The Fantasies of M. Raiya

The Brook is Free

2012-03-08T17:36:00.000-05:00

When I got to school this morning, I burst into the room where I work and told everyone that I'd just seen my first TV! Students and fellow teachers looked as though I'd lost my mind. I let them think that for a while, until I explained that TV, in birder's language, means Turkey Vulture. I'd just seen the first one of the season, riding north on gusty south winds, its wings in the typical V angle as it teetered slightly in the air. Not five minutes later, I saw another V in the sky -- my first flight of geese heading up the lake. And about a minute after that, another TV.

It was an auspicious start to the day, which was good, because I was searching for some positive lights after learning that a former student has just passed away and that a friend's cancer has moved to stage four. Time to grab my camera and the dog and go for a walk in the wind.

Today, the brook broke free of its ice for the first time all winter. When I left the house this morning, the only bare ground was around the bases of the apple trees. This afternoon, I can see the lawn again. These are good things. Take pictures, look into the wind, and pretend that's why I'm crying.

Happy March!

2012-03-02T11:29:00.001-05:00

I love the first of March, because it means, to me, that winter is losing its hold. March is when the snowbanks begin to melt and form puddles on the sides of the road, when our dirt road turns to wonderful, mushy mud, when our neighbor taps the maple trees across the road, and when robins and redwing blackbirds first appear again. Yeah, there are cold nights and snowy days and sometimes it seems like winter will go on forever, but the light lasts longer, and when I turn my face to the sun, there is warmth there again.

The bay is still frozen, but my daffodils are starting to poke up.

March is the begining.

Another Story Accepted!

2012-02-27T10:02:00.000-05:00

Guess who's getting married?

That's right!

Varian and Josh!

And you're all invited to the wedding!

There will be champagne, roses, rainbows, and swords.

There will be swooning (not from whom you'd expect) and wings (not from whom you'd expect)

There will be uninvited guests and presents literally out of the blue.

When the folks at Torquere announce the date, you all will be the first to know.

In the meantime, hold your breath for A Sky Full of Wings, the next installment in the Notice world, a novelette following Notice and "The Dragon and the Mistletoe."

Biggest Snowfall of the Year!

2012-02-26T10:17:00.000-05:00

To get our biggest storm on February 25, I have to say that for Vermont, that's rather pathetic. Many years, the snow is waist deep by now. I think we've got about fourteen inches.

I was very glad that it came on a Saturday and I could enjoy watching it fall while sitting at my computer, sipping tea. I took these photos this morning. The only sounds were my neighbor out plowing in the distance, and a disgruntled robin making occasional "I don't like this," churps from a maple.

I'm on school vacation this week, and I'm going to relax and enjoy it. (She says, thinking up more projects that really ought to be done by the minute.)

Swans!

2012-02-18T11:42:00.001-05:00

Recently, I learned that three Tundra Swans were hanging around in the Ausable Marsh State Wildlife Management Area, just south of Plattsburgh, New York. Tundra Swans are very unusual around here. They nest in the arctic in Alaska and the northern reaches of Canada. Most of them winter in the west, but a few head over to the Atlantic. No one knows why three of them have decided to hang out here for a while, but I suspect the lake caught their attention because of all the unusual open water this year. Or they just know a good lake when they see it.

Whatever the reason, I got over my cold in a hurry and organized a trip. A friend of mine said in amazement, "Are going to give up half your weekend to a possibly vain attempt to peer at three birds through binoculars?"

My response was a slightly more eloquent version of, "Hell, yeah!"

So my family and I headed across the lake on a ferry last Sunday afternoon in temperatures that weren't much above zero, into a wind that literally felt like knives. It took us a few attempts to find the park because the sign had been taken down for the season, but within about thirty seconds of leaving the main road, we came upon a line of cars full of people with binoculars and spotting scopes trained on the water. My kind of folk.

And within another few moments, I had nailed species number 240 for my life list.

We spent about an hour watching the swans. There were three of them -- two adults and their immature offspring. Tundra Swans mate for life, and their young stay with them for a while. Our timing couldn't have been better. Soon after we arrived, the swans stopped feeding and began to bathe with much splashing and flapping, and then they stepped out onto the ice to preen their feathers into place. I took over 90 shots of them, periodically popping back into the van to warm up. These are my favorite:

As we first saw them, looking elegant. The immature is on the right.

Because they were eating aquatic plants below the surface, I got a lot of shots that looked like this.

Or like this.

"Really not your best angle, honey."

Then they began bathing and splashing.

The immature came up on the ice first and shook like a dog.

Then he got down to preening

Dad joined him.

Mom: "Guys, I'm still bathing! Quit staring at a lady!"

"Oops, sorry!"

"Jeez! What I don't go through!"

"Yeah, but you know I'm gorgeous!"

"Do you notice I'm not looking at you?"

"God, parents!"

"I am so not looking at you! Even though I know you're doing the leg thing."

"On the other hand, there's a famous author with a camera over there, and she blogs a lot, so we'd better give her a nice shot, huh?"

Just for the record, it's impossible to tell the genders of Tundra Swans apart. (Well, for us to, anyway.) I just have an overactive imagination. But what else was I supposed to do with 90 shots of swans? And also for the record, these shots were all taken with my 300mm lens and then enlarged, so I was (obviously) not near enough to disturb them. (I love digital. You don't want to know how much money I used to spend on film. Yes, I developed my own. A darkroom used to be one of my favorite places.)

So after we bade the swans farewell, we were all eager to warm up in a restaurant in downtown Plattsburgh with my skeptical friend, who is probably no longer skeptical but convinced that I've lost touch with sanity. Then another ferry ride home. Yes, I stood at the railing and looked at the dark sky and the dark water and the lights on either shore, and thought lofty thoughts about swans and freedom and flying and how wicked cold my ears were getting.

All in all, a lovely day, well spent!

Happy Bear Day!

2012-02-02T21:07:00.001-05:00

Well, the rest of the country is celebrating Groundhog Day, but I'm celebrating Bear Day. While I was driving home from school today, I saw a bear! I came around a bend on a winding, narrow road, and there, just ahead of me, stood a big, black shape. I knew it was a bear -- I didn't even think it might be a big dog. Nothing else is that color black. It was just really, really black, and beautiful, and wild, and man, was I glad I was in my car. Before I could get a good look, it was gone. Just gone.

When I got up to the spot where it had been, I slowed and looked hard, reaching for my camera, but there was no sign of it. Far down below, a stream crossed under the road in a large culvert. I suspect the bear had been following the water. When the stream disappeared into the culvert, the bear was forced up and over the road. Somewhere in the woods below, the bear was still probably heading downstream.

It seems early for bears to be out of hibernation, but in the last few days, I have been seeing raccoons and smelling skunks, so I assume bears are waking and rambling about, too. This means I probably should bring in my bird feeders, but I really don't want to do that yet. This bear was miles from my house. The ones who live around me are still sleeping. I'm certain of it. Yup.

It was cloudy, so the bear didn't see its shadow. I wonder what that means for the rest of the winter?

Probably absolutely nothing.

Escape

2012-01-23T19:30:00.000-05:00

I should be writing, but I really needed to look at something other than winter tonight. This is the time of year to just go easy on yourself. Keep it simple, don't judge, and savor hot chocolate.

Snow!

2012-01-14T11:44:00.000-05:00

A Blue Jay under my feeders this morning

We got some fresh snow yesterday and last night, about six or seven inches. One of our biggest snowfalls so far this year, and in the middle of January, that's saying a lot. An unusual year, but then, in Vermont, the usual weather is unusual. It was enough to make my drive home from school yesterday a bit slippy, especially in the untreated lot at my daughter's high school where the hockey team could have happily practiced (not that I'm complaining or anything!) It's bringing the birds into my feeders which have been lonely this season. Shoveling is good exercise, I tell myself.

I feel like all my posts have been about the weather lately, but I am writing, honestly. I'm in the middle of three projects, which seems to be my pattern lately. This turns into a bunch of releases all at once, which keeps me so busy that I can't write anything new, and then I have a writing period with no releases. When I'm in the middle of a release cycle, I sputter that I don't have any time to write, and when I'm writing, I sputter that everybody is going to give up on me and forget who I am. Then I remind myself that The Dragon and the Mistletoe was released just a month ago, and it's getting lovely reviews, so I don't have anything to sputter about. (I really like that story, too.)

My projects -- another dragon story (I mean, we really can't have a proposal without a wedding, can we?) a unicorn story to spice things up a little, and the end is in sight for my next novel, Another Healing, which I'm taking slowly but steadily.

It's winter, but I'm carrying on.

Melancholy

2012-01-07T13:29:00.001-05:00

As much as I love Vermont and its seasons, I have to admit that this is my least favorite time of year. Winter has set in for good, and often we have day after day of grayness like today. Waiting for spring is an endurance sport. One morning this week, it was so cold that my damp hair froze on my way from my car into the school. Storm after storm keeps the roads a nightmare. Everyone is growly and hibernation seems like a good option.

When I a kid, I embraced winter. On still nights, I would put on my skis and fly around the field across from my house, alone with the trees and the moonlight and my thoughts. Now at night, I'm so tired that I can sit forever and just stare at the last sentence on the screen. It's not writer's block -- I have as many ideas as I've ever had, thank goodness -- it's just that I don't have the energy to get my fingers to move.

Life is different now. I worry about my parents more than I do about my children.

And one of my long-time friends from college has breast cancer. I don't know if it's something you fight, or live with, or endure, or race -- I just know that I've already lost two friends in the last few years, and I don't want to lose another. It's especially sad because she was just months away from adopting a child from China after waiting on the list for five years. She hoped to make life better for some unwanted little girl, but instead she's having to focus on her own life in a whole new, scary way. I don't know if she will ever have a child now, or not. Thursday night on the phone, she told me that the first few stands of her hair had just fallen out. I tried not to let her know I was crying, but I think she knew.

At times like this, the warmth of spring feels far off, but wishing it were here seems like wishing my own life away when every moment is something to treasure.

Hmm. I wonder if those old ski boots still fit...

Winter Solstice

2011-12-22T14:21:00.001-05:00

"The darkest evening of the year..."

Robert Frost

I like to pause and reflect on the solstices, to try to open my mind to the changes they mark on the celestral calendar, which seems to me to be more in touch with nature than the calender hanging on my wall. To me, it's ironic that as the days begin to lengthen, the season becomes colder and winter takes hold of my world. The same is true in the summer, that just as the days reach their longest and begin to shorten, the weather grows warmer. I understand the logic of this in my head -- planetary orbits and tilts and all that science stuff, but in my heart, I think it's about hope and circles and where we are and where we're going and where we've been as we hurtle through space and time through the cosmos toward some destination, or maybe not.

Today is a quiet day in the midst of a bustling season. This morning, the morning after the longest night of the year, is the beginning of my holiday vacation. I took my camera and my dog and went for a walk, to refocus and open myself to this place while the sun rides as low over the tamaracks on the ridge above my house as it will ever get. I thought about where I was as a writer the last time the Earth had been in this position. I'd just published The Glass Man, The Rosebud, In Starlight, The Dragon and his Knight, and Ice. I was nervous about my reception in the publishing world. I was proud that I'd taken the risk to do it. I was appreciative of the support that my friends and family had given me.

This year, I've added Notice, My Boyfriend has a Scar, Origin, and The Dragon and the Mistletoe. I've become more comfortable with who I am in this crazy adventure called Publishing. I'm still being challenged, but my family and friends are sticking with me no matter what. I've made an amazing new friend who is quite comfortable splashing around in the water I'm so timidly testing. I want to keep growing as a writer, to make my words, and worlds, better, deeper, richer.

Yesterday's rain brought the brook up above the ice and set it free to run again, a last chance before the snow and cold settle in for good. I listened to the water until I walked out of its range and through a field where the colors and beauty are subtle shades now, where you have to look to find the brilliance of a berry or a leaf silhouetted against a pale blue, winter sky. A quiet cheep from a chickadee working a birch tree was the only sound.

