Lex Chase's Blog, page 10

Chasing Sunrise Up For Pre-Order!

Hello, Internet! It seems to be a week of pre-orders for me! First you can get your cracky dose of ghosts finding love in a furniture superstore with Some Assembly Required, co-written by the lovely Bru Baker and myself. And now you can get your hands on the DSP Publications re-release of Chasing Sunrise!

Chasing Sunrise has been a labor of many years, lots of love, fears, and ultimately hope. Originally released with Dreamspinner Press, the 2nd Edition has been heavily re-edited, new material, new content, and yes… a different ending.

It is the story of an effeminate young man who covers himself with women’s finery to keep out the abuse from the outside. He happens to be a king, a cannibal, and our hero. And if you haven’t seen it yet, head on over to the cosplay section to see Mae Wynn Talley transformed into the lovely Sevon himself.

I’ll be revealing the new cover this Friday, but for now, how about the blurb and a little treat to get things rolling.

Chasing Sunrise: Blurb

The once glorious aisa kingdom of Darkmore lies in ruins, and King Sevon Maraté is trapped. Sevon endures unrelenting abuse and is used as a scapegoat by Lord Dominic Ravensgrove, who rules Darkmore from the shadows. Coping by dressing in gowns and jewels, the effeminate king relishes the scraps of freedom he is given to be himself.

As a verkolai, Sevon possesses the ability to part the Veil separating his world from hundreds of others. His gift provides a chance for escape, but Dominic refuses to relinquish his tool for power. When Dominic forges an ambitious plan to invade the prosperous shifter land of Priagust, he manipulates Sevon’s desperation for his people’s survival. Out of options, Sevon has no choice but to cooperate.

On their foray into Priagust, Dominic’s men abduct a shifter named Jack. Despite being tortured for information, Jack’s loyalty to his kind never wavers. But Jack’s knowledge about Darkmore’s history unsettles Sevon, and a curious bond begins to form. Despite Sevon’s mistrust, Jack is determined to tame the beautiful king’s wild heart and perhaps earn his freedom.

As war looms, Sevon fears Jack’s kindness is another trap. Conflicted, Sevon wonders if he should risk chasing the sunrise or remain Dominic’s compliant prisoner.

Read Chapter One Here!

Pre-Order from DSP Publications!

Amazon links coming soon!

Some Assembly Required Available For Pre-Order!

Hello Internet! The wait. She is over.

At long last, Some Assembly Required AKA the meet-cute about the dead guys meeting in the afterlife in IKEA is finally here!

Bru Baker and I had a madcap adventure of co-writing for the very first time and learning we have no self-control. Thanks to Damon Suede making an offhand comment last March at the Dreamspinner Press Workshop, the story was born. So if anyone, blame him for everything. If there’s one thing I learned with being an author, 99.99999% of the time, Damon did it.

Also due to legal reasons, we had to change a few things around, but we hope readers get the joke.

So, welcome to CASA, your fine affordable Italian furnishings. Come for the meatballs! Stay for all eternity.

Blurb: Everyone wishes they were dead when wandering the purgatory of a home furnishings store, but these guys actually are.

Benji Goss is the quintessential good guy. When his boyfriend dumps him and moves out, Benji obligingly keeps the cat—even though he’s allergic—because his ex’s new place doesn’t accept pets. He’s always joked the cat would be the death of him, but not in a way he expects when a feline mishap crushes him under a DEL TORO bookcase.

Snarky loner Patrick Bryant is in such a rut he barely remembers the life he used to lead. The last thing he recalls is being decapitated by a DEL TORO bookcase in a freak accident. As a spiritual CASA resident, he haunts the aisles of affordable Italian furniture, assisting fellow spirits in moving on to their final destinations.

When Benji appears in the CASA café, Patrick considers the naïve spirit just the man to cure his boredom. Benji’s relentless optimism chips away at Patrick’s sarcasm, making him question if there’s something beyond what he can see. But the heart is like CASA furniture—there’s always some assembly required.

 

Pre-Order now from Dreamspinner Press!
Amazon links coming soon!

[Flash Fiction Friday] Kenzie Cade with “Bad Luck”

 

Hello, Internet! Please welcome Kenzie Cade with her piece “Bad Luck.” In this delightful story, Adam is the unluckiest man alive. But when he wins the prize of a lifetime, perhaps he’s been lucky all along.

