K. Z. Snow

Thoughts on Series

2012-02-14T12:34:00.002-06:00

I don't tend to read series books. And after a recent disappointment, I'm even less inclined to give any of them a go.

For a series to remain engaging, its author needs to strike a delicate balance between variety and predictability. Variety keeps it interesting; predictability makes it comforting. Poppy Z. Brite's Liquor stories exemplify, for me, series fiction done right. None of those tales ever let me down. None contained any jarringly unpleasant surprises. Reading each novel, novella, and short was like revisiting a dear group of friends in a beloved place and knowing we were about to have fun together -- the best possible reunion.

So what can ruin a series? I believe it's the loss of one of those essential elements mentioned above. An author can squelch reader interest by dishing up the same old same-old, like Anita Blake repeatedly boinking her way through paranormal populations. Or an author can undermine the comfort factor by throwing in something the reader hadn't bargained for and can't accept.

I just encountered what for me was a series killer, and it's related to the element of predictability. A single development, even a single incident, can have this power. I've come to think of such unexpected departures as "game changers."

For many followers of the Adrien English Mysteries, Jake's physical abuse of Adrien was a game changer. A huge one. It made those readers distrustful, even contemptuous, of the relationship arc that was central to the series. It colored (or discolored) their attitudes toward the main characters. It made those readers wary of how the series would proceed. But Josh Lanyon is an exceptionally shrewd and talented writer. He managed to smooth most readers' ruffled feathers. Fans forgave Jake and, however grudgingly, afforded him a second chance.

I've just been knocked out of a series by a game-changer. And I can confidently say "knocked out of" because, based on blurbs I've read, this development won't be resolved to my satisfaction.

Here's how I see it. When a reader commits to a series, she sees herself (however subconsciously) as entering into a kind of contract with the author. We all have different clauses in our series contracts, because we all have different requirements for a fulfilling reading experience. My contract for the Liquor series, for example, could have been worded like this: "I will remain a devotee of Rickey and G-man as long as their creator doesn't a.) break them up, b.) pull them out of the restaurant business, or c.) move them from New Orleans."

For me, one of the main draws for Frank Tuttle's eponymous Markhat series was the main character, Markhat the finder. He was wry and reckless and often moody. His only steadfast companion was a three-legged cat, and his BFF was an ancient conjure-woman, an amusing and grizzled crone known as Mama Hog. In other words, Markhat was a lovable loner constantly on the verge of becoming a lovable loser. I adored him that way.

A main character like this in an urban fantasy series is a delightful, refreshing change of pace. Cool, thought I. It will be possible to lose myself in this marvelously inventive world without slogging through any of the romantic bullshit that turns other UF series from crisp to soggy and from unique to derivative in three shakes of a butt.

Eagerly, I wrote up a contract. My first clause was: "I will remain an enthusiastic devotee of Markhat as long as he isn't saddled with a girlfriend or, worse yet, a wife."

What happens after I'm nearly four books into my investment? You got it. Then, to add insult to injury, the author seemingly killed off this "love interest" in a satisfyingly grisly way . . . but brought the bitch back! That book had the most tragic HEA of any I've ever encountered.

The Markhat series game-changer is way too much for me to accommodate. The contract has been breached. From now on, I think I'll stick to stand-alones. Unless, of course, another Liquor story is released. :)

Oh . . . and Happy Valentine's Day. JLA left this on my pillow:

The One Million Mom Watch

2012-02-08T23:19:00.002-06:00

Okay, all you leftist would-be destroyers of Family Values, I've decided to give you a regular kick in your (probably bare) butts on behalf of OMM. The following alerts are from their Facebook page. Nothing has been edited. However, space considerations have forced me to shorten certain ~~rants~~ messages. Ellipses indicate deleted ~~blather~~ text.

Alert No. 1 ~ "OMM isn't going anywhere sowe need your help! Occasionally we will be on break to do a clean sweep ofnegative comments. As you can see many bigoted minded liberals who hateChristians because of our faith are spamming our facebook page. . . . Please help us by reporting these comments, andunderstanding that we will not be able to delete them all. You can also help byshowing these lost, narrow minded liberal the true love of Jesus Christ. Thankyou!" ['Cause, you know, deleting those comments is what Jesus would do. I even asked him just to make sure.]

Alert No. 2 ~ "Recently Macy's Department store mailed itsnewest catalogue out to many Americans. In the hopes of making sales, insteadthey offended many customers in the process. The back cover looks like just aregular advertisement for their wedding registry service, but there is onemajor difference. When you take a closer look you see the cake topper of twomen instead of the traditional man and woman. The ad also includes a licenseplate that reads "I do" and hearts scattered everywhere. . . . This is inappropriate marketing . . ." [Goes without saying. Everybody knows Macy's has no gay customers. I even asked them just to make sure.]

Alert No. 3 ~ "The separation between church and state is called the rapture." [I even asked the Divine Rapture Committee just to make sure.]

Finally, let us not forget to "SAY NO TO GIRL SCOUTCOOKIES" and to CONGRATULATE HOME DEPOT for "silently dropping public support for the homosexual agenda."

WTG, OMM! We'll turn those bigots around yet!

Bouncin' Bob's Polka Doodles

2012-02-06T10:54:00.000-06:00

Inspiration comes in the strangest forms . . .

I’m usually not able to remember what prompted me to writecertain stories. The question arises occasionally, and I never know how toanswer it. I do recall that Mobry’s Dickand Abercrombie Zombie began astitles. (The former was further fed by my fascination with the movies The Illusionist and The Prestige.) But other stories were born from some nebulous cloudof observations that stuck in my head, the contents of which I’m not consciouslyaware of.

But this one is still fresh.

Last weekend, as I lazed about reading and watching TV, I cameupon some obscure cable show called “Sissy Melznick’s Polka Party.” Well, thatwasn’t its name —I can’t remember its name—but it was similar to that. As youprobably know, cable/satellite providers usually offer some shows that havelocal appeal. Around here, we get a lot of rural fare: farm shows andfishing shows and, yes, old-time music shows that hearken back to LawrenceWelk.

Ididn’t flip past the Polka Party. I actually watched it. And enjoyed it! Dancing hasbeen an integral part of my life since childhood, and the polka has been anintegral part of my dancing experience. All my relatives are dancing fools. Hell, Iprobably learned to polka right after I started walking. Among people of German or Polish heritage, the polka rules.

It’s probably the happiest music in the world.

And this is for you, Tam. You can tell these dudes are from Canada. They not only have a saxophone player, but he has a ponytail! And there's a mulletted guy! Wearing shades! :-D

So there I sat (or half-reclined, because I was in the bedroom), watching dozens of old farts dressed to the nines skipping and shuffling arounda hall or pavilion somewhere. They were having a good ol' time. The bands themselves were pretty colorful too, in their own humble way. I couldn't stop grinning. Or keeping time with the music.

Suddenly, I knew I wanted to write about what I was seeing.

That means Nelly Queen will be about a sweet man in his mid to late twenties with a droll, self-deprecating sense of humor who plays clarinet in a polka band. It's a local but much beloved group called Bouncin' Bob's Polka Doodles. The clarinetist, whose name is Daren or Dare, becomes smitten with another young man, Jonah, who shows up at many of the band's performances, because he dutifully serves as his grandmother's and/or great aunt's chauffeur, escort and dance partner. There'll be pain in this story, and maybe a touch of tragedy, but I hope the gentle humor will more than compensate for it. And I plan on having a very good time with the secondary characters.

There you have it. A true story of literary (I use the word loosely) inspiration. I know I don't have a winner on my hands, but when has that ever stopped me? ;-)

Corvette Cocks

2012-02-01T09:26:00.003-06:00

Today I'm at the Chicks & Dicks blog for their "Non-traditional Heroes" month. Why? Because Anne Tenino invited me, that's why. And I was raised well enough not to turn down an invitation unless I have a ~~believable excuse handy~~ death in the family or a debilitating illness/injury.

I suppose it's obvious to readers familiar with my stories that I shy away from creating high-powered heroes. On Saturday, I'll explain why. This doesn't mean I like slothful characters, and it doesn't mean paranormal-type protagonists are out of the question for me -- obviously. But it does mean that in my mind even a vampire can get gas, like Ridley Barron in the Utopia-X series, and even a wizard can have a midlife crisis, like Jackson Spey in Carny's Magic (not yet published), and small-town guys can be every bit as admirable as urban billionaires and crime-busters.

It should be an interesting month at Chicks & Dicks. Genre luminaries like Marie Sexton and Damon Suede, among others, are also scheduled to appear. Click on the post title to get there.

By our letters and special symbols shall ye know us.

2012-01-29T13:17:00.012-06:00

I'm not sure how this came about and even less sure why it's necessary, but in recent years, somebody somewhere decided to identify non-heterosexuals through letters and symbols. The process started simply enough, with GLBT. Then Q was added. Then a Q with an asterisk or two. Then another Q, and an I. (When I first saw Q*, I admit I was totally mystified. All I could think of was queer with a fetish for footnotes. Sorry, but I honestly had no clue what it meant.)

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm quickly losing track of the floats in this typographical parade.

Who, exactly, is dreaming this stuff up? Is there a Nonheterosexual Denomination Committee somewhere? And why haven't non-Caucasians adopted this system? More to the point, why would anybody want to be identified in such a way, rather than as an individual?

If this goes on, the PC police (who, I imagine, have a Top Secret facility somewhere near Area 51) will soon have us typing something like the following to indicate Nhet persons -- and fill us with guilt for being unconscionably insensitive if we don't.

B!B( )B=L:-}3L~I?TT/XX-->XYTT/XY-->XXT...T-$XX%*X%*GRRRHEHEHOHOMWOo }{+&#GQG<3G

Here are the meanings of the abbreviations. Commit them to memory. There will certainly be more to come. (Note: You can combine these as you see fit, and add V where necessary to indicate "virgin" or A to indicate "autoerotic.")

B! (bisexual with a preference for men)
B( ) (bisexual with a preference for women)
B= (bisexual with no distinct preference)
L;-} ("lipstick" lesbian)
L~ ("butch" lesbian)
I (intersex/middlesex)
? (undecided; fluid)
FT/XX-->XY (fully transitioned female to male)
FT/XY-->XX (fully transitioned male to female)
T... (transition in progress)
T-$ (can't afford transition but identifies as other gender)
X (cross-dresser)
X% (drag queen)
*X%* (especially egotistical/flamboyant drag queen)
[The following are optional variations of/additions to G, mostly.]
GRRR (bear)
HEHE (twink)
HOHO (slut)
M (top)
W (bottom)
O (prefers oral)
o (prefers anal)
}{ (prefers frottage)
+ (sub, likes bondage)
& (sub, likes rope bondage)
# (sub, likes pain)
GQ (slave to fashion)
G$ (gay for pay)
<3g (female readers and writers of m/m romance who wish they could be gay men)

Now, I think I'll just sit back and await the arrival of the FMs:

If you thought cross-dressers couldn't be sexy . . .

2012-01-20T14:45:00.000-06:00

Wow. This is some kind of HOT. NSFW (that's for you, Tam).

Inspirations

2012-01-15T23:19:00.000-06:00

For many of us, certain pieces of music sink into our souls, deeply and tenaciously. The one album that's most influenced my fiction has been Tom Waits' Closing Time. I don't mean I've spun stories literally from the songs' lyrics. But the feel, the spirits of certain ones have definitely served as the inspiration for specific works. (There've been others, of course, but Closing Time has been tightly coiled around something inside me since the early Eighties.)

This song, for example, influenced Electric Melty Tingles.

Every time I write a Jackson Spey / Adin Swift story, I listen at least once to this:

My next DSP release, A Hole in God's Pocket, came a little from this:

Recently, I've been harried by the idea of writing a story titled Nelly Queen, maybe without a HEA, spurred on by this:

Have any of you had similarly "clingy" music in your lives, the kind that's insinuated itself into your psyches?

Feature at Reviews by Jessewave

2012-01-01T10:14:00.002-06:00

It's up right now (click on this post's title). Happy New Year to the well-adjusted and maladjusted alike!

News

2011-12-28T14:41:00.004-06:00

I'm going to mention this, because it doesn't happen to me very often.

Two fairly new, very articulate, and genuinely personable reviewers put a couple of my pieces on their Favorite Books of 2011 lists. I can't tell you how surprised and thrilled I was (as I said, I'm not often mentioned in this context, and I'm truly honored to be so). Heaping thanks to the genuinely sweet Tom Webb of "A Bear on Books," who cited Visible Friend. Tom posted his "Best" list at It's Raining Men. And more thanks to J. at "Joyfully Jay" for mentioning The Zero Knot. Then there's talented Tam Ames over at "Tam's Reads." She didn't exactly do a Favorites list, but she averaged out her book ratings (of which there must be hundreds, considering how much that woman reads). I made it into third place -- another lovely surprise.

I myself have an appallingly short Favorites list. So here it is, for what it's worth:

Best Book I Read in 2011 -- The Brothers Bishop by Bart Yates (hands down)
Favorite M/M Couple of 2011 (and possibly forever) -- Rickey and G-man, created by Poppy Z. Brite (I'm in the process of gobbling up every novel and story in which they're featured.)
Favorite Character I Made Up in 2011 ('cause I can't possible pick a favorite book) -- Jared "Red" Bonner in The Zero Knot.
Dumb-assedest Review I Read in 2011 -- Can't remember. It seems every time I troll for books at Amazon or Goodreads, I invariably come across a reader review that makes me think, That's gotta be the most dumb-assed review I've ever read.
Best Blog I Discovered in 2011: a toss-up between "Thorny, Not Prickly" and 2 Boys in Love (because I'm getting sentimental in my dotage)
Books I'm Most Looking Forward to Reading -- anything with the couple mentioned above; anything by Frank Tuttle that I haven't yet read (God, I am such a fangirl); Downtime by Tamara Allen (which I was super-duper lucky enough to have grabbed at Wave's big holiday giveaway); Willy and Martyrs and Monsters by Robert Dunbar; some stories by Lucius Parhelion. (Crap, now a slew of other books are coming to mind, but I can't possibly list them all!)

Keep your eyes peeled for Jessewave's announcement of her on-site New Year's bash. I'll be contributing a little something. And speaking of Wave, I'm also grateful to those people who chose my titles during her enormous Christmas giveaway. Hundreds of books were offered by dozens of authors, so, honestly, it was a relief not to be overlooked!

To all my sweeties . . .

2011-12-23T08:57:00.003-06:00

It's that time of year again.

2011-12-18T13:02:00.001-06:00

Every Christmas season, if I remember, I like to parade out this sweet, funny novel from my romance-writing past. For all its imperfections, I'm very, very fond of it.

I wrote Mrs. Claws -- originally with the subtitle, The Nightsweats Before Christmas -- approximately eight years ago. It was first published through a tiny romance press called Scheherazade Tales (now long gone), then reissued through Cerridwen Press, the demure sister of Ellora's Cave. EC has since developed an imprint called Blush, into which all its Cerridwen titles have been absorbed. (Did you follow that?) Long story shortened: Mrs. Claws is still available, now as an EC "Blush" title. Click on this post's title to get to the book's page.

Yup, it's an m/f romance, but it isn't saccharine or angsty and contains no explicit sex.

Following is a blurb. Merry Christmas!

Crap, Christmas is coming. That's Lauren's attitude. Why? Because her husband left her for a twit. And because she's dated seventeen losers since her divorce. That's why. "The most wonderful time of the year" doesn't seem all that damned wonderful to her, and she's not in the mistletoe mood. But she wants to be. (Well, okay, her therapist wants her to be.)

In an effort to ~~get her therapist off her back~~ achieve her goal, Lauren applies for a job playing Mrs. Santa Claus. That might get her in the holiday spirit. Unless, of course, the job turns out to be a bigger bite than she can chew, and a major reason for its unchewability is that one of those seventeen losers happens to be playing Santa opposite her -- at a huge shopping mall, no less. Then there are those inevitable encounters with difficult children and parents, the interference of meddlesome friends, and the appearance of an icky ex or two.

