I wasn’t going to say anything until after my move, because my computer is about to be boxed up, which means I won’t be available online, but I know there are quite a few people who’ve been waiting and waiting … the e-book is available for download on the Seventh Window website.
The palm tree cover is new and temporary. The wonderful cover Aman Chaudhary did for me will be back shortly. If you’d prefer not to wait until then, go ahead and download the palm trees. We’ll hook you up with a new download once the old cover is available. If you don't see the format you prefer, let us know. We're already working on the Kindle edition as well.
I’m going to think up a few give-aways while I move, so check back in about two weeks for your chance to win a few FREE downloads of THE PROTECTOR in its e-book format.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Moving made easier
I’m by no means an expert on moving, but I’ve sure done it a few times. Cross-Atlantic once. Cross-Pacific three times. Within the continental US, too. Here’s my no. 1 tip: ORGANIZE.
Look through everyone’s closet. Get rid of everything you haven’t worn within the last 12 months. Think of how you get dressed in the morning and then toss that shirt that you never pick, because it doesn’t go with anything. It won’t fit any better in the new house. Get rid of your skinny clothes; if you lose whatever weight you’re working to lose, treat yourself to a few new jeans. Look closely at all your junk (and I mean that in a loving way), pick it up and touch it. Do you really want to have to unpack that?!
Group things together. Take all the photos and art off all your walls and put them in one area together. Collect all the books in one pile. Keep your electronics in one spot, this includes all the cables and connectors and surge protectors and remotes and batteries. Instead of having everyone’s radio alarm clock in four different boxes, let them be packed in just one box. If like-things are grouped together, they also get packed together, which makes finding them so much easier later on.
LABEL THE BOXES. No, no, don’t worry about the moving people (if you have any) labeling your stuff. You need to make sure YOU know exactly what’s in every box, where it came from or where it’s going in the new house. Write it on the box yourself. We had a mover once who seemed to write down each item as it went in the box, only at the new destination did we realize when we looked at the boxes that we couldn’t decipher his handwriting. Labels are super important, because you don’t want to have to search through a dozen boxes to find the one thing you need/want right away. They also make unpacking smoother, because you can prioritize.
Think ahead. Make a checklist. Write stuff down. Keep things in a safe place, so they don’t accidentally get boxed-up. Don’t assume anything. Movers pack anything they can get their hands on. If there’s something you want left out (your toothbrush, wallet, embarrassing sex toys etc), put it in a spare bathroom marked DO NOT PACK THIS ROOM. We had our trash boxed up once. I figured the movers would know not to pack a trash can with obvious trash in it. Nope. It got boxed and shipped and unpacked at the new location. Ew.
Relax. Most things will get to the new location. Some thing always gets lost and somehow stuff from two moves ago will show up unexpectedly.
Look through everyone’s closet. Get rid of everything you haven’t worn within the last 12 months. Think of how you get dressed in the morning and then toss that shirt that you never pick, because it doesn’t go with anything. It won’t fit any better in the new house. Get rid of your skinny clothes; if you lose whatever weight you’re working to lose, treat yourself to a few new jeans. Look closely at all your junk (and I mean that in a loving way), pick it up and touch it. Do you really want to have to unpack that?!
Group things together. Take all the photos and art off all your walls and put them in one area together. Collect all the books in one pile. Keep your electronics in one spot, this includes all the cables and connectors and surge protectors and remotes and batteries. Instead of having everyone’s radio alarm clock in four different boxes, let them be packed in just one box. If like-things are grouped together, they also get packed together, which makes finding them so much easier later on.
LABEL THE BOXES. No, no, don’t worry about the moving people (if you have any) labeling your stuff. You need to make sure YOU know exactly what’s in every box, where it came from or where it’s going in the new house. Write it on the box yourself. We had a mover once who seemed to write down each item as it went in the box, only at the new destination did we realize when we looked at the boxes that we couldn’t decipher his handwriting. Labels are super important, because you don’t want to have to search through a dozen boxes to find the one thing you need/want right away. They also make unpacking smoother, because you can prioritize.
Think ahead. Make a checklist. Write stuff down. Keep things in a safe place, so they don’t accidentally get boxed-up. Don’t assume anything. Movers pack anything they can get their hands on. If there’s something you want left out (your toothbrush, wallet, embarrassing sex toys etc), put it in a spare bathroom marked DO NOT PACK THIS ROOM. We had our trash boxed up once. I figured the movers would know not to pack a trash can with obvious trash in it. Nope. It got boxed and shipped and unpacked at the new location. Ew.
Relax. Most things will get to the new location. Some thing always gets lost and somehow stuff from two moves ago will show up unexpectedly.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
My Lambda Literary Awards adventure
It’s been a week now since my adventure in New York, and that means it’s high time I tell you about it. First, just in case you haven’t heard or seen, I didn’t win the Lambda Literary Award for Gay Romance. Bummer. (Check out the winners here.)The very first time I got excited about the Lammies was the day Ken Harrison, my publisher, called to let me know that THE PROTECTOR had made the finalist’s list. How awesome was that?! The second time I got really excited was the day I received my ticket in the mail. But the big excitement didn’t happen until I slipped into my red gown and walked into the lobby of the W – The Tuscany, waiting for the car to take me to the Proshansky Auditorium. I was so nervous I forgot to put lipstick on!
So there I was, no lipstick, in my beautiful red dress, horribly nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever been that nervous. I was shaking I was so nervous. Of course, it really didn’t help that I didn’t know anybody at the reception. Walking into a room full of strangers is a nerve-wrecking thing all on its on. Walking into the Lammies …
But I met some awesome people right away. Joseph Lund and his partner. Ruth Perkinson and her family, who made sure I didn’t feel too lonely, standing all by myself. Thank you. Josie Gordon and her partner Jen. Charles Flowers.
Once Ken Harrison joined me, the two of us having a glass of wine to calm our nerves, the party started looking up. It’s so much easier dealing with a group of complete strangers when there’s someone at your side. We shouldered our way through the many groups of talking people and at one point I introduced myself to a complete stranger! Remember I’m shy and introverted :-)
We spoke shortly with Drew Ferguson, met Laura Baumbach and Victor Banis (I wish I’d had more time to chat with Victor) and circled the room hoping to catch up with Larry Duplechan.
We met Larry and his husband Gregg. I assured Larry I thought he was going to win our category. And I wasn’t just saying that. He paid me the greatest compliment. He said he’d thought I was a man. Now there’s only a certain number of times a woman in a red gown (even without lipstick) is thrilled to hear she’d been mistaken for a man, trust me. But how awesome is it that a gay man read my book and didn’t spot the fact that its writer was a heterosexual woman right off?
Neil Plakcy joined our conversation and it was awesome to finally meet him in person. Thanks again, Neil, for blurbing my book and not laughing at me when I first approached you, thinking you were completely, utterly out of my league.
Back to the Lammies, which in my limited experience felt like the Oscars. At this point I had no real expectations about winning or losing. I knew I had done a good job, but I also knew the other authors had great books. It was all up to the judges and their taste this year. I had a solid 1-out-of-3 chance of winning.
Once inside and seated, I was dying of nerves. I was terrified, let me tell you. The idea of having to get up on stage to accept an award and give a short thank-you speech was truly horrifying. I was so nervous, in fact, that I didn’t want to win. There was just no way I wanted to go up on that stage.
Next time I watch the Oscars and see the winners tremble, seemingly unable to form coherent sentences … I totally know what that feels like. I can sympathize with the overwhelming terror/joy/surprise.
I was so relieved when Felice Picano who commented on THE PROTECTER’s awesome cover announced Larry Duplechan as the winner of Gay Romance. Ohmigod was I relieved! Honest. I wasn’t disappointed or bummed; I was relieved and happy as hell to have missed out on the whole going on stage thing. Whew.
