So far, the start of 2016 had been wonderful for me, despite
the cold I’ve been fighting for the past few days and the fact that my truck
decided that it was going to die before the end of the month when I can afford
to fix it. I suppose knowing that it was in need of repairs helped it not be
some major blow when it wouldn’t move, or maybe it’s just that the older I get
the easier it is for me to just shrug, say ‘shit happens’ and move on. I need
the exercise anyway and there’s no place I can’t walk to in my town that I can’t
reach in less than a half hour.
My job at the local newspaper has been going well; it’s been
thirteen years since I did any sort of real journalism work and it feels really
good to be interviewing people again and pulling together stories. Having to
meet specific story lengths is already helping me develop better editing
skills, something I have always struggled with, and it’s also teaching me to be
more careful with my word coaches, targeting specific words to cut out due to overuses
or simply being unnecessary.
I signed up to take part in my first big writing conference.
I will be attending the Readers and Writers Unite Conference in Huston Aug 5-7th
and am so excited to be taking part in this new event. If anything it will help
me get over my shyness around people, I hope.
The other pieces of big news I have so far are that Guitars
2 was completed and submitted to Wayward Ink, it has been accepted for
publication (Big Happy Dance!) I also submitted by M/M/M biker romance Burning
Luck to beta readers and will begin the editing process as soon as this cold
decides to pass. Response thus far has been positive with the usual need for
polishing and clarification that all drafts ultimately have. I love the fact
that my betas as so willing to point out the flaws, they know just how much I
value their brutal honesty, especially at this stage in a books development. Hearing
what I need to improve on does not hurt my feelings, but having someone decline
to tell me in the hopes of sparing my feelings would. Writing is my craft, and I
work very hard to improve each and every story.
Speaking of stories, today I wish to share an excerpt from
Desolation Angel, which is currently awaiting its second round of edits. I do
not have a release date yet, but as soon as I do I’ll happily announce it here and on Facebook.
It will be my third release with Wayward Ink who has been wonderful to me and
my work.
Dare without the guitar in his hands was
a complex contradiction of motion and stillness, laughter and long heavy
silences and it thrilled him that Dare seemed to enjoy having those silences
filled with the sound of Sionn’s voice whispering fables and lore. Only problem
was, Dare never stayed put once the ‘dreams’ were over, never remained in Sionn’s
embrace to hear more than what it took to bring him back to the ‘real world’. Each
time, he’d lean close, pressing in tight, his back to Sionn’s front, tilt his
head towards one of the hands Sionn had fisted in his hair, and arch into
Sionn’s touch for just a moment, then jerk away as if the touch burned, leaving
the room as quickly as he could get away, retreating to read in his room, or
play those damned games with Mark.
Sionn has lost count of how many times
he’d thought about chucking that damned Playstation out the window, or at the
very least ‘accidently’ spilling about a gallon of water all over it. He never
did, because really, what would be the point? Dare would just turn his free
time back to the comics or one of many movies from the piles of DVDs on the
rack. With a groan, Sionn smacked his head against the back of the chair a
couple times, wondering if maybe Tommy was right and he really needed to just
stop torturing himself with thoughts of him and Dare as more than friends.
Yeah
right, like stopping was gonna work. As soon as Dare stepped into the music room,
Sionn found himself unable to look away. Dare’s jeans were riding low, with
rips down one of the thighs and across both knees. His black t-shirt fit loose
on his too skinny form, the result of too much dreaming and too many mistakenly
missed meals. All that long hair was pulled back today, in a ponytail that
reached well past the middle of his back, and his green eyes were sparkling
with laughter, until they caught sight of Sionn and turned away. Dare grabbed
his guitar and settled into a corner with the drum kit and a video chair
between him and Sionn, blocking Sionn’s view of him as he made sure the guitar
was in tune.
Mark glared at Sionn but said nothing,
but then he hadn’t said much to Sionn since the blow up in the kitchen earlier
in the week. Sionn tried to hold his
gaze, tried to match the glare he was being given, but in the end, he was the
one who turned away. Sionn heard Mark
snort as he pulled out his sticks and for a moment, Sionn wanted nothing more
than to get in his face and pick a fight, just so he could unload some of what
he was feeling in a way he wouldn’t have to put into words. He was still thinking
about starting something when Tommy stepped through the door, eating Oreos from
the package and trying to keep Paul from taking them away. “Man you shoulda
ate, the spaghetti was good.”
“I was nae hungry”
Paul huffed and tried to snatch a
cookie. “Was your loss man, the way this one’s been goin’ on about this session,
we’re gonna be practicing for a while.”
“It’s fine.”
Paul just shrugged and moved past him, popping
half an Oreo in his mouth as he headed for the drums. “Suit yourself.”
A tension seemed to fall over the room
as they all picked up their instruments, plugging things in and setting levels,
warming up a little before they got to work on the first song. All that tension
seemed to drain away though, when Dare launched into the first of the three new
songs, deliberately choosing the hardest, heaviest one to kick off with,
assailing them with hard, driving rifts and dragging them into a battleground
of cords. Sionn felt his anger and annoyance melting as he worked his way
through the music, letting the energy of it sweep the bitterness away.
Until he looked over and saw that Dare
had moved, that he was standing in front of Mark, who was pounding away on
those drums while Dare wrung cries from his guitar. The rest of the band had
noticed to, and slowly stopped playing, listening to the pair alternately duel
and come together, drifting back and forth between war and harmony.
“Bloody hell,” Sionn growled softly, awe
and jealousy once again warring inside him, wavering between a longing to watch
Dare all night and the urge to yank him away, drag him from the room, and beg
him to wage that war of music with him and him alone. In the end he simply did
what the rest of them did, he stood back and listened to the way the song was
supposed to flow, and when he felt he had it, he joined in and followed along.
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