Except for my thoughts.

Yes, this is a good place in the heavens to be.

Nutcracker!

2011-12-18T10:56:00.001-05:00

It's a beautiful, sparkly December morning here in Vermont, and if you live around here, it's still not too late to get tickets for today's shows of The Nutcracker at the Flynn Theater in Burlington, the most magical ballet in the world! Our show is put on by local dancers from the Vermont Ballet Theater School, of which my youngest daughter is a member of the Company. I've been very busy these last few weeks helping with the production. I volunteer to take photographs of the dancers for many local newspapers (have you all gotten the idea I like to take pictures?) Young dancers are a bit different from wildlife and scenery, but I enjoy a bit of a change.

Busy time of year! Off to the theater!

The Dragon and the Mistletoe

2011-12-07T21:15:00.000-05:00

My holiday short story was released today! It's Notice, part II, but I think it's also a piece that stands on its own. Mistletoe is about love and trust and finding both in a world that needs a lot more of both.

Here's the Blurb:

Dragon-shifter Varian Kendall would rather face a sword than have to pick out a Christmas present for his flamboyant lover, Josh. But this is their first real Christmas together, and he knows he must find something special to go into the red, lacy, fishnet stocking Josh has hung by their tree. But what Varian comes up with is only one of the surprises waiting for them on Christmas Eve.

And here's the Except:

I opened my wings and sprang off the roof into the frosty air. It was much easier than taking off from the ground. I had the power lines memorized, and I knew that even though the radar from the nearby airport would detect me, I would register only as a flock of birds. I did a quick circle high above the neighborhood to make sure I hadn't disturbed anyone. It was so late and cold that nobody was outside, and my wings were silent as a bat's in the air. All stayed quiet. I felt safer flying on dark winter nights than in the summer, and tonight, there was not even any moon to worry about.

Satisfied we'd escaped detection, I stroked harder, picking up speed and gaining elevation at the same time. The air was very still, perfect for flying. Above us, the stars burned close enough to touch, little twinkling crystals of pure fire. Below us, the lights of Burlington spread out, the greens and reds of the holiday interspersed with the white streetlights, the orange glow from parking lots, and the occasional moving points of red and white made by cars. We flew across two worlds -- the sky and the land -- and were part of neither, and of both, at the same time. Mostly, we were just together.

"So beautiful," Josh said, taking his hands out of the loops and leaning low along my neck, caressing me. "I am so lucky you chose me, Varian."

I couldn't answer, but in reality, I knew I was more lucky that he'd accepted me. I was a lover who'd embroiled him in danger and death last fall, forced him into secrecy, changed his life, and generally not treated him as well as I could have until I'd wised up. I was a lover who'd hatched out of an egg, for God's sake. A lover who bought him a -- I couldn't even think it. When he saw what I'd gotten him for Christmas, he was probably going to reconsider everything.

Some Silliness From My Live Journal Prompts Yesterday

2011-12-04T10:02:00.000-05:00

Yesterday while I was hosting Live Journal in anticipation of Wednesday's release of "The Dragon and the Mistletoe," I asked for writing prompts. I was given five sets, and this is the silliness I came up with:

For Rapidess

Varian and Josh

Gift

Mud

Key

Damn it! Here I am, there's my van, and it's stuck in the mud. It's dark and cold, and my lover man never has his phone on...

"Hello?"

"My knight in shining armor! It's your damsel in distress! Come save me from the encroaching cold and darkness. Pluck me from the teeth of disaster! And afterwards, have your wicked way with me!"

"Josh? Where the hell are you?"

"Beset by grave peril. I'm standing beside my mired chariot."

"Damn it, Josh, I warned you that parking lot was going to turn into mud today! You had to park down there?"

"How else was I to load the works of my soul into my chariot?"

"You could have waited for me to come and help you lug your paintings out the front door."

"Perhaps I wanted you to spend your energy on... other pastimes?"

"Josh, when have I not had energy for that? Listen, I've got another hour of faculty meeting to sit through. We're having a coffee break right now, or else you wouldn't have caught me. Can't you wait in the studio?"

"Alas, the keys are in the van."

"Well, get your feet muddy and get them out."

"The keys to the van are in the studio."

"Josh... Hang on. Arnold, I'm sorry, I've got to go. Josh has locked himself out of his studio and his keys are locked in the van. Yeah, I know. No, I don't think I'll be back in time -- he's stuck in the mud, too. No, no, I can pull him out. We'll be fine. I'll see you Monday."

"Knight in shining armor, winged warrior of the sky, you are a gift to my soul!"

"I love you, too, Josh."

For jmcartwright

Staples

Fairy

Marshmallow

Green

The tired fairy landed on one of the rolls of hay that dotted the field in the moonlight. The way farmers wrapped them up in white plastic these days, they looked like over sized marshmallows. Arthur missed the days when hay was forked up loosely into huge wagons that horses pulled into the barns. It had been fun to bounce on the top. Now, big, noisy, smelly machines picked them up and carried them. No bouncing.

The fairy sighed. The others were late. The moon was already high in the sky. That made it brighter, which was a good thing, but it also meant fewer hours before sunrise, and they would all have to be gone before the first rays of the sun touched the trees circling the green meadow where he'd called the emergency meeting. And if they had to leave before their work was complete, then...

Arthur thought Virgil and Wilbur would be here by now -- they were usually first -- but Virgil had warned him that Wilbur was into a new project involving paper and paint and lots of staples. As hard as it was to tear Wilbur away from things, the fairy was afraid that they would be the last to arrive.

For Ali Wilde

Virgil and Wilbur

Pineapple, volleyball, penguin

Finally, Arthur heard voices and looked up in time to see Virgil and Wilbur dropping in like a pair of volleyballs served over an astral net. Relief flooded through him. Now, if the others would just get here in time...

"What's up, Arthur?" Virgil asked, landing neatly on the freshly mowed grass in front of him and folding his gossamer wings.

Wilbur crashed ungracefully into the roll of hay, almost knocking Arthur off. Wilbur was not known for his coordination. But Arthur could see, as Wilbur picked himself up, that he was holding something tightly in his arms.

"We have a problem," Arthur said heavily. "Did you bring the pineapple?"

"Right here," Wilbur said proudly. "See? I made a cage for it."

"Okay," Arthur said slowly as Wilbur displayed the basket made of brightly painted paper, woven into strips and held together with many staples, in which happily rested a very perfect pineapple without even a single frond broken. "That's great, Wilbur, thank you. That's a beautiful pineapple cage."

Wilbur beamed, and Virgil rolled his eyes without speaking. They'd been a pair for longer than Arthur could remember.

"What's the problem?" Virgil asked, looking up at Arthur.

"It's back there," Arthur said heavily, nodding over his shoulder at the ground behind him.

"Oh, no." Virgil hurried around, Wilbur right behind him. Then they both froze.

"Yeah," Arthur said heavily. "Sunny's turned himself a penguin again."

For Eden Winters
Henry and Rafael

Doughnut, pinecone, handy

The penguin made a soft, pitiful peep and flapped its little wings, looking longingly up at Arthur on the hay roll. Arthur slid down and knelt beside his unlucky lover. "Don't worry, we'll fix you," he whispered. "The others are coming."

"We're here," said a new voice, and Arthur glanced up to see Henry and Rafael soaring down in the moonlight, much more gracefully than the previous two. Henry, tall and lithe even for a fairy, landed first and folded his wings quickly. Rafael, even taller and very regal, landed with a touch of disdain for the pinecones that had fallen from the nearby tree. Arthur knew he detested the outdoors and only cared for his sophisticated urban life. But even Rafael made a little moan of sympathy for the penguin, who flapped again and pressed himself against Arthur's side.

"Oh, how did he do it this time?" Rafael asked.

"I don't know," Arthur said heavily. "If I knew, I'd put him back. That's why we need everybody, and the magic book of spells. When I called Noah, he said to bring a pineapple."

"A pineapple?"

"That's what Noah said." Arthur sighed. "All I know is that Sunny was downstairs this afternoon, working in the damn lab of his, and all of a sudden, he called up to me, "Do you have a doughnut handy?"

"A doughnut?" Henry asked, frowning. "That's a human pastry, is it not?"

"Yeah. He loves them. Every Sunday morning, I buy a box when I go out to get the paper. I was just bringing one down to him when there was an awful bang, and when the smoke cleared, Sunny was a penguin again."

"You've got to stop doing this," Virgil said to Sunny.

The penguin ducked his head.

"I brought the pineapple," Wilbur put in with a worried smile.

For synthrax

Carson and Matt

German, hippos, zip-line

"And I have the hippos," called a new voice.

Arthur looked up in time to see another pair of fairies arrow in from the sky so fast they could have been coming down a zip-line. Muscular and athletic, Carson and Matt were so identical Arthur often wondered if they had common ancestry somewhere long ago. The only difference was the black collar around Matt's neck and the fact that he stayed a pace behind Carson as they approached.

"Penguin again?" Carson asked, looking down with raised eyebrows. "Isn't this the second time this month?"

"Yeah," Arthur said with a sigh. "He doesn't mean to."

"He's cute," Wilbur said.

"Yes," Carson said, "but I bet Arthur likes him better as a fairy."

"Well, I'm more used to him that way," Arthur said. "The hippos?"

"Matt?" Carson said over his shoulder.

"Here, master," Matt said, slipping off a dark pack he wore between his wings. Crammed inside it were two large, gray pillows that poofed up as soon as they were free. Mat knelt and stacked them on the ground, and at once, the penguin hopped up onto them, bouncing a little. Arthur remembered bouncing on the hay with Sunny back in the old days, and he wiped away a little tear for the past so long ago.

"And?" Carson asked Matt.

Matt pulled something smaller out from his pack and held it out to Arthur with a little smile. "This is for you," he said. "We thought you might need a little German Chocolate. It'll fix most anything, you know."

Arthur sniffed and let Matt, always very caring, give him a hug. "You guys are the best," Arthur said, including them all. Carson broke the chocolate bar into pieces and handed them around to everybody.

For Kim 629

Noah & Billy
Kindle
Snow Globe
Bottle opener

"Where are they?" Arthur asked worriedly. The moon was starting to fall down behind the pines, and the sky in the east was growing brighter. Arthur knew that if Noah and Billy didn't get here soon, it would be too late, and Sunny might have to stay a penguin forever. Because once the sun touched the land and a new day began, that which had been done yesterday would remain true forever.

"Sorry, sorry!" he heard Noah's deep, gruff voice bellow through the trees. Arthur turned and saw Noah and Billy come jogging up. "Thought you said England, not New England. Been looking for a place called Vermont there. A vampire set us straight, finally. Well, as straight as we'll ever be." He giggled, surprising in his deep voice. The two of them looked as disheveled as usual. Most fairies had learned how to keep their appearance neat and clean and cultivated a carefully windblown look. Noah and Billy looked as though they were permanently caught in a hurricane.

"No one would ever accuse you of being straight," Billy said, elbowing his partner and laughing.

"Why," Rafael asked, looking down his genteel nose, "did you arrive on foot? Don't you know there are unclean pinecones down there?"

"Oh, we just landed on the wrong field," Noah said. "We're here now. Penguin again, you said, Arthur? Never fear, I've brought my trusty Kindle along."

"Your Kindle?" Rafael asked in horror. "Not your ancient book of spells?"

"No need," Noah said, waving expansively. "It's all in here. Much lighter. Easier to fly long distances with." He whipped out a thin tablet-shaped thing with a glowing screen on one side from his large coat pocket. He began tapping his fingers frantically on it. "Ah, here we go. Anti-penguin spells. You have a pineapple, I see?"

"I brought the pineapple," Wilbur said proudly. "See its cage?"

"Very nice, Wilbur," Noah said. "It looks very sturdy."

"Well stapled," Virgil said with a long-suffering sigh.

"The sun..." Arthur said. "Please, guys, hurry! Did somebody bring something to cut it with?"

"I have a bottle opener," Billy said. "Never know when you might need to open a beer."