Would I have loved to have gotten the award? Yes, absolutely. But was I bummed? Nope. It’s been a week now and I’m still feeling very honored to have made the shortlist of finalists with my first book. I’m incredibly grateful to my readers and the Lammy judges and super proud, but mostly I’m still relieved that I didn’t have to go on stage :-)
I’ll be better prepared the next time. Heck, I might even wear lipstick then.
Some other nice people I met that night: Scott Heim who won for Gay Fiction and used to live in Kansas. Scott Sherman whose debut won Gay Mystery. Anthony Bidulka (ohmigod!). John who writes as Jospeh Pittman. I said a brief Hello to Nicole Kimberling before she won LGBT Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror, because we both wore a red dress in a sea of darkly-dressed people.
Other odds and ends: Working on a full-sized laptop on an itty bitty plane ... interesting. I basically had the keyboard tucked under my chin. I thought long and hard about taking the laptop, but I figured I could use the downtime, also known as waiting in the airport, to get some actual work done. It wasn’t until the guy in the seat next to me turned on his laptop and I saw a cute picture of a small kid plastered across his screen that I realized I would power up to a naked guy on my desktop. Oops. (And yep, I totally fired that machine up.)
There are young women in New York City walking around with their dogs in the crook of their arms. How they balance on those heels with a canine drapped over their arms …
There are attendants in the FAO Schwarz bathrooms. If you’re feeling nauseous and faint, possibly a left-over from all those nerves from the night before (not the drinking, because you only had one drink), you might not want to seek out an FAO Schwarz bathroom. Spending the day walking the halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art might not be ideal either.
Observing a traditional Aoteraroan greeting—forehead and nose pressed together, breath exchanged—made me homesick for Hawaii, but attending Matariki New York 2009 was way cool. Matariki was a celebration of Pacific Island diversity, featuring music, dance and poetry from New Zealand (Aotearoa) and the Cook Islands. The Kahurangi Maori Dance Theatre performance was OUTSTANDING.
Laura Baumbach (right) and I, courtesy of the wonderful Neil Plakcy
Friday, April 24, 2009
Castle
I always forget to watch this crime show starring Nathan Fillion on Monday nights. Usually it’s not until Tuesday when I secretly sneak in to delete all the weekend kid shows that I realize, “hey, there’s an episode of Castle on here.”
I missed the premier episode, so I’m not sure why Nathan Fillion’s character is acting like a pseudo-profiler. I get that he’s a writer and hanging out. I like his character. I like his mother and daughter. But every week I wonder, “when does he write?”
When does he write?
And why is he so instrumental when it comes to solving crime? How was crime solved before he decided to get real-life experience and camp out at the police station? How did that lady cop make it to Detective if she needs Castle to interpret the clues for her?
I can’t remember her name and that says a lot about her character. I can tell you, though, that she owns the same shirt in a number of colors and wears it OFTEN. She also has a red coat I love, but I can’t remember her name. Now I’m a bit disturbed by my noticing her clothes, because I am so not into clothes at all. Apparently I can’t be bothered with what she has to say or offer, so I pay closer attention to her outfits. That definitely says something about her character on the show.
What makes me watch on Tuesdays or Wednesday, whenever I have time or feel the need to procrastinate, is simply the presence of a writer. Every week I watch, hoping for some insight. But when does he write?
I missed the premier episode, so I’m not sure why Nathan Fillion’s character is acting like a pseudo-profiler. I get that he’s a writer and hanging out. I like his character. I like his mother and daughter. But every week I wonder, “when does he write?”
When does he write?
And why is he so instrumental when it comes to solving crime? How was crime solved before he decided to get real-life experience and camp out at the police station? How did that lady cop make it to Detective if she needs Castle to interpret the clues for her?
I can’t remember her name and that says a lot about her character. I can tell you, though, that she owns the same shirt in a number of colors and wears it OFTEN. She also has a red coat I love, but I can’t remember her name. Now I’m a bit disturbed by my noticing her clothes, because I am so not into clothes at all. Apparently I can’t be bothered with what she has to say or offer, so I pay closer attention to her outfits. That definitely says something about her character on the show.
What makes me watch on Tuesdays or Wednesday, whenever I have time or feel the need to procrastinate, is simply the presence of a writer. Every week I watch, hoping for some insight. But when does he write?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Pirates in my future?
Did you follow the Somali piracy story and successful rescue of Capt. R. Phillips? I certainly did. This wasn’t the first time an incident of piracy made the news, but I wager most people don’t know how common and widespread the problem of piracy really is.
I’m not sure if the statistic is still correct, but some years ago the South China Sea was the most dangerous in terms of piracy. The BBC had some reports on this that I still have in my research folder.
Before I started working on THE STALKER, I looked at piracy as an issue for Mason and Soren to deal with. Some of my friends and readers said that the idea sounded really interesting, especially since it would prominently feature the Sprite. Good news, I haven’t given up on the idea. In fact, I think it sounds really interesting, too. I’m afraid, though, I’d have to do some serious damage to the Sprite—think fireball and explosion—and I’m not ready to do that yet. So don’t expect to come across pirates after reading THE STALKER.
Another subject matter I find immensely interesting is the white slave trafficking issue. I haven’t done any research beyond regular news watching, but I have a hunch that trafficking might play a role in one of the next books (quite possibly book 3).
I’d also like to send Mason and Soren to Sweden. To visit relatives and attend a family function, like a wedding or funeral. My friend Christiana who lives in Germany regularly visits Sweden. I’ll have to bug her for details about the land of Pippi Langstrumpf and Michel von Loenneberga (two of Astrid Lindgren’s characters) and Nils Holgersson (Selma Lagerloef’s creation). I imagine that book won’t feature explosions, but lots of great food and a number of visits to the sauna (though, the sauna’s originally from Finland).
Personally, I prefer the steam room over the sauna, but either is wonderfully relaxing.
I’m not sure if the statistic is still correct, but some years ago the South China Sea was the most dangerous in terms of piracy. The BBC had some reports on this that I still have in my research folder.
Before I started working on THE STALKER, I looked at piracy as an issue for Mason and Soren to deal with. Some of my friends and readers said that the idea sounded really interesting, especially since it would prominently feature the Sprite. Good news, I haven’t given up on the idea. In fact, I think it sounds really interesting, too. I’m afraid, though, I’d have to do some serious damage to the Sprite—think fireball and explosion—and I’m not ready to do that yet. So don’t expect to come across pirates after reading THE STALKER.
Another subject matter I find immensely interesting is the white slave trafficking issue. I haven’t done any research beyond regular news watching, but I have a hunch that trafficking might play a role in one of the next books (quite possibly book 3).
I’d also like to send Mason and Soren to Sweden. To visit relatives and attend a family function, like a wedding or funeral. My friend Christiana who lives in Germany regularly visits Sweden. I’ll have to bug her for details about the land of Pippi Langstrumpf and Michel von Loenneberga (two of Astrid Lindgren’s characters) and Nils Holgersson (Selma Lagerloef’s creation). I imagine that book won’t feature explosions, but lots of great food and a number of visits to the sauna (though, the sauna’s originally from Finland).
Personally, I prefer the steam room over the sauna, but either is wonderfully relaxing.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
THE PROTECTOR is an amazon.com victim
When I first learned of amazon.com removing the sales rankings from a large number of glbt books, I felt safe and complacent. After all, the books that lost their rankings were apparently adult-themed. In my eyes, THE PROTECTOR is anything but adult. None of my eleven tags include the words “sex” or “erotic” or “erotica” or “adult.” Boy, was I wrong: The “adult” label wasn’t more than a badly-conceived smokescreen and THE PROTECTOR had indeed been victimized.