Bad Luck
by Kenzie Cade

 

“Come. On!” I yelled at Mark.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d won! Me. The one man in all of space and time who had the worst luck. My luck was so bad I would have been better off having no luck at all.

Like at my sister’s wedding two years ago. She’d worn the most beautiful dress, a creation of a satin and pearl bodice with a tulle princess skirt. Of course, I walked her down the aisle. Before she met Winston, I was all she had by way of family. At the end of the aisle, before she was to be joined with her man in holy matrimony, I hugged her. But in my infinite klutziness, I stepped on the train of her dress and as she walked away, her skirt ripped, dropping from her waist and exposing my big sister to… everyone.

That was only one example of my complete and total bad luck. I won’t bore you with the tales of disaster and woe that follow me around. And don’t get me started with the time I sleepwalked onto the set of KANP’s news broadcast. Naked. Shortest lifespan of a job in the history of working. Now I worked from home for obvious reasons.

I ran past Mark, who was still lounging on the sofa, watching whatever it was he watched at this time of night. “Are you even listening to me?” I called over my shoulder. “We don’t have much time to pack and I don’t want to forget anything.”

“Adam—”

“I’m not kidding, Mark. Have you even thought of everything we’ll need for a trip to space?” The grin on my face actually hurt, it was so big.

That was right folks, I—Adam Kendall Ruhl—won a trip on the first commercial space shuttle flight. Me! The man with a history of bad luck! I won.

Opening the top drawer to my chest, I began rifling as I heard Mark approach from the living room.

“Did you know the moon is two-hundred, thirty-eight thousand, nine-hundred miles from Earth?” I told him, not turning around as I picked out my best pairs of underwear and tossed them blindly to the mattress.

“Oh yeah?” Mark sounded amused, his deep chuckle warming our already homey bedroom.

“Yes. Do you know how long that would take to drive?” I finally spun around, momentarily caught off guard at how stunning he was—all dark hair, golden skin, and gray eyes, tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. Truly for a man who had the worst luck in the world, I sort of lucked out when I found him. He was perfect in every way, finding my oddities and quirks endearing. I figured he was my boon. The one good thing that destiny was willing to bestow upon me. Possibly to assuage the guilt Fate had to have with creating such a human disaster.

Mark’s eyes crinkled as his smile grew. I loved the way he looked at me, like he adored me to the ends of the earth and back. He made my bad luck… not so bad. “No idea.”

I had no idea either. “Forever,” I said instead, turning around and pulling out the second drawer. Time to grab T-shirts. “That’s how long.” I held up two pieces of clothing. “Long sleeved or short?” Mark’s opinion always mattered to me.

“Adam—”

“You’re right.” I twisted and tossed both shirts onto the bed then pulled out more. “We need to be prepared for anything. Who even knows what the temperature will be like?”

“Babe.” He was closer. I could feel him closer.

“I mean, it’s not like we’ll be disembarking from the ship. Not yet, anyway,” I told him, moving on to the next drawer. “Maybe in another couple of years.”

“Adam,” he said again and this time his arms came around me, wrapping me in heat and comfort I knew very well.

But this time, I tried to shake him off. “Mark,” I all but whined. “What are you doing? We have to pack. The final frontier awaits us.”

“Not for six more months,” he finally said, telling me what I already knew.

I stilled in his arms, my shoulders slumping, and huffed. “I know,” I told him in a quiet tone. “But besides you, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It’s exciting.” Mark squeezed me tighter, his lips skimming the side of my neck. I shivered. Then I wiggled around until I met him face to face. He brushed a kiss over my forehead. “But I think you’re forgetting a very important event.”

I felt my brows scrunch up. Forgetting? What was he talking about? I racked my brain. Then it came to me. My sister. “Ellie! I need to call her. She’s gonna kill me if I don’t tell her before she finds out on the news.”

This time, Mark’s grin was big enough to showcase his straight, white teeth. He still didn’t let me go. “Yes, telling Ellie is important,” he agreed then he turned us and backed us toward the bed. When the back of my knees hit the frame, Mark’s arms finally loosened from around me, but only enough that he was able to shove me until I fell to the mattress. “But she can wait. I think there’s one thing we need to get out of the way first.”

