Time Again For...

In what is fast becoming my favorite ohmygodIhaveablogpostdue posts, I'm back again this month with yet another photo and another opportunity for you to win a free ebook from my backlist. Last month was pretty tough, even I admit that.

Oh! And our winner, Adnil, never claimed her selection from my e-backlist! Adnil, please feel free to choose a book. It's not too late.
This month is to give us the final line(s) at the end of the climactic middle chapter. So not the last line of the book, but the line of the chapter where all hell breaks loose.

(Heh. I can't wait to see what you came up with.)

Here's your photo:

Time Again For....

In what is fast becoming my favorite ohmygodIhaveablogpostdue posts, I'm back again this month with yet another photo and another opportunity for you to win a free ebook from my backlist.

I'm going to mix it up this month, though. It's not going to be QUITE so simple. This time you're going to take a look at the photo and come up with the first and last names of the characters who inhabit the story to which this photo would belong to if this photo really belonged to any story. AND you're going to tell me what these two lovers do for a living when they aren't spending all their time doing whatever it is they do to each other in this made up story.

Yeah, I know. I'm confused too. Names and professions, that's what I'm looking for. And the submission that most amuses me, gets a free ebook, any ebook, from my long and illustrious backlist.

So here's the photo...

Time again for...

OHMYGODIHAVEANOTHERBLOGPOSTDUE.

As before I'm posting a picture. Give me the first line of the story you would write about this picture. Type it right into the comment section. And then I'll randomly pick a winner and the winner can pick a title from my backlist. Any title.

This one's a classic. Have fun with it!

Happy Holidays from Josh Lanyon

I want to take this opportunity to thank my readers -- and the folks at Loose Id (in particular, my wonderful editor Judith David) for a wonderful year.

For nearly five wonderful years, in fact. I think I'm especially cognizant of the long and successful run I've had because A - it's the time of year when we  pause and reflect (in between pepper-spraying each other) about the past twelve months, and B - I'm taking a writing sabbatical next year.

It's going to be a very strange year for me. Not that I won't be writing (I hope!) but that I will be writing without deadlines. It's hard to imagine what that will be like.

In any case, the main reason these past years have been so productive and so satisfying is you. You the readers who buy the stories and then tell your friends about them -- take the time to tell me that you've enjoyed them --  and then turn around and buy more stories.

Thank you for that. Without the support of readers, writers could not afford to write as anything more than a hobby -- which, in my case, would mean very little writing at all. So thank you. Thank you for buying the sure bets like the Adrien English mysteries, and thank you for taking a chance on the spec fiction like The Darkling Thrush and the historical mysteries like This Rough Magic. Because you take risks in what you buy, I can take risks in what I write.

I hope that this holiday season finds you healthy and happy -- surrounded by friends and family and lots of good books.

See you next year!

The OHMYGODIHAVEABLOGDUE post

Uh....

So let's just go totally for fun and totally wacky.

Here's a picture. Give me the first line of the story you would write about this picture. Type it right into the comment section.  And then I'll randomly pick a winner and the winner can pick a title from my backlist. Any title.

Worth a Thousand Words

I don't have any interesting work habits. I don't use index cards or story boards or Ken dolls or paper dolls. I have an outline and I adjust as necessary. But I do love looking at photographs and listening to music when I'm writing -- especially when I'm writing historical fiction.

At the moment, I'm working on the sequel to This Rough Magic. The sequel is called Ill Met By Moonlight, and it's set a few days before New Year's Eve 1935.

Handsome Nob Hill socialite Brett Sheridan and tough PI Neil Patrick Rafferty have been "together" for about six months now. Of course "together" in 1935 was a very different thing than it would be for two gay men today. There are strains on their relationship arising out of more than their very different backgrounds -- and the reappearance of Brett's first love doesn't help matters.

Add in equal measures of Egyptology, blackmail and murder and you've got a very personal case for our two intrepid detectives.

Anyway, it's been a busy year for me and although This Rough Magic only came out a few months ago, it's taken me a while to get up to speed with the characters again. I've been listening a lot to music of the period. One song that featured largely in This Rough Magic was an old Bing Crosby favorite.

I thought I'd share it with you.

5 Tips to Writing a Series

I write a number of reasonably successful series, including the popular Adrien English gay mysteries. And this week saw the release of Dead Run, the fourth book in the Dangerous Ground series. That’s the one about the two DSS Agents who have been partners and friends for years before they realize they’re actually in love with each other.

Anyway, one question I’m frequently asked is whether I know I’m writing a series when I begin the first book.


The answer is…most of the time, yes. I knew when I began Somebody Killed His Editor (for Samhain) it would be the first in a new series. The books revolve around a former bestselling mystery author who is dumped by his partner and his publisher the same year he turns forty. I knew that besides solving a murder in each book, Christopher Holmes would be working out the mysteries of his own life, including a new relationship with a younger and more successful lover. The first three books arranged themselves in my mind. I could see the whole beginning arc of what I hope will turn out to be a reasonably long and entertaining series.


But when I started Dangerous Ground, I had no particular plan to make it a series. I knew it could easily be a series if I did the stories a bit like episodic TV and used the storyline of these two alpha males trying to be together without killing each other as my over-arching plot. But frankly I wasn’t sure reader interest would justify it. It was different from the AE series – this was very lean, very streamlined, and the emphasis was on adventure, action and high emotions. Oh, and a fair bit of sex (for me – especially at that time). I had a blast writing it.


Well, it turned out readers were unexpectedly enthusiastic, and the series has continued to build up momentum, and so we’re up to Dead Run. The thing about Dead Run is it’s a pretty good place to leave the series, if I want to stop now, but it’s also a great turning point if I want to keep writing and spin the characters in new directions.


