All You Need Are Words, Right? Wrong!

Take a peek at my Romance University guest blog post. I call it my "do not do" list.

S.A. Garcia's Romance University Guest Blog

Welcoming a New Couch

OK, being excited about a new couch might sound silly, but this is a major milestone in our domestic bliss. We've had our IKEA sleeper couch for 21 years.

Think about the concept. Back when we purchased the couch, IKEA products weren't created with long-term use in mind, or at least the couch we purchased decided it wasn't built to last. One night the cover on lower left cushion split. The right one split. Then one corner began to wear until we discovered part of the couch was crafted using cardboard.

The habit of tossing a throw over the couch to hide the decay became a regular practice. Last year around the holidays we shook our heads in dismay and decided we needed something new, but the endless cycle of car repair bills and other odds and ends made the event seem impractical.

Last week we decided enough already. The couch shed foam like a molting bird.We decided to visit the local furniture store in our small city. Sticker shock set in. $1500 for a couch? Seriously? We wandered around, sighing and trading glances of despair. The salesman was quite nice and completely hands-off.

We went upstairs and discovered the wonderful world of floor samples. The salesman peeked in but let us run wild.

One couch at the room's back winked at us in minty green flirtation. Sleek lines, plump pillows, comfy as anything bliss welcomes our asses. The below $500 price tag really sealed the deal.

And now it sits in splendor. I'm hoping someone will be able to use our ancient couch, that is if they can endure the foamy mess.

Occupying Silver Publishing Dec 10th from 1-6 EST

I'll be occupying Silver Publishing's Facebook page (with permission, of course) from 1-6 est on Saturday, Dec. 10th. That's like today. 

There will be excerpts, quizzes, a special giveaway or two and, of course, color commentary from my guest host Amando from Temptation of the Incubus. Better to invite him than suffer the pouting if I don't. Never argue with someone who regards himself as a legend in his own mind.

http://www.facebook.com/silverpublishing

Promo Satisfaction aka Go Away Mick

I have come to believe that tap dancing in many places does help sales. I do some promo, I see an upward spike. When I promote my book with Silver Publishing, I see the spike in my Dreamspinner books. Golly gee wilkers, do I have fans? Boy Howdy! Guide me to the fainting couch.

Guess it's time to teach myself to slam-bam dance like the cast of Riverdance. Case in point: poor ignored To Save a Shining Soul rose from 400,000 to 45,000 in the Amazon ranks. Yeah, that might be one or two sales, but I believe miracles can happen.

Like I say, world domination by 2020. It's good to have goals. *winks*

The Laughing S.A.

December Garden Blooms

The gardener in me needs to share these little late blooming beauties. Just when I think they are finished, my green friends surprise me.

Promo Redux

Let me clarify. It's not that I don't like promo. It's more that I type like a backwards gerbil, which makes promo all the more painful.

I am one of the world's worst typists. On a good day every sixth word looks like mangled Greek. On a bad day it's every third word. The fingers refuse to keep up with the mind. 

Imagine how frustrating that is as a writer. As much as I try to correct as I plow along, my first drafts always look like a verbal battlefield. They look like something directed by a rabid raccoon on a magic mushroom bender.

I have tried the Dragon speaking software but I don't talk out my books. Although I should try that for this sort of thing. Then I'd only need to edit out the cursing.

Don't get me wrong, I want to perform promo for my books because I love my books. I want my books to succeed, not drop like Jimmy Hoffa into the river's black depths. I just wish there was an easier way.

Yep, I need to explore the speaking thing again. *scampers off to investigate software*

....Hello? Amando here. You need to love me. Really....

Promo Until You Bleed

I hate promotional work. Hate it. But when one is an indie ebook author you need to toot that horn on an almost daily basis. Like here. Do I blog every day? No. Should I? Yes.

I do promise that soon my characters will conduct interviews with each other.  They are gearing up for the challenge.


Of course Amando thinks he will triumph over all.


We'll see.

Sweet November Lilacs

My header sounds like a purple prose romance book title. I like it.

No lie, my lilac decided to bloom today. How lovely. Those fragrant flowers, three marigolds and three nasturtiums made me extremely happy. The garden is fading fast but my troopers keep on blooming despite the dreary weather.

Yeah, I do take my gardening way too seriously. We all need those little obsessions.

No Heroes Here

Oh dear. What have I done in my fantasy worlds? 

I realize I'm not creating heroes. I'm not crafting characters that are good or bad. I'm not writing about alpha males. 

I can't. If I did, I'd write lies because my characters don't speak to me in black and white. They use a pallet shaded across the gray zone, well, tinted with plenty of purple, but never cut and dried or good and evil. My first novella Canes and Scales swerved the closest to the "good and evil" story and, really, closest to having an alpha male in Prince Linden.

My one hero kills in order to exist. Another slides to the dark side in order to exist. He's fucking unhappy about his place in the world but he endures. Another is a demon in Hell.

Yeah, hmm, I do need to write a contemporary tale where the whole "good and evil" notion fades away.  Pffffth, I bet I'll twist something the wrong way.

 So it goes.

When Your Lead Character Starts Out as a Douche

Any sane writer appreciates five star reviews. An extremely welcome arrived in Goodreads, only the reviewer called the main character a "douche."

