it's alive (maybe. sorta)

The myriad drugs for my health (or lack thereof, she said ironically), depression and the MS itself are giving me a true run for the money, and causing frustration for me in terms of writing.

No, let me be straight. It's mild cognitive decline. I'm more easily upset, less inspired, less interested in doing and more convinced that I can't. I forget things. My head hurts. But as you can see, I haven't been robbed of words. I still move quite well, but inside my head, things are changing. I'm not me, and I hate it.

Okay, I'm still me, but I feel the changes. And they threaten me.

Probably going to start posting the first book chapters of Rising Wolf at my website. Hope that will somehow help me to finish. It's become a THING, to finish. It's a symbol. I failed deadlines, failed to deliver, failed readers, but if I can finish then ultimately I might continue on trying to do more of the same. Actually produce something. Let Mal and Zach out to play instead of just living inside my head.

I've written things, but fan fiction. Shorter Id fic.  It's helped remind me I'm still capable, but right now I'm in a bad place. And a novel at this juncture was a mistake. It's a different animal, and I'm floundering a bit. The radio silence from my end hasn't helped, either, so I have decided to break it.

I'll post here more often, I hope. Just to speak, say SOMETHING.

Well, this was a happy post. The next one will be better. I hope everyone is doing well.
 

saw this from Gina Storm Grant: 7/7/7

It's like this: seven pages into your WIP, go seven lines down and post the next seven lines of your WIP. Which I did.


Zach shifted in his sleep, restless, back pressed to Mal's chest. Mal leaned his head closer and heard him mutter something, not words but a sound. Something fearful.

"We're out, Zach. You're home, you're safe." Mal put a careful hand to Zach's chest, knowing he'd awakened by the tension beneath his fingers.


Zach reached up and gripped his hand, saying nothing.

____


I finally managed to finish Book I in longhand, which is something I thought I'd never do again, but I can take pen and paper everywhere I go. 

I have no appointments scheduled this week and the kids are in school, so I'll start Book II.

just write

Just write. It doesn't matter if it's shit, or if your brain's not clear. Just put down words. You can fix them later.

It's not a performance. It's not an epic tale. You don't need hours, don't need your desk situated just right, or a trumpeter to mark your performance. It's just words. If you have a few minutes, put them on paper.

it's been a long time

I've been hiding out, so to speak, determined to say nothing, make no promises about writing.  I can't even pretend to engage or do all the things authors are supposed to do. Testing regarding health issues continues, currently for MS. I've had an irregular MRI, blood work irregularities and been crushingly tired. Floundered for months with Rising Wolf. 

But the amazing thing is how today, through all the brain fog and the body pain and discouragement, their voices came through so perfectly clear as I was writing. I didn't expect it.

It's so nice to listen to characters speak and put words down.

extended version of RISING WOLF excerpt - includes a scene of Mal and Zach together again

https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/338779-rising-wolf-sequel-to-beneath-the-neon-moon

Mal walked out of his apartment Saturday evening, his stomach a jumble of excitement and nerves. He'd gone to the store earlier that day and picked up more food and some household supplies. There had been no smell, no sound, no one from the wolf pack near by. If his luck held tonight, finally, finally he'd get to see Zach again. He couldn't remember feeling anything close to this before, his body taut with anticipation, pulse hammering in his throat and beating at his temples, adrenaline surging. All of it because of how much he wanted to see Zach, touch him, feel Zach's breath against his own skin. Make sure he was okay, and that he still wanted them enough to risk the danger involved.

Mal reined himself in, keeping his control with tight effort. He stepped outside. The Meadows' porch spanned the width of the building. A wooden swing hung from the ceiling on one side, two rusted chairs on the other end, a table with a shallow clay pot of mother-in-law's tongue reaching toward the porch ceiling. A crumpled cigarette butt was half buried in the dirt at the base of the plant.

The sun was almost gone, twilight settling in. The wind blew, short little gusts, hard enough that the porch swing creaked on its chains. An inebriated girl walked unsteadily on the sidewalk in front of the apartments, short shorts in neon pink contrasting with her tan. Mal saw no one else.