I’m still having fun with the stories and readers are still enthusiastic, and that’s basically what it’s all about.


Or rather, that’s what it’s all about at this point. Before you reach this point, how do you know if you should try and plan for a series or stick to a standalone? Series books are popular, that’s true, but only if the series is popular. A series that isn’t popular actually sinks faster with each release than a new stand alone, so there’s something to think about.


But what are some other things to consider as you’re wondering whether to turn the story of these characters you love into an ongoing saga? Different people have different ideas, but the first thing I always think about is whether there’s enough of a story premise to carry through for five books or more? Do my two main characters have enough of a potential in both their relationship and their personal growth? If the answer to any of those questions is no, then to my way of thinking, there really isn’t sufficient grounds for a series.


In Dead Run, Will has been posted to the American Embassy in Paris. Taylor and Will have been apart for 11 months and that distance is starting to take a toll on their relationship. When they do finally reunite for their holiday, things are slightly off-kilter with them. As much as they want to pick up where they left off, they can both feel the difference in the other, and it makes them both strained and careful – awkward – in how they deal with each other.

Conflict, in other words. Four books into the series, I can still find believable ground for conflict between these two despite the fact that they love each other passionately. Building a relationship is hard and I like to show smart people doing the necessary work to make their relationships last. So in addition to the natural insecurity of having been apart for nearly a year, I try to explore the conflict that already exists within Will and Taylor’s characters. They’ve worked together for years, but being lovers changes their dynamic in ways neither calculated. Will has trouble seeing Taylor the way he used to. Now that his happiness is invested in Taylor’s welfare, he’s overly protective, overly concerned, and a bit controlling. And Taylor, who is still the tough, efficient, self-reliant agent he ever was, naturally pushes back. By the end of the story, they’ve reached some sort of resolution -- of course! -- though not so much of a resolution that there wouldn’t be more to explore between them.                                                

And what about overall storyline? Well, these guys are agents of the security branch of the United States Diplomatic Service. If you know anything about the DSS, they’re some of the best and brightest, even if their branch of the service doesn’t get the attention or glory – or carry the mystique – of the FBI or the CIA or military special ops.

Anyway, Dead Run, new this week from Loose Id.


As for my tips on writing a series?


1 - Make sure your characters have enough personal issues both individually and together to carry through at least five books. Just as a novel has to finish with the character in a different place from where he started, so too does an entire series. By the series end, the main characters need to be changed. They need to have shown growth, they need to have evolved through the course of their adventures.


2 - Don’t put any elements into your first story that you don’t want to live with through five or more books. For example, a health problem that might be difficult to manage or an exotic and troublesome pet or a psychotic mother.


3 - Don’t solve the big questions or resolve all the conflicts in the first book. Your characters should still have dreams and goals and ambitions to work toward through the length of the series. And as you do solve questions and resolve conflicts, make sure you replace them with additional -- hopefully more serious -- ones.


4 - Just as a romance novel is the journey of two people falling in love, so then a series must be about two people trying to build a relationship together. It’s that struggle to be together that creates sexual tension -- not, as some people would have you believe, having a lot of sex! You want readers to be as invested at the end of the series in how that relationship is working out as they were in the first book.


5 - Keep a series “bible” with all the vital statistics of your main characters -- and recurring side characters. It helps a lot to have to go back and read four books to figure out when your main character graduated from college or whether he’s allergic to penicillin.


The most important thing, though, is make sure you’re writing a series for the right reason -- because you love these characters enough to tell their story over a period of years to come.

Investing in Your Future: 5 Steps to Take Now

Not many people make a living, let alone a comfortable living, writing fiction. Those who do succeed usually put together a financial game plan early on.

Depending on how we want to define "success," a successful writing career is not just about lots of contracts or great reviews. (Although those things certainly help.) A successful writing career is about making a living at doing something you love. That requires making the right financial choices every step of the way. Certainly from the point you receive that first 4 digit royalty check.

Here are 5 very simple things you can do now that will make a big difference down the line.

1 - Clear your credit cards. We all go through that little cushion we put together before we jumped ship very fast, and inevitably we start to live on our credit cards. At one point my cards were up to slightly over 20K with (in some cases) nearly 30% interest. I stopped sleeping nights, as you can well imagine. My cards are now clear. It was not easy. It was brutal, in fact, but I made clearing them a priority before everything else. Clear your cards and pay off your cars. Do that before you even think about investing.

2 - Open a Roth IRA. Or, if you're still working a day job, up your 401K contributions to the maximum you can afford. This solves two birds with one stone: you plan for your retirement (even writers have to slow down eventually) and you give yourself tax deductions. The tax deductions can be vital once you're earning real money -- especially if you've got a spouse working a day job. Ironically once writers start to earn income, they fall into the worst possible tax bracket -- not rich enough for a lot of loopholes (the deductions for Netflix, etc. only take you so far), but not poor enough to avoid taxes altogether.

3  -  Open a savings account for emergencies. And then don't touch it unless the emergency is really and truly an emergency. The best way is set it up for automatic deposit so you don't even think about it, you just do it. Just put something in, even if it's a minimum of $20. a month. Get in the habit of saving.

4 - Get health insurance coverage. If you're lucky, you'll have a SO working a day job that provides health insurance. But either way, get yourself some coverage because nothing will wipe your savings out faster than a serious illness. Or even a semi-serious illness.

5 - Take 10% of everything you earn and invest it back into your writing business. You're self-employed. Invest in your own business. Take that money and use it on whatever it is you need -- research materials, a writing course, a new laptop, even advertising. Whatever it is you need to "grow your business." Invest in your career

And, finally -- though this is an option because our industry is changing so rapidly -- contract for work 1 - 2 years into the future. (No more than that.) Having contracts gives you a rough idea of how to pace yourself and how much income you'll be bringing in. Ideally, you'll do better each year, but it's good to have an estimate of what the minimum you might bring in is.

