S.M. Johnson's Blog, page 28

Thursday Morning Coffee - DeVante's Choice

Actually, it's more like Thursday Morning Afternoon Coffee Break, but whatever. Books happen. I was quite busy this morning reading Raina's Fantasy by Jo Carlisle and rather enjoying it. The really funny thing is when I went to Amazon to write a quick review, the product description was for a book called The Courage to Love by Samantha Kane, which, actually, I've read and didn't care for. Kind of funny, because if that had happened when I thought to buy Raina's Fantasy, I would have passed. Which would have been sad for me, because I would have missed out.


So, anyway. What have I been up to, you ask?


I have, as I mentioned above, been doing some reading. My reading list is HUGE, but I've been having trouble engaging my attention span, despite the fact that I bought myself a Kindle Touch. I have so much writing to do, that sometimes I feel too pressed to work on my own projects to settle down, relax, and actually enjoy reading. I hate when that happens.


The answer, then, seems to be to get some writing done.


I'm working with a co-writer on a really cool project - not sure if I've mentioned that. His name is Sean, and he helped me quite a bit with the Oakland/SF setting in DeVante's Coven. He's also a wicked awesome photographer. He proposed an idea loosely based on one of my WIPs, a book called Assassin Jaxx, which I never quite finished. 


It's a cyper-punk, apocalyptic, girl-assassin, sci-fi, religious sort of story. Way outside my comfort zone, but I'm really excited about the collaboration. Sean has this astonishing world-building ability - he imagines amazing futuristic tech, body modification, socioeconomic conditions, world political unrest. alien invastion... and so on and so forth. Oh yeah, he can write, too. Let's not forget that part!


And you know me - I'm sort of a minimal setting/major characterization kind of girl. So together I think we are going to manage something really unique and cool.


My "push" this year is to finish DeVante's Choice, since my publisher, Queer Mojo (an imprint of Rebel Satori Press) has it on their production schedule this year. So that would be really good. It's a great book, and I'm having a lovely time hanging out with DeVante, Roderick, Daniel, Reed, Emily, Tony, and Lily. AND - there's a new vampire on the block - did I mention that? Ooooh, that naughty impish Roderick...


But - that's all I'm going to say about that. We must leave a few things to be discovered later, right?


So for your Thursday Morning Almost Noon coffee read, how about an excerpt from DeVante's Choice?


Yeah, thought ya'll might like that (smile).


