Friday, August 18, 2017


You will be amazed to hear I've had to do a bit of reshuffling my schedule once again. It's just that kind of year. We've got family visiting, I've got the usual big summer music gig at the end of the month, and a looming deadline for Carina Press. So I've jumped from Blind Side to Murder Takes the High Road in order to hit that deadline.

Blind Side is still going to happen, never fear. It's just being postponed a few more weeks. In the meantime, I'm enjoying reliving memories of my trip to Scotland a couple of years back. I'm using our tour itinerary, though changing names of hotels and so forth so as to not get sued by people with no sense of humor about murder occurring under their roof.

The unofficial blurb:
Vacationing librarian Carter Matheson must solve the murder of fellow tourists when someone begins picking off members of a mystery-themed bus tour traveling through the scenic highlands and islands of Scotland.

It's pretty much a classic cozy mystery with a generous dollop of romance and sex.

Here's an unedited excerpt:

 A gust of windy rain hit the small window in the corner. It sounded—and felt—like someone had thrown ice tacks at the glass. I opened my suitcase and dug around for the least wrinkled shirt I could find, and ended up selecting a black soft-wash long sleeve crew T-shirt. I remembered enough from my country dance days to know a ceilidh was not a formal event.

The door rattled noisily in its frame as someone banged on it.

“At this point the handyman's just going to be in the way,” I grumbled.

John leaned out of the bathroom and opened the door.

Trevor stood on the landing wearing a ferocious scowl and the blue cashmere sweater I’d bought him for his thirty-ninth birthday.

 “It’s for you,” John told me.

I gave him the look that speaks volumes, as we say in the librarian biz.

Trevor, too, was giving him a look. “Do you mind?” he said.

“Yep. I do,” John replied. “I’ve got thirteen minutes left to get ready for dinner and you’re about to take up way too many of them.” He withdrew into the bathroom once more, though the door remained open.
“Fine. Whatever.” Trevor swung back to me and realigned his glare. “How dare you go around telling everybody that Vance tried to shove you in front of a car?”

There wasn’t time to stop and argue. I hastily kicked out of the blue jeans I’d been wearing all day and pulled on a clean pair of black jeans. “I never said that.”

“Bullshit, Carter. Everyone on the bus was whispering about it.”

“I can’t help what people saw.” Okay, yes, I probably could have phrased that more tactfully. Trevor’s face got redder. I said quickly, “What they think they saw.”

“You sure didn’t try to correct them.”

I pawed through my suitcase for a clean pair of socks. It wasn’t that I didn’t have plenty of clean clothes, but from the state of my suitcase, you’d think Hamish had thrown our suitcases down a cliffside before stowing them in the bus’s luggage compartment. I threw a harassed look over my shoulder. “How do you know what I did or didn’t do?”

“I know you, Carter. I know how you operate. You’re doing everything you can to ruin this trip for me.”

That got my attention. I stopped digging through my suitcase, and straightened up so fast I’m surprised I didn’t throw my back out. “Explain how I’m ruining this trip for you?”

“Every time I turn around, there you are again with that accusing stare.”

Really?” John said from the bathroom. I think both Trevor and I had forgotten he was still in there.  I certainly hadn’t thought he could hear us over the sound of running water. We both stared at him, framed in the bathroom doorway, slowly, deliberately drawing the razor across his square jaw. He scraped away another snowy drift of shaving cream and said to Trevor, “Because you’re the one who keeps showing up at our door.”

 “Our?” Trevor looked even more taken aback. “How does this involve you?”

“It’s my room. Half my room.”

I think it genuinely threw Trevor. In any event it was a second or two before he turned back to me. “Do you really want to do this here?” he asked in a tone I knew only too well.

“I don’t want to do it at all. Look, I’m not accusing Vance of anything. I don’t think he deliberately pushed me into the road. If you’d shut up about it, people would lose interest in the subject.”

“He’s right,” John said.

“Nobody asked you,” Trevor snapped.

“If you’re going to have this conversation in my room, then I have a right to express my opinion.”

It probably wasn’t funny, but somehow at that moment, it seemed funny.

Trevor opened his mouth but I cut him off.  “Okay, time out. In fact, game over. Trevor, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not leaving the tour. And if that’s going to ruin it for you, sorry. I have every much right to be here as you do.”

“This is just more of your passive-aggressive—”

“Uh, no,” John said, rinsing off his razor. “That’s aggressive-aggressive.”

Will you keep out of it?” Trevor shouted. “This isn’t any of your business.”

The lights flickered and went out. 

Friday, August 11, 2017

Farewell, my Lovelies

Angel's Flight
A couple of weeks ago, the SO and I went on a tour of Old Los Angeles. Well, Raymond Chandler's Los Angeles, not OLD (as in Spanish) LA. Anyway, I haven't been downtown--really downtown--in decades, although I do write about the area in stories like Snowball in Hell.

We rode the train down to Union Station and then walked from Union Station to a little oasis in the heart of Hell, known as Daily Dose Cafe where we had breakfast and waited for the tour group to arrive.

The tour was organized by a company known as Esotouric, and they describe themselves as Bus Adventures into the Secret Heart of Los Angeles. They're a bit informal, a little...on the zany side (I don't see that as a bad thing), and they definitely know their stuff. I'd like to have switched out the stop at Larry Edmunds Bookshop (the loose inspiration for Geiger's Bookstore in The Big Sleep) near Musso & Frank's for the Bradbury Building, but other than that I really enjoyed every single stop.

Probably the coolest moment for me was a completely personal (and a little weird) intersection of worlds. We were headed back from Hollywood and I suddenly started thinking that the streets looked familiar. Really familiar. I began looking for landmarks, and we suddenly passed through the intersection of a street called Bonnie Brae. Bonnie Brae is where my grandparents lived--it's where my mom lived when my dad started dating her. Later my aunt and uncle lived there and I was often there playing with my cousins. Which isn't all that remarkable, except that the last time I was there I was about four. Four years old. It actually gave me chills when I saw that street sign flash by.


A lot of Chandler's Los Angeles is gone, of course, but it's wonderful to see that many old, genuinely gorgeous buildings remain. Especially given that, unlike in Europe, the American thing is to raze old buildings and then build new ones on their graves. So much more money to be made that way! A lot of the remaining historic buildings are being purchased by foreign investors who typically don't have great reverence for the American past either, so if you write about old Los Angeles or you love architecture or you're curious about the way things use to be, I'd recommend getting yourself down there while there's still so much to see.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Killing It (A New Monthly Column for M/M Mystery Writers)

This morning's blog is basically just a signpost to a new monthly column I'm writing for Larissa over at BookWinked.

It's a long time since I've been interested in doing a monthly column, but a column on what's happening in the world of mystery writing and publishing -- specifically writing and publishing Male/Male and Gay Mystery -- seems to perfectly dovetail with my work on Writing Killer M/M Suspense and Mystery due out Winter/Spring 2018.