It didn't matter. He smelled another wolf nearby, and not just any wolf. Kane, one of his captors from the weekend, had been on the porch recently. The scent was faint but clear.

Mal bit his lip, excitement strangled, stomach plunging sickly to somewhere around the vicinity of his shoes. He couldn't go to Zach. He'd been stupid to think he could without endangering him. His hands doubled into fists, a hot ball of rage growing in his gut.

His eyes swept the area left and right to the apartments. Mal headed around the building for the parking lot. Kane's scent grew stronger, and he turned in a circle, the wind whipping his hair away from his face. Kane was definitely somewhere in the parking lot.

The streetlights blinked on, the glass in the asphalt glittering. The edges of the lot remained mostly in darkness thanks to wild hedges growing tall and hanging over the pavement. The asphalt held heat from the day. It seeped up through the bottom of Mal's shoes.

Each step he took mocked him. Had he thought it would be easy, that he could just go to Zach without the wolf pack interfering? He had known his time was running out. He hadn't wanted to see it, couldn't accept not seeing Zach again.

Kane stepped out from the shadows at the end of the lot where Mal was staring. He walked fluidly toward Mal, an easy stride. His hair looked black in the lowering light. He was shorter and thinner than Aaron, but despite that fact, no less imposing.

Mal moved to stand by his car, raising a palm to the rooftop and resting it there. He smirked. "Where's Aaron?"

Kane nodded an acknowledgment, eyes narrowing. "He's healing. And he will heal. Where'd you get the bright idea to hit him with silver?"

Mal ignored the question. "What do you want?"

"It's not just me or Aaron you're fighting against. It's all of us. Your pack, like it or not. You can't wipe all of us out."

Mal's fingers drummed on the roof of the Audi. "You guys have a lot of trouble with the words no and fuck off, don't you? If I wanted to be part of a pack, the last thing I'd do is join in with the bastards who forced me into this in the first place."

Kane stopped on the other side of the Audi, propping his elbows on the hood.

"And get the fuck off my car."

Kane grinned and dropped his arms to his sides. He sighed. "Alphas. Even amongst their company, you've given new meaning to the word difficult." He waited a moment. "And Aaron says fuck you, by the way."

"Too bad he's not here to tell me himself. You already have a pack alpha, don't you? Seems like they wouldn't want competition around."

"We have two. Argent and Kyra. You'll probably compete with them eventually, but that's the way it works." Kane shrugged. "Leadership is earned, not given. Our pack is as strong as each of us makes it. You, brother, are strong. We want you in." He gave Mal a pointed look. "You'd know this already if you'd stop fighting us."

Mal shook his head, short and tight. He could feel his upper lip trying to curl. "Not in my nature."

Kane nodded, his eyes dropping to Mal's mouth. He held up his hands. "You've made that clear. But I'm here to deliver a message."

"From who?"

"Kyra. The female alpha protects the whelps—for a short while, anyway. If you make it difficult and Argent has to bring you in after her protection lapses … " Kane smiled, giving a quick nod of his head. "I wouldn't mind seeing that, after what you did to Aaron."

"I don't give a damn about her message."

"Listen to it anyway. Kyra invites you to a pack meeting. Sunset, the night of the new moon. At the cabin where we turned you." Kane walked backwards, slow step after step. He grinned at Mal. "And remember that if you don't show, Argent will come after you, whelp."

Mal took quick steps after him, grabbing by the collar and pulling his face close. "Call me by my name. Nothing else, you got that?"

Kane looked into his eyes, then dropped his gaze.

Mal flung him away. He turned his back to Kane and walked to the car. He smelled Kane, the scent lingering closely, sweat and menace and anger. Fear. And there was the scent of other wolves nearby, too. Three others from the shadows beyond the parking lot.

Mal unlocked his car door. He started the Audi, pulling out onto the drive that led to the front of the apartment building. He turned right onto the road. At the stop sign he looked back. Two cars pulled out of the lot behind his apartment, following.