How these books that lost their ranks are/were targeted is still a mystery. Tags don’t seem to be the problem. None of my tags indicate whether or not there is any adult (sexual?) content. Friends report that their heterosexually-erotic books are just fine, but their non-erotic gay novels are affected. One small publisher that I heard of had all their books “de-ranked.” Some authors report that only the print versions of their books lost their sales rankings, whereas their Kindle versions are still ranked. Other authors who have different editions of one book with different publishers (think backlist) noticed that only some of their editions lost their sales rankings.
I’m by no means an expert on amazon rankings, but they are important to the search feature that goes with the site. The search and browse features themselves were never all that great (I sure as heck had trouble finding what I was looking for), but they are nevertheless important. In the scheme of things sales rankings are far more important to authors and publishers than readers, because they are tools to gauge publicity efforts, for example.
But unless readers specifically search for author or title, they might not find THE PROTECTOR now.
I don’t care if amazon.com is a private enterprise and as such has the right to sell or not sell whatever they want (within legal limits, of course). All I know is, it looks like my book is actively being treated differently—negatively—than other books, according to amazon.com itself based on its content, and that’s discrimination as far as I am concerned.
If you have an opinion on this, feel free to let amazon.com and the rest of the world know. Blog. E-mail. Fax. Phone. Boycott.
How these books that lost their ranks are/were targeted is still a mystery. Tags don’t seem to be the problem. None of my tags indicate whether or not there is any adult (sexual?) content. Friends report that their heterosexually-erotic books are just fine, but their non-erotic gay novels are affected. One small publisher that I heard of had all their books “de-ranked.” Some authors report that only the print versions of their books lost their sales rankings, whereas their Kindle versions are still ranked. Other authors who have different editions of one book with different publishers (think backlist) noticed that only some of their editions lost their sales rankings.
I’m by no means an expert on amazon rankings, but they are important to the search feature that goes with the site. The search and browse features themselves were never all that great (I sure as heck had trouble finding what I was looking for), but they are nevertheless important. In the scheme of things sales rankings are far more important to authors and publishers than readers, because they are tools to gauge publicity efforts, for example.
But unless readers specifically search for author or title, they might not find THE PROTECTOR now.
I don’t care if amazon.com is a private enterprise and as such has the right to sell or not sell whatever they want (within legal limits, of course). All I know is, it looks like my book is actively being treated differently—negatively—than other books, according to amazon.com itself based on its content, and that’s discrimination as far as I am concerned.
If you have an opinion on this, feel free to let amazon.com and the rest of the world know. Blog. E-mail. Fax. Phone. Boycott.
Guam Premier Outlets Security Guard Fights Off Machete Attack With Steel Chair
Written by Phillip Leon Guerrero, Pacific News Center - Guam, Saipan, CNMI, Asia-Pacific
Tuesday, 14 October 2008 05:58
Guam - A security guard in the Guam Premier Outlets used a steel chair to subdue a man chasing him throughout GPO’s food court after hours. Guam Police Department spokesperson Officer Allan Guzman says G4S Security, which services the outlet, removed the man from the building when he refused to leave after he was informed it was closing.
He came back armed with a machete just as the guard was locking the food court doors. The suspect then chased the him around the court. The security officer was able to throw the metal chair at the man, and hold him until other security personnel and Police arrived.
The suspect received minor injuries. He was treated by GFD Medics at the scene. 21-year old F.H. Sbbas of Tamuning was arrested for aggravated assault and public drunkenness. He was booked and confined.
***
Wow. I love it when real life and fiction collide. The chapter I'm struggling with, or gave up on, includes a knife fight outside the mall. I think I'm going to give the guy a bigger knife now. "Machete" sounds so much more menacing. Hmm. I think my struggle with this chapter might be over. Maybe all I needed was a bigger weapon and a little inspiration in the form of this real life incident.
Tuesday, 14 October 2008 05:58
Guam - A security guard in the Guam Premier Outlets used a steel chair to subdue a man chasing him throughout GPO’s food court after hours. Guam Police Department spokesperson Officer Allan Guzman says G4S Security, which services the outlet, removed the man from the building when he refused to leave after he was informed it was closing.
He came back armed with a machete just as the guard was locking the food court doors. The suspect then chased the him around the court. The security officer was able to throw the metal chair at the man, and hold him until other security personnel and Police arrived.
The suspect received minor injuries. He was treated by GFD Medics at the scene. 21-year old F.H. Sbbas of Tamuning was arrested for aggravated assault and public drunkenness. He was booked and confined.
***
Wow. I love it when real life and fiction collide. The chapter I'm struggling with, or gave up on, includes a knife fight outside the mall. I think I'm going to give the guy a bigger knife now. "Machete" sounds so much more menacing. Hmm. I think my struggle with this chapter might be over. Maybe all I needed was a bigger weapon and a little inspiration in the form of this real life incident.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Yay!
When my wonderful publisher Ken Harrison asked me to write about how awesome it feels to be a finalist for the 21st Annual Lambda Literary Awards, I immediately agreed. I’ve now had some time to get used to the idea that a number of writers, booksellers, librarians, and journalists—according to the official Lambda Literary Foundation website—thought my debut novel THE PROTECTOR deserved to compete against books written by Laura Baumbach, Josh Lanyon and Larry Duplechan, who’s the very opposite of a debut author.
Holy cow! I imagine this is what it feels like to be nominated for an Oscar. Or ace the Olympic try-outs. It feels like getting into graduate school or looking at your newborn for the very first time.
I’m so thrilled and so proud, I’m positively glowing. I’m all “it’s so awesome to just have been nominated I won’t even mind losing.”
I was pretty good about repressing any pre-announcement jitters. I didn’t once visit the Lambda site to check if maybe, just maybe Charles Flowers posted the list two weeks early. In fact, I’d completely forgotten about the Lammies until last Friday when I suddenly realized why March 15 was circled on my calendar. Then I became nervous. To make matters worse I had plans for Sunday and wouldn’t be able to check my e-mail every ten minutes (which would have been okay had the announcement come before 8 a.m. Central time).
Instead, I was at the grocery store when Ken called. My excited outcry at the good news probably scared off some patrons *g*
Receiving congratulatory e-mails from friends and fans and readers before I even had a chance to see the nominations for myself was totally exciting. I mean I’m supposed to be excited, I have a personal stake in this, but it seemed other people were just as happy and thrilled as I was. How cool.
Well, you’re probably getting the idea that sometimes even writers have trouble finding the right words. So I really want to say just one thing: THANKS to all those people who believed in me and supported me. You guys rock!
Holy cow! I imagine this is what it feels like to be nominated for an Oscar. Or ace the Olympic try-outs. It feels like getting into graduate school or looking at your newborn for the very first time.
I’m so thrilled and so proud, I’m positively glowing. I’m all “it’s so awesome to just have been nominated I won’t even mind losing.”
I was pretty good about repressing any pre-announcement jitters. I didn’t once visit the Lambda site to check if maybe, just maybe Charles Flowers posted the list two weeks early. In fact, I’d completely forgotten about the Lammies until last Friday when I suddenly realized why March 15 was circled on my calendar. Then I became nervous. To make matters worse I had plans for Sunday and wouldn’t be able to check my e-mail every ten minutes (which would have been okay had the announcement come before 8 a.m. Central time).
Instead, I was at the grocery store when Ken called. My excited outcry at the good news probably scared off some patrons *g*
Receiving congratulatory e-mails from friends and fans and readers before I even had a chance to see the nominations for myself was totally exciting. I mean I’m supposed to be excited, I have a personal stake in this, but it seemed other people were just as happy and thrilled as I was. How cool.
Well, you’re probably getting the idea that sometimes even writers have trouble finding the right words. So I really want to say just one thing: THANKS to all those people who believed in me and supported me. You guys rock!
Monday, March 16, 2009
the 21st Annual Lambda Literary Awards
Friends, readers and fans, I have the most awesomest news to share: My gay romantic suspense novel THE PROTECTOR just became nominated for the 21st Annual Lambda Literary Awards.
I am beyond excited right now.
