The Chin Lift

When I was preparing to go to San Diego, I commissioned an art piece for Prince of Air and Darkness from a graphic designer I found through DeviantArt. After giving her a brief description of Finny and Roark, this is what she produced:

Yes, I am in love.

Cut to this month. The fangirl-worthy Kelsey (a.k.a. Hootsweets) has done it again! This time around, I gave her the snippet of Prince of Air and Darkness I've included below and she gave me another lovely commission in exchange.

* * * * *
I glance behind me, adjusting my speed so the ball will land just over my shoulder. It hits my hands and I clutch it to my side, spinning around another guy and heading at a diagonal toward the end zone. Gumba thunders toward me, but I may be just able to beat him there—

A familiar form, partially obscured by the sun’s beams, walks by the sideline. I stumble a bit when I recognize the laconic gait.

That was a bad idea.

Gumba takes me down on the sideline. Even he’s surprised by how hard the hit was. He pokes my ribs and I make a noise to let him know I’m alive. It’s easiest to hand over the ball so the next play can start. I groan a little when I shift my head, spitting out grass and dirt. Right onto a shining pair of Oxfords mere inches from my face.

My eyes travel up from the shoes to the straight, pressed lines of the wool slacks. The thin leather belt I could never afford. The buttons of the dress shirt. And there, like a freaking cherry on an evil sundae, the sharp twist of the lips that’s the closest he ever gets to smiling. Apparently, super-powered magickal villains don’t need to smile.

“Wool in this weather, Roark? Isn’t that a bit douchey, even for you?” I snark.

He looks like crap. His cheeks are hollowed, the hint of dark circles under his eyes. He’s always been pale, but this time there’s an edge of sickness to it, like he hasn’t seen the sun all summer. Although … Unseelie court. Not sure if they’re allowed aboveground.

The toe of his Oxford stretches out and presses against the underside of my jaw, tilting my face up just enough for my eyes to meet his.

Roark’s eyes are the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. Ice blue, pale as fuck. Thanks to his dark, nearly black hair, they appear even lighter. Worse, he never glamours them. Which pisses me off to no end, since my own eyes are some muddy, unremarkable blue.

Girls swoon over Roark’s eyes. They don’t swoon over mine.

Right now, that glacial gaze skims over me, dissecting me with the brisk efficiency wealthy aristocrats seem born to use against their underlings.

“Farmer’s tan and athletic shorts.” The edges of his mouth tighten. “Some things never change.”
* * * * *
As you can see, she outdid herself again.

Next month I'll post whatever my next commission from her is. In the meantime though, if you're interested in seeing more of Kelsey's work, you can find her through these sites:

http://hexcomic.com/ - Her original webcomic

http://www.patreon.com/hootsweets - Pledge page for updates on in-progress work and commissions

http://hootsweets.deviantart.com/ - DeviantArt collection

http://hootsweets.tumblr.com/ - Tumblr collection

Courage

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat."

Sometimes I forget that. It's easy in today's world, with how closely connected we all are and how easy it is for jealousy to take us when we witness others' successes. It takes effort to practice gratitude and it's a battle I've constantly fought since my first book was published.

There's always another author who's made it big, who's a best-seller now, who got optioned for film, who is smarter and more beautiful and more talented and generally damn better than you. And comparing yourself to others and their success only destroys your own sense of worth.

So I avoid social media often. I keep a small company of good, devoted, hard working friends who focus on bolstering each other instead of tearing each other down. I work my ass off and pray every night that God will give me a chance to get a little better.

Because that is my greatest fear. That one day the words will peter out and I'll be left with blank pages, or worse, pages filled with something akin to vomit.

Don't get me wrong; I still pray for bigger deals, for landing an agent, for my friends to get big deals or important agents, for some actor to read my book and decide it must become a movie (hear that Luke Evans, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, Tom Hardy, or anyone else on my Pinterest boards???), and for me to someday be good enough at this writing gig that I can do it full time.

But most of all, I pray that this strange ability to string words together into a shifting tale doesn't go away. I don't know if I could survive that.

Sometimes, in the midst of the fear and panic and general anarchy that makes up a writer's life, courage makes an appearance. It's rare and I've found that it often doesn't come in the guise we expect. Courage has never shown up on my doorstep with a battle axe and plate armor, roaring about quests and grabbing the balls of life, while quaffing mead. In my experience, courage is the tiny voice whispering right behind my shoulder when I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived and emotionally drained and ready to call it quits forever because surely, quitting would be easier than experiencing the misery and self-loathing of missing my daily word count or not getting my phrasing correct or putzing 8 of my 12 work hours away on the Internet.

