S.M. Johnson's Blog, page 26

Thursday Morning Coffee

Good morning, darlings! Welcome to Thursday Morning Coffee. I've had a lovely couple of days off, but it's back to the grindstone today, as my "weekend to work" apparently starts on Thursday morning. It's been a great week.

News: Out of the Dungeon came out of the Amazon KDP Select program last weekend, so I purchased an AWESOME photo for a new cover to celebrate it's exciting return to Smashwords, Nook, Kobi, and iTunes.

So why didn't I enroll Out of the Dungeon in the KDP Select program for another 90 days, you ask? Well, that's a fine question.

New CoverThe coolest thing about the Select program (at least for me) wasn't the lending library that is supposedly so wonderful and lucrative.  Nope.

The coolest thing for me was the 5 free promotional days. It was so much fun to look at the reports on those days and see 200 or 300 downloads a day - OMG! The book was free those days, so I wasn't making money, but to think that many people will be reading my book - YAY! That is the best!

I don't do this writing books thing for money. I do it primarily for my own entertainment. Publishing is fun because other people get to share my naughty little world. It's not necessary for my happiness, though, and I don't need pats and praise about my work.

Do I like pats and praise? Well, of course I do!

I love book reviewers, and fans, and building "mutual admiration societies" with other writers. I think it's a ball when people follow me on Twitter, or Pinterest, or Goodreads, and I am thrilled every time someone has taken the time to write a review of one of my books.

Love it, love it, love it.

My Books page contains review links for each book - the links go to a pre-dated blog post, and from there are all the links to all the reviews I can find, the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Although at the moment the links might need some updating).

If someone took the time to review my book, I own it, even the less than 4-star reviews.

It startles me when writers dismiss critical reviews, because how do I know that I'm not getting my job done if people don't tell me? Yes, I have my small circle of crit partners, and for some of my books I've had small press editors and copy editors - but how can I know that I'm really getting the story in my head onto the page correctly without feedback from readers?

I can't. The reviewer who gives me 3 stars and tells me where I screwed up is my friend. Because this is the reader I want to impress next time around. Or this is the reader I keep in mind if I have an opportunity to revise the work.

What have I learned from reviewers?

[image error] 1) Readers can tell that I was in a hurry to finish Above the Dungeon. Almost everyone who reviewed the book wrote that they felt the ending was rushed.

It was. I pushed myself to finish it before the best ending was solid in my head.

Who cares, right? Can't change it now.

Ahh, but the beauty of the ebook is that I CAN change it. And, at some point, I believe I will.

2) Readers of M/M erotica did NOT care for the F/F and M/F pairings in Out of the Dungeon. Who knew?

Will I change this? It's something to think about, especially considering I just re-read the book on my Kindle. I found way too many typos for my own comfort, so one way or another, I will be revising the manuscript.

But no, I won't be changing the content significantly.

The F/F and M/F pairings are true to the characters in the story. But I do need to add a notation to the product description, so readers will know what to expect.

And readers of M/M erotic romance who have no interest in such pairings (even if the pairings are true to the story) can skip this book.

What? Skip this book? Wait, wait, wait - that doesn't jive with shameless self-promotion. WTF? Didn't I drink the self-promotional Kool-Aid?

Umm. No. I did not. And I won't give up my integrity to gain a reader.

More on this next week, but because I have to work tomorrow, we now move to Thursday Morning Poetry.

Here's a poem written by Jeff in Out of the Dungeon:


The weight of this chain isAlmost more than I can standTo watch another bend toThe will of my Master's hand.How can I keep my heart contentWhile averting desperate eyesPretending I am whole and perfectWhile keeping fear in fine disguise?This part of me is dyingThat reveled under lock and keyBut how can I ask for unhappinessFor the man who is Everything to me?


~Jeff Johnson (Out of the Dungeon)

Bloody Monday - Adrian Phoenix's Dante

Click to go to Adrian Phoenix's blogGood morning and happy Bloody Monday. Today I am going to talk about Adrian Phoenix's vampire, Dante Baptiste, from The Makers Song series.

I borrowed this beautiful picture from Adrian Phoenix's blog. Gotta say, it looks like Dante to me, mmm. There is a ton of stuff to check out on Adrian's blog, so make sure to give it a look-see.

I fell in love with Dante and his band-mates IMMEDIATELY. That being said, I can't say I loved every page of every book in the series, but Dante is an incredibly tragic and intriguing character, and the Makers Song has a lot of unique paranormal elements that I had not run into before. The combination of Vampires and angels is quite a dichotomy, and an interesting one.

The series starts with A Rush of Wings, and the first time we meet Dante, it's during a blood-drinking/sex sharing threesome between Dante, Jay, and Gina, and that part was over way to soon. (grin - yeah, I'm naughty that way).

Phoenix describes Dante like this: "Slender, hard body, five nine or five ten, moving with dangerous and unself-conscious grace, all coiled muscles and knife-sharp reflexes - Tousled black hair spilling past his shoulders, dressed in mesh and leather and steel-ringed bondage collar, a sexuality that scorched -"

Oh yes, he is a hottie. No wonder FBI agent Heather Wallace falls head over heels for him, yeah?

There's an intensity between Dante and Heather that is... mmm, sigh. Yummy. I only with there was more "screen time" with Heather and Dante in the books - I can never get enough.

Here's an interview with Dante and Heather at a blog called Paranormal Romance Addict. Just beware that the giveaway that's mentioned is from 2011 - so it's long over.

Dante's abilities: He can move faster than a mortal, in fact, somewhere in his past arrest record it's noted that he's too quick for the camera to catch a clear image (mug shot), one second he's there, the next the little shit is just gone. Dante and his Nightkind pals have a telepathic connection. Dante can be awake during the day, but it's hard for him to stay awake. He can also be outside during the day, although it's uncomfortable for him and he covers as much skin as possible.

