closed for renovation anyway, so we got as close as we needed to get.

Friday evening we went to the TKS booth (discount theater tickets) in Times Square and go tickets to the Broadway show Memphis. Later, when visiting the TKS booth for a second time, we realized that we might have "taken cuts" in the line the first time around. Whoops. It wasn't on purpose, it was all just so confusing. We had never heard of Memphis, but it was a really great show. The singers - dang, just amazing.

Saturday we took the Greyline Tour Uptown Loop, and learned all about the Upper East side, the Upper West side, the assassination of John Lennon, many different museums and churches, why New Yorkers use public transportation, how much New Yorkers love Donald Trump (NOT!), and a host of other cool stuff. We also saw quite a lot of Central Park without getting off the bus - although we certainly could have gotten off and wandered into the park if we had desired.

I recommend these bus tours if you don't know NY very well. I really ended up with a good idea of how the city is laid out, and that alone increased my comfort in navigating the awesome subway system.

The subway system is one of my favorite things about NYC. It's just such a cool way to get around. Our Greyline passes were for 48 hours, so we didn't use the subway for the first couple of days, but after that I felt pretty confident that I could find my way around. What happens to me every time though, is complete and total disorientation when I out of the subway stations on to the street. I stand there, staring up at buildings, trying to figure out exactly where the heck I am in relation to where I'm trying to go.

Pretty much every time I have to find a deli employee, police officer, taxi driver, or hotel concierge/door guy to point out which direction I need to go in now. But everybody was super friendly about helping us out.

Okay, I am so tired that I will have to leave this blog To Be Continued...

In the meantime, if you've traveled to NYC, did you learn any cool tips and tricks? And did you find some little local places that you absolutely love? Do tell!

SM Johnson ~Bloody Monday ~ Roman's in the house..

Originally posted at Book Bags and Catnaps.

Hey everybody! Roman's in the house! I'm hoping he'll keep ya'll busy today while I go visit the 9/11 memorial. Sound like a deal?


Well, Roman Preston.  Welcome to the blog!  Dare I ask you for a fuller introduction?

Roman Preston. Dungeon Master. That should tell you everything you need to know. I like to control my world and the people in it. Having control taken away leaves me almost paralyzed. Not that I’d ever let it show.
The creator/character relationship could be described as a give and take one. Who is the taker and who is the giver in your relationship?
I don’t share myself easily, and I’ll never willingly show any weakness, even to SM. She thinks she has me all figured out, but I surprise her. Often.
How much is Above the Dungeon/Out of the Dungeon?


They're both free if you're willing to play SM's game and search this blog for coupon codes. She left a hit on the bottom of this post about where best to look. Otherwise book 1, Above the Dungeon is $2.99 and book 2, Out of the Dungeon, is $1.99.
And, if your creator could spend all of that money on a treat, what would it be?
Reeses’ PB cups. Because she ought to have better self-control.
Euch – someone brought me some of those back from the US once.  Utterly bizarre snack!Assuming the tables were turned and you became the author, what story would you cast your creator turned character in?
I’d put her in bondage and give her to a skilled Dominatrix so I could watch her squirm and listen to her beg, knowing all the while that she loves the fear and energy found in power-exchange relationships.
Phew!  Sounds like a pretty busy afternoon!  
Tell us something about your creator that they’re unlikely to share themselves?
Sometimes she portrays the male POV astonishingly well. And sometimes she bombs by telling all kinds of emotional drivel that I’d never tell ANYONE. Heck, I barely let myself feel it, I’m certainly not going to to gab about it, especially in mixed company.
Tell us one of your bad habits.
Assuming that every one else wants what I want.
Tell us one of your creator’s bad habits.
She smokes. That’d be the first bad habit to go, if she were my submissive.
If you lived in the same world as your creator, would you be likely to move in the same circles?
Eh, yes and no. I’d be at the center of the circle, though, and she’d stay on the fringe. She’s too timid to say out loud what she wants – to me, at least, who could fulfill so many of her submissive fantasies. And she has this thing about keeping her clothes on in public…
Well, yes, she’s not alone there…
I know you’re a busy Dungeon Master, so we’re almost done but now here’s a quickfire comparison round: your favourites and hers…
Mine: Black leather and chrome. Boots. A doe-hide flogger with half inch tails and a perfect counter-weighted handle. My six-foot long single-tailed whip – so familiar it’s like an extension of my arm. Whatever meal my slave Jeff prepares for me, I will eat. My favorite destination is the dungeon, of course. And what happens there might turn you on so much it’ll blow your plans for the day, so I’ll refrain from describing that. For now.
Hers: She’ll eat whatever is prepared for her, and she’ll like it, since she hates to cook. Her favorite city is New Orleans, and no wonder, considering she lives in Wisconsin, of all places. Not that I have much to say about that, considering I grew up in the Midwest. She’s always reading, so I surely couldn’t guess what her favorite books are, although she got pretty flushed in the face reading The Seduction of a Proper Lady by Kristabel Reed. She also really likes Anne Rice and Lee Child, and she said something the other day about the Allie's War series by JC Andrijeski being the favorite series of her lifetime so far.

