Now that's Love!

I haven’t been around much for various reasons. One, I was horribly ill for six weeks and it has taken a good month for me to get to the point where I had enough strength to do simple things like stand at the sink and wash dishes or open a TV dinner and throw it in the microwave. I have never, ever been that sick in my entire life, period.

However, there’s more to this story. The last seven months have been hell. I’ve been dealing with changes in my husband that both frightened and baffled me. He swore it was just him being tired and needing a vacation and that he just couldn’t seem to get enough rest. I won’t get into the details, but things ranged from him being unusually argumentative and beyond grouchy to problems such as falling off the kitchen chair or not remembering important discussions. By January, he became ill around the same time I did.

He swore he had the flu or some sort of virus, but he kept working. Then Wee Man came down with Type A flu and gave it to me. I crashed like a ton of bricks and suffered through ten days of the stuff. Once I started recovering, I had about six days of feeling better, went out with my oldest dau one afternoon to have my hair cut, and the next day was struck down by a 104 temperature and the glands in my head and neck swelling up so badly I couldn’t function.

The hubby hovered over me while I had the flu. Again, he took care of me during the second round of sickness. He worried and fretted. He’d place cold cloths on my head as I burned with fever. I teased him he was going to wear a groove in the floor from his favorite kitchen chair to our bed.

Finally, after a week of major antibiotics (2,000 mil of Amoxicillin a day!), I started recovering, but after four days of meds, I woke up with an ear ache and a fever again and went back to the doctor. This time he gave me super antibiotics, and now I’m getting back to normal (whatever that is, lol).

While I was ill, the house turned into a demilitarized zone. It irked me that no one would do laundry, run the vacuum, or clean up the kitchen. Why couldn’t someone step up? Why did I have to look at that mess and be the one who inevitably cleaned it up once I got back on my feet?

Whenever I managed to get up and go get something to drink, I would stare at the kitchen counter covered in food and grease splatters, empty food boxes no one would throw away, empty bags, containers, cans, and dirty forks, spoons, knives, and other utensils…

The hubby had done the dishes while I was so sick, which is shocking because he hates dishes and will do them only when it’s a dire necessity.

“Babe, why is it you can wash the dishes but won’t clean up the counter and stove top?”

“Hey, I managed to wash the dishes. I’ll get to the other stuff eventually.”

He never did. One entire morning I wiped, scrubbed, chiseled, and cleaned the counters and stove.

But as I started feeling better, I noticed he was feeling—and looking—worse. His slurred speech late in the day grew worse, an eyelid drooped, and I noticed him stumbling around and dropping things. Worried silly, I finally convinced him to go to the doctor.

The next day he called me from the doctor’s office and said he was on his way to the hospital. I got to the ER to find out he’d had a minor stroke about six months ago and that it was so deep in the core of his brain it had taken that long for the effects of the stroke to surface i.e. the exhaustion, flu-like symptoms, stumbling, slurred speech, loss of dexterity in one hand, etc.

But my husband is a stubborn cuss, and I call him that on a regular basis. As a result of his pigheadedness, we argue a lot, but I’m stubborn too and will stand toe-to-toe with him when we do argue. In turn, he calls me Iron Ass because I won’t back down and make him walk the straight and narrow, LOL.

But a thought occurred to me…he was suffering through the effects of a stroke and took care of me. Me! How many men would do that? How many men, so sick they could barely stand let alone keep working every day, would tend to their spouse like that?

Now that’s love! That’s the type of man I want in the romance novels we write and read! He’s not a big, muscled Viking. He’s not the rich prince who falls for the peasant woman or the sheikh who rides across the dunes to sweep the maiden up onto his horse.

No, my husband is my hero. My soul mate. My friend. My companion. And he’s my entire world. I thank God for him every day, sometimes several times a day.

Then I felt bad for grouching at him about the counters and stove top, the house and its mess. He was lucky just to do what he was able, and I had snarled about the housework. I told him how I felt, and he just smiled and said, “You would’ve done the same for me, honey. We love each other.”