But here's the big big big ability: Dante is a Maker - which means he has a powerful metaphysical ability to create or destroy life. So everybody wants him - vampires, angels, his own Nightkind council, and multiple government agents - either they want him dead, or they want to capture him to control his power.

And Dante - well, he just wants peace. He didn't ask for any of this, and in fact, has some serious PTSD going on from being subjected to a host of torturous experiments when he was young.

Beautiful, tragic, and powerful.

He also has some weaknesses -  migraines, nose bleeds, seizures. A mind that's been fucked with so much that his personality is fractured, his memories are twisted and bloody, and he's quite often preoccupied with self-recrimination and despair.

And of course, his biggest weakness is Heather Wallace.

So tell me, darlings, have you met Dante? Have you read The Makers Song series, and what do you think?

A Year of Sundays, ch 10 pt 1

Chapter 10 - July 4th (Monday)


Part 1


We met at the gate, each toting enough gear for a whole weekend. Sam, Annabelle, and I were early and parked at the aquarium adjacent to the park because our guest pass allowed it, and Sam backed the car into a shady corner under a tree to keep the cooler in the trunk cold.

The scoop on the street was that last year the Fourth Fest employees, in conjunction with the police department, searched backpacks and purses and confiscated any food and beverages people tried to smuggle in. No toddler cheerios allowed, and guests were encouraged through dehydration to patronize the city-sanctioned beer tents and buy water for four dollars a bottle from the food vendors.
It was a racket.
Hence… cooler in the trunk, filled with wine coolers, beer, and water. I figured this – later in the day – after the initial rush, either a) they'd stop checking, or b) we'd just reuse our red Solo cups. Or we'd keep sending Mel, and her huge purse, to the car to smoke. After the first few times, they'd surely start just waving her through.
That was all Plan B, anyway – I happened to know one of the volunteer employees, and she was meeting us as the gate with a golf cart and driving us to a prime settling spot. Hopefully Sam, Annabelle, and I would skate through without the searching of bags rigamarole. But – just in case – I was prepared with a half dozen pre-chilled wine-coolers stashed inside my chair bag. And not because I'm too cheap to pay for beer at the tent, I just don't like beer.
The volunteer, Linda, was on hand with a smile and a golf cart, and just like that we were in the clear. Annabelle sat beside the driver and waved to everyone we passed like she was a princess in a parade. A golf-cart princess.
"Your sister's already here," Linda said in her dry, droll way. "In fact, I think she's already had a few."
"Earlier than usual," I quipped, but it bothered me more than I let on. Mel drinks, okay, it's a fact. But she was sipping more than usual – seemed like every weekend now.
It scared me, and not just because it wasn't good for Caleb. Truth was, it wasn't good for Mel. All her serious breakdowns came about somewhere in the middle of binge drinking, and she only ever seemed to pick herself up again when she got back on the wagon.
So yeah, Mel drinking before noon on a Monday, even a holiday Monday, was cause for concern.
Anyway. We found Mel lounging on a beach chair, and Annabelle ran into a friend from school immediately. After a quick parental conference, we explained the boundaries of the park – gate, parking lot, water – and said we expected to see her face once an hour.
We got comfortable as the first local band of the day set up and did sound checks.
Liz and Eric found us shortly after that, and somehow Liz managed to smuggle in a whole picnic lunch.
I wondered, idly, if it was a sin to sneak food past security?
Eric and Sam wandered off together. I plopped my sunglasses on and laid back on the blanket, closing my eyes.
The sun was warm, but  a wisp of a breeze was coming over the bay from the big, cold lake kept it from being too warm.
The band started their set and it felt like heaven to just laze in the sun enjoying it. I dozed in and out for a good hour, and only the text chime of my phone brought me fully awake. I looked at the screen, hoping it was someone I could ignore, but the text was from Josie. It said, "I'm sick. I can't come."
I typed back, "Nothing serious, I hope?"
She called me. 
"I doubt it," she said, "but I feel terrible and can't stop throwing up, so I'm grounded."
Her voice sounded fuzzy, like she was about to cry.
"Aw, Jo-Jo, that sucks," I said. "Especially since this whole Fourth Fest thing was your idea."
"Going, you mean, was my idea. I think the Mayor or somebody came up with the whole thing." She laughed, but it was feeble and lifeless. "Tell everyone, okay? Tell 'em I want to be there, and to wish upon a firework for me."
When she was little, Josie was always looking up at the sky, desperately hoping to see a falling star so she could make a wish. She was always looking for that star.
Then right about the 4th of July time when she was, oh, somewhere between three and four years old, the neighbor set off some crazy Wisconsin-small-town-big-boom bottle rocket, and that thing went up, up, up with a white tail of smoke, and Josie saw it. "Mommy," she'd yelled, "there's a string in the sky!" And just as the rest of us looked up, it exploded like bright snow showers in July.
"Falling stars!" Josie exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Do I get to make a wish for each one? That's a billion wishes!"
Mel and I tried to explain it to her, us in our oh, so sophisticated and grown up way – being that we were oh, so sophisticated teenagers.
But it didn't compute for Jo-Jo – she'd waited a long time to see falling stars, and no way were we going to ruin it for her with our boring adult ideas.
"Falling fireworks get a million wishes," she declared, and clung fiercely to the idea for the next several years.
But back to this Fourth of July. 
Silas showed up in an old worn pair of jeans, sunglasses, a plain white tee shirt, and Jeremy holding his hand.
Holy shit.
I stared.
Liz, I think, turned a shade or two paler, if possible, beneath the her wide-brimmed sun hat.
Jeremy had a grin that defined ear-to-ear. His huge blue eyes were practically glowing.
Liz clucked her tongue, then hissed, "What are you doing?" but Silas was staring at the band-shell, or off to the horizon, or into his own soul, and didn't hear her.
I thought it was wonderful, and wondered if I dared to comment.
I saw Silas's hand clench, squeezing Jeremy's fingers. Must have squeezed pretty hard, because Jeremy flinched. Silas apparently wasn't as relaxed as his clothing choice suggested.
"Are the sunglasses supposed to be a disguise?" I asked. "Because they're not a very good one."
"No, Jess," Silas said with his patient voice. "They're glasses. That keep out the sun."
"Knock it off," Melanie mumbled from her spot on the blanket. "Have beer, feel better. Truss me."
Everybody laughed, including Liz and Silas, and Jeremy went looking for food while Silas went to buy tickets for beer.
A few minutes later, Caleb came marching up to us, soaked to the knees. "Do we have a plastic cup or something?" he asked. "We're catching frogs and minnows."
"Gross," Annabelle said from behind me. Then, "Hey mom? See my face? Here it is."
"I love your beautiful face," I said to her. "Come and show it to me again later."
"It's not gross," Caleb said to Annabelle. "The first one catches ten gets to be in the club."
"What club?" Annabelle asked, her face scrunching up like she was about to get mad.
"The club you can't join. You have to catch ten minnows and a crawfish."
"I don't even know what a crawfish is," Annabelle said. "But I have a red Solo cup, and I know how to use it. Mom, can I go down by the water if Caleb goes, too?"
"Well… okay," I said, pinning my eyes on Caleb. "If she falls in, you haul her back out, you hear?"
Caleb nodded, and looked almost ill. "Do I have to?" he asked, in a last ditch effort to get out of being in charge.
"Yep," Mel said from her lounge chair. "Skedaddle, the both of you. Come back soon, but don't stay long."
They giggled and took off.
"Jo-Jo texted me that she's too sick to come," I said.
"Weird," Mel said, her voice languid like the sun. "First that headache, and – wait, is that what she's sick with?"
I shrugged. "She said puking."
"Ew, gross. I hate puking," Mel said with a shudder. "Cramps my style."

