Up Goes the Monument

First jolt of coffee for the day. At least one stove burner is still working, a pleasant thing to find out–of course the repair lad is coming tomorrow, and in the meantime we have Boris the Drip and Matilda the Microwave, so we’ll be fine, just fine. Still, it’s some-damn-thing else I didn’t want to have to deal with, especially this time of year. (This may be where I say now is an excellent time to buy some books, right? RIGHT?)

I’m also deeply annoyed that I can’t afford the gouging price they’re charging for a Covid booster, let alone flu or RSV. (What, you think a freelance writer supporting an entire household can afford medical insurance in America? HA!) And before some “helpful” person talks about “government bridge programs”, let me just tell you I do not have the energy for that deliberately red-taped and time-consuming nonsense. I am busy paying bills and attempting to keep this ship from sinking.

If I die of the plague, blame pharma-corporate and “insurer” greed.

Anyway. The new, larger tree has been brought up from downstairs. I got a 3ft one years and years ago for the kids, since they love the holidays almost as much as I despise them–and let it be known I am glad to have it so, it is one of the great victories of my life that they do not associate this time of year with capital-T Trauma–and there’s a small story in that. Just after Samhain this year I was at the local buy-everything with my daughter and they already had the Christmas display out. Including fake trees for a whopping 75% off, probably last year’s crop or even left over from lockdown overstock.

So I took the plunge, because our poor little 3ft fellow lists heavily under a slowly accumulating crop of ornaments. Now we have a seven-footer, fit for hanging no shortage of gewgaws and even an Odin on. We’ll rehome the small one eventually, never fear; I anthropomorphise nearly everything so deeply I wouldn’t dare throw him in a landfill.

Besides, all his lights still work.

Anyway, today is the solstice, Yule proper for our household. Up goes the monument with winking lights. Boxnoggin will be utterly beside himself, and there will be at least one nighttime crash as the Mad Tortie decides to scale this new addition to the living room clutter. At least the three-footer meant she didn’t have far to fall, but this new Matterhorn will be nigh irresistible to her ambitions. A fun time will be had by all.

Hopefully the repair lad dropping by tomorrow will have the parts necessary to return our range and oven to full glory. The model number and several pictures have been texted to him–we do live in the future, my goodness–and he’s been by before during the Latest Dishwasher Incident and (who could forget?) the Saga of Washing Machine. Corporations really have deliberately engineered appliances to fall apart after ten years or so; it’s amazing. If they turned all that know-how towards actually making their products better who knows what might result? But fiduciary duty to shareholders forbids–the name of the game is enriching the already-rich.

Do I sound bitter? Not really. Just…weary, and wishing this time of year was over. There’s a few more things I have to tie off before I can shut down and perhaps take a few days off around New Year’s. I likely won’t rest, since the very concept is rather foreign to me, especially lately. But I will spend time simply working solely on something that pleases me alone, like the ragged, happy-go-lucky swordsman and the serious no-nonsense assassin in House of the Fan. Their first meeting is somewhat of a delight, since she outright laughs at him.

Some years are better than others, or at least easier to deal with. This one is…sub-optimal. But I hear stirring in the hallway, so it’s time to make a little more coffee and help set up the new tree. The kids are excited, and I can take solace in their joy even if I distinctly do not share it.

Happy solstice, my dears. The Long Night is here, a time of rest. I will not be holding vigil tonight–too tired, too sad, too worn down. Yet I know others will, and that’s a comfort too.

Bin Chicken Rehab


So my dear Aussie friend (who is Tuckerised in Jozzie & Sugar Belle, along with a few other lovely folks) sent us a Christmas parcel. Among the TimTams and other goodness was this ornament, which arrived in somewhat sorry shape necessitating surgery–in a word, glue, which you can see around the feet.

Fortunately treatment was successful, but the bin chicken needed a bit of rehab before taking up position on the tree. So while the glue cures they’re providing amusement value to the dinner table. The Princess has announced that her fetch is no longer a crafty-eyed trash panda but a bin chicken now, and the Prince is determined to find out what sound these fellows make and torment us all with high-volume renditions of said dulcet song.

Boxnoggin, of course, is uninterested in the entire affair since the ornament is non-snackable. For my own part, every time I look at the thing I start humming Amy Winehouse.


Oh, and while you’re here, the recent CURSED anthology (it has a story I’m particularly fond of writing in it) is a Kindle Daily Deal today, $.99USD. (For other discounts, check the Monthly Sales page.) Enjoy! And have a lovely weekend.

Ice Kisses

Kissed by ice sprites.

We had a long shoal of dry days and icy nights, which meant fine white hairs on everything during walkies. Boxnoggin likes to walk just as the sun is hitting great patches of foliage, warming them juuuuust enough. I like not slipping, so I wear boots.

Big boots. Which gives my calves a workout, I tell you. Now the rains have moved in, all frost is washed away, and I’m happy to hear the little tiptaps on the roof.

Plus, it’s a brand-new month! The Monthly Sales page is refreshed, including a one-day deal (She-Wolf and Cub is $1.99 in ebook today) and plenty of other scheduled goodies. (Be sure to check the dates!) I’ll be adding more as they go live during the month, but this is a good start.

I’m also going to finish The Tomb of Night today. I woke up knowing exactly how, and that’s a good feeling. So I’d best get started; I’m aching to knock off another zero draft.

See you next week!

Last Rainy Rose

Last of the season.