My courage is shy. It's no bigger than a thimble and often gives the same illusion of solidness. My courage only comes out when I forget about it. It's never around when I desperately need it, no matter how hard I look, how loudly I cajole, how furiously I threaten.

My courage believes in karma and divine justice. It has an unhealthy devotion to the concept that if you are a good person who works hard, you will be rewarded. It's never been wrong about that, so I can't really argue the point, no matter how often I grumble about it.

It likes to peek its head around corners and inspect the situation before giving in to peer pressure, although it sometimes caves and skips along for a while before figuring out that it's made a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad mistake. It prefers to make choices about which loose leaf tea I'll drink than which direction my life is taking (although I suppose tea choices are important life decisions). It agonizes over whether I want to buy the 12 pack or 24 pack of colored pencils and then parades around with its chest puffed out over that extra $0.70 I spent to get the fancy set. It considers anything but clear nail polish to be a coup; it collapses in exhaustion after I get a pedicure. It sometimes scrapes together $5 so I can buy a bargain bouquet of flowers at the store simply because they'll look pretty on my kitchen table.

I'm blessed with the Ferdinand of courage.

2016 Prism Awards

This past Sunday my husband and I were out working in our garden, a common practice since it's summer in Alaska. I'd just finished staining my new raised beds when my phone rang. Normally I never answer if it's a number I don't recognize, but that instinct was dead like the mosquitoes on my arm. I'm so glad I picked up.

Turns out I was receiving a call to let me know that Honour Bound is a finalist in the Fantasy, Futuristic, & Paranormal Romance Writers annual Prism contest. The Prism contest is for published books and if you take a chance to look at the lists of past winners, it's clear that there is serious talent in every year's list of entries. To be have been chosen among this group is an incredible blessing and I am so grateful.

So, this July when I go to San Diego for the RWA conference, I'll also be attending the FF&P's awards ceremony The Gathering and learning how Honour Bound did in the contest. More importantly, I'll be meeting other authors and readers in the genre and learning from them and their success stories.

Part of the reason for this post is to squee about the news, but the other reason is that I feel it's important to mention that Honour Bound was a risky book. Kate Cuthbert, my dream of an editor at Escape Publishing, is the one who suggested I expand the universe from Lace & Lead. Neither of us expected the expansion to result in this sprawling story that's turned into a new series.

I know that at its core Honour Bound is a romance; all my stories are. When I think of conflict, of what people are willing to die or live for, love and hope are often at the top of that list. But Honour Bound also allowed me to explore my love of dystopian societies, history, religious ethics, and a darkness I'm beginning to understand is a strangely inherent shadow side of my normally optimistic self. This is the series I've always been dying to read, so (as per Toni Morrison's excellent advice) it was time to get off my butt and write it.

Sunday's phone call just confirmed to me that there are others out there who are equally willing to take those risks and are searching for the same story as me. It makes the world a smaller, more beautiful place when that happens. Readers, thank you for your support and love of reading and fearlessness. You made this author's summer.

The Big Three-Oh

Well, it's official. I'm an adult.

In age perhaps, but not in frame of mind. See, that's the beautiful thing about writing...It keeps you young.

On a strange side note, last year I was convinced that I was turning thirty, not twenty-nine. I prepared all year for that moment. And then a few weeks before my birthday, I mentioned to my husband how I couldn't believe I was almost thirty. He kindly corrected me.

This year I'm actually thirty. And while some small Peter Pan-esque part of me screams in terror at the relentless onslaught of years, most of me is able to sit back on the couch and relax because I've done pretty well so far.

Loving family and friends. Fantastic marriage to a man I adore. Books published and slews of ideas bouncing around my head and Pinterest boards. A life I love to lead up here in Alaska.

It's not the New York City loft apartment, single life, and best-seller's list life I'd imagined for myself at the age of 15 (nor is it the life of a single, sheepherder living in a tiny thatched-roof cottage in Ireland), but it's my life and it's damn good.

Best of all, I feel so grateful for the life God's granted me. That realization of how fortunate I am is the greatest present of all.

