West of Mars

Those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook* probably don’t know I’m headed for my favorite time of year: a few days spent in the woods with my son and a bunch of other kids and parents who take a few days to be kids all over again. Yep, it’s Cub Scout camp, and it’s my LAST ONE.

I AM contemplating borrowing a friend’s kid next year…

I’m telling YOU this because it means I’m going to be out of town for the rest of the week. We come back Saturday afternoon, but who knows when I’ll have caught up on my sleep. I am leaving you, and not scheduling a darn thing. Not even the awesome fiction I’m about to write. (Half-naked Mitchell? Oh, yeah, baby!)

And if I’m not thinking of you, don’t hold it against me. I’ve got BB guns to shoot, arrows to let loose a lake to swim and fish in, and a Boy Scout camp to (ulp) hike to!

*that link will take you to my fan page. You should hang there and interact with me!

She was jailbait. Pure and simple. She was a worm, dangling on a hook, enticing the fish to jump and take a bite, get hooked, and that’d be it.

But dammit, Lido couldn’t stay away from her. Ysabella Hernandez. Only the daughter of one of the city’s mob bosses. Gorgeously blonde, with innocent blue eyes that loved to dance with laughter.

Everyone loved her. Even the gay guys lusted for her.

When it came to someone like Ysabella Hernandez, though, only one man would ever have her. Gabriel.

She’d been promised to him young, an alliance between families. Like the obedient child she’d been raised to be, she didn’t look twice at another guy. Ever. She was going to be Gabriel’s, and that was all there was to it.

That’s why Lido didn’t know why she would be downstairs every day when he delivered the flowers for his father. Why she’d always say hi and ask how he was.

“Just delivering the flowers,” he said to her that one particular day.

“Surely you do more than that?”

Lido jumped as her father entered the front hall. “Our flowers,” he said, his voice so icy, Lido was convinced he was about to be turned into gourmet fish bait. Mr. Hernandez did that sort of thing — and for lesser offenses than talking to his daughter.

“Yes, sir,” he said, tearing his eyes from Ysabella. Before she left his field of vision, he noticed the way she bit back a smile. He couldn’t react. For one, if he blew this account for his dad, he’d be worse than fish bait. For another, he’d sooner never return to this house than turn himself into one of Mr. Hernandez’ victims.

Even if it meant never seeing Ysabella again.

“You’re lucky your father grows the best flowers in a three-hundred mile radius,” Ysabella’s father said, his face turning dark.

Lido nodded, trying not to be rude as he stared at the darkening face. But he’d never seen a face turn black before. He should have been scared, he knew.

It wasn’t his smartest move.

Ysabella came to his rescue. “Dad, my day’s not complete if I don’t say hi to Lido. You’re the one who says a woman’s job is to make any visitor feel special and welcome.”

Behind her back, right at the edge of Lido’s peripheral vision, he saw the hand gesture she made. Telling him she was blowing smoke up her dad’s scary ass.

Still, Lido swallowed audibly. “I just deliver the flowers, Mr. Hernandez. That’s my business. It’s all I care about. Doing my dad proud.”

Mr. Hernandez nodded, as if satisfied by what he was hearing. Lido didn’t believe he really was. Rather, the man was calculating, weighing, figuring. When the best time to snatch Lido would be. How much concrete would be needed to make sure he didn’t float.

“I need to be going,” Lido said into the silence. “I have other deliveries to make and a schedule to keep to. Always nice to see you again, Mr. Hernandez. Miss Hernandez.”

As Ysabella held the door for him, she mouthed, “Meet me in the park at nine tonight.”

Maybe a smart man would have listened, but Lido wasn’t necessarily a smart man. Not when it came to Ysabella Hernandez.

***
DMH stands for Deadly Metal Hatchet, a small, up-and-coming band who sometimes populates these pages. This piece is set before the band; this situation with Ysabella is the eventual reason why Lido joins the guys and tries to get out of town.

This was inspired by this week’s Three Word Wednesday prompt, and I’m including it as a #FridayFlash piece, and posting it at Weekend Writer’s Retreat, too. That’s a lot of bang for one buck!

Be sure to stop in and read my interview over at The Editorial Department!