Hubby, Matthew, with our daughter Ivory.

He’s right.

But now as I write this, I’m happy to report that he went to his first physical therapy session yesterday and after evaluating him, he was told to go home and not come back. The Stubborn Cuss (☺) has been so determined not to let what he was suffering get the best of him that he’s recovered the effects quicker than the therapy personnel had ever seen. By the end of this summer, if not sooner (said his therapist, laughing once she found out what I call my husband) he should be totally recovered and his brain will have re-routed various functions so he will be completely normal again.

It was a wake-up call for my husband. It was also a blessing in disguise because it has given him a new perspective on life and family.

As for blessings, I am very blessed to have this man in my life as my mate. Love you, baby…always.

Beware of the Wife

When it comes to my writing, I’m a creature of habit. I work from about 8 AM until about 2 PM five days a week. Sometimes I work on the weekends, but very seldom anymore. The weekends are for family and also for me to let my brain and eyes rest. It’s bad enough when my writing routine is messed up by doctor appointments or the school calling me to come pick up a kid or drop something off that either one has forgotten, but when it’s other people who don’t care that I’m working or think I just play on my laptop—I’m assuming this is the case, because they just won’t leave me alone....

The landlords, their hired hands, or the landlords grown children have been in and out of our driveway so much—doing only God knows what in the fields and the far barn—I now know the very sound of their vehicles when they pull in. No call or text that they’ll be out here; nope, they just show up out of the blue. My older kids stop by unannounced or they’ll text and say they’re on their way over, so I have to set aside what I’m doing. I love my kids, but because I’m Mom, I guess I’m supposed to let the interruptions slide.

But I hate being a mean ass. I really do. Sadly, I’m going to have to start biting heads off. As a matter of fact, I found a graphic online, blew it up, and posted it at our main door.

So...

About a month ago our minister showed up unannounced one Saturday afternoon. He was on his way to town and thought he’d stop by to check on us. Yes, we’d missed a month of church, but it had been one virus after another that the two kids here at home had kept passing back and forth; the dau was so sick the last round she missed a week of school. Anyway, I’m sitting in my writing chair doing her hair for homecoming that night. I was wearing nothing but undies and an oversized t-shirt when the minister came to the door. [groan] Grabbing my nearby cardigan, I then tossed it over my lap a moment before he walked inside...but he paused at the door.

 

Uh, oh.

The preacher came in and sat across from me. “Saw your sign by the door. Did you put that there for a reason?”

Seriously?

Looking him directly in the eye I replied very firmly, “Yes, I did.”

“All right, then.”

All right, indeed.

That sign is perfect for me. I admit it. Don’t even worry about a dog. Beware of the wife because she’s had it up to eyebrows with interruptions, people wanting this and that, and family who think I don’t really work....

There are two adorable cabins down in the hollow from us that are just big enough for a single person. I wonder if I could rent one cheap? But you know what? I’d probably still have to make another beware sign and post it on the cabin’s front door, too. {{sigh}}
******

Quick announcement: Avoid Writer's Hell is back! It will now function as a blog and a wonderful website for the revised, expanded book is in the works. For the first blog article visit http://wildchildpublishing.com/blog/when-bad-books-sell-well/. 

It Will Hit the Trash Can

Put it away or it hits the trashcan!

I say that a lot at my house. The other day I cleaned my big kitchen counter. We have a large kitchen, and it has two counters but the main worktop is one of those L-shaped counters. The downside to having this type of counter is the corner, especially if cabinets are over it. Everyone throws tosses, dumps, stores, etc., his or her garbage there.

I call it garbage because their stuff doesn’t belong on the counter or even in the kitchen—and most of it was junk! It took me two hours to sort, toss, and put away the crap on this counter. Wrappers, toys, nail polish, jewelry, pens, pencils, old school work, and just plain ol’ garbage that the family was too lazy to put in the trash can.

Why is it so difficult to file or put something away? Seriously, you just take it to where you got it and put back. If it’s trash, you just walk to the trash can and toss it in.

Simple, right?