"Yeah, I suppose it does," I said, and sighed. I felt bad for Jo-Jo. She'd been so enthused about this day. And I was also a little bit worried, because she hardly ever got sick.

18 Dead Free for KINDLE today and tomorrow

18 Dead
Short story - 7100 high impact words

A Killer is a killer is a killer, right?


Landon Montgomery is a forensic psychologist at a state facility for the mentally ill and dangerous, so when Nathan Kincaid kills eighteen classmate at a reunion, Landon knows she'll soon be meeting him. But Landon's not out to save Nathan - her job is to declare him competent to stand trial and send him to the executioner. The only trouble is... there might be something about Nathan Kincaid worth saving.






18 Dead is free on Amazon today and tomorrow.

This file is DRM free, so you are most welcome to use a program such as Calibre to convert it for Sony, Nook, or other e-reading device.

In mid-April this one drops out of the KDP Select program and will then be available on B&N, iTunes, and other ebook retailers via Smashwords distribution lines. My intention is to have available for free everywhere eventually.

TODAY is the end of Out of the Dungeon's exclusive run in the Amazon KDP Select program. So watch for it to be available (with a new cover!) via Smashwords distribution, as well.

Have a safe and fun weekend, darlings!

Thursday Morning Coffee

Good morning, darlings! Just an early, quickie entry this morning, as I actually have to (gulp) work today. Ahhh, the whole "real life" thing is such a downer. But anyway.

Few thoughts for this lovely Thursday...

I recently purchased a lovely, but not fancy, Kindle Touch, and loaded with more cheap and free reads than I have time to read. But I have been working through them this week since the Sprite is on spring break.

One thing I have learned is that Erma Bombeck was a very special lady. If you remember Erma, she had a knack for mixing marriage, parenting, and exasperation and creating hysteria. She started writing newspaper columns in the 60's, became syndicated and widely read, and went on to write books.

My point is... not everyone can pull it off. I've read a couple of different books on my kindle by smart, sassy ladies who's negativity is difficult to take in a book length work. Sure, sarcastic, snarky, and bitchy can be a really fun "voice" on a blog, but personally - it doesn't work for me in book length.

So should I ever think I am bitchily funny enough to write a whole book about my life complaints, someone stop me.

Oh, you people don't have to worry about it - trust, my family will be the first to tell me that I'm not nearly as funny as I think I am.

But I digress.

The other thing I wanted to share is that because I take a lot of pictures for blogging and for book covers, (and of the moon because I love it so), I thought I would upload them to somewhere like Bigstock or iStock and maybe make a little money.

Wait for it....

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Out of ten really great pictures of coffee cups - which you've probably seen here - they accepted ONE. And I'm not even sure at this point which one, because they loved me so much I can't log in anymore.

Even my very favorite, super-cool artsy shot was rejected. I know, shocking right? I mean, who wouldn't want to pay money for a picture of a coffee cup that they could carry outside and set on a plow carriage, then get a camera, snap 100 shots, then go back in the house, sideload onto the computer, do a tiny bit of editing, and...

Oh! Wait! It's an EMPTY coffee cup. That must be the trouble...


All right, enough, are you ready for Thursday Morning Fiction?

Okay... but I'm warning you, this might make my publisher cry. I'm GIVING my short story, DeVante's Curse, to readers of this blog. No seriously. I'm posting a link and a Smashwords coupon. Right here. Out in the open. You don't have to do anything to get it. It's yours.

I will probably remove the coupon code by Saturday morning (March 24), but I won't be deactivating the coupon, so if you grab the coupon today, you probably have until "indefinitely" to use it. Or until my publisher checks download stats and really does cry. If you like DeVante's Curse, I hope you'll return to Smashwords (or your other favorite on-line book retailer) and buy DeVante's Children and/or DeVante's Coven, or any of my other books. I'd also really appreciate honest reviews, if you are so inclined.