1. It’s out! Go buy it.

2. Here’s a 15% off coupon code for the print version at Lulu: BEACHREAD305

3. Of course, it’s not autographed… you’ll have to buy a copy direct from me for that to happen.

4. Since the Lulu price is so high, I’ll cut you a break if you order direct from me.

5. Need it in digital? I recommend Smashwords.

6. Smashwords can do you up with whatever format you require. Even Kindle. (Me, I read in e-pub)

7. AND you can use the code for 50% off. (only until the end of the month)

8. If you need the companion books, The Demo Tapes (Year 1 and Year 2), they are FREE until the end of July.

9. You guys have waited a long time for this book. Too long.

10. I appreciate your patience.

11. Buy it. Read it. Review it. Talk to your friends about it.

12. Vive la Trevolution!

13. And before you ask, yes, there’s a sequel in the works. When you get to the end of Trevor’s Song, you’ll see why I mention it now… Go read!

Yes, I am coveting a cookbook.

But… of course it isn’t ANY OLD cookbook.

Nope. It’s a cookbook written by Steve “Buckshot” Seabury, and it’s called… Mosh Potatoes – Recipes, Anecdotes And Mayhem From The Heavyweights Of Heavy Metal.

Among some of the contributors are said to be: LAMB OF GOD, the guys in TYPE O NEGATIVE (sob), GUNS N’ ROSES, ANTHRAX, MEGADETH, OVERKILL, TESTAMENT, QUEENSRŸCHE, BISON B.C., STEEL PANTHER, MUDVAYNE, LIFE OF AGONY, DREAM THEATER

Here’s the press release I saw. Beware the annoying Bing pop-ups. Here’s an interview with Buckshot (and why they didn’t just come right to me, I don’t know…).

Hopefully, I’ll have a review for you one day…

More takes my hands
All gentle.

I get ready.
Brace myself.
Know what’s coming.
I think.

“RP,” she says,
“I love us.
Love us being together.”

But?

“That joke?
The one you and Hambone?”

Yeah, I know the joke.
Was a good one.
Had the whole crew howling.

Except,
I’m guessing,
More.

“RP,” she says,
“It was vulgar.
Beneath you.
All that praise you got?
A waste of breath.”

Ouch.

I pull my hands away.
Try to jam them in
my back pockets.

There’s stuff in them.
A sharpie.
Random plastic wrappers.
A straw.
More garbage.
A candy bar that’s melted.
It’s squishy against
my
fingertip.

I know she’s right.
Knew it at the time.
But that didn’t stop me
from doing it.

Worst of all,
it may not stop me
next time.

***
Yep, some Three Word Wednesday, some Weekend Writer’s Retreat, and it’s a stretch, but maybe some reunion going on here, too (finger and candy bar, RP and More — in a sense), thanks to the Writer’s Island. You decide. And check out some other writers, too, if you’ve got the time.

1. Both versions of Trevor’s Song are now on sale!

2. Buy the digital versions (that means e-book versions) at Smashwords, where the novel’s half-off and the Demo Tapes are free. Use the coupon codes you see listed, if five bucks is too rich for your blood…

3. Buy the print version at Lulu. Or direct from me.

4. I’ll be selling it direct for cheaper, once you factor in the shipping charges. I can explain why privately, if you’re curious.

5. I’m available for interviews and guest blog posts.

6. I’ve got a bunch waiting to be written, though. Summertime’s slowed me down.

7. Yesterday was the pool. Today’s a quiet day. Tomorrow’s the Science Center. And I’m too whipped in the evenings to do much writing. Ouch.

8. I need to get over that, and fast. The Tour de France is in full swing, and it’s wonderful to write in front of.

9. I’m pulling for Andy Schleck, I think. But I have other favorite cyclists, too.

10. Check out their thighs! Wow. Things of beauty, these pro bikers’ legs.

11. Watching the Tour makes me want to go out and bike, but I’m still sidelined by an arm injury. Every time I set eyes on my road bike, I pout.

12. I think the cat has a kidney stone. Or maybe a UT infection. Or both.

13. That’s about it… stay cool, everyone!

Deadbeat

All you guys who haven’t bought my book yet. Feel free to fix that.

Print
Digital (that’s an e-book, you deadbeat. Any fucking format your heart desires.)
or from Susan, who’ll only charge you like nineteen bucks if you’re in the States or Canada, which is cheaper than Lulu’s got it for. (Amazon ain’t got it yet. Deadbeat.) AND Susan will throw in an autograph for you. Hers? Mine? Order my book and see for yourself.