Anyone else feel like sharing their financial tips?

Dangerous Ground 4: DEAD RUN

Alternate title, Josh Has No Blog Topic This Month

So in honor of my utter lack of time management skills, I'm offering up an excerpt from my next Loose Id release -- the one I'm still, er, writing. Do I need to mention that it's rough, rough, rough? But that's kind of fun in it's own way, isn't it?

Say yes.

So for your viewing pleasure and with pictures even...

Quick and Dirty Summary:

Special Agents Will and Taylor desperately need their long planned romantic holiday in Paris, but an explosive turn of events leaves them questioning whether their partnership is a thing of the past.

Excerpt:

There was something familiar about the man at the airline ticket counter.

Taylor studied him for a moment. Medium height -- slightly stooped -- medium weight, aquiline features beneath the tweed cap. Nothing unique about an old man in a raincoat. In fact, the very ordinariness of him was part of what caught Taylor’s eye. It was like the old guy had taken inconspicuous to an art form.

“Next!” called one of the agents at the check in desk. The party in front of Taylor dragged their children and luggage to the next open space at the long desk. Taylor stepped forward. The serpentine line shuffled and scooted behind him.

Had he remembered the photos of Riley? Taylor double-checked quickly. No. He’d left them on the kitchen table. Damn. He knew how much Will missed that damn dog and he’d meant the snapshots as a little surprise.

Oh well. If Will wanted to see Riley that much, he could always come home.

Taylor glanced up automatically as the old man ahead of him turned away from the ticket counter.

Dark eyes met his, held his gaze for an instant, then dismissed him. The back of Taylor’s neck prickled. No. No way. It couldn’t be.

But he couldn’t quite ignore that feeling of recognition.

Yann Helloco.

He’d been reading an article in American Cop on the history of modern terrorism in Europe and that had to be why he was suddenly seeing a long dead Breton separatist in the first senior citizen wearing a beret who crossed his path.

Okay, not a beret, but close enough to trigger the connection.

A ticket agent at the far end opened and nodded to Taylor. “Sir.”

The line behind Taylor breathed a collective sigh. One step closer to the prize.

Taylor hesitated.

“Next in line please.” The ticket agent encouraged when Taylor didn’t seem to be getting the hint.

Taylor groaned inwardly. He was probably wrong.

More importantly, he was on vacation. He had a plane to catch. A plane he had no intention of missing. It had been eleven months since he’d seen Will. Eleven months since they’d been together. No fucking way was he missing this plane.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if by some crazy coincidence he had just seen a ghost?

Oh what the hell.

He moved instead to the agent who had assisted Helloco, if Helloco it was. She was busily putting a little CLOSED sign at her place, with the air of one who was taking her break come hell or high water.

He sized her up fast. Cute and prim in her navy blue polyester. A girl in love with the rules and regulations. He looked for her name badge. Bridget Martinez.

“Bridget.” She did her best not to see him, but Taylor pasted on his most charming smile and pushed harder. “That guy you just gave a boarding pass to -- where is he headed?”

Bridget looked as surprised as if her ticket machine had asked her to bring it back a cappuccino. “Sir?”

“Your last customer. I need his name and his flight number.” Taylor already had his DSS ID out. He was keeping his voice down, trying to avoid attention, but she was backing away from the counter, shaking her head, doing her best to separate herself from whatever situation he was trying to drag her into.

“I’m sorry but we can’t give out that information.”

Taylor pushed his ID toward her, hoping the problem was her vision. “I’m with the Diplomatic Security Service.”

Bridget stopped backing away but her expression grew more skeptical. “I never heard of it.”

“I’m with the State Department.”

“You just said you were with the Diplomacy Service. Anyway, that’s not what your badge says.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” Taylor jabbed his finger at the blue and gold ring around the seal on his badge. Department of State. Diplomatic Security Service. It says it right here.”

Bridget’s didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but if he thought she’d been born yesterday, he clearly had another think coming. “Anyone can have one of those made.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“It doesn’t even look real.”

As much as Taylor hadn’t wanted to start this, her obstructive attitude hardened his resolve. “Get your manager.” He watched the luggage moving on the conveyor belt behind Bridget. “Did he check a bag?”

“Who?”

He smothered his exasperation. “The guy you just checked in. Do not let any of his luggage go through.”

Bridget was looking at Taylor as though he were a nut. In fairness, working at a ticket counter in an airport probably jaded you as fast as working in law enforcement.

Bridget waved to another airline employee in a navy suit. “Mr. Yousef! Mr. Yousef, can I see you please.”

Maybe she was trying for discretion, but the overall impression was clean up on aisle three! Bored passengers were staring their way and the man who might be -- but probably was not -- Yann Helloco was now a quickly disappearing tan raincoat in a crowd of tan raincoats heading for the security screening lines.

Mr. Yousef, big, black and bald with an unexpectedly charming smile, joined Bridget at the counter. He silently examined Taylor’s ID as Bridget filled him on the details.

“This customer is trying to get personal information about another customer. He says he’s a secret agent.”

“What?” Taylor spared her a startled look before turning back to Yousef. “I’m with the DSS. That’s a division of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security.”

“Sure.” Mr. Yousef spoke in a deep and melodious bass. “You’re the guys who protect foreign bigwigs when they visit.”

“Right.” It was like the relief of finding someone who spoke English in a foreign country. “Among other things. Bridget here just processed a passenger who I believe might be wanted by Interpol.” He was trying very hard not to use the “T” word.

“Might,” Mr. Yousef repeated as the conveyor belt behind him lurched forward again.

