Saturday, September 17, 2016

WIP: Untitled MMF story

This is for my wife, Sasha, and our BFF, Isabella. I wrote a High King short recently (that takes place after Heart of the Lost Star so I can't post it yet) and one of the characters writes erotic stories. I wrote a throwaway line about one of the books she was writing, and they demanded I write that story. So here is the beginning of that story.

(pardon typos etc, this is still very much in progress)


Shanna wiped sweat from her brow as she put away her shovel, pulling off the kerchief around her neck to mop away more sweat and grime. There was nothing quite like an afternoon of cleaning out the dragon stables to burn off anxiety and worry.

Unfortunately, it did not burn away the long evening looming before her. A hateful father—stepfather—looming over her, piles upon piles of suitors from which she must pick a consort she didn't want. Because her father might hate that she was the queen-in-waiting, but the law was the law, and he was only a consort himself. But she also wasn't stupid enough to think he'd let her pick anyone who didn't meet with his approval, which means someone who either would immediately ally with him or would be easily walked over.

If he thought she would tolerate that as placidly as she tolerated everything else he did—or did not do—then he was sorely mistaken. She might not particularly want a consort, but whoever she married could be an advantage for her as much as for him if she was able to slip the ideal one past him. Too many ifs, but there was nothing to be done about that. And for all he could manipulate and threaten, he could only go so far. Many laws were flexible and gray, but those commanding the throne were set in stone and steel. She had the right to choose her future consort, and the choice must be freely made, and all suitable candidates given fair and equal choice. If even a whiff of scheming was detected, the whole affair would be called off and begun anew next year. Even the useless council under her father's thumb would not be able to do much if she cried there had been a violation of the rules.

But that was not a card to be played lightly, for it would only work once and could easily backfire. No, she had to pick the right person the first time.

Hopefully, whoever it was would prove be her key to freedom and safety. She was exhausted living on edge and in fear every hour of every day.

She had watched the suitors trickle in all day, from the imperious and tiresome Prince Gorna from Ashta, who'd taken her for a servant happy to double as a prostitute, all the way down to Princess Nina, who'd taken her for a servant and therefore invisible.

So far, she was none too pleased with most of her options, to judge by the way they thought servants were to be treated. A few had been polite, though, even cordial, so at least a few options existed.

One of the stable hands brought her a cup of cool water, and Shanna thanked him, smiling warmly. "How is your mother?"

"Starting to walk again, thank the Goddess. She'd been stuck abed much longer, we'd have killed her or she'd have killed us," the boy said with a grin.

Shanna laughed. "I remember being that pleasant to deal with myself when I broke my ankle as a young girl."

Most would argue she was a young girl still, and normally she might agree, because twenty-three still left a lot of life and learning to do—but with her mother suspiciously dead the past six years, a stepfather determined to put himself on the throne and forever keep her off it, a court and council who refused to see her as a woman grown, and still two years from being old enough to claim her throne, Shanna didn't feel terribly young.

She felt alone, tired, and afraid.

Handing off the cup, she handed it back to Tikki and ruffled his hair before sending him off. She'd check on the sick red dragon then head back to the keep to dress for dinner.

"Pardon me."

The voice slid down her spine like good whiskey down the throat. Shanna turned, and drew a sharp breath through her nostrils at the handsome men standing just inside the stable—with horses. Intrigued they would use horses when their clothes marked them as nobility or royalty, she closed some of the distance between them.

The man on the left was short and lean, with yellow-brown skin and thick, dark hair pulled into a short braid. It was dark but she still caught a hint of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his eyes seemed to be dark blue or green. He would barely reach her chin, but what he lacked in height he certainly made up for in presence—especially the friendly smile he gave her. "My pardon, Highness, I didn't realize it was you until you came into the light." He glanced around the stables. "You've some handsome dragons here, from what I can see."

"Thank you. I am honored you recognize me, but chagrined I do not know you. Have we met before and I callously forgot?"