And now the moment of truth: review SM Johnson’s book
The book is all right, I guess. Kind of violates my privacy, though, and I could live without that. The last book, Above the Dungeon, was our first together, and she broke the subs wide open but left me alone — a silent, stone-faced enigma. I have to say I preferred it that way.
This time she took everything away from me and left me reeling.
But hey, if you want to read about what happens when a strong Dominant is brought completely to his knees by loss, than by all means, go ahead. My way of dealing with grief is probably quite different than the norm. It probably makes an interesting story. And there are some hot scenes. Really hot.
Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet with you – and without the pain!  Will we see you again?  Any last words?
My creator is a sucker for a few good reviews and sequel requests, so you ask her, you might see me again.

If not, in the words of Don Pendleton’s Executioner, “Live Large.”





Learn more about Roman by picking up Above the Dungeon and Out of the Dungeon. Search this blog (hint: Thrusday Morning Coffee) for Smashwords coupons to get them both for free!

SM Johnson ~ A Year of Sundays, ch 11 pt 4

Chapter 11 - July 10Part 4
We marched into the hospital en masse. Every one of us, including Jeremy. No way were we going to defy Liz's sensibilities and give her this to hold over us.
There was an intercom outside the unit door with a white button. Liz pushed the button with the force of a raging bull.
"Can I help you?" a voice that sounded female tinned through the speaker box.
"Melanie Meyerhoff's family to visit," Liz said, and I could hear the God help anyone who tries to keep us out in her voice.
"Somebody will be down to let you in," the voice assured.
I cringed a little. The nurses had been incredibly kind to me yesterday, and there was no reason for Liz to put on her bully hat.
A staff person in plain blue scrubs opened the door, looked us over, then raised her eyebrows until they practically disappeared into her hairline. "You're all here to see Melanie?"
Liz stood up straight. She was a formidable woman when she chose to be, able, somehow, to appear taller and sterner than your average lady. "Yes. We all get together every Sunday, and this one is no exception."
The nurse looked nervous. "We only allow two visitors at a time," she said it kindly, but without apology.
"Well," Liz said with a bright smile. "That's not going to work. You'll have to make an exception."
Uh-oh.
The nurse looked uncomfortable for a second, and then bobbed her head in a rhythm that almost looked like counting. Then she shook her head, as if she'd come to a decision.
"Two at a time. Who wants to come in first?"
Liz rolled her eyes. "Is there a charge nurse or a manager in there?"
The door guard gave a quick shrug that looked like a yes.
"Me and Jess, first. And I want to talk to whoever's in charge."
The nurse nodded and held the door open for us. "There are more comfortable chairs for waiting around the corner, by the elevator," she said to Silas, Jeremy, and Josie.
The nurse invited us into the foyer where we emptied our pockets, locked our purses in lockers,  and received guest badges. There was a door on each side of the foyer, and yesterday I'd been led through the door on the right. But now the nurse led us to the opposite door."Huh. They moved her to the quieter unit," I murmured under my breath.
"Good," Liz said. "Then they'll definitely notice the ruckus. You'd better go hang with Melanie while I go raise hell."
Liz was running on full-steam-ahead. It would probably get embarrassing, but at the same time, be effective. I suspected Silas, Josie, and Jeremy would be joining us very shortly, rules or no.
Mel was just coming down the hall. I gave her a little wave. She acknowledged me with a nod, then shot a sharp look in Liz's direction, and made a jerking hand motion that clearly communicated curiosity about what Liz was up to.
"We're all here," I explained. "But the only want to let us in two at a time. I don't know if you want to watch the fireworks, or go hide somewhere, but Liz is pretty wound up about leaving Josie and Silas in the hall."
Melanie groaned. "She's going to embarrass me, isn't she? It's a rule. Why can't Liz see that I shouldn't be treated any differently than anyone else?"
"You know how she is," I said, and tried to hug her, but Mel pulled away from me.
"Wait a minute. Maybe Liz doesn’t have to make a fuss. The therapist asked me for phone numbers this morning, because Dr. B. wants us to have a family meeting. And if the family's all here…"
Melanie approached the nurse's station and parked herself right next to Liz, who was talking to someone, her voice quiet, her tone expressing urgent panic. I heard her say, "We're her family, we need more information. How do you know she's capable of making this kind of decision?"