It was after midnight before he lost them. He parked in a Kroger parking lot, walked in the store. At the end of the aisle, he looked back and saw Kane and three others, walking shoulder to shoulder, approaching the automated doors. He found a swinging door at the back of the store and went inside the stock room, finding a back door, locked from the outside but not inside. He took it and ran across a road behind the store, keeping to shadows, under trees, stopping and listening, then cutting through yards, running and finally slowing to a fast walk. He didn't let himself think about what could have happened if he'd went to Zach without realizing the wolves were after him. Self-recrimination was for after they were gone.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. He walked until he was sure he couldn't smell them, couldn't hear or see them, and then he kept walking.

Oh God, I almost brought them to Zach. He said it over and over, shock waves expanding inside his head, imagining what might happen to Zach if Mal was ever so goddamn fucking stupid as to actually lead them to Zach's home. He had to remember this moment and make sure he never, ever again let his own need to see Zach overcome caution and good sense.

He began to panic after the fact, another stupid thing, but undeniable. The night air was comfortable but he was sweating buckets, panting in great breaths of air. He couldn't stop moving. He started across a small neighborhood park sandwiched between two narrow roads. Either side of the park was lined by trees at the street.

His cell rang again. It'd been ringing off and on for the last couple of hours. Mal started violently, looking up and down the park. No one. He smelled nothing but grass and a cat who'd marked the trunk of one of the trees recently, and further beyond it the faint sharpness of chemicals from a pool in someone's yard. He heard frogs croaking. He dropped the phone and cursed, picked it up and put it to his ear. His hand trembled.

"Mal? Are you there?" Zach said, the words quick and hard.

Mal heard him breathing, waiting for him. He sank down on the end of a sliding board some two feet off the ground. It was one of those enormous, colorful plastic and metal contraptions.

"Mal? Say something. Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I can't. Can't come see you," Mal said, struggling to say the words. "I'm sorry."

"Just—shit, Mal, are you hurt?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Stop asking stupid questions," Mal said, each word strangled, jerked out of him.

Zach laughed. It was all wrong, terrified. "Where are you?"

"Walking." He guessed the attempt at casual hadn't cut it.

"Walking where?"

"I don't know."

"Find a road sign."

"You can't come get me."

"Jesus, you're scaring the shit out of me. Tell me you're safe."

Mal swallowed. He couldn't get control of his fear. "Yes."

"If you're safe, why can't I come get you?"

"Because they followed me and I fucking almost led them to you. We can't do this. They'll find you."

Zach huffed through the phone. "Are they gone?"

"Aren't you listening? They'll find you, and it'll be my fault. No."

"Are they gone?"

"Yes."

"Then there's no way they can find me. Find a goddamn road sign or I'll go to your apartment and wait for you."

"No!" Mal sprang up. The muscles in his legs quivered. "Promise me you won't!"

"I'm sorry, okay, I won't," Zach said, sounding pretty worked up, "but find a road sign, Mal. I'm going crazy."

Mal knew he should leave and find his way home, but he was afraid Zach would show up at his place if pushed too far. He stood and walked out of the park, phone in hand. He stopped on the sidewalk looping around it. Bugs crawled underfoot, and a black shadow flew over one of the streetlamps. He saw a street sign at the end of the block but he couldn't make it out yet, so he started walking.

"Mal. Mal? Talk to me."

"It's Calhoun. I'm on Calhoun at the intersection of Rogers."

"I'm coming after you. Wait for me."

"Please don't. I said I'm okay, Zach."

"I know what you said. Promise me you'll wait."

"I'm in the park," he said, and hung up, walked back to the park to wait. He paced to and fro. He felt better, concealed somewhat inside the circle of trees.