He laughed, as did the man beside him, who was as tall and broad and dark as the first man was short and thin and light. "Not all, Your Highness. This is the first time anyone from my kingdom has visited your lovely home for a long time. I am Kallaar bella Fontare of Morentia, at your most humble service."

"Your Highness," she said, and matched his elegant bow. "It's an honor to have you here, you and…"

He looked up with another of those bright, boyish smiles, like he'd somehow never lost the ability to be happy about even the smallest things that came so easily to children. "This is my bodyguard and dearest friend, Master Ahmla della Taar. Master Ahmla is the proper address for his station."

"Thank you. An honor to meet you as well, Master Ahmla. I was about to return to the keep. Let's get your horses settled and then you may walk with me. What brings you to Rumark?"

Kallaar's face filled with surprise. "Why, we were invited to send a suitor, of course. Did Your Highness not know?"

"Forgive me, no, my mother arranged all that shortly before her passing. I must have forgotten, in the aftermath of her sudden death, that she had extended an invitation to you. Forgive me, please."

"No forgiveness necessary, Your Highness." Kallaar's smile was soft, sweet and understanding. "She and my father were good friends, but it's true the rest of us seldom knew what they got up to. I only knew of the invitation myself a month before I left to travel here."

"Well I am happy to have you here, please be assured of that." And she was, if only because it would annoy her father, who would be insulted to have his time 'wasted' by a small kingdom that was generally content to ignore and be ignored by the rest of the world.

"That's most gracious of you, Highness." They led the horses along as she showed them where to put them—really, it was a portion of the stable used almost exclusively by servants and less wealthy guests, since no noble or royal would be caught dead traveling anywhere save by dragon.

She tried not to stare while they worked, but it was difficult. Both men moved with the familiarity of people used to working in stables and tending their own mounts. Neither had seemed surprised to see her there, and Prince Kallaar at least had recognized her.

Ahmla's hair clacked as they worked, cut to his chin and strung with wooden beads that seemed carved to resemble various birds, beasts, and insects. More than once he was forced to stop working because his mare loved to try to nibble at them.

When the horses were finally settled and happily eating, Shanna led the way out the back entrance of the stable and along the servants' path to the back of the keep, through the enormous, always busy and hot kitchens. Standing in the large servant hallway that was the main connection point to getting to the rest of the enormous royal castle, she gestured to a large wooden door at the far end. "If you go through there, you'll find your way to the great hall. Look for a man with long white hair, Steward Graiss, and he will tend you properly."

"Thank you, Highness. We will see you at dinner."

She nodded, watched them depart—only staring at the way their leather breeches fit a little bit—then finally headed up the stairs all the way to her own room.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

Ficbit: Beraht/Dieter

I was too lazy to come up with a title. I have another one in mind to write with these two with this particular arrangement (the first time mentioned in this bit), but it'll have to wait until I get some other stuff done ^^;;


* * * * *

Dieter rolled over in bed, immediately  annoyed to find it empty. The room was dark, save for the crackling fire. A glance out the slightly parted curtains shows it was still some hour of the night or early morning. Dieter yawned as he gave the room a more thorough pass, irritation increasing as it proved not to contain Beraht. Why could the man not stay in bed the whole night through?

His right arm ached, healed from its break but only barely, and a long way from possessing the strength it once had. Dieter sighed and heaved himself out of bed, still tired but too frustrated and keyed up now to sleep.

He'd just started to make some tea when the door snicked open and Beraht slid inside. He stopped short as he saw Dieter. "What are you doing awake?"

"Where have you been?"

They glared at each other, then Beraht huffed and crossed the room to set the tray of food he was carrying on the table. "I woke up and then was too hungry to go back to sleep. Why are you out of bed?"

"Something woke me," Dieter said. "I'm not a damned invalid, if I want to get out of bed, I shall. Winter's Tits, I like you better when you are nagging as incessantly as Her Majesty."

Beraht snatched the tea kettle from his hands. "Until four days ago you were an invalid—"


"Stop your growling, it doesn't work on me." Beraht filled the kettle from a pitcher on the table and swung it over the fire, which he then tended with the poker before adding a couple more logs to the pile.

