One in Every Minyan

I have series of Sips currently available that feature an architect name Brian Townsend and a homicide cop named Tristan Blake. The first in the set was a Halloween sip called Crimson Regret.  Number two is a called A Taste of Darkness and the third one is titled A Glimpse Inside. There's new one on the way. I think it's due out at the end of the month. It's called Windows and Walls.

*snort* we'll see if I can manage to post this snip with messing it up

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Here's the blurb for a new Werewolf story.

Chemistry major Kelly Hendrick has lusted after his analytical chemistry professor Simon Randall for a several semesters. They share common interests in reading, fencing and of course career field. Now several semesters past being Dr. Randall’s student, Kelly finally dares to cross the line and give to pursuing his attraction to the professor. Joyfully, he finds the feeling reciprocated. But there are deep and more than human secrets in Kelly’s life. An assault on Simon forces Kelly to confront the idea that Simon needs to know more . Can Kelly own up to non-human genetics and maintain his growing relationship with Simon?

I'll be back in a while with a snip. In the meantime ----- Leave me a comment sometime today and you could win a free copy!

I know, I know, it's almost noon and I should 've shown my face here on the LJ earlier. But yesterday was a bit non-stop, and I'm paying the price. I work what sort of amounts to 2nd shift in my other job, so I don't really qualify as a morning person anymore. Yesterday began with having to deliver my 6 yo daughter to a girl scouts meeting. at 10 am.  Ugh. I spent an hour on the phone at lunch time thrashing at a plot problem with one of my best writer buddies. (We're both doing the infamous NaNoWriMo) Following by an accupuncture appt, managing to feed the family. (I wimped out and ordered pizza) Then it was off to the gun range. I've been taking intermittent shooting lessons from the hubby of my beta reader. All the better to make my writing sound like a have clue.... hopefully. Then I dropped by a Nano write-in to say hi and show my face. And finally..... managed to crank out about a thousand words.

Today..... (wait for it ....clue the the duh,duh, duh-duh music) .... Migraine!
Any hooooo, I'll be back in a bit with a contest for my new werewolf story.

I want to examine the trend of mourning sites/pages on social networks/cyber grief. What need does this type of site fill? What is the impact on survivors/contributors? Does this fill a real community need? Is there standardization in the future; does this eventually eclipse the need for physical burial/funeral trappings/etc? Is it more meaningful in a disjointed, geographically diverse culture to have centralized online mourning? Is this an emerging trend or the evolution of the obituary?

You know my career is in transition; I am wondering if perhaps my next incarnation (and considering I haven't even talked about my latest greatest career changing project yet, despite the fact I've been working on it like a mad weasel, this means my next incarnation plus one) will be as a social scientist. I think it might be. Gosh darn it, I'll wind up on Book TV one way or the other...being in the background when Julie Andrews was getting interviewed at BEA doesn't really count!

We do not, as a culture, pay enough homage to the art of strategic misinformation as a parenting device. For example, should one's child want coffee in the morning, it is often expedient (and will allow you to write another thousand words on the use of therapeutic humor in business) to tell your child that the ULTIMATE coffee experience can only be achieved if one pays diligent attention to the brewing process, including rapt attention to the coffee maker from the point one's parent switches it on and the first drops fall until the magic moment when the coffee level reaches 12 cups and we can partake in the blessed beverage.

The joy is enhanced should one only put 10 cups of water in the coffee maker. Just saying.

My neighbor, once removed, has bedding that disturbs me. (I'm sure the contents of my next door neighbor's bed might be equally disturbing, but in another fashion...here, we're merely talking about fashion.) For verily, these sheets have what appears to be dolphins on them, full sized. And the dolphins have glowing orange eyes, and appear to have a small, glasslike bubble atop their head. If my eyes were better, I'd be able to tell if the bubble contained little spacemen or minature cities, or a robotic brain, or small shaved squirrels, but alas, some mysteries remain unsolved. (I have long ago laid down the law that One Shall Not Use Binoculars To Look At The Neighbors rule, and hence, must remain bereft of such knowledge) But these are troubling sheets. I don't know if I'd want genetically altered dolphins in my bed. Would such a thing ensure sweet dreams? She has a little boy, among other children, and my understanding of little boys is that they like some odd things. I wonder if these are his sheets.

I must admit, this is the best damn coffee I've made this week.

This time of year seems to embody fragility for me. Perhaps it's the absence of daylight; night falls just around dinner time. I get up before the sun does.