In the interests of finding any potentially-under-served* audience, a lot of male/male authors have turned to writing "mysteries." In what has become a brutally competitive market, writers are desperate to find any foothold (in fact, let's face it, that's how a lot of them came to be writing M/M in the first place). And that's okay. Since the first poet starved to death in his garret, authors have always scrabbled for a foothold in the publishing market.  What is NOT okay is putting out any kind of schmaltzy, vaguely suspense-ish crap and calling it a Gay or M/M Mystery. Mystery readers are a bit more difficult -- let's call it discerning -- than some other audience segments. They really do expect a decent mystery to be served with their romance.

And with so many aspiring (perspiring?) authors relying almost solely on output, advertising and promo to get the results they need, the author who comes along and knows her genre and can actually write will have a huge advantage. I'm not exaggerating when I say that consistently writing well is soon going to be the new secret weapon in the author arsenal.

To that end--and because I've pretty much devoted my life to the mystery genre, in particular the gay mystery genre--I want to help both writers and readers get the best books possible. I want Male/Male Mystery to be where you find the best books and the best authors.

Anyway, the column is called KILLING IT - WRITING THE M/M MYSTERY, and it's running August through December. Stop by and leave a comment as to what you'd like to read about and discuss over the coming months!

Friday, July 28, 2017

Five Entertaining Crime Documentaries You're Sure to Enjoy

1 - Sour Grapes - How a geeky twenty-something conned the world of wine collecting (and ended up as the first person convicted of wine fraud in the US). If you love wine, but hate the pretentious nonsense that so often supersedes genuine passion for the grape, you'll enjoy this one a lot. The real hero here is the unassuming but determined third generation proprietor of Domaine Ponsot, who travels to the US, determined to unravel the mystery of who is counterfeiting his wines.

Stream-able on Netflix

2 - The Jinx - Frankly chilling miniseries based on the life and crimes of Robert Durst (maybe you've seen the Ryan Gosling film All Good Things?). I was convinced of Durst's guilt long before the final episode. Even so, I felt a genuine sense of shock when I heard Durst's off camera comments. While it's true, his mumbles could be interpreted another way, I think this is one of those times you go with your gut reaction.

Available on HBO and Amazon

3 - Beltracchi: The Art of Forgery -  A really fascinating insight into the art world--and the art underworld. I've seen a lot of films (both fiction and non-fiction) on art forgery, but I don't think I've ever seen one as informative and entertaining as this. Up until this documentary I think I dismissed the idea that forgery could be, well, an art in its own right. And while I don't applaud what this master forger did, holy moly he's an engaging guy.

Streamable on Netflix

4 - The Keepers - Given that I turned my back on Catholicism at age thirteen when I dramatically refused to make my Confirmation (and learned that if you're going to cancel a party, don't wait until the day of the party to do it), I'm not sure why I have residual defensiveness about the Catholic church. All those jokes about pregnant nuns and pedophile priests? Not funny IMHO. Be that as it may, this is the heartbreaking and horrifying story of the (officially) "unsolved" murder of a young nun in 1969 -- and the determined effort of some of her students to find justice for her.

This miniseries might be exclusive to Netflix? Not sure.

5 - Soaked in Bleach - If you wonder why Curt Cobain killed himself...maybe he didn't. In fact, after seeing this documentary, I'm convinced he didn't. Ex-cop now PI Tom Grant makes a very credible witness, and builds, I think, a pretty impressive circumstantial case.

Streamable on Netflix

And one bonus offering. I've mentioned The Imposter before. Nearly four years after he disappears from his home in Texas, Nicholas Barclay turns up safely in Spain claiming he was kidnapped. HEA? Keep watching. It's sad and creepy--and a cautionary tale about how vulnerable guilt and grief can make anyone.

Available on Amazon and elsewhere.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Author! Author! CARROLL S. POE

Hello again and welcome to another edition of Author! Author! wherein I introduce you to some of my writer pals. Not all my pals are mystery or crime authors, but I'm always thrilled when someone is because, despite the sudden flood of people trying to break into the mystery genre, it's not as easy as I make it look. AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT? ;-)

C. S. Poe doesn't only write mystery and suspense, but that's where she's really making a name for herself. I first met Carroll...well, honestly, I'm not sure. IT'S A MYSTERY. No, seriously, we interacted for a couple of years online and then I finally met her in person on Catalina Island a few months ago. WHAT HAPPENS IN CATALINA STAYS IN CATALINA. That is all.

Without further adieu, Meet my criminous little pal, Miz Poe.

Do you have a favorite cocktail? Can you share the recipe?

CSP - Not really. I usually stick with Whiskey Ginger or just whiskey neat.

Uh huh. We'll let that pass. What happens in Catalina stays in Catalina. So...why mysteries? What attracted you to a life of crime?

CSP - There's a thrill obtained from the uncertainty of a mystery that is unique. Who did it? Why? How does it end? Will the protagonist survive? The questions we, or at least myself, ask with a good mystery, build up a sort of adrenaline. We get to piece together clues, uncover an enigma and settle our innate curiosity to know more, all while building a sort of one-on-one relationship with the hero.
On more of a writer's level, I love how a hunt and the unknown propel a plot forward. Plus, I have a tendency to toss a lot of history into my books (great random facts for small talk at a party, try them sometime!) and when a mystery deals with murderous crimes, stolen items, etc., it's just begging for some sort of historical oddity to be inserted for good measure.

Standalone versus series. What do you prefer as a writer? How about as a reader?

CSP - As a writer, I like series more. But, but, but! I can admit when a book doesn't NEED to be a series and is quite capable of standing on its own. As a reader, I love a series that follows the same characters.

Yeah, they both have their pros and cons. Speaking of pros -- and cons -- is it true that your day job is bouncer for a night club? Why not? You look so young and innocent you'd be able to get the drop on drunks before they ever saw you coming. 

CSP - I can never get work as a bouncer because the clubs just keep carding me! Remember when the waiter on Catalina carded me? Everyone laughed. LAUGHED! But I'd be a great bouncer. Tiny but fierce.

I agree, Mighty Mouse. And also the money is better in bouncing, from what I understand. What do you think is the most important thing to remember when creating fully-realized main characters?

CSP - Rhys Ford said it perfectly, in that, 'sometimes people do things.' It's critical to remember--romance book or not-- that characters should have limitations and flaws. They are human and should act as such, and sometimes that means a character has to make the wrong choice in order to find themselves, learn a lesson, or win the guy in the end. Sometimes people do things.

Fun fact. Rhys was my first Author! Author! interview. Or maybe that was ZAM? Because she completed her homework first? But anyway, Rhys was one of the first, if not the first. So anyway, fashion magazines always ask this critical question: What is the one cosmetic or grooming tool you cannot live without? And do you have any idea why all these fashion models are always pretending the one tool they can't live without is their EYEBROW GROOMER?