Dieter sneered as he took his seat, eyes falling briefly to Beraht's crotch. "It works on parts of you."

Beraht ignored him.

"Even with a broken arm I could make my own tea, you addled Salharan."

Beraht continued ignoring him, instead returning to his tray of food and quickly dividing the contents into two portions.

Sighing, too cranky and tired to continue protesting Beraht's incessant fussing, Dieter pushed his overlong hair from his face and stared at the scratched table, running his fingers over the scars left by Beraht's daggers on more than one occasion.

There was more gray in his hair, though he was not quite yet forty. Time made him look increasingly like the wild, mindlessly violent Krian so many people still assumed him to be, whispering in delighted terror once he'd passed them in the halls or barracks.

Beraht, on the other hand, only grew more beautiful with time, long and lean, sharp as the blades almost always secreted on his person, his skin neither the snowy tones of Illussor nor the warmer tones of Salhara. Bathed in firelight, he looked like a bit of his vexing magic brought to even more frustrating life.

"Why are you scowling so much?" Beraht asked as he set a plate of food in front of Dieter. One of two plates, so whatever his grousing he'd prepared to find Dieter awake.

"I'd imagine it's the same reason you've been more hostile than usual, lately," Dieter said, and reached up with his left hand to curl his fingers around the back of Beraht's neck and dragged him down into a hard kiss.

Beraht bit his lips. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Did you get knocked upside the head harder than I thought? I hadn't realized it'd been that long since we fucked."

"Your arm—"

"Is fine," Dieter groused. "I murdered the Kaiser, I can fuck you with a weak arm. Since when did the man who slaughtered half my army yet somehow become the namesake of my sword become such a soft clod? Winter's Tits, cease your incessant fussing."

Beraht's gold eyes blazed. "I'm not fussing. I simply do not want you hurting it again and making the entire stars rejected kingdom miserable for three more months."

"Like you've been so pleasant to be around. I am fine, but by all means do all the work if it means you will shut up and stop denying both of us what we want."

"Did you just order me to fuck you?" Beraht asked, the barest smile twitching at his lips.

"I do not care what you do. Ride my cock, fuck me, only cease fussing."

Beraht kissed him again, biting Dieter's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, then pushing his tongue deep, the kind of kiss Dieter had gone without for entirely too long. He tore away, pushed his chair back, and tumbled Beraht toward and into the bed.

Squirming away, Beraht rose up on his knees and shoved Dieter down into the bedding. "On your back, General."

The words weren't really filthy, and they certainly shouldn't have been enough to go straight to Dieter's cock, but they were and did all the same. But Beraht had always had that effect on him, far longer than Dieter would ever admit aloud. Longer than he'd been willing to admit to himself until he'd nearly lost Beraht.

Once Dieter was laid out, Beraht made swift work of their clothes, leaving them in a scattered mess on the floor beside the bed. He moved away briefly to fetch the oil on the table between the wall and the bed, then returned to settle between Dieter's heavy thighs.

Smirking, Beraht slicked one hand with far too much oil and trailed long, messy lines from Dieter's throat and all the way down his broad, smooth chest. Dieter had been given many an odd look in the army for his fastidiousness, but he could not stand to be anymore hairy or sweaty or dirty than he absolutely must.

Beraht, of course, took great pleasure in making a mess of him—in as many ways as possible. Dieter scowled and grabbed his hand. "Beraht—" He was cut off by a toothy kiss, Beraht draping over him, further smearing all the oil covering him, his messy hand tangling in Dieter's hair and yanking hard. Tearing away, Dieter resumed glaring. "Quit—"

Beraht kissed him again, dragging his tongue across Dieter's abused bottom lip, tonguing the small scar that ran alongside the right side of his mouth where a dagger had nicked him in a tussle with thieves. Then he shifted to put his mouth to Dieter's throat, grunting at the hands that grabbed his ass and grinded them together. He sucked up a bruise on Dieter's throat that would equal the ones Dieter was leaving on Beraht's hips.