“Please don’t let that bag go through without screening it,” Taylor told Bridget who was waiting hopefully for Mr. Yousef to chop him into mincemeat. She ignored him.

“Bag?” Mr. Yousef turned to Bridget who said with a tight little smile, “I tried to tell this gentleman that the other customer didn’t check any baggage.”

Taylor opened his mouth, but really, bigger fish to fry. He turned to Mr. Yousef. Mr. Yousef said, “Bridget, did you not see this agent’s identification and badge?”

“Well, yes, but you can get those made anywhere. And it doesn’t look real.”

Mr. Yousef shook his head apologetically at Taylor. “Let’s get the information Special Agent MacAllister needs,” he told Bridget.

Bridget returned to her computer and tapped the keys in quick, irritated strokes. She moved aside for Mr. Yousef who read aloud, “Yannick Hinault. He’s on his way to Paris on Delta Flight DL67 departing from Gate 57.”

Yann Helloco and Yannick Hinault. Not exactly case closed but surely too similar for coincidence?

“I’m leaving my stuff with you.” Taylor unloaded his suitcase and carryon bag ignoring Bridget’s instinctive protest. “Can you call the gate and have them hold that flight? And have security meet me there.”

“I can try,” Mr. Yousef said. “But you better be sure this is your guy or I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

Taylor was already moving in that easy law enforcement lope that covered a lot of ground without giving the public the impression that there was cause for alarm. Even so he was moving way too fast for anyone in an airport and security officers were moving to intercept him as he headed for the screening tables.

A quick survey of the lines of shoeless and coatless passengers confirmed that there was no sign of Helloco or Hinault or whoever this asshole was who was already starting to interfere with Taylor’s much needed vacation.

Then the unis were blocking his view. Taylor flashed his tin, doing his best to explain the situation without triggering all the alarms in the place. It was his bitter experience that getting airport security involved was usually more trouble than it was worth, but there was no way around it. It was at times like these he missed Will. Will was so much better at finessing…well, everyone.

“Are you armed, Agent MacAllister?” a short, squat guy with a face like the Great Pumpkin questioned.

Taylor shook his head. “No. I’m on my annual leave. My weapon is secured at my place of residence.”

The rent-a-cops began to ask him the usual stuff -- had he been drinking, was he on medication? Did he look like a guy who had been drinking or was on medication? In the back of Taylor’s mind he could hear Will cautioning him to be cool, to play the game, so he bit back his immediate retort. He knew the ritual was partly departmental flexing of muscles and partly the fact that these were jokers who considered snagging a pair of nail scissors off old ladies a coup for law enforcement.

Another uniform joined the crowd surrounding Taylor. “He checks out.”

“Sorry for the hassle, but we have to follow procedure,” the Great Pumpkin told Taylor. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah. No problem. Can we move?”

To their credit, they did hustle their asses, leading the way through a complex maze of back door corridors until they reached Gate 57 where by now flight DL67 was boarding. Taylor strode quickly through the waiting area, scanning the seats and lines of bored looking passengers. There was no sign of Hinault.

He began studying body types and facial structure. If Hinault was Helloco, he was one cool and clever customer, so Taylor was putting no trick in the book past him.

The airline agent behind the customer service station spoke into the microphone. “Will passenger Yannick Hinault please report to the customer service desk? Passenger Yannick Hinault please report to the customer service desk.”

Taylor moved to the edge of the waiting area and watched for anyone trying to slip away. No one came to the desk and no one showed any interest in missing their flight.

Taylor swore inwardly. He turned to the milling security officers. The Great Pumpkin raised his arms in a beats me gesture.

Seriously?

Seriously?

If it's Thursday it must be Belgium

Here's a photo that has absolutely nothing to do with anything.

So it's time for another blog and I am definitely stumped for a blog topic. This was a new release week for me and what I've discovered is my new release days (because it's now days not just a day) mean I get nothing else done. Nothing because I'm jetting across the cyber space spreading good cheer and promotional fairy dust every where I go -- and answering all the comments and emails on Blogger, LJ, Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter -- well, and your normal every day email.

This is not a complaint, by the way, it's just the observation that one tends to fall behind. WAY behind. As a matter of fact, I am currently a minimum of one week behind on regular email (horrifying) including an email to my good friend ZA Maxfield who was asking about tips and tricks for staying motivated when the pressure of work begins to...pulverize you.

As it does all of us sooner or later.

Maybe one reason I've put off answering that email is because I hesitate to say what I'm thinking, which is...the only real fix is to take some serious time off. That's easy to say and not so easy to do when you rely on your writing to pay the bills.

I do have some little rejuvenating tips and tricks and hopefully some other folks will chime in with their own just-add-water moments.

1 - Cultivate a garden. Hey, it can be a rock garden or one of those sandy zen gardens, but having some physical activity that frees your mind and brings both immediate and long term results, is really relaxing. And improves the property value of your home.

2 - Read outside of your genre. Maybe it's just me but when I'm reading within my own genre, I analyze the work in a way I don't when it's poetry or literary fiction or just fiction that I am in no way -- key word here -- competing with.  It's pretty simple, really, we're all fighting for cyber shelf space and so it's not remarkable that we might read a highly acclaimed book within our own genre and feel a tinge of ...why her and not me?

3 - Get out of the house. Unchain yourself from the computer and go do something that has nothing to do with writing. Ultimately it will have to do with writing because, as writers, everything that happens to us is grist for the mill. But go somewhere and do something with zero expectation for your writing. And I don't mean go to the dry cleaner or the grocery store. I mean go somewhere you've been wanting to go but haven't had the time. A museum. A long drive. A visit to a friend.

So what about you? What are tips and tricks do you have to offer your fellow overworked authors?