CSP - In the magazine's defense, every time I see someone with wacky, out of control eyebrows that are attempting to crawl up their forehead, I kind of want to comb them.

How do you deal with the criticism that is part and parcel of any job in the arts?

CSP - Art is meant to move an individual. Whether I moved a reader to five star or one star, I did my job as an author. I touched them deeply enough that they were encouraged to say something. So as long as the science of my writing is firm (that being grammar, structure, the understanding and ability to build a cohesive plot) there is nothing for me to get upset about. Not every piece of art moves us in the same way.

So. True. And speaking of reviews and reviewers, have you ever broken a bone? Have you ever broken anyone else's bones? You must have because your day job is bouncer. Have any of your victims sued you?

CSP - My left wrist. I didn't keep it straight when I cold-cocked an ornery dancer being tossed from the club! What can I say, rookie mistake. ;)

Haha. I knew it! As I said to S.C. Wynne when we were watching you knock back those Whiskey Gingers, I bet she's broken that wrist cold-cocking customers! Ahem. Is there any genre you'd like to tackle but you're kinda sorta afraid?

CSP - I don't think so. I'm partial to mystery, contemporary romance, and paranormal (including Steampunk), so I write those. I am a selective reader of fantasy and sci-fi, but could never write those genres, especially sci-fi. My brain isn't wired for that, so I applaud authors who excel in those genres specifically.

One thing readers of this blog just can't get enough of are funny stories about food allergies. Can you share any amusing near death experiences brought on by a food allergy?

CSP - Mrs. White did it in the kitchen with the poison!

LOL. EXACTLY. So. What are the elements that make a C. S. Poe book unique? What do you consider your strengths as a writer?

CSP - Dry humor, witty dialogue, useless facts, and dead bodies often found in unfortunate circumstances. What? It's true. Has anyone read The Mystery of the Curiosities? I put bodies everywhere in that book. Like it was some kind of competition! In all seriousness, I think as a writer I am adept at snappy dialogue and weaving more than one genre together successfully, in most cases that being mysteries and romances.

 How many cats do you currently own? Are you in danger of becoming a cat lady? What about becoming Cat Woman? Crime may not pay, but it pays better than writing. Agree or disagree? Show your math.

CSP - Let's see... 3 cats, divided by my current age, plus the number of cats I wish I owned, equals the value of Faberge's long lost third Imperial Egg from 1887. That'd make me a millionaire if I took to a life of crime and cat-napped it. So I agree.

:-D :-D :-D What are you working on right now? What's coming out next?

CSP - I'm wrapping up edits on Southernmost Murder and writing Snow & Winter 3, but the next release is actually a holiday, contemporary romance called Color of You.

Are you religious? Would you be religious if you were falling off a cliff? What if you were pushed? 

CSP - *slowly backs away from cliff and gives Josh a wide berth.* I've got my eye on you, lady.

*Looks innocent while whistling aimlessly.* Tell us something surprising. Anything. Go on. Surprise us!

CSP - One time I crashed my bike while I was parked.

:-D :-D :-D There you have it, folks. The REAL C. S. Poe. You can find out more about Carroll and her work on her website and her Facebook page -- Oh! AND she's doing this really cool thing right here.  I think you might even want to kick in.

Friday, July 7, 2017

The Blind Side playlist

Next up on the writing schedule is Blind Side, Book six in the Dangerous Ground series. It's been a while since I've written  anything about former DSS agents William Brandt and Taylor MacAllister, but I'm currently listening to Point Blank, which is the entire series collected in audio and narrated by Derrick McClain, and it's proving a very helpful refresher.

Since the series was already in audio (narrated by the wonderfully talented Adrian Bisson), you might be wondering why I decided to re-record it, and I suppose it's like remaking a favorite movie. Just because you have a great version, doesn't mean that you wouldn't enjoy another director's take or seeing another actor play the part of some beloved character. I like Derrick's work a lot and I thought it would be interesting to see what he brought to the series. I'm really enjoying listening, and I think you will too.

Meanwhile, here's the blurb for Blind Side.

With resources already overstretched, the last thing Will and Taylor need is another client.

And the last thing Will needs is for that client to turn out to be an old boyfriend of Taylor's.

But Ashe Dekker believes someone is trying to kill him, and Taylor is determined to help--whatever the cost.

Safe to say there will be some heartbreak this time around, but Will kind of brought it on himself. ;-)

And here's the playlist...


Hello, Hurricane - Switchfoot

No, I Won't Back Down - Tom Petty

It is What it Is - Lifehouse

Scar that Never Heals - Jeremy Fisher

Run Down a Dream - Petty

Runaway Train - Soul Asylum

Trying Not to Love You - Nickelback

Where I Come From - Lifehouse

History - One Direction

Hurricane - Lifehouse

Something I Need - OneRepublic

Meanwhile, I don't have a firm release date for Point Blank in audio or even Blind Side, to be honest. After the fiasco of The Monet Murders release I'm a little skittish about preorders. But I'll keep you posted! 

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Happy Fourth of July!

Every year the SO and I host a Fourth of July swim party and BBQ. Some years we've gotten pretty fancy with the menu -- one year it was slabs and slabs of ribs, one year lobster tails -- but this year we're opting for good old-fashioned hot dogs and hamburgers with all the trimmings. That way we can enjoy the fun too and not spend the whole time cooking and serving.

We always serve root beer floats for dessert because that's what my parents did when we were kids. :-)  Tradition is nice, so long as you're not strangled by it.

Anyway, if you're in the States, here's to a happy and safe Fourth of July!


Friday, June 30, 2017

Like a Nightingale Without a Song to Sing...

I'd say that I have spring fever, but I know it isn't spring.
Good morning!

It's been a while since I posted, and while I may go back and fill in some of those blank spots with some fun stuff, I thought perhaps it was time for a bit of a catching up.

June was...well, a really weird month. I think the early half of the year, with all the drama and trauma -- puppy rescue, writing conference, spills down hillsides, crazy deadlines -- caught up with me, and BOOM. I was visiting the doctor on a follow-up to the back injury and when they took my blood pressure it was high. Rather alarmingly high. In a way it hasn't been for years and years. Not since I walked away from being an evil corporate overlord with a huge corner office and the daily tirades/conference calls to go with it.

Nor did my pressure get better when the nurse cried, "Jesus Christ!!" and then took it three more times in a row. In fact, it continued to climb. (Unsurprisingly, IMHO.)

Anyway, the doctor and I had a chat and I confessed that my anxiety is sort of -- well, totally -- out of control. About things both great and small. For example, Marlowe the Mutt had his little doggie surgery the day before my doctor's appointment, and I was convinced he was going to die during the surgery. Which is just weird. I've had many dogs and a lot of them have had much, much serious medical emergencies than a routine neutering, and I always assumed the dog would be fine. And usually the dog WAS fine.

And Marlowe was fine too.