Then he started working his way down Dieter's body, alternating kisses with long licks of his tongue and stinging bites, the occasional line of scratches from his nails, leaving a trail of marks that would last a mixture of minutes, hours, and days.

He idly fisted Dieter's cock, stroking just enough to tease, to infuriate. "Beraht, I will—" Dieter broke off with a grunt as Beraht's slick hand cupped and rolled his balls, a sensation Dieter loved and hated in equal measure.

Leaving off after a few minutes, when Dieter's threats became less empty, Beraht pushed a slick finger inside him. His eyes glowed, hot and bright, as he met Dieter's gaze. Dieter grunted again as the finger pushed and twisted, but mostly to annoy Beraht, who wanted him to make far more noise than that.

As ever, the sensation was equal parts familiar and strange. Dieter had been trained well when it came to fucking, his father had seen to that just as thoroughly as he'd seen to all the rest of Dieter's training. But this Dieter had never done much of, only enough to make himself a pleasure for the Kaiser instead of an ignorant, fumbling fool. Later, there'd been no one he liked or trusted enough to fuck him, not that there'd been many people lining up to be invited into the bed of the man the Kaiser hated more than anyone else in the world. The first one to fuck him since his training had been completed was Beraht, a few months after they'd become lovers.

He hissed as Beraht went straight from one finger to three. "I will—"

"Shut up," Beraht said, but leaned down to kiss him, sucking and biting at his lower lip before pushing his tongue in to fuck Dieter's mouth. Dieter buried both hands in Beraht's hair and returned the kiss full measure, determined to leave every inch of his mouth well-used and sore.

Drawing back and removing his fingers, Beraht lined up his cock and slowly pushed inside, his long groan filling the bedroom.

Dieter dragged him down, held Beraht tightly between his legs and bit his lips. "Given how long you're taking, I'm starting to think you either forgot how to use your cock or haven't missed this."

"Shut up," Beraht said, biting hard enough to set Dieter's lip bleeding again, licking it away before drawing back, settling his hands on Dieter's thighs, and setting into a hard, deep rhythm that rendered them both incapable of talking.

Dieter closed his eyes, focusing on sensation without the distraction of Beraht sweaty and needy and bathed in flickering light. Beraht's cock left him feeling burned and stretched, and no doubt Dieter would be left with an ache he would feel for some time. Not something he wanted often, but only Beraht had ever really made him want it enough to seek it out.

Opening his eyes, Dieter stared into Beraht's, which always shone arcen yellow no matter the years that passed, as much a scar as those left by knives and swords and flame across both their bodies. Normally the sight of arcen eyes made him tense for a fight and brace for pain. With Beraht, he tensed and braced for entirely different reasons—and no matter the years that passed, the number of days and nights they spent together, he could not quite believe those reasons were mutual.

The look in Beraht's eyes said his thoughts were much the same. As ever, the most vital words between them never needed to be spoken.

Beraht drove into him hard enough Dieter finally gasped, then bent and kissed his abused lips, thrust his tongue deep as his hips stuttered a few last times. He shuddered hard and collapsed atop Dieter, and lay there panting for a brief time.

Finally dragging himself up, Beraht slid down Dieter's body and swallowed his cock, and it took only a few expert pulls of that infuriating mouth between Dieter was spilling down his throat.

Pulling away, wiping sweat and come from his mouth and chin, Beraht crawled back up to stretch out alongside Dieter, hot and sweaty, but Dieter enjoyed the feel of him too much to push him away simply to be cooler. "Will you cease nagging me now, you irritating Salharan?"

Beraht didn't bother to open his eyes, just chuckled into Dieter's shoulder, the sound fading as sleep got the better of him.