Excerpt: DeVante's Choice


Tony



The thing in his belly was clawing, clawing to get out, it was scratching his insides, and itching, and hurting, and he didn't know what it was, what was wrong, or what to do. If he were a normal human being, Tony would go to the doctor. His life-mate, Lily, had plugged his symptoms into a web-based diagnostic program and the search result said maybe it was an ulcer, or maybe it was anxiety. But the only time Tony felt anxiety was when the clawing started. And he didn't know how he could be afflicted with something so inanely human as an ulcer. The strangest part was that it was familiar. He'd felt it before, the clawing, when he was a teenager. The itching, scratching sensation in his abdomen that had almost driven him mad. But then Roderick found him and did that vampire thing, and even though it didn't work exactly right, Tony hadn't felt the clawing after that. He'd actually forgotten all about it. Until it started again.It started with a strange dream. Well. It couldn't have been a dream, because Tony didn't sleep and therefore didn't dream. It was the thing he missed most about being human and liked least about being sort of a vampire. Or a half-vampire. Or, as Roderick often teased, "a weird vampire.""It's just not right," Roderick was known to complain. "Walking around in the daylight all the time like that.""You're the one who decided to make me, even when you knew I couldn't possibly have enough blood left in my body for it to go right.""Oh, but you were so pretty I couldn't resist," Roderick would say, fluttering eyelashes at Tony and grinning.The bantering of this topic went on and on, nights marching into days marching into weeks, months, and years.DeVante probably had the answers, or at least some of them, and yet Tony had never created an opportunity to insist that DeVante try to explain. Tony tried hard to never insist anything with DeVante. The clawing, scratching, itching started when Tony was attacked by crows in the park. If you could call it an attack. He still wasn't exactly sure what happened that day. That's why it felt like a dream.New York was friendly to Tony and Lily, and they'd lived there for quite some time. One of Tony's favorite pastimes was to amuse himself in the afternoons toying with humans in Central Park.The game went like this: Tony picked a vantage point in the park, and turned himself into a dog, or a wolf, or a leopard. And then tried to hang onto the disguise as he watched people react to what they thought they saw.DeVante caught him at it once, and called it 'perceptual shape-shifting.'  It was a mind trick, really, making people 'see' an animal in Tony's place. Mortals who were very distracted were the most fun. They jumped, sometimes screamed, sometimes even ran. Analytical mortals, and those with a penchant to notice details, were the most challenging. They usually kept walking as they watched him, trying the view from another angle. Tony tried to fool other animals, too, but had very little luck with that.It was entertainment, even when all he was doing was trying to convince a squirrel that he was just another squirrel. He studied their movements, the tilts of their heads, and the wiggles of their tiny noses. He mimicked them until he felt his aura changing shape.Somehow it was the crow that caused all the trouble. Tony was doing nothing more than watching it, and feeling like he was one with the species, when a flock of them dropped out of the sky and attacked him with bodies, beaks, and talons. He dropped his bird act and fought back, and even killed a couple of them before they retreated up into the trees where they continued to scold him from a safe distance.Tony examined his bare arms, and touched the skin of his face that felt like gouges of flesh had been removed. But he couldn't find any actual wounds. As if they were perceptual crows, perceptually attacking him. It was all very strange.Stranger still was that the whole flock had been following him ever since. Everywhere he went, there they were. Mocking and scolding, staying just far enough away that it would be ridiculous for Tony to attempt to do them any harm. Lily noticed immediately. "What's with all the birds?" "I don't know." Tony explained to her what happened in the park, and she just laughed and said, "Serves you right, using your gifts for amusement.""Well, I'm not sure what else I should be using them for. If I could figure that out, I'd be halfway there by now.""Funny that the birds are more intelligent than the people, isn't it?""Oh yeah, it's a regular riot.""I just mean that they know you're not the average human. They know somehow, and they have no capacity to buy into the image you're selling.""What image?""Average American teenager. You're terrible at it, because you have an old soul.""Yeah, so you've mentioned a time or thirty. And you have an old soul, yourself.""It's true though,"  Lily said earnestly. "Sometimes when I stare into your eyes, I feel like I can see the tee-pees and the running buffalo.""I'm glad you can see it," Tony said with a laugh. "Because I never saw a real tee-pee in my entire life.""Oh, you know what I mean," she said. "You belong on a wild mustang, driving a herd of buffalo off a cliff."He kept laughing. "You've got it all wrong, Lily. That was never my tribe. We were fishers and trappers... we hunted Minnesota moose, not buffalo. And built long-houses, not tee-pees." "But still. There's a history in your eyes that I can almost see."Weeks passed and the birds were still with him, a whole flock, always settled somewhere close by. It was unnerving, but not nearly as unnerving as the sensation inside his body of something alive trying to work its way out.Last night he told Lily, "DeVante knows stuff. He might know more about me and my history than he's ever told. The next time we connect with him, you should convince him to tell us.""Me? Why me?""He's not that attached to me. I think you'd have better luck."Lily blushed, which was funny. She didn't talk much to Tony about the time she'd spent with DeVante when she was a newborn vampire, when DeVante taught her how to live without killing. And that was fine. Tony was grateful that DeVante had been able to help her find the will to want to survive. After her time with DeVante, Lily was finally emotionally content. Tony knew Lily and DeVante continued to share blood to this day, and sharing blood was as intimate for vampires as sex was for humans. More so, maybe, although Tony still thought sex was pretty much the bomb. But. He made a point not to tease Lily about DeVante. She had very little sense of humor where their patriarch was concerned, as if they owed him a debt so great it could never be repaid.His Lily, so empathic to others' pain that she might be secluded still – avoiding life altogether – if Tony hadn't accidentally turned her into a vampire. The hurts of others caused her physical pain. If she couldn't right every injustice in the world, then she might as well lock herself up in tower, even just metaphorical one.Tony had been a vampire for only one night when he'd accidentally changed Lily. She woke ravenous and out of control, and killed a girl. After that, all she wanted was to figure out how to kill herself.She was not capable of being a vampire. She could not exist in a body that begged death for continued life. It was not tolerable.She killed one more innocent, a mortal DeVante cared for, before DeVante caught her and held her in his iron will.And then DeVante took Lily as his own, holding her back, holding her up, and teaching her to feed her body without ending life. In a way.She still hungered. She had inherited more of Roderick's brand of vampirism than Tony's, and her appetite was difficult for her to contain.They made concessions. Roderick came to New York regularly. He liked the city, and delighted in the hunt and the kill, and held Lily tenderly as she fed from him, getting her nourishment secondhand, receiving none of the fear, regret, or memories that horrified her about the kill. If nothing else, it felt like clean blood to her –a distance once removed from the moments that Roderick swore he lived for. And if it increased Roderick's need to feed, which it must, Roderick had never let on. That was probably the trade-off for Roderick – feeding Lily was worth Roderick's time because he got to spend more time hunting.
They'd figured out how to feed Lily when DeVante had finally given in to Daniel's pleadings to change Reed to Vampire. Lily wasn't quite independent yet – hell, she wasn't quite independent now, but Tony believed it to be a choice at this point, not a limitation. So. DeVante had sent all but Reed away, and Lily was almost frantic with hunger when Roderick suggested she feed from him.It worked, Tony thought, probably better than any of them thought it would.It allowed Lily to stay in her tower. And it brought the others around frequently. Tony could certainly have fed her in the same manner, but he didn't crave blood the same way the rest of them did, and Lily couldn't stand for Tony to hunt purely for the sake of feeding her.Which was fine. Tony had romantic, drunken dances with his victims, and if the mood was right, he'd sip a bit from them, but rare was the occasion that they were not able to walk away from the experience. Tony liked the hunt probably as much as Roderick did. He felt like an "old school" vampire, like Béla Lugosi, making eye contact and crooking a finger, drawing a girl to him with a sensual inner power that belonged to him effortlessly. He whispered soft words in her ear, or sang a few bars of a love song, and they danced in the night, mesmerizing one another. Sometimes he dipped his face into her neck just for a kiss, and other times his fangs grazed her skin, and he let himself taste her amidst the resulting shiver. But it was the dance, the romance, that sustained him, more the blood.Tonight he sat quiet on the front steps, giving Roderick and Lily privacy while they did their thing, and one by one the birds joined him. Some were common crows, and a few were slightly larger birds that might be differentiated as ravens. They settled on the awning, the railings on either side of him, and even on the stairs near his feet. They cocked their heads first to one side, and then to the other, strangely silent, staring into Tony's face.He shuffled his feet. The nearest birds backed away, but did not flee.He stared back at them. "What are you doing here?"A thought struck, and he wondered what would happen if he tried his shape-shifting thing and made himself just another crow in the flock.He studied the birds, then gathered his energy, his aura, perhaps, and willed himself to appear as a raven.The flock went wild with scolding. Several birds took flight, but only for the purpose of dive-bombing him."Shit. Okay, never mind." He let his aura become 'just Tony' again, and the birds quieted. "What do you want?" he asked them, but of course there was no answer.He held out cupped hands, palms together, and let his eyes rove over the flock until a larger bird appealed to him. "Come on," he said to it. "Are you brave enough?"And just like crooking a finger at a girl for a dance, the bird came into his hands.It preened its beak into its feathers, then hopped onto Tony's shoulder, and Tony could only assume it was now accepting a role as head of the flock. The building door opened and all the flock except the bird on his shoulder took to the roof. "What's with the birds?" Roderick asked.Tony laughed. "Those were Lily's exact words.""Yeah, I know, that's why I said it. But really. Lily had no real explanation.""No, she wouldn't. I don't either. But I suspect this fellow does." Tony ran a finger along the back of the bird on his shoulder."If only they could talk, hmm?""Sure," Roderick said. "They could tell you where to find the nearest road-kill. Yum.""Ew, that's gross. Funny, while I sat here doing nothing they surrounded me, got close enough to kick.""Did you kick them?""No. I'm getting used to them. I killed a couple when they attacked me in the park a few weeks ago, but I haven't bothered them much since. They don't do anything except hang out. There's a story here, but I don't know what it is.""Remember Callum?" Roderick asked.Short, sharp bark of laughter. "As if I could forget.""He said stuff about talent and abilities. You have the most unusual talents of us all. And yet you've never asked DeVante a single question.""You know what Lily knows," Tony stated. "And she knows it all. You're right. I avoid DeVante. He makes me incredibly uncomfortable. You received punishment from him because of me, and, also because of me, he had to take care of Lily. So I try doubly hard to stay the hell out of his way. I can't imagine that he cares much for me, and I don't blame him.""He doesn't hold a grudge, Tony. My God, in all this time you haven't figured that out?  He accepts what is and works with it, and then continues on, doing what needs to be done. If that means Lily needs to be taught or fed, so be it. And if it means Tony has a desperate wish to know nothing, well, he'll honor that as well. But maybe he can explain the birds.""You think?""I think there's very little DeVante doesn't know. If there's an answer to why a flock of birds follows you everywhere, DeVante will at least be able to send you to the right place with your questions."