You've got me...who's got YOU?
It was not instinct or premonition. It was simply out-of-control anxiety. And I'm only partly kidding when I say I blame a lot of it on world events. I think the fact that a country like ours could elect someone like der Trump -- however or why ever it happened-- to the highest office in the land has really shaken my faith in my fellow Americans' commonsense and decency. It has shaken my faith that things usually turn out okay in the end. (Not that this is the end, and not that I want to get political, but this is the reality: our blimp is on fire and a vulgar, pathologically neurotic,  buffoonish madman is at the helm. Personally, I think anxiety is the reasonable and normal response.)

So the doctor and I chatted, with the end result that he prescribed Xanax. I dutifully filled the prescription, but did not take it. What I'm doing, what I've been doing for the past few weeks, is just...resting. Staying off line. Avoiding the news. Reading for Mr. and Mrs. Murder (the non-fiction book on pre-1960s husband and wife sleuthing teams the SO and I have contracted with McFarland), walking and swimming and even occasionally napping. I'm consciously working to Calm the Hell Down.

And I am calmer. I'm answering email again--slowly--and getting ready to write once more (next up BLIND SIDE: DANGEROUS GROUND 6). I've lost weight, I'm sleeping better, my blood pressure is down--oh, and my puppy is healthy and happy, although he has taken to barking at the SO when he tries to enter the boudoir at night.

I've been thinking a lot about happiness. What does it really mean? Am I happy? If you're not UNhappy are you, by default, happy? And if you have time to wonder whether you're happy or not, doesn't it indicate you're too damned pampered and should be sent to the nearest work camp? What about Joy? What's the difference between happiness and joy? Does it matter outside of deciding which to use in a sentence? If I decided I didn't want to keep writing, what else might I do? Should I have kept teaching? And on it goes. I've been thinking about the future. The SO and I live a comfortable life--but we have very little saved for the future OR for the kind of medical emergency that used to destroy families -- and soon will again, if things continue the way they're going. Who knew old age was a preexisting condition!?

I mean, on the other hand, this is how it's always been for writers. Since when did I need or want a safety net?

Anyway, aside from a surplus of thinky-thoughts, everything is okay. I'm avoiding making new commitments though. I'm not making any promises and I'm not creating pre-orders beyond those already existing. Personally and professionally, I'm just taking things one day at a time.

So that was June. Half the year gone, baby, gone. It's going to be interesting to see what happens with the rest of 2017.

What about you? What do you think? Is the year going the way you thought? Better? Worse? Sideways?

Thursday, May 25, 2017

New Release - THE MONET MURDERS (Art of Murder Book II)

So, remember when I mentioned falling off a mountain (okay, it was just a little mountain, but still) and had to push the release of The Monet Murders back another month because I'd injured my back and was medicated and things were really not going well?

Well, I did finally manage to finish the book and it released yesterday. That's the good news. The bad news is, in my panic to get the file uploaded before the deadline, I somehow (see above: two kinds of prescription pain medications were in play) grabbed the wrong damned file. And because I'd already waited to the last minute, there was no way of updating until the book went live.

Which it did. Missing about 15,000 words. And necessary words, at that.

The correct version is available on Smashwords, Kobo...and shortly Nook and iBooks, but it sounds like it's still going to be another (possibly) 24 hours before the correct edition is live on Amazon. Which means roughly 3000 people got that wrong version.

This is embarrassing. I CANNOT APOLOGIZE ENOUGH. I am sincerely sorry. I know how disappointing it is when you've been waiting and waiting and waiting and then the thing you've been waiting for arrives broken in the box.

(And, by the way, thank you to those of you who have been so very kind and understanding about the mix-up. My first ever mix-up, I want to point out, in all these years and all those books. )

Most of the people who pre-ordered through Amazon will not see this post, or any of my other posts on social media, so...if you should hear someone cursing my name down through the ages, it would be very kind of you to let them know what's happening. If their Kindle account is not set for automatic updates, it's unlikely they'll know to click that Updates Available button.



The last thing Jason West, an ambitious young FBI special agent with the Art Crime Team, wants—or needs—is his uncertain and unacknowledged romantic relationship with irascible legendary Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief Sam Kennedy.
And it’s starting to feel like Sam is not thrilled with the idea either.

But personal feelings must be put aside when Sam requests Jason’s help to catch a deranged killer targeting wealthy, upscale art collectors. A killer whose calling card is a series of grotesque paintings depicting the murders.


For a time he was occupied in playing shuffleboard with the buses and delivery trucks and taxis clogging the crowded streets, but inevitably his thoughts circled back to the passenger in the seat beside him.
Given how irate Jason had been at being conscripted into Kennedy’s investigation, it was odd that what he mostly felt now was a sense of letdown, even disappointment, that Kennedy would not be returning.
But wasn’t it normal that his feelings should be confused? The situation was just…so strange. All those months. And when they finally did get together…
Worse than nothing. It was like they had never met. Never made lov— Oh, hell no. Not that. Never had sex. That’s what he meant.
His anger faded, leaving him depressed, disheartened. What the hell had happened to change everything? He just couldn’t understand it. He was baffled.
Yeah. Baffled.
The traffic lurched to a sudden standstill. Jason’s phone vibrated. He ignored it. Around them, a few impatient drivers vented their frustration with honks, but the seconds continued to tick by. Pedestrians in every size, shape, and color crowded the sidewalk beside them, darting around the cones and sawhorses and hoses of the workmen tearing up the pavement with jackhammers. The pound of the pneumatic drills was not as loud as the silence stretching between himself and Kennedy.
In disbelief, Jason heard his own voice—hesitant, slightly strained—break the silence.
“Look. Did I…do something?”
“No,” Kennedy said at once. And that was a relief. A relief that Kennedy did him the courtesy of not pretending he didn’t understand. In fact, it was as if he had been sitting there thinking the same thing as Jason. “It isn’t you. It’s nothing you’ve done or didn’t do.”
He didn’t elaborate, though, so Jason—who already felt like he was out on a very flimsy limb—had to stretch still further.
“Because I don’t understand.” Excruciating to have to put this into words. His face felt hot, and his heart was pounding as though this was a high-risk situation. He was not used to it. Not used to…caring so much. It wasn’t that he’d never been turned down before or even been dumped. It always stung, but it hadn’t hurt. Not really. Not like this.
Kennedy didn’t answer immediately, and Jason couldn’t bear the silence.
“Is it the promotion? Are you thinking that I would somehow trade on our friendship? Or that other people might think I was trading on our friendship?”
“No,” Kennedy said, again adamant. “I don’t think that. And I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.”
So what the hell was it? Because he was not wrong, not imagining things. Kennedy was confirming it was over. But he wasn’t telling him why, and that really was the part Jason needed to understand. They’d talked two weeks ago, and there had been no hint that everything was not…
Was not what?
Okay? Fine? Normal? None of that applied. They’d had a long-distance relationship that was more like phone tag. In other words, they’d had nothing.
And kudos to Kennedy for recognizing that fact and breaking it off.
Although this was more like passive resistance than breaking it off. But whatever. Over. Done. Finito. Let it go, West. It only gets more embarrassing from here.
A couple of excruciatingly long seconds passed while he tried to think of a way to change the subject, scrabble to the solid ground of…anything, for the love of God. How about them Cubs?
The traffic ahead of them crept forward, and Jason eased off the brake, letting the Dodge roll a couple of inches.
Because I care about you, Jason. More than I thought I could.
His eyes blurred.
Jesus Fucking Christ. Was he about to cr—tear up over this? No way. And sure as hell not when Kennedy was sitting right beside him. For God’s sake.
Kennedy said suddenly, “I…like you. Nothing has changed.”
Right. Except everything.
Jason made a sound in the back of his throat that was supposed to be…not what it sounded like. Which made him angry and enabled him to get out a terse, “Right.”
“But it isn’t…practical to try to…” Kennedy was picking words as painstakingly as somebody gathering shards of glass. “It’s not enough to…build on.”
Wow. Maybe he was misremembering, but getting shot three times hadn’t hurt this much. And anyway, what the hell did that mean? It’s not like Jason had been pushing for more. He had accepted Sam’s terms. Not that Sam had really given him terms.
He wanted to say something to the effect of what he had said in Kingsfield: Whatever. It was just supposed to be a fucking date.
But of course it wasn’t just a date. Not anymore. Somehow they had managed to move beyond that never-to-be date to something more. Something deeper. And yet less concrete than even a date.
It made no sense for him to sit here like his heart was breaking when they didn’t even know each other. It was ridiculous. Pathetic.
“It’s okay,” he said flatly. “You’re right.”
He felt Kennedy look at him, but he kept staring straight ahead. He shrugged.
“I should have told you sooner,” Kennedy said. “Made my position clear.” Had it been anyone but Sam Kennedy, Jason would have said there was guilt—regret?—in his tone. “But I like talking to you.”
“Yeah. Well.” He was relieved his voice had steadied again, because inside he was a churning mess of confused emotion. Mostly pain. “I liked talking to you too.”