Quite a lot to handle for a diehard Grinchette. But if Lauren toughs it out, this grueling season might bring her more than Christmas cheer. It might very well give her the gift of love.

Saturday Snark!

2011-12-17T09:31:00.001-06:00

I missed last week's snark extravaganza because of the Big Computer Switchover. It felt a little odd not participating. So, I got an early start today. Doesn't look like the other offerings are up yet, but if you check Marie's blog a little later (click on post title), you might find them.

Today I have a snip from my urban fantasy WIP, Scourge. It features a vampire who's become mortal again (and whose partner is a wizard) speaking with a vampire who's still a vampire. Long ago and far away, the two used to be lovers.

* * *

Adin leaned across the table and stared fiercely at the vampire. “I swear to God, I’ll spit on anybody—politician or prince, preacher or pope—who tries to diminish what Jackson and I have together. So I sure as hell won’t hesitate to spit on some bloodsucking pagan.”

For a few moderately terrifying seconds, the skin around Rugh’s eyes puckered. His irises, shocking enough in their natural state, flared with hellish light. Adin braced himself. He could be flung across the room. He could be drained dry. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about either. Jackson wasn’t around, and his own preternatural powers had fled the moment he’d reverted to mortality.

Then Rugh blinked, turned his head away, and looked down. Was that a smile that played over his mouth?

“Perhaps,” he said, “I should sit farther away from you.”

New Computer!

2011-12-13T11:15:00.000-06:00

After eight years of nursing my old Dell with Windows XP through increasing numbers of frustrating -- and, to me, inexplicable and irreversible -- problems, I finally broke down and got a whole new desktop system with a Windows 7 OS. The biggest challenges I'm facing right now are getting used to this keyboard (especially the space bar), dealing with my Word 2003 docs vis a vis Word 2010 (and just getting used to 2010!) and restoring my old favorites list.

So if any of you have suggestions or tips, bring 'em on. I'd be most grateful. :)

Dig it!

2011-12-07T17:46:00.004-06:00

The
RAINBOW AWARD
for the
BEST LGBT BOOK COVER OF 2011
goes to . . .

The GODDESS ANNE CAIN . . .

for . . .

! ! ! ! !

A Rare Public Appearance

2011-12-05T15:02:00.003-06:00

Well, okay, so it's only online. I'll be at the blog of Jadette Paige on Pearl Harbor Day. (For those of you who are history challenged, that's December 7; for those of you who are calendar challenged, that's Wednesday.)

I'll be talking about what prompted me to write The Zero Knot and posting an excerpt that's never appeared anywhere else -- except in the book, of course. ;-)

On a related note, I'm offering a signed print copy of this novel (if you live in the US or Canada) as part of Jessewave's 2011 "Big-Ass Holiday Author Giveaway" on December 22. This annual event lets writers thank readers for their support by gifting them with books. In case you're wondering, I haven't excluded readers who don't live in North America. Up to four people may choose any ebook from my backlist.

Saturday Snark VII

2011-12-03T10:23:00.001-06:00

Yessiree, it's that time again, thanks to the gracious (and funny!) Marie Sexton.

This week I'm bringing you Fallon, Todd, and Jake, aka the Hunt Club, from FUGLY, a contemporary fable. When these guys go clubbing together, they love getting their snark on; it's part of their man-hunt ritual. But . . . they end up paying a high price for their ridicule. (David Ocho, the narrator in the snip below, observes but doesn't participate in the snark -- lucky for him.)

* * *

The Hunt Club began doing what it did best: scan the area for prey while making snide comments about the men who weren’t up to their standards.

A group of five kids walked in. They looked like kids to me, anyway, but were probably students from the university.

“Here comes the itty-bitty-titty committee,” Todd said.

“I don’t mind snack-sized,” Fal countered.

“Then maybe I should introduce you to Gabriel,” Todd told him. “I think he’s got a crush on me. I’d like to nip it in the bud.”

Gabriel was a new Sudbury-Bischoff employee, an allegedly short and quirky young guy who took care of the cosmetic side of their preparation work. Todd preferred tall, handsome men. All three of them did.
Although none of us would’ve said so to Todd, we all wondered how he managed to hang on to any hook-up after the hook-up found out what he did for a living. It was an irrational prejudice, granted, but a prejudice we had trouble overcoming. Fallon had once said, “I’d do Toddy in a minute…after I knew he’d spent a day getting detoxed by a hazmat team and another twenty-nine days in the shower.”

A short time after the twinks walked in, Jake peevishly noted the “glamazon” who was dancing with a man he fancied. Fallon, possibly taking umbrage, said glam was better than butter-faced, which described the glamazon’s partner.

“Damn, look at that one,” Todd said, pointing out a guy who was wending his way from the DJ to the bar.

“Yowza,” Jake said distastefully.

“Boy must’ve tumbled from the tippy-top of the fugly tree,” said Fal, “and hit every branch on the way down.”

New WIP Sneak Peek

2011-12-02T11:56:00.002-06:00

If you look at the sidebar under "Pages," you'll see a new post. I've put up an excerpt from Scourge: Red, the first part of my in-progress Jackson Spey Scourge trilogy. (Still don't know if this will be a proper trilogy -- meaning, three separate books -- or one book divided into three parts. How it shakes out will depend on the length of each section. I'm currently working on the second.)

The Dove and the Pearl

2011-11-28T21:29:00.001-06:00

Blogs don't generally warm my heart. Most aren't designed to do that. Most are meant to inform and/or entertain. (Well, I suppose there are some squeaky-clean, sappy-ass, sunshiny blogs around for conservative ladies whose lives center on church and family. However, since I don't fall into that demographic category, I'm unaware of them -- thank badness.)

But I've been pleased to discover, finally, a heartwarming blog that makes me grin rather than potentially gag. 2 Boys in Love (click on the post title to get there) centers on exactly what its name suggests: two intelligent, candid young men who are crazy about each other and take so much exuberant pride in that fact, they want to share their thoughts, feelings, and daily experiences with the world. As far as I'm concerned, the world is a better place for it.

Anybody who needs his or her faith restored in humanity should make a point of visiting Matty and Brad regularly. They aren't saccharine; they're simply sincere. I only wish all queer kids everywhere could find the kind of mutually supportive relationship these boys have forged. It's incomprehensible to me that anybody could take issue with such unshakable friendship and untainted romance, with such happiness.

I just adore these guys. Long may they love . . . and spread their joy.

Saturday Snark VI

2011-11-26T08:30:00.002-06:00

Once more, courtesy of the lovely and talented Marie Sexton . . .

This snip is from A Hole in God's Pocket, due out in spring 2012 from Dreamspinner Press. Greg Aubuchon, one of the main characters, is playing Good Samaritan; he's brought an inebriated man home with him to crash on the couch. But Greg's housemate, Lenny, is none too happy about this act of kindness. Lenny's a rip-roarin' redneck who swears the overnight guest is gay -- at least according to local gossip -- and his homophobia has kicked in.

* * *

Greg’s mind backpedaled. Had there been any other indication Faron was gay? No, not really. Certainly nothing concrete. “That crap doesn’t mean anything. There are dozens of single men around here who hang out together or share a rental. Look at us.”

“Buddy,” Lenny said, reaching across the corner of the table and clapping a hand to Greg’s shoulder, “we don’t flit around and we sure as shit don’t get all touchy-feely with each other.” He abruptly, and quite comically, pulled his hand back. God forbid Lenny Lorta should be mistaken for a “flitter.”

Greg squelched an impulse to laugh. “Sounds like folks are jumping to a whole lot of conclusions based on a whole lot of nothing. You know how it is. One person makes an assumption and pretty soon it’s being spread like the Gospel.”

“Yeah, I know, but you don’t often hear about dudes being pegged as homos. Where there’s smoke, blah-blah-blah.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Greg seemed to be saying it to himself as much as to Lenny. He needed to quell the flutter of excitement he felt, the pale images that rose in his mind like resurfacing stains. “You don’t know him any better than I do.”

“Whatever. But the fucker better not wander into my bedroom. I’m gonna lock my door just to be on the safe side.”

Greg gave Lenny a look that said, You must be kidding. “Do that. God knows we don’t want a maybe-gay man with maybe-rampaging hormones mistaking you for David Beckham.”

Saturday Snark V

2011-11-19T15:21:00.001-06:00

Just a short one today -- an "afterglow exchange" from The Prayer Waltz:

“I’m a sucker for a man who licks my chest. Just keep doing it. Maybe more hair will grow.”

“Shit, Evan. I’d suffocate.”

Twitter Twit

2011-11-16T14:33:00.002-06:00

That be me. I am honestly starting to get the guilts about people following me on Twitter. They have nothing to follow. I am lost in this wilderness of drive-by posts and dangling conversational bits.

I'm so sorry!

I don't know how to respond to comments. I don't know how to participate in discussions. I don't feel like hunting down and reading instructions.

So . . . how do I get involved? Do I want to get involved? I'm not entirely sure yet. There are so damned many wackos out there! I haven't felt too kindly disposed toward social networking lately, because sometimes the Web bears an alarming resemblance to a spider web, with plump, toxic arachnids just lying in wait and trembling with anticipation 'cause they're so eager to pounce. I don't want them near me!

But anyway, for future reference, how does Twitter work? I just haven't bothered to get the hang of it.

Saturday Snark IV

2011-11-12T17:23:00.002-06:00

My fourth installment comes from my steampunk novel, Mongrel. Fanule Perfidor, the Eminence of Taintwell, is at (what turns out to be) a very dangerous meeting with his enemies. Lucky for him that his ex-lover, vampire extraordinaire Clancy Marrowbone, has come along.

Click on the post title to visit Marie Sexton's blog and see more authors' offerings!

* * *

For countless moments, chaos reigned. A gunshot tore through the night, a man uttered a strangled cry of shock and terror, Pushbin and Hunzinger tried to duck beneath the table, Will rushed into the tent and immediately dove for Fanule, asking if he was hurt, and Clancy Marrowbone’s voice sounded from somewhere above.

“You can get up now, Fan,” he said, placid as a pigeon.

With Will still touching his back and gripping his arm, Fanule rose to his feet. Pushbin and Hunzinger struggled up from beneath the table. The mayor, his eyes like saucers, stumbled backward and clumsily fell into his chair. Hunzinger’s hand flew to his throat as a startled sound came from his mouth.

Petrified, they stared at the figure in the middle of the table.

“Hello,” said Marrowbone. “As you gentlemen know, I’m not the Eminence of anything, unless it’s a room full of rather short people.” He licked his lips in a leisurely way. “Or lifeless bodies.”

“You always did know how to make an entrance, Clancy,” Fanule said as he resumed his seat.

Marrowbone, who’d been kneeling on all fours, lackadaisically fell back on his haunches. Blood streaked the lower half of his face.

Signs, signs, everywhere a sign . . . with postscript

2011-11-10T14:27:00.004-06:00

This week, I like this one the best:

For Tam and Tracy

2011-11-07T23:07:00.001-06:00

THANK YOU!

One Reason Why Cyberspace Can Be a Distasteful Place

2011-11-07T08:22:00.000-06:00

Imagine, within that crystal ball, a huge collection of URLs . . .

Saturday Snark III

2011-11-05T15:44:00.004-05:00

Welcome to another edition of Marie Sexton's "Saturday Snark"! The selection below is from my Dreamspinner novella The Prayer Waltz. The narrator, Steven Brandwein, has decided to pray before a statue of St. Jerome. He's at the church where his late lover, an ex-priest, once served.

His snark is gentle and rueful and mostly self-directed.

(Click on the post title to get to Marie Sexton's blog, where you'll find her own sample as well as links to those of other authors!)

* * *

Taking a deep breath, I sank to the hard kneeling rail and rested the wrists of my folded hands against the equally hard prayer rail. Maybe supplicants had to sacrifice comfort in addition to money if they expected something in return.

At least, I thought, I won’t have to flagellate myself.

I turned up my eyes to address Jerome. Actually, I first looked at his statue’s pedestal. A plaque affixed to it read:

Be at peace with your own soul,

then heaven and earth will be at peace with you.

~ St. Jerome

(Eusebius Sophronius Hieronymus, 340-420)

My gaze crept up to his face. Please don’t look at me. You might be the patron saint of orphans and abandoned children, but you are one scary fella.

After that, my mind pretty much went blank. I realized for the second time in my life that I didn’t know how to pray. The first time was after Frank’s accident. I didn’t know how many or what kinds of requests my ten dollars and sore knees had secured me or what words would give them wings. Although my father was Jewish and my mother was Catholic, they were old hippies and hadn’t put too much stock in organized religion. I’d been exposed to it but never steered down a particular path. So I hadn’t spent too much time in places of worship.

Miserably, I mouthed Frank’s name. Then, I miss you.

A yammering began in my mind, a rattling, falling, bouncing and scattering string of words, like poorly matched beads sliding off a broken necklace.

Steven Brandwein here. Please oh please bless the soul and anything else that’s left of Frank Connor and grant him eternal joy and peace, he was once your loyal servant and I know he was a damned good one, but he wasn’t created according to most men’s interpretation of the rules of creation, hell, you know that, so he was forced to stop serving, he didn’t want to but he couldn’t deny his nature, I don’t know why any good man should feel pressured to deny his nature, what the fuck is wrong with people, please fix them, douse them with enlightenment or give them a kick in the ass or something, this shit has got to stop, there are too many Franks out there, but thank you for the gift he was, only why did you let him get ripped up so much before you sent him my way, oh just please let him know how much he meant to me and give him a pat on the back for a good job well done and stuff him with happiness even if it’s in the form of hard dick because he’s earned it, pardon my crudeness…oh, and assure him I don’t mind.

As the syllables tumbled, I’d unwittingly made a basin with my hands and dropped my face into it. Lightly, my breath and shoulders hitched. The skin of my inner fingers felt damp.

I’m all right, Steve. I’m home now. It’s perfect. You must go be happy.

I lifted my face, wishing I could tell the difference between words from beyond the veil and words from within the well of wishful thinking. Fuck.

Saturday Snark II

2011-10-29T12:06:00.005-05:00

Welcome to another edition of Marie Sexton's SATURDAY SNARK! (Click on that link to see Marie's snarky snippet as well as those of other m/m authors.)

My contribution this week comes from my Loose Id novel, Mobry's Dick (available in ebook as well as print). In the passage below, Cameron Waters (MC #1) is in bed with a trick named Doug. Somebody's been making Cam feel mighty good. Thing is, Doug's fast asleep. Much to Cameron's surprise, and embarrassment, a third man has sneaked into bed with them. It's Cam's temporary boarder, Paul Patrillo (MC #2), a man on the mend from some injuries. 'Fraid I can't tell you how he sustained them. ;-)

This is more an excerpt than a snippet; it's kind of the Energizer Bunny of snark.

* * *

“What the…?” It was Doug’s voice again, carrying confusion and annoyance.

Light flared from the nightstand lamp on Cam’s side of the bed. He blinked against it as he boosted himself onto his elbows and tried to focus on Doug’s muscular bulk. Doug wasn’t looking at him. Doug was looking past him.

“Well, well. Little Cameron found a playmate.” A different voice…and one Cam knew well.

He clumsily flipped onto his back and scooted toward the headboard.

Naked, Paul stood over the bed, his incipient boner shrinking.

“Who are you?” Doug asked. A logical question.

“The invalid who’s been locked in the spare room.”

Doug shot Cam a befuddled glance before focusing on Paul once more. “You don’t look like no invalid.” His bleary gaze fixed on Paul’s cock.

“I don’t look like an invalid.”

Reality swam away as Cam stared at Paul. His houseguest had been doing this and not his pick-up? He blinked, even more stunned than poor, blindsided Doug, and tried to shed the feeling he was precious to the man who’d been exploring his body so intimately.