Deja Dei said:

I love the narrator's attitude! If you're tired of m/m books that are all very similar to each other and want something really different, read this. The narrator might seem like a douche at first, but he really is awesome if you stick with him. Best of all, he's unique, which sold me right away.

It's a lovely review. I do admit when I saw my character regarded as a douche, I stepped back and mutttered, "whoa there."

Is Amando a douche? Let's see, he's not a feminine product, in fact, he never goes near females. If Amando was a douche he'd run screaming for the horizon.

Yeah, come on, I know the slang isn't literal. I think of  douche as a, well, hold on, time to consult the Urban Dictionary:

a word to describe an individual who has shown themself to be very brainless in one way or another, thus comparing them to the cleansing product for vaginas.  Well there you go, I always regarded a douche as an opinionated ass, like the critters I encountered in corporate America. Brainless, eh? My mental jury is still out on if Amando deserves to be called a douche. An egotistical flake, absolutely.   Hey, at least Amando redeemed himself from absolute douchedom and that soars above all else.

My Mojo Has Returned from Vacation

Remember those Andy Roddick commercials a few years back where they kept talking about him losing his mojo then he lost in the first round of the US Open tennis series? Talk about ouch!

I feel a little like poor Andy. Last month my mojo wandered off a long, secret vacation and forgot to tell me. I was writing but only in fits and starts. The only project that moved along in true coherency was a free story I owed to a contest winner.

This weekend saw a return to tapping away in my nasty old manner. Solid chunks of time flowed past without me wandering off the path. I moved chapters from one spot to another. I saw serious plot problems. I'm sure I created other problems but the forward motion relieves me. 

Anyone know how to capture my current mindset and save it for when my mojo skips off to Bermuda again?

Geesh.

Divine Devine's Love Song

Directly on the heels of book number three comes book number four!

Divine Devine's Love Song is a radical sci-fi romance set in a blasted future. Yes indeed, a wicked corporation took over the US and blew it all to hell. Hmm.

In a world destroyed by nuclear mismanagement, a deformed young man named Trill finds an intact Netpad. Once he secures a working battery, he discovers a story penned by Sam Devine, a hacker who led a rebellion against the insane corporation BCM thirty years before.

Sam works for BCM out of necessity rather than choice. He despises the company for its lack of ethics and knows the best way to destroy it is from within. When a staff meeting opens with the torture of BCM’s captive enemies, Sam sees his chance: he lies to convince his bosses he wants to further degrade one of the warriors, a man named Pokatawer, and once Pokatawer is released to him, Sam finds they share common goals and lusts.

But Sam and Pokatawer are up against a hugely powerful corporation, and they’ll have to bring BCM to its knees to escape nuclear wrath and make a life for themselves somewhere outside the company’s grasp.

Devine is calling you to join his mission!

Temptation of the Incubus Is Here! Read An Excerpt

Here's a first kiss for the Sunday Snog!

I'll say it; I love this book, I am proud of this book and everyone in the world needs to read about sexy, self-centered incubus Amando Renato. He wants to be your friend. Worry not, ladies, he leaves only his male dates a little breathless and confused, which means you're safe with him. Honest. He swears to act polite while he spins his tale about his perfect tail. Yes, Amando makes bad jokes. He reasons he's so stunningly beautiful he needs one defect aside from consuming men's life force.

You'll love him. He's waiting for you!

Order Temptation Here! 

Excerpt:

After I dressed, I hovered in the now deserted hallway, trying to act casual, not needy. This early in the new semester students rarely stayed late; there was no need to abuse their free time. Twenty-five tense minutes passed by in relentless boredom. Somewhere in the offices a clock chimed 6:00PM. Hmm, did the handsome handyman stand me up? Did he gain mental revenge against someone else by using me?

No. I refused to accept the damaged notion. Someone else might display such pettiness but not Mads. My senses told me the truth. I patiently leaned against a wall. I fidgeted. I nodded greetings at two professors who glanced at me in question but merely nodded in return. 
Rita bustled past and halted. "Amando? Is something wrong?"

"I'm waiting for someone who is running late."

She winked. "I hope you're going to enjoy the beautiful evening."

"If he doesn't arrive soon we'll enjoy full night." I pouted in high style.

"Naughty boy. See you next week."

What a cheerful soul. Three kids and a lawyer husband, eh? I wished Rita well.

Silence. 6:30 chimed at me.

Quickly moving footsteps approached me. Mads rounded the far corner and walked toward me, he now dressed in a snug aquamarine T-shirt which truly matched his eyes and well-worn tight jeans that left little to my happy imagination. I sighed in relief. It took considerable will not to drop and worship his thigh muscles.

His capable hands fluttered toward his shoulders in quick apology. "Amando, sorry for arriving late; the kiln turned into quite a stubborn old cranker. At least I managed to cram in lunch." He cocked his head in query. "Do we stroll right to your place? No wooing each other over fancy drinks and dinner in some clever little café I can't afford? I admit since I ate late I'm not hungry."

More subtle sarcasm. Instead of reacting to his arch words I shrugged, smiled and artfully shook my hair. "There's no need for such nonsense. If you wish, woo me as we walk."