Neither of them had anything to say after that, and the nearby crush and crash of broken cement filled the distance between them.

Buy it!
Barnes and Noble
Amazon (but maybe you should wait until tomorrow -- seriously)

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Oh My Aching Back!

These might actually work
I'm way behind in updates and people are starting to get alarmed, so here's the update: I'm much better both mentally and physically. (Hopefully I didn't just jinx my recovery.)

Basically, I was recovering from that painful bout of sciatica (or so I thought) but progress seemed to be slow--I had this really awful limp if I walked any distance--and I thought I probably needed to push myself a bit more. Activity is actually good for sciatica. So is strengthening your core. I figured I needed a lot more of both. Which is how after a day of swimming, gardening and kung fu exercises I ended up in the emergency room.

That was a surreal experience. Happily, the memory is pretty foggy. Essentially, they were unable to help me. The injection they gave for pain had--I'm not exaggerating--zero effect. The pills they gave for pain, inflammation, spasm...were all ineffective. I could not eat, sleep or stay in one position for more than thirty seconds, and that went on for days. Three days, to be exact. I had three days of--again, not exaggerating--sheer agony before I was finally able to get in and see a GP.

Continental Plate?
The long and the short of it is three days of physical therapy a week for the next month and pain killers that actually work--but leave me mentally fuzzy (which is not optimum when you earn your living writing). I can eat, sleep, sit and even walk again. In fact, thanks to years of yoga and kung fu, I'm actually pretty flexible and still have excellent range of motion (to the astonishment of my physical therapist who says the patch of inflammation stretching from my back to my hip is as big as a continental plate).

There's nothing life-threatening here and I honestly feel silly even talking about it, except that my sudden disappearance needs some explanation.

Because sitting is really bad for sciatica, I'm using my chair time for writing--and basically abandoning all social media for now. Some lovely friends are filling in for me on my Facebook wall with great posts about writing and reading mysteries, and I know my Goodreads group always has lots to chat about whether I'm there or not. I'm not really responding to email right now.

That's where things stand at the moment. Marlowe the Evil Mastermind Puppy is doing great--he took advantage of my weakened state to start sleeping with us, but that's okay--The Monet Murders is coming along, slowly but surely, which is how I'm coming along. Slowly but surely.

1222222222222222222222222222qww (That's Marlowe signing off for both of us till the next time.)


Friday, April 21, 2017

Tall Timbers Falling

Last month I was hiking with friends at Vasquez Rocks and I slipped and fell. Ungracefully and painfully. It seemed like the only damage was a badly sprained right ankle, but it looks like I might have done a bit more harm than I realized.

Anyway, for the past two weeks...well, I guess three weeks since it coincided with the arrival of Marlowe the Mutt, and he's been dogging (ha!) my footsteps for nearly a month now...I've been suffering from sciatica. Which is really, seriously unpleasant because it hurts to sit (which makes typing difficult) and hurts even worse to lie down (which makes sleep largely impossible for more than a couple of hours at a time). So it's been hellish, although I realize as health issues go, it's minor.

Cutting straight to the chase, I've had to push back The Monet Murders again -- for the final time, I assure you -- which I am very sorry about. Not least because my finances rely on sticking to deadlines. But there are some things that just can't be bulldozed through, and it turns out that this is one of them. I don't want to crank out a book when I'm sleep-deprived and unable to fully concentrate--even if it was physically possible, which at this point, it isn't.

So that's that. The book will now be out May 25th.

In other news, Marlowe the Mutt continues to thrive and grow. Well, he's not growing much, but he is thriving, and he's pretty darned adorable, if I do say so. When I first scooped him out of that canine hell, my sciatica was at maximum misery level, and I can't deny that I did think I'd probably made a mistake but too late to turn back now. Not a joyous thought, to be honest. It turns out I was wrong because we love the little monster dearly, and if you're going to be in pain anyway, you might as well have something to distract you.

I've had to rearrange my schedule considerably. Mornings are now spent taking MtM outside and then feeding and playing with him (he is partial to chasing his squeaky stuffed raccoon toy up and down the staircase at top speed) ..and from there coffee on the patio seems a fairly natural move (and so much more pleasant than diving into email, though, frankly, that mental adjustment took some doing). I've been trying to swim a bit although it's a bit chilly right now. Supposedly the best thing is to keep moving, gentle stretches, etc.

Patience. A hard word to live by.

So that's where we are. The day before yesterday I bought some roses and tea lights and odds and ends for the garden. Yesterday I started catching up on email. Last night I actually slept through the entire night, so maybe the tide has turned. It's possible life is getting back to normal. Fingers crossed.

Friday, April 14, 2017

Happy Easter!