Bwahahaha!

My seven year old has no clue what a trash can is, and my youngest dau believes the coffee table IS a garbage pail. The hubby thinks the floor by his chair against the wall is for EVERYTHING.

And the space between my writing chair and the wall has everyone’s stuff crammed in there.

Hang on a minute. That is MY area. Why is everyone else's crap in MY area? I don't go in my son's room (that is a post all unto itself. At the moment I'm considering putting a sign up on his door that states "Danger: Hard hat must be worn at all times") and dump all my things in there. I don't go upstairs and throw all my stuff in my dau's room nor do I store or pitch all my belongings in the hubby's area either.

So why is the space behind my writing chair filled with items that belongs to everyone else in the house???

And yes, I chew everyone out over this problem, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

I’ve finally told both kids and the hubs that if I keep picking it up and putting it away OR I have to keep telling them to clean up their “garbage” areas, I will throw their stuff away—and I don’t care what it is!

The youngest--except for his room--and the hubby are doing better, but not a lot. The dau...oy! She has the attention span of a gnat, but that’s a teenager for you.

When I strike it rich, I’m hiring a maid! With my luck I'll find all her stuff behind my chair too!

Turn off the Damn Heater!

My husband and I are in a war. He freezes 24/7, even in the summer, and I’m hot ALL the time. As a matter of fact, the youngest dau and I are in a similar battle, although it’s not as bad nor are there casualties.

I’m one of those few people who are overly warm. It doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of winter; I seldom step outside wearing anything heavier than a sweatshirt or hoodie. I’ve been known to even walk out on the porch or the sidewalk in bare feet to feed the dog. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me. Now I won’t go as far as walking around barefooted in the snow and ice, but I don’t bat an eye at a few minutes out on a freezing porch or sidewalk.

Now let me give you a li’l background info on the hubby. He’s a welder, so he works in extremely high temperatures and in close proximity to metal that has to be heated until it glows red. I get it that he feels cold when he’s been standing next to a piece of cast iron all day that registers 400 degrees. After 8 to 10 hours of that and then stepping out into 85 degree weather, I’m sure he feels cold in comparison. Not only that, he has poor circulation.

However, we had temps this summer in the 100s, going as high as 107 with the heat index pushing it a li'l higher. That man would come home, sit at his usual place in the kitchen to watch TV, and then turn the heater on behind him.

Oh, no you didn’t!

Click.

“Who the hell turned off my heater?”

“I did. It’s 107 out and you come in and turn on the heater.”

“My back hurts and the heat helps it,” he growls.

“I don’t care if you’re the Hunchback of Notre Dame! It’s 107 degrees out. Read my lips! One-Oh-sev-en!”

He complains we don’t spend as much time together as he wants, but I can’t handle the heat of the kitchen where he spends most of his time when he’s home. I already have a built-in furnace. The last thing I want is to sweat while watching TV. And when a meal is cooked, especially if the oven is in use, the temperature climbs.

It got down to 41 one night last week. The hubby was wrapped in the comforter as if he was sleeping on the snowy tundra. Sweating, I kicked the covers off. He got up for work, and when I got up I was wandering around the house in undies and a t-shirt while he and the dau were bundled up in long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts.

And when I do want some of the comforter at night, it’s a fight to the death. That man can snap a blanket off of me and rolled up in it like yanking a tablecloth off a table, leaving everything else to stand undisturbed.

And all day he’s home the heater gets a workout. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

I open the door to get air. He shuts it.

I open the window to get air. He shuts it.

Finally, I usually yell something like, “Damn it, if you’re that freaking cold go put on more clothes.”

“If you’re that hot,” he counters, “take off some clothes.”

“I’m already in a t-shirt and panties,” I’ll snap.

He will then grin at me. “I know.”

“Ass wipe,” I’ll shoot back and stomp to the bedroom where it’s cooler.

