Scarlet Letters

In case you haven’t read the disclaimer on my publisher’s website, Fated Bonds contains erotic scenes. If my book ever appeared on television, it would be on HBO.  Aside from the usual hero and heroine romance, there’s a secondary romance. It just happens to be between two males. Since I wrote the love scenes between Tala and Alexander explicitly, it was only fair to do the same for Kevin and Derrick. In both cases, the sex is a part of the character growth and an expression of their affection for the other person.  Some readers may think, “ick” at the idea of reading about two men, but the love of those two characters was no less “right” than the main characters. They deserved the same stage as the main characters. I’m well aware that there are people out there who disagree. They can read something else. Of course, there’re logistical differences to consider. In the rough draft, I basically took my best guess and then passed it to a fellow writer who could commen...

Scene: Impending meeting of the Eville Writers. SNARKY BARISTA: Oh, I didn't realize you guys were coming in today. ME: Oops. We moved the meeting by a week and I think we* forgot to tell you. SB: Any idea how many will be here? ME: As usual, I have no idea. Could four or forty. They never tell me. SB: *laughs* What can I get you? ME: Something caffeinated. SB: *laughs* That we've got. ME: Let's see... should I be good or bad... SB: Bad. Bad is always more fun. ME: Yes, but I don't think I've written nearly enough to deserve being bad. ** So I guess it's a large iced coffee, Splenda and skim. SB: *rings up* And you don't have a discount card, right? ME: Nope. SB: I didn't know if we'd broken you yet. Ten to forty percent off! ME: *grin* Not yet. I'll join when it's free. SB: *evil* You know, it would've been free by now. You're in here every couple of weeks... ME: Well, don't bring logic into it... SB: I'm j...

"It takes six months to get in shape and two weeks to get out of shape. Once you know this, you can stop being angry about everything else and just be angry about this." -- Rita Rudner, para. Oh diet app, bite me. Nice little pop-up telling me "you aren't eating enough calories!" Yes, I've noticed. I have done everything my doctors told me to do. I track everything I eat - even a bite of bagel at church. I stay under 1800 calories a day with a balance between protein, fat and carbohydrate. I work out several times a week, both cardio workouts and strength training in the weight room. I take my meds like I'm supposed to even when they make me sick. And since the docs switched me to the new med two months ago, I've gained 16 pounds. Yay? Wasn't that supposed to regulate my screwed-up endocrine system so it could operate like a normal human? Do normal humans work out, diet and gain weight? Diet app, you are my constant companion on this non...

Just a quick update to let y'all know that I'm returning to Hypericon in Nashville this summer. We are delighted to return to this show, which is always a blast! Thanks to the Hypericon crew for accommodating us, and we look forward to celebrating with Sara Harvey, Stephen Zimmer, Angrlia Sparrow and the crew from Inkstained Succubus, among many others! I've been accepted as a guest at Dragoncon again, so I'll be back in Atlanta on Labor Day weekend. The following weekend, I'm attending a journalism conference in Nashville. Since it doesn't make sense to go back to St. Louis and double back the next day, I'm looking for any place in the southeast for a coffeehouse or book signing. Even in Atlanta! I didn't get to stop long when I zoomed through last fall. Finally, I'm pleased to announce that I will be editor guest of honor at next year's Midsouthcon! MSC has been a mainstay of my tour schedule for the ten years I've been a published ...

Greetings. My name is Peter Tupper . I’m a writer and journalist in Vancouver, BC, and I’m here to tell you about my new book, An Angel Has No Memory , published by Inkstained Succubus . “Hello, I’m Rose Chung,” she said, extending her hand. “You must be Ms. Marro?”  “Teodora. Call me Teo. Welcome to the Fulfilment House.” The other woman shook her hand and smiled a slightly crooked smile. She wore the dark suit which seemed to be the informal uniform for escorts at the Fulfilment House. Rose could see a needle pistol in an underarm holster under Teo's jacket and the ID card clipped to her belt. “I’m here for your orientation. Follow me and let me know if you have any questions.” The Fulfilment House, which occupied several floors of an office block in the Pasadena arcology, reminded Rose a little of a casino: dark earth tones, no clocks, no windows, nothing to remind people of the outside world. There were also the security cameras watching everything, like the eyes of a ta...