“That’s what I said,” Doug countered. “Why were you locked in another room?”

Cam finally found his voice as his haze of arousal, and shock, dissipated. “He wasn’t locked in any damned room. He was just downstairs, asleep. Or so I thought.”

Paul coolly regarded him. “Where’d you find the bear?”

Cam clamped his hands to his head. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Doug said to Cam. He sounded both irked and a little hurt.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. For shit’s sake, I just came out—”

“Three weeks ago,” Paul said, looking at his wrist as if it bore a watch.

“Then who the fuck is he?” Doug was clearly flustered. As if underscoring his frustration, he farted—an oddly high-pitched sound for so beefy a man. Its thin squeal seemed to burrow into the mattress.

Paul frowned at him. “Did you just—”

“Get out of here!” Cam scrambled off the bed. As he guided Paul toward the door, he said over his shoulder, “He’s Paul Patrillo, a temporary housemate. Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

“Maybe we could have a threesome.” Doug obviously became more alert the longer he ogled Paul.

“I think Cameron’s already met his group-sex quota for the week.”

“Will you please shut the hell up?” Cam hissed into Paul’s ear.

Paul tried to step past him and head for the nightstand. “Just let me grab my lube and condoms, would you? Remember, I don’t have a sugar daddy to pay for this stuff anymore.”

Cam blocked him. “Later.” He managed to guide Paul onto the landing outside the bedroom. “What the hell were you trying to do?”

“Repay you.” A shaft of moonlight slicing through an octagon window made Paul a shadow with features. A tall and handsome shadow that smelled of male heat and clean linen and herbal shampoo.

“For what?” Cam eased the bedroom door closed at his back.

Paul’s eyes gleamed as he rolled them upward. “For putting me up. You invited me to stay here when I got out of the hospital. Remember? You’ve been taking care of me. Remember?”

Repay you. Hardly an act of adoration. Hell, it barely qualified as intimate, regardless of where Paul’s mouth had been. “Don’t get smart,” Cam muttered.

How could he forget taking care of this guy and keeping him entertained for the past three weeks? Watching movies and playing Scrabble with him. Cooking for him. Taking him to doctor appointments and driving nearly thirty-six miles every other day to pick up his mail. Helping bathe him—a unique agony because, even blotched with bruises the color of old, boiled egg yolks, Paul had an irresistible body.

The fresh memory of that masterful rimming sent a pulse through Cam’s cock.

Paul reached forward and cupped it, as if he’d sensed the reaction. “Hey, how was I supposed to know that after three weeks out, you’d start turning into a slut?”

Cam jerked backward. “Shhh.”

“The bear didn’t peel your bud, did he?”

“What?”

“Muscle man in there. It doesn’t seem he fucked you—thank God. That would’ve been an unpleasant surprise.”

“No, he didn’t. As if it’s any of your business.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t he fuck you?”

“Because we jerked each other off.” Why did Cam even tell him? They were starting to seem like fraternity brothers, that’s why. Fraternity brothers who happened to be attracted to each other and once had sex together.

Paul felt Cam’s pubic hair. “Sure as shit. Feels like somebody wiped his shoes on your welcome mat. What a waste.”

New-Project News

2011-10-25T10:34:00.000-05:00

Well, the way things are going in the m/m romance genre, it looks like writers who take their time writing, and don't self-publish, will be lucky to put out one story a year. And that goes for shorter works as well as novels.

My 45k-word contemporary novella, A Hole in God's Pocket, has been contracted by Dreamspinner and is scheduled for release in the spring of 2012.

My current WIP, the latest addition to the Jackson Spey / Adin Swift saga, will either be a three-part novel or a mini-serial of three novellas. If I go the latter route, my vision is to have the three installments released in fairly rapid succession -- say, a month or two apart -- because I know how frustrating it is for readers to deal with cliffhangers.

The business is changing, that's for sure. Authors will have to place (or produce) their work accordingly.

Saturday Snark

2011-10-23T00:21:00.001-05:00

So . . . this is Marie Sexton's idea. And a fun one. Authors post snarky snippets from their stories. Here's my first contribution, from Abercrombie Zombie, when the desperate Dustin DeWind meets the wizard he hopes will help him:

“Please let me talk to you,” the zombie said hurriedly, before the door was slammed in his face. “I have nowhere else to turn. My name is—”

“I know who you are. Word travels.” The man’s deep voice was both coarse and soft, like sand-scoured velvet. He eyed his visitor from head to foot. “You look like shit. But I suppose being dead will do that to a person.”

Click on the link above (to Marie's blog) to read more snarkalicious samples!

Spread the Love on Spirit Day

2011-10-19T16:15:00.002-05:00

Be sure to wear purple on Thursday, October 20

to show your support for GLBT youth

and to decry bullying.

(Hey, every little bit helps.)

Sins Against My Eyes

2011-10-15T20:18:00.001-05:00

So, I've been entertaining myself this weekend by trying to find pix of Gay Rom Lit (you guys suck at posting, except Marie and Heidi) and checking out some online scavenger hunts, ~~because I'm not beyond trying to win an e-reader~~ which are sometimes good for finding new reads. I just can't face writing at the moment.

But . . . people, PEOPLE, when are you going to learn? Gaaaaaaah!

Black backgrounds are B-A-D. End of discussion. Itty-bitty fonts plastered on top of them only make the situation worse. Have some consideration for your readers and get over the freakin' black already!
Nobody wants to be greeted by crawling lines and spinning circles. We know they are indicative of something loading, but we don't want to wait! Not unless Ed McMahon will be jumping out of the monitor and handing each of us a good check for a million dollars (which would add wonder to wealth, because the dude's been dead for over two years).
Clutter is unpleasant and confusing. Watch one of those hoarding shows on TV. You needn't put multiple columns or sections or book covers, or totems and sigils and a gazillion links on your freakin' home page. You know what this means? It means you're neurotic. It means you're so afraid of visitors missing something of (non) importance that you're willing to risk making them feel like they've fallen into the Matrix. I used to be unclear about what, exactly, the Matrix is, but I now have a much better idea after visiting a bunch of junked-up websites.

Cleanliness is next to godliness. It's true. Haven't you ever felt divine right after taking a shower? With ~~Ashton Kutcher~~ a delicately scented, hand-milled soap, a big ol' loofah, and salon shampoo? Well, there you go. Keep your blogs and websites clean. And I don't mean make them sparkle. No no no. Just tell your web designers they needn't expend their lifetime allotment of creativity and cleverness on your site. All they need do is make it fast-loading, readable, well organized, and easily navigated. Leave Teh Awesome to the kids on MySpace.

I and many other people would appreciate it.

Something I have to do.

2011-10-11T23:49:00.008-05:00

I know everybody's either in New Orleans or reading Divide and Conquer (or both), but I still feel obligated to post this reminder:

I have
a book coming out

on Friday.

Thank you.

(Now on to our regularly scheduled blogging.)

National Coming Out Day

2011-10-11T10:02:00.004-05:00

Perhaps one of the most important things writers of gay fiction and m/m romance can do (especially authors of YA books) is provide encouragement and hope -- at least a glimmer of hope, 'cause we sure ain't gods -- to people who must deal with the experience of coming out. This theme figures heavily in my upcoming release, The Zero Knot, as well as many of my other books. In fact, scores of authors have tackled the subject.

I don't know if fiction writers can make a difference (hence the "perhaps" in the previous paragraph) in terms of personal and social acceptance. I sure as hell hope so. The fact that non-heterosexuality is any kind of issue is absurd to begin with, but as long as ignorant people keep making others' lives miserable, all proponents of queer pride have to contribute whatever they can.

Let's all hope and pray that someday this issue becomes a non-issue, and all the fussing can stop.

Nice things I didn't have to pay for . . .

2011-10-05T15:36:00.002-05:00

Mary Calmes gave me this. (Scroll down along the left sidebar. That lady is incredibly supportive and one of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet.)

And Chris gave me this. (She's generously given me, and others, many such things.)

And Kris gave me this. (I'm enjoying my pressie immensely!)

And Tam gave me this. (Whoa -- I felt like a star!)

My dog Luna gave me red-quilted poop (she actually ate part her bear to do that, the selfless little thing), my dog Cody gives me many loving looks and big albeit rank smiles, the neighbors across the street gave me ginormous red hibiscus to ogle throughout August and September, and Nature has given me an Indian Summer full of glorious color.

Who needs money?

Uh . . . forget I said that. I do have a book coming out on the 14th, after all. ;-)

I found a character lookalike!

2011-10-01T13:04:00.001-05:00

This doesn't happen very often. I came upon a photo of actor Chace Crawford and stopped dead in my tracks. Oh-em-gee, I thought, that's Jess Bonner! Jesse Bonner is the main POV character in The Zero Knot. Although the actor is older than his fictional counterpart (and has slightly different coloration), his resemblance to my mental image of Jess is uncanny.

Rumors, and denials, abound when it comes to Chace Crawford's orientation. But whether he's gay, straight, in between, or undecided, it was damned ballsy of him to participate in the photo shoot below, so he's okay by me.

Statistics -- wheeee!

2011-09-30T13:43:00.002-05:00

How come most writers' royalty checks don't even come close to paying the bills? Here's why.

Out of curiosity, I got online and tried to hunt down a publishing industry statistic -- namely, how many works of fiction are issued each year. This proved a very difficult number to find. Many record-keepers don't bother to mention what types of books, exactly, they're counting: paper and/or electronic; reissued as well as original titles; the output of all publishers or only larger publishers; POD and independently-published pieces or not. As you can see, there are many variables.

This article states "...There are around 100,000 new English-language works of long-form prose fiction published globally each year." That averages out to 274 a day. However, for 2009, R.R. Bowker tallied 48,738 works of fiction (a figure determined, apparently, through the number and types of ISBNs issued), which breaks down to 134 works a day. Could this be for US publishers alone? I'm not sure.

Click on the post title to read yet another confusing overview.

A while back (less than two years, I think), I saw a list of GLBT titles published over a thirty-day period. The list had been compiled by the diligent and tireless Elisa Rolle. I believe I stopped counting at 150 entries. That's a hefty number for a fairly small fiction niche for one month, and I'm willing to bet it's even bigger now. EDITED TO ADD: I just counted the titles on Elisa's current list. There are close to 300 of them! O_O

Lordie, why can't I be a video game developer!

Cover Art at Its Finest

2011-09-14T10:33:00.000-05:00

Since I don't pay attention to the multitude of book competitions out there (the results of which usually leave me scratching my head -- to put it mildly), I haven't been following this year's Rainbow Awards run by Elisa Rolle. But she did contact me to let me know that Anne Cain's cover for Visible Friend is a finalist in both the Jury Poll and Popular Poll. (Christine Griffin's cover for Fugly placed third in last year's competition -- remember? -- and I was pleased as punch . . . even though I don't have a clue what that phrase means.)

I know I've said this before, but I respect and admire talented cover artists to the point of awe. Dreamspinner has some of the best, and my gratitude to them is boundless.

Click on the post title to see the other finalists. What an array of stunning work!

What's up?

2011-09-12T12:31:00.003-05:00

Not much. Around here, anyway. I'm just about to wrap up A Hole in God's Pocket . . . and, frankly, am wondering why I persisted in finishing this book. Only super-popular authors can get away with writing religion-themed stories, especially ones that are essentially character studies short on action and sex. But I told myself, Screw it; faith and faith-related struggles are a significant part of many gay men's lives, so why do we keep sweeping this issue under the carpet? And I forged ahead. Besides, I became too invested in my promiscuous Amish rent-boy and virginal Catholic ex-monk to leave them dangling, so to speak. I hate approach/avoidance conflicts and have always sought to resolve them. :)

The Jackson and Adin "Scourge" trilogy has really been hammering at me, though. I'm eager to get started on it. I think POV will be first-person present in the first novella, and the narrator will not be Jackson or Adin, who'll get their turns in the next two books.

Still waiting on the cover art and exact publication date for The Zero Knot, a novel I feel all mushy about, kind of in the way I felt all mushy about Electric Melty Tingles. (It occurred to me just recently that I love my books in different ways, for different reasons -- just as I'm frustrated by them in different ways.) Autographed copies will be available to readers who buy the print edition. It's not that my autograph will ever be worth anything, but Dreamspinner likes to offer this option.

Phoenix

2011-09-11T08:00:00.000-05:00

Fed up with Yahoo!

2011-09-01T13:18:00.000-05:00

In what must be an attempt to coerce its users into switching from "Classic" mail to "Updated" mail, Yahell has been making access to my email a royal pain in the ass. Words cannot describe how much I despise this company! I tried, a while back, to take the path of least resistance and change over. After all, I was sick to death of their ad-crammed Mail page, glitchy service, and incompetence at catching spam. But . . . their "new" mail proved an even bigger clusterfuck than their old mail, with an even more junked-up page, so I went back.

I guess they didn't like that.

It's going to be another PITA to inform all the people and groups I need to inform that I've changed my primary email address -- I've had the Yahoo one practically since I started publishing -- but I know I'll take a grim satisfaction in doing it.

Crack me up!

2011-08-18T13:30:00.007-05:00

So, what's been tickling my funny bone during my insomniac rambles around the Interwebz?

Let's start with this photo spread on Queerty. You must click through all the shots to get the full effect. I confess, I was giggling like a little girl.

Then . . . on to Goodreads. One has a much better chance of finding hilarity there than on Amazon, where reviewers tend to take themselves seriously. For example, I stumbled upon a reader of m/f romance who likes to take issue with the output of super-popular authors who don't always exhibit the best craftsmanship. She's quite articulate and funny, and her smack-downs are more than justified. So, without further ado, here's a passage she found in Lora Leigh's Dangerous Games:

How long had it been since he'd cried?
He needed to cry now, to ease the emotion tightening his chest.
As Clint eased the plug from Morganna's rear, he could feel the emotion ripping through him, tearing at his soul.

How's that for angst? The act of yanking a plug out of someone's butt was enough to choke this hero with soul-shredding emotion. Holy hot damn, enemas must give him a complete nervous breakdown!

Got any favorites to share? I had to stop looking 'cause it's getting late.

Too many stories . . .

2011-08-08T15:09:00.002-05:00

So, I started writing a Christmas tale, "Rituals," but I'm finding it difficult to proceed. Not only am I not in the holiday spirit, but I'm one of those writers who can't juggle projects, at least not when they're in the composition stage. You see, I was in the midst of A Hole in God's Pocket when I started "Rituals." AHiGP had me challenged and preoccupied enough. To complicate matters further, yet another idea has come a-knockin'. Now I'm stymied and can't seem to focus on any of them. When I try, one of the other two WIPs starts nagging, Hey! Come back here! You're not finished with me yet!

I hate when this happens.

Anyway, Jackson and Adin have slowly but surely been resurfacing. I have in mind a kind of serial story -- or rather a series of three interlinked novellas titled Scourge: Black and Scourge: Red and Scourge: White. They would feature a mysterious child (or is he?) named Carny Jessup and a powerful but ruthless Moroccan wizard named Zod whom Jackson met when he was still learning his art. The stories will be anything but light and bright. There's a reason for that. Jackson has never faced a truly worthy opponent; since he needs to pump up his magickal muscles, he could use one right about now. And Adin? Well, he has the kind of past that's not likely to leave him alone for long.

AACK! What to do?

Utopia-X rises from the e-book ashes.

2011-08-04T18:51:00.004-05:00

Holy jamoly! Google just alerted me to a post at Tracy's Place regarding my Utopia-X books. (Hi, Tracy, and thank you! *waves like a fool while throwing kisses*) This is a case of synchronicity if ever I saw one, because I've recently been thinking a lot about these stories.