Mads's piercing sea-soaked gaze drilled into me. He slowly shook his head and smiled in true confusion. "What is it about you, Mr. Amando Renato? I don't believe I've ever met someone like you before and that confuses me. Hey, since we're alone, may I kiss you right now? I always like to check if a beautiful guy appreciates the fine art of kissing. I am damned fond of the act."

Kissing thrilled me. During the past centuries I leaned numerous special lip tricks designed to conquer a man. I smiled and pursed my lips. "Come here, big boy, and pucker up." As he leaned close, Mads pressed his lips to mine. I opened in slight need, opened to capture his true spirit. Curiosity washed over me. Mint and maturity spiced his tongue. Sweet of him to eat a breath mint before we met. My lips parted further, there, glorious. My sparked allure refused to stand down, the force wiggling up like a curious puppy. No. Careful, don't…

My body convulsed in abject confusion.

Angels on High! I jerked back and slammed into the beige wall. Alarmed gasps ripped from my lips. My watery knees barely held me upright. A startled Mads stepped back, sucked in his breath and dazedly shook his head in slow disbelief. His silky hair haloed in slow-motion.

Fear rattled through my flesh.

I gave.

I GAVE my life energy to a human without even trying.

Why? Heaven Above, why? Who authorized that unhappy event? What the fuck happened to me here?

A chorus of startled male gasps flooded the moment. Mads blinked at me in further confusion until words stammered free. "A-A-Amando, wow… did you experience that weird zap? I-I felt like something… wow. Did we step on a faulty wire? No, that's completely impossible. There's nothing on the floor that would cause such a stupid short. But… shit… I don't understand what happened to us." Of course thinking he consumed my life force floated beyond Mads's comprehension; hey, anyone order a slice of my life force with a side of fries?

Seconds roared past. Poor practical Mads anxiously peered down at the floor as if seeking a dangerous, spark-spitting wire waiting to strike at us again. His thick blonde hair almost swayed in fresh vitality.

My shaking fingers drifted and touched my slack lips. Nothing abnormal happened. Crazy shock invaded every last cell. I gave my life force to Mads!

Why? How? Click tape loop: why, how, why, how…

Mads looked up from frantically examining the floor and shrugged in fresh confusion. He stared at me. His high forehead displayed worried webbing. "I don't know what… my God, Amando, are you sick? Do you need to sit down? You look real shaky and pale." His hands reached toward me.

No. I defensively held up my hands. My back pressed against the wall. Touching me was not a wise option, no, not until I learned what the fuck mondo weirdness happened to me. An instinctive lie tripped free. "Mads, I am fine, it's…you also suffered that strange, erm… surge."

Mads smiled in sincere wonderment. "I sure as hell experienced the surge. Damn, I kissed you and I swear a little zap entered me. Kissing your lips makes me tingly inside. I gotta say if that's what kissing you feels like, let's run to your place right now and resume the fun."

My normal kissing style did not involve passing out life force in gay mad abandon. Glad Mads enjoyed the unique sensation. I enjoyed our sincere kiss until I released life to this unknown human without logical reason. What in Belail's Flaming Chariot happened to me? Why? As my frantic thoughts tripped over each other, I offered Mads a tight smile. My right hand stiffly gestured toward the empty hall. "We can walk there now. It's not far, over at A and 11^th."

Anticipating Rejection

Sometimes I swear anticipating rejection is worse than the actual rejection. I keep checking my email wondering if said novel will receive the ax or, by a bright miracle, be accepted.

Of course I start the downward slide early to avoid the mental ouch, ouch, ouch!

It doesn't help.

Read About Me!

Hey, if you really want to read about me as a writer, I am spinning my story over at Novelspot for the next few days. It's strange, silly stuff. I went crazy.

http://novelspot.net/behind_the_scenes_index

New Cover for Temptation of the Incubus

I'm pretty damned excited about this cover. Reese Dante sent me the initial cover last night. I asked for a few changes and she made magic for me.

Here it is! The novel will be released by Silver publishing on October 22, 2011. Excited!

Garden vs. Code Enforcement

I haven’t enjoyed a good rant lately. That ends tonight.

The day before Hurricane Irene hit, we received a letter from the City of Burlington Zoning Official/Municipal Code Enforcement folks.

Nature of Complaint: Must maintain any lands within the city from filth, brush, brush, [ their repeat] garbage, weeds, obnoxious growth [no period]

Compliance Remedy: Cut high grass/weeds in the rear yard, trim overgrown bushes. Any further grass violation will result in a summons.

This is the third or fourth time our fair city has tried this silliness with us. Yeah, there must be a new code dude in office. Here’s the kicker: we do not have a back lawn. The entire plot is a flower and herb garden. No weeds, no out of control grass. Yes, we have bushes like Rose of Sharon, lilac, trimmed trumpet vine and a stately pyracantha. Dahlias, tansy, yarrow, bee balm, phlox, false sunflowers, rose bushes, zinnias, tomatoes, basil, sage, four kinds of mint, tarragon, sage, lilies, carnations, sweet woodruff, New Jersey tea, legal white loosestrife, native bittersweet, three kinds of ferns, three kinds of ivy, six varieties of hosta, vincas, verbena, and nasturtiums round out the garden. I know what grows there. I planted my green babies.

Best of all, our yard is not visible from the street, which means either a neighbor complained or a code enforcement dude came onto our property. Entering our property is illegal. Code Enforcement is NOT the police.