Dieter considered shoving him off the bed, but decided it would be better to exact revenge in the morning, when he could put Beraht on his hands and knees and fuck him until he screamed. In the meantime, he closed his eyes, content to doze until Beraht woke in a few minutes in search of the snack he'd forgotten about.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Wriggle & Sparkle: Be You

Once upon a time, I wrote a post (I no longer remember what it was about) and somewhere in there I made a flippant comment about how even if I wrote about a kraken shifter and a sparkly unicorn, it would still be a valid story (ah, I think it was a rant about how romance is awesome and people need to stop shitting on it, or something close to that).

And people said I should really write about the kraken and unicorn. So I did.

Right around the time I started writing, I read a post I have long since lost the link to, about how shifter fic never really pushes all that shifters could be capable of, especially when it comes to gender and such. Which gave me ideas.

But I started with Anderson, my unicorn. He's small, slender and delicate of build, extremely pretty, loves pink and sparkly things and pretty things and sweets with all his heart. He also has a long string of lovers, is looked down on by other unicorns for being unconventional and slutty, and has a job that's considered unorthodox for unicorns. He is both very unicorn and very not unicorn.

Then there is Lynn, my kraken, one of my fav characters that I've written for several reasons. One, I always like the obnoxious ones. They resonate with me in a way other characters don't. But Lynn also is where I tried to push myself with what shifters are capable of.

Lynn's true form is a monster of the deep kraken the size of several tall office buildings. He wouldn't completely destroy  New York City, but he'd put a sizable dent in it. Now, shifters in general can pick the human form they want to shift into, and even change it later down the road. Lynn, however, is genderfluid and has the ability to shift into a cis-male or cis-female form whenever the hell he wants. His twin has the same ability since they're also genderfluid. Lynn can also shift into a half-form, where his upper half is human, but his bottom half is tentacles.

And let me tell you, the research for this has taught me more about how octopuses and squid fuck than I ever wanted to know. But his tentacles are not arbitrary or entirely made up, they were created based on what I read about octopuses and squid (he's got elements of both, since one or the other was not sufficient for my purposes).

But pushing myself to be more creative with shifters wasn't my only goal with this book. The obvious themes of W&S are gatekeeping, stereotypes, and just generally the needless difficulties and hurt caused by expecting people to meet the arbitrary rules of one group or another (Jader from my High Court series is another character on this theme). It's shitty to be told you're not really X because you don't look/behave/think A,B,C,D, and E. You're married to a man, you're not really a bisexual woman (or you're 'straight passing'). You don't look Jewish. You don't act Black. You're not really Latina. You don't look genderqueer. I never would have guessed you were a lesbian. Look at what he's wearing, obviously he's gay. And let's not forget how often trans people are abused, raped, and murdered for not 'passing' as suitably 'masculine' or 'feminine'.

I cannot tell you how much I hate dumb blonde jokes. The only time I ever found them funny was when my dad (or other family members) told them because I know my family does not see me as stupid simply because I'm blonde and have large breasts (my dad tells them to get a rise out of me, which is something he and I have always done with each other) But those stupid fucking jokes have done me, and a lot of other women, a lot of harm. Nowhere near the harm that has been done to all of the above groups, but it still hurts.

All my life people have presumed to tell me how they think I should behave, because I'm this, or that, because I did this, or am doing that. Without ever once considering how condescending and patronizing that is, that I'm adult who is very aware of my position in life and am capable of making my own decisions. I don't need anyone telling me how they think I should be living my life. It's mine, victories and losses, successes and failures, brilliant moments and grand stupidities and all. Outside of the small circle of people I trust to give me a reality check, people need to mind their own business. And this goes for everyone who does that shit to anyone else.

So Wriggle & Sparkle means a lot to me, partly because I think it's a solid collection of stories and I'm proud of my shifters, but mostly because at its core W&S is about two people who just want to be allowed to be themselves without being harassed or shamed. Who find in each other someone who accepts them exactly as they are, and loves them for better, worse, and all the rest.

Lynn is a kraken shifter in every way: detailed, tenacious, resilient, and hard-working. Also possessive, vain, arrogant, and demanding. It makes him an excellent agent for the Federal Bureau of Paranormal Security and Investigation—and impossible to work with, as the long list of partners who have transferred away from him will attest.