"Beer," Rafael sniffed, "is the drink of men, not fairies!"

"Oh, it's not so bad," Billy said. "Once I--"

The penguin gave an urgent peep. Arthur sank down onto the hippos and gathered his lover into his arms. "Hurry," he whispered, bouncing lightly.

His friends gathered around. Wilbur took the pineapple out of its cage and held it in the air above Sunny. Billy poised his bottle opener. Noah read aloud from his Kindle, "On the count of three, pierce the pineapple and allow the juice to touch the head of the afflicted. At the same time, those present must chant, 'Penguin, begone,' three times. One, two, three!"

Billy jabbed the sharp end of the bottle opener into the pineapple and the fragrant juice ran down onto the penguin's head. "Penguin, begone!" Everyone shouted three times.

And then, just before the sun touched the treetops, the penguin turned into a beautiful, dark-haired man who flung his arms around Arthur and began to cry in joy. Everyone laughed and cried, and then, as the light grew brighter, they all vanished, returned to their homes.

"What were you trying to do down here, anyway?" Arthur asked, once they were standing in their basement, which was filled with beakers of colored liquid and things that bubbled and smoked.

"Trying to make something for you," Sunny said. "I think it -- yes! Here it is." He held out a perfect snow globe.

Arthur took it and gazed into the gently swirling flakes inside. They slowly settled on an old-fashioned farm scene, complete with a barn and a wagon full of hay waiting to go inside.

"Oh," Arthur said, his eyes filling again. "Oh, Sunny, I love you so much."

Sunny pulled him down to the soft carpeting on the floor and made gentle love to him.

Arthur was happy.

***

High up in the air, Varian smelled pineapple juice and circled. Down below, in the growing light, he could see a pair of grey pillows and what looked like a bottle opener and the wrapper from a candy bar.

"Wonder what went on down there," Josh said. "Kids?"

Varian thought he could sense magic, but a very different kind than his. It was too late to investigate, he decided. He needed to get out of the air before it got any lighter. But he marked the spot for later. Interesting.

Live on LJ

2011-12-03T08:09:00.000-05:00

It's a beautiful, sparkly December morning here in Vermont today, 26 degrees with a pretty powdering of new snow, and I'm live on LJ talking about "The Dragon and the Mistletoe!"

Here's my view outside this very minute:

Sad

2011-11-30T16:51:00.000-05:00

Today, my dragons are mourning Anne McCaffery.

Gobble, Gobble

2011-11-24T08:58:00.000-05:00

It's Winter!

2011-11-23T09:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we had the first skim of ice on our pond that lasted all day.

This morning, we woke to several inches of snow.

This created a blizzard of Black-capped Chickadees around my feeders. Don't you love the tail shot? And peeking in on the right hand edge is a Tufted Titmouse. They're a bit shy.

I'm really glad I don't have to go anywhere today. I'd love snow, if it wasn't for having to drive in it. I am a TOTAL WIMP when it comes to winter driving, and I live on a road that is a nightmare to get up and down. But on days like today when I get to photograph it, watch it come down while I write, and do some holiday cooking in peace with gentle music playing, yeah, I'm okay with snow.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Shifting Steam in Print

2011-11-18T19:53:00.000-05:00

I received my copy of Shifting Steam in the mail today. There's something very cool about having a story in a print book and seeing my name on the back cover. That, and the check I got in the mail yesterday, made me think about how far I've come in a year and a half, from when The Glass Man was first accepted to now. It's been an amazing experience for someone who has dreamed of being published for so long -- thrilling and terrifying both. I've certainly done my share of laughing and crying. But really the best thing has been support and pride I've gotten from my friends and family who've been there while I've been laughing and crying. And the new friends I've made are a real gift. They have all truly kept me sane.

Well, as sane as I'll ever be.

I have all next week off from school! And that means writing, writing, writing...

Notice -- the Sequel!

2011-11-15T16:40:00.000-05:00

Yes!
It's official! "The Dragon and the Mistletoe" will be out December 7, 2011. Okay, it's not another novel. It's a short story. A long one, though.

Yes!
It's about Varian and Josh.

Now he's Sir Adrian Varian Kendall, lord of knights as well as of dragons, and he's facing the greatest challenge he's ever faced in his life: what to get Josh for their first real Christmas together?

His solution is...uniquely Varian's.

And it's got dancing (yes, Varian dancing!) and flying and romance and candlelight and Josh being, well, Josh.

Aww, I'm so excited!

And will there be more additions to the saga?

Maybe. Perhaps. *Shrugging with a little smile*

Okay, now I have to get back to my edits or it won't be coming out. Deadline looming large.

Everything You Didn't Want to Know About my Septic System

2011-11-04T19:37:00.000-04:00

First the furnace a few weeks ago, then last night the septic system. I was in bed about midnight, sound asleep, when I heard my husband yell at our oldest daughter, "Get out of the shower!" She'd just come home from college for the weekend (which means laundry and a long hot shower, first thing.) Well, the water from both was all spraying all over the cellar. I knew the tank didn't need pumping, so that meant another plug like the one I unplugged myself last summer. So, lying in bed after my husband and daughter had cleaned up the mess, I realized that if I didn't go out there right then and see what was going on, by the time I got home from school, it was going to be too late in the day to call anybody, and that would mean all weekend without being able to flush. Or shower. And since I have distant mermaid ancestry, if I don't get a shower every morning, well, it's really not going to be a good day.

So at two in the morning, I went outside and dug up the tank. (Hey, I'm a rugged lady. I write fiction. I work with high school kids. I can dig up a septic tank by flashlight!) I found the little square cover on my first try. (I'm also a dowser, so no surprise there. I don't know how it works, but it's an awfully handy talent for this kind of thing.) I pried the lid up. Sure enough, the old iron pipe was well plugged again. Holding the light in one hand and a long stick in the other, I spent ten minutes of real unpleasantness getting absolutely no results.

So, sputtering, I went back to bed and lay there until the alarm went off at 5:30. Shower time. A couple weeks ago, I had several days of icy cold ones. Today I had a warm one, but I had to keep turning the water off between each soaping cycle, so to speak. And in a cold house, that got chilly fast. Urg.

We called our favorite septic people (I went to high school with the owners) and a nice guy showed up ten minutes ago and unplugged us.The system is working fine, just too much paper going down. Ah, teenage daughters. Oh, well, it could have been the leach field. And now I'm happily doing laundry and looking forward to a long, hot shower to make up for this morning.

But you know, it was kind of nice being outside at two o'clock in the morning in late fall all by myself. Orion was beautiful and sparkly, it was perfectly quiet, and no Bigfoot lurked anywhere. Heck, if he'd come by, I'd have handed him the shovel.

My Morning Nightmare

2011-11-01T18:58:00.000-04:00

All right, so I've always been a little freaked out by Bigfoot.

It started when I was a kid and saw one of those quasi-documentaries about mystery creatures. I was mainly watching it because it had a segment about Vermont's own lake monster, Champ, for whom I've watched diligently for years. But for some reason, the footage of Bigfoot really chilled me. Bigfoot doesn't live in lakes. He lives forests, and so do I. And that was enough to give me nightmares of a fleeting black shape in the twilight, especially at the far edges of headlight beams, triggered, I'm sure, by a segment in the film about a man who spent a terrifying night trapped alone in his car while Bigfoot prowled outside.

Now, I haven't really worried about Bigfoot a lot lately, I have to admit. But yesterday at school, a student showed me some new video footage of that old, familiar, dark, menacing shape. I was real cool about it, and went home and made sure my doors were locked and that all the cats were in. And nothing happened. No otherworldly sounds in the night, no sense of being watched, no glimpses of anything at the edge of the light.

Until this morning.

I leave for school about 6:30, and this time of year, it's dark enough for high beams. I headed down my narrow dirt road in my trusty little car, dodging potholes, wondering what the kids had in store for me today, and trying to find my phone in all my various pockets. It wasn't there. I was getting a vulnerable feeling just as I came to the bend, which is sharp, left-handed, and slopes downhill. And as my headlights swung around and lit up the darkness, I saw it.

A black, shadowy shape, hunched over, running across the road on two legs right in front of me.

I slammed on my brakes.

The shape came to a halt, turned, and looked at me. I could see its eyes, bright spots in the shadow. Yes, I screamed.

It was frozen, unmoving.

I stared at it in terror.

It still didn't move.

And then I realized that the shadowy creature really looked an awful lot like a shadow. The shadow of the one tree limb over hanging the road just ahead of me that still, for some reason, had leaves. A shadow cast by my high beams. I eased off my brakes, my car rolled forward, and the creature slowly made its way off to the side of the road, its bright eyes fading as my headlights moved off two glistening pebbles.

Heart pounding, my throat burning from my scream, I drove on down the road. And I don't care whether it was a shadow or not -- you could not have paid me enough to get out of my car until I was safely in the school parking lot. And then I dashed inside, safe in a crowd of students who would be much more tender and juicy mouthfuls than me.

Happy Halloween a day late, everyone!

Shifting Steam

2011-10-27T18:59:00.004-04:00

The Blurb:

Steampunk and shifters? Do they even go together? Of course they do. Steampunk is all about the possible, the magical and the otherworldly. Shapeshifters are all about bending the idea of humanity into new shapes. Combine them, and you get Shifting Steam.

The stories in Shifting Steam pave the way for a magical journey through space and time to alternate realities, where anything is possible. From dragons to birds, from Victorian era expositions to secret laboratories, these stories explore what happens when man meets beast in a world of airship captains and fantastic creatures. Whether it’s a Jekyll and Hyde style beast, a wolfman who would rather not be a wolf, or a man who wishes he could fly, every kind of creature gets its day in the steampunk sun. Step into the world of Shifting Steam and let it transport you to a sexy, fantastical new universe.

Shifting Steam features stories from authors Missouri Dalton, Ekaterina Morris, Rowan McBride, Lydia Nyx, M Raiya, Lynn Townsend and Emory Vargas

So guess who wrote one about dragons? Yes, that would be me.

No, it's not about Varian and Josh. It's about my other dragon pair, Justin and Wells. They first appeared about a year ago in my story "The Dragon and His Knight" in the Mine Anthology. But yes,"Origin" takes place in the same dragon universe that Notice does. The premise is that during the Dark Ages, some dragons learned to take human shape to survive the havoc that knights were inflicting on them. Roughly a thousand years later, their descendants are trying to live double lives and evade modern knights who know their secret. Varian Kendall in Notice is one of these modern dragons.

Justin, however, is a REAL dragon, though Varian would kill me for saying it. Justin is one of the original dragons to take human form. He is immortal (or at least, as a friend of mine pointed out, he hasn't died yet). His way of surviving in the human world was to capture a human prisoner to use as a guide. He chose to ensnare a young knight named Wells. The system worked far better than he'd hoped, and he and Wells become partners in every sense of the word. After a thousand years, they truly are everything to each other.

We meet Justin and Wells at, of all places, the University of New Hampshire, which is where I did graduate work. (Yes, I have a Master's Degree in English. You may all bow and applaud. No, seriously, it a breezy three semesters of reading and writing. The only thing that scared me was the public reading at the end. Picture me behind a microphone on stage in a huge auditorium packed with underclassmen who were required to be there, and reading one of my short stories. It's one of those moments that if you can survive, you can get through just about anything later in life. My best memory of UNH is of the bagel cart outside Ham Smith, which Wells visits. And I wonder sometimes what my esteemed professors would think if they read some of the things I've published...)

Anyway, you'll have to read "The Dragon and his Knight" to find out what happens when a lady knight surprises Justin and Wells while sitting in the auditorium where I did my reading. Both their mortality and their love are deeply tested.

Now, "Origin" is a kind of prequel, set in the late 1800's in Liverpool, England. Justin and Wells are a kind of dragon police squad. When another dragon begins to misbehave in daylight over the bustling wharves, they investigate and find out there's a whole lot more going on in Liverpool than a renegade dragon having some fun. The story also explains what planted the seed in their minds to cross the Atlantic and leave their native land.