I know our neighbors did not complain. The one dude is in the Army reserves and sometimes his grass is like three feet high until he can attend to it. The other neighbor doesn’t care.

I confess I let a few Virginia creeper vines get a little happy since they provide the birds berries. In my desire to comply, I cut them back and trimmed away a spindly honeysuckle vine.

The term obnoxious growth slays me. Odiously or disgustingly objectionable: highly offensive. Yeah, right. A blooming Rose of Sharon bush is so offensive. Bad bush. Stop showing those lively pink, white and purple blooms.

I can’t wait to call their office tomorrow.

#1) We don’t have grass, we have a garden

#2) You aren’t allowed on the property.

#3) Care to come back and tour the garden for free?

Wish me luck.

AAD Convention in Philly

Just a little overview from a newbie's POV. 

Despite Stella's worries due to the hotel's last minute nonsense, the con seemed to run smoothly. Then again I wasn't in her boots and glad not to be.

The seminars were more entertaining than enlightening. Not a bad thing, since knowledge fell amongst the laughter.

One small detail; every session needs a moderator, someone to reel in other authors when they begin talking about their own work and not the topic at hand. The authors at this con were so polite they didn't want to reel in certain offenders. And fuck, there was a serial offender. Yeah, there's always one in the crowd.

The con is an interesting concept, since readers mingle with their fave romance authors, even to the point of eating dinner with them. Even Readercon in Boston doesn't allow this level of interaction.

Ethan Day and A.C. Mason made my first booksigning experience a delight. I knew no one would want my sig (pleasantly surprised to have a few takers), so I expected to be bored out of my mind. If not for their support and funny conversation I would have fallen asleep.

When I owned my indie music mag, we attended two major conferences a year. Thing is then I had a staff, writers and plenty of record company drinking buddies ready to cover any tab. When in the business realm, I went to conventions surrounded by staff and drinking buddies.

This was little old me on my own, a much older and hesitant me, trying to promote only me. I failed on the promotion part but at least it was lovely to meet authors I only knew by name or through blog posts.

Cheers to Gus, Eon, Rowan, Pearl, Ariel, Andrew, A.C. and Ethan.

The Eyes Don't Have It

Amazing. It's simply amazing. 

Why do established writers still insist on "eyes" performing odd physical acts?

"His eyes rolled across her face."

EEEyyyuc, no they did not!

"Her eyes fell to the floor"

OUCH!

Really, play this game while reading. Not sure if it's a drinking game since I suspect most people don't drink while reading, but seriously, keep an "eye" out for the hilarious possibilities.

"His eyes met Mark's." Guess they "boinged" out on their stalks. Splat.

I feel sure I have slipped, but ever since this problem was pointed out to me, I aim to eradicate eyes performing unnatural feats. Hell, come on, you gotta get something right in your writing, correct? No roaming eyeballs!

Feeling Old

I wonder about the glut of writers riding the ebook wave. I've had this discussion with other writers regarding the compulsion to write. It's not that you think, "hey, fuck, maybe I want to try that there writing thing!" It's more like every fucking day you find the time, unless sickness or death stomps down on your soul, to write. You live to write. You don't decide to write, no, writing taps against your brain and demands release. Words swell, demand, threaten.

If the words don't find release, they roll around in the thoughts. They invade dreams. They are the first thing to surface when massaging the head in the morning shower. I do mean the actual head, the part attached to the neck. Men might find a different direction in their thinking. 

I'm so fucking weary. I feel too traditional. Imagine, writing gay male romance and feeling traditional.

I want to tell a glorious story, not shock a reader. 

And that, kittens, makes me feel old.

Lovely review for "To Save A Shining Soul"

A positive 4 star review for my comedic tale about demons, hell, religion, and major heavenly screw-ups.

To Save A Shining Soul Review

The Word Smexy

What is this word? I just noticed it popping up here and there. Smexy. Why? The word sounds like something needing to be scraped off your arm. "Yuck, you've got smexy on your arm!"

The urban dictionary defines it as "a cuter way to say sexy." Cuter? I think not. Try grosser. This word ranks with carcass as a word that makes me cringe.

When I first saw this word on a m/m site, I thought "OK, weird, perhaps it's a way of indicating m/m sexiness." Then I saw it elsewhere which tosses my theory into the mud.

Something tells me the same person who coined the stupid phrase "head-hopping" created "smexy." I'd like to find that person and treat him/her to a candle light dinner featuring me in a foul mood.

Nothing smexy there.

Arachnidlogical

A highly logical spider spun a simple web across my back screen door. She's having a grand old feed on a june bug. I hope she nails a few hundred mosquitoes.

My Writing Spot

Do people wonder what a writer stares at when writing? Here's my summer distraction, my flowers. They are lovely, smell grand and soothe me. Unfortunately they can't spell or offer advice when I'm sitting here in a quandary. That's fine, I know they want to help.

Sleepy Bee in Bee Balm

When we first moved to our old house, I planted a beautiful bright red bee balm. Over the years I suppose the bees have naturalized the plant. Now it blooms a faded magenta, but the bees, hummingbirds and butterflies love the plant, so I let it go nuts each year.

I love watching the bumblebees prepare to sleep under the top spikes. Tonight I decided to photograph the one poor bumblebee as the cutie readied to sleep. What an adorable fuzzy face!