The very last roses; they shouldn’t linger into almost-December, but climate change is wreaking havoc and I’d like this a lot better if the slugs aren’t also enjoying somewhat of a heyday. My poor hellebores might not make it.

Anyway, what makes this rose in particular beautiful to me is the water-gilding, and the signs of damage. Boxnoggin was very patient while I got this snap, despite wanting to get on with walkies; I halt for his little sniffs and indiscretions, I figure he can halt for a shot or two.

Yesterday was an American holiday. There was a lot of challah and I think I might have some leftover pie for brekkie. First, though, coffee needs to be absorbed…and some planning for the last third of the NaNo novel must needs be done. (50k is only the beginning…)

Have a lovely weekend, my dears.

RELEASE DAY: Sons of Ymre 2

That’s right, my beloveds…the day is finally here. The second Sons of Ymre book is out in the world!


Sons of Ymre: Jake

Willow Grainger’s skills as a vet tech are always in demand, and animals don’t ask questions—but when a horribly battered man collapses before her one evening, she can’t ignore that kind of distress. Bleeding, nonverbal, and clinging to consciousness, he’s pursued by the same shadowy menace that has hunted Will all her life…and now, that evil is chasing them both.

Jacob’s mind is a wasteland, his body isn’t far behind, and he’s escaped the Mad God’s minions. His savior isn’t just a woman but an angel—more than that, a potential, invaluable in a war he barely remembers fighting. His memory unreliable and his instincts hair-trigger murderous, he has no problem violently protecting Willow or taking her on the run.

Chased by nightmarish monsters, forced into unwilling alliance, Will and Jacob have no-one to trust but each other. But then the Sons of Ymre find them, and the real danger begins…

Now available through AmazonBarnes & NobleKoboApple, and independent bookstores.


Not only that, but the first book in the series (Erik’s story) is $.99USD in ebook at AmazonBarnes & NobleKobo, and Apple until November 30, so if you’re looking to get that, now’s a good time.

The publisher’s asked me for a third, so I think we’ll have a trilogy on our hands–Elder, Younger, and Father. I’m already boiling the final book inside my head–it just has to take its place in the queue, really. (After the first Cain’s Wife, and revisions on Gamble, and, well, Other Stuff.)

But that’s not the really cool thing. Since you’re here, I want to share something very special with you.


And Introducing…Zorro!

Isn’t he just the cutest? I mean, er, most terrifying?

So the graphics designer over at Belle Books (hullo, my very dear Mx Ireland!) sent me this absolutely wonderful graphic featuring their office hound, Zorro. Zorro is fond of treats, long naps on the sofa, walkies, more treats, and quality-checking every design before it goes out the door. Zorro has graciously given both Ymre books the coveted Sniff of Approval. (Reports that I paid him off with treats and soft pats are LARGELY EXAGGERATED.)

Belle bought ImaJinn Books when the press owner at the latter passed on; ImaJinn was the first publisher to really take a chance in me waaaay back in the ’00s. And Belle has been wonderful to me in just about every way, including sending me pictures of dear little (I mean BIG and TERRIFYING) Zorro to keep my spirits up as the publishing industry goes all wibbly-wobbly. They’re good folk, and Zorro is a Very Good Boy.

In fact, I have to say this is about my favorite book cover ever. Maybe one of these days I’ll write the story that goes with it. (And of course, Zorro will be a character.)


That’s about it for release day, my dears. If you need me, I’ll be in the corner hyperventilating…

Gamble and Rose

One last lone rose.

Well, it’s not the last rose, but it was the one I stopped to take a whiff of before the rains moved in. You can see the heat damage on the petals, but I think that makes it all the more beautiful.

I finished the zero draft of Gamble yesterday, in a blaze of…something, I hesitate to call it glory. The draft is a mess, full of holes and brackets, but it’s done and the pole-dancing scene gets to stay in because the structure shifted to accommodate it. (Or it was always meant to be structured that way and I couldn’t see as much, being head-down in the oubliette.)

The weekend will no doubt be spent catching up with all the things I put aside once this book decided to leap for the finish, and then I get to let the zero rest while I slot another book into that working spot. It’ll need at least a week of sitting and marinating before I can get even a fraction of the required distance in order to revise it.

But that’s a problem for another day. Right now there’s coffee, and one last rose.

Happy Friday the 13th. I think it’s going to be a good one.

Quince and Slight Hyperbole

I like big…quince and I cannot lie.

I do really think this is a quince, though my botany classification skills are deeply mediocre at best. The tree is a real trouper, no matter what it is, and has fruited under the most dire conditions–including the heat dome we had a couple years ago.

It’s raining, though not enough yet. The respiratory bug has reached the stage of postnasal drip meaning I can’t smell anything, which might be a mercy since a local wildfire is apparently filling the area with the aroma of wet campfire ash. Concomitant with the drip is an absolutely ruined voice. I joked this morning that I sound like Kathleen Turner crossed with Orson Welles, and that it’s a shame it has to be accompanied with feeling like death warmed over.

Which is only slight hyperbole. I feel better when I’m horizontal; health seems to be leaking back into my frame drop by drop. The generous use of strong decongestants and expectorants–modern pharmaceutical marvels–has aided the slow feed. Another few days should set me well on the upward path.

All sorts of news is dropping into my inbox, but thankfully there’s nothing that can’t wait until Monday. I’ll be reading Gabino Iglesias’s The Devil Takes You Home through the weekend, and perhaps a book of his short stories as well. It will be luxurious to stretch out on the couch and sink into a book or two while recovering.

See you next week!