Bloody Monday - Vampire Valentine

This is way off topic, but I'm sitting here my newly re-arranged living room, soaking up the zen. And feeling pretty damn pleased with myself that the wall-hanging is exactly the same crooked as the window above it. These things can't be left to chance, not in a crooked little house in WI that doesn't have a basement.

See the cute little bench under the window? Yesterday morning that entire wall was 55 inches of television screen. One would walk into the room (from the left) and go, "Holy TV!" And if it was on, well, it was almost impossible to look away. I don't even like TV all that much, so having the room filled with a video screen only 5 inches smaller than myself has been quite disturbing.

Now you can see the flat screen TV on the very left side of the pic, but when you walk into the room it's not so noticeable because it's no longer facing the doorway. Whew.

The rug is my Valentine's present from my husband - I want a red wall, he hates that idea, so we're compromising with red accents. Bottom right corner is my laptop resting the kick-out of my lazy boy - which is pretty much my "office." Suffice to say I am happy. The wall behind the lazy boy (not shown) still needs some decorative help, but it will wait for a different day.

Okay, digression over. On to Bloody Monday and Vampire Valentines, yes?

Who's the most romantic vampire? Or, if you're not a romantic, which vampire holds your heart?

I'm going to go a little "Mary Sue" on this one. (Mary Sue is what it's called when an author inserts herself into a story as the heroine. I don't have a Mary Sue character. No, I do not. But IF I did, it would be Emily, DeVante's mortal love interest).

And since hearts and flowers and candle-lit dinners are not an interest of mine, I'm going to go sideways on the romance thing.

The vampire that holds my heart is my very own DeVante. He lives and breathes in my head like a symptom of schizophrenia, daring me to be bold and brave, nagging me to hold my head up in the face of naysayers, pissing on my self-esteem issues, and repeating the pleasant chant of "You are worthy."

Gotta love a vamp like that. But. The intrigue is not that he is supportive or protective of Emily. It is not that he is moody or brooding or negative, but that he has an ingrained habit of self-restraint - of keeping himself distant and cold. And Emily thaws him. Aw, man. That's hot. In fact, I think all the other characters do their part to thaw him - that's what makes them his Children, and ultimately his own family or, the term I chose, rightly or wrongly, his Coven. They would all be his children, and they would all thrive. Even if it killed him.

DeVante is first intrigued with Emily because she is happy. Her happiness highlights what is missing in his life in the dark. But he only gets to know her when her happiness dies - maybe because this is the only moment where they truly find common ground.
[image error]

Emily's mortal life has been rather tragic, and yet she insists that it is her right to continue living it. And why not? When her joyful spirit returns to her, she goes right back to wanting what she's always wanted - a traditional family. So where is the romance? Well. Against every rule or law or edict of vampire culture, DeVante lets Emily go, despite the fact that she now knows that he and Roderick, and Daniel are vampires. DeVante can't give her the experience of "mortal family" - and Emily is convinced she can't live without it. And so the only way he has to love her best is to let her go do what she has to do.

[image error] And so DeVante then must re-focus his attention on Roderick and Daniel. Which works out okay, because they need his guidance something fierce.

Roderick, like the original Emily, finds a profound joy in life. He is impetuous - doesn't think before he leaps, and gets himself into all kind of bad situations. In fact, that's how he met DeVante in the first place - by baiting and teasing and then rejecting DeVante's maker, Katarina. I wouldn't say Kat's homophobic... well, yeah, I would say that. So the ultimate insult to her is that Roderick catches her eye, and even flirts with her a little bit - and then goes chasing another man. Oh, Roderick, what were you thinking? Enter DeVante, who saves Roderick from death at Katarina's hands. And again, it's the joy that attracts DeVante.

So now here's Roderick gone and fallen in love with a sweet blond boy who's not even old enough to choose a president, much less make a permanent, life-altering choice to be a vampire. And who but a seventeen year old wants to be an immortal seventeen year old? Ugh. Of course, Daniel is wise enough that he knows better than to spend immortality in high school (besides, there's that whole sleeping all day and avoiding the sun thing).

Daniel is, however, awfully pretty, and DeVante is drawn in. He might be Heavens most beautiful angel. Roderick can't master Daniel alone. He hated his own lessons so much that he avoids teaching what Daniel must learn to survive.

So once more DeVante comes to Roderck's rescue, and it doesn't hurt that DeVante is a little bit in love with Daniel, too.