Hope my little pollinator is not too annoyed at me. The crazy hot weather demands daily garden watering sessions. If someone stings me tomorrow I'll know who is pissed at me.

Can't Please Everyone

The Dreamspinner group has been buzzing over reviews. Face it, authors love to wonder why a person made certain declarations about a story, especially if others were generally pleased with the writing, characters and other things near and dear to the word geeks.

I'm no different. I look around, read comments and restrain from replying. When I first read something that stings, I grumble, write a reply, delete said reply and say what the hell, some like chocolate, others like mint. I need to find the folks who savor mint chocolate mint.

Trouble is this last review I read made my fingers twitch. Granted it's early morning, I am tired and should be sleeping. But there you go, that's what I receive for peeking before I place my head on the pillow.

But when someone disparages my characters, I go into tiger mode. Yeah, that's what has my tail twitching.

Again, so what. 

Logical mind will keep whispering those words in my ear as I sleep.

Gardening and Writing

Weeding often moves along the story line. Not sure why!

Nadal vs. Murray at the Wimby Semis

Here's hoping Nadal triumphs. Last night we watched Hammer Sci-fi flick about a radioactive mud monster attacking Scotland. We started a whole fantasy about Andy Murray turning into a radioactive mud monster and melting everyone at Wimbledon in order to win the title. Our story became more interesting than the British flick.

Great Review at Jessewave for To Save A Shining Soul

Sigh, last week TSASS's Amazon ranking sunk like a boulder. Today it has rebounded in an impressive manner. I think this lovely, positive review is the cause. I am extremely thrilled and excited!

Great Review at Jessewave

Teaser from My Hot July Days Story

There's a wild antology building over at the Goodread's M/M Group. Stories will be released in July. I think there's around 104 stories.

Here's a little teaser from my story, "Bound to Be Suited."

 “Badminton. I love badminton. The whole shuttle cock thing is sexy. Just like plumbing. Imagine a toilet having a ball cock. Amazing.” The beginning to tingle in hot flaming lust Greg held up a rolled net and metal poles. A roll of white line sat coiled under the net. “Security. Yeah, I desire security.” He looked up and grinned in manic glee. “Play along with me?”

The close to flying into the sky Sebastian cocked his head in confusion. “Play what?”

“Captive.”

“Sure, dude! Tell me what to do.” At that moment in time if Greg told Sebastian he wanted to fuck in the middle of the Cross-Bronx Freeway, Sebastian would call Roland back to drive them there. Given their out of control desire they’d probably spew sperm all over the limo’s backseat and pass out before they arrived at the said dangerous destination. If they hesitated, poor Roland would be fighting off robbers for the hubcaps. Better they remain here and fuck in safety.

“Look, close your eyes and lean against those raincoats.”

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian saluted Greg and sank into the supportive mass. Visions of hot lava, hissing eruptions, and violent mating scenes from nature shows tripped across his mental screen. Fur flew. Blood splashed. Growls and snarls echoed in his ears. Did those shows ever display male tigers seeking sexual bliss? Come on, fucking like tigers was a common phrase, right, or was the…

Wait, those nature programs always showed a lion attacking and eating an antelope or some other cute animal. Why not talk first? Maybe sex solved all problems. Sex solved so many problems. If the UN fucked instead of rambling on, poof, there, problems solved.

Kicking Crap to the Curb

This is one of my huge failings, my ability to obsess over life's sick points. We can't afford another car but we need one since we work in two different directions not available to public transportation.

So what the fuck, I have a 401K from my coporate gig. Yeah, they will rape me 20% for taxes. Still, we need the money. 

This is what happens when two artists reach sick edges. 

But I am realizing something I will not write here.

Fucking Hell, My Car Was Stolen

What the fuck! Tonight I pulled into the communal parking lot and noticed something odd like my old 1993 Blazer was gone!

Talk about a what the fuck moment.I called the police and my insurance company This is the kicker; since the truck was old, we had dropped the comprehensive which means, yes, no money for theft.

I am ready to rip out someone's throat.

That's my start to the week.

New Mac Operating System

So now we have Lion, supposedly king of the beasts. Don't the female Lions perform the work in a pride? Or are the many nature shows I have watched over the years incorrect?

If that's the case I hope the new operating system is female. Then again the male lions battle to protect the pride. Does this mean Lion will attack Windows? What fun.

Supposedly this is the last Mac system to have a "cat" name. What's next, dogs?

Burning Question Du Jour

Why do straight women fawn over gay men?

I feel left out. Straight women never fawn over gay women.

Do gay men ever fawn over gay women? Wait, do straight men fawn over gay women? Aside from wanting to see them have sex for the viewing pleasure of straight men?

I need a grant.

I need to stop analyzing everything.

Come Abuse Me on June 11

My first official chat with the author thang is on Saturday June 11th, from 1:00PM to 6:00PM.

Please, I don't want to talk to myself. I will do it if necessary. But please abuse me.

Dreamspinner Press Goodreads Page

Nadal and Federer at Battle at the French Open: Fourth Set

Rafa the panther pounces and wins his sixth French Open! Vamos!

Nadal and Federer at Battle at the French Open: Second Set

What a nerve-wracking second set. The rain delay added nastiness but Nadal prevailed. Damn, he has fine muscles!