The look in his gray eyes was smoldering and stormy. My breath hitched and my heart raced. “Oh yeah?” I repeated his words from earlier, although mine were significantly more breathy.

“Yeah,” he replied. “We have a celebration to get to.”

My heart tripped over itself as Mark crawled onto the bed. A trip to space was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time, but Mark was the best thing to happen to me in forever. Maybe I was luckier than I gave myself credit for.

Welcome to Scale Tales!

Hello, Internet! As a part of my New Year’s Resolution, I had said I was going to talk more about my very public battle of the bulge. So here I am, and here we go. Presenting Scale Tales (because it’s catchy, amirite?) and you’re all invited to the party.

On my medical records I am listed as “morbidly obese.” That doesn’t sound pleasant. Every time I go to the doctor I get the “Are you dieting and exercising?” and I say “Yeah, yeah…” and we laugh it off, because we know I’m not. I’ve been diagnosed borderline diabetic (which is thankfully not the case now!) I also take a veritable cocktail of medication for bipolar disorder so I can be the exuberant bundle of pop-culture and quirk that we have all come to know and love.

This past weekend, my mother found an old box of photos in the garage at least 15 years old. And it was a stack of me. No idea what I weighed at the time. But I’m guessing is at least 280 or more. I think 280 is being generous.

One of the tricks I implemented on the spot was I stuck these photos everywhere. The fridge of course, but also inside my kitchen cabinets, on the pantry door, my bathroom mirror, the back of my bedroom door, my laptop, and my car. These are not tools to self-shame but to remind me and encourage me I’ll will never be that again.

And of course, every January, the show The Biggest Loser starts again for a new season. The show of course has become less about the encouragement and more about the drama for the ratings. But sometimes, there’s nuggets of wisdom.

One of the latest contestants, a lovely lass with a shining personality and is known for her quirkiness broke down on the scale and said she wants to learn to love herself the way people love her. Another good one was a charming gentleman pulled a huge number, and was angry. He had seen that number a thousand times before, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was gone for good. These particularly resonated with me.

I like myself well enough. I’m pretty confident, I enjoy bringing people joy through my stories and stupid cat pictures and flailing over Disney Princesses. (Aurora or bust yo.) I’m told I make people excited, because I get excited. And I get excited like woaaaaahhh.

But here’s the key phrase. I like myself. That’s not necessarily bad. But I can be better. I can be a better version of myself.

And one number I have likewise seen a million times is 254. That was my start weight every time I rejoined Weight Watchers. Every time. Does it make me angry? Of course. But it also makes me a little sad too. Because I know I can be better.

We all have our thing. We all have our hangups. And we all have our dreams. And we all want to get better at something. The most valid piece of advice is “You Do You.” So I’m making the step to “Me Doing Me.” So I’m going to be here, every Wednesday, yammering on about the number on the scale and how I am more than a number.

So you tell me, what do you want to get better at? What are your goals? What makes you angry? What makes you proud? What is the one thing you want to get better at doing? (For me it’s actually mastering how to fry an egg. TRUE STORY.)

If you’re going to choose one thing this year, choose you.

In conclusion, let’s enjoy Daisy Ridley of Star Wars: The Force Awakens being fierce af in her training. Look at those planks! #Goddess

Happy New Year 2016!

Happy New Year, Internet! What a year it’s been. Hella stressful, but mostly good! Here’s a look back on the greatest hits and what you can expect for the coming year.

Looking Back

In December 2014, I signed on with DSP Publications. It was exciting, yet terrifying all at once. All of my books got postponed for the following year, and my first release Checkmate Ever After with DSP Publications came out a year later. Almost to the day I signed on.

All of Darkmore Saga got postponed until 2016/2017. Chasing Sunrise* is re-releasing in April, and Glass Moon for the first time in October, and then Star Fall at long last in 2017. It’s a good thing too. This series is proving next to impossible to write. And readers have come to know me for writing quirky, fun books that also hit you right in the feels. But when Darkmore Saga is over, I’ll be glad it’s done. It’s a series of completely falling apart, and putting ourselves back together again. About digging deep into our fears and defeating them. My fear is not getting the series right. But my goal is to ultimately help people with the message wrapped up in the high fantasy setting about a guy in a pretty dress. I want people to understand: “I see you. I get it. It’s all going to be okay.”