Lo these many years ago, two little girls in Westfield, Massachusetts decided that if there was a Mother's Day, Father's Day and Grandparents' Day, there should be a Sister Day. Well, it's sort of backwards. The first Sister Day was a day in which my bratty little sister strangely decided to be nice to me all day. She was sweet and nice and hugged me and even did my chores, which had me checking under my bed that night, let me tell you. I'm not saying we fought a lot  as kids, but I will say we had very different personalities as children. I was the quiet one. (Hush you, in the back. I heard that.) Things were back to normal the next day, of course, but I didn't forget. I wrote about it in my diary. And a year later, on that same day, I did the same for her. And we decided from then on that March 31 would be Sister Day. Being that this was waaaaay before the internet, we had no way of knowing there is an "official" Sister Day on Aug. 3. By the time...

Greetings from Madison, Ind. Well, actually... Carrollton, Ky. It's kinda the same place. But not really. I was invited to be a guest author at the Madison Author Fair, hosted by the lovely folks at That Book Place in Madison, Ind. I was happy to accept, especially since my good friend Stephen Zimmer was to attend with his crew from Seventh Star Press, and I always prefer events where I know someone. I'm shy. Right up to departure, however, I was having the biggest trouble finding a place to stay. Madison has a number of chain hotels, all of which were $100 a night or more and I am seriously lacking in hotel points at the moment. There were a couple of independents, which had some fairly negative reviews... and while I am not picky, I do have minimum standards. Safe, clean and no bugs. I've stayed in too many fleatraps where critters rode home with me in my luggage, unsavory gentlemen watched too closely as I entered my outdoor-corridor motel door, and - best of all - t...

Ash Wednesday is upon us, and that means it's time for the joyous celebration of Lent. Yeah, there's not often a lot of "joy" or "celebration" in Lent. Just check out the hymns... whenever we start chanting in Lent, I hear Monty Python's papier-mache God complaining, "It's like those psalms, they're soooo depressing." In years past (and often today) many Christians have chosen to interpret Lent as a season of scourging, of punishing yourself, carrying the woe of humanity's murder of the Christ, etc. Not me. Ashes notwithstanding. To me, Lent is a season of reflection, a forty-day period of meditation and self-improvement. I don't think it helps God or anyone for me to wear the (metaphorical) hair shirt for seven weeks. But if you give up something for Lent, there should be an actual reason for it beyond "I'm giving up something for Lent." Otherwise it is a hollow exercise, a public self-flagellation that ser...

Today we were shocked, shocked I say, to find a small card in the mail. Not a come-on from a dentist or politician. Not another (eternal) medical bill. Not ad No. 531531593 from wedding vendors seeking our business. Not that thick bundle of grocery store stuffers we get each week (it would kill you nerds to put them in the newspaper where they belong?) A hand-addressed card, sent to both of us and sealed in an actual paper envelope that did not involve a cellophane window. I got all excited for a moment. Then it turned out to be a gracious card from the jeweler where we bought our rings. He thanked us for our business and said he was very excited to see our final choice on my wedding band. Yeah, me too. It occurred to me that we very rarely get actual letters. I send them from time to time, to my grandmother who does not partake of the internet. Everyone else is on Facebook. What would you say in a letter that won't reach your friend for days or even a week, when you will t...

This post started life as an email to a friend who was getting ready for his first bookstore signing and had some questions. Unfortunately, I had my phone on silent all day for a journalism conference, and I missed it. My apologies to my friend for the laaaaate reply. Then I realized this might be useful to other new authors. His question was about bookstore signings, and how they work. And my answer is an unsatisfying "it depends." • There's the traditional model. For major chain bookstores, and a large number of independents, it's the preferred choice. The bookstore orders copies of your books in advance from Ingram (sometimes Baker & Taylor, but they really like Ingram). They have the books on hand for your signing, and you show up with a pen. The readers buy the book from them. Eventually they pay the distributor and your publisher, and your publisher pays you your regular royalty. This model is the time-tested standard, but it has some problems. If you...