Utopia-X, published by Loose Id, is a four-volume, futuristic urban fantasy series. And, yes, it's m/m. The world, which centers on a city-state called Regenerie, is populated by humans, angel-demon-human hybrids, urbane vampires, good and evil elves, underground magicians, and various and sundry other creatures including a golem, a demi-gnome, an "endotronic parasapient" known as the Groan Witch, and a terrifying mutant called a Spinner.

Believe it or not, the series is full of sex and romance.

Click on the post title if you'd like to learn more.

(BTW, Tracy, my editor and I agree with you about Book 3; it's also our favorite in the series.)

One of the songs that makes a zombie want to weep . . .

2011-08-02T23:27:00.000-05:00

You'll have to read about Dustin and Remy to know why, but you can find the scene in which this song is playing in the Prologue to Abercrombie Zombie.

Ho Lee Zhit Says . . .

2011-08-01T21:17:00.001-05:00

"Author, be careful what you wish for when it comes to your backlist."

Early on in our careers, we scribblers are led to believe the following: One of the benefits of achieving some modicum of notice in the bookworld is that readers, if they like what we're writing now, will ferret out the fiction we've written in the past. Sounds good, eh?

Yeah, in theory.

Problem is, we're not always terribly proud of what we've written in the past. Maybe it's kind of rough around the edges. Maybe it reflects a mindset we've long since discarded, a mindset that isn't reflective of what we're currently producing. Maybe our older material just sucks sewer water through a straw packed with flesh-eating insects.

What got me thinking (and cringing) about this subject was a royalty report I just received from one of my former publishers. A surprising number of titles populated the list. Not a huge, knock-me-on-my-ass number but bigger than I'd anticipated, considering I haven't had a release there in quite a while. And why haven't I? Because I don't write m/f romance anymore, erotic or otherwise. (There are other reasons, too.) So . . . it appears some of my beloved readers, and I mean the readers of my m/m stories, have been fishing in the oft-polluted waters of my backlist. {{{shudder}}}

Don't think I'm not grateful for their interest. I'm VERY grateful. But I'm also embarrassed. I don't want their impressions of the old stuff coloring their impressions of the new stuff. A couple of my erstwhile publishers wanted lots o' sex in their stories. And, readers seemed to favor certain tropes and subgenres back then. And . . . hell, I confess I went through a phase where I thought it was more important to write to be read than to write to be true (to myself, that is).

I have some oldies floating around that I'm not too ashamed of. I think Plagued, for example (which introduces Adin Swift to the world and Jackson Spey as his friend), is a damned good vampire yarn. Cemetery Dancer isn't terribly bad, but it would've been better without the head-hopping and the extra and detailed sex scenes I was "asked" to insert. There are a few others.

By and large, though, my m/m fiction is far superior to my m/f fiction, much of which feels like a none-too-appealing backside. Oy.

A Beautiful Sight

2011-07-24T14:16:00.002-05:00

Here's a little snippet on the first gay marriages in New York, from an article by Chris Hawley of the Associated Press:

Some people waiting to wed clutched bouquets and wore tuxedos or wedding dresses before they were ushered into the clerk's office for a license and a ceremony in one of the building's simple chapels.

The first couple to marry in Manhattan were Phyllis Siegel, 76, and Connie Kopelov, 84, who have been together for 23 years. Kopelov arrived in a wheelchair and stood with the assistance of a walker. During the service, Siegel wrapped her hand in Kopelov's hand and they both grasped the walker.

Witnesses cheered and wiped away tears after the two women vowed to "honor and cherish" each other as spouses and then kissed.

Oh, man . . . *sniff* Why'd it have to take so long? Why's it taking so long elsewhere? People who aren't moved by this are, I swear, made of stone. And I sure as shit don't mean moved to anger or self-righteous indignation.

Two More Small Fish In an Ever-expanding School In an Ever-shrinking Sea

2011-07-13T12:06:00.003-05:00

News from the publisher front. Abercrombie Zombie will be loosed by Dreamspinner on August 10. (Seems like forever since I've had a release, but that's probably because Visible Friend ended up more or less . . . invisible.) Anne Cain is once again the cover artist, and I hope to get my first look at what she's come up with by this weekend.

DSP has also accepted The Zero Knot (that's the contemporary from which I posted this excerpt) and scheduled it for publication in September or October. This novel could be issued in print as well as e-book format, although I'm not sure of that yet. As the story stands, it's several thousand words shy of the 60k-word minimum. Don't know if I'll be asked to expand it or not.

My WIP, A Hole in God's Pocket, could also end up being novel-length. Too early to tell with any certainty, though.

Have you been keeping up?

2011-07-11T22:35:00.002-05:00

With the Hot Summer Days stories at the Goodreads M/M Romance group? (I put a link in the post title.) What do you think of them so far?

I've only managed to read one every couple of days or so, because I've found that reading two to four stories every day kind of muddles my mind as I work on my WIP (too many different styles, characters, themes, etc.) So, I'll probably be playing catch-up well into next year. :)

The whole thing has been a phenomenal effort on the part of writers as well as the group's moderators, and that in and of itself impresses me no end.

Latter Days, the Movie

2011-07-05T16:05:00.001-05:00

Have y'all seen this film about a young Mormon missionary and L.A. party boy who fall for each other but don't have an easy time? I just watched it.

It's a touching movie with engaging characters and more than enough angst, even for the seriously angst-addicted. And the love/sex scenes are truly beautiful -- some of the most visually and emotionally satisfying I've ever seen in gay cinema. I liked the storyline too, for the most part, because I've always been drawn to its two main themes: attraction between opposites and the influence of religion on people's lives.

But I had my moments of discontent.

The biggest came at the end. I found the plot's resolution very unsatisfying.

*SPOILER AHEAD*

Considering Christian believed Aaron to be D-E-A-D dead and had been plunged in deep mourning for a while, and taking into account all kinds of other stuff to boot, the young men's reunion required far more than a ten-second, wordless hug. It needed buildup; it needed the kind of substantive emotional content that's conveyed via facial expressions, tears, exclamations/questions/answers, an appropriate setting, and some really adroit editing. As it stands, the scene isn't only terse and flat but lacks believability.

*END BIG SPOILER*

My other beefs were relatively minor. The declaration of love came too quickly. It's possible -- and, I think, preferable -- to show characters developing a deep emotional bond without prematurely marching out the L word. And what was with that hideously medieval rehab facility designed to turn gay boys straight? While I know the CoJCoLDS has its own "reparative therapy" program, I seriously doubt 21st-century Mormons anywhere, even in Idaho, resort to the tactics depicted in this film.

I'll watch Latter Days again, though. It's certainly worth future viewings.

Home of the Brave

2011-07-02T13:23:00.002-05:00

Last week, an ordinary, nineteen-year-old guy with a shy smile was the focus of attention in a tiny Midwestern town -- a village, actually. Many of its 750-or-so residents showed up at the high school gymnasium to pay tribute to him. Many watched or were in his parade, including a huge contingent of motorcyclists from the central part of the state.

I was in town that day.

The village is our county seat, and the boy's name is Ryan, and he was a local kid who'd been killed by a roadside bomb, one of those insidious IEDs, in the Kandahar province of Afghanistan. The gathering at the high school was his memorial service. The long parade was his funeral procession.

All national and state flags were at half staff. Each lamppost bore lengths of black and yellow ribbon tied into a bow signifying "gone but not forgotten." Those dozens upon dozens of bikers, few of whom actually knew Ryan, were gathering in the only places either appropriate or large enough for them to gather -- the mortuary parking lot and the supermarket parking lot just down the street.

Of course I understood why these events were taking place -- the rituals meant to honor the soldier, the organized outpouring of respect for him -- but I'll be dicked if I can figure out why they had to take place, why this sudden, senseless death happened at all. And why thousands of similar funerals have taken place all across the nation.

The U.S. hasn't sacrificed its young citizens to a "good" war since the 1940s -- a war with a clear goal, a war that could substantially and permanently change the world for the better. On Independence Day, it's especially difficult to reconcile the ideals of the Founding Fathers with the senseless carnage we've been engaged in all too often since the Revolution. Far too many brave men and women have died or been scarred for no discernible reason. Far too many will continue to die. I don't know why our leaders can't pull their heads out of their asses and recognize lost causes when they see them, conflicts in which we have no business meddling: Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and now Afghanistan, with many smaller ones in between.

Why can't we at least pick our battles more wisely?

If only the Fourth of July could still be a celebration of one of the good wars. If only it didn't now come bundled with so much grief . . .

The Most Incredible Book I've Read in Years

2011-06-24T14:05:00.003-05:00

When I come upon a book that leaves me reeling because of its sheer excellence, I will pimp it like a well-paid PR agent. Excuse me for doing a quick copy/paste from Goodreads, but I can barely think straight right now.

If you're overly sensitive and/or require romance and happy endings, don't go near this novel. There's nothing "traditional" about the complex love story detailed herein. But if you want to read a superb work of contemporary fiction (not just gay literary fiction, because a novel this exceptional transcends all genre boundaries), grab it up fast. Our craft does not get any better than this. Just make sure to read it while you're alone.

The Brothers Bishop by Bart Yates
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I cannot remember the last time a book left me sobbing at the end -- especially one that had me chuckling well past the beginning. The whole day is shot for me. This is a painfully profound and brilliant piece of work, the most affecting I've read since The Madness of a Seduced Woman, and "awarding" it a handful of stars seems both presumptuous and demeaning.

My biggest question is, how did Yates manage to write this without lacerating himself to shreds? Goddamn...

View all my reviews

WIP Up

2011-06-17T14:27:00.004-05:00

A contemporary titled A Hole in God's Pocket.

You may not know this, but Wisconsin has the fourth largest Amish population in the U.S. Since I moved to this part of the state about fifteen years ago, I've frequently encountered these quiet, humble people at local auctions and flea markets; I've passed their farms, and their buggies, on innumerable country roads. For a while I've wanted to create an Amish-born hero.

However, I didn't want to make him a simple, naive, virginal creature. I wanted him to be five or more years into his rumspringa and well acquainted with the ways of the "English" world -- so familiar, in fact, that he's become disillusioned and somewhat jaded.

The less experienced protagonist will be a guy from a very different background: wholly modern and more sophisticated, more steeped in education and the spirit of inquiry. Yet, at their heart, the worlds these young men fled will prove surprisingly similar, possessed of the same kind of allure . . . as well as the same severe restrictions on personal freedom. And there won't be anything cut-and-dried about the decisions the protags will have to make.

So, this won't be "The Awakening of a Sweet Amish Boy" kind of story. It's likely to be more "The Potential Downfall of the Sweet Amish Boy." (I won't say more about the other H lest I scare everybody away before the story's even written!) I'm excited about it but I hope I haven't bitten off more than I can chew. :)

P.S. I've been working on a free read about Jackson Spey being reunited with his mother and introducing her to Adin, but . . . it's really hard for me to submerge myself in more than one story at a time! :-/

Hot. Not.

2011-06-13T11:45:00.008-05:00

Okay, where do I start? The majority of people who read as well as write in this genre have one thing in common: We really, really like the male anatomy. (Well, not every aspect of every male's anatomy, obviously, but you know which kinds of men I'm referring to.) I'll tell ya, I nearly swooned when I first laid eyes on the cover of precious_boy. In fact, many pictures I see around our "community" make me stop dead in my tracks for an ogle and maybe even a brief fantasy. It's perfectly normal for gay men and straight women to react this way. Nature says so.

But more and more, when I read people's reactions to/comments on stories in our genre (and I mean in Yahoo groups, at Goodreads, etc.), I'm struck by the focus on heat level. A whopping big bunch of readers seem really, really fixated on the sex in m/m romance, and it's kinda-sorta starting to irk me. They claim not to want PWP, yet . . . they do seem to want it. And the kinkier the better, and to hell with the quality of the writing. It's getting to the point that when I see the word HOT! starting off or summing up somebody's reaction to a book, I cringe. This is probably the reason I've been asking not to have chesty covers on my books, starting with Electric Melty Tingles and Fugly and continuing through all my Dreamspinner releases (save for precious_boy, because of that character's occupation). My cover artists probably have fits when they see my requests.

The best books I've read in this genre have either had no on-page explicit sex or only a relatively small and plot-appropriate amount. Their emphasis was on world building, storyline, and/or characterization. They were multidimensional. I don't think I've ever read a sex-saturated book, or even a sex-heavy book, and been impressed by it (aside from James Lear's stuff, which, for a number of reasons, is in a class by itself). In fact, the last thing I'm likely to remember about my favorite m/m fiction, or any fiction, are the sex scenes.

I guess I'm bringing this up because I hate seeing our genre defined by its ability to appeal to readers' prurient interests. (I know, I know; the phrase prurient interests sounds so freakin' 1950s. Bad word-choice, but I'm on a roll so I'm not going to change it.) Of course sex is one of the most basic facts of life. It's a driving force second only to survival. Better yet, it's FUN -- way more fun than resorting to cannibalism to stay alive -- and an integral part of intimacy. But I lose my happy face whenever and wherever I encounter a lopsided emphasis on it, and slavering over it, as if other types of human experience are only inconsequential adjuncts to the Pursuit of Orgasm. My happy face really goes south whenever I think of m/m romance being perceived as porn for straight chicks, and straight chicks strengthening that perception at every turn by judging the value of m/m romance -- romance -- based on its sexual content. That's when all those politically-correct types who huff about "appropriation" and "objectification" -- people I've tried my best to ignore -- start making disturbing sense.

Am I stirring a tempest in my own teapot? Or has anybody else noticed and been bothered by this?

And More Updates

2011-05-31T23:13:00.004-05:00

Abercrombie Zombie will be released in mid-August.

The Zero Knot, my coming-of-age WIP, now looks like it could top 55k words. I still haven't decided where to submit it.

One of the genre's most talented and accomplished authors, and a guy for whom I have enormous respect, left an incredibly flattering comment on my Facebook wall (is that what it's called?) about Visible Friend. Blew me away. I never dreamed he'd read my stuff.

I could go on and on about magnanimous authors who take the time to praise the work of their peers when they have nothing to gain by it. There's a huge difference between this kind of support and specious or self-serving flattery, both of which exist in abundance in Bookworld. Sincerity is hard to come by. That's why I value it so.

Inspired by the photo below, I'll be writing a free story for the M/M Romance group on Goodreads. It's not as if I'm the only person writing a free story. A full trainload of authors are writing free stories based on pictures submitted by readers, and the whole batch of fics will be assembled into a "Hot July Days" anthology.

That is going to be one big-ass, Atlas Shrugged-size collection; I think the number of contributors stands at 110. o_O Getting through it will require the patience of Job, so I suspect most people will cherry-pick pieces that appeal to them.

Given the nature of the picture I chose and the ideas it's given me, my story will likely be short on sex. I'm in the mood for something like that. And since I don't have to worry about "writing for royalties," which I pretty much suck at anyway, I'm not concerned about displeasing heat-seeking readers. Besides, I have a strong feeling there'll be more swinging dicks in this antho than in the entire Chinese army. Readers will likely need some kind of breather so they don't pass out.

A Big Surprise

2011-05-23T16:44:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the incredibly thoughtful A.J. Llewellyn, I just found out that the site Seriously Reviewed has designated Bastards and Pretty Boys one of their "Seriously Unforgettable" Best Stories of 2011. (Click on the post title if you don't believe me. Hell, I don't believe me.) I think B&PB was published in September 2009, which accounts for my shock. (Now, if I could just figure out how to get people to read Visible Friend. Hm. Maybe I should rewrite it with some slave-boy kink added to the drug addiction and convince DSP to reissue. Heh.)

The Doldrums

2011-05-16T00:46:00.000-05:00

I am in them.

Can't seem to make any real headway in this biz. I think I fall into some substance category between wheat and chaff. Dust? Hell, beats me. I'm feeling kind of swallowed up in this genre, and confused about readers' standards. It's getting pretty depressing. I don't know how to write what lots and lots of people will like. And talk about. And remember. Just don't know how.