*Heads up about Chasing Sunrise. It may be a re-release, but it’s heavily edited. And I changed the ending. Yes. Because I didn’t like Sevon dropping one line in the original that basically negated the entire plot. I’m amazed no one noticed.

Because of everything moving, this was my year of a fuckton of behind the scenes work and zero releases until the last three months of the year. I thought I’d make a whopping $0.00 dollars in royalties this year, I was impressed that I made a little bit. Not a lot, but some.

In December this year, I won a Rainbow Award. Fuck yeah! Only Americana Fairy Tale qualified at the time, and I sent it off thinking I didn’t have a hope in hell. I was shocked that I made First Runner-Up in Gay Fantasy and I was #8 for Top 10 Best Gay Books of 2015. Like. I was shaking when I got the news.

This October and December saw the releases of Checkmate Ever After, Bayou Fairy Tale, and Loving and Loathing Vegas. Also for Bayou, I learned yesterday I was nominated for the M/M Romance Member’s Choice Awards for Best Fantasy and Best Established Couple. I’m deeply honored and equal parts shocked because I just keep my head down and keep working away. I’m excited people love Taylor and Corentin as much as I do. They’re such dumbbutts but I love them.

 

I wrote The End on Taylor and Corentin’s story with Urban Fairy Tale this October. I cried at the final line. I still can’t think about it without my eyes stinging. I likewise cried myself to sleep. I hope it has the same impact on readers as it did on me.

I finished out this year with a total of 195,050 words in 2015.

Somehow at the end of 2015, I acquired a girlfriend. Level up! I really don’t know how it happened. But I like her a bunch. She likes me a bunch. And we endlessly nerd out about our fuzzy mew babies.

Looking Ahead

Some Assembly Required is set to release on February 8th. I co-wrote it with Bru Baker and it’s about two dead guys that meet in the afterlife and fall in love all the while haunting an IKEA purgatory. For legal reasons, we had to change the name of IKEA to CASA. We still hope people enjoy the crack just as much. And one of the main guys looks like Chris Pratt. There are worse things in the world.

Likewise, I’ve been very public about my struggle with my weight. I get these lofty ideals, and then promptly fall off the wagon. I have a motto that I want to go from a Fat Author to a Fit Author. I don’t want to be the stereotypical author. Expect me to talk more about it.

Also I plan to make a hell of a lot more words.

Thank you for joining my world. It’s a little weird, a lot of wtfery, and a dizzying roller coaster.

And we’re just getting started.

Happy New Year, Internet.  

Happy Holidays from Lex Chase!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from me and mine to you and yours!

Today on this lovely day join me at the Dreamspinner Press Blog as I give you guys a very special Christmas assignment and speak of the joy of joys that is this amazing wonder. May I present to you My Little Pony Paradise Estate.

Come join me and remember what it’s like to be a kid again at Christmas!

[Guest Post] Antonia Aquilante and The Artist’s Masquerade

Thanks for having me on your blog today, Lex! I’m Antonia Aquilante, and my new book, The Artist’s Masquerade, came out December 21st from Dreamspinner Press. The Artist’s Masquerade is the second book in the Chronicles of Tournai series, but it can be read as a standalone if you haven’t read the previous book, The Prince’s Consort, yet. It’s the story of Cathal, cousin to the prince and son of a duke, and Flavian, an artist on the run.

In The Artist’s Masquerade, Flavian spends the majority of the book disguised as a woman as he tries to escape the restrictive and dangerous conditions in Ardunn, his home country. When I was thinking about Cathal’s story, what would become this book, inspiration for Flavian’s disguise came after I finished reading a m/f romance that included the crossdressing trope, in which the heroine disguised herself as a boy to gain more freedom in her life. I’ve read books that used the trope before, but this time it sparked an idea. I thought it would be fun to turn the trope on its head and play with it a little. Usually the heroine adopts the disguise willingly to accomplish some aim of her own and the hero finds himself attracted her like that, though he’s often disturbed to find himself attracted to a man. Which wasn’t going to be the case here. Flavian disguises himself as “Lady Flavia” as he runs from his home. Flavian hates the disguise and the role he has to play while wearing it. In fact, he thinks the whole idea of doing it, which was his friend Velia’s, is utterly crazy and will never work. But he has no better ideas. He consoles himself that the plan is for him to remain in disguise for only a short while.

