WIP Wednesday

I've settled on what to work on next. I have a 40s ex-hitman for the mob story that's been languishing in my WIP folder for years that I adore. The only problem was, it was always too long and I didn't feel like I could cut it. Like...way too long. Written before I really understood what the genre wanted.

But after looking through what I had, and considering my obligations over the next few weeks, I thought, "Why not? Let's give it a shot." So that's what I'm in the process of reworking.

It's not titled yet. I now hate the original title, so I'm going to wait until I've finished my revisions and see if something new jumps out at me. Or if something jumps out while I'm working.

This is from the first chapter...

* * *

Sometimes, really bad days can start with birds singing outside the window.

At first, Deacon Rook thought it was the neighbor’s radio and just buried himself under his pillow, burrowing his cheek against the cool cotton of his sheets in an attempt to drown out the noise.

It took five minutes to remember the idiot neighbor was on vacation.

With a groan, he lifted his head, black curls matted in obscure patterns from sleep, and squinted against the California sunshine that streamed in through his open window. The birds perched in their nest on the top of the telephone pole not six feet away. He scowled.

One of these days, he'd remember to close that fucking window before he went to sleep.

Thinking of it as falling asleep was generous, but at that exact moment in time, the last thing he needed was to consider the greater ramifications of what his passing out for the third night in a row might mean. Better to focus on the pounding behind his eyeballs, or the sandpaper that currently comprised his throat lining, or even the fact that he’d slept in his last pair of clean trousers so now looked like something that had been lost at the bottom of a linen basket for the past century. It didn’t help, of course, that the incessant chirping from outside was sharpening into long, pointed needles, pricking his brain into shock with each shrill note, scraping down his spine until it felt like each vertebrae was raw from the tonality.

The gun from the nightstand was in his hand before he could think, its single shot rupturing the morning calm to shatter the upper pane of the window. As he’d intended, the bullet went low, missing the nest to imbed itself in the telephone pole, but the birds reacted exactly as he’d hoped, flying away in a dither that quickly left the room in silence.

Deacon collapsed back onto the mattress, the gun dangling from his hand over the side of the bed. The noise wouldn't be reported. Another advantage to already living in a high-crime neighborhood.

The harsh jangle of the phone was almost as bad as the damn birds. He shot up, dropping the gun to grab the receiver before a second ring melted his brain. “What?” he barked.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

It was unnatural for anyone to be that chirpy at this hour of the morning, but the gaiety in his partner Ruby’s voice was enough to smooth the roughest edges of his temper. “How do you know I wasn’t already up? I could’ve been entertaining, or in the shower, or doing naughty, naughty things that would make you blush brighter than your name, Red.”

She laughed. “I was the lucky one stuck on the stinky end of your feet when you passed out last night. Seeing as how you'd sleep through the entire day given half a chance, odds were pretty good that you’d still be in bed at ten a.m.” There was the slightest of hesitations, and he heard the faint doubt creep into her voice. “You…weren’t doing anything bad, right?”

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face as if that would slough the exhaustion from his brain. “Just using my little chickadee for target practice again.”

“How many times have I told you to leave those poor birds alone? They’re defenseless little creatures, and I think the female is going to be laying eggs soon---.”

“Relax. They’ll live to sing another day. But don’t be surprised if Ma Bell comes a-knocking, demanding I replace that bloody pole.”

“Oh. Well. That’s all right then.”

“There a reason for this little wake-up call? Or do you just take extreme pleasure in making sure I’m as miserable as possible by waking me out of my stupor?”

“We’ve got a new job. I wanted to give you the heads up so that you’re presentable when Henry and I show up on your doorstep. The last time you were that smoked and we came by, you almost blew Henry’s head off.”

She was probably right, but he'd have to take her word for it. The specifics of that particular incident escaped him at the moment. “And this couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“It’s kind of an important one---.”

“They’re all important to the one doing the hiring, pet. Aren’t you the one who keeps nattering on about the client, and the client’s rights, and keeping the client happy? No reason this one can’t wait until I pull myself together---.”

“Deacon, they’re willing to pay us fifty large if we drop everything else we’re doing to take this. Half now. Half when the job is over.”

He’d been leaning over, scanning the floor for the cigarettes he had a funny feeling he’d knocked off the nightstand when he’d gone for his gun, but as soon as she mentioned the money, he froze. Fifty thousand dollars. That was a lot of dosh. He hadn’t seen money like that since he’d gotten out of the game, and there was no way Red had ever seen it. Henry probably had, but not since they’d hooked up, so it would certainly explain their eagerness to get started on it as soon as possible.