Perhaps it's the crepe-shroud cover of early snow, stretching and swooping over hillocks of grass, decorating and documenting our utter failure to mow the lawn. Or the hoarfrost, angular and gaunt, sharp edged containment of reed and wire, apple branch and dying chives.

We are vulnerable now. Winter is coming; it is a time of peril.

Of course, we fortify. There are cords of wood (too few! too few!) stacked before the door. Carrots, potatoes, rice, flour, coffee, gas...the drive to provision is as deep and as universal as the need to take to the woods and find the buck unwary, six degrees of separation from the pyrex and the beer and the juniper berries and the onions.

It is not enough. It is never enough. Blankets are made, windows plasticked, gloves located, coats tried on, inspected, replaced as needed. Still we need snowpants -- the school sends them out to play provided it's at least 15 degrees, to scream beneath slate gray skies and plot the as-yet-unidentified adventures of the spring.

Contemplation is exhausting; failing to do so results in a cold bleak despair. Tired, we endure, until winter arrives in earnest, at which point, this angst passes; our enemy provides an invigorating tonic merely with his presence. Then we have something to rally against, to watch for, to circumnavigate and, wrapped in fleece near a roaring woodstove, momentarily triumph over. Every step reveals the adversary's edge; the icy crust atop the snow breaks away to reveal knife-sharp edges that cut into the narrow line between jeans and boots, reddening flesh, calling the blood to the surface as if it were the season's due.

Red often is: mistletoe and turkey wattles; birch bark obnoxious in its sheer numbers, artistic branches waiting to be cut and wrapped with wire-edged gold and spray painted bullshit and sold back to us for obscene prices at depressingly mundane craft fairs.

All of that will not defeat us. But the anticipation of it all? Might just take us out, if we let it. That awareness comes with time; more time, perhaps, will train my eyes to the beauty of this fragile time. I do not appreciate subtlety, at least not on a seasonal level. The moments now move faster; they're spaced further apart. The birds scream of motion, of transit, of escape. Flee or fight; those are the options only. Prepare for the coming battle, or leave it all behind you.

Fragility. Yet spider webs endure, far longer than you think. You can be both fragile and stubborn, and that, more than anything, is what I see in the people here. That is the lesson we internalize. It's possible to break -- to break badly, to leave remnants of your shattered soul and heart out in the sun to melt away with the morning frost and evaporate into the collective clouds above us -- but never truly destroyed. You might be reduced to something as fragile as a memory, a shadowed shudder as we take that curve in the highway, a pursed pair of lips when that given car winds up in that other given driveway, but you'll never be gone.

Even when the snows come.

So, I'm working on a sequel for What You Wish For.

Our dear Jared and Nicol have much more going for them now, and the relationship that only barely began in Nine of Cups will grow and become much more intense. Nicol is an experienced dominant man, and Jared only recently came to understand that he was both gay and submissive. Much will be happening, but here, I thought I'd tease the beginning of a delightful scene. It's not very worksafe at all, so yeah, it's behind a cut.

( SOOOO cut for content. )

Note that this is DEFINITELY unedited, so some of it might be awkward.

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Next post... AFTER this, will discuss and show an excerpt for What You Wish For - Obsidian. For now I'm going to tease with my NEXT two TQ projects. Note, one of these is M/m/F!

In The Wild Places

I've mentioned this one before, and it's very important to me, it just hasn't been the right time, not to mention my writer's block a while back. There are some very personal reasons why this is so important to me; ones which I'll reveal in a special afterword.

Tristan Jones is a man who has everything going for him. He's been happily married to his childhood friend Derek for a full year. They both work for Chalice Nine Software (heh, yay for references to the nine of cups), a small-studio game developer that is in the process of signing a deal with one of the major publishers in the industry. On the day of their anniversary, they set out for a trip in northern Ontario.

And then everything changes in the blink of an eye; a horrific car crash on the 403 Highway leaves Tristan largely unhurt, but Derek tragically loses his life.

Broken and devastated, Tristan's depression results in him being forced to take a leave of absence from his work when he spoils the deal with Tempest Publishing. Using the money that he and Derek had saved up for a house, he impulsively buys a cottage in the far northern forests of Ontario, intending to spend time grieving alone and in peace.

Believing himself to be the only person living in the area, he's surprised to meet Cerne, an experienced woodsman and hunter who has a cabin nearby. Initially, he rebuffs Cerne's offers of friendship, but as he grows increasingly lonely, the two spend more time together. The soft-spoken but strong Cerne slowly draws Tristan out of his depression, who finds himself inexplicably falling in love again, when he thought he'd never be able to.