His newest partner is a unicorn, possibly the worst type of paranormal for work that often turns ugly and violent. Everyone knows unicorns are too delicate for such things. Then Anderson proves to be a unicorn like no other, the kind of partner Lynn has always wanted—the kind of partner he wishes was more. But if there's one thing he's learned, it's that the only thing harder to keep than a partner is a lover.

LT3 | ARe | Amazon | B&N | Kobo

Monday, July 25, 2016

State of Me

First, for those who followed my post about Bird, he is doing well for the moment. He pretty much hates us for shoving antibiotics down his throat for like a month, but he's healthy for now.

I, however, am currently something of a mystery. I've been suffering various pains and aches all year that nothing gets rid of. Over the counter stuff doesn't touch, prescription strength naproxen didn't touch it, and it definitely isn't going away after basically six months of misery and me freaking the fuck out on poor Sasha on a nigh-daily basis.

So the doctor definitely thinks something more is at play, but we don't know what. So begins the process of elimination with bloodwork, and sometime in the near future an appt with a rheumatologist to get their assessment and rule out other things.

In the meantime, I've been put on Cymbalta to manage the pain (it's also used to treat anxiety, which is not a bad thing). The past few days have been extremely fuzzy, and my ability to sleep is completely fucked right now, but hopefully it will settle in another week or so.

So if I seem weird or extra flaky or anything over the next few weeks, that is why.

Much love to everyone who has read and enjoyed The Pirate of Fathoms Deep. You've no idea how much your comments and positive reviews and messages have cheered me up. I'm super happy everyone is stoked for Heart of the Lost Star too, since it's been my favorite to write so far. Currently I am bouncing between Rene's story (#0) and story #4, which I had started, but then scrapped and am now trying to start over. But it's about Myra, and the rest will have to remain a mystery for now :3 :3 :3

And now I am going to try and take a nap, though I don't hold out much hope. I'm not kidding when I say this medicine looks at my need for sleep and goes FUCK YOU.

But I'm bound to collapse eventually ^^;;

I hope everyone has a good week! <3 p="">

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Update on Bird

First, many thanks for the kind comments. They've left me crying, and gotten us through this rough week. I know I haven't replied to each one (yet), but I am deeply, deeply grateful.

As to Bird... we still don't know. The blood panel came back completely negative. Our poor vet has exhausted every resource, explored every nook and cranny he can think of, and cannot figure out what is causing Bird's fever.

The full story here is that Bird got a fever a few weeks ago. We took him to an emergency vet, then to our vet, who put him on antiobiotics that seemed to be working. Then they just stopped working.

And then Anika got the same thing. We put her on antiobiotics as well, but stopped after a couple of days because she was throwing up. Now she's perfectly fine. But Bird still has a fever, and a new antibiotic.

We have no idea what's causing it, and why just these two cats seem affected. There's nothing in the house that we can find that would be making them sick, their bloodtests have come back like they're healthy cats.

Our only options at this point are to keep dealing with the fever as it comes and goes. Because the only other option, according to our vet, is to take him to the teaching institution, but that will run from $3-5,000.00. Which is way beyond our abilities.

So Anika is tentatively better for the moment. Bird is still sick, depressed, and not eating. And there is no permanent solution in sight. But we're going to see how the latest meds do and go from there.

Thanks again for the support and kind words. Love you all muchly.


Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Tonight is why I write what I do

So our cat, Bird, is seriously ill. But the vet can't figure out with what. He keeps getting dangerously high fevers, and right now he's cuddled up with Sasha and a whole lot of ice. Come morning we're taking him straight to the vet.

But I probably won't sleep because I worry and obsess and can't let things go. I try not to worry, the way I'm advised. I try to stay calm and not let shit get to me, but it does. It eats at me and eats at me until I deal with it, for better or worse.

And it really really eats at me that people think my books (and the books of many authors I love and respect and admire) are less because they don't focus on the queerness of my characters, that I write queer as incidental instead. That my books are less because fluffy is basically a five-letter word in the sacred Land of Writing.