Even my hands exude heat. The dau will come up to me and ask me to hold her hands for a minute to warm them up. She says mine feel like oven mitts just out of the dryer. And the hubby gets cold at night and crowds me because I’m emitting so much body heat he thinks I’m better than an electric blanket. Some nights he crowds me so badly I get up and go to the couch. Honey, I love you but get the hell off of me so I can at least breathe! Add his body heat to mine, which is already too high, and I feel like I’m in a sauna.

Oh, and let’s not forget the mini war where the hubs unplugs my laptop or my wireless cord so he can plug in his heater.

SNARL.

Will he plug it in the power strip? Nooooo! He has to have the wall outlet.

One day...one day he’ll get that heater stuffed where the sun doesn’t shine. Once I plug it in, he won’t have to worry about being cold anymore.

Blowing Raspberries

The stress in the Bicknell-Brown household during this lovely summer vacation has been...how should I say it? Of mushroom-cloud proportions?

I’m not going to bore you with a long four-page post of what’s been going on, but between my hubby’s hours being cut at work, the loss of my transportation and being confined at home for the last 3 ½ months, my family moving in for a week due to no power in their homes, a teen girl who *thinks* she’s in love and believes I should sprout feathers and fly her to see her bf every day, and all the nice plans I had for this summer being dashed to smithereens, I walk a very thin line that cuts through the lands of Insane Town and WhydoIbotherville.

Why do stressful times seem to snowball? One bad thing happens, followed by another crappy problem, and another, and another.... Whether it’s financial problems, health scares, teens tormenting you and everyone else in the house...it never seems to stop. No, it goes on for months!

I’m one who often bitches about the public school system and dread it when my children return to school because of the mountains of stupid paperwork (Seriously? They can’t send a card home that says “Any New Changes?” Yes or no. If yes, fill out the form below) and even when you do, the office personnel still screw it up and blame YOU for THEIR blunders (it took me half—I repeat—half a school year before I could get the middle school secretaries to change our cell number! Breathe, Faith, breathe!). I’m always the one who wails about the lack of common sense in the Board of Education offices, and the numerous inane laws that are passed every year.

But you know what? This year I’m looking forward to school starting!

Put on these clothes. Wear those shoes. Your backpack is by the door. Here’s your lunch. Now get the hell out of here!

I kid you not, I have a magnet in my ass. There’s no other explanation for the fact that whenever I go to the bathroom and shut the door, there’s a kid banging on it saying, “Hey, Mom...!” Or if I go outside to get away for a few minutes—even sitting in 107 degrees with humidity!—here come the kids, who suddenly decide they want to sit in the heat, too.

My gums are sore from clenching my teeth at night.

I have acid reflux so bad I could spit on the carpet and it would burst into flames.

I need to help the hubs with the finances, so I fret I’m not writing fast enough to submit more and more manuscripts, so then I freeze and make myself sick.

And I’ve been forgetting about the hose in the washer as it fills, flooding the laundry room floor. Oh, and let’s not forget the bacon, pancakes, etc., I forget about on the stove and return to find them smoking and so hard I could use them as hockey pucks.

Yeah, the stress is getting the best of me. I try not to let it, but it’s there all the same.

And not having wheels for nearly 4 months actually makes me feel sorry for anyone who’s under house arrest. I have been to church once, to the store twice, and two the local mom-and-pop store twice when the hubs went to get gasoline. [Blows raspberries as my eyes roll back in my head]

If anyone is going on vacation to a tropical region, stop by and pick me up, please. You don’t even have to land the plane, just toss down an extremely long life line and I’ll grab it on your way by.

Chaos, Craziness, and M/M Shortie Excerpts

I’m sorry I haven’t posted one of my rants or warped-sense-of-humor posts this week. I live in Ohio, one of the states hit hard by the storms last Friday, so the power was out nearly everywhere and entire towns in total blackout. Although our power wasn’t knocked out, the rest of the family didn’t have any electricity so guess whose house they camped at? LOL. Last night my parents’ power was finally restored. The oldest dau and her family has their power back, too.

So, as a result of this chaos and craziness, my writing and blogging has suffered.

One thing’s for sure. I have plenty of material to blog about when my next week at 4SW comes up!