Fans of Varian and Josh, don't despair -- I have a few more things planned for them. Perhaps even a story that brings all four of my dragonish heroes together. Stay tuned!

In the meantime, here's an excerpt from "Origin:"

"Good sirs!" A woman slipped out from a doorway into Justin's path, forcing him to stop. From her scarlet gown with plunging neckline to her carefully groomed hair and sultry eyes, and from the dim lights and heady perfume drifting from the room behind her, Wells knew that she must be one of the "fallen women" as they were called now.

"This way, and all your needs shall be fulfilled," she said, beckoning.

Wells seriously doubted it, but she didn't know she was wasting her time as she slipped a well-manicured finger through Justin's collar. In the mood Justin was in, Wells knew she had no idea of her danger.

"Madam," Wells said, striding forward swiftly.

But he needn't have feared. Smoky air and hunger might shorten Justin's normally short temper, but his sense of honor wasn't touched. As Justin gently removed her finger, Wells had to smile. In some ways, the dragon was more of a knight than Wells. Justin -- tall and dark-haired and dark-eyed -- knew how attractive he was to the opposite sex, and to the same sex, for that matter. Justin couldn't help himself. It was the dragon just below the surface, in his eyes, in the lithe way he moved, in the cadence of his voice, which hinted of wildness and freedom and clean air. Wells would do anything to keep that dragon safe.

"I beg your indulgence another moment," she said. "If this might perhaps be more to the liking of you good sirs?" From behind her in the doorway, she pulled forward a boy. He looked about eleven, thin, fair-haired and with wide, bright blue eyes, and he wore a white shirt open to the waist over dark trousers. His expression was terrified as Justin and Wells stared.

The woman dug her fingers into his arm. "Avery," she hissed. "Your manners!"

"If it please you," the boy stammered out, "I mean -- I will -- please you?" He flushed bright red and sent a desperate look into the woman's face.

"Fortunately, he will not need words to serve you," she said, giving the boy's arm a sharp twist. He dropped, or collapsed, to his knees before them.

God Almighty, Wells thought, his knightly compassion for the weak stirring. What was humanity coming to? He was still human himself, though deeply changed by his relationship with Justin, but he felt the distance more each time he and Justin left their solitude.

When the Lights Go Out

2011-10-24T17:14:00.001-04:00

Why is it so magical when the electricity goes out? I know it can be a major life disruption and create dangerous situations. But last night our power went off for two hours in the evening, and I sat in the candlelight sipping red wine, watching my daughter do homework and my husband reading in the tentative light, and everything had a quiet peacefulness that is so lacking most of the time. I could not check emails or even work on my new project, and it was all guilt-free. Nothing to do but sip wine and watch the candles flicker. Even the house rested around us. We could see stars through the windows.

It was nice.

LIp Dub 10,000 Hits!

2011-10-13T19:09:00.002-04:00

Last winter, the school where I tutor made a Lip Dub. If you've never heard of one, don't worry. I hadn't either, until I was in one. Basically, a whole bunch of us faculty and kids showed up on a very snowy Sunday afternoon and spent three hours taking turns walking around the building backwards, lip syncing to a song played over the PA. It had to be shot in one continuous take with no rehearsing or editing except to dub in the song afterwards.We got it perfect in six takes.

Today, it got its 10,000th hit on YouTube!

Check it out, send it on its way to 20,000, and see the beautiful place where I work. I hear so many authors complain about their day jobs, but look at what I get to do! And yes, there might just be a tiny glimpse of the famous author herself in the background...

Here's the link to the Lip Dub:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHH6clID7Yg

And here's the link to the Making of the Lip Dub, which is pretty cool, too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWTywWCLJqA

Magic Morning

2011-10-09T11:01:00.001-04:00

I woke to one of those perfect fall sunrises this morning. I grabbed my camera, housecoat, and boots and spent an hour just shooting the light. I'd intended to focus on the foliage, but the way the light called, that was all I could see. It was so quiet that the only sounds were the soft splashing from the brook and the gentle plunk of apples falling from the laden limbs of the trees in our yard, and the quiet footfalls of my dog as she paced along beside me. I took over a hundred shots in that hour. But the peace that sank into me was worth more than all of them put together.

My Daughter's Bear

2011-09-29T20:44:00.003-04:00

Last night was one of those interesting nights that will probably turn up in a story somewhere. (And not THAT kind of interesting!)

I was innocently driving home about 10:00 when my cell phone rings. It's my teenage daughter, freaking out. There's a bear outside. She just saw it through the sliding glass door -- a big, black, fuzzy shape running into the woods. The dog is going ballistic. She is hiding under her bed. (Daughter, not dog. Dog is still barking frantically.)

This has happened before, seeing a bear come out of the woods. It's why I stopped feeding birds during the summer a few years ago. We haven't had one around since. I, of course, panic at the thought of only a screen door between my child and a ferocious wild animal with teeth and claws that growls and stands up on its hind legs. (I also wonder why she called me and not her father, who is driving the van ahead of me. I guess even when you're a teenager and you freak, it's Mom you dial.)

So I keep her on the phone until we lose service in the hills, reassuring her that the bear was last seen running away, it won't try to get in with the dog barking (golden retriever, very protective), and how cool it is to see such an unusual animal, and trying to turn off my writer brain that is showing me coming home and finding them both bleeding, or worse.

A few minutes later, my husband, who has no idea of the mayhem awaiting us, pulls into the driveway, which is fairly long, and comes to a dead halt as soon as his headlights pick up the house. I almost slam into him. And in our headlights, I see not one, but three huge forms racing across the lawn. I think I screamed. One bear I can cope with. Not three.

And then I realize that the bears are galloping, not running, and they have very long legs for bears, and that they are, in fact, our neighbor's three horses. I am so weak with relief that I can hardly call her from the car to tell her that her babies are loose and have come over for the apples on the ground below our trees.

The horses are in full panic mode, set off the sudden arrival of two cars and headlights, not helped by the frantic dog inside. I hop out, so relieved that they aren't bears, shut off my scary headlights, and head onto the lawn toward them (they know me, since I feed them when their owners are gone). I really don't want them heading for the main road. They recognise me and stop racing around. They trot over, I catch hold of the only one wearing a halter (who, incidentally, is small, fuzzy and black), and start up a conversation with the other two. They all seem to think I'm more interesting than the apples underfoot. I grew up with horses and always enjoy their company.

Then I realise for the first time that my husband has only just gotten out of the van, whose headlights are lighting us up now. And he is not coming up onto the lawn. He has never been around horses, and he calls up in a shaky voice,"You okay up there?"

I answer that they're fine, just after the apples, and that I've got hold of them, and they aren't heading for the road, and I added that they aren't bears. Of course, he has no idea why I would say that, and then the neighbors arrive with a bucket of grain, and are very happy that I've gotten everybody calmed down and under control. They all leave, my daughter comes out, we park the cars, and then I realise my husband is still staring at me with an odd expression. "You are quite the horse tamer," he said, and I see it for the first time as he must have -- me heading in the dark into a melee of panicked horses.

So we both had a jolt of fear for someone we love last night. I guess it's all relative.

But how my daughter could mistake a black pony for a bear is beyond me.

Intense Week

2011-09-21T19:37:00.000-04:00

This has been an intense week that's left my head spinning a little, in a good way. The Charity Sips have flown and seem to be winging their way into people's hearts, and the authors have been busy squeeing away in a very long release day party that is in its second week. It's been wonderful to be part of the group led by the never-wearying J. Rocci. Reviews are coming in already -- check out my review sidebar -- and my Goodreads page is, well, hopping is an understatement. I'm getting a double dose of excitement because a really nice review of Notice over on Coffeetime Romance was just posted, too. Give it a read.

Now I'm trying to take a deep breath and figure out what to do next.

Bullying

2011-09-16T23:21:00.001-04:00

Wow, so earlier this week I responded to the interview questions that J. Rocci posted for the Charity Sip authors, which were posted on LJ and now some of them have been put up on the Grave Tells blog. Mine was one of them, with a link over here, so if anybody is clicking over from that, first let me say that I really am okay and that I have a wonderful life, friends, family, and career. To be honest, what happened to me that year in middle school is not something I spend a lot of time thinking about any longer, and even when I wrote my story My Boyfriend Has a Scar, it wasn't up front in my mind. My character Gage was abused not by his peers but by his father, and that certainly never happened to me.

It really wasn't until I read the question, "Does this have any personal significance for you?" that an absolute floodgate opened in my head, and I was kind of stunned at how much I really could remember about that terrible year in middle school when I became a target for a gang of bullies, and how absolutely, deathly frightened of school I became. I honestly believed that there was something wrong with me, that I was somehow deserving of that terrible treatment, and I was mortally embarrassed by that kind of attention. After all, I was told by a teacher that it was my fault for putting up with it, and if I just stood up for myself and stopped crying, I could make it stop.

After the guidance councilor finally put at end to it, I was left with a feeling of vulnerability that has never really gone away, and I don't think I've ever regained the confidence in myself that I had before that year. I'm shy and perfectly happy to blend into a corner when in a crowd, watching my back, always just a little bit on guard.

On the other hand, I learned that there's not much that I can't live through after that, and nothing has been quite as bad as that year was. As to why it happened, why I was a target for such emotional and physical violence, I don't know. I was different -- I was shy, imaginative, an only child, more interested in being outside with my horse than in shopping or watching TV the way everyone else did. I was who I was, and that didn't fit the norm. I wasn't targeted for being gay -- I don't think we even knew what gay meant back then, and I'm not -- but, God, if the kids today who are gay and being bullied feel what I felt, then I truly understand why ending it all has such an appeal.

Now I'm a teacher myself, (well, technically a special ed writing tutor) and I may be shy, but I am a lioness when I get the whiff of any bullying going on. And I'm proud to say that the district where I work, which is the same one that I was in when I was bullied, now would treat my situation very differently.

It was also in sixth grade that I began to write, and where I ultimately found my refuge and my healing. And, in a way, with this story, I think I've come full circle.

Below are my responses to the interview questions:

Question 1: How did you choose the plot and characters of your story for the Charity Sip Blitz?

This is my thunderstorm story. I wrote it back in June, when Vermont was locked in a pattern of torrential rain, wild thunder and lightning, strong winds, and flooding. It was impossible to think of anything else, when every night I went to bed worried I wouldn't be able to get down our road the next morning, and all day at work, I worried that I wouldn't be able to get home where my pets were waiting. So when I sat down to write this Sip, it was inevitable that a storm was a key element. The characters and plot were born of the storm -- the inner reflecting the outer, so to speak. The day after I finished the first draft, I honestly drove home into the exact scenario my characters faced with water flowing over the road (okay, not quite so deep, but almost). I felt like there was no difference between my life and my fiction while I wrote this, and even right now, as I sit down to answer these questions, there is thunder in the distance. There is really something weird going on here.

Question 2: Why did you decide to participate in the Charity Sip Blitz?

I like to feel like I'm making a difference, somewhere, somehow, with my writing, and this just feels like a good thing to do.

Question 3: Does the theme, It Gets Better, have any personal significance for you?

Hell, yeah. I was bullied one year in middle school, badly. I was taunted, hit, shoved, had my possessions stolen and destroyed, and I was pushed down a flight of stairs. The worst thing that happened was having my stall door in the bathroom kicked open, then having the lights shut out and being left alone in the dark to find my way out. I became absolutely terrified every moment that I was at school. My parent's advice didn't help. The teacher I told only made things worse. Finally, and I am so incredibly grateful to her, a friend took charge and forced me into my guidance councilor's office, where she proceeded to explain what was going on. Fortunately, the guidance councilor acted -- the next day, she got all the girls who'd been bullying me, and their parents, into her office, and that was the end of it. Sort of. Twelve-year-old me didn't know I needed some help getting over it, and schools didn't think about that kind of thing then. I know I still have scars inside from what happened that year. I can't go into the building today without feeling sick. Whenever I go down that flight of stairs, I hang on tightly to the railing and feel the old pain in my ankle, and when I finally made myself go into that bathroom again, thirty years later, I burst into tears. But they were good tears, tears of thankfulness that I survived. Because, without what my friend did for me, I don't think things would have turned out all right.