After a while he heard Zach's truck approach. His legs felt rubbery all of a sudden, so he moved to the bottom of the slide again and sat on it, waiting. The truck's engine cut off in front of the park. He heard the truck door open and close, heard Zach approaching, his breathing and his heart rate both too fast. He sat still, waiting, the air flooded with the smell of Zach, heat and aftershave, soap and sweat, pheromones, and he wanted. Hands on Zach's skin, touching shoulders and under his arms, everywhere, mouth on him, licking and biting, kissing and fucking, close enough to breathe in and smell Zach as if he were part of him. But each step Zach took that brought him closer clarified things for Mal. Zach's pupils were black and dilated, his heart racing, and his face was pale like when Zach had come after Mal at the store. All the fear he read in Zach was overwhelming. It made him ashamed and paralyzed.

He was fucking everything up. He couldn't afford this. Zach couldn't.

Zach stopped, standing over Mal, a black shadow.

Mal looked up. "I can't do this." The words came out ragged. He licked his lips.

Zach swallowed, a dry click in his throat. "Why?"

"You know why."

"I know you're worried about me, but you're the one in danger. You can't expect me to ignore that."

"I can. I'll beg if it'll make a difference. You're the one good thing to get out of that fucking basement. You don't know what it'll do to me if you get hurt."

Light came from the streetlights behind the trees, pouring over Zach's head. He leaned over Mal, eyes glittering, chest heaving. "You're better than I could ever hope to be, dammit." He grabbed Mal's jaw in his hand, forcing his head up higher. "Don't talk like you don't matter when you know how much you matter to me. Don't ask me to go, Mal. We'll figure out how to fight them, I promise." He bent, covering Mal's mouth with his.

He was too gentle to fight. A small, surprised breath left Mal's lips, puffing into Zach's mouth. He felt Zach breath it in, tasting it, tasting him, and then Zach's tongue was pushing into Mal's mouth, sliding over his teeth and rubbing against Mal's tongue, coaxing. Zach's hand slid from his jaw to cradle the back of Mal's head. He moved in deeper, all heat and slow, pained desperation, kissing Mal gently and thoroughly.

Mal grunted, a short, bitten off sound. He felt naked, exposed in a way he couldn't remember feeling before, wanting someone so much, more of Zach's hands on him, his mouth, all of it feeling like coming home, something they were together that he'd never felt before.

Zach tipped Mal's chin back further, a defenseless posture Mal would never allow since being bitten and turned. But it was Zach. It felt so incredibly good, letting go. 

Rising Wolf: getting there

20120 / 50000 (40.24%)

Barnes and Noble switch from PubIt! to NOOK Press

I received an email yesterday from B&N about their switch to NOOK Press. (PubIt! is scheduled to be phased out in favor of NP). The email says "Same Great Terms: Our favorable PubIt! business terms and commitment to a transparent retail partnership remain unchanged." But when I went to signup, I read through the terms and backed out, thinking to go through it again thoroughly later since I was skimming the information. I've been through it again and here are some comparisons.

1.
NP can "remove or modify the cover artwork, metadata and product description that you submit to us, or reformat your eBook to make it compatible with NOOK Press."

PubIt! terms: "We may, in our discretion, reformat your eBooks to make them compatible with the Service, and you acknowledge that certain unintentional formatting errors may occur in the process of reformatting of your eBooks."

2.
NP pricing and payment terms are nebulous as set out, aside from this biggie: "We have sole and complete discretion to set the Retail Price at which your eBooks are sold to the customer." But note that NOOK Pricing and Payment Terms offer the same figures given (as of this date) under PubIt! Service Policies.

PubIt! is the same: "We have sole and complete discretion to set the Retail Price at which your eBooks are sold to the customer." Service Policies under PubIt! gives the same figures listed under NOOK Press Pricing and Payment Terms, linked above.

3.
NP: "We will use commercially reasonable efforts to effect any change in List Price you provide to us within twenty (20) days following the date on which you submit it." Reasonable efforts? Is 20 days really necessary?

PubIt! terms in comparison: ""Any change in List Price you provide to us will be effective within five (5) business days following the date on which you submit it." Much more reasonable.