He Came Nowhere Near My Tabloids!

Dear God. Is it time for another blog? How does this keep catching me all unawares?

Okay. So my latest work from Loose Id is a gay riff on the Thin Man movies (yes, this does annoy a lot of folks who wish they'd thought of it first). But I'm not claiming to be Hammett or Chandler, I'm claiming to be Josh Lanyon doing a riff on Hammett.

Anyway, the book is called This Rough Magic, and it's a lightly comic 1935 mystery about a dashing San Francisco playboy and the hardboiled detective he hires to find a missing folio of The Tempest.

What this story is not is noir. But then neither is The Thin Man. Certainly not the films, but not even the novel. And nothing (well, few things) annoy me more than when some bright-eyed kid with a fedora too small for his swollen head starts throwing around terms like noir and hardboiled like confetti in an Armistice Day parade. 

So, in case you were wondering, what inspired the alcoholic, burnt-out communistic ex-PI Dashiell Hammett to write The Thin Man? Well...Hammett had social ambitions. He'd met a dame, you see, and she was an intellectual dame with social amb--well, no. She was a chick who loved to drink and could write and she was willing to put up with Hammett. So that was pretty much it. You can't really blame The Thin Man on Lillian Hellman. 

 Of course those of us weaned on crime fiction have great fondness for The Thin Man, but the fact is, we're mostly fond of the films. Most of us blabbing about the book haven't actually read the book. That's pain-fricking-fully obvious. We've seen the films and we're hoping to crib our way through like college students who read the Cliffs Notes on Wuthering Heights before the big exam. That whole long, meandering scene where Gilbert talks about cannibalism? Yeesh. Now there are those who see that as pivotal to the story and a brilliant an example of...whatever. I confess it bewilders me. I think it indicates Hammett had started drinking again. The prevailing theory is he needed to fill pages. We've all been there.

Anyway, here's the part that gets me as a writer. The success of The Thin Man so...winded Hammett that he never wrote again. No. Not true. He never wrote another novel, but he wrote a few shorts and there are theories that he co-wrote Hellman's work (which I personally find pretty specious and probably more wishful thinking than anything). But there was no surpassing The Thin Man. It was everything he'd hoped it would be -- and what could be worse for a writer?

In fact, The Thin Man was so enormously successful that I think it paralyzed Hammett in some ways. Not that he hadn't had a string of successes. The Maltese Falcon anyone? Red Harvest? The Dain Curse? But The Thin Man is in a class all its own, and it spawned a generation -- is still spawning -- snappy, sophisticated crime fiction about romantic couples who make witty love in between solving gruesome murders.  

Which is where This Rough Magic comes in. At least...I hope this is where it comes in. I don't pretend to be Hammett. I don't pretend to be writing The Thin Man. No people were eaten in the course of my story and there are no cute little dogs. There isn't even a murder. But there is snappy dialog, a bit of romance, and I think -- hope -- enough of a mystery to keep you guessing. 

And, oh yeah, it's the first book in a new series called A Shot in the Dark. I hope you like it! 

New from Loose Id: THIS ROUGH MAGIC

ISBN: 978-1-61118-402-0

Genre: LGBT 1930's Suspense

Length: Short Novel

Price: $5.00 Info

BLURB:


Wealthy San Francisco playboy Brett Sheridan thinks he knows the score when he hires tough guy private eye Neil Patrick Rafferty to find a priceless stolen folio of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Brett’s convinced his partner-in-crime sister is behind the theft -- a theft that’s liable to bring more scandal to their eccentric family, and cost Brett his marriage to society heiress Juliet Lennox. What Brett doesn’t count on is the instant and powerful attraction that flares between him and Rafferty.


Once before, Brett took a chance on loving a man, only to find himself betrayed and broken. This time around there’s too much at risk.


But as the Bard himself would say, Journey’s end in lovers meeting.

EXCERPT:

“Oh darling, you didn’t.” Juliet’s expression was both amused and vexed. “A private detective?”

“If you had a better idea --” Brett drained his martini glass and set it on the table a little harder than necessary.

They were lunching at the Golden Pheasant, one of Juliet’s favorite watering holes. As usual, the place was packed. Brett would have preferred some place quiet where they could have actually talked without being overheard. Juliet wanted the baked stuffed squab chicken under glass.

“No, of course not. But a-a private eye is going to make us look ridiculous. And it’s so unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? In three days your father is going to turn the matter over to the police.”

“But so what?” She smiled at him, though her blue eyes were puzzled. He was seeing that puzzled look more and more these days. He needed to make more of an effort. They were so close now. The wedding was less than a month away.

“We don’t need that kind of scandal right before the -- our -- wedding. That’s all.”

She studied him and then smiled, resting her hand over his clenched one. “You’re fearfully nervous about this, aren’t you, Sherry? Are you not sleeping again?”

“Of course I’m -- I’m sleeping perfectly well. You must realize how very bad this kind of thing looks, Julie. Until it’s cleared up, suspicion lies on every one of us.”

“Not on us, silly.” She was laughing at him openly now. And with good reason. His behavior must seem peculiar at the least. “Anyway, I think Father’s got it all wrong. It’s obvious that it had to be one of the servants who took the folio.” Brett stared at her with such disbelief that she made a little face. “It’s no good looking at me like that. I don’t have your pedigree, darling. I’m just a poor little daughter of the nouveau riche. I think mysteries are terribly exciting, if you want the truth. I adore Mr. Hammett’s stories. It isn’t as though the scandal has to do with us.”

He could have put his head in his hands and howled.

The waiter came with another tray of martinis. Brett ordered the squab with rice valencia for Juliet and the eastern choice top sirloin for himself.

“Very good, sir.” The waiter took the menus.