Teammates by M. Durango: a Review by M. Raiya

2011-09-12T21:49:00.002-04:00

Teammates by M. Durango

Review by M. Raiya

This story draws the reader in with that universally dreaded moment when you put your key in the ignition, turn it over, and nothing happens. For Cory, this is really not good -- he's about to leave college for winter break, his dorm will soon be locked up, home is three hours away, and he knows nothing about cars. He is stranded and alone.

Rescue comes in the form of Jeff, Cory's old crush from high school. Jeff was the star of the basketball team and hung out with the homophobic bullies who'd made Cory's life miserable. Cory always assumed Jeff was quite straight. In other words, completely unattainable. But Jeff gives Cory a ride home, little realizing that within a few days, he's going to need a rescue, himself. As the tale unfolds, the two young men realize they have way more in common than they'd ever guessed.

I really like how this story shows both sides of the bullying issue. Bullying hurts everyone involved, not just the victim. This tale of awakening self-awareness, and passion, rides on strong dialogue and sympathetic characters. It's a great example of how people grow and change over time, and shows that life does, indeed, get better.

Author Biography:

"M. Durango ~ Mar to her friends ~ has been writing on and off since her first foray into fanfic at the age of 8. Sometime in 2003, she discovered m/m romance and was hooked. Finally figuring out what she wanted to do with her life at the early age of 34, she quit her corporate job, bought a bunch of writing books, and set out to learn how to create characters, dialog, and actual plots.

Mar grew up in New Jersey and has lived in the Pacific Northwest since the mid-90s with her scientist hubby and incredibly loud cat."

mdurango.wordpress.com/2011/09/12/

This Year's Charity

2011-09-11T15:02:00.000-04:00

This will be my second year supporting Torquere's charity project, along with more than thirty other authors who have written a story for the cause. Here's the official announcement for the project, and the awesome cover.

In 2008, Torquere Press' fantastic authors decided to support a charity with an annual short story collection called our Charity Sip blitz. In the past three years, we've donated more than $13,000.00 to charitable organizations that support GLBT causes.

For 2011, Torquere's authors have chosen the theme "Getting Better" in honor of the It Gets Better project, which helps LGBT youth understand that life as an openly queer adult is not only possible, but happening for millions of people, worldwide. More than thirty authors have written short fiction pieces and have agreed to donate all proceeds of the sales of these stories to this year's charitable organization. Torquere Press Inc. will match the authors' donations completely.

This year, we're also pleased to announce that our distribution partner, Rainbow eBooks, has agreed to be the title sponsor of our Sip collection, and will be our sole distributor outside of the Torquere Books website. Please support our sponsor by visiting them at www.rainbowebooks.com

Torquere Press and our authors truly believe we can make a difference by donating to organizations that promote awareness and equality. If you'd like to help, please support the Charity Sip Blitz and enjoy some great romance today!

Available September 17, 2011 at www.torquerebooks.com and www.rainbowebooks.com

Focusing

2011-09-10T16:56:00.000-04:00

When I need one of those head-clearing breaks from about ten projects I'm in the middle of (like right now) I grab my camera (Nikon D50), put on my 300mm lens, and head outside. I have to literally focus on something else, and it's so refreshing to be surrounded by a visual world and not a written one for a while.

A week from today, my Charity Sip, "My Boyfriend Has a Scar," will be released into the world along with thirty some odd others, to show the world that It Gets Better. I got the story back from the proofreader a few days ago, gave it a final polish, and sent it off. I'll write more about it next week.

I also found out that my Steampunk story, "Origin" has been accepted for publication in Torquere's Shifting Steam Anthology, due out sometime this fall. More dragons there! My guys from "The Dragon and his Knight," in the Mine Anthology, will be making a reappearance.

The other project I've thrown myself into is -- drum roll -- a Christmas themed short story, featuring the guys from Notice! I've been getting such wonderful feedback over on Goodreads that I felt inspired to write more about them. Notice takes place in the fall, and I got to wondering how Varian and Josh would be celebrating their first Christmas together. I've been having heaps of fun finding out. Stay tuned.

Anyway, these are some of the shots I got today, when I should have been at the computer writing.

Enjoy

The Eight Ball

2011-09-01T17:43:00.001-04:00

Here is the information about the eighth anniversary celebration going on right now at Torquere Press. Yes, there is an eight ball hidden in one of my posts! Good Luck ;)

The Eight Ball will help celebrate our eighth anniversary here at Torquere Press! Join us for the celebration!

We're having a reader scavenger hunt with weekly gift basket prizes and a grand prize (this year, a brand-new 3G Kindle along with a CD of stories from each participating author), plus daily prizes of gift certificates to show our appreciation to you -- our readers! Check our blog, http://glbtromance.blogspot.com/ where we'll have a number of our authors visiting the whole month. We'll post excerpts, hang out to chat, and talk about our stories.

In addition to the grand prize of the Kindle, we're giving away gift baskets every week! Some are silly, some are smutty, and all are fun. The themed ones are: m/m, ménage, BDSM, and lesbian plus our authors have chipped in with extra goodies.

Here's how to play. Visit our contest page, http://www..torquerebooks.com/contest/contactmain.html, and start scavenging for the Eight Ball answers. Visit the author pages and find the graphic somewhere on their site. An online form is set up, and we'll randomly choose a winner for the Kindle from all of the correct entries. Plus, every day, readers will have the chance to win a Torquere gift certificate and a gift basket.

Help us celebrate our eighth anniversary and ask the Eight Ball your question… Like, will I win a prize from Torquere Press?

Thanks, and have fun playing.

Robin Singing

2011-08-29T10:09:00.001-04:00

Well, the brook kissed the shores last night, but never crossed the road and is now happily back within its banks. I just walked down to my neighbor's to retrieve my car, where I'd left it in case I had no culvert under my driveway this morning, and heard a robin singing as though it was spring. Either the hurricane confused it, or it was just happy. I can relate -- the very air is wonderful to breathe this morning, and Vermont air is always wonderful. It's all sparkly, fresh, and clear.

I'm grateful that my family and property are safe, but I'm deeply sorry for those who weren't so fortunate.

Hurricane!

2011-08-27T10:24:00.000-04:00

I've been so excited about Notice's release that it was suddenly like, oh, where did Irene come from? And yeah, she's aiming for us. Huh. (No, I have not been partying straight for three days.)

It won't be a direct hit up here in Vermont, but it doesn't to be to cause a lot of problems. I live on a dead end narrow dirt road that winds up a valley with steep hills on three sides. There's a brook that runs down the middle of the valley, and the road plays tag with it for a mile. When the road was built many years ago, the brook was forced to go through culverts in four places. The problem is that when we get a lot of rain, the brook happily jumps back into its old bed, which is now right down the middle of the road. And since the road is a dead end, we were cut off about a week once a few years ago after a bad storm. With all the wind that's forecast, we will probably lose power, and with no way to get repair trucks up with no road... So today is stock up day, and move the patio furniture inside, put the canoe in the garage, and all kinds of other stuff.

But talking about flooding is a nice lead in to my next story, my Charity Sip called "My Boyfriend has a Scar," which will be released on September 17. It is, in fact, about a flood on a dirt road that winds up a valley... Sound familiar? I may be out in the storm tomorrow taking photos for an author-extra on release day.

I hope everybody in Irene's path is safe.

And if I disappear for a while, you'll all know why. (No, I'm not going back to partying. Which I haven't been doing.)

It's Out!

2011-08-24T16:55:00.000-04:00

Okay. Deep breath.

Move Notice from "forthcoming" to "available."

Add link to the Torquere sale site.

Add link to the review. (Holy cow, people, read the review!)

Print out the cover, frame it, and hang it on the wall beside my computer with my other covers. (It's just a little traditional thing I do on release days. Never before.)

Take out the little wooden dragon my sister gave me to celebrate this novel, which I was waiting to do until today.

Run around the house squealing. (No, wait I'm a novelist now. I'm supposed to act dignified. Better take that one off the list.)

Remember to keep breathing.

(Okay, I'm going to go run around the house squealing now.)

Almost Here!

2011-08-23T20:49:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow's the big day. Of course, I'm calm, cool, and collected about it. I've had release days before. Glass Man, Rosebud, Starlight, Dragon and his Knight, Ice.Writing is a business. Income.

Sure.

So why am I dancing around?

Camel's Hump

2011-08-22T15:05:00.000-04:00

Camel's Hump -- about to become famous as part of the setting in Notice

This is one of my favorite mountains. I've climbed it a few times -- it's one of several Vermont peaks that is over 4,000 feet (4,083 to be exact, which is high for the east, though they laugh at us in the west) -- and the summit offers beautiful views of the Champlain Valley, where I've lived all my life. So when I needed a peak in Notice, Camel's Hump was an obvious choice. Poor Varian gets into quite a situation up there.

The Native American name for Camel's Hump is the Couching Lion, and in my opinion, it's a much better name. We certainly do not have camels in Vermont. And no, I didn't misspell "couching." Lots of people mistake the word for "crouching" and think that some European who'd been to Africa thought the mountain looked like a lion, crouching down. This is completely wrong.

The word "couching" is something you've seen a cat do -- it's when they stretch out their front legs and kind of stretch out backward, keeping their front legs out straight before them. They often yawn when they do it. Many years ago, Vermont had a population of mountain lions (some believe we still do), and the Native Americans who lived here saw the mountain as a couching mountain lion, having a peaceful, early morning stretch. From the moment I heard that, I started to see the mountain as a couching lion, though I refer to it by the European misnomer.

Excerpt from Notice

2011-08-22T14:23:00.001-04:00

Two more days!

Here is the official excerpt from Notice. It's also the opening of the novel.

I was a creature of many secrets.

The three aspects of my life -- my human teaching career, my dragon life, and my homosexuality -- stayed so separate that only two people alive, my bodyguards, knew everything, and I kept even them on the fringes. My dragons only knew that I also taught human children, but my students didn't know about my dragons and certainly not about my sexuality, and my lover only knew I was a teacher and had no idea that I was also a dragon, and I liked it that way very much.

My worst nightmare was to have my three lives collide. I knew who would be the causality if that happened.

I taught history in a small high school in northern Vermont. Fifteen minutes into the last period on the first day of school for the year, everyone was tired, hot, and ready to go home. As I collected the papers from the wire bin where the students had put the "getting to know you forms" they had just filled out, I was thinking wistfully about fresh mountain air and moonlight on my wings.

And about someone who would be lying on cool sheets in our bedroom, freshly showered, waiting for me...

I shuffled through the papers as I walked to the front of the classroom, and I suddenly felt my heart stop for an instant.

One of the forms in the middle of the pile was blank, except for the words, "Consider this your official notice."

A student? My thoughts dissolved in horror.

The knights were after me again.

And had sent a student to kill me.

Getting Closer!

2011-08-19T09:54:00.000-04:00

Notice is out of my hands at this point. The last thing I did after I finished going over the final, proof-read version was to delete all my book marks, the little notes I'd made to myself that make no sense to anybody else but me. It's like symbolically pulling myself out of the novel. It's almost as bad as sending my first child off to college, which I went through a few years ago. I mean, she's still my child and still comes home to do laundry, but it's such a defining moment in a parent's life, and yes, I cried all the way home. And then baked pies, for some reason.

Pulling out of a novel is very much the same. It will still always be mine, but I won't ever see it the same way once it starts getting reviews and ratings and sales figures. Just as my now adult daughter reflects me in her behavior and the way she was raised, people who read my novel will see me in a slightly different way. I'm proud of Notice, and I think it will bring, if nothing else, some words about the importance of peace and love into the world, which certainly needs more peace and love. And that's as philosophical about my work as I'm going to get.

Now, off to bake pies again!