4.
Ebook withdrawal terms has changed by giving NP five more days.

Anyone with more findings, give a shout-out:)

EDIT: Mindy Klasky notes a major flaw when uploading stories at NP in comments

writing plans; an excerpt from THE VAMPIRE'S BOY

Plans: I like Riptide Publishing's collection call for Love for Sale, so I think I'll go for it, and I'm thinking about how a Frankenstein/Monster tale would work, and most definitely, the sequel to Beneath the Neon Moon. Love those two guys, and there's plenty more to say about them.

Annnd I thought I'd put up the first chapter to The Vampire's Boy here at the blog:)

------

THE FIRST TIME the vampire came for him, he was seventeen and afraid of nothing.

It was a Thursday night, and he’d been at Jordan’s house smoking weed. He’d told his mom they were studying, and honestly, that’s what he’d intended. It’s just that Jordan always had weed.

When he got to the point he felt like he was built of particles all floating separate and still but interconnected, he left. Jordan protested, saying it was just getting good (what it was, Jared didn’t know), but he knew if he stayed they’d end up cutting class tomorrow. And the last time he’d played hooky, the school had called his house and left a message, dry and mechanical: “For the parents or guardians of Jared Mikels, Jared was absent from school today. You have three days to submit—”

Aaannd the shit had hit the fan.

It was the end of April, with only a few more weeks of school left. He was determined to stay out of trouble before summer break. He hoped. First there was the little matter of getting into the house without his parents knowing he was stoned.

Jordan lived down the block from him, so it only took a couple of minutes for Jared to walk home. The moon was nearly full, white light bouncing off the sidewalk. A mild wind rustled through leaves just beginning to sprout on the trees.

It was a nice looking neighborhood, mostly upper scale Cape Cods, an occasional older bungalow thrown in. His house was a brick two-story, the pine in the front yard throwing a long shadow over the porch. He climbed the steps and opened the front door quietly, trying to act like he wasn’t trying to be quiet. He kept his head up, eyes wide, faking sobriety as best as he could in case his parents saw him.

It was after eleven and the house was dark, only the light from the TV screen in the living room flickering over the furniture. His dad sat on the couch, slumped comfortably against the overstuffed end cushion. The silver in his hair shone blue in the light, and his glasses sat crookedly over his nose.

Jared watched him a minute. His dad didn’t move. He was asleep.

“Yes,” he whispered, pumping his fist, and started up the stairs outside the living room. He was almost home free, but the last stair didn’t cooperate—it tripped him. He thumped to his knees in the hall, surprised. “Oops,” he said, snickering. But quietly. If his mom heard down the hall from her bedroom, she didn’t say anything. Most likely she was asleep, too.

In the bathroom he brushed his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. His lids were definitely at half-mast over his pale blue eyes, sleepy and well, stoned-looking. He opened them wide as he could, straining to see the whites all around, but it wasn’t happening, and he looked stupid enough doing it that he grinned through the toothpaste at his image.

It’d been drizzling as he walked home, and his dark hair was wet. It was long enough that his dad bitched every time they were in the same room long enough to actually talk.

He leaned over, spat in the sink and rinsed. Hell with that. It wasn’t really all that long. His dad was a tightass. He’d really freak if he knew about the tattoo Jared had gotten. He pulled his sleeve up to look at it.

Peace, baby. He grinned in the mirror again.

Dad didn’t like the long hair or the low-slung jeans (in fact Jared got yelled at just this week for showing his ass off, literally, when he’d looked under the couch for Malvoline the cat’s favorite stuffed mouse toy). Or the earring, the music, his friends in general, and last but not least, the black, white and red T-shirt he wore with a hooker and a zombie making out.

He stared in the glass, absently rubbing the tat with long fingers, the grin disappearing off his face. He was pretty sure Dad didn’t like much of anything about him.

He sighed and shuffled off to his bedroom. The room was made of shadows, posters hanging on the walls like featureless black rectangles. He expertly avoided the usual heaps of clothes wadded up on the floor and flopped into bed still clothed. He fell asleep almost instantly. He never heard the window slide open.

Moments later he woke to a vampire in his bed, though all he knew at first was the press of a body against his and a hand lying flat against his heart.