Of course that goes out the window almost immediately. Flavian finds himself trapped into continuing his role, and at the royal palace of all places. His attraction to Cathal is an additional complication he doesn’t need while trying to maintain his disguise under so much scrutiny, especially when he finds out Cathal is attracted to him as well. Something that doesn’t change when Cathal finds out who Flavian really is. But Cathal is betrothed to Flavian’s friend and Flavian must keep up his disguise until he can find a way to disappear, leaving them in quite a tangle. I hope you enjoy seeing how they figure it out.

The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

M/M Fantasy Romance

Series: Chronicles of Tournai

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Release Date: December 21, 2015

Length: Novel (300 pages)

Links:

Goodreads

Dreamspinner Press ebook

Dreamspinner Press paperback

Amazon

AllRomance

Description:

As the first-born son of the Duke of Tournai and cousin to the prince, Cathal has always tried to fulfill his duty to family and country, including following through with an arranged marriage to Velia, cousin to the emperor of Ardunn. But it’s Velia’s companion, Flavia, who fascinates Cathal. Cathal doesn’t know that Flavia is really Flavian, a man masquerading as a woman to escape Ardunn, a restrictive place in which Flavian’s preference for men is forbidden.

Even when Cathal discovers Flavian’s true gender, he cannot fight his attraction to him. Flavian is intrigued by Cathal, but Cathal is still betrothed to Velia, and Flavian worries Cathal is more taken with his feminine illusion than the man beneath it. While both men battle their longings for each other, spies from Ardunn infiltrate the capital, attempting to uncover Tournai’s weaknesses. They are also searching for Flavian, who possesses a magical Talent that allows him to see the truth of a person just by painting their portrait—a skill invaluable to Ardunn’s emperor.

About the Author:

Antonia Aquilante has been making up stories for as long as she can remember, and at the age of twelve, decided she would be a writer when she grew up. After many years and a few career detours, she has returned to that original plan. Her stories have changed over the years, but one thing has remained consistent – they all end in happily ever after.

She has a fondness for travel (and a long list of places she wants to visit and revisit), taking photos, family history, fabulous shoes, baking treats which she shares with friends and family, and of course reading. She usually has at least two books started at once and never goes anywhere without her Kindle. Though she is a convert to ebooks, she still loves paper books the best, and there are a couple thousand of them residing in her home with her.

Born and raised in New Jersey, she is living there again after years in Washington, DC, and North Carolina for school and work. She enjoys being back in the Garden State but admits to being tempted every so often to run away from home and live in Italy.

She is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the New Jersey Romance Writers.

Website / Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Giveaway: One signed paperback copy of The Prince’s Consort, the first book in the Chronicles of Tournai series. (Paperback for US entrants only; if winner is international, they’ll receive an ebook.)

[Flash Fiction Friday] Andrea Speed with “Karma”

 

Hello, Internet! Today on this special edition of Flash Fiction, Andrea Speed drops by once again with Karma. A delightful tale of suspense where the only monsters we must fear are the ones within ourselves.

Please enjoy!

Karma
by Andrea Speed

When the burning started, Ben thought it was lung cancer.

Cancer ran in his family, and while no one had ever had lung cancer to his knowledge, Ben had smoked for twenty years before giving it up. He liked to think he’d dodged a bullet, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Was anything?

Anxiety was tearing up his stomach as he sat in the small room off the doctor’s office, waiting for the results from his chest x-ray. It would be pretty funny if he got an ulcer from this. Why did they make you wait so long? It seemed like torture. Could he complain, though? He was sixty-two, and he knew a lot of people who never lived that long. Considering the life he’d lived, he should probably consider himself lucky he made it this long.

Doctor Rhee came in, and Ben couldn’t read his expression, except he was frowning. That wasn’t a good sign. He held a folder in his hands. “We … would love to know how you did this, Mr. Carter, but I don’t think it’s possible.”

“What are you talking about?”