Nadal and Federer at Battle at the French Open

An amazing first set, fierce and furious. Nadal is sneaky; I swear he feels out his opponent, assesses the situation then pounces like a panther. He won five straight games to win the first set over Federer.

Thunder over Pittsburgh

I am sitting at my little glowing machine, late at night, in a curious old house in Pittsburgh, when KA-BLAM, a violent thunderstorm roars through the sky. I am in Pittsburgh for two reasons. My partner is attending a photography conference and I am visiting my mother and brother.

But here I am in this beautifully redone suite in an old Victorian house watching nature's violence. There's something so coherent, so right about the moment.

Then again if the storm knocks out the power I shall feel mighty pissed.

So marks my seventh day sans serious writing progress. Not good but the circumstances are against me. No use fighting against circumstances. The sneaky gremlins always win.

Nadal and Federer

Tomorrow promises damn fine tennis along with the joy of admiring Nadal's muscular moves. Yum.

Overcoming my Hatred of Twitter

I signed on to Twitter. The feeling is akin to jabbing a pencil into my ear. Let's see what happens. Is being a self-centered, snarky Hoo-Ha the way to gain a following?

This will never work.

My New Novella Coming on June 1st

I can finally announce my new novella To Save A Shining Soul will be released on June 1st, 2011, by Dreamspinner Press.


What a pretty cover. I adore my blue demon. Senior Leaper Marius will surprise you.


THE BLURB:

Sentenced to Hell for killing his betraying lover and himself, Marius is content to be a slacker. Sure, he seduces the occasional traffic violation into committing mass murder, but mostly, he enjoys hanging in his sweet ’comb and schmoozing with the other demons. Anything is better than being thrust into the Bank of Souls and thrown back into the Human world of pain and humiliation.  

So when Marius discovers his cushy assignment is hanging by a thread, he vows to do anything and everything vile and reprehensible to keep his station in Hell, even if it means seducing young divinity student Tristan Gordon to keep him from realizing that his place in Hell is completely accidental. But Tristan is both clever and beguiling, and no one is more surprised to discover Marius has gone from seducer to protector than Marius himself. 



http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2376

And yes, the new Big Lots circular is loaded with cheap fun. Real life loves biting my ankles.

The World Didn't End

I wonder if the people who expected it to end are sad. Hmm.

Is it My Imagination...

Or is the term “award winning author” tossed about in ridiculous frequency?

Award for what? Garden club? Pretty cover? Best blueberry pancakes in Booyah, Minnesota? Or the Annual “fill in the blank’ award which sounds suspiciously like a fellow author said “yeah, I’ll slap a name on an award?”

What a slippery slope. My partner wants me to host the S.A. Garcia award. She’ll vote for me and geeps-eeks, I win!

I declare myself an award winning author. I win an award for my constant vine-pulling garden tendencies. You see, my thoughts always turn to writing as I rip out vines. Organic writing. Yes!

La-de-dah!

Interview with S.A. Garcia and Review of Canes and Scales

My first online interview is now up at Top2Bottom Reviews, along with a 4.5 kiss review of Canes and Scales. I am pleased the story is still going strong. What a great build-up to my second release arriving on May 25th.

Interview with S.A. Garcia and Review of Canes and Scales

Great review of Canes and Scales from Night Owl Reviews. I feel properly celebrated.

Score: 5.00 / 5 - Reviewer Top Pick

 Review:
 Canes and Scales is the first book I’ve read by S.A. Garcia and it definitely will not be the last! I was amazed by the creative, sexy and edge of my seat storyline and I absolutely adored the two heroes, Prince Linden and the elven slave, Alasdaire. I was immediately swept up into the unique world that Ms. Garcia created and I could not put the book down until I read the very last word.

Prince Linden of Ardaul has spent most of his adult life off fighting wars and battles to right many a wrong that his mentally disturbed brother the King, has gotten his kingdom into. Prince Linden longs for a time where there will be peace and hopes that someday he’ll be able to take of the throne and his kingdom will be able to live in harmony and happiness until the end of his days. But, until then, Linden will continue to do what he can to keep his kingdom safe and sound. War-weary and exhausted, Linden is invited to stay at his cousins estate to rest and recuperate. Once he arrives at his cousin’s estate, he is greeted by a beautiful half elf/half human slave named Alasdaire, who is not only a spitfire and intelligent, his inner sweetness and honesty calls out to the lonely Prince.

As the Prince and his Eleven slave become friends and lovers, they slowly start to fall in love. But, hidden secrets and a plot to kill the Prince pull them apart. Will the lovers’ deep and abiding love they have for one another be strong enough to survive their trials so they can obtain their own chance of having their happily ever after?

I LOVED THIS BOOK! Both Linden and Alasdaire were well written and wonderful characters. Canes and Scales is written in first person, but each chapter switches off to both of their points of view. This allowed this reader to really become involved into both of their lives and enabled them to breathe life into their story and straight into my heart. Canes and Scales is one of those books that lived with me long after I finished it. Now it has its own place on my keeper shelf where I can enjoy reading about them for many years to come. I loved the unique plot and the passion that Linden and Alasdaire had for one another. The love scenes were beautifully written and hot enough for me to make sure the air conditioner was turned on.