Jared blinked up into the dark and tried to sit up, but the hand was unyielding. He turned his head to see who held him. It was a boy with dark hair and eyes like gray smoke, pupils red with hunger and mouth pale with need.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire whispered. “I’m so hungry.” He gripped Jared’s head between both hands and thrust his face into Jared’s neck, fangs sliding like twin blades of ice into his throat. Jared cried out. The vampire clamped a hand over his mouth. His head shook back and forth, burrowing into flesh, a beast feeding off a carcass. Jared’s body writhed against the bed, and only the hand against his chest kept him from falling to the floor.

The world around him narrowed and floated away in foggy wisps. The vampire whispered into his neck, voice vibrating low into Jared’s skin. I didn’t mean to come after you. I didn’t want to hurt you. Tears like diamonds, cold and hard, fell from the vampire’s eyes, rolling down Jared’s face and neck to melt into the bed clothes.

The hand holding him down stopped pushing against his chest and stroked instead, fingers cold. Jared’s nipples rose hard against the touch. The vampire whispered that Jared tasted like the best cherry wine, licking his neck over and over with long swipes of his cool tongue. It took away some of the hurt.

Jared felt sick and aroused, amazed that he was able to throw wood with the world like pale shadows in his vision. The vampire licked and kissed, achingly slow and soothing, murmuring in his ear how beautiful he was, how Jared’s blood was a part of him, voice and touch buzzing under his skin, until Jared thrust his hips upward helplessly and came in his pants.

Afterward he was very tired. He slept, and he didn’t awaken when his mother came to get him up for school the next morning. He didn’t know about his mother’s screams, and he didn’t realize when his father gave him CPR. He very nearly died, though he only found out after he opened his eyes the next day to see both his parents staring at him anxiously. He was in a hospital.

His father looked like he’d aged twenty years, red snaps threading his eyes, hand quivering on Jared’s arm, and Jared thought maybe he’d been wrong, that his dad loved him after all. He tried to smile, but he was still so tired.

His dad covered his eyes, shoulders shaking. He squeezed Jared’s arm. His mother held Jared’s hand in both of hers and cried. Embarrassed but touched, Jared opened his mouth to tell them he was okay. He fell asleep again before he’d gotten a word out.

Two months later when Jared was back home, freshly graduated from high school and spending his summer getting in more trouble than ever, back to the same sure conviction in his gut that his dad couldn’t stand the sight of him, the vampire came back.

Link to: M/M Readers Reaching Saturation Point? (Reviews by Jessewave)

http://www.reviewsbyjessewave.com/2011/09/25/are-some-mm-readers-reaching-saturation-point/comment-page-1/#comment-129045

The Band Plays On

Signed with Forbidden Fiction today for my truly short story, "The Band Plays On." The story's not romance - it is, however, a non-PC bromance with sex, banter, and drama. It's disturbing, really.

new review for BENEATH THE NEON MOON from Elisa

Very pleased with this one, and thanks to Elisa -

It’s not the first time Theda Black surprised me with her complex characters.

edits editedit

I'm not writing, I'm editing. And editing some more.

I never realized I had so many things sitting around unfinished or as a rough draft. Which is good in a way, because I come back to it cold and can then see the flaws. Which can be enormous. But coming back to it cold isn't always great, like I've leeched my enthusiasm from the project. That happened with Neon Moon and Vampire's Boy, but I built enthusiasm back for both projects as I worked on them.

Talking to C - she said she found nearly 30 projects going on in tv and film for Frankenstein. So the revival is the next Big Thing? Maybe I should write that Frankenstein/Monster story sooner rather than later.

new writing ideas

1.
Frankenstein/Monster

2.
Western, ghost in the desert (it's nothing new, talking to a guy you don't realize is dead, but I like it - and maybe there'd be more than talk).

3.
Banquet/Ballad of Chestnuts - Borgia orgy
not quite sure what I'd do with it

Disclaimer: my ideas can languish for years.  I pick up quite a few of them, eventually. And I have a pal who likes to help me come up with them (hi, #2;)