Slowly, Deacon straightened, and did his best to keep his voice as even as possible. “Gimme time to get slicked up. I’m feeling like something the cat coughed up. Be here in an hour?”

“With bells on.”

As he set the phone back onto its cradle, his eyes were pensive as he stared at the peeling wallpaper opposite him. Twenty-five now. Twenty-five later. That would clear a lot of debts. Hell, that would clear all his debts, as well as settle him up with Red and Henry. They deserved more than what they got by working with him, but bugger if he knew why they stuck around like they did. He didn’t want to argue with it, though. The three of them made a good team, and he wasn’t about to muck up the best professional arrangement he’d ever had by letting a bout of self-loathing take control. Wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Fifty thousand dollars.

A man could do a lot of damage with that kind of money.

Giveaway Winner

Monday means winning a free book!

And the winner of Under a Rock by India Harper is...Booklover62!

I've got your email so expect a message from me very soon!

Six Sentence Sunday

Welcome to my SSS! Finishing out the month of September with a snippet from the last Wranglers book, Judgment. In this one, Sam and Derek have been dating for a number of months, but Sam's parents don't even know he's gay. Until they surprise him with a visit. The following snippet comes from a conversation between Derek and Sam's father.

"...I’m just saying, this is all new to me. I don’t know how it works. Like, which one of you is the girl?”

Derek stared at him, not really surprised the man had actually had the balls to ask that question. “Neither one of us. Otherwise, then we’d be straight, and you and I wouldn’t be having this extremely awkward conversation.”

To check out all the other six sentence contributions, head over to the official website.

WIP Wednesday

I've finished edits and kind of in between projects while I try and figure out what I want to do next. The smart thing would be to tackle one of the many WIPs on my computer, right, lol? If only I was that smart...

Actually, this is one of the few that I'm considering. It's an m/m historical set at the end of WWII called "I Will Sing You Morning." It's one of those that I love but then remember all the research that's involved and wonder if I have time to tackle the way it should be.

This is the very beginning:

*****

Until the man screamed, Josiah Ladley thought the nurses had put a corpse in the bed next to him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Though the bigwigs were constantly ordering new construction, more wounded came pouring into Fort McHenry from the Western Front every day. Beds were at a premium. Sometimes, there just wasn’t anyplace else to put a body.

This one wasn’t dead, though. In the wee hours of the morning, when the ward held its breath in anticipation of dawn, a choked cry erupted into shouts, loud enough, clear enough, pained enough to yank Josiah from sleep.

He bolted from the bed, immediately alert as the trenches had taught him, and knelt in the darkness, groping blindly for the writhing man. His hands skidded over the shirt glued by perspiration to the man’s chest, the fabric cool, the body hot. Not blood, he reminded himself. Night sweats. Big difference.

“Hey. Buddy.” He finally found his shoulders and shook him carefully. He had no idea where his injuries were, and he didn’t need the nurses scolding him for trying to help. “Wake up.”

Eyelids shot open. Josiah couldn’t see him clearly, but what little light filtered through the small, high windows made his eyes glow as his body went rigid.

“What…where…”

The questions were just puffs of air, barely formed and quickly called back. A hand emerged from beneath the blanket and clamped over Josiah’s wrist. The strength in the grip was enough to loosen his hold, and he sat back onto his heels as the man slowly turned his head to look at him.

“You were dreaming.” Just because he’d been screaming wasn’t reason to think he might actually remember what it was about. It might be better all around if he didn’t, actually. Josiah had a few of those he’d be more than glad to see the back of. “You need me to call a nurse or something?”

The man didn’t let go. His fingers wore calluses like armor. His gaze remained unblinking, and Josiah would have added unseeing if it wasn’t fixed purposefully on him. Whatever had been wounded, it hadn’t been his arm or sight. But there were a legion more places on a man’s body to bear the aegis of war.

“No,” came the quiet answer. “Don’t get no one.”

The accent was broad and flat, but Josiah had talked to enough soldiers overseas to know it came from someplace in the Midwest. He’d bet this one was a farm boy, gone off to defend the beliefs his country stood for, against Krauts and others he’d never heard of before the Great War. For some reason, though he’d known a lot of greenhorns, he regretted this one suffered from nightmares awful enough to make him scream. Even if they all screamed.

“You can let me go anytime,” he joked, jiggling his arm a little. He waited until the broad fingers uncurled then fell limply back to the bed, before sticking out his hand. “I’m Josiah.”