THANKS for reading and e-mailing and reminding me that I have fans who enjoy what I do and who know it's okay to e-mail in suggestions and challenges. THANKS. I wouldn't be here today without your continued support.
Mahalo
I am beyond excited right now.
THANKS for reading and e-mailing and reminding me that I have fans who enjoy what I do and who know it's okay to e-mail in suggestions and challenges. THANKS. I wouldn't be here today without your continued support.
Mahalo
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
5-star review
I’m psyched. Rainbow Reviews had a look at THE PROTECTOR and gave it 5 stars. How totally awesome it that?
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Because Josh asked so nicely ... here an additional 25 random facts:
1. I cannot wait for Supernatural to start on the CW tonight. It’s one of the few shows on TV I absolutely love.
2. I wouldn’t mind being left-handed.
3. I want to learn sign-language.
4. I started learning Japanese when we lived in Japan, but didn’t continue once we came back to the U.S.
5. I’d move back to Japan in a heartbeat. I love Japan even more than Hawaii.
6. And I truly love Hawaii. I miss Hawaii (aloha, Debby; I miss the SinC chapter, too).
7. Like Josh, who tagged me, I don’t do horror movies.
8. I like researching a new novel better than actually writing the new novel.
9. I have horoscopes and personality profiles for all my major characters.
10. I’m a procrastinator.
11. I don’t have stick-to-it-ness.
12. I love being a Pisces.
13. I hate conflict (see #14). I can’t stand negative people or negative energy; it sucks the spirit/life right out of me and I don’t have any extra energy to spare.
14. I have fibromyalgia (you know, like that lady in the Lyrica commercial on TV) and suffer from chronic fatigue (which is why I don’t have energy to spare on negative things, see #13).
15. I wear a 39R shoe :-)
16. I wear my watch on the right wrist.
17. I’m so not vain; I’ve been known to leave the house without ever having looked in the mirror.
18. I don’t like vegetables. Or food in general. I dislike cooking.
19. I love books. I love reading.
20. I can’t stand American Idol.
21. It is my dream to win an Oscar (but I’m not actually doing anything to work on that).
22. I would love to just take the whole family and move somewhere for a year where we help the community (you know, like Africa or China and South America).
23. I think not having sex before marriage is a mistake.
24. I can’t hold a grudge (see #13-14 for possible explanation).
25. I think people who don’t know who to drive a car with a manual transmission don’t really know how to drive a car; all they do is steer (must be the German driver in me).
2. I wouldn’t mind being left-handed.
3. I want to learn sign-language.
4. I started learning Japanese when we lived in Japan, but didn’t continue once we came back to the U.S.
5. I’d move back to Japan in a heartbeat. I love Japan even more than Hawaii.
6. And I truly love Hawaii. I miss Hawaii (aloha, Debby; I miss the SinC chapter, too).
7. Like Josh, who tagged me, I don’t do horror movies.
8. I like researching a new novel better than actually writing the new novel.
9. I have horoscopes and personality profiles for all my major characters.
10. I’m a procrastinator.
11. I don’t have stick-to-it-ness.
12. I love being a Pisces.
13. I hate conflict (see #14). I can’t stand negative people or negative energy; it sucks the spirit/life right out of me and I don’t have any extra energy to spare.
14. I have fibromyalgia (you know, like that lady in the Lyrica commercial on TV) and suffer from chronic fatigue (which is why I don’t have energy to spare on negative things, see #13).
15. I wear a 39R shoe :-)
16. I wear my watch on the right wrist.
17. I’m so not vain; I’ve been known to leave the house without ever having looked in the mirror.
18. I don’t like vegetables. Or food in general. I dislike cooking.
19. I love books. I love reading.
20. I can’t stand American Idol.
21. It is my dream to win an Oscar (but I’m not actually doing anything to work on that).
22. I would love to just take the whole family and move somewhere for a year where we help the community (you know, like Africa or China and South America).
23. I think not having sex before marriage is a mistake.
24. I can’t hold a grudge (see #13-14 for possible explanation).
25. I think people who don’t know who to drive a car with a manual transmission don’t really know how to drive a car; all they do is steer (must be the German driver in me).
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sixteen random facts about me
1. I didn’t make my daily writing goal today (does this exercise count?).
2. I’m afraid of heights.
3. I love peas.
4. I’m a night owl (I’m a true moon-ruled Pisces).
5. I was born on a Thursday.
6. I have four tattoos.
7. I believe in reincarnation and karma (I’m a fan of Buddhism).
8. I married my first and only boyfriend.
9. We met during the holidays twenty years ago, Thanksgiving & Christmas 1988.
10. I wish I had an Irish accent.
11. I was an exchange student.
12. I love redheads and freckles (I married a freckled redhead).
13. I love math.
14. I’m contemplating getting my Ph.D.
15. I’m certain I have adult-onset ADD.
16. I love horses and horseback riding, but I’m not leasing or sharing board right now.
2. I’m afraid of heights.
3. I love peas.
4. I’m a night owl (I’m a true moon-ruled Pisces).
5. I was born on a Thursday.
6. I have four tattoos.
7. I believe in reincarnation and karma (I’m a fan of Buddhism).
8. I married my first and only boyfriend.
9. We met during the holidays twenty years ago, Thanksgiving & Christmas 1988.
10. I wish I had an Irish accent.
11. I was an exchange student.
12. I love redheads and freckles (I married a freckled redhead).
13. I love math.
14. I’m contemplating getting my Ph.D.
15. I’m certain I have adult-onset ADD.
16. I love horses and horseback riding, but I’m not leasing or sharing board right now.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Goals, resolutions and such
In no particular order:
- finish THE STALKER by March
- finish Riley’s and Ever’s story by April or earlier
- write Finn’s and Peyton’s stand-alone novel by the end of the year
- travel to Chicago to get passport and visit bestest friend in the world
- travel to Germany to visit family over the summer
- do silly things once a week (ask kids for help)
- become a Lambda Literary Awards finalist and travel to NYC to celebrate
- win a Lambda Literary Award
- sell out second edition of THE PROTECTOR
- sell even more e-book versions of THE PROTECTOR
- learn how to play the violin
- eat healthier
- read more with kids
- speak German with kids so they can actually communicate with their grandparents and great-grandparents
- write grandmother more often (at least once a month)
- phone or e-mail far-away friends more often (reply to e-mails in timely fashion)
- watch less TV
- play outside more often
- stop thinking depression is a personal flaw
- nourish creativity
2009
Best wishes for a wildly successful new year. May it bring you peace, happiness and the fulfillment of dreams.
Viel Glück, Erfolg und alles erdenklich Gute im Neuen Jahr.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
“Paper, Scissors, Death”
I hate to admit it, but I’m reluctant to try out new authors. I love reading, but I don’t have a lot of time to read, so I stick to authors and books I know I’m going to enjoy. Occasionally, though, I leave my comfort zone for something new and different. And, boy, did that pay off the last time I did it.
I discovered Joanna Campbell Slan and her fiction debut Paper, Scissors, Death at the Manhattan Mystery Conclave a few weeks ago. I saw Joanna speak about her pet character, Gracie, and I was intrigued. So I bought her book. I had no idea what to expect from a Scrap-N-Craft mystery.
I’m not into arts and crafts. I don’t like scrapbooking. I have absolutely no visual talent and even less desire to work on anything that involves glue or sticky tape. Add to that my unfortunate dislike of first-person POV and Joanna’s book was in a tight spot. But I read it, and I loved it. In fact, I adore it.
I liked that Kiki, the cozy sleuth, had no idea what she was doing. Yes, she knew she needed to find the killer of her husband, but she had other more pressing issues to deal with first: without money or resources, she needed a job, a home, some safety in a life that was crashing down around her. Not model tall or model thin, she felt like a very real person thrust into a bad situation. She did her best, and I liked the way she rallied after each setback. Her friends, Dodie and Mert, were delightful in their no-nonsense approach to life. Detective Chad Detweiler received bonus points for cooking and gently pursuing a relationship with Kiki. (I’m so glad to hear that he’ll stick around for the next book in this series.)