HIM: *pokes head up into office* I'm about to go to work. ME: Uh huh. HIM: What? ME: Remember about two hours ago, when I said there was inventory to be done? And you conveniently vanished? HIM: *grins* Well. ME: Yeeeeah. There's still inventory to be done. And it has to be done before the convention next weekend. HIM: We can do it this weekend. ME: Oh yeah? When? HIM: Tomorrow, before I go to work. ME: I'm at the journalism conference tomorrow. HIM: Oh yeah. Well, Sunday then. ME: *stares* HIM: What? ME: Really? HIM: ... What? ME: You forgot. HIM: What are we doing Sunday? ME: You really forgot. HIM: What did I forget? ME: Uh uh. I'm not bailing you out. You just sit there and remember. HIM: ...Are we going on a date? ME: Remember when we decided that we would go on a date every month and take turns as to who planned the date? And remember a month ago, when we realized that Valentine's Day was on a Friday when you're working, and we thought...

To be fair, I wasn't intending to fire the St. Louis Science Center. Instead, all my friends are fired. The science center showed Back to the Future in the IMAX theater tonight, and I had no idea it was happening. I would totally have ditched my lame "writing and doing taxes" plans for that, and made an evening of it with the boy. Of course, I usually receive press releases from SLSC, and follow their Twitter... so it's a tad surprising I missed this. Still, it's a lot more fun to blame my friends on Twitter... forgetting who might be listening. @edonald: @slsc is showing Back to the Future tonight, and none of you TOLD ME! You're all fired. @slsc: It's usually pretty hard to to fire a T.rex. Hard to find a replacement. # extinct @edonald: Fair point. I try never to argue with a T.rex anyway. # yessir @slsc: Good conclusion. # foodchain The T.rex is listening...

I know, this blog has turned into "bizarre things my kid says," but it's that or subjecting you to endless ruminations about car troubles and writer's block. ME: Hey, spawn. Put away the clean dishes before you go to bed. BOY: Okay Mom. Thank you. ME: ... For what? BOY: Supporting me. ME: Wha? BOY: You feed me and give me clothes and a place to live and stuff. You support me. That's awesome. ME: Okay, what do you want? BOY: Nothing. I was thinking about that today, that if I was on my own I'd have to pay for all that stuff. That would be really expensive. So thank you. ME: ... Seriously, what do you want? BOY: Seriously, nothing. You give me all that stuff just for being your son. ME: Ooooookay. You're welcome. Put away the dishes. BOY: Okay. *hugs me* He is totally up to something. Battening hatches.

BOY: How much are you paying me to do our walk? ME: As I have said in the past, the amount you are compensated is calculated by the extent of the job times the quality of the work performed minus the amount of mouth I get in assigning it. And there was some serious mouth. BOY: I was joking. ME: Uh huh. BOY: You should know that Smith Co. rates have gone up twenty percent due to repeated snowpocalypses. ME: I decline. MAN: Inflation ain't that bad, kid. BOY: I shall speak to my agent about this. ME: Go ahead. Your agent is Jimmy. BOY: My agent is Mr. Snuffles the teddy bear. ME: *quakes in boots* BOY: Fine. Jimmy, you're hired. ME: Besides, all my friends agree I should charge you a shovel tax for the use of my shovel. BOY: A shovel tax? How much? ME: Katie Yates says fifty percent. BOY: Fifty percent? Smith Co. will not do business with Donald Inc. under these conditions! ME: There is no Smith Co. According to Jimmy, I am the CEO of Donald-Smith-Gillentine In...

BOY: I need to get a job. ME: Liking that whole "earning money" thing, are you? BOY: Do you know any places that hire fifteen-year-olds? MAN: McDonald's. ME: I think food service is illegal until sixteen. What about the YMCA? BOY: I could work in the skate center when I'm fifteen-and-a-half with a parent's permission. ME: That could possibly be arranged, with bribery. MAN: Fifteen-and-a-half... that's... ME: Summer. BOY: A summer job. ME: The question is, how do you intend to transport yourself to and from work? Does the bike trail go out that far? BOY: No. *frowns* ME: The bus? BOY: Can you drive me? ME: Well. I think we'd have to arrange some kind of compensation. We are not a taxi service. BOY: *sigh* MAN: Soda. ME: What? MAN: He buys me a soda, I'll drive him to work. ME: Man, you're cheap. I'd demand actual cash. BOY: How about the honor of my presence in your lives? ALL: ... ADULTS: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