Rhee put a couple of x-rays up on the room’s lightboxes before turning them on. At first, all Ben saw was the filmy shadow of his lungs beneath his ribcage, and some smudging on the bones that could have been someone’s smeared fingerprints. Except they weren’t smudges, were they? He leaned forward, but wasn’t sure he was looking at, so he stood and got closer.

There was writing on the x-rays. It was faint, small, and as he got closer still, he realized the writing was not on the x-rays.

It was on his ribs. The words were carved into his bones.

“Is … this a joke?” Ben asked, not understanding this at all.

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Rhee said, giving him a skeptical sidelong glance.

A closer inspection revealed the names carved on four different ribs: Margaret Davenport. Patsy Davenport. Robert Davenport. Peter Davenport.

Ben put a hand on his chest. That couldn’t … no. His stomach turned to ice. “Do the names mean anything to you?” Rhee asked.

Margie. Patsy. Bobby. Names from another life. Peter – the man he used to be.

He almost forgot them. All the names, his old name. He’d been Ben Carter so long …

When he was Peter Davenport, he married young, hastily and without thought. He had many issues, and being a young family man in a shitty, dead-end job led him to equally early alcoholism. He had rage issues, but he had no idea how toxic that cocktail was until he came to in the shower one morning, sticky and cold, and discovered he was covered in blood. Only the blood wasn’t his.

From what he’d pieced together, since he had no memory of the incident, he’d come home, drunk and angry, to a sleeping house. But rather than disrupt things with an argument, like he usually did, he simply took a knife from the kitchen, went upstairs, and stabbed Margie to death. It was fast, as it didn’t look like she fought back at all. He then went to Patsy’s room, and killed her too, leaving the baby, Bobby, for last.

Once he got over the terrible, brutal shock of it all, he began to plan. It wasn’t that the horror of his own depravity didn’t get to him, because it did, but all he could think was he didn’t want to go to prison. He cleaned himself up as best he could, and just walked away. He assumed he’d be arrested, but he made it to the Greyhound station, and he decided then and there on a couple of things. Peter Davenport was dead. He was now someone else, someone who didn’t drink, who didn’t get trapped, someone who never had a family or a past. The new name came later.

To this day, he had no idea how he hadn’t been arrested. For the first couple of years, he expected the cops to bust down his door and drag him away. When it didn’t happen, he began to view that part of his life as a nightmare he once had. It couldn’t have happened, right? Not if he was never punished for it.

The doctor was still talking, but Ben heard none of what he said. He was staring at the names carved into his bones, and wondered how he ever could have been so naïve to think he’d escape from a crime as great as that.

The cops never caught him. But something else was keeping score, and he had a terrible feeling the cops might have been the better option.

[Flash Fiction Friday] Kelly Jensen with “The Lost Ones”

Hello, Internet! Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday! Kelly Jensen drops by with The Lost Ones. We meet Keven, a man with strange fascinations that float as effortlessly on the breeze.

Please enjoy!

The Lost Ones
by Kelly Jensen

He couldn’t say when the breeze became familiar. Expected. No one else seemed to notice it. Keven wouldn’t have either if he hadn’t been in the habit of propping open the café door with his left foot so he could safely push through without spilling his coffee. If a rush of air failed to tickle his right elbow one day, he would be miss it in the absent way one missed the sun when obscured by clouds. He’d miss the warm and light caress without questioning when he’d taken it for granted.

He never expected the breeze to jostle his elbow, though, spilling hot coffee across the back of his hand. And, dammit, the top of his muffin was wet. It would get all soggy now. Mealy and weird tasting. Keven glanced up, a retort dancing on the tip of his tongue, and frowned. There was no one there. No one loitering in the open doorway, brow creased in apology; no one weaving between tables in a bid to escape notice. The café bustled as quietly as it had a moment before. Warm, caffeinated, friendly.

Then he saw something. The café had large windows facing the street. It could have been sunlight reflecting through those windows, lighting the side of a face for a brief second. But the sun still hid behind the clouds and what he’d seen wasn’t light, but movement. As if a ghost had been weaving a complicated pattern through the small cluster of tables.