Yes, it's a bit early -- and not everyone celebrates Easter -- but it's a holiday I enjoy. It's not one of the big dates in the family pantheon of holidays, but in a way that's what makes it relaxing. We'll have the traditional ham dinner (I'm bringing a giant green salad with sprouts and nuts and seeds -- a meal in itself) and we'll have a few drinks and there will be a lot of talking and laughing.

What are you celebrating this weekend? Passover? Spring? A long weekend? A lost weekend?

Friday, March 31, 2017


By request: Marlowe the Mutt
Regular viewers will know that I've been talking about getting a dog for a few years, but am constantly coming up with excellent reasons as to why the perfect moment never arrives. And as a matter of fact, the perfect moment has still not arrived, but I somehow ended up with a puppy anyway. It's a long story and he's more of a rescue operation than an actual reasoned purchase of the proper puppy...but we've had him for just about four days now and I kinda sorta can't help loving the little cheese mite.

His name is Marlowe and he is most definitely a nut. Er...mutt. Also a nut.

Also he is a huge distraction. Be that as it may, I did manage to get a little short story out this month. It's just a very simple best-friends-to-lovers bit of sweetness called "Plenty of Fish".

Finn loves Blair. Blair loves Finn too, but he’s not in love with him. How can you be in love with someone you’ve known your entire life? Shouldn’t in love feel…different? Newer. Bigger. More…exciting?

Sure, maybe Blair is too romantic—but wasn’t Finn the one who always said there were plenty of fish in the sea?

“I think I’ve met someone,” Blair said.

He was sitting on the wooden tool chest in Finn’s workshop, drinking a can of hydrogen  water, watching Finn sand the top of a rosewood William IV dining table.

“Yeah?” Finn continued to rub at a pale watermark with a piece of very fine oiled steel wool. He didn’t have to look up to know Blair’s eyes would be shining and soft and a little dreamy. Blair was in love with the idea of being in love.

Finn was also in love. With Blair.

Which maybe Blair knew and maybe he didn’t. There had been that one time last year, when Finn had kissed Blair and whispered, “I love you, Blair. Why don’t we give it a try?”

Blair had laughed, then looked confused and finally embarrassed when he saw Finn was serious. Finn had—not quite in the nick of time—managed to laugh too and pretend it was a joke. Blair’s eyes had lit with relief, though his quick smile had been a little uncertain.

Things had been strained between them for a couple of weeks but eventually had gone back to normal.

In fairness, Finn’s timing had been crap. As usual. Blair had just found out Logan was cheating on him, so even if he had been receptive to the idea of Finn eventually stepping into Logan’s shoes, it was not the time to bring it up. It was just that by then Finn had sort of reached his breaking point.
It hadn’t helped when he’d suddenly remembered how in junior high, Blair had kissed him behind the handball courts at Ernie Howlett Park, and he’d wiped his mouth and told Blair sternly to knock it off.


It had only taken him twelve years to figure out being kissed by Blair was actually something he’d really, really like. That it was, in fact, near the top of the Ten Things He’d Like Most to Happen in the Near Future list. Right below Sleep with Blair and right above Discover a Goddard and Townsend family cabinet—or other piece of valuable anything—the next time he was dumb enough to bid on an abandoned storage unit.


“Plenty of Fish?” Finn asked. He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. Dating sites were for the desperate, in his opinion. Not including Blair, of course.

Blair said defensively, “People do meet people there.”


“Carlos and I had fun.”

Finn sanded harder. The watermark had nearly penetrated all the way through the polish. “Yep,” he muttered. “Nothing more fun than a broken wrist.”

Carlos had been into mountain biking, which Finn had tried to tell Blair was different from regular biking. As usual, Blair had to find out the hard way.

Blair shrugged. “Louis was nice.”

“He sure was. I can’t think of anybody nicer than Louis.”

Louis had been into rock climbing, and Blair had discovered belatedly that he had a little problem with extreme heights. Their first and only date had been spent with Louis coaxing and cajoling Blair off the cliffside where he’d been frozen, paralyzed with acrophobia, for hours. Hours.

Louis had been a very nice guy, and Finn was grateful to him for not leaving Blair up there on “Touch and Go Face” in Joshua Tree National Park.

Blair said wistfully, “I liked Alec a lot.”

To which Finn had no reply. He stopped scrubbing the stained wood. Alec had been way too close for comfort. Blair had been on the verge of falling in love with Alec, and Alec had been on the verge of falling in love with Blair. The thing that saved them—or rather, saved Finn—was when Alec had been transferred to his company’s home office in Indiana. Blair’s mom had been going through chemo, so there was no way Blair would have considered leaving Palos Verdes.

Blair wasn’t saying anything. Finn studied him, and his heart seemed to crowd his rib cage. It had seemed to come out of nowhere, this…crazy development in his feelings for Blair.

And hopefully it would eventually return to nowhere.


You can buy "Plenty of Fish" through Kobo, B&N, Smashwords and Amazon. Hopefully it will be up at iBooks soon too! 

Saturday, March 25, 2017

The VERY BIG 1/2 Price Novel Sale

I've never done this before -- and I don't know whether I'll regret it or not. ;-)  But I'm putting all the digital novels through my JustJoshin Publishing, Inc. imprint on sale at half price for one week only.

Starting tomorrow (actually, I think the prices are already changed on Smashwords) all my novel-length stories are $3.99. That includes Stranger Things Have Happened and Man Oh Man: Writing Quality M/M Fiction.


The books included in this are:

The Hell You Say
Death of a Pirate King
The Dark Tide
Stranger Things Have Happened
Man Oh Man: Writing Quality M/M Fiction
Murder in Pastel
The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks
Winter Kill
The Mermaid Murders
The Curse of the Blue Scarab
Somebody Killed His Editor
All She Wrote
The Boy with the Painful Tattoo
Come Unto These Yellow Sands

That's...a lot of books! 

Friday, March 17, 2017

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

As someone of what the old folks used to call "Scotch-Irish" descent, St. Paddy's has always been a big deal in my family. For years it was a grueling marathon of a day -- gig after gig after gig (usually in pubs that grew more and more rowdy as the day wore on) -- but these days it's more likely to be relatively quiet, spent with family or close friends. The SO will cook corned beef and colcannon, maybe fix up a couple of Irish Mists...we'll listen to our favorite Irish bands and perhaps watch an Irish film (anything from The Commitments -- if you've ever been in a band, that is the film for you -- or something as nutty as The Quiet Man).

Not everyone makes a big deal of cultural heritage and ancestry--and that's absolutely all right (why focus on the past when you're headed toward the future?) but in my family, we don't forget. ANYTHING. EVER. You remember those stories about the Scots dumping Campbell soup into the sea during World War 2 relief efforts? Yeah. Where I come from, that was considered the right move. :-D

Anyway, is there a holiday that is special to you or your family? How do you celebrate your family ancestry or cultural heritage?

OR do you?

Sunday, March 12, 2017

New Release - FAIR CHANCE

Fair Chance, the final installment in the All's Fair trilogy is out today in print, ebook and audio.