Yes, Kiki used her scrapbooking knowledge to figure out the mystery behind her husband’s murder, but I didn’t have to know a thing about arts and crafts to follow along. I had an interesting glimpse into a foreign world, and I enjoyed the tour. Joanna did a great job of making me feel comfortable, explaining things and not making me feel like the clueless crafter that I am. Hey, for a moment I even wondered if I could work one of those beginner kits Kiki put together for her scrapbooking students :-)
I can absolutely recommend this book to anyone who’s looking for a cozy mystery.
I discovered Joanna Campbell Slan and her fiction debut Paper, Scissors, Death at the Manhattan Mystery Conclave a few weeks ago. I saw Joanna speak about her pet character, Gracie, and I was intrigued. So I bought her book. I had no idea what to expect from a Scrap-N-Craft mystery.
I’m not into arts and crafts. I don’t like scrapbooking. I have absolutely no visual talent and even less desire to work on anything that involves glue or sticky tape. Add to that my unfortunate dislike of first-person POV and Joanna’s book was in a tight spot. But I read it, and I loved it. In fact, I adore it.
I liked that Kiki, the cozy sleuth, had no idea what she was doing. Yes, she knew she needed to find the killer of her husband, but she had other more pressing issues to deal with first: without money or resources, she needed a job, a home, some safety in a life that was crashing down around her. Not model tall or model thin, she felt like a very real person thrust into a bad situation. She did her best, and I liked the way she rallied after each setback. Her friends, Dodie and Mert, were delightful in their no-nonsense approach to life. Detective Chad Detweiler received bonus points for cooking and gently pursuing a relationship with Kiki. (I’m so glad to hear that he’ll stick around for the next book in this series.)
Yes, Kiki used her scrapbooking knowledge to figure out the mystery behind her husband’s murder, but I didn’t have to know a thing about arts and crafts to follow along. I had an interesting glimpse into a foreign world, and I enjoyed the tour. Joanna did a great job of making me feel comfortable, explaining things and not making me feel like the clueless crafter that I am. Hey, for a moment I even wondered if I could work one of those beginner kits Kiki put together for her scrapbooking students :-)
I can absolutely recommend this book to anyone who’s looking for a cozy mystery.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Homophobia at its best
I’m heartbroken.
My little guy had a playdate with his very best friend scheduled for later this week. Today I received an e-mail telling me that the playdate is off. His friend’s mom followed the link in my e-mail signature and discovered that we have vastly different outlooks on life and the world we live in. She wrote a very polite e-mail saying, among other things, that she wasn’t going to interfere in our son’s friendship, but that she didn’t want my little guy at her house.
Ouch.
Now how do you tell a five-year-old that he’s become the victim of homophobia?
My little guy had a playdate with his very best friend scheduled for later this week. Today I received an e-mail telling me that the playdate is off. His friend’s mom followed the link in my e-mail signature and discovered that we have vastly different outlooks on life and the world we live in. She wrote a very polite e-mail saying, among other things, that she wasn’t going to interfere in our son’s friendship, but that she didn’t want my little guy at her house.
Ouch.
Now how do you tell a five-year-old that he’s become the victim of homophobia?
Sunday, November 09, 2008
"One Silent Night"
Last night I devoured the new Sherrilyn Kenyon, “One Silent Night.” I’m a great fan of her Dark-Hunter universe, in particular her Weres, but we haven’t seen those in a while. Still, this new book has a few of my other favorites in it: Nick. I love Nick Gautier. In the past, he needed a good slap upside the head, and he really, really needed to stop whining, but he’s still one of my all-time favorites. He has such potential and, boy, this new complication in his life (I’m talking about p.305) has all the makings of an awesome story. Urian. Don’t I love the tortured ones the most? Ash. But I have to admit I enjoyed him better when he was single. Just goes to show, I prefer the tortured ones.
I enjoyed this book. I’m a great fan … but … I would rather wait longer for a new book to come out than read one that feels rushed or underdeveloped. The rushed feeling wasn’t as prevalent in this one as in the last few (Acheron not included), but it was there, in the missing fluff and details. The build-up of conflict and tension is still there, but the steep angle at which it traditionally rises towards the dramatic conclusion feels far reduced. As if Sherrilyn only allowed herself one paragraph to deal with each emotion, hurdle, new clue, character, complication or whatever. What’s missing is depth.
I don’t think it helps that there are so many characters. Yes, this is a book about war, which necessitates a large cast, but I don’t think I’m meant to consult my notes to see who’s who, how they’re related and where they came from. The problem is that all these characters vie for my attention and steal time from the protagonists.
As a writer I can appreciate the need for and the benefit of a large cast, but as a reader I feel like secondary supporting characters are dangerously close to becoming “deus ex machina” devices whose only purpose in the book is to quickly unravel a complication the protagonist doesn’t have the time to deal with. I know Sherrilyn can do better than to have a character show up in the last chapter, stay two pages and save the day all under the guise of “surprise, we had this up our sleeve all along.”
That, of course, is the great benefit of having a large cast: there’s always someone useful up your sleeve.
All in all, I’m still a fan :-) and I enjoyed this book. I was thrilled to come across Nick again. I hope he’s done whining and back on his way to being the smart ass who never took no crap from Ash.
Now, when do we hear from Aimee and her wolf?
I enjoyed this book. I’m a great fan … but … I would rather wait longer for a new book to come out than read one that feels rushed or underdeveloped. The rushed feeling wasn’t as prevalent in this one as in the last few (Acheron not included), but it was there, in the missing fluff and details. The build-up of conflict and tension is still there, but the steep angle at which it traditionally rises towards the dramatic conclusion feels far reduced. As if Sherrilyn only allowed herself one paragraph to deal with each emotion, hurdle, new clue, character, complication or whatever. What’s missing is depth.
I don’t think it helps that there are so many characters. Yes, this is a book about war, which necessitates a large cast, but I don’t think I’m meant to consult my notes to see who’s who, how they’re related and where they came from. The problem is that all these characters vie for my attention and steal time from the protagonists.
As a writer I can appreciate the need for and the benefit of a large cast, but as a reader I feel like secondary supporting characters are dangerously close to becoming “deus ex machina” devices whose only purpose in the book is to quickly unravel a complication the protagonist doesn’t have the time to deal with. I know Sherrilyn can do better than to have a character show up in the last chapter, stay two pages and save the day all under the guise of “surprise, we had this up our sleeve all along.”
That, of course, is the great benefit of having a large cast: there’s always someone useful up your sleeve.
All in all, I’m still a fan :-) and I enjoyed this book. I was thrilled to come across Nick again. I hope he’s done whining and back on his way to being the smart ass who never took no crap from Ash.
Now, when do we hear from Aimee and her wolf?
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Remember this? ...
Remember THE STALKER?
I decided to share the first chapter again. I mailed it out earlier. If there should have been one in your mailbox but there wasn't, please let me know and I'll make sure to update my mailing list.
As always, I welcome beta readers. Let me know if there's something you like or dislike. Writing is a lonely business and feedback is always welcome, especially if there's something that doesn't quite work and makes you scratch your head.
Happy Halloween.
***
THE STALKER
1.
Mason Ward’s cell phone buzzed to life on the built-in shelf next to his bed. Instantly awake, Mason grabbed it before it could wake the young man sleeping next to him. “Ward,” he grumbled. He didn’t have to be polite; according to his phone’s display it was 4:30 in the morning.
Silence greeted him.