“Bill.”

Though Bill hadn’t returned his greeting, it was good enough to know his name. “You sure you don’t need me to get you anything? It’s not a bother. Maybe a glass of water or something.”

“No, no.” These denials were firmer. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“The nurses can give you—”

“The nurses can’t do nothing for me. Neither can you. Leave me alone.”

The last thing Josiah wanted to do was to leave Bill alone so he could return to the nightmares that would wake up the whole ward next time. He didn’t really have much choice, though. A man who didn’t want help would fight it every step of the way. Josiah was too tired to be the one to try and fight back.

He stood and nodded, though Bill wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. “You need anything, I’m right here.” His leg hit the cold bedframe as he edged back. “Have a good night, Bill.”

Slipping back beneath his blankets, he couldn’t even hear the other man’s breathing. Maybe he was a dead man, after all.

With night sweats.

Prop 8 videos to be public

Yesterday, U.S. district chief judge James Ware rules that videos taken during the Prop 8 trial could be made public, though he did put a time stamp on it of September 30 to allow appeals to be made. While I'm glad that the truth is one step closer to coming out to the general public, I have to admit I'm disillusioned with how this entire debacle has come about in the first place.

I was one of the voters who stayed up until the wee hours of the morning tracking results when Prop 8 was first on the ballot. As a general rule, I don't get involved in politics, and I definitely don't bother debating or discussing most issues as most of the time, it's a complete waste of time. However, the blatant misinformation that Prop 8 supporters kept throwing around infuriated me. I had to listen to radio spots that outright lied about what the proposition was set to do, and I drove home more than once through supporters standing on street corners, proclaiming how without the proposition, schools would be forced to teach about homosexuality.

A load of rubbish, of course. Just like so many of the other ridiculous claims supporters made about why the gay marriage laws had to be removed from California legislation.

Supporters don't want the tapes publicized. They don't want people to see their own expert witness testify that gay marriage does nothing to infringe upon straight marriage. They don't want anybody to know just how weak their claims actually were, that their assertions were based on fear and religion rather than logic or facts. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that any appeal made fails, because this entire farce has gone on too long.

Partnerships are based on love, not gender. Relationships that withstand the test of time deserve to be recognized. Nobody has the right to tell two people who are ready to commit their lives to each other that it's wrong or that they don't deserve to have the same legal rights as another couple that happens to fit an outdated, narrow-minded definition of what a marriage should be.

With so much awfulness in the world already, why would anyone want to make it even more miserable by hurting people who only want to have their love be recognized as valid and lawful?

Giveaway - Under a Rock by India Harper

Half the reason I decided to try publishing in the first place is because of my very good friend, Philippa Grey-Gerou. Now, she writes a lot of stories collaboratively with Emery Sanborne, and one of their new releases just came out yesterday. So I'm excited about giving away a copy of it for this week's giveaway.

When his father crossed a powerful Mexican drug cartel, Keith Lewis lost everything—his identity, his way of life, and the freedom to live in the open. With a new name, Keith is now in witness protection, and his handler has brought him to the last place on Earth anyone would ever look for him: a cattle ranch in Montana. What Keith didn’t expect to find there was a handsome, tempting former Navy SEAL.

Tanner Bruenig retired to the Montana countryside to try his hand at ranching and savor the peace of hard work and few neighbors. When you’re former military and your cousin’s in the Marshals Service, however, it’s easy enough to get roped into providing a safe haven once in a while. Keith isn’t the first witness to shelter in Tanner’s house or to join him in his bed. But he may be the first one Tanner wants to keep there...

You can read an excerpt at Amber Allure.

All you have to do to enter is comment to this post. That's it. Next Monday at 9am PST, I'll choose a comment at random to win.

You don't need an account to leave a comment, but if you don't have one, please consider leaving an email address you can be contacted at. That guarantees I can get a hold of you in case you win.

Six Sentence Sunday

I've had an insane week, but at least I got my SSS up! Continuing with my Wranglers series, the third novella, The Defense Rests, finds Derek and Sam assigned to the same side of a case for the very first time, a move that creates more than a little friction between them.

“Fuck it up, and it’s going to make Rudy think twice the next time something comes along the pipeline. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

Derek looked even unhappier than he’d seemed at the office. “I didn’t ask for you to help me.”

“No, I did that all on my lonesome. Because in spite of what my mouth ran off with before, you’re important to me, whether you want to be or not.”

To check out all the other six sentence contributions, head over to the official website.