Don't. Know. How. And maybe can't.

He's back!

2011-05-12T14:21:00.000-05:00

Our pileated woodpecker was right outside my office windows today, knocking at a tree stump. He's large and robust (stouter than the bird in this photo) and determined -- a real joy to watch. I love me wild birds! (Did I ever mention how uneventful my life is?)

My Vinyl Comes Out of Hibernation

2011-05-09T16:30:00.003-05:00

Almost a decade ago, following my ~~murder of my second husband~~ divorce, I was forced to sell my lovely old farmhouse and most of its contents. But I couldn't give up my collection of classic LPs. Since there was no adequate place to store them at my new residence, which happened to be the home of my Dutch friend, "Ready" Freddie, ol' Jerr was kind enough to let me keep them in his basement (a nice, dry basement, thank goodness). As I've said before, Jerry was a sweetheart.

Anyhoo, after Jerry's passing, JLA and I went over to his house to retrieve my records before the two females living there -- one, ~~a thief just released from prison~~ his kinda-sorta stepdaughter; the other, a ~~drunken slut~~ lost soul he took in out of sheer kindness (because dear Jerr was that way) -- somehow made my albums disappear. Getting them back was like a happy reunion. Or like Christmas. Most of all, it was a relief. Although I've been able to trust Jerry and most of the strays he's taken in over the years, I didn't feel too comfortable having anything in his house once he was gone.

One of the many treasures I rediscovered was African Sanctus by David Fanshawe, far and away one of the most incredible pieces of music I've ever heard. It's beautiful in sound and in spirit and invariably gives me goosebumps.

Dr. Fanshawe was a British composer who, in the late 1960s, traveled to north and east Africa and recorded mostly tribal songs and chants in Uganda, Kenya, and Sudan (although he also captured a haunting version of the Islamic Call to Prayer in Egypt -- and to hear it interwoven with Christian liturgical music brings tears to my eyes). Dr. Fanshawe then masterfully mixed chosen pieces with portions of the Latin Mass and Anglican liturgy, some of which he "recomposed" a little to fit seamlessly with the more primitive-sounding African music. The video below is only a brief sample of African Sanctus. Believe me, the whole thing is well worth listening to.

An Excerpt from Something New

2011-05-03T09:58:00.005-05:00

"Something New" is not the book's title. ;-)

The Zero Knot is, and below is an excerpt from it. This story also takes place in the town of Cold Harbor, the setting for most of Visible Friend.

I suppose it could be classified as a "coming of age" tale. The central characters were childhood pals. They're now 18 and trying to determine the paths their lives will take. So The Zero Knot is about growing up, growing together, and growing apart -- and, most important, about forging identities and the values that define those identities.

Of course, shit happens along the way.

The section below features Jesse, one of the 18-year-old protags, and his 15-year-old brother, Jared (or "Red"). Just minutes earlier, the kid accidentally let it slip that he's seen the gay porn magazines secreted in Jesse's bedroom. It's a turning point in their relationship, because it forces Jess to discuss his orientation -- something his parents and older brother still aren't aware of. (The "Mig" who's mentioned is one of Jess's friends.)

* * * * *

Now it was time to set a few things straight with the resident punk.

Without bothering to knock, Jess barged into Jared’s room, grabbed the kid by the front of his camo green T-shirt (which proclaimed, ironically, I DIDN’T DO IT), and flattened him against the nearest wall. Red was growing fast—was only a couple inches shorter than Jess now—but had all the muscle mass of a pole bean.

With his forefinger a millimeter from Red’s nose, Jess said in a low, ominous tone, “Stay the fuck out of my room, you shit-stirring little twerp.”

A sea of crimson buoyed Red’s sparse freckles. “Hey…”

“Hey nothing. Keep your nose out of my business.” Jess firmly pushed the tip of that nose for emphasis.

He remembered an observation their mother had once made while she was reading some urban fantasy novel: that Jared’s freckles, when he blushed, looked like “vampire tears in a sea of blood.” Jess loved his mother, but Jill Bonner was one of those in-the-Zone-alone people. She’d always been creative…and more than a little dingy.

Red was temporarily silent.

Jess released him but kept his finger in Red’s face, his narrowed eyes locked onto Red’s wide ones. “I’m not playin’ here. Get it?”

“Okay, okay. From now on I won’t go near your room, and I won’t say nothin’ to nobody.”

Point made, Jess turned toward the door.

“FYI, dude, I don’t care if you’re gay.”

Jess stopped in his tracks, spun around.

Red put up his hands. “Chill. I’m an enlightened guy. Live and let live and all that crap. I’m just bummed you’re not the best source for dating tips.”

Jess hung his head and started chuckling. Why couldn’t he stay mad at this little prick?

“You okay?” Red asked warily. “You’re not spazzin’ out, are you?”

“No. This is just so anticlimactic.”

“It’s what?”

"Never mind." Jess shuffled to Jared’s bed and dropped onto it. The walls in this room were like a bad acid trip, posters and artwork plastered everywhere at every imaginable angle, including sideways and upside down. Jess spotted a recent addition—a doctored picture of Justin Bieber with an arrow through his neck and a mischievous imp (that looked suspiciously like Jared) perched on the arrow’s shaft. “So, it was the magazines that tipped you off?”

Red sat beside him. “Well, duh. Dongapalooza.”

Elbows resting on thighs, Jess lowered his face to his hands and rubbed it. Maybe this wasn’t so anticlimactic after all. The thought of his little brother paging aghast through queer skin magazines…

“You really get off on that stuff?” Red asked, suspended in a stew of disbelief, distaste, and curiosity.

Jess tilted his head and looked through his fingers. “Well, duh.”

The kid’s eyebrows went up, down. “How, um…how long have you known you’re like this?”

The house seemed unusually quiet. It wasn’t, of course. The old man had simply turned off the TV and gone to bed. Same drill every night.

Jess dropped his hands and loosely linked them between his knees. “As long as I can remember.”

Red scraped his upper teeth over his lower lip. “What’s…you know…what’s that kind of stuff…?” He paused. A wince tugged at his features.

“What’s it like?” Jess said with a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.”

“For me it’s just right.” As Jess turned a bit more to face his brother, he caught a glimpse of the custom-made T-shirt he’d ordered for Jared’s twelfth birthday. Red Rum, it warned in jagged scarlet lettering. The kid had long since outgrown it, but he kept it hanging on the outside of his closet door.

“Remember your soapbox derby car?” Jess said. “The one Dad helped you build when he was still in Oshkosh?”

“Sure I do. I wanted to live in that car. We fit together perfect.”

“That’s what it’s like.”

Red looked puzzled. Then his face relaxed and he nodded.

As more questions formed in his addled mind, Red nibbled the inside of his cheek. He always had to do something when he thought hard—chew a fingernail, toy with some object.

Patiently, Jess waited.

“You got, like, a boyfriend?” Red finally asked.

“No.” And bam, just like that, Mig was in the room with them.

“D’you want one?”

Jess’s stomach squirmed. “Someday.”

“You gonna tell Dad you’re gay? Or Mom? Or Joel?”

The squirming increased. “Someday.”

Red resumed nibbling. The questions clearly weren’t over.

“Do you ever, like…shove stuff up your butt?”

Jess wheezed into laughter. “What?”

“Umfy Randall says fa—” Another blush surfaced with volcanic speed. “He says gay guys like sticking things up their butts.”

Dare I ask? But it was too delicious to resist. “Such as?”

Red shrugged. “Root crops, small animals, grooming aids.”

Snorting, Jess fell back onto the mattress. He lay there, both arms thrown over his face, as his laughter spiraled and his eyes spilled tears. For one thing, he didn’t think Umfy Randall, who was dumber than a drumstick, was even familiar with phrases like root crops and grooming aids.

Abs cramping, Jess rolled onto his side and folded his legs. Oh, Christ.

“So…it ain’t true?”

The kid sounded serious, which made Jess laugh even harder. “Of course it’s true. If it came from Umfy Randall, it must be true.” He gasped for breath and tried to control his hooting. “In fact, I’m packing a blow dryer, three parsnips, and a litter of newborn weasels as we speak.”

Stony-faced, Jared regarded him. “Dude, weasels are dangerous.”

Jess curled in on himself. His gut was ready to split.

If only coming out to everybody else in his life could be this much fun.

* * *

~ From The Zero Knot, copyright © 2011 K. Z. Snow

Of Fugly and Funerals

2011-05-01T19:31:00.006-05:00

It's a weird coincidence that after I wrote this post, I got a message from Elisa Rolle informing me that Fugly was among her top ten "referrals" (I think that means click-throughs from her site) for April.  A good cover truly is a gift that keeps on giving.

Anyway . . . this post is a downer. Don't read it if that will upset you. I just needed to vent.

I went to Jerry's funeral yesterday.  Rather, I went to the visitation and realized I couldn't do more.  But who, or what, was I visiting? (Oh my, it appears I've read too many blurbs!)

I cringed when I found out Jerr wasn't going to be cremated. All our other friends who've taken their final journeys over the past few years -- and there've been too many -- have been incinerated and their powdery cremains put in attractive containers. Ashes to ashes. I don't have a problem with this kind of exit, especially when the containers are surrounded by photos of their contents when those contents were intact and vital and happy. Flowers are pretty, too.  The whole setup can help make an otherwise painful event tolerable. Poignant, yes, but not repugnant.

When I wrote Fugly, I did a good deal of research on behind-the-scenes mortuary practices: embalming, cosmetizing, "presentation" --manipulations of the dearly departed that most folks would rather not think about (and who can blame them?)  The research didn't particularly bother me. Writing the Todd and Gabriel chapters didn't particularly bother me. Maybe that's because I was more focused on the characters and their developing relationship than on their work environment. I was focused on the "happily," not the "ever after." Know what I mean?

BUT. I couldn't do any focus-shifting yesterday, and I couldn't stand seeing those practices applied to someone I cared about.  The realization hit me hard. I didn't want to see Jerry as a worked-over stiff. It was bad enough walking into that delicately scented, mauve-hued room and catching a glimpse of his frozen profile. Bad, bad enough, knowing he'd been propped just so on a satin pillow, his face artificially colored and artfully lit, his hands crossed unnaturally instead of gripping a Pabst can or pool cue or remote control.

JLA was with me -- a mixed blessing. (Let's just say he isn't a very emotional or even empathetic person.) I immediately told him, "I can't go up there [to the casket]. I don't want to see him that way."  JLA, tough guy that he is, had no such qualms. He went up there. However, he did change his tune after he'd made the short trip. When he came back to my chair, he murmured, "Yeah, you're better off staying here. Really." Later, he was on the verge of telling me precisely why I'd been better off keeping my distance, but I abruptly said, "I don't want to hear it." Because, I inferred, whatever the results of all that embalming, cosmetizing, and posing, they couldn't have been pleasant.

I don't understand what Jessica Mitford called, in her 1963 classic of the same name, "the American way of death." I honestly don't know why a deceased person's loved ones would willingly subject themselves to the whole hideous ritual of a full funeral.  Closure? I don't even get it in that context. I want to remember Jerry laughing or tending his pumpkin patch or cooking his secret-recipe barbecue sauce; I don't want to remember him as a creepy mannequin laid out in some tricked-out ride to nowhere. What the hell kind of final image is that?

I didn't go the cemetery. Couldn't. I recoiled at the thought of witnessing that part of the ritual too -- the massive, gaudy, environmentally unfriendly capsule descending into the dank earth, where it would sit for decades upon decades doing nothing but taking up space, leaking chemicals into the ground, and inhibiting a process nature wants to take place. It seemed like yet another desecration, disturbing and pointless.

As far as I was concerned, Jerry had left the building four days earlier. He'd done so while he was in his own house, on his own couch. It would've been much more appropriate if he'd been left alone and that piece of furniture buried or burned with him on it.

Shit, what a day.

Good News, Bad News

2011-04-29T13:48:00.001-05:00

Meet the Author.
That be me, of course. Dreamspinner Press has its own discussion group at Goodreads, and on Sunday afternoon, May 1, I'll be ~~holding court~~ hanging out in the "Meet the Author" forum (click on post title to get there). So stop by and bitch at me if you'd like, or ask questions, or just ramble about anything book-related that's on your mind.

You Can't Buy This Kind of Promotion!
One of my former fellow authors at Ellora's Cave, Judy Mays, is a RL teacher whose second career as a writer of erotic romance was outed. You can read the ridiculous news item HERE. This story has received gobs of attention on the Interwebz and, as a result, Judy has received gobs of support, including two dedicated groups on Facebook. A little birdie told me that her books are now selling quite well, thank you very much, and her supporters can expect to receive postcards sent from her world cruise. (Okay, I made that last part up.) Go, Judy!

A Beautiful Blog.
If you haven't yet visited 2boysinlove, get over there. It's charming and heartfelt and will make you feel so, so good. Really, it's absolutely lovely -- and, I hope, will prove an inspiration to other gay teens.

A Fond Farewell.
This update is the hardest one to write. Very early Tuesday morning, my best friend, Jerry, died suddenly and unexpectedly in his sleep. He's the same person responsible for my "Jokes from Jerr" posts. Nobody knows precisely what happened, but speculation leads to a grim conclusion. Jerr was on a lot of pain meds (long story involving accidents and such) and was also very fond of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It's possible he indulged too much in both before turning in the night before.

Jerry was an almost legendary figure in this county. Hundreds of people knew him. He was also one of the most good-natured and generous individuals I've ever known. Never, ever did he refuse a friend anything it was in his power to provide -- housing included. The person he was putting up at the time of his death was a local woman whose alcoholism likely provoked Jerry into drinking more than he normally would have. That this tragic turn could have been prevented is the toughest part to take.

A New Excerpt

2011-04-19T09:35:00.002-05:00

Coming April 27

from Dreamspinner Press

(Click on post title to see sales page.)

Cover by Anne Cain

Although you can read the Prologue and Chapter One in their entirety at the Dreamspinner site (click on post title), here's another little snip.

It takes place the night before Chris Borgasian leaves the sober-living house where he's been staying since his three-month stint in rehab.

* * *

Whether it was a sound that woke him, or that distinctive fragrance, or a sense of somebody else's presence in the room, Chris couldn't tell. His eyes merely opened. A muted creak sounded from the other bed, the one that should've been empty, the one Beni Sanchez had vacated.

Had he come back?

Chris's heart thumped against the wall of his chest. The longer he stared into the wadded darkness, the more it thinned. A shadowy figure was poised on Beni's mattress, only it didn't seem to be Beni.

Breathing heavily, Chris did an awkward, frantic flip to his right and scrambled to turn on the nightstand lamp. Sure as shit, some guy dressed in faded jeans and a Cooler Near the Lake T-shirt sat on the edge of the second bed, facing him.

"Hi," he said brightly.

Chris stretched his eyelids. "What are you doing here?"

The guy smiled. "Guess you don't recognize me. I'm Denny."

Recognize him? From where? "Oh."

"I'll be staying with you."

"You mean…." Chris tried to get more awake. He rubbed his face. Stubble sanded his palms. All he had on were briefs, and his hair probably looked like a Nikola Tesla lab experiment gone horribly awry. He wasn't prepared to greet a new resident. "Did you just check in?"

"Not just. I've been here awhile."

"And this is your room."

"Well yeah. Of course. Temporarily, anyway."

Finally, Chris focused on the newcomer. He was pretty damned attractive. Not picture-perfect, but… short, reddish-brown hair, appealingly chaotic; perfectly proportioned nose; rosy cheeks; strong, shadowed jaw. Nice physique, too, its interlocked dips and rises flowing from a pair of broad shoulders.

He isn't so special. I've just been deprived, that's all.

Denny kept watching Chris. The dark brows over those fawn-colored eyes gave his gaze a soft intensity. It wasn't in the least bit threatening, but it didn't quite suit his youth. He seemed to be around Chris's age.