From the ashes

It's been a hard past few months. Burnout on multiple fronts left me reeling and I'm only just starting to pull myself back together. Fortunately, the love and care of many incredible people has helped get me on my feet and put my head back where it needs to be ... my stories.

Yeah, if you thought I was going to say my other job, you'd be a smidge incorrect. But I'm finally accepting that it's okay to feel that way; it won't make me perform any worse to understand that I'm working toward a bigger goal.

Speaking of which ... [insert poor segue to shameless self-promo here]

First is coming out on January 15th!!! [unleash kazoo fanfare here]

This duology was a bit like Jekyll and Hyde. Dally and Cat's story came together easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy while Jake and Maya's ... did not.

Regardless, it's out in the world with ARC reviewers and I'm mostly thrilled that this strange little story is meeting with some kind comments and constructive criticism.

To celebrate my return to the land of the living writers, I've put together some of my favorite moments from the story into these little pics to share with all of you.

Thank you all for your support, even though I'm horrible at updating this blog, and know that I'm still getting those stories down.

Welcome to The Club

If you were to drive just south of Beaumont, Texas, you might be fortunate enough to pass through Karim. This city is in the throes of change. Its new growth radiates from old town Karim, where the legacy of its Italian founder is still alive to this day.

Hidden just off of Main Street, amidst the fountain of the central plaza and the art gallery which hosts the city's most prestigious events, stands an understated three-story building. At night, as the bars and pubs in the area become host to Karim's active nightlife, the antique gas lamps in front of this building will light, casting its corner of the street in shifting shadows. 

A curious passerby would see nothing but shuttered windows and doors leading out to wrought-iron balconies, with no traces of light or music or sound escaping. The black door that occasionally opens to let in well-dressed guests is the maw separating the real world you and I inhabit from the reverie that lies within.

Welcome to The Club.

The indulgent bartenders and world-class musicians and DJs who grace The Club's first level are the envy of every other establishment within a hundred miles. But it's the secret of the other two levels that holds all of Karim rapt.

Whispers guess at what occurs upstairs in the private rooms of The Clubs elite members. Of the rooms where lurid fantasies play out, of the men and women who seek to find and give pleasure in its basest forms, of the world few are allowed to become a part of.

On the last Friday of every month, invitations are sent out to a choice few. They alone will step beyond the chain and make their way into the hidden heart of The Club.

And now their stories are yours to share.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

A multi-author project, The Club series centers around the mysterious building and the men and women who are tied to it. 

Nearly 30 authors, including M.A. Grant, Scarlett Dawn, Lexi Buchanan, Missy Johnson, Nicole Flockton, and S.E. Gilchrist, will be participating. A new Club story will launch each month, drawing you deeper into the world.

The first book in the series, Just One Sip by Scarlett Dawn, is now available. 

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Scarlett Dawn, turns up the heat with two best friends, who were always meant for each other, in the first novella of The Club series, Just One Sip…

Lucy Plume knows Jet Mak is the man she wants to marry. Her thoughts have never wavered to another. Lucy knows all of Jet’s secrets, his family’s secrets, and doesn’t give a damn. He is her best friend, her lover, her confidant…her all. But can she finally find the courage to say yes?

Jet Mak knows Lucy Plume is the woman he wants to marry. He’s known since they were children. Lucy is the only woman who can make him smile and groan at the same time. She tests his patience beyond what most men would endure, but he doesn’t care. He wants her, and everyone knows it. If only Lucy would say yes…

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

Come November, my novella In the Shadows will release.

Award-winning author M.A. Grant continues the high-stakes stories of The Club with her novella In the Shadows... 

Former spec-ops member Ezekiel Harding returned home from his time as a POW to find his family destroyed. Adrift and with no real purpose for a man of his skill set, an employment opportunity at The Club, a private and high-end BDSM club in Karim, Texas, gives Zeke the stability he desperately needs.

Vivian Bennett isn't looking for love or lust, not when a cunning stalker puts her in the crosshairs. Even without an anonymous enemy, she's too busy as the owner of Divine Twins Bakery to take a second look at any man. That is, until Zeke walks into her shop. 

Sparks fly, a killer draws closer, and Zeke will only have one chance to save the woman who's finally drawing him out of the shadows.

A Very Sinclair Christmas

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you all! It's a busy time of year for everyone and my household is no exception. However, I was able to finish up a short little seasonal story about my Sinclair boys. After all, this is the first real Christmas they've had, so it was worthy of celebration. They (and I, of course) wish you all the best!