Brett picked up his drink and swallowed half of it in a gulp. Dear God it was noisy. The babble of voices seemed to ricochet off the amber wood of the tables and chairs and ceiling. He was getting a headache.

Juliet sipped her martini. “What’s the name of this shamus that you’ve hired?”

“Rafferty. Neil Patrick Rafferty.”

“Oh. Very Irish. I suppose he’s going to stick his nose in everywhere and ask all our friends a lot of annoying and embarrassing questions?”

“That shouldn’t bother you, since you adore Mr. Hammett’s stories so much.”

It was sharper than he’d intended. Her face looked hurt for an instant. He really had to get control of himself. She was right. His nerves were shot to pieces, and he wasn’t sleeping. Hadn’t slept well for longer than he could remember. Once they were married it would be all right. Everything would be all right then.

He said reassuringly, “Mr. Rafferty came highly recommended. From Pat Constable, in fact.”

“Pat Constable? What on earth would she have needed a private eye for?”

“I’ve no idea,” he lied. “I just recalled that she once mentioned using one and that he was efficient and discreet.”

Juliet took another sip of her martini and made a little face. She didn’t really like martinis, but that was what everyone in their crowd drank. Brett stared up at the stained glass window panels of yellow and blue pheasants. Pretty birds. Not very smart. Good eating.

“I can’t wait to see Daddy’s face.” Juliet suddenly relaxed, whether due to the alcohol or his words. “Oh well, then. If Pat Constable says he’s okay, I’m sure he’s wonderful.” She took another sip and giggled. “What’s he like, your shamus?”

Your shamus.

Brett had a sudden, shocking mental image of himself in Neil Patrick Rafferty’s brawny arms, Neil Patrick Rafferty’s hard mouth pressing his own. He felt the blood rush to his head. His heart began to pound with something close to panic. He reached for his glass and finished his drink.

He put the glass down and said indifferently, “He looks like a prize fighter. He’s got a scar on one cheek, and his nose has been broken a couple of times, I should think. And he has the palest, coldest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“But you liked him?”

“I…didn’t think about it one way or the other. He looks like he’ll get the job done. In fact, I feel sorry for anyone who gets in his way.”

She smiled, at least partly humoring him now. “When will I get to meet him?”

Brett shook his head. “I don’t know. He wasn’t forthcoming about his methods.”

“That’s all right. I love surprises.” She was teasing. One thing he was not was surprising.

Their lunches arrived then, and she began to talk about hand-blocked wallpapers, Sanvale fabrics for drapery sets, and sterling silver coffee sets.

His mind wandered. Through the windows, he watched people hurrying along Geary Street. Watched the automobiles flashing by. The fog had lifted, and it was turning into a bright, sunny day. Still cold for June. Juliet worried a lot about the weather, theirs being a June wedding.

“Sherry, darling, I don’t think you’re listening,” Juliet said suddenly.

He quoted back, “‘The Nukraft feature of the Sealy Airlite mattress is made of patented hair and latex cushioning that prevents bunching and promotes circulation of air.’”

The thought of that mattress made his mouth dry. But it would be all right. For all her frank ways, Juliet was essentially naïve.

Juliet smiled affectionately. “I’m going to make you a wonderful wife, darling. You’ll see.”

“I know, darling,” Brett replied.

Buy from Loose Id

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

I've been thinking lately about how weird the whole creative process is, how simple and yet how complicated. I mean, in a way what could be easier than telling stories to the other children? We all do this growing up, right? Some of it's gossip, some of it's urban legend, some of it's even true, but we all learn to communicate early on and a part of that communication is storytelling. I don't know what would be the stuff of fiction if not the lives of adolescents.

As it turns out, writing is hard work in a way storytelling is not. Writing being in some ways separate from storytelling.

Anyway, I've been thinking about my writing process as I begin yet another project. Every single time I start a new story, no matter how big or small a project, there's always an initial moment of something like panic. Something of...Wait, wait. How do I do this again? Is this how it works?

I can't imagine that's just me.

Talent. Nature versus nurture? I always find that debate an interesting one.

It's the kind of thing that starts to freak you out if you think about it too much. Like driving a stick shift. If you start thinking about what you're doing, you inevitably pop the clutch. And yet storytelling is not a magical gift that some of us have and some of us don't. It's like any art. You train and train and hone your craft. Nobody is born pen in hand.

That said, I guess just as some people are born with perfect pitch, some people have a knack for wordsmithing. But without training and discipline, is raw talent of any practical use?

Anyway, one thing that intrigues me is how, no matter how skilled you are at your craft, every book cannot be a smash hit. Every book is not necessarily better or more popular than the book before, even if you are consistently improving as a writer. I suppose that has to do with some of the intangibles that go into storytelling. Despite the fact that all our stories have beginnings, middles, ends, character and plot arcs and dialog and sexy parts...all the basics...there is no tried and true formula for writing a successful book.

In fact, you could have ten writers working on the same basic idea and you'd have ten different stories and opinion would vary widely as to which was the best. What are the magic ingredients? And why do they show up in some books and not others -- even when all those books are written by the same author?

What I mean is, even if you love everything Author X does, you're still going to have favorites among those titles. Every book is not going to elicit the exact same response from you when you see the different titles. Some will be your most favorite, some will be your least -- and that is true even if Author X is an autobuy author and you "love" everything Author X does.

And if you happen to be Author X, you're as puzzled as anyone. I think we've all been there. You're working on something, the idea was solid, the work is good, and yet you hit a certain point and you realize this isn't going to be one of your favorite stories. Or the opposite happens. Something clicks and you recognize that this is going to be one of your best. And yet the process by which that happens is generally no different. Is it just a happy set of coincidences? Does it have something to do with the way the stars align?