I am angry with my spawn and frustrated with spinning more than the usual number of plates, some of which I can't talk about in public, was publicly humiliated today for reasons beyond my control and I'm snapping at everyone. In short, it's another Friday. Spawn. Oh spawn o' mine, I haven't strangled you yet. Boy got in trouble earlier this week, when he stayed after school for baseball workouts and forgot that he was supposed to have a violin lesson at 5:15. That is, he received a reminder text from me at 3:45 p.m. that he was to be in front of the high school with his violin at 4:45 p.m. for Jimmy to pick him up. He acknowledged... then forgot and got on the bus anyway. He got home at 5:20, without the violin. So he was not only late to his lesson, he didn't have his instrument. Cue the Mom-rant, up one side and down the other, about wasting his teacher's time, wasting Jimmy's time (as he sat in front of the high school for him) and my time (knock...

--> The church stood at the end of a long road, partially hidden from view by stands of trees that had stood for a hundred years. Its walls were blood-dark brick, crumbling in places where shadows lived. The roof cast its long shadow over playground equipment, incongruously bright and cheerful.  The small garden would have seemed cheerful and quaintly English beside any other building, a place for tea and triangular sandwiches and the light conversation of bright voices. To me, it cried out like the wind whipping across a bleak English moor, dark and full of silent screams. The shadow of St. Augustine’s fell across the parking lot in the strange gray light, and the shape of the skeleton cross at the summit of the roof lay directly in my path, upside-down.   There were two cars in the parking lot. The front door stood open, neither inviting nor forbidding. All beyond was darkness.

Friday night has been Writing Night for a very long time. My tradition was to drop off Boy at the skate center, then go to the only coffeehouse in town that stayed open late and did not have internet service. It's a vegetarian coffeehouse, so I frequently came out screaming for bacon. Nothing against vegetarian food, per se, except I'm a solid carnivore and veggie food always seems to leave me craving meat. But it's right downtown, it has marvelous atmosphere and reasonable prices, and it didn't have internet. Well, then it did. Once my coffeehouse acquired wifi, I had to rely on my own powers of self-control to keep writing. You can guess how well that went. I am, after all, the woman who installed productivity software on her laptop that actually shuts down the internet access for specific periods of time so that I could focus on writing. But I kept Friday nights sacred, even after Jimmy came into my life. For one thing, he's been working night shifts almos...

...it got really cold. No, seriously. The last time St. Louis got below -5 degrees was on Jan. 5, 1999. Or so I read, right before the snowpocalypse hit us between the eyes. This was highly amusing to me, since 10 a.m. on Jan. 5, 1999 is when I went into labor with my awesome, exhausting, eternally hungry little boy. Of course, he wasn't born until 3:30 p.m. on Jan. 6, but that's because he's just that frigging stubborn. Twenty-nine hours until his head broke my tailbone from the inside and we went for the emergency C-section, folks. I earned that kid. Ever since, he's been the delight of my life, my partner in crime, and the source of ninety percent of my grey hair. Life with Ian is a rollercoaster, and I never know what's coming next. From the adorable little baby into the sweet, mischievous child to ... we shall skip junior high ... to the smart, wiseass young man he is becoming. I've had to get used to wagging my finger upward and buying six gallons of...

Ah, the blessed relaxation of a holiday vacation. Or so I hear. Jimmy's off work until January 6, damn him; except he volunteered for an overtime shift next weekend because we could use the cash. Ian's off school until January 2. No fair. Me? I'm on duty at the newspaper today. At least I got a late start, since I thought I had a night meeting and it's cancelled. After work, I'll finish the tins of yummies for our friends, then Jimmy and I will go out to deliver them. I also have to make dinner, since we ate out WAY too much over the weekend and now I'm afraid of our bank account. I also need to find time to get over the river and retrieve the box of photos that I brainlessly left at a signing. I've been searching for it, because it has all my photo stock and my Christmas cards, which I'd planned to, y'know, mail. Meanwhile the box of bookplates has vanished, of course, since they have to go out this week for the first round of Kickstarter ince...