Since it’s been quiet over here, I’m posting my weekly mail call (a merge of In My Mailbox and Mailbox Monday) here instead of at Rocks ‘n Reads.

I only got one book, but it’s a doozy (when don’t I get a doozy, though? You guys know me. I adore books). My friend drey sent me her ARC copy of Joshilyn Jackson’s newest book, Backseat Saints.

I haven’t read anything by Ms. Jackson since gods in Alabama, which I thought was a brilliant book. From what I’m hearing of Backseat Saints, this won’t disappoint (neither will the intervening books, but I need to get my hands on them before I can judge properly).

So that’s it. One book. My attempts to tame the TBR mountains continue…

(News of Trevor’s Song in print to come, along with the cover art. In the meantime, you e-book readers should head over to Smashwords and pick up a copy in your preferred format. Half-off this month as part of the Summer Sale!)

If you saw my Facebook status last night (If Any Idiot can self-publish a book, I clearly need to change my name), you may be able to figure out I’m hung up on getting you guys the print version of Trevor’s Song.

BUT you who like e-books are in luck. It’s now available for sale at Smashwords (oh, how I love them!), and since it’s the Summer Sale, I’ve discounted it. No, not down to free, like The Demo Tapes are, but half off. Which is a whopping $2.50.

Go. Spread the word. You’ve waited a LONG time for this.

And as soon as I get the ISBN up and running (if you are planning on keeping the book on your shelf and don’t care about an ISBN, I believe you can pick it up at Lulu right now), I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, if you’d like to get an autographed copy of the book direct from me, holler. I need to know how many copies to order… It’ll be $12.99 plus shipping.

Okay, so Lori and I have been chatting for a bit now about doing something to feature her book, The Last River Child. She even had two copies sent to me so I could read one — and I did! A bit ago.

It seems this summer slowdown of mine hit well before the summer started.

Still, author Lori Bloomfield hasn’t released a new book, so we’ll call The Last River Child a Featured New Release. Which means that in addition to giving away both copies of this book (I dare you to tell me which I read. ’cause… I can’t tell. Yep, I’m THIS gentle on my books.), I asked Lori THE question:

What song makes you think of your book?

Her answer?

After much thought about what song reminds me of my book I am going to go with “Stolen Child” by Loreena McKennitt. Wow, I feel like I’m on a game show, or something. It was a fun question to roll around my mind. Really, I was searching for a song that created a certain mood and I think this fits the bill.

Know what? This song is THE BEST representation of the book. If this book were a song, it’d be this one. Nicely done, Lori!

Here’s the book’s blurb:

In the summer of 1900, a meteorite lands on the day of Peg Staynor’s baptism, barely missing the small church in rural Ontario. This, along with Peg’s almost colorless eyes, is enough to resurrect a local superstition that will haunt Peg and her family for years. Many believe Peg to be a river child, taken over by an evil spirit from the Magurvey River that winds its way through the town. Feared and shunned throughout her childhood, Peg is blamed for every misfortune, from drought to ailing livestock. When her mother, her fiercest protector, dies suddenly on the same day WWI is declared, young Peg must face not only the mistrust of the villagers, but of her father. His grief has driven him to take solace in drink and old superstition, leaving Peg with only her head-strong older sister, Sarah, for support. It will take the terrible reality of World War I to shake off the grip of old world beliefs. As the town’s young men begin to return mentally and physically damaged, or not return at all, the sheltered atmosphere of the town is broken. A bright flame of change will sweep through everyone’s lives, leading Peg into the future.

So. To win one of the two copies… just leave me a comment, telling me WHY you want to read it. What strikes your fancy? Being sincere when you say you want to read it ’cause you trust my taste and judgment won’t get you bonus points but WILL make my day.

I’ll send at least one copy around the world, and keep the other one for you US or Canadian friends. But if I pick two North Americans, so be it. I’ll pick the winners in the usual way — random kid power! And… I’ll give you ten days to enter. That makes July 16.

Oh, yeah. If you don’t leave me a way to contact you, your entry doesn’t count.

And for the disclaimer garbage: Lori had her publisher send me both copies. Actually, she asked that one be sent, and so one was. Twice. In two envelopes, even. So that’s why I decided to give this charming book away — be warned; it lingers. That’s all I got out of it, really. Nothing financial. Just a good read, and darn it, but that’s good enough for me.