S.A. Garcia is definitely an author that I’ve become excited about. I’m looking forward to reading more books written by her and has become someone who is now on my ‘must buy’ list.  If you are looking for a beautiful love story between two amazingly sexy and wonderful heroes, Canes and Scales is definitely the book for you!

My house bunnies commanded me to post this little ditty.

Easter Bunny Rap

Another Contract!

My novel, yes, a physical novel you can hold in your hands, was accepted by Silver Publishing.

Temptation of the Incubus is silly, extremely sexy and scary.

Damn, I am glad to keep chugging along.

The goal; two more novels accepted before the year's end. Come on, goals are good. Goals kick my ass.

The Triumph of the Groundhog

This is from five years ago. Read on to understand why I post this epic tale of woman vs. beast.

The season of the Beast has returned. Yes, once again, groundhogs voted my compact garden as their party spot. Tell tale partying signs began when I returned from vacation and discovered all my dahlias had been snipped, along with the tansy, black-eyed Susans and the coneflowers. Eat weeds, hello no!

Quick retaliation was needed. Red pepper sprinkled around the abused plants worked for a few days, but I sensed this was only the initial battle. Once I have a groundhog in the yard, the battle isn’t over until I trap the critter in my humane trap.

The plan was to weed first then plant the basil, sage, oregano, thyme and other assorted secondary greenery. Sunday afternoon, after watching the French Open finals, I proceeded to attack my weeds and overly exuberant ferns. I finally weeded my way to the back herb patch located by the hilarious old two-story shed. A huge pyracantha sprawls against the shed. Below the tree lurks a patch of never see the sun ground ruled by hardy vincas vine.

Well. Huh. Why did two large and extremely fresh dirt heaps sprawl in opposite directions? What happened to the vincas vine? I crawled under the thorny branches and there it was, the entrance to Hell.

The Pit.

The Lair of King Groundhog.

The ballsy Beast finally cut to the chase and created a den right where my remaining black-eyed Susans resided alongside the traditional herb patch. Yes, King Groundhog set up shop in his own private salad bar.

For a few seconds the nutter from “Caddy Shack” possessed my soul. After I petulantly tossed dead, profusely thorny pyracantha twigs into the pit, I stomped and fumed. My assorted groundhogs had tunneled under the shed from side to side (afraid it might cave in someday) and even ripped a hole in the side to live in there. But this was the first varmint who boldly tunneled directly into my garden proper.

Realizing pouting proved futile, I resumed my weeding and planting; except, of course, for the herbs. As I worked, I eyed the trusty old Havaheart trap as it silently waited for action.

7:00 rolled along. I decided it was time to bait the trap. Apple and peanut butter worked every time.

Trap set. Time for a shower, a glass of wine and the wait.

At about 8:45 I stood in the kitchen thinking about dinner when I heard a familiar “clang.” If that damned possum had tripped the trap again, well, he was taking a trip.

Lo, it was the Beast from the Pit. He was huge, around two feet long, an elder with gray tipped fur. He was furious. He tried to rip the trap apart. He hissed. His beady eyes blazed with contempt.

Time to spread plenty of newspaper all over the Blazer’s wayback. Great, no kids swarmed the street. Sandy started the Blazer while I fetched the Beast.

The Beast did not want to be fetched. He hissed. He bounded in rage. The cage shook. He tried biting me through the mesh. At least twenty pounds of hoggy fury made carrying the 4 ft long trap nearly impossible. But, after much cursing, the Beast finally landed in the Blazer’s wayback.

Two blocks later a lethally foul smell filled the air. Wow. Someone did not like being in the Blazer.

I opened the trap. The ornery Beast refused to leave. He kept hissing and shaking the cage while glaring at me. The next minute or so went something like this: me ordering him out while tipping the cage so he would get the hint to slide out, he hissing and glaring at me in-between the traffic’s headlights.

I set him down again. He merely shook the cage and hissed.

Yes, this was one stubborn, dumb-ass Beast.

I waited for one of those trucks to be a policeman. “What am I doing? Erm, performance art?”

Finally I kicked the cage’s back and hissed at him. I resorted to nearly standing the cage on end while whamming the side with my sneaker and hissing more. Begone, Stinky Beast!

The Beast backed up, the light bulb clicked on and he ran toward the truck and across the lane into that patch of trees.

The fouled trap looked like it belonged in a zoo.

So tonight I am dropping by Home Depot. I hope they sell fox urine cause I am dumping the full bottle down the hole and plugging it up with a few bags of rocks. I keep dreaming about owning a yard with a concrete slab sunk ten feet down and a batting practice mesh enclosure with holes for the birds to get in and out. Mere chain link won’t help; I’ve seen groundhogs scale tall chain link fences.

Trouble is my real fear is that the Beast King has a Queen and she will be out for revenge.

We shall see.

2011

I call her the BEAST.

The season of the Beast has returned. Yes, once again, for the eight year, groundhogs voted my compact garden as their party spot. Tell tale partying signs: kicking out the dirt I shoved into last year’s hole. The hole is huge. It is a crater to Hell.

I see the Queen Beast on a regular basis. She is the same one from late last season who refused to be captured. I am confident she’s the King’s mate sent to plague me.

She’s a master of evasion.

I know Queen Beast is a tough opponent. She wise. She’s wily. Last year she waited until her feeding options ran low before she decimated my coneflowers, zinnias and even tried stripping my dahlias.