So without further ado... Follow this link to Smashwords and at checkout enter this coupon code: LH87F.

Bloody Monday - Count Dracula

Bela Lugosi
Ahhhhhhhh, so many Count Dracula personifications to choose from... but did anyone do it better than Bela Lugosi? THE original film Dracula from back in the day - 1931. (But not the first portrayal, which may have been Count Orlock in Nosferatu, released in 1922)

What? 1931? Yes! Dang - it again makes me wonder what is it about the vampire that captures the imagination?

Brahm Stoker's gothic horror novel, Dracula, came out in 1897, according to Wikipedia. And pop culture has apparently revised and re-"vamped" the vampire over and over ever since.


That's one damn powerful literary character, isn't it?

Certainly many of us had our first Dracula encounter waaaaay back in pre-school.

Huh? In pre-school? Seriously? Why yes, Grasshopper, pre-school. Who could forget the number-obsessed Count? Hmm, for some reason I thought I had more to say about the count. One cute little brown-winged bat... two cute little brown winged bats... three cute little brown winged bats... hahahahahahaha.

Anywhile... meanwhile, back in 1897... the original Dracula introduces the English solicitor Johnathan Harker, his fiancee, Mina, her friend Lucy, and the Dutch doctor Van Helsing.

Stoker's Count Dracula was in turns charming and frightening, though there was never any doubt that he was an evil character, not a romantic one.

Count Dracula has "the strength of 20 men," can turn into a dog, can command nocturnal animals - specifically, bats and rats. He does not have to feed regularly, can transform into fog, and can pass through small spaces even in human form. He can also turn others into vampires. The sun doesn't destroy him.

He is more powerful at night, must be invited to enter a dwelling (at least initially), and can't cross running water except for at high or low tide. He is repulsed by garlic, and he needs contact with his home soil to maintain his strength.

He can be killed, and needs to be decapitated and then stabbed through the heart to actually kill him  - silver bullets, wooden stakes, iron or steel blades, holy water or wild rose.

Interesting, isn't it, how adaptations carry forth some details that are "canon" to the story, creates others, and leaves some details behind completely. I think one of the most enjoyable things about writing vampire fiction is that I get to make up my own rules - because it's almost industry standard to change and adapt the abilities and weaknesses of vampires.

Gary OldmanI think one of the all time creepiest versions of Count Dracula was Gary Oldman's portrayl in the 1992 film Dracula. {{{{shudder}}}}

There's nothing sexy about this one, is there, darlings? Not even creepy sexy.

It's an adaptation that is dark, gothic, and well... Dracula-ish. (And what's with the super weird hair rolls, anyway? That's creepy all by itself.)

Gerard Butler
My favorite Dracula adaptation to date is Dracula 2000. Perhaps because it was one of the few vampires movies I've seen in the theater (actually, probably one of two, the first being Rice's Interview with the Vampire). Or maybe it's one of my favorites because Gerard Butler makes a pretty sexy Dracula. Even when he's scary.

So let's talk... not your favorite vampire - but I'd love for you to tell me about your favorite version of Stoker's original Count Dracula.

Don't forget - you can nominate your favorite vampire for Bloody Monday by leaving a comment here, or sending a tweet with hash tag #BloodyMondaySMJ. And if I write about your nominee, you win a free ebook from my Vampire DeVante trilogy.