But not everything is as it seems, and there are secrets in the Wild Places of Ontario; secrets of magic, love and life that will shake Tristan's entire being to the core.


After The Fire

This is a short piece of MMF fiction intended for a project that got proposed a year ago; a MMF version of the Kitchen Sink Toybox. One of the authors fell through, I had a story written that was so horrible that I scrapped it, and it was promptly abandoned and forgotten. But dear Penelope Friday stepped up and found someone else interested, and I want to get this done.

Rook is a submissive that lives with two wonderful 'owners' who are both sadistic and incredibly loving. When a terrible fire leaves them without a home, staying at the summer residence of a dear friend, Rook is more than a little put out that just about every toy that his Sir and Lady had owned were also destroyed. When he rather foolishly brings this up, he quickly learns that one doesn't need anything more than what you could find in an every day kitchen to play rough and hard.

So, here's the second question.

I have a scene in the book where Jared is going to be under the tender ministrations and 'mercies' of TWO dominant men. Nicol knows that Jared's new to all this, and he has Jared's heart and devotion... so he wants his dear boy to experience whatever he can, share pleasure and affection freely.

I'm going to give you all a chance to bend my ear about what I should do in that scene. Much of what I write is definitely hot and heavy... to me. But what if it isn't for someone else? So give me ideas, give me suggestions, positions, all that, within the parameters I've set. Whoever's idea gets chosen, I'll make sure, like the person who helped me with the Tarot reading in the first, I'll thank you at the beginning. And help me devise the second dominant, who hasn't been identified yet.

Two dominant men, one submissive
Cannot be public.
Assume that any conceivable piece of equipment is available, as well as any sort of toy / pain implement.
Should involve at least one piece of 'kinky furniture'

Hey everybody! It's your friendly neighbourhood still-trying-to-choose-a-new-pen-name author who has hijacked the TQ LJ for the day.

I'm hard at work on a sequel for What You Wish For, so if anyone here has read it... I'm sure you'll want more. It's heavier, it's kinkier, it has angst, and happiness, and love-making, and a threesome, and an enterprising and experimenting straight boy (mmm... maybe he's bi?) and so much more. Including a very serious danger for Jared near the end, but we'll not talk about that. Keep the cards close to the chest and all that claptrap.

So, I'm going to have a couple polls today, the first being "What Should I Call Myself Going Forward?" Alex Marcus-Jacobs doesn't really roll off the tongue easily, and it just feels too... BIG.

And that's the point of this little post. Now, since I'm not a paid user, I NEED the responses posted as comments. I'll be counting the comments after five days and taking your advice on it! BTW - Multiple ideas count as one each.

So, the choices are -

Alex Marcus-Jacobs (keep it the same!!!) - 2
AM Jacobs - 1
A Marcus-Jacobs
Alex Solstice - 1
Alex Jacobs - 4
some other name.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

It's been so much fun being here today; thanks to all who made the day that way.

And for those following the spanking poll; bare hand wins by a long way ;-)

Here's a snippet of a bare hand spanking from my first novel, Drawing Closer:

( Drawing Closer )

I have my parents visiting right now, which made me think; often stories, understandably, concentrate on the main two characters (or three, or four...), but no man is an island and all that. How important do you feel that it is to build up a background of family and friends for the heroes, or do you feel that they can clutter a story up too much and dilute the concentration on the main couple, the ones we want to see at that happy ever after ending?

It's often tempting to kill them off and clear the decks that way or make them the villains. When you're writing m/m, it's unrealistic to have everyone be tolerant and supportive of a gay relationship; it would be nice if they were, but life's not always like that. If you want to stir up some tension, who better than the nearest and dearest who've know you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper?

Which brings me to children; how useful/off-putting are they in a story? They can be cute to the point of being scene-stealers or sugary-sweet, or they can simply get in the way of the action.

I guess it depends on the type of story; you don't want a toothsome toddler wandering around a vampire novel. Unless you don't like kids ;-)

Now that the book's been won, I thought I'd post recipes for the three curries that were the correct answer: Chicken Korma, Shrimp Vindaloo, Chicken Dhansak.

I'm a Chicken Korma girl myself; I love curries (I'm originally from the English Midlands and we have a LOT of curry houses there!) but I like them mild. My husband, on the other hand, can't get his hot enough, which makes cooking them an exercise in compromise, heh.

( Recipes )

This is for lucsmom who came so close to winning the free book.