The Blurb:
Elliot Mills comes face-to-face with evil in this follow-up to Fair Game and Fair Chance from bestselling author Josh Lanyon

One final game of cat and mouse...

Ex-FBI agent Elliot Mills thought he was done with the most brutal case of his career. The Sculptor, the serial killer he spent years hunting, is finally in jail. But Elliot's hope dies when he learns the murderer wasn't acting alone. Now everyone is at risk once again--from a madman determined to finish his partner's gruesome mission.

The Excerpt:
“Excellent choices, gentlemen.” The petite brunette waitress dropped her ticket pad in the pocket of her teeny tiny black skirt and bestowed a dazzling and impartial smile on both of them. “I’ll be right back with your cocktails.”
They were seated at Stanley & Seafort’s Steak, Chop & Fish House, one of their favorite places in town to dine on the evenings they weren’t in a hurry to get back to Goose Island. The food was fine. The bar was excellent. But more to the point, it gave them a chance to talk about the case on neutral ground. When Elliot had finally acceded to SAC Montgomery’s request that he visit Corian, one of Tucker’s stipulations had been that they not take the case home with them. From the point they boarded the ferry at Steilacoom, the topic of the Sculptor was officially shelved.
That was the goal anyway.
Tonight there was more to talk about than could be covered in the drive to the ferry.
Tucker sighed, loosened his tie and leaned back in the sofa-sized booth. Elliot gazed out the picture window at the stunning view of Tacoma and the blue waters of Commencement Bay Harbor beyond. He massaged his knee, which had started to ache.
Tucker glanced at Elliot. “If I seemed…harsh back there,” he began gruffly.
Elliot brushed the apology aside. “It’s all right. I get it.” He didn’t expect—or need—Tucker to pull his punches when they were working.
“You’re my priority. That doesn’t change. I genuinely believe your involvement is not critical, but even if I did think we needed your help, I wouldn’t be happy with this because I don’t think this is good for you. Or us.”
Well, hell. That was Tucker for you. No beating around the bush. And an unnerving ability to say aloud the things most guys, including Elliot, were not comfortable saying outside the privacy of their own bedroom.
“I know, Tucker. Like I said, I get it.” This ground was so well trod it was practically mud beneath Tucker’s handmade Italian shoes. “But just once I’d like to discuss the case without a preface from you on how much you didn’t—and don’t—want me involved.”
Tucker grimaced. Nodded.

They were silent for a few minutes. That was mostly weariness, though a small amount of irritation factored in. They were both too opinionated and strong-willed not to bump heads now and again. They’d learned over the past months that simply taking a deep breath and a step back usually took care of things.
The waitress appeared with their drinks. Whisky and soda for Tucker and a glass of California merlot for Elliot. He needed a drink after the day he’d had, but he would be taking pain meds that night for sure. He must have twisted his knee when he’d raced across Corian’s property to see who had opened fire.
Tucker’s expression was somber as he sipped his whisky.
Watching him, Elliot asked, “Do you want me to share my thoughts on my visit to Corian’s place?”
“If you think it’s relevant.”
Elliot let his head fall back, summoning patience.
“Sorry,” Tucker muttered. “It’s not pleasant watching a psychopath threaten your partner.” He threw the rest of his drink back.
Fair enough. Elliot would be struggling with that too, were the shoe on the other foot. There was nothing he could say to comfort Tucker, so he related his trip to Black Diamond and his encounter with Corian’s former neighbor.
Tucker mulled it over. “Do you think Corian was working with an accomplice?”
“I don’t know. My first instinct was no. Except…I’m not sure that was instinct so much as rejection of something I didn’t want to hear.”
“I watched the interview twice. I still can’t make up my mind.”
Tucker was looking at his empty glass like he didn’t know what had happened to his drink. He caught the waitress’s eye and she nodded. He turned back to Elliot. “What I am sure of is there’s nothing he won’t do to wreck you.”
“Of course,” Elliot said. “We already knew that.”
Tucker’s expression drew a faint smile from him. “Come on, Tucker. We already know I’m the bad guy in Corian’s movie. He didn’t invite me over there because he thinks I’m the one person who can appreciate his artistic genius or have a civilized conversation with him, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. He wants me there so that he can dump his horror stories all over me and hopefully cause maximum mental distress.”
“That’s right,” Tucker said grimly. “He’ll try to get to you any way he can. Including physically, so don’t ever turn your back on him.”
“Is that literally or figuratively? Do you want me to shuffle backwards out of the room at the end of each visit?”
“I’m not joking about this.”
“I know. He’ll continue to be handcuffed and wear ankle restraints during our interviews. I’m not about to forget what he’s capable of.”

The Launch Party -- and you're invited! 

Friday, March 10, 2017

Epic Fail

I was reading an article the other day about how writing "short" will maximize profits--this was right after I'd watched a webinar on writing to market, which was right after I'd watched another webinar on understanding Amazon's algorithms.

Now I do enjoy writing short stories. They're excellent for exploring theme or a particular character dynamic--and I'm good at them! So I had no objection to that article. I thought it was interesting. And I think in this publishing environment, authors do need to think in practical, i.e., businesslike terms. There's nothing wrong with identifying and analyzing your target audience. Nor is there anything wrong with understanding Amazon's algorithms.

But yet I still felt a little depressed after an afternoon of...authorial self-improvement.

Which is probably illogical because writing is a business, and I'm the first one to get impatient with people who don't conduct themselves like professionals. But writing is also an art, and lately everything seems to be about the business of fiction writing and very little, if anything, about the art.

Even the rare posts that are ostensibly about writing, are usually thinly disguised promotion.

And I get it. This is an insanely competitive market. And by "this" I mean any genre you can think of.  There is no sub-genre of commercial fiction that it isn't swamped with new books and new authors, so it's only natural that we're all looking for an edge. It's like the Olympics. Now days winning is determined by a fraction of a fraction of a second. Your sunscreen can make a difference.

It makes perfect sense that we're all studying formulas and algorithms and trends like we're searching for a cure for cancer. I don't care how good you are, when the market gets this crowded and this competitive, you have to run a lot faster just to stay in one place.

But writing is also still an art.

I don't care how many of these marketing courses tell you it's not about writing, it's about productivity...if you consider yourself to be a real writer, if you take pride in the idea of being a writer, then you need to care about the work. You need to care about the words.

And that means you need to have the courage to experiment. To, yes, fail. Because it's through trial and error that you get better. That you get to the goal--at least, I think it should be a goal--of excellence. Excellence doesn't happen through copying what everyone else is doing. It doesn't happen through homogenization.

I mean, think for a moment about the numbing sameness of what's being published in this genre alone. The same covers, the same blurbs, the same promo tactics--and yes, even the characters and plots all sound the same. For. The. Love. Of. God.

