Upcoming Release: FCM: Come, Go With Me

Come, Go With Me releases September 22/23 at Changeling Press! This one's a m/m romance between a middle-aged surfer and the Hawaiian demi-god that he loved and lost. Oddly enough, the book was inspired by the spritely Beach Boys song of the same title. While the song is upbeat, the lyrics are really quite sweet and winsome:

Love, love me darlin'
Come and go with me,
Please don't send me
'way beyond the sea;
I need you, darlin',
So come go with me.

Come, come, come, come,
Come into my heart,
Tell me, darlin',
We will never part;
I need you, darlin',
So come go with me.

Yes, I need you,
Yes, I really need you,
Please say you'll never leave me.
Well, say, you never,
Yes, you really never,
You never give me a chance.

Come, come, come, come,
Come into my heart,
Tell me, darlin',
We will never part;
I need you, darlin',
So come go with me.

Blurb:

One impossible night, two young men made love in a magical Caribbean bay, only to be separated by a violent storm. Decades later Dave Riley still remembers and grieves for a love long lost. Forever drawn to the ocean, he never stops looking for the boy named Kai.

Kai is the descendant of a powerful Polynesian deity. His nomadic life was disrupted when he became infatuated by a young human... one who slipped through his fingers and into the darkness of a tropical storm. He should have been able to move on, but Kai's heart is no longer free.

A good deed and some well-intentioned magic reunite the couple. After so many years apart, can an aging surfer and an immortal demi-god find anything other than heartbreak?

EXCERPT:

He locked the shop door and stepped out into the storm. The wind caught his hair, so Riley scraped it back, pulling the top half into a ponytail. He cast a critical eye out to the ocean. This storm hadn’t shown up on the weather reports, but would most likely blow itself out without too much havoc. The breeze was warm and damp and fine misty rain whirled through the air, caressing his cheeks. Days like this reminded him of other times and places. He took a deep breath and smiled. There was no point in grabbing an umbrella or covering his head, the wind made certain that he was damp from head to toe.

Riley started down the sidewalk; his condo was just a few blocks away from work. Over the past few years, his world had narrowed. Once his father passed, he’d taken the insurance money from the Melody and had taken over the shop, converting it from fishing and tackle to watersports and surf wear. It’d been years since he’d been sailing. He moved in a predictable pattern: from home to the beach, then on to work. Afterward, he’d hang at a local bar or go on a date with a pretty tourist. Then on home, or sometimes to a blanket somewhere on the beach.

Lately though, the girls had become women and the beach blankets had given way to upscale hotel rooms. Frankly, it surprised him that the women were still interested. He wouldn’t be seeing the sunny side of forty again. He wondered what they were looking for when they looked at him. Freedom? A carefree life in Paradise? The idea made him smile; his live was pretty much without care. No one really cared for Dave Riley.

He hopped a curb and quickly crossed the street, catching the appreciative gaze of a pair of college-age girls. They smiled and paused to talk to him, but Riley kept walking. It wasn’t till he caught sight of the young, blond surfer that he stopped. The man had blond hair kissed by the sun. His smiling face was unlined; his body was taut and muscular. When Riley stopped, the surfer stopped too. He stood, gazing at his reflection, watching it slowly age until middle-aged Riley looked back at him.

Shit.

He looked around at the nearly empty street. There must be magic in the air. Either that, or Kimber had slipped something into his coffee.

A neon light flickered behind him and he turned, blinking in surprise. Had that bar been there before? The Final Cut was all weathered wood and neon on a street of plaster and palms. It was both quaint and upscale. He looked at the businesses that surrounded it; he’d spent hours in the bookshop next door. The hair salon on the other side was familiar as well. Curious, he crossed the street, wetting his feet in shallow puddles. His deck shoes squeaked with water.

Under New Ownership.

Well damn. He’d seen this place before, but was certain it was in another part of town, not down here by his shop. He gripped the brass handle and pulled the door. It stuck for a moment and then gave way. The cool air escaped with a sigh, chilling his face.

He stepped in.

It wasn’t unusual in any way. There were a few televisions mounted on the walls, sporting events playing on them. Oddly, the patrons didn’t seem to be paying attention to the televisions. They sat at the tables in clusters, or occasionally alone. He actually heard the murmur of conversation over the volume of the TV sets. A parrot squawked. He glanced at the bar, seeing the colorful bird and a bald man the size of a wall. The big bald guy lounged at the bar, dwarfing the stool he sat on. He carefully watched the room through dark glasses. When he looked directly at Riley, the image of a massive bear formed in his imagination. His skin prickled and Riley moved further into the bar.

He took a chair at an empty table, picking up the menu and scanning the room over the edge of the laminated page. Everything looked normal, but the atmosphere of the place made him a bit breathless. He glanced up as the waitress arrived at his table. He swallowed at the vision of beauty she made.

“I’ll have a Sierra…”

She set a napkin and a bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on his table and walked away.