Moving Up

2011-08-15T11:49:00.000-04:00

It's kind of cool to move things from my Works in Progress list to my Forthcoming list. My 2011 offering for the Charity Sip Blitz has been accepted and I'm working through the edits now. September 15 is the release date and I'm really looking forward to reading everyone else's stories.

And very soon I'll be moving Notice from Forthcoming to Available! Look for me hosting LJ this Saturday, August 20. I'm open for topics to chat about -- send me a line!

2011-08-12T13:13:00.000-04:00

Seriously, is there anything I need to add that this amazing cover does not say?

August is Notice Month!

2011-08-01T17:59:00.000-04:00

Not that I'm excited or anything, but August 24th is the release date for my first, full length novel with Toquere Press!

Right now it's in the hands of the proof readers. I've already been through the initial editing process, very smoothly, and I'm looking forward to a few intense weeks of final polishing, and then it will be launched into the loving hands of you wonderful readers. I'm getting used to the process (as my first few release dates approached, I felt like I was ascending to the brink of the first big drop of a roller coaster, and it was too late to scream "Let me OFF!" but, man, did I ever want to.) Now, I'm a little calmer about it. But it's scary having your words out there for anybody to read, scary to know that people you don't even know are poking around in the things that come out of your brain.

But on the other hand, being published is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. I've always said that if I could find a publisher crazy enough to publish what I write, I'd keep their mailbox so full they wouldn't know what hit them, and I'm doing my best to fulfil that.

So brace yourselves -- I'm starting down the roller coaster, and the world had better be getting ready for NOTICE!

Camping!

2011-07-25T11:30:00.000-04:00

We just returned from a week of camping near Acadia National Park, Maine. No hot aliens or landslides or Ice this time, but I did start a new short story about two guys who go camping to test the solidity of their relationship. My husband and I have survived many camping experiences, a lot of which have been well, not so great is an understatement. They've involved accidents, injuries, illnesses, floods, and many trip to the ER, but we still keep going. This trip was one of the rosy ones, with perfect weather, good friends, and the kind of relaxation that you feel when you get home and think, "Yeah, that was fun."

Here's the sunrise from the top of Cadillac Mountain (at 4:30!)

Here's a deer with his antlers in velvet:

And here's some of that beautiful Acadia coast:

2011-07-15T15:08:00.000-04:00

Last night's moon from my window.

Weird Rain

2011-07-12T08:56:00.000-04:00

I just had the strangest experience. I'm sitting next to my open window early on a hot, steamy, absolutely still morning, and I hear a strange, rushing sound outside, almost like a car in the distance on the road behind me. I look over my shoulder to see what kind of vehicle is making a noise like that, and I see a wall of rain coming across my lawn. What I'd heard was the leading edge of a downpour hitting the leaves of trees across the road. I just sat and watched it pour for about thirty seconds, and now it's stopped completely. Rather bizarre, but then it's Vermont, and you just never know around here.

My daughter's boyfriend saw a moose cross the road just before our house two nights ago. I wish I'd seen it.

Anyway -- quick writing update. I've finished and submitted my offering for this year's Charity Sip, but I won't hear for a while if it's been accepted. I've finished the first round of edits for Notice. And I decided to challenge myself a little and try a steampunk story for a new anthology coming out this fall called Shifting Steam. I haven't written anything that I actually had to do research for since I finished grad school! Surprisingly, the whole process was a lot of fun, and my story ended up being almost 10,000 words, which is the upper limit cut off. I have no idea how the final copy will turn out, but I figure it's important to keep pushing myself as a writer, and how could I not try a story set in the past, with shape-shifters, and technology gone wrong, and gay guys in love? It's taking a rest now while my trusty writer's group has at it.

Stay dry!

Happy 4th of July!

2011-07-04T08:54:00.000-04:00

The water is falling!

2011-06-26T09:45:00.000-04:00

I took this shot yesterday. Here is the first of April for comparison:

The water is a much better color now, too. I just love watching things change like this. It makes me feel balanced, somehow. I think the problems with the world come from the fact that people don't look around and find their balance before they go charging off doing things. No wonder the world is crooked. (Not that I think it should be all straight, of course!)

Snapping Turtle

2011-06-20T10:03:00.000-04:00

So this morning I dropped my car off at the handy garage at the end of our road to have my winter tires taken off (I know, I know, it's a little late, but hey, it's been a long winter and after the hail we got on Saturday, I'm not convinced it's over yet) and I brought Ruby, the golden retriever, with me. She loves to walk, there's very little traffic on the road, and she's good at coming and sitting at my feet when a car does come by, so we usually don't bother with a leash. I just happened to have it with me today, though, since I prefer to have her attached to me in the parking lot of the garage, which is on the main road. And it was lucky that I did, because half way home, I saw the most GIGANTIC snapping turtle I've ever seen crossing the road ahead of us. This is the time of year the females leave the water to lay their eggs, and I believe she was on her way back from doing that. I got the leash on Ruby just before she spotted the turtle, and she went a bit nuts. I'm not sure what would have happened if they'd come nose to nose, but I've heard that snapping turtles can take off a person's finger or toes, and I didn't want her losing any doggie-parts. I didn't have a camera with me, but this is a shot of one I took a few years ago:

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T11:26:00.000-04:00

It's a bright, sparkly, sunny Father's Day here in Vermont! And it should be, after the storm we had yesterday. Pieces of hail the size of my thumbnail flattened my daises and cooled the pool down ten degrees. I wasn't here for the storm, but heard all the details and saw the black clouds in the distance. Pretty amazing!

This is the hail still on the ground several hours later

Whisper Photos

2011-06-12T20:13:00.000-04:00

My Whisper

Whisper and Ruby -- best buddies

Why are these suddenly here? Because another Torquere author has a cat who looks just like him, and we suddenly realized they're from the same area in Vermont.

End of the School Year

2011-06-11T09:50:00.000-04:00

I really don't like this at all. I mean, yeah, I'm looking forward to my summer schedule which has more time for writing, but the big, huge drawback to the school year ending is called graduation.

It's what we push kids toward, and what we honestly hope they'll achieve, but when the moment comes that they walk down that aisle in those caps and gowns, I have a rush of panic. All I can think is, "What did we forget to teach them?" The real world isn't always a kind and gentle place, even for "regular" people. It holds all kinds of horrors for those who face it with disabilities.

Are they ready? What will happen to them out there? Will they be discriminated against, hurt, or worse? And most importantly, will they ever be loved as much as we've loved, nurtured, and protected them?

This week, I had to say goodbye forever to a young lady I've worked with every day for five years. I admit, when she walked out of our room, just the way she has hundreds of times, except that this time, she'll never come back, I burst into tears.

No, Pomp and Circumstance is not my favorite piece of music.

Condoms and Glue Sticks

2011-06-02T20:42:00.001-04:00

Okay, you have to admit that's a catchy title, don't you?

I work in education. High school special education, to be specific. I'm not a teacher, technically, though I could easily be if I wanted to be. I have a master's degree in English (believe it or not -- my professors would flip if they knew what the shy girl in the back writes now). I'm a lowly teaching assistant, or paraprofessional, or, as I call myself, a writing tutor. Which basically means that I work incredibly hard and get paid very little, but I wouldn't trade my school year job for anything. I actually get to work with kids all day every day, sitting with them in classes, helping them make sense of what their teachers are telling them, then helping them with the homework. And because I'm sitting with them, on their side of the blackboard, (or smartboard, these days) they come to trust me, and talk to me, and let me into their lives in ways teachers never get to. Some days I laugh all the way home, and some days I cry, and some days I laugh through my tears. But every day, I know I've done some good for somebody, and that matters a lot to me.

And when I get home, I can write instead of grading papers, which leads me to the condom story.

This semester, one of my students in taking a health class, and we're ending the year with the sex unit. Yesterday was "how to put on a condom day." No, our school isn't quite liberal enough to do the banana or cucumber thing. Our teacher designed a project that involved the kids cutting out a list of fourteen steps to putting on a condom, printed in random order. (I bet you didn't know there were so many steps!) Then they had to put each step in the correct order and glue it down on another sheet of paper. The list starts with "talk to your partner" and includes things like "check the expiration date" and then goes through the application process including pinching the air out of the tip of the condom and then the removal steps to avoid anything getting spilled.

Well, the teacher gave me a handful of glue sticks and asked me to help her circulate through the room. When each kid got the steps lined up in order, I was to check them and reward the kid with a glue stick if he or she had them right. I, of course, immediately saw the symbolism of the shape of the stick. Most of the time I can keep the part of me that writes gay erotica under tight control while I'm at school, but believe me, this was not an easy situation to be in.

So I start circulating the room. A few boys get the steps right the first try and sit there smirking while I quietly put a stick down on their desks -- lying flat -- I simply cannot let myself put them down standing up and stay in teacher mode. But some of the boys are just like, "What the heck?" and are, of course, utterly mortified when I have to quietly rearrange things for them. The girls, on the other hand, always got them right the first try. (Guys, I hate to say this, but freshmen girls have freshmen boys beat when it comes to school, especially after watching a powerpoint about condoms. Boy's minds are just too full of other stuff to think logically about anything after that.)

So finally everyone is happily gluing away and I know there are twenty-five more people in the world who know how to protect themselves. But all I can think about is how I'm going to go home and write a blog post that would shock the heck out of all of them. If they only knew...

Biking

2011-06-01T18:56:00.000-04:00

We had a lovely bike ride on Monday, and my knee held up quite well. We were on a gravel path that once used to be a train track, but was converted several years ago to a bike trail. We followed a swollen river for a while through farm country -- lots of cows grazing in fields around us, and orioles singing in the trees by the water's edge. How far did we go? Well, we passed a sign that said "twenty miles," so that works for me. That's what it felt like, anyway. But the little computer thing on my husband's bike that measures distance and speed and temperature and all that information that means so much to him said, "two miles." I put my trust in the sign.

Storms

2011-05-30T07:19:00.000-04:00

Whee! I have Internet again!

Vermont has been slammed with insane thunderstorms every day for the last five days, and I lost Internet (and phone and TV) after the first one. It feels like being blindfolded. I drove an hour on Saturday to find a relative with a working computer just to stay on top of my emails.

Now, I enjoy a good thunderstorm if I'm somewhere safe, but these have been a bit much. Several days, it was like the storm started late afternoon and just kept going until midnight. Other storms would blast through all night, every few hours, making real sleep impossible. And it has just rained all the time. We're trying to open our swimming pool for the season, and we'd no sooner gotten it filled than we had to start draining it. I've been out in downpours pitching chemicals over the side, trying to time it between thunder events. I admit, I'm a little obsessive about my pool, but the deep, dark secret is that I'm really a mermaid, and if I don't get wet at least once a day... I usually start each summer day with a dip before breakfast, end it with a dip before bed, and have at least several swims during the day.

Anyway, I'm back, for the moment at least. Today we're going bike riding for the first time this year, and I'm a little worried about how my knee will hold up (I had surgery last fall -- torn meniscus. A whole lot of no fun.) Wish me luck!

Hummingbird Food

2011-05-22T21:35:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was International Migratory Bird Day, a day to celebrate and welcome back those birds who grace us in the north with their presence this time of year.

Here's a male Ruby-Throated Hummingbird at my feeder, just outside my window. I shot the photo through a pane of glass because last year, when I tried it with the window open, a hummingbird flew right into the room with me. He looked around, then turned and flew out. Thank goodness. I just stared at him, frozen in surprise.

If you're interested in attracting hummingbirds, here's a few tips. They like areas with flowers, obviously, but they'll come to a feeder almost anywhere. Don't be afraid to put it close to your window -- these guys aren't shy. Choose a feeder that has little perches for them so they can land and rest while they're feeding. Also, a feeder with a built-in ant trap on top is a good idea to prevent ants from taking over -- the trap is a little moat you fill with water, which the ants can't cross.

The best food is easy to make. Stay away from the store-bought ones -- the red dye is really bad for the birds. The recipe:

Mix four cups of water and one cup of white sugar. Heat until boiling, then cool.