I don't know. I know it's always a little disappointing when a story doesn't quite ignite. And it's always a little thrill when it does. That's where the magic comes in, I guess. 

Hurts So Good

A while back I was asking for blogging ideas and someone popped up with the idea of a post on writing angst, and so I thought I'd post an excerpt from Man Oh Man: Writing M/M Fiction for Kinks and Ca$h and perhaps we'll get an interesting discussion going.

Closely aligned to — and often resulting in or from hurt/comfort — is angst.

If your protag is critically injured and languishing in hospital, and his boyfriend is out of town on a secret mission, the hurt/comfort quotient drops, but the angst quotient skyrockets. See how that works?

Like hurt/comfort, angst is a staple of male male romance. As you can imagine all those serious illnesses, critical injuries, nervous breakdowns, rapes, betrayals, addictions, kidnappings, stalkings, deaths in the family, broken dreams, shattered hopes and really really REALLY bad days lead to a certain amount of tension. Even anxiety.


Angst is actually a Germanic word meaning “anxiety.” The Danish philosopher and theologian Kierkegaard, used the term angst to express his belief that the human condition was riddled with despair. He wrote a
philosophical novel called Fear and Trembling. What does that tell you?

Typically we associate angst with adolescence. Few people are better at suffering loudly and noticeably than teenagers. It’s an art form with them, and you have to respect that.

Acne and existential quandaries aside, angst is also a very important ingredient in M/M fiction. Well, not all M/M fiction. Romantic comedy and action/adventure are mercifully angst-free for the most part, but any time your characters are suffering over their conflicted feelings — generally for each other — they are usually angsting.

Please note: if they’re just depressed and insecure, that’s not angst. Angst requires serious suffering. Breaking up with your boyfriend is sad. Your boyfriend dying is tragic. Finding out after your boyfriend dies that he was seeing someone else — now that’s angst.

Death, disease, disaster — this is all angstilicious stuff. High drama is what separates true angst from the anxiety normal to the human condition.

Historical M/M lends itself particularly well to angst. It’s the whole, love that-dare-not-speak-its-name thing. Yaoi is also angstful: all those giant cartoon eyes veritably brim with grief at the human condition — mostly
their own.

Wondering if the object of your affections feels the same is not technically angst — unless you’re under 18. Having a closeted lover, however, is generally grounds for angst.

Because I have a weird sense of humor, the more angstful the story, the more likely I am to find it funny. I guess someone left a banana peel on my pain threshold. Anyway, my advice is that you use angst sparingly.

Less is more. Heaping coals on your hapless character’s head in chapter after chapter just reminds me of those sappy Victorian novels where the noble and long-suffering hero (or heroine) endures tragedy after tragedy only to die with a brave smile and an angelic sentiment upon his rosebud lips after saving a child from the wheels of a train.

In my opinion the more angsty the journey, the more life-affirming and reassuring the happy ending should be — but that’s just me. I’m in favor of happy endings from a purely philosophical standpoint.


Sometimes angst is its own reward — some protagonists do suffer beautifully — but generally it requires comforting. Ideally from the other protagonist. You can see what a vicious cycle this could turn into. It’s
enough to make a grown man cry.

Come Lie With Me: 3 Tips to Making Sex Scenes Count

For the last week and a half we've had internet connection problems at Chez Lanyon. You don't want to know, but allow me to whine anyway. Between comments and regular email, I get one HELL of a lot of stuff I need to respond to on a daily basis. This is both the pleasure and pain of my job.

There is no argument that I love hearing from readers, and all I can think is I've been sniveling in public lately because the last two weeks have been blessed with such incredibly kind letters from readers.




Should you ever have a down moment, know that there are people out
there who would give all they had just to be in your company, and who feel
a mountain of debt towards you. Should you ever have someone saying you
write too much, or you need to do something different, please, clod them on
the head for us. Should you ever wonder if your life was worthwhile, know
at least one of your readers feels a reconnection to humanity because of you,
is happy because of you, and believes you have made the world a better
place by far. That should surely count for something, right?



I don't even know how to respond to something like that -- I'm so deeply touched. And, as seems to so often happen, that letter came at a point of near-despair. And not over the internet connection (though that didn't help).

When I read things like this--and I've been so incredibly fortunate in my readers that readers care enough to take this kind of time to write--it helps me refocus on the things that matter.

But I seem to be digressing from my original point. My actual point is that, like so many writers, I often feel overwhelmed by the realization of all I'm failing to do. There's so much--writing is only a small part of it. It's the part that matters most to me, certainly--and probably to a lot of readers--but there's just a lot of stuff to do all the time.

Take this post here at Loose Id. I saw the alerts pop up in my email today and I realized that I needed to say something new, something fresh, something...something. And the week has been full of shrieking in full Edgar Allen Poe at ATT (who quoth NEVERMORE) and trying to hit deadlines (so freaking many deadlines) and what can I say that you haven't all heard before?

Probably nothing. But since I seem to be handing out nearly as much advice as I take these days, here are my three never fail tips for writing sex scenes that resonate with readers. Because when in doubt, pull the sex card.

1 - Say something.

Is it just me? I usually have something to say during those moments of, um, intimacy. I mean, unless I'm half asleep, and even then there's usually SOMETHING. Would you knock it off? Something. I'm blown away by how many fictional sex scenes apparently occur in dead silence or nothing more than a few moans and groans.

What a wasted opportunity for building genuine intimacy. People say stuff when they're feeling vulnerable and open and, yes, sexy.