I went to stand beside Mel. "Who's that?" I whispered.
"The therapist," Melanie said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. 
I felt relieved, too, because maybe Liz wouldn't have to create a full-blown scene before she got her way.
Liz worked her pit-bull magic, and in less than ten minutes I was being sent out to collect the rest of our family.
I found the elevators around the corner. Silas and Jeremy shared a puffy chair meant for one. Liz would lose her mind if she saw them like that. Josie waited in a similar chair, across from them and I could tell from her expression, and from the look on Silas' face, that she'd been teasing Silas unmercifully.
When she saw me coming, she grinned and gestured at them. "Don't they look like just the cutest set of little lovebirds ever?"
Silas scowled.
"Oh, stop badgering him, Jose. The poor guy doesn't want to be here as it is."
Silas stuck his tongue out at Josie, then made like he was licking his finger and drew a line in the air.
"We can go in now. They want to have some sort of family meeting."
"Perfect, " Silas said, "because I'm pretty sure that's what we're all here for." He pushed Jeremy off his lap, stood, and then held his hand out, as if he were going to lace his fingers between Jeremy's.
But Jeremy shook his head, begging off. "I'll wait here. You guys are the family. I already told you about my grandma, and I don't know Melanie well enough to offer anything else."
Silas shrugged his agreement, tucking his hand into his pocket.
The therapist, Joe, met us at the door. He was a small guy, wearing tan chinos that looked crisp, like they'd been ironed, and comfortably worn boat shoes. He wore a shirt with a collar, but no tie.
He brought us into what looked more like a rec room than a conference room. It had a window without a curtain, two couches and four chairs, a TV, an exercise bike, and even a piano."We don't need a meeting," Liz told him, right off. "If you need to supervise us or the room, or whatever, you just do what you need to do. But do it without talking. We don't need your opinion.
Joe's lips twitched, as if he were trying to suppress a smile or a laugh, but he easily agreed, and he looked affable enough.
"Mellie." Liz's voice softened, as she took Melanie by the arm and pulled her to sit on one of the couches. "Mellie, Mellie. What's happening to you, little sister?"
I still stood by the door. Mel's eyes flicked over to me. "You told them, didn't you?"
I nodded. "Of course."
"Did you report it all then, word for word? Fuckin-A Jessie, can't I trust you with anything?"
I almost stopped breathing. "That's not fair, Mel. I just told them about the plan for ECT."
She screwed up her face. "All right, let it rip then. Who wants to start?"
I pressed my lips together. I wasn't saying one more word.
"Liz?" Melanie said. "Come on, tell me how stupid I am."
So Elizabeth started, speaking through lips held tightly together in a firm line. "What makes you think shocking your brain is a good idea?"
Melanie shrugged. "I don't think it's a good idea. It scares the piss out of me. But Dr. B want me to do it, and I'm trying to listen to him. He's always helped me."
"Please don't do it, Mellie," Josie said, and instantly there were tears both in her voice and on her cheeks. "I don’t want to lose my sister."
Silas had wandered over to the window, and now he turned to face the room, leaning his upper back against the safety-glass, elbows bent, hands resting on the sill. He didn't say anything, just watched. I copied him, because Liz and Jo-Jo were saying everything I needed to say. And Mel was already prepared to be mad at me.
"Even considering such a dramatic gesture is ridiculous," Liz announced. "I think you just wanting attention."
It was too much, too harsh, for Melanie to take quietly.
"Fuck you, Elizabeth," Melanie said, her voice infused with fury and her face as animated as I'd seen it recently. "It's a treatment option, not a dramatic gesture. What do you want me to do? Because I can't live like this."
"You probably just need med changes," Liz suggested. "And to stop drinking again."
Melanie let out a frustrated groan, so loud it was almost a shout. "I am so sick of your perfect routine. Okay, how about this, my holier-than-thou-perfect-sister, the one who always knows best… Fuuuuuck you! You have no idea. Maybe you're wrong and drinking doesn't make me sick. Maybe getting sick makes me drink. Maybe it's the only way I can fool myself, for a little while, at least, that I'm not falling apart."
This was turning into a train wreck. I couldn't look away from them, not even to try to guess how Silas was taking in the sister cat-fight that was flaring up from our adolescence like a poisoned ghost.  