Fill a clean feeder and store the rest in refrigerator. Every three to five days, bring the feeder in, wash it, and refill. The warmer your temperature, the more often you should change the food. It'll start looking cloudy, or get bugs in it. Never add to what's in the feeder -- it's better to dump what's left and start clean. And that's it!

Enjoy!

Fiction Mirrors Life

2011-05-20T17:37:00.000-04:00

I just had one of those weird moments where my life and my fiction collide.

Last night, as I posted yesterday, I was working very hard on my Charity Sip, which, hopefully, everyone will get to read sometime in the next few months. I'm not going to jinx myself by saying what it's about before it's even finished, but suffice it to say that a thunderstorm and a flooded road play a major part in it. I live on a road that floods occasionally from a normally pristine mountain stream that becomes a raging torrent intent on reclaiming its ancient bed, which, unfortunately, the dirt road now occupies. So last night I was trying really hard to recreate in my mind what the brook looked like, sounded like, felt like, and smelled like, when it was in flood. I mean, I was totally getting into it! I was the flood, the raging water, the icy blast, the roar, and... you get the point.

So today was a pretty mild, quiet weather day where I work, about forty minutes away. I picked my youngest daughter up at her school on the way home and let her drive, since she's got her permit and teases constantly to practice. She was just telling me what an incredible thunderstorm we'd had up this way, when we crested the brow of the hill, and I swear, out of nowhere, just the way my character experienced it last night, the road was under water before us. We were both so stunned that I had to yell at her to put the brakes on. I have never, in the twenty years we've lived here, gotten taken by surprise by a flood like this.

So as I got out of the car to access the situation, all I could think about was double checking my descriptions from last night. I was pretty close, I think. But isn't that the craziest thing?

Did we make it home? Yes. I took the wheel, and while I would never encourage anybody to drive through water, I know my road and can tell from experience when it's okay to cross and when it's not. My character made a bad decision last night, and I have no desire to repeat what he went through, thank you very much.

Then I called my husband and told him he probably ought to cancel band practice at the house tonight. I love the guys in his band, but not enough to have them for the entire weekend.

The only other time that comes to mind when something like this happened was once when I was working on a scene where the fire alarm goes off in the school where I work. As soon as I got to school the next morning, the fire alarm goes off. And then it goes off later that day, and then the next day. It seemed there was a problem with the system, and I kept thinking, "Okay, okay, I've got this now!" Then when it went off yet again the following day, I was like, "Is this my fault somehow?"

I know we writers of fiction think we control our worlds, but sometimes, one isn't so sure.

Hummingbird

2011-05-19T20:34:00.000-04:00

Aw, I've got a ruby-throated hummingbird at the feeder beside me, and he's got an apple blossum petal stuck to his tummy. That's enough to make my evening happy.

And I'm almost finished the rough draft of my Charity Sip. That's good, too. I've been working really hard on it all week.

So What Do You Think?

2011-05-14T14:53:00.000-04:00

Hello out there!

I'd love to hear from people

Leave me comments, or send me an email (my address is to the right)

I love to chat. Let me know what you think of my blog, my stories, or my photos

And ask me questions about anything I've written, or writing in general, or anything at all.

Including birds. Seen any interesting ones as the seasons change? Seen something you have no idea what it was? I'm an avid birder, and I might be able to help if you saw it in my neck of the woods (New England)

Or just keep reading. That's okay, too. I'm having fun

Thank you!

Robert Frost

2011-05-13T20:39:00.002-04:00

Spring has finally really set in up here. The way I can tell for sure is that the only snow I can still see is way up on the side of Mt. Mansfield, and the green is working its way slowly up out of the valleys. I call that little brush of color "first green," and it is without a doubt my favorite time of year.

Robert Frost, famous New England Poet, wrote a poem about this time of year. The funny thing is, most people don't know it. I see this poem printed beside pictures of maples in flaming fall foliage all the time. It drives me CRAZY!

Here's the poem:

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

See what I mean? People see the word "gold" and think foliage. And they're right -- sugar maples turn a burning orange gold in the fall. But the trees also show a tinge of that color in the spring, too. The new leaves haven't started producing chlorophyll yet, which is where they get their green color. Robert Frost noticed that when the leaves first appear, they're gold, but they turn green so quickly that it seems they're holding that hue only for an hour. Then more leaves grow, and they turn green, and that little dawn of Eden is gone into the daylight of summer. And these brief spring days, after a Vermont winter, are truly worth gold.

And here's a photo I took yesterday of Frost's gold:

See what I mean?

This shows it, too, across the beaver pond below our house.

So every time you read this poem now, you'll understand what Frost means. And when you show off your knowledge, you can say you learned it on a gay erotica writer's blog. (Sorry. I have a Master's degree in English and it still comes through sometimes.)

What am I working on now?

2011-05-11T18:18:00.001-04:00

Well, I've agreed to do another Charity Sip this year to support the "It Gets Better" organization, which is dear to my heart since I work with kids in high school every day and I know what goes on. I turn a blind eye to the plethora of cell phones, and all the swearing in the halls goes right over me, but NOBODY says, "That's so gay," around me without finding themselves stammering an apology a minute later. I'm normally a very quiet and mild mannered writing tutor, but there is within me that which breathes fire, and it comes out on occasion to everyone's surprise.

And I'm also writing another novel. This one I'm tentatively calling Another Healing, and it's the sequel to my Charity Sip from last year, "The Rosebud." I'm taking it slow and having fun, and I'll make more posts about it later.

Notice has a release date!

2011-05-11T18:12:00.000-04:00

August 24th is the happy day, which seems like a long time away, but I'm sure it'll arrive quickly. I'm very excited for my first novel to join the company of my other stories, and I'm excited for this story to find readers at last. I've been in love with dragons for as long as I can remember, and I've been writing Notice for a long time. It started out as a short story, but the members of the writer's group to which I've belonged for a long time all agreed that it wanted to be something longer. So I put it aside and then took it out, then put it aside, then took it out, and did this for over a year, and then this past February during school vacation, I took a hard look at it, and then it grabbed me and pulled me into the computer and I wrote the rest of it in about six marathon days. Then I polished it up, sent it in, and it was accepted in March. Now it's May, and Notice is in edits. Very cool.

Look at my island now!

2011-05-07T13:50:00.001-04:00

Look at my poor little Icon Island now!

The water has risen like another foot since last weekend. The lake was a rare dead calm this morning, which is a good thing for people who live along the shore. Hundreds of homes are being damaged and many people can't even get home right now, and the lake continues to rise. At this rate, my island will just be some trees growing out of the water in another week. I've been out all morning taking photos because this is truly a record setting spring around here.

The first hummingbird of the year just hummed into the feeder right beside me, which is hanging about two feet from my desk on the other side of a screen. It is a most welcome sight.

Rain!

2011-05-03T18:08:00.001-04:00

So I'm a bit of a closet meteorologist. I come by it naturally, I think, from my grandfather, who was obsessed by the weather. As a Vermont farmer in the early 1900's, he had a right to be worried about too much or too little weather at the right or wrong times, but he took it just a little too far. I've seen him dash out onto the porch in the middle of the night in a howling snowstorm in just his slippers to check the thermometer on the wall, to see if it was forty below yet, or still just negative thirty-nine. If he were still living, he'd have a personal weather station in every room, and would check back and forth between them to compare the differences between the weather in the front yard and the weather out back.

I'm not quite that bad (okay, I do have one weather station in the kitchen and one in my writing room, but that's just so I don't have the excuse to leave my desk to go and check -- more writing that way, see? -- and I have a rain gauge, but only one! Right now there's exactly an inch of new rain since I left the house this morning, and our brook is on the rise again. Our little brook, one of those idyllic ones that winds through fields, trickles down a rock cascade, and is perfect for sitting and thinking beside, can turn into a raging mountain torrent and wash out the road and our culvert in under an hour with the right conditions. It gives a whole new meaning to being glad to get home, and since our road dead ends just past our house, it can give us a forced vacation at its slightest whim.

Vermont had a record setting amount of rainfall in April, and right now, our largest lake is at an historical high.

This is a photo I took a few years ago of the island in front of our family camp. I use it as my icon sometimes, because I like it.

This is the same island, from the same spot, this weekend. The lake is about six feet higher, and very muddy. It's pretty amazing. I've never seen it like this before. My grandfather would be beside himself.

And it's supposed to rain all week. Vermont is never dull!

An Erotic Excerpt from The Glass Man

2011-04-29T21:25:00.000-04:00

This is a VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK entry

I often get asked a question that I'm sure a lot of us writers are asked: "What on Earth made you start writing gay erotica?"

My first response is to say, "I have no idea," which is true, but not the whole story. I think it really started when I was ten years old. That's how old I was when I started writing seriously. I was one of those weird kids who was pretty much born knowing how to read -- I can't remember learning. My mother read to me constantly, and I remember one afternoon long before I started school when she fell asleep in the middle of a chapter, and I picked up the book and just kept going. She was an English teacher and started me on the classics before most of my friends had even mastered reading short chapter books. My teachers didn't know what to do with me -- I'd have to put down Mark Twain with a sigh and pick up Dick and Jane when class started.

Though I always had a few good friends, I was very solitary, and I was the only child of divorced parents growing close to the family horse farm near the largest lake in Vermont. This left me with a lot of freedom for imagination, and by the time I was ten, I was writing Tolkien fashion, creating my own universe and populating it with people who could understand me in ways the real world didn't. I created a male character named Marsh, who was about five years older than me, and we grew up together. I followed his life through the years in a series of never ending novels that I never dreamed of trying to publish. Marsh became a kind of alter-ego who was everything that shy and quiet little me wasn't. There was nothing he couldn't say or do.

After a while, when we were both in our twenties, Marsh married and had a child. The problem was, he wasn't happy. And then one day, a man walked into his life, a man who was openly gay, and who was involved in a failing relationship of his own. I have no idea where this guy came from, and neither did my alter-ego, but before either of us knew what was happening, the two men ditched their lives and ran away together. I was stunned and shocked, and I searched back through Marsh's life and unhappy marriage and realized that he'd always been gay. I think that his experience probably wasn't too different from that of many real men. I could no more stop writing about him than I could stop breathing. And so I found myself writing about two gay men.

Of course, I didn't write about gay men all the time -- I was in grad school by then and trying to publish the next great American novel, and not getting very far. Finally, following I have no idea what muse, I opened a blank document one day and let out a story that had been floating inside me for a long time. I pulled out all the stops and wrote the most gay story I could, and all kinds of bizarre, erotic, repressed stuff came pouring out. It kind of shocked me and I banished it to one of those cobwebby files in the depths of my computer and hoped my family never ran across it.

Then, years later, I was browsing around on the web one night and ran across Torquere Press, and the more I read about them, the more I thought about that really bizarre piece I'd written. So I dug it out, polished it up, and thinking this wasn't going to amount to anything, sent it to them. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock I got when it was accepted a few weeks later. And that's how The Glass Man leaped from my imagination to the world, and how I found my niche as a writer of gay erotica.

Here's a scene from The Glass Man. The main character, Zalen, has just sold himself into the sex slave business on the planet Mirandt to earn enough money to save his family from a horrible existence they've fallen into through no fault of their own. The people who have bought him for the night are right out of his worst nightmare.

"There you are, right on time!" a man shouted, pulling open a door so warped it almost came off in his hand. The other hand held a glass of wine. He was half-dressed, fat, and oily. "Strip down and come on in. Leave your clothes on the porch if you want to find them again. Money's on the windowsill in case I forget. Let's go, you whoreson! Everything short of death goes, right?"

"Yeah," Zalen said.

"Let's see what you've brought with you." He seized Zalen's kit and began going through it while Zalen slowly removed his clothing. "Oh, we're going to have a good time, boys!" He shook the vial of pills and pulled out the rope. "Oh, yeah."

Five minutes later, Zalen was bound to a wooden chair in a back room with no windows. He counted four men, all like the one who'd let him in: half-naked, overweight, and sweaty. He could hear more upstairs. One of them seized Zalen's head from behind while another was slowly adding one white pill at a time to a glass of wine. Last night, he'd given Joe two, but this man put in five. Zalen knew seven all at once could cause unconsciousness, but he said nothing while the man put in one more and then grinned. Evidently, the man knew the dose, too.