The prompt was 'pine trees'; hope you like it!

Roughing It

The pine sap is translucent amber in the sunlight.

It's also sticky as hell. Luke tries to wipe it off his hands onto the rough bark and succeeds in getting dusty wood flakes stuck in the sap. He groans, aggravated, as Paul emerges from the forest, his arms full of deadwood for their camp fire.

Paul's arms are full; Luke's hands are coated in nature's Superglue…

The kiss they share as Paul passes is a bare brush of mouth on mouth, but when it ends, Luke's tingling, warm. He might need soap and water, but he doesn't need the fire.

The empire strikes back

In recent weeks, we've taken huge steps towards blocking spam accounts on LiveJournal. In fact, we've suspended as many as 30,000 accounts in a single day! We've implemented several pre-emptive measures to prevent the creation of spam accounts, and we've honed our detection of suspicious content. Spam bots are a crafty lot, so we'll continue to refine our tactics and keep up the good fight to keep you safe from spam attacks on LiveJournal.

RSS feeds again

If you're addicted to xkcd_rss, icanhaschzbrgr, or other syndicated feeds, we're pleased to report that we've resolved the update error that was mucking up your RSS feeds. While content was being pulled correctly, it wasn't being posted to the feeds themselves. Late last week, we finally nailed down what we hope was the root problem, so content should post properly. We thank you for your patience.

Wii have killer CSI Deadly Intent contests!

c_s_i

If you're a gamer who loves CSI, have Wii got news for you! c_s_i is sponsoring killer contests. Simply post a question to a member of the CSI crew. The winner will get a free copy of CSI: Deadly Intent for Nintendo Wii (with a retail value of $39.99) and get their question answered by a member of the CSI writing team! There's also a fantastic monthly contest. To enter, join c_s_i, play the online version of CSI: Deadly Intent, and respond to a two-part query for a chance to win a Wii! Entries will be judged on composition and originality. Sorry, but you must be a U.S. resident and over 18 years old to participate. Check out the rules here.

Enveloped in postcards

Last week, we asked you to send in postcards to help us decorate our drab concrete walls. Here's a photo of the results so far! Thank you so much and please keep them coming! You can mail them to Frank the Goat, Esq., c/o LiveJournal, Inc., 539 Bryant Street, Suite 210, San Francisco, CA 94107. Be sure to include your username, since we'll be giving ten random users paid account credits.

Photos of the week

If you haven't visited our new LiveJournal photo community, you're in for an amazing visual trip. LiveJournal users from around the world will take you on a scenic journey to everywhere. Post your own pictures or kick back and enjoy at lj_photophile. You can view some of this week's awesome photos after the jump. Please start tagging with geographic location, since we'd like to track all the places around the world represented in this community. Keep on commenting too!
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I have a free paperback copy of Kegs and Dorms to give away.

ETA It's been won!

This anthology, published by Torquere and edited by Jennifer B. contains stories by me, Tory Temple, Kiernan Kelly and Stephanie Vaughan and, as you'd guess from the title, it's based around college life and all the chances it gives to meet up with someone special.

What do you have to do to win it?

Simple.

Be the first person to tell me what three curries Dan and Tyler buy from the Indian restaurant in Wild Raspberries. Here's a reminder of where it is in the story:

****

The long, mellow light of early evening was spilling over the cabin when they returned. Tyler made one more stop and picked up take-out Indian food from a restaurant on the outskirts of town, empty of everyone but a waiter desultorily straightening starched white tablecloths.

“I give it six months before this place folds,” Tyler had told Dan in the truck. “The people here are more the burgers and pizza type.”

So was Dan, given a choice. “But you aren’t?”

“Nope.” Tyler looked almost human talking about something mundane like food. “I like it spicy and I got a taste for curries when I was in --”

“India?” Dan guessed.

“England.” Tyler sniffed the air ecstatically. “I don’t eat out often, or buy take-out, but it’s been a hell of a day. Want me to order something for you?”

Tyler’s mood swings were going to take some getting used to --or maybe the meds were kicking in and making him a better, kinder person? Dan shrugged. Food was food and he was starving. “Sure --just nothing too hot.”

“No, I won’t do that. You wouldn’t like it and you need some food in your stomach.”

So stop by a burger place.

Dan had to admit the place smelled interesting when he walked in, though. And in a surprisingly short amount of time, they were walking back out, his arms laden with brown paper bags, heavy and fragrant, something oily already leaking through one of them.

****

First comment wins!