While I'm a staunch supporter of ebooks, I'll admit that I do everything I can to help keep our local Barnes & Noble afloat. The fact of the matter is, I don't want to see bookstores die. It's not because of the print format. In this day and age, devoting our dwindling resources exclusively to this medium is wasteful and unreasonable.
No, it's because I think of bookstores as refuges. Places to escape. It's not just about buying books. It's about having a safe haven for readers to congregate, more so than what a library might provide. Economics have hit them hard, too.
When I walk into B&N, a sense of freedom washes over me. I know I'm pretty much surrounded by people who want to be there as much as I do. People who understand the value of books enough to buy them for their own. It doesn't matter that we might have different interests. When I take my husband with me, he invariably goes off to business and computers, while I head straight to romance and sci-fi. But that love of the written word bonds us together, just like sports or other hobbies might bond other couples.
I'm teaching my kids to see bookstores as something to be excited about. We go at least twice a month and stay for a couple hours. They get to browse, sit and read, maybe play (since my son is young enough still to do so), and we always take the time to sit and have a coffee/milk/pastry in the cafe. Buying them books is the one thing I never deny them.
They go to the library, too, but that hasn't diminished our trips to the store. If anything, it's made them better, because it's turning them into more discerning purchasers. Plus, the library has introduced both of them to series that we then went out and bought because they were keepers.
I sincerely hope they never lose the thrill of what it feels like to go to the bookstore. But the only way to make sure that happens is by supporting our local store as much as we can. The big box stores can't win. We can't let them.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Giveaway - Blue Moon by Mackenzie McKade
I've been very fortunate to work with some wonderful publishers, and Samhain definitely ranks up there. This week's giveaway is a hot contemporary from one of their most popular authors.
You can read an excerpt at Samhain.
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.
Two years ago Samantha Dawson had everything she wanted—a close family, a promising career, and a man she loved. Until the fateful night before her oldest sister’s wedding, a night of celebration and too much alcohol that tore her world apart. Devastated, she fled Oregon for Phoenix.
Now she’s home for her little sister’s wedding, and just her luck, the best man is her ex-boyfriend. Worse, no one involved in that ugly night seems to want to let the past die an ugly death.
Kyle Ackland has no memory of the events that destroyed his life, but he’ll never forget the woman who set his body on fire. Sam’s emotional barriers are as solid as the Cascade Mountains, but he’s determined to chip them away one sensual kiss at a time.
Yet even if he succeeds, what’s left of their love could crumble under the weight of past sins…and present secrets.
You can read an excerpt at Samhain.
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.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday
Welcome to my SSS! For the month of October, I'm featuring snippets from my Boys of the Zodiac novel, Libra: Outlined in Ink. It's an action/suspense novel about Jarrett Kessel, a mayor's aide, who gets pulled in by the FBI to locate a young man in connection with a murder. The man is Eli Locke, the younger brother of Jarrett's best friend from college, and the reason the Feds think Jarrett can smoke him out is because Eli has created an online superhero comic based on Jarrett. This is Jarrett's first time seeing him since Eli graduated from high school.
To check out all the other six sentence contributions, head over to the official website.
Though he’d bleached his hair, the shade complemented his tawny skin. The eyes he fixed on Jarrett smiled as warmly as his mouth did, a honeyed brown that threatened to drown anyone who met them too long. He’d been a cute teenager, but time had chiseled him into a striking young man, the body that rose to greet Jarrett solidly built beneath the faded jeans and tan T-shirt.
“Wow,” Eli said as he approached. He had to look up a little to meet Jarrett’s gaze. “I had completely forgotten how much room you take up.”
To check out all the other six sentence contributions, head over to the official website.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, September 26, 2011
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!
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!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
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.
To check out all the other six sentence contributions, head over to the official website.
"...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.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
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.
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.
Posts