And so. While DeVante is not the outwardly the most romantic character in vampire literature (and, in fact, can be exasperatingly stern) he bends his own rules in some interesting ways to benefit those who touch his cold heart. And that, my friends, is a sideways kind of romance.

So... tell me, in honor of Valentine's Day - which vampire holds your heart?

Because I love my readers (and it's Valentine's week), I will give a prize to every person who comments with their Vampire Valentine. Prize choice: 50% coupon for full-length novels DeVante's Children OR DeVante's Coven; or 100% off short story DeVante's Curse. Prizes will be in the form of Smashwords coupons. Please copy your comment and preferred prize into an email and send to devante9901 at aol dot com. I will not retain or sell or add any email addresses to newsletters or lists. Thanks!

Happy 99 cent Valentine's Day!

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A Year of Sundays ch 8 pt 4

[image error] Chapter 8 Part 4 of 4
I caught the scent of campfire smell coming in through the open kitchen windows. I took in a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of comfort I always got from that smoky perfume.
"They must have lit the fire. Let's go back outside." I poked my head into the den and lured Caleb and Annabelle away from the television with promises of sticks and marshmallows.
Silas and Jeremy had a nice little fire going. They both looked relaxed and easy with one another, so apparently their drama moment had run its course.
We mentioned Josie and her headache. Silas looked startled. Jeremy didn't. "She's had a couple of bad headaches recently," Jeremy said. "I keep telling her to make an appointment."
"Get my number from Silas and call me if she doesn't," Liz said. "I'll get on her butt to get it done. She's never had headaches before. Neither Jessamine nor myself have ever had a migraine. Mom never had them. And, as far as I know, Melanie never has either."
"Speaking of…" I said, looking around the yard. "Where the heck is Melanie?"
"She's sleeping upstairs," Annabelle volunteered. "We wanted her to help us figure out how to hook up the Play Station, but she was crabby and swatted us away."
I remembered her finger-drawing on the table, connecting the wet beer bottle circles. I wondered how many beers she'd actually had. She's not supposed to drink at all when she has Caleb.
I volunteered to go check on her, if the others would help the kids get started with the marshmallows.
Mel was on top of her bed in her old room, fully clothed and sound asleep.
"Mel." I whispered. "Psst, Mellie, wake up."
She groaned and rolled over. "What time is it?"
"Seven-thirty," I said, louder now. "What are you doing? You have Caleb. And we're having a fire."
"I know, I know," she groused. "Wake me at ten, okay? I'll be fine then. Shouldn't have had that last beer, tha's all."
"Shouldn't be having any beers when you have Caleb," I said, then was immediately sorry I said it.
"I know," she agreed, to my surprise. "Sorry. Jus' need a nap. Wake me, please?"
"I'll try," I said. "But if you're totally out, I'm taking him home with me. We can figure out whatever else tomorrow."
I was hoping for a thanks, or an outpouring of sister-love, but all I got for my accommodating nature was a snore.
When I went back outside, Silas had my phone in his hands and was reading my email. I bristled a little, but let it go when he said, "Send me a copy of the contract and I'll read it over for you."  I felt my lips curve up in a smile again. Seemed like I couldn't stop smiling today, no matter what. In fact, the only thing that stopped it from being a perfect day was Sam's absence.
The fire crackled and radiated warmth, and I filled up with contentment. At this very moment it was perfect just to sit here with my family, and the fact that sometimes we are difficult with each other felt very distant. My hyper-religious sister was sitting beside my gay brother and his boyfriend, and she was handling it all right. Two more sisters were safe in their rooms upstairs.
Annabelle and Caleb had loaded up on roasted marshmallows, and now worked off their energy playing flashlight tag in the darkening yard. Life was good.
"Whatever happened with Uncle Butch?" I asked, thinking about Mom's journal, and breaking a long period of relaxed silence.
"What about him?" Silas answered. "He'd dead, and good riddance."
"Yeah, that part," I said. "Why good riddance?"
I could only see his outline in the orange light of the fire, but I still thought I saw his shoulders tense up.
"Who's Uncle Butch?" Jeremy asked.
"Our father's younger brother," Elizabeth answered. "He's been dead a while. Why are you asking, Jess? Something in Mom's journals?"
"Yeah," I said. "A story about Butch trying to hire Silas, and Silas refusing."
"Don't forget the part where Silas was never allowed in the building again," Silas said. "And the part that said by not accepting the position, I signed away all past and future rights to the company name, its assets, and its holdings."
My stomach clenched. There was a resentful edge to Silas's tone that was foreign to me. As difficult as he had ever been, as loudly as he'd ever shouted in his teen years that sisters were stupid and he wished he never had any, I'd never heard this cold kind of anger from him.
It was odd. Out of place.
"But you didn't want to work there anyway," I ventured, keeping my voice soft and calm.
"That doesn't mean I wanted to be kicked out, doesn't mean all doors should close in my face. It was Dad's company. I should have never been completely aced out."
"Maybe you weren't. You didn't sign anything agreeing to the terms, did you?"
He didn't answer. The silence was electrifying. I was holding my breath.
"Silas," Elizabeth whispered, and I could hardly hear her over the crackle of the fire. "Did you?"
More silence.
"But why?" Liz asked. "Why would you do that?"
"I can't – no, I won't – talk about this."
He got up and left. Not just the yard. He got in his truck and left the driveway.
We all – me, Liz, and Jeremy, stared at his retreating taillights in amazement.
"What the hell was that?" Jeremy said. "I've never seen him like that. And believe me, we've had a lot of arguments. And a lot of them end with him leaving. But not like that."
"That wasn't an argument," I said. "That was something else."
How does Silas deal with personal problems? I remembered Jeremy asking us that, taunting us, really, hurt and angry, and yet pleased somehow to know something about our brother that none of the rest of us knew.
And I remembered the answer, too. He yells, he punches walls, he breaks things, and only then does he finally spit out what the real problem is.
What he doesn't do is go cold and silent.
I stared into the fire for a couple of minutes, then said, "I know that Silas and our cousin Ralph never got along when we were growing up, but I don't remember anything particular between Silas and Uncle Butch, do you, Liz? Like, I don't know, animosity, or dislike of each other?"
"Hmm," she said, long and drawn out like she was thinking. "I don't know. There's something bouncing around in my memory, but I can't quite catch it. Give me a minute."
Annabelle and Caleb came over to the fire, giggling. "Man, am I ever so thirsty," Annabelle said, with panting breaths and slumped shoulders, demonstrating exactly how thirsty she was. "Mom? Will you get me a glass of water?"
"Yeah, me too," Caleb said, with a big dramatic sigh.
"Very funny, guys. If you're not old enough to get your own glass of water, it must be way past your bedtimes."
"No! I'm never going to bed, never in million years," Annabelle shrieked as she raced for the kitchen door.
"Me neither!" Caleb said, running after her.
"It seems to me," Liz said once the kids were out of earshot, "that Silas and Uncle Butch were abnormally close for a while. Oh, we were still young… but I'm thinking, a Thanksgiving Dinner at Uncle Butch and Aunt Margie's house, when Silas and Butch spent a long time in Butch's den, and I only remember it because Aunt Margie's seemed like she was angry about it. And then it must have been that same year, at Christmas, that Uncle Butch gave Silas, oh, something too expensive, or over the top, I don't know – that BB gun, maybe? Yeah, the one that came with a bonus sling-shot. Neither Mom nor Aunt Margie seemed to know about it beforehand, and they both were a little aggravated with Uncle Butch. And by the next year Uncle Butch was giving that kind of attention to his own son, Ralph, who'd been just a little bit developmentally delayed in what, first and second grades, maybe, but then suddenly caught up to his age group."
"Okay, so…" I stopped to think a little. "Silas was jealous when Butch transferred his attention to his own son? And maybe that's why he never cared for Ralph?"
"Oh, I don't know, Sissy," Liz said, and sighed. "I mean, it was long, long ago. Silas was maybe ten or eleven, and we were even littler, so maybe it's just something I made up."
"Weird," Jeremy said. "Even weirder would be having all kinds of sisters to analyze your every mood."
I laughed. "Mom started it. She wrote about that company meeting in her journal, and about Silas bidding Uncle Butch good riddance. So now that Silas has a secret, I wonder how long he'll manage to keep it from me?"
"If Silas doesn't want to talk, he won't talk," Liz said. "And family secret-keeper or not, you'll have to accept that."
Yeah, we'll see about that, I thought, and smiled.
 I gave Mel till ten to sober up, then drove her and Caleb home. Mel was probably okay to drive, but I thought it was silly to take a chance.
Annabelle was asleep in the car before we got on the bridge to Superior. I'd been hoping Sam would be home to carry her up to bed, but he wasn't.
It wasn't odd for Sam to be gone all day, but it was a little strange to have not heard from him. After I walked Annabelle upstairs, I texted him. Where's you?
He texted back. Lunch.
That made me laugh. A couple times a year lunch with the boys turned into bar close. He would come home extra silly.
I was so jacked I couldn't sleep, which was okay, because I had an email to answer. Yes. Yes. Yes. Please send a contract!
I wasn't sure what to do after that. Give the novel another read through for copy editing? Eh, it was a little late at night to get started with all that. I picked up the journal again, deciding to try to read through the whole thing while I waited for Sam to get home.