"I, uh… I'll be moving out in the morning," Chris said, because that thought had suddenly popped into his head—specifically, how glad he was, how relieved. Sharing a room with this guy would've been agonizing. He might not have been all that special, but he was special enough to make Chris squirmy.

"I know." Denny was calm, good-natured. Some people in rehab were like that, as if dodging the big-ass bullet of addiction, and the bigger-ass bullet of fatal overdose, had packed their dispositions with smiling porpoises leaping through fluffy clouds.

"What's that beside you on the bed?" Chris had just noticed it, some sort of bouquet. Denny's girlfriend or mother or sister must've given it to him. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring, so he likely didn't have a wife.

"Oh!" Denny lifted the bundle. They were branches, frothing with delicate white flowers. "I brought these for you. I know how you love the smell." He held them out, his smile sweet and guileless.

Chris gaped at the cluster. The scent again wafted over him. A familiar scent. "Wh-what are they?" he whispered.

"You know."

Numbly, Chris shook his head, as if denial of recognition could erase recognition.

He heard what he'd expected to hear.

"Plum blossoms."

That's when the dizziness began, and the trembling. "Who are you?"

A Book's Journey on Goodreads

2011-04-18T22:27:00.006-05:00

With a new release imminent, as well as a "special" appearance

(meaning, there was a time slot open April 30)

on Dreamspinners' Goodreads group, I can't help but wonder

how books must feel once they're out in the GR world.

Here's how I imagine an illustrated autobookography would look.

CHAPTER I

Woohoo, I'm free!
And I'm closer to 5 than to 4!

The first people who read me really liked me.

Gosh, appreciation is the best high. Maybe I am good!

CHAPTER II

Okay, can't float above 4.5 forever.
Well, not most of us, anyway.
But I'm doing okay; I'm still in the race, holding my own!

CHAPTER III

Uh-oh. I'm mighty close to that 4 mark.
Nobody's interested in a book that drops below a 4.
Where's all this negativity coming from? It's weighing me down!

CHAPTER IV

Oh, shit. The nay-sayers' boat has rolled over me!
I'm sinking, sinking . . .
*bbbllllbbbblblblbbbllllbll*

CHAPTER V

But here's my dad, the author!
We're not going down without making a statement.
We've had it. Fuck y'all with your 1 and 2 stars
and the woodwork you crawled out of!
Who the hell are you, anyway?
Wait, we really don't care. You're goin' down!

Asspressions & Acronyms

2011-04-15T21:29:00.004-05:00

Sorry, but this is all I've got for you.

(_!_) a regular ass

(__!__) a fat ass

(!) a tight ass

(_*_) a sore ass

{_!_} a swishy ass

(_o_) an ass that's been around

(_x_) kiss my ass

(_X_) leave my ass alone

(_zzz_) a tired ass

(_E=mc2_) a smart ass

(_$_) money coming out of his ass

(_?_) dumb ass

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dear Employees:

Due to the current financial situation caused by the slowdown of economy, Management has decided to implement a scheme to put workers of 45 years of age and above on early retirement. This scheme will be known as RAPE (Retire Aging Personnel Early).

Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to management to be eligible

for the SHAFT scheme (Special Help After Forced Termination). Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be reviewed under the SCREW program (Scheme Covering Retired Early Workers). A person may be RAPED once, SHAFTED twice, and SCREWED as many times as Management deems appropriate.

Persons who have been RAPED can only get AIDS (Additional Income for Dependants & Spouse) or HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel Early Severance).

Obviously persons who have AIDS or HERPES will not be SHAFTED or

SCREWED any further by Management.

Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on will receive as much SHIT (Special High Intensity Training) as possible. Management has always prided itself on the amount of SHIT it gives employees. Should you feel that you do not receive enough SHIT, please bring to the attention of your supervisor. They have been trained to give you all the SHIT you can absorb.

~ The Management

Something's actually happening this week!

2011-04-04T11:37:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true! An event is scheduled in my usually uneventful little world!

Fellow Dreamspinner author SJD Peterson will be posting an interview with me and a new excerpt from Visible Friend on Thursday and Friday. You can get to the right place by clicking on the post title (if this changes, I'll amend the link accordingly). So, stop by and say hi.

If I could have a monster all my own...

2011-03-25T15:44:00.001-05:00

GGA

2011-03-18T10:49:00.001-05:00

And y'all thought twincest
was a groundbreaking contemporary theme?

A short while back, TeddyPig showed off a vintage gay-themed paperback he'd acquired for way more than chump change. I got a big kick out of it because I love old pb's, although I can't afford the ones I covet the most. Their value, which is considerable, is determined by scarcity, condition, and cover art.

Yep, cover art.

The letters GGA, which often appear in sales listings for vintage paperbacks, mean "great girl-art," much prized by collectors. In the case of these gems, however, the letters obviously mean "great gay art."

So, put aside your sense of political correctness and feast your eyes. How can anyone not love this stuff?

(Click on the post title to view some vintage lesbian pb's, collected by the same wonderful archivists who amassed the books above.)

Characters: Acceptable vs. Unacceptable Flaws

2011-03-15T14:04:00.000-05:00

I should preface this post by saying I've made it a personal policy to avoid my books' pages at Goodreads. Readers resent writers who are constantly peering over their shoulders, and I don't need to be driven to distraction by all those ratings and reviews. This means I'm pretty much in the dark about how my work is being received there.

Anyway, one of my fellow Dreamspinner authors recently let me know she read and liked precious_boy . . . then noted how some other readers' reactions were illustrative of my previous blog post. Specifically, said readers were troubled by you-know-which scene involving the protagonist and his former lover and downgraded the book accordingly.

Okay, no surprise there. Some early reviewers were also bothered by the scene. But this post isn't about that novella. Rather, my fellow author's reference to reader reactions got me thinking.

The vast majority of m/m romance fans claim they prefer flawed characters. But what does "flawed" mean? Clearly, there's a difference in people's minds between acceptably flawed and unacceptably flawed. So, which weaknesses, evils, mistakes, lapses in judgment are acceptable and which aren't? Does a reader's degree of leniency depend on the author?

For example, most readers were extraordinarily forgiving of Tor in Bareback when he went on his secret cheating spree. Ditto Jake in the AE Mysteries when he flung Adrien around. Those behaviors -- extended infidelity and physical abuse -- apparently fell within the parameters of "acceptable" fuck-ups, because they didn't significantly alter readers' favorable impressions of these books. There've been other characters in m/m romance who've also been guilty of some pretty egregious transgressions -- like rape and murder.

Back to my original question. How flawed is too flawed? And in which ways, under what circumstances? What exactly are the limits of character fallibility in m/m romance? What makes readers cross that line from admiring a story to scorning a story based on a character's actions? Is there an element of mob mentality involved? (I really don't like what happened, but everybody else seems okay with it so I guess I should overlook it too. Or the reverse of this.) Are some authors given more of a pass than others, no matter how badly their characters behave?

I think this is a fascinating topic, although it leaves me totally bewildered. Enlighten me!

Reading as a Writer

2011-03-12T21:14:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, I hate reading as a writer. I hate when I'm drifting along, getting pulled into a story while admiring its craftsmanship, and then, step by insidious step, I begin to develop serious issues with the plotting and characterization decisions made by the author.

I hate, hate, hate when this happens! I'd rather begin reading a crappy book and ultimately toss it aside. I don't get bent out of shape by crappy books because I don't become invested in them. They're easy for me to dismiss. But a book that promises to be great -- has polished prose, a POV character with a compelling voice, an intriguing and original storyline -- isn't that easy to dismiss. So when incomprehensible and/or distasteful turns start to occur, I find myself rewriting the damned book and resenting the author . . . because mentally playing content editor is not conducive to a smooth, submersive reading experience.

I'm sure I'm not the only person to whom this happens. I'm sure plenty of writers-as-readers (and editors-as-readers and just plain readers) start out loving books and end up . . . not hating them, but reconstructing them out of sheer frustration.

Here's kind of how it goes for me, how I address the author:

Wait. Hold on. I don't like what seems to be happening here. If the hero or heroine does this-and-such, it is really going to ruin this story's appeal for me.

[I press on, my dread mounting.]

Damn it, this progression of events is pissing me off. You set me up not only to expect but to look forward to a certain development . . . and now you're pulling something that's going to destroy the whole setup! I don't mind plot twists, but twists that preclude an outcome I've been eagerly anticipating? Trust me, those aren't pleasing. At all.

[My dread skids toward disgust as all the wrong things -- at least, "wrong" in my estimation -- begin to happen.]

Oh, shit!

[Book sails toward nightstand.]

What possessed you to do that? In addition to not explaining all this other stuff? Are you crazy? You just ruined what could've been a fabulous read, what could've been a fabulous ending!

[By now, the engine of my brain has gone into overdrive, because I'm replotting whole sections of the book and reworking characters to make them more relevant, three-dimensional, and/or sympathetic.]

Okay, here's what you should've done to make this story more satisfying. Believe me, the direction you chose resulted in a big, sour WTF rather than an "ahhhh" of contentment.

[And away I go!]

I'm well aware I have no right whatsoever to approach books in this manner. What's more, I have my own stories to write. It drives me nuts when I start obsessing over somebody else's fiction because my imagination can't/won't go with the flow. I wish I could flip a switch and instantly turn off all my creative and editorial impulses. Aaaaarrrrgh!

Please, close the windows to your souls.

2011-03-10T23:01:00.000-06:00

Here's one of many questions that have been rolling around in my mind lately.

Why do people like taking pictures of their eyeballs? Why do they like posting their eyeball pictures on the Internet and passing them off as self-portraits? Why do authors in particular like doing this?

Are such photos supposed to make the subjects look mysterious? Insightful? Are they supposed to hypnotize readers into buying books? I don't know. That's why I'm asking.

Shamefully, I admit I considered doing this a few years ago. But when I tried photographing my own eye(s), the attempt didn't go so well. Not only couldn't I seem to hold the camera at the correct angle, which usually resulted in a shot of my forehead or of a few paltry lashes overwhelmed by surrounding wrinkles (which kind of looked like fly legs stuck in a spider web), but the flash nearly blinded me.

In any case, the novelty of eyeball portraiture on profile pages has worn off -- at least for me. These ubiquitous photos creep me out. I'm beginning to think the people who post them are all members of a secret society.

Here's a suggestion to folks who aren't members of a secret society but are maybe just bashful: You might want to consider representing yourselves via other body parts. I don't mean you should parade your privates. The 'Net already has a surfeit of exhibitionists.
(Of course, I'll make an exception for men with really extraordinary asses like the one on the left. There can never be enough "art" photos of Grade-A manbutt. I do ask, however, that guys who consider this option be objective in their assessment of their assets, lest the Web be flooded with pictures like the one on the right.)

What I mean is, you have toes, belly buttons, ears, noses, kneecaps, elbows -- all kinds of wonderful body parts. Please, shy people, consider taking snapshots of those. I need a change.

What I Learned from the Academy Awards

2011-02-28T00:55:00.005-06:00

Or Knew but Had Forgotten:

I love Tim Gunn. Still.
Keith Urban is a short shit!
James Franco sucks as a host, but I'm willing to overlook that.
Anne Hathaway embodies every chick-lit heroine ever created, and I'm not willing to overlook that.
Kirk Douglas is cooler now than he ever was before.
This is what passes for a profound statement in Hollywood: "You know a screenplay is good when the writer's words float through your mind and go straight to your heart."
Jake Gyllenhaal doesn't seem nearly as hot as he did in Brokeback Mountain, although I still say he's gay.
Billy Crystal needs a hairdresser who doesn't make the back of his head look flat, and a writer who doesn't make him seem like a throwback to Borscht Belt comedians.
Gwyneth Paltrow=>authentic country singer; K.Z. Snow=>authentic gay author.
I like Randy Newman. Still.
One of my favorite songs has always been Lena Horne's "Stormy Weather."
Oprah's fame+money combo is apparently a Golden Ticket to many elite places. I'm surprised she didn't show up with Donald Trump.
I wish I had Annette Bening's face. (She can keep Warren Beatty, though.)
I wish I had Celine Dion's voice.
I wish I could think on my feet, and in a dress, as well as Sandra Bullock.
According to the director of The King's Speech, there is such a thing as "a triangle of man love." (But then we already knew that, didn't we?)
Colin Firth is funny.
I'm sick of seeing Steven Spielberg (and still hate E.T.)
From the Best Picture montage: I love the second or allegretto movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 7, my favorite of all his symphonies. It makes my skin shiver over my muscles and my muscles shiver over my bones.
On a related note, it brought these terms to mind: exposition, development, recapitulation. (Sorry, but I've been a classical music slut since fifth grade!)
I just pissed away a few hours of my life.

Visible Friend

2011-02-21T12:01:00.001-06:00

~ Coming in April from Dreamspinner Press ~

Blurb:

Only 24, Christopher Borgasian has made a drastic and terrifying change in his life. He's turning his back on a lover he'd adored for three years. The breakup required more than regretfully spoken words; it was an arduous process that took over seven months. Now it's time for Chris to see if he can make it on his own. Without heroin.

Without much of anything, really. Chris's family rejected him nearly a decade ago when he came out, and his drug buddies, never true friends to begin with, are now off-limits. Chris Borgasian, gay recovering junkie, is alone with his determination.

The night before he leaves a sober-living facility to pursue his uncertain future, a stranger named Denny shows up in his room . . . then vanishes as mysteriously as he'd appeared. From that night on, Denny keeps returning, suddenly and inexplicably, whenever Chris battles temptation, self-doubt, or feelings of isolation. This handsome young man isn't an angel, but his identity still strains credulity.

Believing in Denny means, for Chris, believing in the magical strength of a child's longing -- for the invisible made visible, the imaginary turned real, and, most incredible of all, the possibility of unquestioning acceptance and abiding love.

Prologue

(unedited)

Finding a good entry point was like discovering a clean patch of water in the middle of an oil spill. Chris flexed his arm, tightened his fist, touched one spot after another. A line of music went through his head: Oh beautiful, for spacious veins. . .

His didn’t deserve an anthem. Shriveled, sunken sonsabitches.

“Quit farting around; you’re making me nervous,” Winston muttered as he rigged up. “Try your hand or foot.”

“No. Now be quiet.”

The veins in one’s extremities rolled too much. Winston might’ve been reckless enough to jab at one of the slippery tubules, but Chris was more cautious. He didn’t relish the idea of becoming a pincushion, especially a pincushion squirting blood. That had happened to him a few times and it hadn’t been pretty.

Finally, he palpated a barely perceptible, blue-gray rise with the tip of his thumb. Okay, no more farting around. He aimed and fired.

First, a sharp nip as the needle broke his skin, then the faintest pop of sensation as it drove through a second wall. Chris jacked the plunger to make sure he’d spiked one . . . and, sure as heaven, a ghostly crimson plume swirled in slow motion into the barrel of the syringe. It was a beautiful thing to see, all his passion reduced to this watercolor wash. The image was so powerful in its simplicity that it struck Chris as nearly divine.

His anticipation rose as his forefinger steadily lowered. He sent the plume back home, wrapped around a velvet hammer.

First the bees attacked. Yellowjackets, all clustered around the injection site. Little bastards stung like demons. The sensation didn’t startle Chris anymore. It hadn’t for a long time.

He removed the tie-off from his left arm. It was a thin lady’s belt he’d bought at a thrift store, a gauche strip of gilded vinyl that had tickled his fancy as soon as he’d seen it. He eased the needle out of its twin entry holes and laid the rig in a bowl of warm water.

The unique smell-taste of heroin was already blooming within the tissues at the back of his nose and throat. Not pleasant, not unpleasant, but a distinct part of the experience. Like the burn delivered by the bees, it was what it was. Then, as Chris drew water into his rig to clean it out, the bliss descended.

In a blink, he was swaddled in the thickest, softest comforter in this or any other world. Dusty pink, light as air, it imparted a warmth that melted his muscles and turned his blood to honey.