Also, if you scroll down (depending on how you accessed this post) or go HERE, you can read my latest book review. It posted on Tuesday, because I sent the link out, but somehow blogger suffered a snafu and the post disappeared, so I had to re-post.

I thought about posting an excerpt from one of my upcoming titles, but since there are seven different ones, I couldn’t decide which one to go with nor do I yet know when any of them will be released.

  

For now, I leave the fans of m/m romantic fiction some shortie excerpts of my work in this genre. J

The Crimson Bane Battles—the first three books in this series are m/m, paranormal/sci-fi romance involving Ian, an Earthie, and Skorpe, a Parallelan.

Book 1 Absinthe Forever

Lost in bittersweet memories of Skorpe, the gorgeous hunk of Goth who crushed his heart and stole his money, Ian takes an after-dinner walk in Manhattan to clear his mind. A bizarre red fog belches from the New York City sewers, and Ian, like so many others, succumbs to its otherworldly caress. As he lies in the street, unable to move, he watches creatures composed of no more than red, glowing outlines and with eyes like flaming coals wander the streets like an invading army. Ian can do nothing except think about his vanished lover and pray that Skorpe has not been afflicted by the strange, numbing poison.

Skorpe is from Parallel Earth and on a mission to defeat the Crimson Bane. Falling for Ian wasn't in the plan. To save Ian from the Crimson Bane, Skorpe steals a large sum of money from him and leaves him to set up a safe haven for them before the Crimson Bane Battles officially begin. He returns to the city only to discover that he's too late in reaching Ian before the first attack. Can Skorpe find Ian before one of the demons delivers a killing blow to the incapacitated human?

Genre: Paranormal romance, sci-fi, erotic romance, GLBT, end-of-the-world

Someone tugged the cover off Ian's head. Stunned, he stared up into Skorpe's dark, worried eyes. Delight, relief, and a host of questions bounced around in Ian's mind and heart. I can't believe this is really happening. Where the hell's he been all this time? Frustrated with his lack of speech, Ian tried to convey his thoughts through his eyes.

Skorpe placed his hands on either side of Ian's face and looked him directly in the eyes. "You're safe now."

Holy shit! He knows I'm aware of everything! Thank God!

"I'm going to do something that will shock you." A smile tweaked Skorpe's full, black-painted lips, but the concern in his eyes intensified. "It's essential I do this to free you." Skorpe pulled the sheet off Ian's body, unfastened Ian's pants, and then yanked on them several times. "There's a reason I never let you make love to me, Ian. We're both pure."

Confusion drifted through Ian. What is he going on about? We're finally reunited, and he's talking about purity?

"Neither you or I use any man-made products or cosmetics," Skorpe continued, his tone even. "We both utilize alternative medicines to heal ourselves instead of synthetic drugs, and everything we eat is chemical and preservative free, and most of our beauty products are natural, right down to using baking soda to brush our teeth. We only drink bottled spring water, and we both use distilled water to bathe in most of the time. The only liquor we drink is absinthe, and it's pure, too." Skorpe smiled down at him and ran one hand over Ian's chest, a chest that hadn't moved up and down with life for nearly three days. "I've missed our evenings talking over a bit of absinthe so very much."

Ian stared up at his love, both elated and confused to see him. What the hell does eating right or using organic substances have to do with any of this?

Laughing sympathetically, Skorpe answered Ian's unspoken question. "I imagine you're wondering what I'm going on about when you'd rather know why I left you and what's going on with you right now." He stripped off his boots, trousers, and briefs, then hiked his purple, velvet robe up around his waist. He grasped Ian's flaccid cock and began kissing and licking it. "Bear with me, Ian. All will become clear to you very shortly."

Surprised, Ian relished the warmth spreading through his body. The heat slipped into his abdomen, permeated his limbs, and coursed up into his skull. Slowly, sensation began to return, and a steady thump penetrated his ears. 