SM Johnson ~ Thursday Morning Coffee ~

Good morning, darlings and happy Thursday!

I am winging my way to New York city today, where apparently there is a surcharge for internet use, which will render me incommunicado.

So I decided to leave you all a treat to hold you over until my return.

For Above the Dungeon, book 1, click HERE, add to your Smashwords cart, and at checkout enter coupon code VZ57Z.


For Out of the Dungeon, book 2, click HERE, add to your Smashwords cart, and at checkout enter coupon code YS77H.

I'm going to give them away while I'm gone, because I am totally nice like that. And because I am giving up  shameless self-promotion while on vacation, I figured the best way to promote without promoting is to change the price tag to free.

And please send your friends over here to my little home on the interweb so they can get the coupons, too!

So, there are some things you should know about my Dungeon series before you download them.

#1 - They are naughty. Someone told me they are "mommy porn," which cracks me up (ahem, do you think I wrote them for some reason other than self-entertainment?) The intended audience is straight women and gay men.

Smashwords coupon: VZ57Z#2 - I jokingly refer to them as Fifty Shades of Gay. Mommy porn with boys. The story line is not similar, but the elements of BDSM are. Or rather, the fact that the story is about a BDSM Dominant and a potential vanilla sub - that element is similar. Except I don't attempt to titillate my audience with the cold, dry details of a slave contract. Blah.

Jeff lives by his contract, 24/7 - but for Dare, this stuff is all new, somewhat shocking, and he's not all that sure how he feels about it, except that a part of him really gets off on the dark path Roman (the Dungeon Master) is leads him down.

#3 - This is explicit erotica, mainly with boys. So if that kind of thing squicks you out, don't read it. (But feel free to send your freaky friends over here to get the coupons, that'd be awesome, k? Thx!)

All right.

Smashwords coupon: YS77HNext set of warnings, required due to some negative feedback I have received in the form of reviews. Out of the Dungeon not strictly gay erotica. There are male/male couplings, but also female/female, and egads, male/female. Shocking, I know.

But here's the thing: the division of gender and sexual orientation isn't always as clear-cut as people seem to think it should be, or would like it to be, or are comfortable with. Whatever.

People are messy. Emotions are messy. And just like your body can love someone without your head, your head can also love someone without your body. And for a person who's primary coping mechanism is to engage in sexual activity of some form, the divisions can get really blurry.

Is it a bad thing if I make you uncomfortable? Because I kind of like it.

I'm not so great at coloring inside the proscribed lines. When I write, I sometimes can't help leaving the bedroom door open. And sometimes a gay man and a straight (or lesbian or bi-sexual) woman might have sex with each other. If it feels right for the story I'm telling, I go with it. Which isn't to say that I'm a master story-teller, but you know what? This one is mine to tell.

Click here to make your own signI got the feeling that Out of the Dungeon was too uncomfortable for my publisher. And that's okay. They have a target market, a long line of repeat customers who come with their wallets out and bring certain expectations of the product they want to buy.

I don't always understand or care for what the target market wants. They want to read about gay characters having sex, they want to read about love and friendship, but they don't want to deal with the blurry lines, the messiness. They want a happily ever after ending (or at the very least, happy for now), and when you label a thing romance, that's one of the promises you make, so they are correct to have that expectation.

But I can't seem to build a story to fit between the lines, and so I go off and create my own.

Sometimes the whole thing baffles me.