Nothing could touch him now. Even the barbs of his own thoughts and feelings couldn’t pierce this protective bunting. Serene, oblivious, he floated in place as the honey saturated every cell in his body. The honey was heavy and hot and sweet. From clover, he’d always thought. It must come from clover.

Chunks of time got lost—three minutes here, five minutes there—as Chris periodically nodded. No prickly feeling spread over him this time, and no nausea welled, for he was pretty much past the vomiting stage. He had no elaborate, fascinating dreams.

Winston’s voice drifted toward him. “Good shit, huh?”

“Mmm.”

“You still gonna quit?”

“Got to.” Even if Chris’s halcyon days with heroin were long past—the early period of use when every hit brought orgasmic euphoria—his answer carried profound regret.

He’d probably be giving up the best friend, and best lover, he’d ever had.

Put on your dancing shoes -- it's Friday!

2011-02-18T15:58:00.001-06:00

Trivia questions:
What legendary group makes a brief appearance in this video?
In which of my books is this song mentioned?

I've begun another.

2011-02-16T23:28:00.003-06:00

Book, that is. And entirely different from the Dresden Files.

I am 20% through it . . . and still waiting for the plot to arrive. I can't even hear its hoofbeats in the distance. So far, there's only been sex. Page after page after page of sex, with nary a breather. I'm also waiting for the male characters to distinguish themselves from one another. Even their shout-outs (or growl-outs) during the boinking scenes are identical. As for the setting, I know where all this lusty interaction is taking place but only because I've been told. I've not been given any enlivening details. One thing is for sure, though: it's a very gay place. One wouldn't think such a place would be so rife with queerness, but it is. (No, this isn't a James Lear book. I like his books. They're funny, and they have plots.)

Since I'm tired of being a crabby-ass about my reading material, I'm going to keep plugging away at this one. I'll just have to start skipping the sex scenes, because they're making my eyes glaze over. The reason I'm intent on being persistent is that I know for a fact there's a Dramatic Payoff somewhere down the line. This book's been around for a while, so scads of discussions have cropped up about it and they've been loaded with spoilers. Right now I'm just hoping the Dramatic Payoff has the proper buildup, because it won't seem so dramatic if I'm not convinced, within the context of some plot and character development, that the protagonists are in love. Constant anal and penile stretching do not a romantic relationship make.

I'll keep you posted.

P.S. Have any of you read The Line of Beauty? How was it?

"I really wanted to like this book."

2011-02-15T10:25:00.003-06:00

If I had $10 for every time I've seen that sentence in a review, I could update all the electronic devices in this house. But what does it mean? What makes a reader "want to like" a book?

When I start reading something, I don't go into it thinking I want to like it or dislike it. I just start reading. Of course I'd prefer to have an enjoyable experience -- it's frustrating as hell to trudge and stumble through a story -- so in that regard, every reader wants to like every book s/he picks up. But . . . what makes people single out certain titles to want to like?

Here are the only answers I could come up with:

You've spent a good chunk of change on the tome and don't want to feel ripped off.
You've been looking forward to the story for months.
A gazillion other readers have raved about the book, so, to be part of the happy herd, you want to be able to rave about it too.
You find the author's online persona appealing; s/he seems like a good shit.

Okay, all these reasons except the one relating to the herd mentality make some sense to me. By and large, though, I've been mystified by this desire-to-like statement for a good long while. Then I encountered a book I wanted to like, and I began to understand the sentiment.

It's a volume from Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden files. Why did I want to like it? Because I'm about ready to gag on UF heroines and I really crave an engaging, original UF hero. However, old Harry let me down.

I was hoping to get lost in this series. Instead, in one book alone, I encountered so many coincidences and convenient occurrences, and so many dumbasses repeatedly engaged in incomprehensible dumbassery (and I mean well beyond the normal parameters for suspension of disbelief), I'm not sure I want to risk my money on more of the same. Yes, I feel let-down. Where else can I turn to find the urban wizard of my dreams?

So . . . there's my reason for wanting to like a book. What are some of yours?

Happy Valentine's Day!

2011-02-14T13:13:00.005-06:00

By way of the romance novel cover I once made for JLA. Isn't he a picture-perfect hero? (Sheesh. And you wonder why I seek refuge in my imagination?)

Is it only me?

2011-02-07T15:00:00.004-06:00

(Sorry for stealing your line, Kris!)

I've been doing a lot of book browsing lately, probably due to this beastly winter we're having, and I've noticed a growing lack of nuance in the fiction spectrum.

Or is it just my imagination?

Sturm und Drang

Some stories rely on heavy doses of Sturm und Drang in characters' lives. (I remember that phrase from German lit and rarely get a chance to dust it off and parade it around.) It means "storm and stress." I mean turmoil and angst, all kinds of OUCH stemming from miserable childhoods, physical injury or impairment, and/or psychological trauma. I mean, Holy shit, what more can happen to this poor individual? The plot ends up being soap operatic, a Murphy's Law melodrama in which all kinds of over-the-top stuff can go wrong . . . and does. Or could've gone wrong in the past . . . and has. Maybe with a little PTSD thrown in for good measure.

The BDSM Cure

Other fiction is larded with sex, presented as a tonic for whatever ails one or both of the main characters. Usually of the BDSM variety, the sexual relationship is, in fact, the story's pivot. "Are you troubled for some reason, any reason? Here, let's fix that by devising a Dom/sub arrangement. It will prove oh-so therapeutic, and then, of course, we'll fall in love -- tra-la!"

Oh, Honey, Honey

Finally, some stories seem sugar-coated throughout. The sex is sweet, the feelings are sweet, the dialogue is sweet. Conflicts are easily resolved, so they don't jarringly interrupt the flow of feelgood.

Maybe my mood has been colored by the weather and I'm not seeing things clearly, but it sure strikes me there's a plethora of fiction right now that falls into those categories. Has anybody else noticed this lack of subtlety and originality, or do I just need to sit tight and wait for spring to adjust my perspective?

Why Football Games Matter

2011-02-06T22:16:00.013-06:00

This isn't only Super Bowl Sunday. This isn't only the day the Green Bay Packers brought the Vince Lombardi Trophy home. This is also the first anniversary of my brother-in-law's death.

Gilly was the most extraordinary of ordinary men. He fixed elevators and escalators for a living. Although my education far outstripped his, I always believed he was the smartest man I'd ever known. And the funniest. And the kindest and certainly the most mellow. He raised six children, my nieces and nephews, to be exemplary citizens, yet never thought of it as an accomplishment. He was too humble to have found anything he did an accomplishment.

Twenty years my senior, he was both a better father to me than my biological father as well as the big brother I never had. Gilly was also a rabid, decades-long fan of a football team that hails from the smallest city in North America to have a profressional sports franchise.

So, the Green Bay Packers winning the Super Bowl is a victory that, in my mind, belongs to Gilly. He would have been ecstatic. No...I'm going to amend that. I'm going to let myself believe he IS ecstatic.

This one's for you, Gilbird -- just a small, belated reward for a life well lived. And no one can convince me otherwise.

Bwahahahahaha!

2011-02-04T17:34:00.003-06:00

So...

2011-02-02T00:08:00.012-06:00

There I am,

At the Goodreads M/M Romance group,

Listening to the sounds of silence

In the echoing void,

Hearing naught

But the ringing realization

That I am not

Z. A. Maxfield.

Only RuPaul's "Drag Race"

Whispers an offer of comfort

Through rainbow glitter,

faux camel toes,

And ample acrylic

bosoms.

*

S

I

G

H

*

(Did that work?)

(And hey, I've made it easy for y'all.

Just click on the post title to find me.)

Some Developments

2011-01-26T17:15:00.002-06:00

In February, I'm going to be the featured author or spotlight author or some kind of special author at the Goodreads m/m romance group, and Mongrel will be the book that's featured along with me. (It wasn't voted in or anything cool like that -- people don't generally vote for my books when polls arise -- so there's no need to congratulate me. I chose it because it hasn't received much exposure, and I happen to think it's a damned good novel. Besides, I don't have a release in February. Oops.)

I'm not entirely sure what my month in the limelight, such as it is, will entail, but those of you familiar with the group should be able to find me. If not, I'll post links or a map or drop crumbs or something -- because, lord knows, I'm going to need some shills to make me look like the Incredibly Intriguing and Popular Author that I'm not. ;-)

On a related front, I continue to be fascinated by reactions to precious_boy (and can't help but wonder why so many of my books are so polarizing!) A pretty danged gratifying review was just posted at MichelenJeff, and another is apparently coming from Queer Magazine Online. I know this because the reviewer contacted me after reading the story and was, to say the least, enthusiastic.

And yet . . . plenty of people have had reservations about some of the novella's elements. I'd fully anticipated occasional squirming over Ethan's age, but discomfort over the protags' age difference has rather surprised me. It's only ten years, which was the span between my ex-husband and me (I being the older), and both I and scads of women I've known have been in relationships with ever larger gaps. Hmm. The other minor surprise has been reaction to Jonathan's sexual interlude. Some readers perfectly pinned down the reasons for his apparent lapse in judgment; others were puzzled, bothered, or downright put off by it. Another hmm.

Interesting stuff, and it only goes to show how personal experience shapes personal expectations, even when it comes to entertainment. No wonder a part of me has always wanted to be a psychologist!

How about a hunka-hunka burning . . .

2011-01-24T13:06:00.000-06:00

QUARTERBACK to help brighten your day?

Aaron Rodgers

6'2"

blue eyes

dimples

scruff

never in trouble for whoring around

Super Bowl bound

and we share the same birthday

(just a few *cough* years apart)!

What's not to love? Mmm-mm.

A New One

2011-01-23T13:57:00.003-06:00

Yesterday evening's temperature: 1/2 a degree. WTF is that?

Groaners

2011-01-19T00:05:00.011-06:00

Now let's move from the world of science to the world of Jerry's emails. (These are bad. They're really bad. My dictionary, thesaurus, Chicago Manual of Style, and Fowler's Modern English Usage are actually huddled in a corner, cringing.)

1. A bicycle can't stand alone; it is two tired.

2. A will is a dead giveaway.

3. Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.

4. A backward poet writes inverse.

5. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion.

6. When a clock is hungry it goes back four seconds.

7. The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine was fully recovered.

8. You are stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.

9. He broke into song because he couldn't find the key.

10. A calendar's days are numbered.

11. A boiled egg is hard to beat.

12. He had a photographic memory which was never developed.

13. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison: a small medium at large.

14. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.

15. When you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall.

16. If you jump off a Paris bridge, you are in Seine.

17. When she saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she'd dye.

18. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.

19. Acupuncture: a jab well done.

20. Marathon runners with bad shoes suffer the agony of de feet.

21. The roundest knight at King Arthur's Round Table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

22. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.

23. She was only a whisky maker, but he loved her still.

24. A rubberband pistol was confiscated from a student in algebra class because it was a weapon of math disruption.

25. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.

26. A dog gave birth to puppies on the sidewalk and was cited for littering.

27. Two silk worms had a race. They ended up in a tie.

28. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.

29. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

30. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.

31. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center read Keep Off the Grass.

32. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital. When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, a nurse said, "No change yet."

33. The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.

34. Don't join dangerous cults; practice safe sects.

I warned you!

A Great GLBT Film

2011-01-14T14:07:00.021-06:00

This movie rarely turns up on GLBT lists, and I have no idea why. Sunday, Bloody Sunday is a superb 1971 British film directed by John Schlesinger, one of my all-time favorite directors, who won an Oscar for Midnight Cowboy, one of my all-time favorite films. (Schlesinger, by the way, was an openly gay man* who lived with his beloved partner for over 30 years.)

With a stellar cast headed by fellow Oscar-winners Peter Finch and Glenda Jackson (an extraordinary actor-turned-Labour Party MP), Dame Peggy Ashcroft, and Murray Head (who sang the role of Judas in the original Jesus Christ, Superstar album), Sunday, Bloody Sunday subtly examines the dynamics, and demise, of a triangle involving a straight woman, young bisexual man, and older gay man. I can't call it a "love triangle," because the bisexual man is far too self-involved to have significant feelings for either of his occasional partners. But therein lies the movie's emotional impact.

Following is a synopsis I ganked from Wikipedia and edited.

A Jewish doctor, Daniel Hirsh (Finch) and a professional woman, Alex Greville (Jackson) are both romantically involved with aspiring artist Bob Elkin (Head). Not only are Hirsh and Greville aware that Elkin is seeing them both, they know of each other through mutual friends. Despite this, they are willing to put up with the situation rather than risk losing Elkin, who switches freely and quite inconsiderately between them. The rivals' grace, courage, and vulnerability, as well as their genuine love for Elkin, stand in striking contrast to the young man's shallow opportunism.

For Greville, the relationship is bound up with a growing disillusionment about her life, and lingering issues related to her failed marriage and uneasy childhood. For Hirsh, it is, in part, an escape from the repressed nature of his Jewish upbringing. Only when Elkin decides to leave the country do his lovers come face to face -- a meeting all the more touching because it's devoid of melodrama.

The sex scenes in this movie are lovely, as wistful as they are sensual, and the leitmotif provided by the trio "Soave sia il vento" from Mozart's Cosi fan tutte isn't just beautiful, it's heartwrenchingly appropriate.

God, I love this film. The acting is pitch-perfect, and the angst is underplayed yet keenly felt -- just the way I like it. You can pick up Sunday, Bloody Sunday dirt cheap, in either DVD or VHS format, at half.com.

* Here's a delightful anecdote about the rather portly director, also ganked from Wikipedia: "Sometime in the 1970s [Schlesinger] was in a New York bath house where the practice was for someone wanting a partner to leave the cubicle door open. This Schlesinger accordingly did, and lay monumentally on the table under his towel waiting for someone to pass by. A youth duly . . . ventured in, but seeing this mound of flesh laid out on the slab, recoiled, saying 'Oh, please. I couldn't. You've got to be kidding.' Schlesinger closed his eyes and said primly, 'A simple "No" will suffice'." Heh.

Up Next

2011-01-10T15:41:00.003-06:00

Visible Friend (but not until April) from Dreamspinner Press. This year has started out with more crashes than bangs, but maybe things will get better.

* * *

Only 24, Christopher Borgasian has made a drastic and terrifying change in his life. He's turned his back on a lover he'd adored for three years. The breakup required more than regretfully spoken words; it was an arduous process that took over seven months. Now it's time for Chris to see if he can make it on his own. Without heroin.

Without much of anything, really. Chris's family rejected him nearly a decade ago when he came out, and his drug buddies, never true friends to begin with, are now off-limits. Chris Borgasian, gay recovering junkie, is alone with his determination.

The night before he leaves a sober-living facility to pursue his uncertain future, a stranger named Denny shows up in his room ... then vanishes as mysteriously as he'd appeared. From that night on, Denny keeps returning, suddenly and inexplicably, whenever Chris battles temptation, self-doubt, or feelings of isolation. This handsome young man isn't an angel, but his identity still strains credulity.

Believing in Denny means, for Chris, believing in the magical strength of a child's longing -- for the invisible made visible, the imaginary turned real, and, most incredible of all, the possibility of unquestioning acceptance and abiding love.

Noteworthy

2011-01-07T13:55:00.006-06:00

I was quite taken aback to see precious_boy and "manga" in the same sentence at this LJ. Hm. I haven't been much exposed to manga and only have a minimal sense of it. So I'm intrigued.

Jeff Erno has put up an extremely well-reasoned post about an issue that pushes one of my buttons. Go here to read it. (Beware: my rant is in the comments section!)

Anybody who hasn't yet read Tamara Allen's Whistling in the Dark should do so ASAP. This novel sets three bars: historical fiction, gay fiction, and romance fiction. I honestly can't imagine any recent m/m tale being better than this.