"I'm going to consummate our union." Skorpe raised his head and looked up at Ian. "I'm from Parallel Earth. Whatever happens to one Earth will happen to the other, only with slightly different circumstances. In our world, we're only permitted one mate. If we have sex, it means we're joined by our souls until one of us dies. And on Parallel Earth, sex has healing properties." He indicated his face and lips and then wiggled his fingers at Ian. "Parallelans look like Goths, but our black lips and nails and our pale skin isn't from makeup. It's all natural." Skorpe straddled Ian's abdomen, and to Ian's surprise, desire roared through him.

Book 2 Absinthe Flames

Struggling to comprehend a world turned upside down, Ian wants nothing more than to be with his partner Skorpe at The Castle, an underground stronghold where Parallelans and Earthies hide from the deadly Crimson Bane.

However, Ian’s unpredictable ex-fiancé is the residing M.D. Skorpe worries that Ian still harbors lingering feelings for Regina Clearcash, but when the Bane sends The Castle into a Level Two emergency, Skorpe is called away to the command center, leaving Ian at Regina’s mercy.

Regina swears she’s a changed woman, but when Ian tells her that Skorpe is his mate, she lashes out at him just as explosions rock The Castle. Skorpe is cornered in the compound, and Ian awakens in Regina’s arms as they ride to a new Regrouping Point. Separated again, both men vow to find the other, but with the Crimson Bane taking so many lives, Ian and Skorpe pray they find one another before it’s too late.

Genre: Paranormal romance, sci-fi, erotic romance, GLBT, end-of-the-world

“I’m afraid a bath isn’t possible,” Skorpe stated. He tossed his robe across the back of a chair and placed the food containers on a counter that separated the kitchenette from the living area. “We ration water because we’re uncertain what the Bane has done to other water sources, if anything. Plus timed showers keeps everyone from wasting water. Our water feeds off a system of springs that fills the Blackmire Lake.”

“Will anything be normal again?” Ian asked abruptly. He didn’t mean to sound short with Skorpe, but after being saved from a frightening fate on the street, the future looked bleak, uncertain.

Skorpe’s mouth flattened into a line that showed both sympathy and understanding. “Oh, baby, where do I even begin to explain things to you?”

“Is it really that bad?” The need to know the truth and the desire to not know battled in Ian’s brain. “Judging by how high tech this place is things have got to be extreme. You have things from the military, for shit’s sake! Computerized things that I never even knew existed!”

“Some of the technology you saw comes from Parallel Earth,” Skorpe said, “because my world is a little more advanced than yours. In truth, Parallelans have been building these Earth fortresses for several years.”

“You knew about the Crimson Bane all this time?”

“Yes and no,” said Skorpe. “There are many alternate dimensions that most know nothing about. However, world after world has succumbed to the same things: greed, laziness, convenience, selfishness and so on. Sooner or later the Crimson Bane arrives. It’s complicated and confusing.” He pointed to a door behind Ian. “The bathroom is there. Go take a hot shower, and then I’ll try to explain some of this craziness to you.”

Ian turned and entered the tiny cubicle that served as the bathroom. It reminded him of a toilet closet on a travel bus except it had a sink opposite the commode and a narrow shower stall. He discovered dispensers in the shower with soap, shampoo and conditioner. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the cubicle and picked up a clean cloth on a tiny inverted shelf by the glass door. A sensor blinked red, and water sprayed down on him.

He stood there for a couple of minutes just enjoying the sensation of hot water sluicing over his weary body. Due to lying on the hard pavement for nearly three days in the same position, many of his muscles and joints protested his every movement. As he began to wash, he found bruises where his flesh had been pressed against the asphalt.

Groaning, he washed carefully, but his right arm refused to move without dire pain, so washing his back was impossible.

“Here,” Skorpe said outside the door, “let me help you.”

Ian handed him the cloth.

“I can only imagine what your body feels like after lying on the street in the same position for so long,” Skorpe added.

“Trust me, there isn’t enough herbal remedy in the world right now.”

Skorpe chuckled softly. He discarded his clothes, stepped into the stall and began washing Ian’s back.