Keven stepped back inside the café and let the door close behind him. Burnt hand forgotten but for the slight pull of sticky skin as he shifted his muffin, he surveyed the shop with narrowed eyes. A small voice whispered somewhere in the vicinity of his hindbrain. A dust devil? Not in Pennsylvania, surely. His front brain mocked him. Staring at shadows again. Believing the air itself breathes.

“Shut it,” Keven murmured, focusing on the low, rounded end of the long counter, the spot where the barista formed up tall paper cups of coffee before calling customers to claim them.

His skin prickled—except for the back of his hand, which continued to sting in a muted fashion. Someone was looking back at him. He could feel it. Someone he could not see. Then a waiting cup of coffee disappeared. One second he could see it, the next he couldn’t.

“What the hell?” Keven blinked a few times, certain all his brain colluded against him. Rational, irrational. Even sense could not always be rightly defined, but coffee cups did not disappear and air did not look. It moved, it might breathe, but it did not stare.

As he waited for sense to attempt redefinition, again, the air before him stirred and waited. Expectation crept toward him from a short distance away, as if someone stood in front of the door waiting for him to open it.

He opened the door.

The breeze caressed his elbow—just as it always did—and disappeared.

Keven followed. There were no clues. None. Just a feeling. If I were a breeze, I’d go this way. Toward the end of the block, to the junction where three other directions opened up. A breeze would want that freedom, wouldn’t it? He picked a new direction at random, heading downhill rather than up. Toward the wide creek bordering the southern edge of town. Ahead of him, he sensed curiosity tinged with caution. His quarry moved away from him at a steady pace, but didn’t attempt to lose him. He, she—it?—believed he’d lose interest before long.

But men who followed random currents of air did not easily lose interest in their folly. Surely his bookish appearance should have given that away. Or the way he held the door open daily for this rogue breeze? The fact he had actually left the shop in pursuit?

Maybe the breeze remembered him. They’d brushed elbows for weeks now, after all.

Keven stopped. He was in sight of the creek, his—their destination, but he stopped. The small voice was whispering again, offering rational explanations for irrational actions. He was taking a walk…had decided the creek would be pretty this time of morning, especially if the sun chanced a peek from behind the clouds. He could already smell the water over the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and the sweetness of the muffin he gripped so tightly, it might crumble.

He had not just chased a shadow down the street. He had imagined the coffee cup disappearing, the presence at the door. He’d personified air, for Christ’s sake. Being known as a fantasist was one thing. He had tolerant friends. But actually acknowledging it, participating in an episode so far removed from his usual contemplation of what might exist outside the edges and beyond the realms of understanding… His heart was pounding. He could feel a flush of heat on his cheeks. His hands trembled, the one spilling more coffee.

Then he saw him…her? Not an it, a person. Small, lithe…ethereal. Standing in the shadow of the bridge, coffee cup in hand. The breeze—the real, actual breeze—ruffled his…her short hair. Her eyes were large, features finely proportioned and defined. Keven took a step forward, the movement awkward, mechanical, and she shimmered. In the space of a blink, the bridge became visible through her.

Why did he think it was a girl? There was nothing feminine about her slim form. Jeans gone grey from lack of soap, a loose t-shirt gaping about a thin neck and arms. Hair a buzzed halo over her scalp. It was the eyes, he thought. Perhaps the shape of her face.

She didn’t disappear again. In fact, she seemed to solidify as he drew closer.

He stopped right in front of her. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She didn’t smile.

Was he smiling?

Her gaze dipped, brushing across the top of his muffin before lifting to meet his again. Keven held the muffin out to her. “Would you like it?”

Did she live beneath the bridge? Her unkempt appearance suggested she might—though her face was clean and her hair obviously cut recently. Within a week or two. Was offering a single muffin to someone who might be starving an insult?

“What flavor is it?” she asked. Her voice was low—not masculine, but not feminine, either. Somewhere in between. Young, as if she…he had yet to decide how he should sound.

“Blueberry.”

“Mmm!” A smile lit the young face, replacing solemnity with beauty—a joy greater than simple happiness, beneath which lurked a celestial calm.

“Are you an angel?” Keven asked.

Shaking her…his head, he plucked the muffin from Keven’s grasp.

“What’s your name?”

The youth looked up with a mouthful of muffin. Chewed and swallowed before answering. “Sam.”