Thursday Morning Coffee - Allie's War by JC Andrijeski

Rook: Book OneWow, do I ever have a treat for you guys this morning! I am a book snob, and I admit it. So when I find a story that forces my imagination to keep the characters alive long after I've put a book down, I am intrigued. Or is the word "obsessed" ? Well, whatever. My Thursday Morning Coffee fiction spotlight is on JC Andrijeski's Allies War series. There are four epic length (we're talking 400 - 500 pages, folks) novels available NOW, right this minute, and JC has chained herself to her cute little desk with a view of the Himalayan mountains swearing to write the fifth. I don't think her readership is looming over her with whips and chains, but I could be wrong about that.

Shield: Book TwoIn December I discovered this really great series - and when I say "great" I mean my family quickly realized that when I started a new Allie's War book, they might as well ask for and expect NOTHING from me until I was finished, because this story is all but impossible to put down, even for a minute. Or say the eight agonizing hours one has to spend at work.

The first book is titled Rook and you can buy it from Amazon or Smashwords, and other ebook retailers. Same with books Two, Three, and Four. There is also a short prequel (if you consider 100+ pages "short") that I believe is only available from Amazon, called New York: Allie's War Early Years.

In the world created by JC Andrijeski, there are humans and there are seers. The average human is aware of seers, and the average seer is a slave or pet that belongs to a human. This is the initial framework - but seers are so much more than slaves - their species can access a metaphysical realm through their "light" (which is a bit like spirit) called the Barrier, and while in the Barrier they are psychic, in a sense.

Sword: Book ThreeThe female protagonist, Allie, has always believed herself to be human, and it isn't until she is kidnapped by seer Revik that she finds out differently. But Allie is no average seer - she is more or less a reincarnated seer goddess with an astonishing genetic ability for telekinesis. This makes her politically valuable to both seer and human societies.

Allie navigates the seer world with Revik as her guide. She stumbles. She fails to understand many things about seer culture. And she accidentally marries Revik in the Barrier - but no one tells her. Revik himself doesn't even tell her, mostly because he is incredibly broken, and he is afraid to trap Allie into a bond with him that she might not want.
Shadow: Book Four
The tension and penchant for misunderstanding between Allie and Revik will keep your heart aching as you desperately turn pages, wanting everything to be all right.

From a reader point of view, this is the best kind of book - the kind that makes me wonder how I ever walked around happily living my life without knowing this story.


From a writer point of view, I hope that I can someday build a story world this complete, and characters a reader will come to care for as much as I care for Allie and Revik. 