“Want me to wash your hair for you too?” Skorpe asked as he rinsed the body wash from Ian’s body.

“If you don’t mind. It’s difficult to scrub my hair when it hurts to raise my right arm above my waist.”

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Skorpe’s fingers in his hair, his touch firm but gentle. Skorpe rubbed Ian’s scalp and then nudged the back of his skull, indicating Ian should rinse.

Finished, he remained beneath the spray and said... 

Hee! Hee! I know, I'm a meanie. Lastly, from book 3, Absinthe Dawn (release date to be announced).

With The Standoff Point destroyed, Earthies and Parallelans must evacuate to new bases, but find those destroyed by the Bane, too. Separated again, Skorpe and Ian vow to find one another.

However, Regina, Ian’s old fiancée, is determined to make him hers again. Stuck in the mountains with her, Ian is determined to make his way back to his mate. However, Skorpe has a problem, too, a very handsome one.

The two men embark on quests to find the other, but the Converts are spreading and attack in unexpected places. Now Ian and Skorpe face not only death, but something worse—conversion. Will Ian and Skorpe’s love survive?

      Skorpe reached the ground floor and strode through the lower level to the hall leading to the cafeteria. He didn’t look back; he didn’t have to. Avionne’s footsteps kept pace directly behind him. Once he reached the kitchen, he gathered granola bars and fruit that were easy to carry as well as commandeering a stainless-steel bottle for water. He zipped up his pack and turned to go, but Avionne stepped in front of him.

       “Maybe you should rethink what you’re doing,” he said.

       “Look, I appreciate your concern,” Skorpe replied, his irritation mounting, “but we barely even know one another so what I do is none of your business.”

       “I’d like to change that.” Avionne stepped closer.

“Sorry, not interested.” He hoped the guy thought better of it and backed off.

“Wouldn’t it be wiser if you wait a few days and see if your partner returns? Maybe you’ll receive word from another group. He could be looking for you, too. What if you miss one another?”

       His latter statement was one he’d never considered. What if Ian had the same idea and went out looking for him? They could pass one another in the night or even in broad daylight through woods or a town and never even know it.

       Still, Skorpe couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. If his mate was out there somewhere hurt or in trouble, maybe he could find Ian in time.

       No, waiting was worse. He had to at least try to find him.

       “I’m leaving, Avionne.” Turning, he walked around the island table so he wouldn’t have to put himself in contact with the guy. “I’ve already discussed all I need to with the commander. I wish you well.”

       With that, he left the cafeteria, stopped at weaponry, where he was given a snubnosed .38, and then made his way through the prison to the nearest exit.

       He glanced at the little pistol in his hand. Oh, yeah. It was a major beast. He sighed. A big stick would probably serve him better.

Books available HERE and HERE and HERE.

Batteries and Toys

Ever since Christmas, I have been replacing batteries like crazy in multiple kids’ toys and even my computer. Even with rechargeable batteries, I’m still taking out dead ones and putting in new AAs and AAAs at least every other day. It’s crazy!

Is there some kind of conspiracy with toy and battery companies to make parents spend more and more money? And most of the toys don’t even come with batteries anymore, not even the cheap trial ones.

So there we were on Christmas day, stealing batteries out of remotes (which did come with batteries – huh!), just so the kids could at least play with one new toy.

Yet when I went to the adult toy store, the toy I bought (on recommendation from another author) came already charged. Didn’t have to wait around, plug it in, or anything. Therefore, my husband and I had to get through a day of searching for and charging batteries for the kids before we could play with our own toy that came ready to use. Does that make any sense?

Toys companies should take note. With the amount of money people drop on kids’ toys, you’d think they could at least include batteries. Really!

Never Gonna Let You Go Blurb

Caught in a tangle of lies, Calla Jacobs must sort through the truth to discover where she truly belongs. A biologist for Planet Core, she finds herself ensnared in a web of deceit. Sent to Airondelle, she must work with a team to prepare the newly discovered planet for colonists from Earth. But the mission does not go as she expected. Her former lover, Erik Edwards, shuns her, sending Calla into the arms of Melina Holloway, their commander, for the attention she craves and more. A confrontation among the trio leaves her with a broken heart, and fleeing from the two people she trusted most.