A Year of Sundays, ch 9 pt 4

Chapter 9 - Sunday June 26


Part 4 of 4



By the time Sam showed up after doing the maintenance on my car, Melanie was halfway to oblivion and ready to stake a claim in the grass for Fourth Fest. Right now, a week early. "C'mom, don't be a boob-schmoob. We can go down there and find the best spot. I'll mark it with spray paint."
She was talking to Alex, who was laughing at her in a good-natured way. "Wine coolers get you this fucked up?"
"Bah," Melanie said. "I found some vodka in the house and poured it in. You can add vodka to anything. Did you know – " she cut herself off, "Hey, Jo-Jo, Jeremy, listen to this now. It's reeeeally important." When she had everyone's attention, she continued. "You can inject vodka into watermelon." When people started rolling their eyes, she got a little more intense about it. "No, really, you can. It's a very healthy snack, very healthy grown-up snack, I mean, and so maybe we should do that for the picnic. Oh yeah, I was going to go down there and stake out the best spot."
"Mel," I said. "You're not driving anywhere."
"I know, I know. Alex'll drive me, right?"
Sam walked into the yard right about then, and he was shaking his head. "Mel, no driving." He greeted me, and then said, "Oh, hey, Alex. I thought you were busy this weekend?"
Was it my imagination, or did Alex's whole face get happier the minute Sam came on the scene?
"Yeah," she said. "Dinner at my AA friend's mom's house." She made a gesture that encompassed the patio. "Wah-la."
All right, this was getting seriously weird. Not that I didn't like Alex, not that at all, but it looked like Sam and I needed to have a talk. A talk that started with where he'd been last Saturday night until six in the morning.
I hate fighting with Sam. It was easier to believe that lunch with the boys got a little out of hand and suddenly it was bar close, than to worry that he was with Alex. I would have to be careful how I presented the question.
"Anyone want drinks from the kitchen?" I asked brightly. "Kool-aid for the kids?"
"The kids aren't here, Jesse, where's your head?" Mel asked, and I laughed and slapped my hand to my forehead, like "doh." I went halfway to the kitchen door, then turned around and said, "Sam? Can you help me for a minute?"
He gave me a look, silently asking what I needed help with. I just shrugged, so he followed me inside.
"Okay, what's the deal with Alex? I mean, I like her, but she's seems really focused on you."
He grinned. "She came to lunch with us last weekend."
"Like… liquid lunch till bar close?"
He nodded and flashed an admiring smile toward the back yard. "That girl drank all of us under the table. She's a pro."
"Is that good?" I asked. "I thought she was in AA. She keeps talking about AA."
"I don't know if it's good," Sam said, and tickled my side. "But it sure is fun."
"Do you think she's getting attached to you? Like too attached?" I asked.
He looked startled. "Like how? Like… get rid of you kind of attached?" Then he answered his own question, first with a shake of his head. "Nah. She likes you. If she knew you better, she'd probably like you better. She has a thing for girls."
I felt warm all over. I knew that, didn't I? From the kiss in the bathroom at Grandma's Saloon. Maybe I blushed, I don't know, but whatever it was, Sam saw it.
"Ah, so you know she has a thing for girls. There you go. Maybe if we brought her home she'd play with both of us."
"Oh my God. This is not the place for this discussion. Seriously? We have a child at home. Sam, you're a total perv."
He flashed me his most wicked grin. "I know. That's why you love me."
I tried to give him a dirty look, but he said, "Aw, sweetie, you know I'd always choose you," and ruined the moment.
"Of course you'd always choose me. Who else would put up with you?"
Sam laughed. "True. Me and my phone."
"And your socks. Don't forget the socks." Oh, the glamorous life of a towing widow. Phone calls at all hours of the day and night. Socks on the floor in every room because Sam's toes hated to be confined.But anyway. At least I was fairly certain that Sam wasn't hiding anything from me. Alex had just been around my flirty husband enough lately to be comfortable.
"Discussion over," I said. "Now help me find some napkins or silverware to carry outside. And the vodka. Because I think Mel's right – wine coolers should contain more vodka."
"You're not going to get drunk, are you?"
I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "Maaay-be. Got a problem with that?"
"Hell no," he laughed. "I like it when you're drunk and easy."
We got back to the patio just in time to get burgers straight off grill, and Josie laughed at us. "Napkins and silverware? You could have brought out the coleslaw, chips, and dip."
"Sorry Jo-Jo," I said. "I'll run for them."
I felt a lot better now that the Alex smiling at Sam thing wasn't so strange anymore.
Silas was back and forth with Jeremy, all evening, like he just couldn't settle on a personality or a mood. He'd be watching Jeremy with quiet, serious eyes, touching Jeremy when he walked by, but then shaking him off if Jeremy tried to show affection back. What a weird relationship. It was like Silas didn't know what he wanted from Jeremy, and some combination of longing and fear made him completely unpredictable.
Every once in a while I caught a pinched look in Silas's face, brows drawn down, lips tight, and he looked positively angry – twice I saw it, and each time Josie and Jeremy were standing together in a tight little huddle and Josie was laughing at something Jeremy said.
"Whoa, easy, boy," I finally whispered into Silas's ear. "They're friends. Don't panic."
Silas pretended he didn't know what I was talking about. "What? Me? Panic? About what?"
I didn't spell it out, just raised my eyebrows, and cut my eyes toward Josie and Jeremy. "Chill out. Everything's okay."
Silas shrugged away from me and got up to get a beer. Maybe he'd thought about it, because when he came back, he said, "Hey, it's not like I own him or something. So whatever."
Liz talked about her statistics class, how in some ways it wasn't as tough as she thought it would be, and that was definitely way more interesting that she expected. It was good to hear her excited about something other than getting pregnant.
 Melanie kept drinking. Josie brought her iPhone speaker dock outside and Alex picked out rowdy tunes.
Sam whispered in my ear, "Alex is going to get this party started, so if we're supposed to pick up Annabelle, we'd better go before it gets crazy."
I figured he would know, so we said our goodbyes, agreeing again that next week we'd meet for Sunday on Monday, not realizing that this might be the last normal Sunday we'd ever have. 

Thursday Morning Coffee

Wow, it's been a big week here! Sprite tested and earned her Karate yellow belt, and then the very next day learned how to ride a bike! The bike's been an on-going issue for a couple of years now, so this is fantastic. She was pretty sure she was the only 3rd grader in her school who couldn't ride a bike - not so anymore!

I love the shadow of the bike in this picture - and then the ice and snow. We got something like 16 inches of snow two weeks ago - but because Wisconsin is having the absolute weirdest winter EVER, it's almost melted away already. Yesterday it was 70 degrees here - unheard of for March. Generally we don't even start thinking spring until May.

Sprite has tried lots of different sports and activities - soccer, gymnastics, figure skating, piano lessons, swimming, theater, and now Karate. She's really good at theater (home away from home for a drama princess, right?) and swimming - but Karate has been AMAZING. It's very disciplined and controlled - the kids all learn and practice in a group, and any kid that's cutting up or class-clowning gets put on time out.

She liked gymnastics, but she's very easily distracted, and without a mechanism for reeling her in, she spent a lot of gym time screwing around and doing stuff half-assed - which, as a paying parent, drove me a little bit wild - and yet I didn't want to be the mom yelling her kid from the loft observation area, you know? Still, every time she tested for the next level and didn't pass was heartbreaking. She'd keep her emotions tight until we got home, and then throw herself face-down on her bed and sob.

At Karate, they don't encourage the kids to test unless they are ready. I like that. I feel like it's a quiet form of high regard and respect for children.

So Karate is good. I like that the instructors seem to take the time to get to know every kid, I like that the practice area is controlled, and that respectful behavior is 100% expected. And I like that one of the instructors told me last night that Sprite is, "Competitive, enthusiastic, and has made good friends here. We're so happy that she likes Karate."

Proud mom moment, for sure.

Okay - on to Thursday Morning Fiction...

Since I've been working so diligently on DeVante's Choice (and since I have the document open to encourage me to get back to it), I'm going to share an excerpt. DeVante's Choice opens with the death of Emily's husband, Nathan, which is essentially the end of the human lifetime that DeVante allowed her. DeVante is coming to collect her, and Emily knows it. Here's a little piece where Emily's making some attempt to wrap up her life.