Mason disconnected and dropped back onto his pillow. The air drifting in through the open ports over the bed was thick with the scent of Pacific and the relative chill of December. He inhaled deeply, resigned to the fact that he was now awake. Damn crank calls. He knew if he scrolled through his incoming calls, he’d find a local number that would eventually turn out to be a payphone. He hadn’t kept track of the first few calls, had barely even registered the hang-ups, but a half dozen or so calls later he knew the drill.
In no particular hurry to leave the bed, Mason rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. His lover slept on his stomach, face turned the other way. Mason knew Soren was naked under the rumpled sheet, but all he saw was a sliver of pale shoulder and a tousled mop of red hair. Slowly, so as not to disturb Soren’s sleep, Mason pulled the sheet down. His knuckles grazed his lover’s skin. The sheet out of his way, Mason splayed his hand across the small of Soren’s back. He loved the sight of his large, darkly tanned hand against Soren’s pale skin, the redhead’s body warm and smooth, the muscle underneath it firm.
Soren didn’t stir.
Mason ducked his head and pushed his nose into Soren’s hair. Too vain to let the sun bleach his glorious copper-colored hair, Soren often wore a baseball cap, but where his hair wasn’t protected—there was too much of it too long to fit—it was streaked with golden highlights. Mason loved the hair. His own close cropped, he appreciated the effort Soren took.
Phone call long forgotten, Mason inhaled a day and night’s worth of sweat and pushed his nose past the hair, until his lips grazed an ear, until his mouth found the column of a throat.
His hand slid under the sheet pooled over Soren’s hip. Like the rest of him, Soren’s cock was warm and lean. Mason let his hand slide down the shaft of Soren’s cock, brushed his knuckles past Soren’s balls. His palm traveled across the sensitive skin of Soren’s inner thigh and the redhead responded the way Mason had hoped, reflexively spreading his legs a tad wider.
When he looked up, Mason was greeted with the sight of a green eye glinting at him from under a tangle of hair. “Hmm,” he murmured, “good morning.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Mason chuckled. So much for the libido of youth. Of course, Soren had only just joined him in bed an hour or so ago. His bartending schedule already differed from Mason’s work hours, but the holiday season had them barely even in bed together these days.
Before Mason could change Soren’s mind about pre-dawn sex, his phone vibrated to life again. He cursed and snatched it up off the shelf. If he weren’t on call 24/7, he wouldn’t have answered. “Yes?”
Silence.
Mason bit back a second curse, caught Soren grinning from ear to ear, and slid out of bed. He pulled on his workout clothes, left the stateroom and headed to the galley where he dropped his phone on the counter. In the fridge, under the container of fruit salad he’d prepared the evening before, he found two bar napkins and a scrap of paper with phone numbers on it. He dropped the trophies on the counter next to his phone and went about his usual morning routine.
He hadn’t been an Army Ranger in five years, but he still exercised like one. Pushups. Situps. Chinups. Then the run. He walked down the long pier that separated his 58-foot trawler, The Sea Sprite, from dry land, hung a right out of the marina’s gate and headed south on Route 2, past Nimitz Beach Park. It was too early and too dark still for anyone else to be on the road. Even the roving bands of wild pig that usually foraged in the underbrush to either side of the road were still sleeping.
But the exercise didn’t have its usual calming effect on Mason. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his crank calls than the wish to annoy him. He returned to the marina drenched in sweat and no closer to figuring out his problem.
The Sea Sprite had a bathroom, of course, but Mason preferred to shower in the marina’s men’s locker room. It had taken him, his friend Ben and the cabinetmaker two years to gut, restore and reconfigure his trawler to Mason’s needs, but there was only so much room on a boat and he hadn’t allocated much to his bathroom. As much as he loved living on his boat—a lifestyle he’d chosen with some purpose—it was far more practical for him to use the facilities the marina offered. And so he kept toiletries and a set of work clothes in his assigned locker.
By the time he stepped out of the shower, he had a short mental list of people who hated his guts enough to get up at 4:30 in the morning and call him. He slung a towel around his hips and dragged another over his short hair. He pulled on a black pair of briefs and drew black cargo pants up over his hips, then opened the locker room door to let the steam and hot air escape into the early morning. He turned back and went to grab his black polo shirt from his locker, when a feminine voice intruded on his privacy.
“I bet even your sheets are black.”
Mason turned to find a young woman standing in the door. She was a foot shorter than his six-four, with square, bony shoulders and sharp-edged clavicles that were in stark contrast to the full roundness of her ample breasts. Her sun-bleached hair hung in a loose ponytail down her back. Her yellow tank top and jean shorts left more exposed than they covered. She leaned back against the open door that clearly said Men’s on it and smiled.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Mason’s brusque manner didn’t faze her, if anything her smile widened. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. “Hi. I’m kinda new here and I have no idea where anything is. Where do I go for a good cup of coffee around here?”
Mason thought of the man sleeping in his bed. Soren would know down to the yard where the nearest coffee shop was. Soren would also get a kick out of this girl coming on to Mason.
“There’s a gas station with a convenience store up the road.”
“Not what I had in mind, but it’ll do.” She gave him a pretty pout. “I’m Halley. Like the comet. I’m on The Pacific Sun.” She jerked her chin in the directions of the piers.
Mason knew the boat. The 32-foot Pearson Vanguard was a classic little sailboat, but sadly unused these days. He wasn’t sure but he thought he’d heard that she was for sale.
“Mrs. Maria said I could stay on it, her, for a few days. You know, until after the holidays, and I can get into the dorms.”
Mason arched his dark brows. He didn’t think the barely-dressed Halley and the retired Catholic School teacher Maria San Nicholas moved in the same circles. This girl wouldn’t be the first squatter the marina had seen.
His skepticism must have been apparent, because Halley quickly added, “I’m studying to become a Spanish teacher. Did you know she taught High School Spanish for twenty-five years?”
He’d had an idea. “You’re at the U of G?”
“Sophomore.” Halley beamed and reached for her ponytail again. “I guess I better get going. I really need that coffee. Nice meeting you, Mason.” She gave him a little wave and trotted off.
Mason caught her use of his first name and shook his head. He’d give her a couple of days to figure out he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. In the meantime, he’d give Mrs. San Nicholas a call to check out Halley’s story.
He returned to The Sea Sprite to find a cup of steaming brown rice tea and a note scrawled on the back of one of the bar napkins next to his phone. Call work ASAP. The tea made him smile. The note made him cringe.
He snatched up his phone, hit speed dial, and took the steps that led down from the galley to the narrow companionway that he followed to the bow of the Sprite. He gently pushed the door to the master stateroom open to see if his lover was still awake, but Soren was sleeping again, sprawled across green, pinstriped sheets.
When Lourdes Nakamura, Mason’s nightshift supervisor, answered her phone, Mason stepped back into the dark companionway. “You called?”
“Boss. We’ve got trouble.”
Mason groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. It was barely even Monday and already his day didn’t look so good “What’s up?”
“Graffiti. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Graffiti didn’t sound like something Lourdes couldn’t handle. The ex-Marine had been a bouncer in some of Guam’s rowdiest nightclubs before Mason had offered her a job on his staff. She was as capable as they came. Mason frowned.
“It’s all over the mall. And when I say all over, I mean all over. Check your phone, I’ve sent pictures.”
Mason thumbed through his phone’s menu and called up incoming files. “Christ.”
“So not the first word that came to my mind,” Lourdes admitted, a wry tone to her voice.
Mason felt like the Sea Sprite was suddenly pitching and rolling under his feet. He reached out a hand to steady himself as he scrolled through the files in his phone with the other. His stomach sank with each consecutive picture. Lourdes hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said “all over.” What little undecorated surface of the Tumon Bay Mall there had been was now covered with the rainbow-colored words “Pickle Kisser” next to the very grotesque rendering of a penis.
“I got the call around 4:30. I sent the mobile guys to check it out. It’s not just the mall. It’s all over the library on O’Brian Drive, the Tamuning post office, John F. Kennedy High School, and up and down Skinner Plaza. It’s not a random prank, is it?”