"I want you way high," he said.

Zalen shuddered. He was going to have to drink it? Well, that's what being a slave was all about. "I guess I'm going to be," he managed to say.

"I'm liking this already," the man said. He brought the glass to Zalen's lips. It tasted warm and meady. He drank as much as he could in one breath, knowing it would hit faster that way. He dreaded losing control, being completely helpless in these men's hands. But part of him also couldn't wait for the numbing euphoria of the drug. The man let him breathe, and then he drank off the rest.

The man set the glass aside. It was done; he was going to get high whether he wanted to or not.

"I like your black eye, Zalen. Last night's customer rated you well. I hope you still have some left."

"Depends what you give me to work with," Zalen said, managing a smile. He wasn't feeling anything yet. That was the way with this drug. Nothing, and then huge. And with the amount he'd just taken, very huge.

The man grinned. "Want to see it? You'll get to know it real well tonight." He opened his pants. The hugest penis Zalen had ever seen rose into view. The other men roared with laughter at the expression Zalen hadn't been able to hide.

"Not that you're bad yourself," the man said, reaching out and giving Zalen a pull. "Let's see how big it can get." The man knelt swiftly and tasted Zalen, and at the same moment, the drug hit. Zalen screamed as every nerve in his body exploded into life, every emotion he'd ever felt crashed through his mind, and every song he'd tried to sing burst in his heart.

"Wow, easy!" the big man cried, putting a hand on Zalen's chest and pressing back as he strained against the ropes.

All the pressure and pain exploded, all the rage at his life, all the grief and loss and fear in his soul came pouring out. He heard himself screaming, "No! No!" over and over.

"I think you gave him too much," someone said.

"He can take it," the man said. He bent again and sucked Zalen's penis, working a hand between his legs to fondle him. Zalen froze, feeling himself rising, desire flooding over everything else.

"There, see?" the man crooned gently. "All better. All right now. All mine."

"Oh, yes," Zalen found himself whispering. "Oh, yes." And he came gently into the man's mouth.

What's Next?

2011-04-26T21:31:00.002-04:00

This is where I live.

Well, I actually live in a house, but this is the view from the window of the room where I write. And I'm sure it goes without saying that sometimes I spend more time gazing out the window than I do writing. It's pretty hard not to. I took this photo last October. I was going to take a new one today to post, but ever since I got home, we've been having one of those thunderstorms that rumble in the distance for a hour, crash down all around you for twenty minutes, and then rumble off in the other direction for another hour, and by then, another storm is coming up out of the west so you can't tell where one ends and the next begins. If I'd taken a photo, my view would have been fog outside rain-drenched glass. Right now there's some spectacular lightning going on right over the summit of the mountain, which is Mt. Mansfield, the highest peak in Vermont. This is going to be a short post because I probably should unplug my computer.

What's next for me in my first novel, called Notice. I don't have a release date yet -- it was accepted so recently that I'm still doing my happy dance whenever I think about it. Soon enough, I'll be feeling a different kind of happy, the kind that comes in the middle of edits, when you have to focus on the "how good it's going to feel when this thing is finally released" feeling. I'm enjoying this happy while I can.

Notice is about dragon shifters, and it's in the same world as my story, "The Dragon and his Knight," which was published in the Mine Anthology. The characters are different, but the premise is the same -- the ancient dragons learned how to turn into humans to avoid getting killed off by knights, but there are some modern day knights who know the truth and have vowed to kill all the dragons they can find. The knights still follow their honor code, though -- it's bad form to just attack a dragon; you must give it "notice" first. My main character is given a notice at the worst imaginable time. Stay tuned for more details as the publication process goes forward.

I'm going to be safe and turn off my computer now.

Acadia Photos

2011-04-25T19:30:00.004-04:00

My most recent publication, "Ice," is set in Acadia National Park, on the coast of Maine. Though Vermont will always hold my heart, Acadia is one of my favorite places. Vermont is the only New England state which doesn't have a coastline, so when I need a taste of the sea, Acadia is where I head. I admit it's an odd place for an erotic gay novella, but its magical beauty just fits my characters Tace and William perfectly. These are some of my recent photos:

This is a stretch of shoreline before Otter Cliffs which Tace and William would have driven past on the Park Loop Road.

This is Thunder Hole, where Tace stood gazing for a long time, thinking about his life.

These are the rocks where Tace and William tried to have a heart to heart talk.

And this is just a beautiful sunset from the top of Cadillac Mountain which captures the essence of the place.

A Little Erotica from "Ice"

2011-04-25T18:21:00.003-04:00

"So what is Ice, anyway?"

I get asked that question a lot. Well, aside from Ice being the name of my most recent publication, I would say that what Ice is depends on who you are. For most people, it is an instant death sentence. For others, specifically gay men with certain genetic traits, it is...well...interesting stuff. It looks like regular old ice cubes, but the vapors that evaporate from it cause...well...some rather drastic changes in those who inhale them. Why only certain gay men can survive and become...changed...no one knows.

"Ice" is about Tace and William, who both find out more about Ice than they ever wanted to know. Here's an excerpt from the very beginning of the story:

The hot, pulsing crowd swallowed him.

Tace pulled off his T-shirt and let it fall from his fingers, raised his arms to the ceiling, and savored the touch of other shirtless bodies against him, all moving to the numbing, pounding music, all lost in the flashing, rhythmic lights. This bar was everything he'd dreamed of -- small, safe, and hundreds of miles from home, where he could be absolutely anonymous and utterly himself. Closing his eyes, he let the music pulse through him and make him its own.

After a while, Tace felt eyes on him. A gorgeous, blue-eyed man, very nicely shirtless and wearing a huge diamond ring on his right hand, moved in a circle around him. From behind, he laid his hands on Tace's shoulders and began to massage to the beat.

God, this was so easy, Tace thought, leaning into the man's hands as they slid down his sides and circled around his waist, pulling him back more firmly. Boldly, one hand went to Tace's groin and massaged there, while the other hand went up Tace's chest to his throat. Lips touched his jaw.

Tace moaned and closed his eyes, allowing this man to claim him without a single word.

The man led him to an empty stool at the far end of the bar and stood behind him. With one hand, the man pressed Tace's head into a bare, muscular chest and kept it there. With the other hand, he signaled the bartender, a very young man who didn't speak or meet Tace's eyes. The bartender brought a single drink in a small, clear glass filled with ice, and left without any suggestion that payment was necessary. Tace thought that was a little odd, but didn't give it another thought as the man who'd claimed him raised the glass. He brought it toward Tace, who started to drink, only to realize there was just ice inside it. No wonder the bartender hadn't charged anything. When Tace looked up at the man behind him in confusion, the man smiled. His blue eyes were so beautiful that Tace lost himself in them.

Then he smelled something unfamiliar, a clean, sharp odor that made him think of skating on the pond on cold winter evenings, when he'd been a child with a family who still accepted him. It was the smell of ice, he thought, and realized the man behind him had brought the glass close to his face again. He glanced down and saw a faint, wispy mist coming from the cubes. They looked perfectly normal. It must be the warmth in the room causing them to vaporize. He breathed in the essence of ice, settling back more firmly against the solid man, letting his eyes close, dimly aware the music was pulsing in and out of his hearing.

He sighed in pleasure as the man's hands began to work down his sides and across his stomach. Both hands. He opened his eyes and saw the glass resting on the bar in front of him now. They were strong, firm hands, hands that could shape and support him, the kind of hands he wanted on him so badly... Hands that slipped inside the front of his jeans and inside his shorts, grasping him firmly.

Vaguely aware that this probably shouldn't be happening here, at the bar, even with only other gay men around, Tace thought about protesting, but he couldn't find the energy, and oh, it felt so good... He moaned and arched backward against the man's firm, solid body, thinking that this was better than anything he'd ever dreamed of, certainly better than anything that had happened the other few times he'd ventured into bars where his own kind congregated.

Ice and music and hands, ice and pleasure and the cold, crisp smell, and hands, and ice, and -- he came. Silently, he collapsed forward against the bar, face on his left forearm, next to the glass of dancing vapors. He gazed at the shimmering cubes, entranced, while the man's hands did something else to him inside his jeans and then withdrew. He couldn't move, his body limp with release like he'd never felt before, his mind swirling like the patterns of mist coming from the ice. He kept breathing and breathing and a cool, tingling rush spread through him and held his body in its quivering embrace, every nerve in him humming with pleasure. Rising and throbbing and swirling and blissful.

It kept going even after someone removed the glass. After a while, Tace raised his head, still caught in the bliss of it all. The man was gone. Tace sat up and turned to look. On the dance floor, men were still dancing, but not so many. The bartender was busy at the other end of the bar. No one was sitting near him. Where had the man gone?

Tace wanted to thank him for the wonderful experience.

When he slid off the stool, he felt something pulling at him. Something wasn't right inside his jeans. Quickly, he located the men's room near the end of the bar, went into a stall, and unzipped. And found a metal device on himself. It had six silver rings that encircled his penis tightly, and one slightly larger one around the base of his scrotum. A solid silver strip connected the rings in the back. It looked like they were meant to be opened -- he could make out a tiny line in the top of each one -- and there was no way this was sliding off, it was so tight. He fumbled for some kind of release mechanism, only to discover a tiny, silver lock up close to his body.

Closed.

Shit.

Within a couple seconds, he knew the thing wasn't coming off. Nor was he going to be able to have an erection with it on.

Okay, he thought. So he'd be seeing more of the man with the amazing hands. He hoped. Or else he would eventually have to make a very embarrassing trip to the doctor. No. No one outside this bar could ever know about this. Ever.

Though there was something kind of cool about it.

Buy Ice here

2011-04-21T15:30:00.001-04:00

Well, it's rather pathetic that somebody can write and publish five pieces before figuring out how to set up a blog, but well, that's me. I think this looks pretty much the way it should now -- I've got my works up, and links to my reviews, and links to the other places where I can be found on the web. This is good. I'm pleased.

Enjoy.

Leave me comments, please!

Here in Vermont, we're enjoying 2011-- The Year of the Never Ending Winter. I took this photo of my patio furniture this morning. Snow in April is actually fairly common, but it still feels wrong somehow. Yet this is part of what I love about Vermont. The pattern of the seasons here has sunk into my blood in a way that is partly because my family has lived here for five generations. And yet, every year is different. Yesterday morning while I was in the shower, our house shook with a terrifying rumble. I panicked and thought that our furnace, which is elderly and has given us many problems lately, had decided to launch into orbit. I leapt out, all soapy, only to discover a tremendous thunderstorm had blown up from nowhere. This morning, I woke to a dull white haze outside my window -- a snow squall worthy of January. Where I live, it is not an easy transition from season to season. We learn to accept. Vermont is a land of contrasts -- sharp beauty of mountains and lakes juxtaposed against failing farms and poverty just below the pristine surface. We're like everywhere else, and yet we're different, too. I don't think it was an accident that Vermont led the country in passing a law to allow civil unions a few years ago. Long winters around the woodstove have bred a people used to thinking a thing through, seeing it from all sides, and then deciding what is right and what is wrong from inside, from where it really matters, not from political agendas. Like Vermont, I am a person of contrasts -- a mother, an educator, and a writer of gay erotica. And I'm having no trouble at all with who I am, inside.

Anyway, for those of you who are here looking for gay erotica and found patio furniture, don't worry -- I can do erotica, too. Stay tuned for future posts with excerpts from my fiction and glimpses into what I'm working on now, and who I am.

Setting Up

2011-04-18T11:04:00.000-04:00

I'm just setting up my blog right now, so if it looks a little threadbare, it is! I'm totally techno-challenged, which is depressing for someone who writes science fiction, but the truth. I would make a far better ship pilot than a blog creator, I'm sure. I'm wide open to suggestions, so if anybody happens by, feel free to leave any thoughts you have!