Night 5 – Emily (Duluth, MN)
Emily surprised herself with all she accomplished in just one day. She docked her iPhone and turned the tunes up loud. First she gathered necessities and packed her suitcase. She had no idea how long she'd be staying in this house, if she would be here even one more night, and she had no intention of losing the few things that were precious to her. DeVante hadn't said where they would live, but she wasn't going to fool herself into thinking she'd have any say in the matter. His daytime safety was paramount. And even though she almost shuddered at the thought, it would be her safety, too.
It was harder to pack Nathan's things, maybe because she didn't pack them in suitcases, but in large garbage bags. She would donate them all to a clothing charity, and so the totality and permanence of Nathan being gone had to be faced. It didn't matter that this was his favorite shirt, or these jeans had a back pocket ripped off. All of it had to go.
The hospital had given her a plastic bag that contained his personal items – watch, wallet, and wedding ring. These she put in the suitcase because she couldn't bear to even look at them yet, much less toss them away.
She filled the garbage bags with many of her own clothes, as well. Pants she hoped to fit into again someday, shirts that she hadn't worn in the last twelve months – all of it gone.
She was ruthless, but it was cathartic.
In the late afternoon, when she couldn't fit another bag into the car no way, no how, she drove downtown to the free clothing exchange and let volunteers and patrons alike help her unload the car.
Somewhere in the short drive home she started crying, and somewhere in the crying, she started yelling."Goddammit! Fuck! I hate this! It hurts, oh, oh, oh, it hurts," and she sobbed until she thought her throat would break wide open. It was like every other grief – so hard and real and mean that it felt like she couldn't possibly live through it and come out whole. And it was so familiar to her, this pain, that she became furious with God and life and everything. It wasn't fair. Why did she have such big hurts? What did she ever do to deserve to lose everything, not once, but three times running. Why did God or Karma or Fate have to kick her ass to hell and back, was it all payback for spending the night at a friend's house in third grade?
And so she cried again for her family of origin, her parents and her brother – who died when the house caught fire – because, indeed, new grief somehow always drags up old.
The storm of rage and tears was mostly over when she pulled into her driveway. And thank God, because the whole of the Wine Cooler Brigade were gathered on the front porch. DeeDee, Dawn, Kim, and Diane.
Oh shit.
Emily tried to put on her "I'm fine" face as she got out of the car, but Dawn, Cara's mom, , bypassed Emily's facial expression and wrapped arms around her.
"Aw, Sweetie. Are you hanging in there?"
Emily nodded into Dawn's shoulder, but the friendly hug made her cry again. "I can't believe he's gone."Dawn's arms held on tighter.
Emily felt Kim's classic pat-pat-pat on her shoulder, and felt the whisper of her breath as Kim said, "I'm so sad for you. I don't know what else to say."
None of them had lost children or husbands, so of course they didn't know what to say, but it was so kind of them to come that Emily squeezed her eyes shut against Dawn's spring jacket and tried to regroup inside her head.
A few moments passed before she raised her head. "Thanks, ladies. I can't tell you how nice it was for you to come by."
"We brought food. And wine coolers." That was Diane, the crass one of the group.
"No vodka?" Emily asked.
"Of course vodka!" Diane exclaimed. "I'm pretty sure we could all use some of that." It was worth a smile. Diane was known to proclaim, often and loudly, that all problems grew smaller when mixed with vodka.
"Well, then… bring it on," Emily said, pulling away from Dawn and pushing open the front door. "Shall we settle on the patio?"
It was agreed. Dawn, Kim, and DeeDee fixed plates of chicken salad and green grapes, but Diane tugged Emily outside, settled her in a lounge chair, and fixed her a drink.
"Bottoms up, Em, and you'll feel better soon. I promise."
"Or worse," Emily laughed, but sucked down the drink in three swallows.
The next two – or was it three – drinks went down just as easily, and Emily did feel better. The girls were reminiscing their feats and exploits, and those of their daughters, and as the sun set and the air grew cool, laughter kept them warm.
There came the point of intoxication where that one story got told, the one that set them hurtling into gales of laughter, and as soon as the last of them ran out of breath, another started giggling, and they were all laughing all over again.
Emily wasn't sure when her tears of mirth turned to tears of sadness, but even then she felt good in the way she always felt good when she laughed until she cried.
Her life with Nathan had been filled with moments like this, and she would never forget them, not the people, not the moments – even if she did forget the actual stories. They were had-to- be- there stories, anyway, probably not even funny if told among other company. She knew that awkwardness of trying to repeat something funny to non-participants, the silence that fell when they didn't get it, the lame, "oh, I guess you had to be there" that explained, but only generated half-hearted laughter.
Her whole life would become a had-to-be-there story, but it was okay, because she'd been there, and that was all that mattered, wasn't it?
The girls said their goodbyes just after dark, and Emily zig-zagged through the house, cataloguing in her head what tasks were complete, and what she would need to accomplish the next day.
She had fallen into a light sleep on the couch when DeVante arrived.
His hand brushing over her forehead and into her hair woke her. "You're so late," she said.
"No," he answered, "not so late."
"I'm just tired, then," she said, and closed her eyes again.
"The house feels empty. You were busy today, after staying up most of the night with me."
"Maybe. But it felt good to get things done. And my friends showed up, so we talked and drank and laughed. It was nice." She opened her eyes and looked into his face. "Promise me something."
His expression became immediately guarded. "If I can."
"You don't have to look so tense," she said. "It's nothing hard."
"Tell me."
"I have a suitcase in my bedroom. It's got pink and yellow polka dots. I filled it with things I want to keep, and I want you to promise me that it won't be left behind."
"Where are we going, my dear Emily?" he asked, his voice a whisper.
"I don't know. But I packed, just in case."
"All right. I promise. I'll write down Daniel's address in San Francisco, and you can ship it there."
"Perfect. Thank you."
He nodded, and she thought she could see he was relieved that she'd asked for something he could give her, easily.
"Shall I make you coffee, or do you just want to sleep tonight?"
The question sounded civil enough, but Emily knew he was asking out of politeness or in deference to her grieving process, and he would be annoyed if she sent him away to sleep, so she said, "Coffee," even though she all she really wanted to do was sink into sleep.
"You rest," he said. "I can make the coffee while you doze."
Dozing sounded heavenly, so she agreed.