“No.” Mason wished it was, but he didn’t believe in coincidences of that magnitude. He stared at his phone, absently noting that each act of vandalism must have been committed by a different person. The slur was the same in every picture, but the handwriting was different, some words printed, some cursive, letters slanted left or right, some capitalized, some not. The penis spray-painted next to the words looked similar in each picture, though, as if the artists had worked from a template.
Mason went over the last few weeks of his life, trying to remember anything he might have done to provoke the wrath/contempt of a man he hadn’t seen in five years. He’d heard his fair share of whispered “fag” or “faggot,” but he’d never heard anyone else call him “pickle kisser” before or after Captain Tom Krukowski, the man who’d ended his military career.
But what reason would Krukowski have to come after him all these years later? The way he saw it, Mason had all the right in the world to carry a grudge. Krukowski’s witch hunt had almost cost him an honorable discharge from the military. Only timing had saved what very little had remained of his good name.
“Boss? You’re awfully quiet over there.”
“Just thinking.” Mason’s short list of enemies hadn’t even included Krukowski. Thirty minutes ago the man hadn’t been more than a distant, bad memory. Now he was what he had never wanted to be: the focus of Mason’s attention.
“Can you think while you drive?”
“I’m on my way.”
“Bring air freshener. Your life just got flushed down the toilet. The cops are here.”
***
I decided to share the first chapter again. I mailed it out earlier. If there should have been one in your mailbox but there wasn't, please let me know and I'll make sure to update my mailing list.
As always, I welcome beta readers. Let me know if there's something you like or dislike. Writing is a lonely business and feedback is always welcome, especially if there's something that doesn't quite work and makes you scratch your head.
Happy Halloween.
***
THE STALKER
1.
Mason Ward’s cell phone buzzed to life on the built-in shelf next to his bed. Instantly awake, Mason grabbed it before it could wake the young man sleeping next to him. “Ward,” he grumbled. He didn’t have to be polite; according to his phone’s display it was 4:30 in the morning.
Silence greeted him.
Mason disconnected and dropped back onto his pillow. The air drifting in through the open ports over the bed was thick with the scent of Pacific and the relative chill of December. He inhaled deeply, resigned to the fact that he was now awake. Damn crank calls. He knew if he scrolled through his incoming calls, he’d find a local number that would eventually turn out to be a payphone. He hadn’t kept track of the first few calls, had barely even registered the hang-ups, but a half dozen or so calls later he knew the drill.
In no particular hurry to leave the bed, Mason rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. His lover slept on his stomach, face turned the other way. Mason knew Soren was naked under the rumpled sheet, but all he saw was a sliver of pale shoulder and a tousled mop of red hair. Slowly, so as not to disturb Soren’s sleep, Mason pulled the sheet down. His knuckles grazed his lover’s skin. The sheet out of his way, Mason splayed his hand across the small of Soren’s back. He loved the sight of his large, darkly tanned hand against Soren’s pale skin, the redhead’s body warm and smooth, the muscle underneath it firm.
Soren didn’t stir.
Mason ducked his head and pushed his nose into Soren’s hair. Too vain to let the sun bleach his glorious copper-colored hair, Soren often wore a baseball cap, but where his hair wasn’t protected—there was too much of it too long to fit—it was streaked with golden highlights. Mason loved the hair. His own close cropped, he appreciated the effort Soren took.
Phone call long forgotten, Mason inhaled a day and night’s worth of sweat and pushed his nose past the hair, until his lips grazed an ear, until his mouth found the column of a throat.
His hand slid under the sheet pooled over Soren’s hip. Like the rest of him, Soren’s cock was warm and lean. Mason let his hand slide down the shaft of Soren’s cock, brushed his knuckles past Soren’s balls. His palm traveled across the sensitive skin of Soren’s inner thigh and the redhead responded the way Mason had hoped, reflexively spreading his legs a tad wider.
When he looked up, Mason was greeted with the sight of a green eye glinting at him from under a tangle of hair. “Hmm,” he murmured, “good morning.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Mason chuckled. So much for the libido of youth. Of course, Soren had only just joined him in bed an hour or so ago. His bartending schedule already differed from Mason’s work hours, but the holiday season had them barely even in bed together these days.
Before Mason could change Soren’s mind about pre-dawn sex, his phone vibrated to life again. He cursed and snatched it up off the shelf. If he weren’t on call 24/7, he wouldn’t have answered. “Yes?”
Silence.
Mason bit back a second curse, caught Soren grinning from ear to ear, and slid out of bed. He pulled on his workout clothes, left the stateroom and headed to the galley where he dropped his phone on the counter. In the fridge, under the container of fruit salad he’d prepared the evening before, he found two bar napkins and a scrap of paper with phone numbers on it. He dropped the trophies on the counter next to his phone and went about his usual morning routine.
He hadn’t been an Army Ranger in five years, but he still exercised like one. Pushups. Situps. Chinups. Then the run. He walked down the long pier that separated his 58-foot trawler, The Sea Sprite, from dry land, hung a right out of the marina’s gate and headed south on Route 2, past Nimitz Beach Park. It was too early and too dark still for anyone else to be on the road. Even the roving bands of wild pig that usually foraged in the underbrush to either side of the road were still sleeping.
But the exercise didn’t have its usual calming effect on Mason. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his crank calls than the wish to annoy him. He returned to the marina drenched in sweat and no closer to figuring out his problem.
The Sea Sprite had a bathroom, of course, but Mason preferred to shower in the marina’s men’s locker room. It had taken him, his friend Ben and the cabinetmaker two years to gut, restore and reconfigure his trawler to Mason’s needs, but there was only so much room on a boat and he hadn’t allocated much to his bathroom. As much as he loved living on his boat—a lifestyle he’d chosen with some purpose—it was far more practical for him to use the facilities the marina offered. And so he kept toiletries and a set of work clothes in his assigned locker.
By the time he stepped out of the shower, he had a short mental list of people who hated his guts enough to get up at 4:30 in the morning and call him. He slung a towel around his hips and dragged another over his short hair. He pulled on a black pair of briefs and drew black cargo pants up over his hips, then opened the locker room door to let the steam and hot air escape into the early morning. He turned back and went to grab his black polo shirt from his locker, when a feminine voice intruded on his privacy.
“I bet even your sheets are black.”
Mason turned to find a young woman standing in the door. She was a foot shorter than his six-four, with square, bony shoulders and sharp-edged clavicles that were in stark contrast to the full roundness of her ample breasts. Her sun-bleached hair hung in a loose ponytail down her back. Her yellow tank top and jean shorts left more exposed than they covered. She leaned back against the open door that clearly said Men’s on it and smiled.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Mason’s brusque manner didn’t faze her, if anything her smile widened. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. “Hi. I’m kinda new here and I have no idea where anything is. Where do I go for a good cup of coffee around here?”
Mason thought of the man sleeping in his bed. Soren would know down to the yard where the nearest coffee shop was. Soren would also get a kick out of this girl coming on to Mason.
“There’s a gas station with a convenience store up the road.”
“Not what I had in mind, but it’ll do.” She gave him a pretty pout. “I’m Halley. Like the comet. I’m on The Pacific Sun.” She jerked her chin in the directions of the piers.
Mason knew the boat. The 32-foot Pearson Vanguard was a classic little sailboat, but sadly unused these days. He wasn’t sure but he thought he’d heard that she was for sale.
“Mrs. Maria said I could stay on it, her, for a few days. You know, until after the holidays, and I can get into the dorms.”
Mason arched his dark brows. He didn’t think the barely-dressed Halley and the retired Catholic School teacher Maria San Nicholas moved in the same circles. This girl wouldn’t be the first squatter the marina had seen.
His skepticism must have been apparent, because Halley quickly added, “I’m studying to become a Spanish teacher. Did you know she taught High School Spanish for twenty-five years?”