Last year I wanted to experiment. I wanted to try something new. I was eager to push myself to try something new. So I put out two books that had some readers scratching their heads. Murder Between the Pages was a semi-satirical take on classic locked room mysteries. Some readers got it -- but a disconcerting number of readers did not get it. Were actively hostile to the very idea of it. HATED it.

It was one of my least successful titles -- joining the ranks of other not terribly successful experiments like Blood-Red Butterfly.

The other experiment was a monster mash-up. The Curse of the Blue Scarab. An Edwardian murder mystery with supernatural overtones. Some readers got it -- some did not. It too was not as successful as my contemporary crime thrillers. Several one or two star reviews. Genuine grievance at the idea that I would turn out something like that.


:-D :-D :-D

(It's okay, by the way. I don't expect everything to be a huge hit with every single reader. Hell, even the most enormously successful of my books have a few people screaming they can't understand why anyone ever reads me.)

The point of writing is not to never get a bad review. The point of writing is not for every story to be a huge financial--or even critical--success.

What is the point of writing?

This is not rhetorical.

Why do you write? If you don't know the answer, ask yourself: why do you read?

What is the point, the purpose of all this literary exercise?

 If the answer make a lot of money fast...well, okay. Whatever. This is not the post for you. But if you actually care about the work, care about what it means to be a writer--versus just another author--you can't be afraid to experiment, to try new things, to push yourself a little further. You must not be afraid to fail. 

Don't sacrifice art for the algorithms.

Friday, March 3, 2017

And Then My Puppy Ate My Homework

I'm not exactly sure what happened to February.

Well, true, the first part of the month I did have a couple of days of vacation. The annual island retreat with my sibs--I LIVE for those sisterly retreats.

And of course, February IS a short month (and every day counts in this biz).

That said, the month started out really well. Very productive, lots of writing -- particularly on The Monet Murders and the surprise, secret project Writing Killer M/M Suspense and Mystery. (Nice cover, eh? He seems very relaxed about the possibility of having to shoot someone.)

But I'm not just an author. (Is anybody "just an author" these days?) I also run my own publishing empire, so there were also contracts to read and sign (specifically two Thai and one German publisher), print collections to arrange (trying to do a holiday collection...waiting to hear from Carina Press on a couple of titles there) translations to arrange (Italian -- the good news is So This is Christmas will be released by Triskell Edizioni in December and The Monet Murders will be published through my own imprint in the summer), audio to arrange (and then files to listen to because I Trust No One).

Oh, and then Samhain announced that, Oopsie! Yes, they were actually closing as previously announced at the same time last year. Which meant scrambling to prepare those 6 titles for re-release: cover art, formatting for print and ebooks... Although, given Samhain's vagueness on when the titles will actually officially revert, I'm wondering if we really did need to scramble. But the point is...TIME. Precious time being gobbled up in chunks of minutes.

So...all those Samhain titles are pretty much ready to go, we're just waiting on the word. I will give readers a heads up: I'm not re-releasing The Dickens With Love until the holiday season--and I might not release Mummy Dearest until I have Bite Club ready to go. But all the other titles will be immediately available, once Samhain releases them to me.

Tick. Tock.

Big, big time suck there.

And there is this First Ever Mini Writer's Retreat, which also took up some time. If that should turn out to be a fun and productive thing, we might even do it again. Every couple of years. Maybe you would want to come?

Oh, and then of course I have a book release this month. Fair Chance, the final book in the All's Fair trilogy, is being released on March 13th.

And there is a blog tour! For which I had to write a LOT of posts. :-D

Here's the line-up:
Tour Schedule: 

Monday, March 6th - Tome Tender - Guest Posts
Tuesday, March 7th - Alpha Book Club - Guest Posts
Wednesday, March 8th - Books,Dreams,Life - Interview (Author or Character)
Thursday, March 9th - Rainy Days and Pajamas - Guest Posts
Friday, March 10th - Gay Book Reviews - Guest Posts
- -
Monday, March 13th - Joyfully Jay -
Tuesday, March 13th - The Silver Dagger Scriptorium - Guest Posts
Wednesday, March 15th - Bayou Book Junkie - Guest Post
Thursday, March 16th - - Interview (Author or Character)
Friday, March 17th - Bewitched Bookworms - Guest Post

I won't be live and in person at any of these blogs because--as I mentioned--I'll be at my first ever writer's retreat. (Meaning first ever that I was "responsible" for--usually I am privileged to be the person asking everybody where my hotel is.) But I did write posts and offer a few giveaways. That said, most of the giveaways will be occurring at the Launch Party on my own Fan Page.  I don't want people just showing up to win stuff, but I have to admit, my mods give some seriously cool gifties away. So if you are a fan or do genuinely like to read M/M, you are very welcome to the party. Come! You'll have fun.

I'm hoping that you're seeing a pattern here, and that pattern is...there were a lot of interruptions to the writing. And then came the biggest interruption of laptop died. know, I still have a desktop, so I'm not sure why this felt like the end of the line (aside from the fact that I lost all the initial chapters of the writing book--and maybe some other files too) but the truth is I don't "create" at my desktop. I create on a laptop while sitting in a giant, comfy chair in front of a fireplace in my bedroom. :-D My desktop is on a desk in my downstairs office and I have to sit on a yoga ball and be sensible. That is really not what writing fiction is about.

When we come back from the writing retreat, we will have house-guests (beloved house-guests) for a couple of days, and then I have a concert (coz that's a thing in my life) and then, then, THEN I will finally be able to get back to writing The Monet Murders.

You see what I'm getting at.

I had promised to deliver The Monet Murders ahead of schedule--because at one point that looked very doable--and even Blind Side ahead of schedule. But that is not looking realistic now.

Now it looks like I will need to put out a short story in the interim. Plenty of Fish. Because I love short stories, short stories take me about a week to write and I need money.

Yes! I admit freely that as a professional writer, money is the fuel that keeps the engine cranking.

I read the funniest comment in a review a while back. Something to the effect that Josh Lanyon put this book out simply to earn money.


Uh...why yes. You are correct, little person. I put all my books out to earn money. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. I publish to earn money. I can write for my own pleasure. I need not involve anyone else in that alarming process. To make the hassle and stress of publishing worth it, I need to earn money. That's how I earn my living.

This is not a comment on people who choose to live in their mom's basement. Just saying I have to earn a living. Or why the hell would I go to the exhausting and stressful extreme of publishing my work?! Nobody publishes who doesn't hope to earn money. End of story.


But I digress.

This is a very long explanation of why I'm having to recalibrate my previously stated plans. I'm genuinely disappointed at having to delay The Monet Murders and Blind Side.

The Monet Murders is being shoved back to its original April release date. Blind Side...should come out about six weeks later. But. Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.

So I hope no one is too disappointed. Or at least no more disappointed than me. The books are coming. And I do genuinely believe that it's better they come a little bit late than that I try to shove them through at top speed. I think you would rather I take my time and deliver the best possible product, right?