She was dreaming some strange thing or another when the sound of the doorbell startled her awake. She forgot to see where DeVante was, what he was doing, before she opened the door, and once she did open it, had a moment of panic that he would be exposed.
But that was silly, she told herself. He knew how to move around in the mortal world. So perhaps the panic was more like guilt, for she felt her anxiety when she saw Nathan's brother Jack, and his wife, Carolyn, standing on the porch.
"Hi," Emily greeted them. "Is everything okay?"
"That's what we came to ask you," Jack said.
"Oh! I'm fine."
"Fine except you're not answering your phone. We were worried about you."
She felt a moment's suffocation, but then it passed. They were Nathan's family, and were truly worried about her. They knew she didn't have any living relatives, and they knew Jenna had returned to Japan.
Carolyn pulled Emily into a comforting hug. "We don't want you to be alone. Grieving alone is awful."The back of Emily's neck prickled, and when she pulled away from Carolyn and turned, she wasn't surprised to see DeVante standing in the doorway. "Coffee?" he asked, in a friendly tone, and Emily's eyes widened.
"Is that for me?"
"Of course," he said. "Can I get some for your guests?"
She accepted the warm porcelain mug, and smiled at him, studying his face. He passed for human, perfectly, and she wondered how he did that.
"This is Nathan's brother, Jack," she said. "And his wife, Carolyn."
"Pleased to meet you," DeVante said, executing a sort of formal bow. "May I get you coffee? Or chicken salad?" His lips twitched, as if the words 'chicken' and  'salad' were dirty, and gave Emily a wink that made her blush.
"Late for coffee, for me," Jack said, and his expression was inscrutable.
Carolyn shook her head. "We won't stay. We just didn't want you to be alone."
"I'm okay," Emily turned back to Jack and Carolyn and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "DeVante is an old friend, and came to keep me company."
"Nice to meet you," DeVante said, and Emily could almost see his air of dismissal as he left the room rather than make more pleasantries.
Subtle as a heart attack.
"Are we intruding, dear?" Carolyn asked. "I am so sorry."
Emily could still see Jack puzzling things out. "Have we met this fellow before?"
"Not intruding," Emily answered the easy question first, even if the answer was a lie. "And no, Jack, you haven't. He's friend I had before I met Nathan."
"And he's never come around?"
"No. He lives far away. And he stayed far away, out of respect for me and your brother. But I'm glad he's here now. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Carolyn flashed Jack one of those looks married people have that seemed to contain an entire conversation. "We should go."
Emily suddenly remembered something. "Wait, don't go yet. I have some things for you. I'll be right back."
She went into the bedroom. She'd found in Nathan's things a pocket watch that had once belonged to Nathan's grandfather – Jack's grandfather, too – and wanted Jack to have it. She also wanted to offer Nathan's 9 mm Beretta hand gun to Jack, and the pocket knife that had been Jack and Caroline's gift to Nathan when he stood up as Jack's best man.
"These should be yours now," she said to Jack, handing him the gun case, watch, and engraved stainless pocket knife. "There might be more, but these things I found today."
Jack looked pleased. "Grandpa's watch! I forgot Nathan had it. Thank you."
"You're welcome. It was so kind of you to drop by – I can't tell you how much it means to me, and how grateful I would have been had I been alone. But…" she gestured to the doorway through which DeVante had disappeared. "You know."
She hugged each of them as she ushered them onto the porch. Jack threw one more inquiring look over his shoulder as he went down the steps.
"I'll be okay," Emily said. "I know grief. It's familiar."
He nodded, and then they were getting into their car, pulling away from the curb, down the street. Gone.
Whew. Emily hurried back into the house, to DeVante.
She found him reclined comfortably on her bed, his back propped against the pillows. Fully clothed, thank God.
"All my life I longed for family," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee on the coverlet, half-turned so she could look at him. "And here they are at my door, just when I don't prefer their company."
DeVante's watchful eyes felt intense on her as she sipped her coffee.
"What?" she said, when he continued to look at her.
"The concept of family was foreign to me, until Daniel. Before Daniel, Roderick was my fledgling, often my problem, but I did not consider him family."
"You didn't have parents or siblings?" she asked, again startled to realized how little she knew about him.
He shook his head. "No. I was the only child born to my mother, who died in childbirth."
"Who raised you then?" Emily asked.
"For a long time, no one. I watched monkeys and jaguars in the Colombian forest and learned how to survive." He shrugged, like it was no big deal. But there was so much information in that one small phrase that Emily knew it was a huge deal.
"Colombia, in South America?" she asked.
"Of course South America."
It explained his faint accent, the foreign exclamations that burst out of him when he was angry or frustrated. Why the words sounded vaguely Mexican to her ears, but weren't exactly.
"And then who raised you?" she asked, knowing she was pushing, but she was thirsty for information about him, to feel like she knew him, and if he was going to offer tidbits about his past, she was going to drink them in.
His eyes darkened. "Katarina, of course."
Emily's stomach dropped. "Oh."
He smiled at her then, but it was a tight smile, more like a grimace, but enough that the little fangs showed, gleaming and white, and her stomach somersaulted.
"Put down the coffee and come here."
She pressed her hands more firmly around the cup. "I'm not done."
He sighed. "Emily."
She looked into the cup, disappointed to see it was almost empty.
"Come and take what I offer. And you will know everything you want to know about me, and more.""And more what? What do you mean?"
"All of me will be available, the good, as well as the ugly."
She sucked in a deep breath, reminding herself that she'd already made the decision to stop fighting him on this.
She set her coffee mug carefully on the bedside table, and stared into his gray eyes, letting him take her over, as she moved fully onto the bed, trying to convince herself that she was ready for this.
Peace flowed into her, the feeling that she was right where she needed to be, doing what she needed to do, and all the events of her life were leading to this one perfect moment, and she felt so very calm.
Calm like a drug.
She recognized it for a split second, and would almost choose to struggle, but then in addition to holding her with his eyes, DeVante breathed her name… Emily, and it seemed to echo through her head, a plea or a claim or a prayer, and she had no choice but to answer.
Her very soul seemed to reach for him, the sensation like a physical memory. He was in her head and in her blood, drawing her closer, pulling her in, assuring her there was nothing to fear, that all he would do was love her, and he would do it so very, very well.
The peal of the doorbell sounded incredibly far away.
But DeVante's eyes released her, and Emily startled out of the dream-state she'd been in.
"Coffee," she gasped, as if she'd heard the alarm clock. "I need to get more coffee."
 "And to answer the door," he reminded her with a wry smile, as the chime sounded again.