Over the past weeks I set up the trap day after day. I use peanut butter on pear, PB on apple, strawberries, cantaloupe, weeds other’s yard, lettuce seasoned with vanilla, parsley, EVERYTHING. I even tried Canadian bacon.

Nothing works. Once again I've caught three possums (probably the same one) and four squirrels. I release the critters back into to yard.

Queen Beast is clever. As of now she ignores my garden and attacks the neighbor’s yards. She has a sub-division under a neighbor’s shed two yards over. I saw her slink under their shed.

Yesterday I tossed a head of iceberg lettuce into her pit and filled it in.

The dirt came out. The lettuce did not.

Have we reached a compromise?

Hmm. I swear she she knows I am a pacifist vegetarian. 

For now I shall wait and watch.

Upcoming in May

May (oh groan, not intentional) as well start blowing my horn now. Dreamspinner will release my next novella in late May.  I don't have a cover yet, which is worrying me. When I have something for To Save a Shining Soul ready to go, I'll show it off to the world. Or my small slice of the world. Thank you for being in my small slice!

Cthulhu on the Rocks

This is a mocking homage to a discussion started by Dreamspinner author Sue Brown. We needed explosions, fluff, nasty spirits and tentacled beasties.

Cthulhu on the Rocks

Claude glanced across the crowded bar. He’d been coming here for years, wondering if his heart’s desire might arrive on feathery soft wings. Not that he searched for an Angel or anything kinky, well, still, an Angel sounded sorta cool, but romantic Claude knew his heart wanted to give him something special, aside from a heart attack from eating too many cheese steaks and greasy onion rings.

A tall gentlemen clad in a long black robe entered and sat at a back table. How weird. Judging from his shiny silver scythe he must be a member of that bizarre religious cult that purchased Joe Miller’s farm.

When lissome Pete, he clad in his usual tight denim short-shorts and strategically-ripped red silk tank top, walked away from the gentleman’s table, he appeared troubled. Claude’s heart and long male arousal fluttered in pork-rolled desire. A few feathers tickled his throat. When would sweet Pete notice Claude’s true love? “Why the long face, Pete?”

Pete shrugged sexy shoulders crafted from sugar, spice and long hours at the gym “I don’t know, the dude at the back table is a little strange. He makes me feel odd inside.”

That son of a bitch! He upset sweet Pete! “Odd how?”

Pete’s misty gray eyes, they the color of a week-old kitten’s first soft fur, blinked in befuddlement. “Like my soul is destined to come to a fiery end via a lethal explosion.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No, but he did order the strangest drink. A Cthulhu on the Rocks.” Pete’s smooth face screwed into a charming pout. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me! Hold me, Claude!”

The satisfied Claude pulled Pete close against his beer belly and sniffed his long, fragrant, the color of old embers from a fire set by Angels black hair. Pete’s drink orders fluttered to the wooden floor. The old wooden floor trembled in protest.

A slimy tentacled monster burst though the needing-replacement floor. Tentacles darted left and right, snatching up patrons and tossing them into the creature’s parrot beak.

There men dressed in para-milatary garb burst through the front door. They launched grenades, bullets, flames and macho attitude toward Cthulhu.

Cthulhu’s tentacles sliced them in half.

Pete shrieked in caterwauling dismay. “Excuse me, you call that a rescue?” He tossed his artfully-disheveled hair and resumed pouting.

“I’ll stop this mayhem!” Claude ran behind the bar. The former high-school quarterback hurled bottles of bourbon at Cthulhu. “Begone, foul thing! Don’t mess with the brave men of Peachtree Springs!”

The gentleman in the long black robe stood and stared at Claude. Claude’s arm halted tossing bottles. Two red eyes the color of his hemorrhoids regarded him in triumph. “Thanks, darling.” Bony fingers snapped a flame into life. The flame hit the alcohol-soaked sawdust floor. A flaming line raced toward the propane tank display next to the ice machine.

Claude received his wish to meet the Angels.

Politics As Usual

What the fuck! No matter where I turn it's always politics. 

Perhaps I should become a hermit. Wait, crap, arguing with me sounds deadly.

That wind gusting past your ears was my sigh.

Time to look at Japan and shut the fuck up.

Canes and Scales is Released

Yippeeppeee, my novella Canes and Scales sees the light of day. Considering it's my first attempt at a fantasy/political/romance souffle, the results please me. Creating political commentary in a romantic fantasy felt damned good.

I love the cover.

Buy from Dreamspinner Press

Marketing Never Sleeps

 Yes, I have a story in this anthology. It's a damned fine anthology edited by an award-winning author. Color me excited to be selected for the volume.

Blood Sacraments 

Rattling into the Void

It's often at this time of night, no, wait, it's actually morning, that I think why the hell am I doing this to myself? So many people have "perky" blogs. I am such a damned debbie downer. Now I know why I like to write happy endings.

Yes, hello, Doc, pull up a chair so we can chat.

Away We Go

This blog is intended to contain the ramblings of author S. A. Garcia as she foolishly sets out on trying to survive as a writer while keeping the mental body count low.

This should be fun.

It would have been clever to begin this on Oscar Wilde's birthday (october 16) but that called for advance planning which all too often is sucked into a big black hole.