New York: Prequel Short Story

JC has invested a lot of time and imagination into Allie's War, and it shows. From religion, to politics, to mythology - from wonderful good guys to truly evil bad guys, I urge you to enter the world of Allie's War, and then dare you to try to climb out.

Disclaimer: I don't think JC will mind, but here's a disclaimer: This is one of my favorite scenes, so I typed it here word for word. Any typos are mine. Don't get the wrong idea and think this is a "quiet" book, either - the Allie's War series is about as action-packed as a story can be. This just happens to be a "resting" scene. ~SM Johnson)*




*Excerpt from Rook: Allie's War Book One

I choke... choked... am choking... caught inside a clutched fist of light, an egg-shaped pocket that holds me in place. There, I birth. The turning planet brings stars in a pale swath, sky broken by sharp eyes and lightning flashes, snaking charges of gold and orange and crimson, the late side of the setting sun.

The pain worsens, a spike that arcs, a taste before it keens steeply up, inexorable, becoming gradually more unbearable, until I am sure my insides will be ripped out, torn into so many pieces there is nothing left.

Beyond it, a golden ocean beckons. It is familiar.

He is there too.

I'm sorry, he says. It's not why I asked for you --

Shhh. My voice is steady, somehow apart from the lights clashing, the ghosts winging overhead. Revik, it's all right.

Don't leave me, Allie. Don't leave me alone with this...


The pain worsens again, makes it hard to see.

Still, the words come easily, without thought or regret.

I won't, I tell him. I never will.


There is a question in this... one that shocks his heart.

Before I've understood either the question or the possible answers, he's agreed. A surrender lives in that agreement, what is almost shame. He clasps my fingers, and I see tears in his eyes. They bewilder me, touch me somehow through the pain and he pulls me closer until...

He kisses me. It is a brief kiss. Clumsy, awkward, almost tender... meaning lives there, more meaning than I can comprehend.

I feel him agree again...

...and the night sky disappears.

Above us, light weaves into complicated patterns, in and out like a shuttlecock between silk threads. I have a fleeing impression of time removed. The weaving of the threads grows more and more complicated, more subtle. I watch a painting form, a painting of diamond light, in a pattern too beautiful for words. My struggle stops, even as pain melts into warm breath, a feeling of ending that somehow... doesn't... can't.

I know, somehow.

I feel it in him, too, a surge of familiar.

The feeling is so dense, I can't see past it. A timelessness lives in that sense of the familiar, something I can't explain to myself, something I understand without words, without really understanding it at all.

Something is... different.

I don't know it yet, but it will never be the same again.

Bloody Monday -

I'm not even sure which vampire to profile today... might have to Google "Vampire" and see what pops up.

Hung out with my dentist this morning. That was fun. But I was thinking... it'd be nice to hang out with him somewhere else for a change, I mean, his office is nice and all... but we should go clubbing or something. On the other hand, night clubs don't offer nitrous, so that's a minus.

Anyway. New tactic. Google vampire images. Pick one. Write.

Wow. That's quite an image. (to the right). The deeply painted lips, the shiny pretty teeth, the perfectly formed fang that comes to a nice sharp point.

Mmmm. I stole this image from Vampires.com, a discussion about what your favorite vampire says about you. I don't know - the choice was between Vampire Diaries, of which I know not, and True Blood, of which I care not.

I think I am more of a traditionalist (True Blood), - I like my vampires allergic to sunlight. I like my vampires honorable but not particularly moral. I don't prefer them to sparkle or to avoid drinking human blood - for it is the drinking of human blood that lifts them to the top of the food chain and makes them the ultimate of predators.

I like them cold and sarcastic and sexy. Southern is all right; swamp-speech, not so much.

I like a lethal vampire, one who lives outside the constraints of human/mortal society - he should kill when he feels like killing, he should feed without guilt or self-recrimination. Perhaps he has a food criteria, a "type" that he prefers, and if that suits human morality, that's all right... He should also have the combination of distance and tenderness - an absolute must if the story is ultimately a romance - and along those lines, if there's a mortal love interest, then something about that mortal should knock our vampire off balance.

[image error]
Poking around images for Vampire Diaries, I'm feeling like I'd better check into this further.

I do try to keep up with popular vampires. Trouble is the ones I've seen most are on a show called, "My Babysitter's a Vampire." Such is life when you live with an 8 year old. I have shelves filled with vampire novels, some great, some less great, but for years I made a point to read everything vampire that I could find. Unfortunately the recent vampire pop-culture explosion has left me floundering in the blood spatters left behind.

So... educate me. Tell me something about a True Blood vampire or a Vampire Diaries vampire. Nominate one for next week's Bloody Monday. Remember - if I accept a nominated vamp for Bloody Monday, the nominator will receive one of my ebooks.

Have a beautiful, bloody Monday.