“I’m Keven.”

“I know.”

His surprise was only that he wasn’t surprised Sam should know who he was. They’d been acquainted for weeks, hadn’t they?

“What are you?” he asked, not meaning the question of gender, the way Sam seemed to shift from male to female before his eyes.

“One of the lost ones,” Sam replied, all solemnity returned. His eyes brightened again. “But you can see me now.”

“Yes.”

Sam took a single backward step and his form began to fade. “I have to go.”

“Wait…” Keven took a step forward.

“Tomorrow.” Sam held up the cup of coffee.

“Do you need another muffin? Or something else? Food…money? Help?”

Sam was fading quickly, head moving from side to side. A definite shake, reassuring in its slowness. “You can see me now,” he said. “You know I’m just Sam.”

A person. Not a he, she or it. Sam was a person rather than an idea. “Tomorrow,” Keven said, a faint smile edging along his lips.

Sam smiled and then was gone.

POW! Checkmate Ever After Is Here!

 Hello, Internet! The wait is over! Checkmate Ever After is here and ready for your public consumption!

Today, I’m hanging out at Joyfully Jay with a little release day fun! I answer the burning question that all authors and readers wonder “Who am I?” Join me as I own up to being a quirky writer. Also I drop a hint or two of what I have in the works down the road. See if you can spot them! Also at Jay’s place I’m having an extra special giveaway just for Christmas!

The Checkmate Ever After Blog Tour drew to a close over at Gaylist Book Reviews with a wrap-up of some superheroic munchies. I know I need some holiday eats.

Previously, I was at The Novel Approach for Genre Talk where I discussed why LGBT representation in comic books is a tricky thing. Over at Anne Barwell’s place, I was discussing of all character types, why superheroes? And at Aidee Ladnier’s place, I was chatting about why comedy and I ruin Titanic for everyone and confirm I can never have nice things.

I want to thank everyone that has pre-ordered a copy, or has gotten super excited about it, or tweeted, shared, cross-posted, rebloged, faved, and the whole bit!

I never expected the series to get the second life it did, and I’m excited for people to be discovering it for the first time. I wrote the first Checkmate novella, Pawn Takes Rook, in December of 2011. I sat on it for almost a year before submitting it to Dreamspinner Press on a lark. For context, I wrote the very first draft of Americana Fairy Tale in July of 2011. Shows how long that idea has been around.

Over the course of two years, Checkmate had been that odd little series no one knew what to make of it. For those that hopped on the Lex Chase Crack Train at the beginning, thanks for sticking with me and being my biggest cheerleaders. For those that are just now getting on the Crack Train, welcome and hang on tight.

Welcome new readers to the series that started it all. Welcome back heroes and meet Rook and Garth in a whole new way.

Welcome to Axis City.

DSP Publications
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Omnilit
Google Play

Genre: Sci-Fi Superhero Comedy

Length: Novel Anthology

Published: December 15, 2015

Publisher: DSP Publications

ISBN: 978-1-63476-462-9

Blurb:

2nd Edition (Books One – Three)

The day disgraced superhero Memphis Rook literally fell into Hogarth Dawson’s lap, you could say it was fate. But the brawny Rook did nearly crush Garth’s pancreas. What started as two ships passing in the night ended on the weirdest adventure of their lives. Together, Rook and Garth form Checkmate, a daring super duo that keeps Axis City safe from a rogue’s gallery of nefarious villains, dastardly masterminds, and a coalition of calamity. Fighting evil wherever it appears—from reality shows to comic book conventions—Checkmate serves up knuckle sandwiches of justice. But by day, they’re a couple of broke losers who can barely afford a burger and navigating a weird thing called a relationship. Ain’t true love grand? Rook and Garth may be in over their heads, and even super heroes fail sometimes, but they’re ready to take a stand when no one else will. Don’t hate the players, because Checkmate owns the game.

1st Edition of Pawn Takes Rook published by Dreamspinner Press, 2013.

1st Edition of Cashing the Reality Check published by Dreamspinner Press, 2013.

1st Edition of Conventional Love published by Dreamspinner Press, 2014.

And the all new fourth novella Miracle in Axis City and bonus short What The Water Gave Me, exclusive to the anthology!