Bloody Monday - Twilight's Edward

EdwardAll right, here I go, either for good or ill, I'm tackling "the big one," - Edward Cullen.

Bravery at its finest, folks, because this is not my favorite vamp or my favorite series. And yet... I'd say Edward Cullen is an important literary vampire - right up there with Dracula and Lestat. Huh.

How did that happen?

Of course, pop culture is what it is, and it's always fascinating to discover the next big thing.

And as much as Edward isn't my favorite vamp, he probably can be counted on as at least one cobblestone in my own journey to small press publishing. Vampires are hot, after all.
not scary Edward
Let's just get out of the way what I don't like about Edward.

1) He goes to high school - on purpose.

2) The sun doesn't burn him to ash.

3) The sun doesn't burn him to ash - it makes him sparkle

4) Most importantly - he's very mean to Bella - at least at first.

Perhaps #'s 1 and 4 are the biggies. A vampire in high school always seems ridiculous to me. It doesn't matter if it's a Twilight vamp or some other vamp.

Disclaimer #1: Haven't seen the movie, and don't mind if I don't. I'm not much into movies. But I have read the books.

Actually, apparently all the Cullens go to high school, Edward and Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice.

That's quite a clique! They are described as "Devastatingly, inhumanely beautiful." Unfortunately, in Biology, he gives Bella one of those if looks could kill looks. Which of course makes her fall in love with him.

And the next time they meet: But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me - his face was absurdly handsome - with piercing, hate-filled eyes.

Ouch.

But. If I'm going to be fair at all, one of the hot and sexy things about a vampire is that he carries an edge of danger, which usually both attracts and repels the female protagonist. The power that they withhold in order not to  hurt their love-interest, the hunger they hold back, and the very fact that their all-to-human love is strong enough to override their basic nature - these things make us fall in love with vampires, yes?

Oh, yes.

[image error] site: Discussions with AnnieSo in Twilight, it's either that the language is not subtle enough (for me, that is), or that the characters are in high school and therefore "hunger" is so obviously a euphemism for sex - that it doesn't work (for me).

Or maybe even that some of the early foundation work is lacking. The Cullens have been attending high school for two years, and Edward is such a snob none of the girls are good enough for him to date. Until along comes Bella, who, by her own description, is "nothing special" in the looks department, and by her narrative, nothing special in the personality department, either - but Edward is captured.

He must possess (marry) her, so he can feed his hunger (have sex with her), and she's game for it, because once she meets Edward, Bella stops being a whole person. She doesn't have any interests, skills, or talents of her own, so she might as well get married and have vampire babies.

In fact, she blows off college, (and I can only assume none of the Cullen kids have bothered with college, because once they'd had the college experience, I can't imagine them spending several years going back to high school) - so Bella is about as smart as she's going to get.

Perhaps all my issues with Twilight as a whole is this: Bella is the opposite of a strong female protagonist.

In a world where I want to teach my daughter to be a strong, independent, and complete person (with or without a significant other), the pop culture shrine of Edward and Bella just annoys me. The relationship at worst screams "emotional abuse" and at best gives the idea that it's okay for a woman to give up all her life, all her hopes and dreams, for a boy. Heck, getting the boy IS her goal in life. If Edward truly loved Bella he'd want her to get a college education, he'd encourage her to find her own talents and realize her own dreams.

Okay, Edwards talents:

He can walk in the day, although the more over-cast, the better. He can move exceptionally fast. He can survive happily on animal blood. He's probably a straight A student - after all, he's been there done that quite a few times. He has superhuman sense of smell, sight and hearing. He can read minds - with the exception of Bella, because she's a very private person.

So. In closing. I guess I think Edward is okay, as far as vampires go. I just don't like Bella (apologetic smile).

Have a great week! Leave some comments about Twilight, whether you agree with me or don't, or maybe you have an entirely different take on the series than I go - that's all right - I'd love to get some discussion rocking here. And remember, if you nominate a vampire for Bloody Monday, and I feature that vampire (which I probably will), you win an ebook from my DeVante trilogy. You may nominate here or tweet me with hashtag #BloodyMondaySMJ.

A Year of Sundays will return next week

Hello, my darlings. I am so, so sorry to tell you... it's date night tonight... and...

I totally got two scenes mixed up on the next section of A Year of Sundays - and it's not making any cohesive sense.

So rather than slam an inferior segment out just for the sake of doing it, I'm going to put in a pause. (And I know followers of serial fiction absolutely hate that. So again, I am sorry!)

A Year of Sundays Will return March 18th.

Xoxo!