Attempting to break free from the lies that bind her, she discovers Planet Core has deceived everyone. And when she returns to Earth, Calla learns just how far Planet Core’s control reaches.

Available from Decadent Publishing and other ebook retailers.
Buy Links here: http://www.markofthestars.com/wp/?page_id=7889

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/I8hN8O4bVo4

Bio:
Jessica Subject started writing to encourage her daughter to read. Now she writes to keep herself grounded. Although she reads many genres, she enjoys writing Science Fiction Romance the most and believes everyone in the universe deserves a happily ever after. She lives Southwestern Ontario, Canada with her husband and two kids and loves to hear from anyone who has enjoyed her stories. Her debut novella, Celestial Seduction is available from Decadent Publishing.

Website/Blog: http://www.markofthestars.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/jsubject
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-E-Subject-author/205759796126370

Explosive Meltdowns

I’m sure everyone has a meltdown from time to time, but my guess is that women have them more often than men do. My reasoning for this is that women *usually* do most of the child rearing, they work, too, whether it’s out of the home or an in-home business, and women are typically the ones who handle everything else that involves a household such as buying groceries, paying bills, attending school meetings, volunteering, addressing family problems, and so on.

It’s stressful and it’s VERY difficult to find time for oneself so you can relax and create a peaceful state of mind.

Peaceful state of mind? I can’t believe I just typed that. HAHAHAHA!!! In my home, that state doesn’t exist.

Point in case:

I have two children still relatively young under my roof and two grown children who have moved out. One is married with a family. The other is single, has recently moved out of his roommate’s place and is now in a nice li’l rental of his own, and makes excellent money, and a gf who is… GRR! Quick! Subject change!

Anyway, I’m the hub of the family. I’m the one everyone goes to for help whether it’s my kids or my parents. I’m the one who is supposed to leap the tallest buildings in a single bound.

Mom, Mom, Mom, ring, ring, ring….

However, when I’m sick, I’m still expected to kill the Kraken, slay the Cyclops, beat up the Wicked Witch of the West and fend off the vampires.

Add the recent holiday pandemonium, including financial worries, and a couple of publishing deadlines to this and my stress level kept poking holes in the ceiling tiles.

Then it happened. The meltdown AKA Faith loses her mind.

A phone call came in. Mom is needed to run to the rescue. Can you do it? Well, I was put in a position where I had no choice so I blew up. Not because I didn’t want to help my child but because it was just one thing too much on top of the ever-growing pile of chaos that has been my life the past three months.

And wow did I ever have a meltdown. My office is now wounded. It lies in shambles from my fit. I am now without a calculator because it was in a fine shower of plastic splinters across the room. I broke a big, heavy-duty cardboard filing box. A piece of furniture landed on its side on the opposite side of the office.

And then the tears started—but I couldn’t shut them off!

I screamed.

I cursed.

I cried some more.

Then a few days later the monsters came into my home to play. As a result, I had to activate my calm-down button so I could slay the beasts with some quiet verbal spears and daggers that created blessed silence. But all of this drained me, put me way behind in my work, and it was twice as difficult to recouperate after being ill. Did it matter? No. Mom, mom, mom....

Thank God for a wonderful husband, tho. He stood guard at the door, answered calls for a couple days after, and even did the dishes and put supper stuff away three nights in a row. Just those li'l things helped me immensely and showed me someone does care how I feel and what I contend with. Honey, you're a true gem and I love you!

The past couple of weeks it has been relatively quiet. Well, honestly after the past few weeks, it doesn't take much to set me off so I still have my moments of tears and snark that can slice the hide off a Gila monster--dripping sarcasm is often my defense mechanism, but I'm working on curbing it. I’ve realized I do not play well others when I’m stressed. However, those *others* now know I can turn into a bigger monster when enough is enough.

So, dear readers, what was your worse meltdown moment?