But I write for me, above and beyond all else. I write the stories that I would want to read when I am exactly as I am now: crying, afraid, unable to sleep, half-resigned that in the near future we will no longer have a Bird.

The morning I got mugged, I wrote. The night Pumpernickel died, I wrote. When I'm scared or distressed, I write. On the rare occasion I can't write, I read. Words have always been my greatest comfort, the place where I felt safest.

So I won't tolerate anyone telling me that what I write is wrong because it doesn't meet the standards of people more interested in drawing lines in the sand, setting hard definitions of what's "right" in queer romance, and telling me I'm wrong.

I write the stories I want to read. Fantasy. Worlds where people like me are just people, not Queer People. Just the normal fucking people that we are. Stories where I can trust the end will be happy, and I won't have to be absolutely miserable the whole time. Some of my stories are serious, some are pure fluff and nonsense, and most fall right smack between those two extremes.

But all of them, to my knowledge, have helped somebody get through a day or a night just like this one. And that is all I've ever wanted my stories to do. Not every piece of queer romance has to also serve as queer literature. Nobody asks every other piece of romance (or fiction) to also double as literature. That's what romance can do; it's not what romance has to do.

I write what I do to help change minds. The more something is treated as normal, the more people see it as normal. But mostly I write to help myself. It's an outlet. My cat may survive whatever is making him sick, and god do I hope so.

He may also not survive, and when that happens, I'll likely come home and write something hopelessly light and fluffy and sweet. Because it will help me, and somewhere down the road, maybe it will help someone else.

(and if you wanted to know what's getting me through tonight, I'll give you a hint. The working title is: The Lonely Dragon's Secret Treasure).

Monday, June 27, 2016

Going to Be Mostly Gone for a Bit

Long time no harass you, peeps. As ever, I'm way busier than I want or should be, but so it goes ^^

That being said, I'm about to get even busier. As most know, Sasha and I got married back in March. Come July 10th, we're throwing a little party for family and friends to celebrate the marriage. It's a glorified backyard BBQ rather than a proper reception (what is a proper reception???), but that's how we like it :)

But the bulk of preparing for it is on me, since Sasha has to work, so I'm not going to be around much starting about mid-week this week. So enjoy the piece and quiet while it lasts :3

I am also stressed up to HERE with IRL problems, largely two of our cats that keep getting sick. I have to take one into the vet yet again today, and have been crying off and on b/c that's how I deal with everything (much to the frustration of me and everyone who has to put up with me ^^)

I had been meaning to do a newsletter and other update/what's happening stuff, but I'm afraid this post is all you're going to get for a bit. On that note, have some book news (and an excerpt)

Tournament of Losers is getting an audio version. I don't have release date info yet, but it should be ready in another month or two. And hopefully this will be the start of LT3 slowly getting back into audio, we've really missed doing them.

My July release is, of course, The Pirate of Fathoms Deep. I really hope peeps enjoy reading Lesto's story. He was a hell of a lot of fun to write, I've never made secret that he's one of my favorite parts of Harken verse.

My August release is the ebook of my yaoifix serial, Wriggle & Sparkle. This one was hella fun for a lot of reasons. A kraken shifter. A unicorn shifter. I really tried to push myself on shifters in this one, and let me tell you I now know more about squids and octopuses and such than I ever thought I would. I can also finally say I've written tentacle porn. I take my victories where I can.

My September release is the sequel to SotK that took me far longer to write than I'd wanted. But I am pleased with the results and I hope Shield of the Dragon proves worth the wait. Ken has always been one of my favorite characters to write, and we know how much I love my DwtD dragons. I also hella fucking love the new covers for this series :D

I have too many fucking books coming out. But Unfinished Business is my October release, an anthology with some other awesome peeps. It revolves around paranormal investigators, which I'm always here for :3 My particular story is about a vampire who finds a dead body on his lawn, and the hot (human) detective who shows up to solve the mystery.

And it is with an excerpt of that story with which I leave you.

I hope everyone is having a lovely week ^_^