“… uh… I’ll have that…” He turned in his seat, watching her walk away. He sighed deeply and lifted the bottle to his mouth.

From where he sat, he had a good view of the room as well as the doorway. He lingered over his beer, and just as he finished, the dark-haired waitress brought another. He made a point of looking up, and when he saw the lovely features, he coughed. She was a he -- and a lovely he at that! His shoulder length hair hung in a ponytail, and his pouty lips gleamed as though they'd been glossed. A short apron covered his shorts, and when he walked away, his ass swayed provocatively. Riley grinned. He was exactly his type of woman, but not at all his type of man.

It didn’t matter. He’d still leave a hefty tip.

Right as it registered that he was growing hungry, his sexbomb server brought a plate of sliders and another beer. Riley chuckled and started in on his food, watching the other patrons as he ate. There were a couple familiar faces here and there, but mostly, it just looked like a normal neighborhood bar. There was a beautiful woman in the corner, turning over cards in an elaborate tarot display. Her white clothing gleamed against her dark skin. A pair of rough looking men leaned over their table, talking quietly. At another table, a couple sat, clearly flirting. The man picked up the woman’s hand, running his lips over her wrist.

Vampires and shifters and Fae, oh my!

He laughed at himself. OK, so Coco and her man were not your run of the mill people. Same for Genie, and even Kimber. But vamps? No way.

Nevertheless, he’d be getting out of this place before it got fully dark. Those two looked hungry.

He finished his food and then looked out the window facing the ocean. Sunset was rapidly approaching, and the water looked grey and angry. In the distance, lightning forked through the sky. No doubt there were still a few die-hards out there, making the most of the weather. Once upon a time, he’d have been one of them.

He smiled, shook his head and looked around for his server. It was time to go. To his surprise, the lovely creature was nowhere in sight. Odd, since he’d anticipated every one of Riley’s requests long before they came. He stood and dug out his wallet, pulling a pair of twenties out. Before the cash was out of his wallet, wind whipped through the room. He looked up, expecting to see the front door open, but nobody was there. That’s when he remembered…

The bar had no windows.

He sat back down… hard.

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1687

Blacque/Bleu Going to Print!

I just received the proofs for the cover of the print edition of Blacque/Bleu! Very nice, eh? If you want to see it large, click on the image. :)

We don't have a firm release date yet, but look for it within the next two months...just in time for the holidays...

Procrastination, Thy Name Is...

(This post originally appeared at Raine Delight's Blog.)

Crafting. Jam. Giving the dog a bath. Sweeping the dust bunnies out from under the bed. Daydreaming. Alphabetizing the books on your shelf. Cleaning the closet. Washing the walls. Baking bread. These are all things I do to avoid sitting at the computer and getting down to business.

I’m a procrastinator. Always have been. In college, I was the one sitting up till dawn working on the paper that was due in just hours. Since I commuted 80 miles to my university, time management was a bit of a problem. I’m sure there’s a relevant psychological theory about people like me, but right now, I’m not worried about bills and term papers, I’m thinking about the book I should be writing.

Years ago, I was hired to write a play for a local theatre. The hitch was that the play was cast and already in rehearsal when I came on board. The director had a basic idea of what he wanted as well as some rudimentary dialogue, but it was up to me to show up at rehearsal every night…script in hand.

I didn’t have time to procrastinate or not produce. But still, I’d find my days being wasted by distractions. I’d start making soap or polishing my shoes. I’d watch a TV or take a nap. By four o’ clock, I was on the computer frantically composing, printing and then rushing to the theatre to make copies. I remember there was one day when I was sitting on a sofa, literally staring at the wall. My mother came through, looked at me and said, “What are you doing?” I thought for a moment and answered, “I’m working.” That moment was a revelation. All the distractions, diversions and avoidance were part of my creative process.

So back to that book I should be writing; it’s not crashing in on me just yet, but I feel guilty because I’m not using my time well. I’m not getting words on the page. But is it time wasted? Again, my mother asked one of those questions. She wanted to know what my next book was going to be about. Well, I sat and told her. That’s when it occurred to me that I’d already created the story, all that remained was to compose it.

The creative mind is mysterious and complex. Pay attention to your writing patterns, what seems to be procrastination or wasting time might actually be your creative subconscious at work. I think of all those dozens of history papers that were always completed right at the edge of their deadline; none ever scored less than a “B” grade. They always went in on time. In reality, I’d done the research and organization, all that was left was the writing. I recall all the guilt associated with running so late, and really, it was misplaced. Yes, I probably can (and often do) work with more efficiency, but the point is, what works for me might not work for you, and visa-versa. I can mentally organize and outline a novella…without so much as a note. But I have a heck of a time getting ready for a trip without a rigid “to do” list. I know other writers who rigorously outline and work a very organized, structured day. That’s just not me.

How does your mind work? Do you get sidelined by guilt over what you think is writer’s block? Perhaps your mind is approaching the task differently than you realize. Guilt is non-productive. Give yourself a break. You might be getting more done than you realize. J