There's a target market lately that's just eating up books about werewolf brothers (often twins) and the female mate they want to build a bond with and then share their lives (and their bed) as a threesome. My libido draws the line at the "brothers" part - but the rest of it is all good.

But I think, how odd, the target market is okay with brothers sharing a consenting woman, but not okay with a gay guy and a bi-sexual woman sharing their bodies with one another during a time of grief.

Huh. Other people seem to cross lines back and forth with impunity, being randomly praised for "shocking" readers, or alternatively, denigrated for going too far. I will never figure it out, but I'd rather go too far than not go far enough. I'd rather shock than live in mediocrity.

What I know about small, local BDSM communities is that there often is a limited membership - so the person who likes the activities you like might not happen to be the gender you prefer for romance. It's why so many non-metro events are labeled "Pansexual."

Pansexual is a way to invite all kinky people, regardless of gender or sexual preference. Over time this mix of people comes to trust one another, form relationships, become attached. Who they partner with and who they play with are often different individuals.

Click here to make your own signA single gay boy might have an intense relationship with his female Domme. A submissive who considers herself straight is eager to learn how to use her mouth please her female Domme. A straight couple take a bi-sexual woman home to their bed, just for fun. A lesbian spanks a gay bootblack until he gets a hard-on and then comes in his pants. A straight woman dirty-dances with a gay boy, and wonders for half a minute if she was born in a body with the wrong parts. A gay male Dom makes a straight submissive crawl to the bar to get him a drink, trash-talking the sub the whole way. The humiliation play takes the sub to the moon and back, and is one of the most transcendent experiences he's ever had. He wonders if he really is straight, after all...

Don't look at me like that! It's not like I make this stuff up...

Have a great weekend, darlings, while I enjoy NYC!

SM Johnson ~ Remote blogging ~

Good afternoon, my darlings! Just a quick update...

I shall be away from my desk and hanging out in NYC with my mom for the rest of this week and part of next. Blogger assures me that Thursday Morning Coffee, A Year of Sundays, and Bloody Monday are scheduled to post all by themselves.

I guess we shall see about that, hmm?

It's a good thing I'm going somewhere, because I was unable to make arrangements to attend the Saints and Sinners Writers Festival in New Orleans, and I feel so sad that I will be missing all my lovelies there.

I am planning, however, to see at least one of my lovelies, Emanuel Xavier, at El Museo Del Barrio on Saturday night. If you click the link, make sure to take note of the fan giving Manny that sexy, windblown look... and I met Emanuel at Saints and Sinners in 2010, so hopefully we shall have our own little reunion.

The last Saturday night I spent in NYC was on Christopher Street in a tattoo shop (Tattoo Heaven) for some crazy long time, like six hours. But, hey, I brought home ink to remember it by!

Ultimately, I decided I wanted it a bit more "girly" so my fave guy at Anchor's End, Jay, did some additional work... and he said, and I quote, "No more impulse tattoos," and threatened to tattoo that on my forehead if I did it again. (Okay, so this wasn't the first tattoo I asked Jay to fix up for me. But don't get me wrong, the ink artist at Tattoo Heaven did a great job - but four out of the six of us in our group were getting tatts, so time was limited and I made my design choice perhaps a little too fast. Note to self: No more impulse tattoos.

All right, darlings, I'm off to finish packing. This might be the first time EVER that I am going on vacation (or anywhere) without my computer - but it appears our hotel charges extra for wi-fi, so I will have to survive without it. I'll be keeping taps with all my peeps via iPhone. And I'm packing hard copy of DeVante's Choice - so it's not like I won't be able to do some editing work. I know, obsessive much?

SM Johnson ~Bloody Monday ~

buy it hereOh my dear God. It's Tuesday. What the hell was I doing yesterday? Oh... yeah. I remember. I was um... reading porn.

Okay, erotica, if I must be technical about it.

I was reading a pretty darn hot story by Kitty Thomas called Guilty Pleasures. It was quite a lovely and sweet BDSM story about how a bored, rich and sexually shut-down wife gets her game back. It was mostly consensual. The kinky stuff was fairly tame. And I did manage to predict the ending pretty early on. But still.

It was hot. Mmmm.

So between my naughty reading of erotica, and my 2nd visit to Sword: Allie's War Book Two, I could hardly wait for my husband to get home.