A Year of Sundays Ch 8 pt 3

Part 3 of 4
I flipped forward in the journal, but didn't find any clues to the Uncle Butch/Silas mystery. I remembered Butch, but never knew him very well, aside from the fact that he was Dad's younger brother, the crazy uncle who'd chase us and tickle us and lock us in closets at family gatherings. Never knew anyone who could get kids so wound up. But I did clearly remember that he never stopped the teasing until at least one kid was crying.
Had he ever made Silas cry? Huh, I wasn't sure.
One thing I do remember – after Melanie came back, Uncle Butch never teased her again. And I definitely remember Melanie crying about that, at Thanksgiving or Easter or something. She once said something like, "Uncle Butch thinks I'm broken, because he won't play with me anymore." And it was true, in fact, when me and Elizabeth and Melanie buried Uncle Butch with our stuffed animals, he'd sent Mellie away, saying, "Your mother needs your help in the kitchen." Elizabeth and I had been puzzled, because we hadn't heard Mom calling.
But I think we ultimately blew off the whole thing, because Mel was broken, and no matter how much she denied it, we girls could see it on a sisterhood level.
Wondering about Mel, however, was an old mystery, and one I was well accustomed to. A new mystery about Silas– that was exciting. This was a little bit of what I was hoping to find in Mom's journals.
It was time to get Annabelle moving and head to mom's. I assumed Sam wasn't coming, since I hadn't heard anything more from him since the "broken truck" text. Ah well, that's how it goes for business owners, even on special days.
The wind had died down and it felt like one of the warmest afternoons we'd had so far.
Josie and Jeremy had gone balls to the wall in anticipation of warmer temperatures. They'd hauled the lawn furniture out of the garage and set up chairs around the small fire pit. Dad's old charcoal grill was hot and ready for the food. Caleb was on the lawn swing, one leg on the ground pushing it gently back and forth, his eyes trained on the Gameboy he held in his hands. Annabelle squealed her happiness over the swing, and was chattering about the kite before he even acknowledged her presence.
Silas, shirtless, was behind the garage, chopping wood.
Mel was at the picnic table, drawing lines in the wood where her beer bottle had left moisture rings.
I'd had a plan to announce my big news to the whole group at once, but it busted out of me before I could stop it. "Guess what? I got an acceptance letter. My book's going to be published!"
"Awesome," she said. "Is that why you're late? It's been wonderful, sitting here doing nothing."
I laughed. "No, I was kind of waiting around to hear from Sam. He's got a broken truck. I'm surprised to see Caleb. His dad didn't want to spend Father's Day with him?"
Melanie shrugged. "He did, but he has to be at a company meeting early tomorrow morning in Minneapolis, so he's driving down tonight."
"Ah. Caleb gave Annabelle a kite last week," I said. "She flew it this morning and had a blast. Then I got the email from the publisher, and so we were both flying high."
Jeremy and Josie came out with a platter of dogs.
"Hey, guys, guess what?" I called out, and repeated my news.
Josie jumped up and down. Jeremy congratulated me. Then they sent me into the kitchen for plates, buns, and condiments. Oh, the glory of a published author.
Elizabeth was digging in the cupboards for paper products.
"To your right," I directed her. "Bottom cupboard."
"Thanks," she said.
"Guess what, guess what, guess what?" I sang at her as she pulled out a stack of paper plates and handed them to me. I felt like I was seven years old, and desperate to tell my big sister that I'd won the first grade weekly spelling prize.
"What, what, Jessie?" she said, standing up and peering into my face.
"I'm going to be published!"
"Oh! That's wonderful news," she exclaimed, and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. "I knew you'd get there."
Once we were all settled on the patio with plates, drinks, and food, I pulled out my phone and read them the acceptance email. It was family legend that you only get the full attention of this group while everyone is eating.
Josie flitted around after the meal, collecting plates and cleaning up. Liz and I tried to help her, but she waved us off. "I'm the hostess today. You guys just chill."
Caleb and Annabelle went inside to watch TV. I'd have liked to see them play outside, go explore the creek or something, but it would be getting dark soon anyway, and at least they were getting along.
I tucked myself into a corner of the yard swing to read my acceptance letter again. Liz sat beside me. Call me obsessive, but after fifty rejection letters, I thought I deserved to bask in the wondrous light of acceptance.
Silas wandered back to the garage to start hauling the wood to the patio, and Jeremy followed him. They had an exchange of words in almost-raised voices, and I looked up, startled, and thinking for a minute that there was going to be some big drama-filled argument. They toned it down almost immediately, but Silas's rigid stance still indicated anger. Or maybe not exactly anger, because Silas took a giant step into Jeremy's space, and pushed Jeremy hard against the side of the garage. I was alarmed and halfway off the swing when Silas attacked Jeremy's lips with his mouth.
Ah. One of those kind of arguments.
"Am I really supposed to get used to this?" Liz asked, nodding toward Silas and Jeremy.
"I don't know," I answered, and I didn't. I mean, for someone like Liz, it would take time, maybe a lot of time, and she might never be comfortable with Silas and Jeremy. Especially if they keep having volatile, passionate difficulties. "Let's go in the house and see if Josie needs dish monkeys," I suggested. "Let them deal with their stuff alone."
Josie was wasn't in the kitchen. We found her slumped on a chair in the dining room, holding an ice pack to the left side of her head.
"What's going on, Jo-Jo?" I asked.
"Headache," she said. "Really bad."
"Did you take something for it?" Liz asked. "Do you have anything stronger than Tylenol?"
"No, it's okay. The ice usually works. I hate taking medicine."
True, she did. She'd always hated taking any kind of drug. She didn't smoke, didn't drink, and didn't consume large amounts of caffeine. Josie the wonder child.
"Usually?" Liz said then, her voice sharp with the question. "How often are you having headaches? And are they always in the same place of your head?"
"Once or twice a month," Josie said. "Either here on the side, or behind my left eye."
"Have you been to the doctor?" I asked.
She shook her head, then groaned a little. "Too busy with mom dying and finals and all."
"Call for an appointment tomorrow," Elizabeth commanded. "No excuses."
"Yes, Little Mom," Josie agreed. "I'm going upstairs to lay down. I'll try to come back for the fire. Congrats on the book, Jess. I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks. Do you need help getting upstairs?"
"No, I'm good." She shrugged me away and went off to her room by herself.
"Headaches," Liz mused. "Migraine, maybe. Have you ever had one, Jessie?"
"Nope," I said. "And thank God. I hear they're awful."
We puttered around for a bit, doing a final wipe of the counters, wrapping leftovers and stowing them in the fridge. "I met with Dean Johnson," Liz said, oh, so very casually."
"Yeah?" I asked. "And how was that?"
"Well, he got me registered for the right class."
Her words made perfect sense, but her body language was odd. Her eyes slid away from mine, and her hands fluttered to her hair, then to the hem of her shirt, then back to her hair, as if she couldn't quite settle them.
"And?" I asked.
"And nothing."
I kept looking at her. She peeked at me, then grinned. "What?"
"I don't know," I said. "Josie said he's a hottie. Is he?"
Elizabeth, my sister, suddenly blushed to the roots of her hair.
"Seriously?" I said. "That hot?"
She nodded, and I could see she was trying to fight a smile.
"Like, detour past his office as often as possible in hopes of seeing him kind of hot?"
She laughed. "Well, maybe not. That would be undignified."
"Not to mention inappropriate," I said. "Did you tell Eric your credit liason is a hottie?"
She shook her head. "That wouldn't be very nice, now, would it?"
She had a point there. Although if it were me, I'm not sure I wouldn't be able to tell Sam. Sam and I tell each other everything. It would feel weird, deceitful, not to. Plus – if I kept something like that to myself, I would detour past the office in hopes of seeing him, and then it would turn a silly playful crush into a dirty little secret, which is a lot more stress and a lot less fun.