He’d had an idea. “You’re at the U of G?”
“Sophomore.” Halley beamed and reached for her ponytail again. “I guess I better get going. I really need that coffee. Nice meeting you, Mason.” She gave him a little wave and trotted off.
Mason caught her use of his first name and shook his head. He’d give her a couple of days to figure out he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. In the meantime, he’d give Mrs. San Nicholas a call to check out Halley’s story.
He returned to The Sea Sprite to find a cup of steaming brown rice tea and a note scrawled on the back of one of the bar napkins next to his phone. Call work ASAP. The tea made him smile. The note made him cringe.
He snatched up his phone, hit speed dial, and took the steps that led down from the galley to the narrow companionway that he followed to the bow of the Sprite. He gently pushed the door to the master stateroom open to see if his lover was still awake, but Soren was sleeping again, sprawled across green, pinstriped sheets.
When Lourdes Nakamura, Mason’s nightshift supervisor, answered her phone, Mason stepped back into the dark companionway. “You called?”
“Boss. We’ve got trouble.”
Mason groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. It was barely even Monday and already his day didn’t look so good “What’s up?”
“Graffiti. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Graffiti didn’t sound like something Lourdes couldn’t handle. The ex-Marine had been a bouncer in some of Guam’s rowdiest nightclubs before Mason had offered her a job on his staff. She was as capable as they came. Mason frowned.
“It’s all over the mall. And when I say all over, I mean all over. Check your phone, I’ve sent pictures.”
Mason thumbed through his phone’s menu and called up incoming files. “Christ.”
“So not the first word that came to my mind,” Lourdes admitted, a wry tone to her voice.
Mason felt like the Sea Sprite was suddenly pitching and rolling under his feet. He reached out a hand to steady himself as he scrolled through the files in his phone with the other. His stomach sank with each consecutive picture. Lourdes hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said “all over.” What little undecorated surface of the Tumon Bay Mall there had been was now covered with the rainbow-colored words “Pickle Kisser” next to the very grotesque rendering of a penis.
“I got the call around 4:30. I sent the mobile guys to check it out. It’s not just the mall. It’s all over the library on O’Brian Drive, the Tamuning post office, John F. Kennedy High School, and up and down Skinner Plaza. It’s not a random prank, is it?”
“No.” Mason wished it was, but he didn’t believe in coincidences of that magnitude. He stared at his phone, absently noting that each act of vandalism must have been committed by a different person. The slur was the same in every picture, but the handwriting was different, some words printed, some cursive, letters slanted left or right, some capitalized, some not. The penis spray-painted next to the words looked similar in each picture, though, as if the artists had worked from a template.
Mason went over the last few weeks of his life, trying to remember anything he might have done to provoke the wrath/contempt of a man he hadn’t seen in five years. He’d heard his fair share of whispered “fag” or “faggot,” but he’d never heard anyone else call him “pickle kisser” before or after Captain Tom Krukowski, the man who’d ended his military career.
But what reason would Krukowski have to come after him all these years later? The way he saw it, Mason had all the right in the world to carry a grudge. Krukowski’s witch hunt had almost cost him an honorable discharge from the military. Only timing had saved what very little had remained of his good name.
“Boss? You’re awfully quiet over there.”
“Just thinking.” Mason’s short list of enemies hadn’t even included Krukowski. Thirty minutes ago the man hadn’t been more than a distant, bad memory. Now he was what he had never wanted to be: the focus of Mason’s attention.
“Can you think while you drive?”
“I’m on my way.”
“Bring air freshener. Your life just got flushed down the toilet. The cops are here.”
***
Friday, October 24, 2008
Yours truly at the Great Manhattan Mystery Conclave
I just received my program for the 5th annual Great Manhattan Mystery Conclave (Oct 31 – Nov 02, 08) here in Manhattan, KS, and there it was, my name in black and white. How exciting is that? Not only is it my first conference, but it’s my first public appearance, complete with author signing and panel.
If you’re a reader, writer or fan and you live in the area, please feel free to stop by the Holiday Inn at 17th & Anderson Avenue. I’ll be there Friday night and most of the weekend. If you already have a copy of The Protector, it’s okay to bring it with you for me to sign. If not, there are some copies available for purchase. Author signings are on Friday, Oct 31, 5:30-6:30 pm, and at Saturday, Nov 1, 5-5:45 pm and after the banquet, 8-10pm.
Naturally, I know exactly how this is going to go down. I will show up on Friday at the gala reception looking ten pounds lighter and five years younger. I’ll be at a table with witty, clever writers whose books I’ve read. At least one of the people attending the reception will have read my book and gush over my beautiful, tropic setting, while absolutely adoring the sexy cover of the book. He or she will have their dog-eared copy ready for me to sign. I’ll take a few photos (looking ten pounds lighter and five years younger). I’ll have a great time and not worry at all about the panel I’m sitting on on Saturday morning. The panel itself will be well attended. My co-panelist, Norm Ledgin, and I will have the crowd spellbound. There will be plenty of audience questions and generous interest in our take on “Why We Write Mysteries.” The rest of the weekend will be filled with intelligent conversation, humor, the occasional great insight and adoring fans at the author signings.
In truth, I’ll probably look about the same I do right now (at least five years younger) and no one will whip out wallet-sized photos of their last vacation on Guam. The panel will be just fine. I’m going to be horribly nervous, wondering if I shouldn’t have invested in prescription strength deodorant versus the regular strength, but only the people in the front row will notice my nervous tick. Most of the people stopping by my table during the author signing will not have read my book or any other gay fiction. I’ll have the great opportunity to introduce and represent a new genre to these readers. A few might even be intrigued enough to give this new author a try.
You bet I’m going to spend all my spare time between now and then practicing my clever one-sentence pitch. If you’re an author and you thought writing a one-paragraph description of your novel in a query letter is difficult, try coming up with an interesting one-liner.
Wish me luck :-)
If you’re a reader, writer or fan and you live in the area, please feel free to stop by the Holiday Inn at 17th & Anderson Avenue. I’ll be there Friday night and most of the weekend. If you already have a copy of The Protector, it’s okay to bring it with you for me to sign. If not, there are some copies available for purchase. Author signings are on Friday, Oct 31, 5:30-6:30 pm, and at Saturday, Nov 1, 5-5:45 pm and after the banquet, 8-10pm.
Naturally, I know exactly how this is going to go down. I will show up on Friday at the gala reception looking ten pounds lighter and five years younger. I’ll be at a table with witty, clever writers whose books I’ve read. At least one of the people attending the reception will have read my book and gush over my beautiful, tropic setting, while absolutely adoring the sexy cover of the book. He or she will have their dog-eared copy ready for me to sign. I’ll take a few photos (looking ten pounds lighter and five years younger). I’ll have a great time and not worry at all about the panel I’m sitting on on Saturday morning. The panel itself will be well attended. My co-panelist, Norm Ledgin, and I will have the crowd spellbound. There will be plenty of audience questions and generous interest in our take on “Why We Write Mysteries.” The rest of the weekend will be filled with intelligent conversation, humor, the occasional great insight and adoring fans at the author signings.
In truth, I’ll probably look about the same I do right now (at least five years younger) and no one will whip out wallet-sized photos of their last vacation on Guam. The panel will be just fine. I’m going to be horribly nervous, wondering if I shouldn’t have invested in prescription strength deodorant versus the regular strength, but only the people in the front row will notice my nervous tick. Most of the people stopping by my table during the author signing will not have read my book or any other gay fiction. I’ll have the great opportunity to introduce and represent a new genre to these readers. A few might even be intrigued enough to give this new author a try.
You bet I’m going to spend all my spare time between now and then practicing my clever one-sentence pitch. If you’re an author and you thought writing a one-paragraph description of your novel in a query letter is difficult, try coming up with an interesting one-liner.
Wish me luck :-)
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