Buy it hereKitty Thomas earns a place in Bloody Mondays because of another story of hers that I read called Comfort Food. Comfort food was NOT consensual. It was NOT sweet. But it was still hot. I love writers who push hard against the edges of our comfort zones.

Need to get the naughty reading out of my system because I'm going to NYC with my mum in a couple of days, and therefore shall have to suppress my naughty side and put on my tourist hat.

Hopefully Thursday Morning Coffee, A Year of Sundays, and next week's Bloody Monday will auto-post as scheduled. We shall see. (Actually, I think this is partially how I forgot to post Bloody Monday yesterday - I'd set up the others to auto-post and somehow thought I set this one up to do that, too, kind of as a test run. But apparently I didn't, because I don't even see a draft anywhere.

I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writer. That definitely makes me impulsive, a little disorganized, and too frequently off-schedule.

But you know what? I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants lifer, too. Scrambling to get something accomplished at the last minute is nothing new for me.

I'm the one shopping right before the party, wrapping the gift in the trunk of my car.

I'm the crazy lady at the 24-hour super-store-that-shall-not-be-name at midnight on Christmas Eve.

I'm the girl buying my lunch at a convenience store on my way to work because I forgot (again) that the cafeteria is closed on weekends.

Surely since I recognize myself in the scatter-brained, hard-core scramble that is my life, I could change this bad habit, right?

Eh. Well... the truth is I'd rather be writing.

Or reading. Or editing. Or daydreaming.

So hold on to your pants - I might be a bit late sometimes, but I'll get there. And it'll still be good.

Have a great week, Darlings!