My top "Please Make It Go Away" items for 2010:

Ticks/Lyme Disease
Snow/ice
The need for animal shelters
The need for people shelters
Christmas stories
Publisher favoritism at review sites. (Thank goodness none of you is guilty of this!)
The American "just suffer and/or die if you can't pay" healthcare system
All the other stuff I can't mention, because authors, you know, are gracious ladies and gentlemen who keep their opinions to themselves, unless of course those opinions pander to a belief held by a person or persons they're trying to impress. (Holy hell, I've never had to bowdlerize my utterances as much as I have since becoming an "online presence." And isn't bowdlerize a great word? I haven't been able to use it in a while. Maybe I'll sell it to that pinhead "Billbo the Clown" O'Reilly. *g*)
The number 10

Two Bits

2011-01-04T18:34:00.006-06:00

Val Kovalin, who writes the "Man to Man" gay romance feature for ARe's (All Romance eBooks) Wild Fire newsletter, chose Mongrel as her top pick this month. I don't know what to say. You'll have to read the review to know why it left me speechless.

Oh, and by the way . . . precious_boy is now available at the Dreamspinner Press site. If you didn't notice that its cover is directly to your right, I hope you get your hormone deficiency corrected soon. ;-)

P.S. Not to change tracks or nuthin', but Weeping Cock has some very educational posts this week, including the amazing case of the fizzing semen. So don a pair of Depends and hop on over there. You'll be glad you did -- http://community.livejournal.com/weepingcock/

Some New Year's Love

2010-12-31T22:04:00.014-06:00

Brought to you by me, via Mr. January. (You know I like my cookies dunked!)

This is going to sound more like a Thanksgiving Day post, but...eh, so what. New Year's Day is a good time to reflect.

Although none of my books has yet found its way into DIKdom, some are finally turning up on Favorites of the Year lists. Good golly, Miss Molly! I didn't think it was possible! So...my very deepest gratitude to Lisa at Michele 'n' Jeff Reviews for picking not one, not two, but three of my stories for her top fifteen. Lisa chose The Prayer Waltz, Electric Melty Tingles, and Mongrel. And I must shave off a slice of that gratitude for Jeff Erno at the same site; Jeff chose Fugly. I'm truly honored. (I'm also glad the folks at MnJ highlighted some books and authors I hadn't heard of before instead of coughing up predictable "yeah, yeah, what else is new?" picks. I love discovering new-to-me voices.)

Many profound thanks as well to Val Kovalin at Obsidian Bookshelf for recommending some of my titles this past year in her m/m fiction feature for All Romance eBooks' Wildfire newsletter. Val's support has bowled me over.

Chris at Stumbling Over Chaos has allowed me to offer my new releases as giveaways (in fact, there's a giveaway for precious_boy going on right now). I don't consider this a small feat. Even though Chris is the Queen of Links, setting up these listings requires an investment of time and effort, and that should never be taken for granted. Thank you, too, Lily, Lynn, and Jen (and a slew of people at Goodreads), for reviewing my books. It's always nice to see someone is paying attention! ;-)

I haven't been much of a blog hopper over the past year, but I couldn't have made it through each week without a dose of laughter from Tam and thought-provoking observations (!) from Kris.

What can I say about my author pals? Not enough. Aside from being talented writers, Wren and Kitty and Clare are a joy in every way -- insanely bright, funny, insightful, and kind. Oh, and hugs to Se for her unsolicited consideration in alerting me to things I wouldn't otherwise have noticed (like that CAPA nom). And then there are those selfless authors who've sent me personal messages just to let me know they've liked my work. (I'm not going to name them, but I hope they know who they are. Getting compliments from one's peers is a uniquely heady experience for any writer -- and for me, a boost to my often flagging confidence!)

I was also graced with superb publishers and phenomenal cover art in 2010. Although, contrary to popular belief, I did nothing to deserve the fruits of Anne Cain's and Christine Griffin's genius . . . I want more! :-D

So, dear people, may the New Year rain blessings on your lives. You all enriched my life in 2010.

(P.S. to my alma mater, whose football team made it into the Rose Bowl this year -- you suck!)

Stranger Than Fiction

2010-12-26T20:02:00.009-06:00

An author friend clued me in that I've been nominated in the Favorite Erotic Author category of The Romance Studio's 2010 CAPA (Cupid and Psyche Awards) competition. TRS describes the CAPAs as "awards given by The Romance Studio for excellence in romantic and erotic fiction." (Click on post title to read more.)

Huh?

I have no idea how this happened, because, in all honesty, I know I'm not anybody's absolutenumberonefavorite author, but I think the nominations have something to do with TRS's reviews over the past year. I'm flattered but...

Huh?

The fact that few romance readers have even heard of me will not exactly make me a strong contender (heh -- that, and the authors I'm "up against," like Cameron Dane, Maya Banks, Lauren Dane, Jaci Burton, Samantha Kane, Shiloh Walker, etc.)

Actually, the more I think about it . . .

(Ai-yai-yai . . . contests.)

Last-Minute Shopping Ideas

2010-12-22T11:52:00.009-06:00

Have a Merry, Merry!

Next Week, Different Channel

2010-12-18T19:15:00.008-06:00

Please join me on Tuesday at Reviews by Jessewave, the largest m/m fiction review-and-discussion site (I'm pretty sure, anyway), as I ponder these two things:

Patchwork

2010-12-16T19:56:00.002-06:00

Dreamspinner accepted Visible Friend (my story involving a recovering heroin addict) and will be publishing it in April.

Abercrombie Zombie is proceeding, but at a shamble. :-) Jackson and Adin are calling to me again. A sequel to Mongrel is calling to me . . . faintly. My impression so far is that people aren't too interested in the book, and I'd probably be better off sticking to contemporaries. My imagination hopes I'm wrong.

I'll be a guest blogger-opinionator at Wave's on the 21st, although I'm not sure what topic to tackle. (Go ahead and throw ideas at me if you have 'em!)

The following was ganked from Etienne at the Dreamspinner authors loop:

Many people who chat on the Internet and use text messaging tend to overlook the "art" of capitalization. They shouldn't. Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse and helping your uncle jack off a horse.

Heh.

Goodreads Snorting

2010-12-13T01:02:00.012-06:00

Oh, lordy. Last night I sat here for two-plus hours wheezing suppressed laughter (suppressed, because JLA had gone to bed) over reviews at Goodreads. Mind you, the assessments I came across were for hugely popular bestsellers. No GR snark is going to have any measurable effect on these authors' careers. So I let myself be amused with a guilt-free conscience. (Actually, most of the reviews tickled me because of the way they were phrased, not because they were scathing -- although some were scathing and hilarious.)

What made me check out the responses to these books was a post at Katrina Strauss's blog. I've read the Glen David Gold novel, Carter Beats the Devil, but wanted to see what others thought of it. I've heard of but haven't read Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones, so wanted to satisfy my curiosity about that one, as well.

OMG! Buwahahahahahaha!

Here, first, are some comments about Carter Beats the Devil. Mr. Gold's book, a whimsical bit of historical/biographical fiction, has a higher overall rating than his wife's, which was vilified as much as it was praised. (I liked Gold's clever novel very much -- smooth writing, fascinating subject matter grounded in meticulous research, droll humor -- but agreed with readers who felt it was overpopulated with characters as well as subplots and, as a result, got bogged down in the middle.)

...my disbelief got tired of being suspended and just came in and crashed the party. [ROFLMFAO! The best line I've ever read in a review!]

This is another one of those books with a cover so intriguing that I always pick it up whenever I see it, only to put it back down after reading the description on the back cover and finding it not to my liking, then immediately forget that I was ever interested in the book at all, until the next time I see it, when I do it all over again.

Wow...that took me two WEEKS to get through. Either it was a very meaty book or I was very busy.

...the Gaimenosity of this book scored very low... [I assume this reader is a fan of Neil Gaiman. Otherwise, the comment makes no sense.]

I found the 500 pages more than I wanted to know about life in the community of magicians so I stopped at page 194. Worth reading, however. [???]

Magic is indeed magic. The Prohibition was also kinda magic. Blind people are magic too.

Maybe he'll write a book about clowns next.

Like other man-authored sprawling novels with lots of characters (mostly men), this book starts out strong but meanders a lot in the middle (metaphor for life!)

I don’t know why, but for some reason I find magicians inherently creepy. Ergo, I didn’t enjoy, nor did I finish, this book.

And now, for Ms. Sebold's reviews:

One book, two rapes. How's that for a bargain? I almost said three rapes, but then I remembered that I was a consenting adult and did indeed willingly part with my ten bucks...

This was the book that made me realise the serious flaw in the theory that if lots of people you see on the tube are reading a book, it must be good. I would say with some confidence that this is the worst book I've ever read in my entire life. The only thing that kept me going to the end was sheer bloody-mindedness; a determination not to be defeated by any book no matter how brain-deflatingly awful it is. That said, the endless cloying sentimentality in this almost made me throw it in the bin on several occasions, and it contains the single worst simile I've ever encountered in an entire lifetime of book-reading: "Her heart, like an ingredient in a recipe, was reduced."
[Here, by the way, are other horrendous similes mentioned by different readers: “Her pupils dilated, pulsing in and out like small, ferocious olives.” And the subsequent comment: What does that even mean? What the hell? Did she actually think this was good writing?
“The tears came like a small relentless army approaching the front lines of her eyes. She asked for coffee and toast in a restaurant and buttered it with her tears.” Another bit of commentary followed this quote, but I neglected to copy it. It was funny, though.]

I only finished it so that no one could pull the old "But it gets better..." on me. It does not.

So over-the-top melodramatic I almost lost my lunch... twice. I should have known better: NYT bestseller list + Oprah recommended = ptewy!

I got about halfway through it, but only because I was listening to the audio version.

If you like this book, then you hate literature. It's that simple. I'm not joking. Do not read this book.

I HATED this book. Truly. I read it on a flight and I disliked it SO GREATLY that when I finally landed home at PDX, I threw it away in the women's bathroom, rather than trying to sell it at Powell's or giving to an unsuspecting friend.

So why is this innocent girl who died before her time using her best friend's body to have sex with her boyfriend on earth? Who the fuck does that? And who the fuck is okay with that? I don't care if the friend was okay with it, that's still fucking sick. And that Suzie would even think of and go along with the idea was just fucking... ew. Was it meant to be tragic and romantic? Because that was just disgusting. Also, Suzie, you're dating one hell of a fucked up guy if he's also okay with doing something like that.
I think I'll read books by people who have brains in their head from now on. One star was far too high a rating. Minus a star would be far too high a rating.

'Anguish Porn'

...Anyone who finds Sebold to be an artful manipulator of prose or finds the last 50 pages of this book to be narratively or intellectually satisfying cannot possibly be playing with a full deck.

...a heaping pile of unrealistic suburban vignettes that read like a watered down soap opera...

If Jodi Picoult and Nicholas Sparks had an awkward romp on the set of CSI: Pennsylvania circa 1973, this book would be their love child.

Sebold's concept of heaven takes cliche to a new level. It doesn't even try to stretch the boundaries of an infantile concept of the afterlife, which is limited to the fulfillment of sensory pleasures. Really? All you can think of is that the air smells pretty and there are lots of puppies?

The only way I could finish it was to turn the speed up to 2x on my player, so I could listen really fast.

I am trying to make sure my review doesn't sound like I guzzled two quarts of hateraid, so bear that in mind. I hated this lame piece of crap. Seriously, I get why the world wanted this kind of book, but I really don't get why it's become this omghugebestseller.

I'm not a book burner but I considered it. Granted, this is my roommate's book, so that would have been a dick move.

Now I'm laughing all over again! People sure do take their reading matter seriously.

Bits 'n' Bobs

2010-12-10T18:47:00.010-06:00

I'd intended to post this sooner, but other developments intervened. Two respected online reviewers have started up a site devoted exclusively to reviews of m/m short fiction (20k words and less, I believe; correct me if I'm wrong, Tam or Jen). Click here to check out Brief Encounters. These ladies are devoted and astute readers.

My birthday present to myself arrived today -- a PRINT COPY (ahhhhh) of The Markhat Files by Frank Tuttle. I absolutely adore this man's writing. It isn't m/m, but it isn't really m/f either, so I don't have to endure scenes full of those horrible euphemisms for aroused female genitalia and secondary sex organs. And I don't have to endure that vile "c" word preceded by a host of nauseating adjectives like "dripping" and "gushing." (Be still, my stomach!) The book arrived just in time, too, since a whopping, big-ass blizzard possibly packing 12+ inches of snow is predicted for tomorrow.

I also recently revisited Sleight of Hand by Katrina Strauss. Incredible tale, so beautifully woven. Thank goodness I can read it fairly painlessly at my desktop -- one of the attractions, for me, of novella-length work. This is truly a story to get lost in. Richly detailed yet mysterious (and pretty freakin' hot), it just carries me away. I suspect most of you are already familiar with it, but if you aren't, get a copy. Srsly.

Poor Cody and Luna! Our neutered male mutt, the Code Man, was ill and virtually immobile from Sunday through Wednesday. Limpness in one leg, loss of appetite, fever, lethargy. Then, yesterday and today, he suddenly began to perk up. I had a feeling I knew what the problem was, and a brief Internet search all but confirmed my suspicions.

We took Cody and his spayed female sidekick, Luna (a funny-looking terrier mix, also with one blue eye), to the vet today. The diagnosis? Lyme Disease. Even though it's winter in this part of the world and ticks are no longer active, a bite that took place in spring or fall infested Cody's system. The symptoms didn't manifest until now. A blood test on Luna showed that she, too, carried the germ, although she hadn't yet been laid low by it.

Those of you who have canine companions and live in the country, please be aware of this threat. An annual shot can innoculate your pet against Lyme Disease. Cody and Luna are now on a 21-day antibiotic treatment that should cleanse their bodies of the invader. It's horrible to see a sweet animal suffer so, even for a few days.

Christine Griffin's FUGLY takes third place!

2010-12-09T19:12:00.004-06:00

WOW. What an achievement. Out of scores and scores of GLBT covers, her stunning bit of portraiture came in third! (Click on the post title to see the entire top ten.)

I must say, Mel Odom's cover for The Lost Library was one of the other two I voted for in the final round. It's mesmerizing. And goddess Anne Cain was all over that top ten! I'm so glad some of the people who make us authors look good are getting their due.

TOMORROW I'll be at Dawn's Reading Nook (that's the Dawn Roberto who runs the Love Romances Cafe loop).

It's alive!

2010-12-07T19:23:00.005-06:00

No, that's not right. That's what Victor Frankenstein cried after his monster, played by Boris Karloff, was vivified by lightning.

What I mean is, it's live! Click on ye olde poste title. (And look beneath the picture for more news.)

Plus, there's this.

FUGLY cover made into the finals!

2010-12-03T18:42:00.006-06:00

Looks like Christine Griffin's talent got her into the final fifteen of Elisa Rolle's Rainbow Awards cover art competition. You're allowed three votes in this round -- and, damn, it was tough choosing!

I know some of you won't want to vote for Christine's cover; just letting y'all know about the finals, and how proud I am to have had my work represented by such a stunning piece of original art.

And what's this, you ask? Well, it's a flower symbolic of a certain high-profile football game. In the US, that is. Something else near and dear to my heart made it into the "finals," so to speak. (Yes, I can be that shallow. *g*)

FUGLY now available at . . .

2010-11-30T08:48:00.005-06:00

the Kindle Store
and
ARe (All Romance eBooks).

Sorry it took so long -- SBAC (situation beyond author's control)!

In another respect, the timing was perfect. Val Kovalin of Obsidian Bookshelf designated Fugly a Recommended Read in her "Man to Man" gay-romance reviews feature for ARe's "Wild Fire" newsletter. Thank you, Val!

OMFG...with a cherry on top!

2010-11-27T20:38:00.004-06:00

Anne Cain

scores again!

(Coming in January

from Dreamspinner Press.)