Thursday Morning Coffee

I am trying out some writing prompts for Thursday Morning Coffee, so we will see  how that goes for awhile. It's funny, I really enjoy the blogs that I subscribe to through email - love that I can read them on my phone while I have my morning coffee, and I'd like to create something that others will frequently enjoy, as well. 


So far I don't think I've quite found my blog niche, but what the heck, I'll keep trying, and when I find a format that satisfies I'll hang onto it. Well, until I get bored, at any rate.


Serial Sunday is super cool - the story is light and fun, and a lot different from my other work. I'm not 100% sure what I'll be doing with the story once it's done, but heck, there's plenty of time to figure that out. At the most people will really like it, at the least, it's another free sample out there for readers.


I want this blog to be a sweet spot for both readers and writers. So if you want to write with me, I'll be happy to have you! Post your prompt response or a link to your prompt response. 


I'm going to start gently - with the following 2 lists:


Journaling Prompt from Free Prompts - Creating lists can be a provocative way of assessing your creative internal thoughts and can spur insightful contemplation. When writing your lists, write what comes to mind, even if you feel it is a bit odd. List 15 things that change. List 15 things that do not change. (Hint don't stop at ten, challenge yourself; go on to 15.) Continue by using your lists for journal entry subjects, fiction or non-fiction writing.




15 Things that change:


1. Relationships 2. Weather 3. Children 4. Wall color 5. Rugs 6. Personal taste 7. Style 8. Pop culture 9. Your Parents 10. Apartments 11. Sheets 12. Cars 13. Technology 14. Desires 15. Vision


15 things that don't change:


1. Graham Lake 2. Spam 3. My half-remodeled bathroom 4. The love of a dog 5. Certain clothing stains 6. My need to write stuff 7. housework 8. base personality 9. Your Parents 10. The fact that someone somewhere is being oppressed 11. The misery of the common cold 12. Our need for food, water, shelter and air 13. My husband's blue eyes 14. The fact that everything changes 15. The fact that people hate change

Bloody Monday - The Vampire Lestat

I know, it's almost Tuesday. My bad.

I do not know why I find blog schedules so hard to keep. I think it's more that I forget what day of the week it is than being lazy about posting. This weekend I played with my family on Sunday instead of posting Serial Sunday, so last night when I should have been posting Bloody Monday, I was posting Serial Sunday. Then this morning I actually had to go to work (I know, sad, isn't it?)

Okay, so how about we get on with it and talk about Anne Rice's Lestat?

Possibly one of the coolest vampires ever, and I suspect the literary character that most influenced my own vampire Roderick. A charming scamp, a daring imp. Irrepressible. Selfish. And yet... seeks redemption.

There are several versions of Lestat, of course. The Tom Cruise Lestat from the film Interview with the Vampire, is one version. I read the books long before the movie was released, so I had some trouble with the film. I hated the changes to the story line. I hated the "biting into ripe fruit" sound that accompanied every neck chomp.

And I hated Tom Cruise as Lestat. (I also hated Antonio Banderas for Armand, but that's a discussion for a different day). And it wasn't that Cruise as an actor couldn't pull off Lestat - Cruise cocky? Oh yeah. Joyful, full of impish glee? Yep. It was just that the look of Cruise could never work for me. I don't care how blond the hair, or how long the hair, I just couldn't reconcile Cruise to being my beloved Lestat. Now - the Cruise at the VERY END of Interview, where he attacks the boy reporter, Daniel, to the tune of Sympathy for the Devil - well, okay, that was totally perfect.

Lestat is comic, and he is tragic. He's been a rock star. He'd gone to ground. He's tried to follow the rules, but he's ultimately broken most of them. He is deliciously naughty. And so, so joyful.

I liked Stuart Townsend better. Even though he wasn't exactly blond throughout Queen of the Damned. Blond is not that important to me. Cruise had the personality, but Townsend had the better look. But I always have that kind of trouble with film adaptations of books. In books, I don't even care how much the author describes the character - I get a picture in my head that I am attached to, and then the director's vision always seems to mess with it. And I hate that.

The book Lestat... What are his weaknesses, do you think? I know he has a weakness for beauty, and for melancholy, and definitely for the memory of Claudia. He also has a bit of a weakness for wanting what he cannot have - but is there anything, really, that Lestat cannot have?

My favorite Lestat relationship is the one he has with David Talbot. He toys with David, let's David get to know him, and all while breaking who knows how many rules? Proving for David the existence of the vampires, aye, letting David KNOW for sure about the existence of vampires. And all without Lestat ever stopping to consider if the relationship is harmful to David - at least not until the end of Tale of the Body Thief. Where again Lestat more or less breaks the rules - he promises that he will never turn David against David's will - but as is the way with Lestat, the thing he cannot have is the thing he wants above all others - and so he almost can't stop himself from changing David. Which, of course, gives David exactly what he wants - the life of a vampire without the immorality of having chosen it for himself.

Interesting, hmm? And I think one of the most complicated and intense relationships in Rice's Vampire Chronicles.

So readers, tell me: Do you have a favorite Lestat, or a favorite Lestat moment?

A Year of Sundays Ch 8 pt 2

... will be posted this evening.

Because sometimes real family needs time, too.

Thank you!

~SMJ