SM Johnson ~ A Year of Sundays, Ch 11 pt 3

Chapter 11 - July 10



Part 3
Stunned. Again. My hands fell away from my face, and now it was me staring at her. And I started shaking my head. "What's that? That's not like brain shock, is it?"
Mel nodded. "Yeah. He's taking me off everything, then try a few ECTs, then reintroduce meds, and do a few more ECTs."
"Dr. B is an asshole," I said. "Don't do it. Oh, Mel. Please, don't."
"Dr. B is a genius," she said.
"He's still an asshole." I'd met him a couple of times over the years, and the man had absolutely no bedside manner. One of those doctors who clearly thinks he's God. I didn't like him at all. And I didn't trust him. "That's like…" words failed for a moment, but then I found the right one. "It's barbaric. I mean, I can't believe they even do that these days."
Melanie was laughing at me. "Oh, Jessie. It's not like the old movies, honestly, it's not. They won't strap me down. And it all happens under anesthesia. It's not at all what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking they're going to zap your brain with electricity. It's awful. Are you in your right mind? Because I don't know how you can even consider this."
There were tears on her face. "I knew you guys would react like this. It's not like it's an easy decision, but I don't know what else to do. I can't do weeks of med changes. I can't. I can't do it without mom."
"Why? What did mom do that we can't? There's a whole truck-load of us. We'll help you through it."
Her tears kept coming, and because she was lying on her side, I watched their slow progress, a pool in the corner of her eye until it welled over, slid across the bridge of her nose and along the bottom of her other eye, and then zipped past her temple to get soaked up by her hair. My poor, damaged sister.
She whispered, the girl who tried to leave her voice behind, and she said, "When I was frustrated, I screamed at her. When I was hopeless, I'd lay with my head in her lap and sob like I was a little girl again. When I was scared I'd call her and say, 'Mommy, mommy, mommy,' over and over again, and she'd say, 'I'm here, I'm here, I'm here,' over and over again.
"I was old enough to know what happened to little girls who were taken," she said, and I cringed. 
I'd been old enough to know that, too. 
"I wasn't the first girl he took. But I was the only one found alive."
I knew that. Or had known it at one time, because though the fact was buried deep in my brain, the words gave me an eerie sense of déjà vu.
"I was tied up and gagged, and I was so desperate I chewed through the cloth – the ugly, gray dirty thing he had stuffed in my mouth and tied around my head. I gnashed my teeth, gagged, and ground my teeth together some more. I broke two of my teeth, remember?
"Everyone thought he hit me in some struggle to rape me, but it wasn't true. I just let him do that. But when he was gone, I broke my teeth chewing through that rag. And then I screamed for my mother. And I screamed and screamed until  my voice was gone. And someone heard me. Someone heard a desperate child screaming for her mommy, and that someone saved my life.
"I remember the sunlight so bright that it hurt my eyes, and hands picking me up, and then I went away inside my head again, the way I did when he raped me, not realizing I'd just been rescued. And then mom was there, and her arms were holding me, and her smell was all around me, and I thought, She came. When I was so scared I thought I would die, I yelled for her and she found me. It took me a long time to believe that a stranger saved my life, not mom. I asked her about it several times, and she told me the truth, but even now, what I remember is that I screamed for her, and she was there, and we were completely connected. And now when I scream for my mommy, no one answers."
My heart broke right then, and I was crying with her.
 ***
Josie nudged me and I found myself returned to the dining room table, surrounded by siblings. "Hey dreamer, what should I Google?"
"Bi-polar treatments," I said, and then, without thinking it through, "ECT." The letters had been flashing on and off in my head since visiting Melanie yesterday. Three neon letters were just begging for Google results.
All eyes turned to me.
I shrugged. "Let's just do a little research, okay?"
"Electroconvulsive Therapy, ECT, formerly known as electroshock," Josie read from Wikipedia. We crowded around her, pulling our chairs closer, leaning over the table to see the screen. No one asked me any questions. We just read along.
After a few minutes, Silas got up and went outside. He came back with his briefcase, and pulled out his own iPad.
"So basically," Josie said, "they zap people's heads with electricity, which makes them have a seizure. And this is supposed to improve depression, but nobody seems to know why."
Silas was reading something different. "Side effects are headache, nausea, and memory loss. And some of these links talk about brain damage."
"We can't let her consent to this," Liz said. "I mean, if she's that sick, she's not capable of giving consent, right?"
"Yeah, you would think," I said. "But honestly? She seems pretty clear in her head. Way more clear than a lot of people there."
"Yeah, but this is so extreme." Liz's voice held a tremor. "My beautiful little sister getting shock treatment? That's just… God. I don't even know."
"Here's a video," Silas said, so we turned our attention to his screen.
We watched people talk about the hopelessness pain of depression, of choosing ECT over suicide.
We found a list of people who'd had ECT, including Sylvia Plath, Kitty Dukakis, Princess Leia actress and comedienne Carrie Fisher.
And we read people's testimonies from people who said it saved their lives, and also from people who said it ruined their lives.
There was way too much information, and so conflicting that it was difficult to know whether to support Melanie's decision or to decry it.
I said, "I'm not sure that we have a say."
Liz wondered, "Could we get a court order to stop her from doing this? Have her declared incompetent?"
"She said Dr. B would commit her if she tried to leave the hospital. So maybe she is incompetent. But then she should do what Dr. B wants, right? And we should support that."
"But ECT?" Liz again. "No. It's a terrible idea. Let's clean up this mess, and then me and Jessie will go talk Melanie out of this."
Jeremy had finished picking at the remnants of the BBQ, and was sitting apart from us, watching and listening. And then he said, "My grandma had ECT at Mayo."
Every one of our heads snapped up to look at him.
"Your grandma?" Liz asked. "Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. And it helped her a lot. They do a series, you know, eight or ten treatments in two or three weeks. She said it saved her life. She'd stopped eating, like the woman in that video talked about. Some kind of psychotic depression."
"How old was she?" Josie asked.
Jeremy shrugged. "I don't know. In her seventies, I think. I remember my grandfather had died and my grandma never got over being sad. But that wasn't all of it. She started thinking crazy stuff, and then she tried to overdose on her cardiac medication. ECT was safe enough, I guess, and like I said, it helped. My mom and dad were freaked out, but it worked."
"Did she lose her memory?" Silas asked.
Jeremy shrugged. "Maybe some. She was confused for a lot of the time she was in the hospital. I was pretty young, but I remember feeling scared when we visited because she talked about grandpa like he was alive, and called me by my dad's name. And she said her brother had come to see her, but he was dead, too, so that was just crazy talk. My mom said she probably remembered my dad visiting, and got him, her son, confused with her brother. It got better, though, by the time she went home. And I don't remember her being weird or particularly forgetful after that."
Dang, just when I stopped being surprised by Jeremy, he came out with weird knowledge of something like this.
"That's all well and good," Liz said, "but I think it's crazy. I don't know what the rest of you want to do, but I'm going to talk to Melanie."