2 - Equipment malfunction

Sometimes the most interesting stuff is what doesn't work. Again, maybe this is just me, but I'm not a machine and I've rarely had sex with machines. And I'd rather not talk about the time I did as I was VERY drunk and Coke doesn't even support that product anymore. (I have no idea what I'm talking about--I'm totally making this up as I go). Anyway...laughter and tears. Those aren't bad things in a scene of intimacy. Part of learning to be with someone is learning to be intimate with someone. And there's usually a learning curve. I like curves.





3 - Make them work for it

Not just the characters. The readers. Familiarity breeds contempt and a sex scene every fifteen pages is just dead boring. Make the characters work for it. Sex scenes mean more when they have ramifications. Sex before you're ready for it, sex with strangers, sex with enemies, sex for sex's sake...there are emotional and psychological ramifications for this stuff. But basically...if you have characters eat ice cream and cake every fifteen pages, it's dull, right? Oh, I know there are readers who live, vibrator in hand, for those scenes, but they don't write letters like the one above, and frankly, I'm not writing for those gals. They're just using me and my vending machine.

It's kind of like any relationship. We have our one night stands and we have our committed relationships. With every book, you make a promise to your readers, and what you're promising is you won't let them down and that you'll be there for the long haul. And even when you have performance anxiety, you'll do your best.

Writers, what are your favorite tips for making sex scenes count? Readers, name your single favorite sex scene in a book.

Do You Know Me? 5 Things You Can Do To Promote Yourself for Free

Let me whip out the old American Express card. I'm Josh Lanyon. If you read m/m fiction the name is probably vaguely familiar to you. Your response to "Josh Lanyon" may be positive or negative or merely oh yeah, I think I've heard of him, but generally if you know this genre, you know of me.

And that, of course, is the goal of each and every new writer.

You want name recognition. It would be delightful if, with that name recognition, came an automatic fuzzy, warm feeling, but it doesn't work that way. And it's not the topic of today's post. Today's post is one dear to the hearts of writers both old and new, because we're all constantly scrabbling for a better foothold on the precarious slope that is our writing career. Today's post contains five quick and easy things you can to promote yourself for free.


1 - Become a regular reader and commenter on popular blogs. It doesn't get much easier than this. Show up and participate. Interact with readers and other authors. This has the added benefit of keeping you abreast of what's happening in your community, which is a good and useful thing. When your name pops up on a regular basis and people come to associate it with smart, insightful comments, it becomes a little advertisement for your work.

You can start this strategy long before your book is actually published. There are a number of writers I became interested in simply because they commented regularly enough on places I frequented and I began to get a sense of "knowing" them.

Caution: the internet -- and this genre in particular -- are prone to sweeps of ill-thought self-righteous hysteria on any given topic. Avoid that stuff. Very rarely do the people yelling the loudest have all the facts. And everyone looks foolish after the confetti has settled.

2 - Write an article for a webzine or popular blog on a topic you know well. And for God's sake DON'T write about writing or self-promotion. You heard me right. Try and avoid writing about writing. Why? Because this is the absolute first idea that leaps to everyone's mind. It's safe, it's harmless, and it's invisible.

I know what you're thinking. Establish yourself as an expert was one of those pieces of advice they dished out when the internet was new and still wet behind the ears. And that was -- and is -- good advice, but on what topic do all writers imagine themselves experts? Writing. So everyone is out there blabbing about writing. And they're mostly blabbing to other writers.

Do I honestly need to tell you why this is a mistake?

What else are you an expert on? How can you take that expertise and apply it to writing -- even apply it in such a way that other writers might conceivably turn to you for advice? Do you have medical know-how? Are you fluent in a language? Do you have a degree in a particular historical period? How are you unique from everyone else in this genre?

Your uniqueness is the selling point.




3 - Use an email address that matches your pen name. This is a no brainer, surely? All your communication should be under the name you're promoting, your "brand," as it were. It's confusing to see Betty Johnson railing away on a list about this, that, and the other and get to the bottom of her post and find out that she's actually the author of nine erotic romances under the nom de plume of Jackson Hole.

You want all the indicators leading to your author identity. And if you don't have an email address for your author identity it's like you don't expect to be in business very long. I mean, you can get these email addresses at hotmail. They're free. Why wouldn't you do this?

4 - Give away books. I know. It seems counterintuitive. You're not earning that much to start with. And now I'm advising you to cut into your profits. Consider those pennies lost as money invested in advertising. Send books to reviewers, sure, but give books to regular readers too.

Why? Because you're trying to establish something called Word of Mouth. Word of mouth is what happens when readers like your stories and, all unsolicited, talk you up to other readers. And so on and so on. There is no single better promotional thing that can happen to you. Period. All the banner ads, all the glowing reviews, all the authors blurbing each other, NONE of that can compare to the effectiveness of a handful of readers who love your work and share that love with their friends.

Give books away.

5 - Post excerpts. This can be tricky, I admit it. Readers sometimes buy books based on reviews, but the number one decider in whether a reader reads a book will be her feeling as she skims the first few paragraphs. And while you may think all you need is for the reader to buy your book, what you really need is a reader to buy all your books -- and that only happens if they like your books.

When you post excerpts, a reader gets to sample your work and one of three things happens: the book doesn't sound like her kind of thing, the book sounds like something he wants to read right now, and -- most commonly -- the book sounds like something she or he wants to read eventually.

And how you get that reader to move you from the "eventually" pile to the Must Have Right Now pile has to do with repeated exposure to the work and to you -- which is where all those other little seemingly invisible efforts start to pay off.

Readers, what kinds of promotional efforts appeal to you? What kinds of things turn you off?

Authors, what's your biggest challenge in getting the word out there?

5 Things You Can Do to Boost Your Writing Career Now

As the year winds down, inevitably we begin to assess the old year and make our resolutions for the new. This pause for reflection is -- as Martha would say -- a good thing. At least I think it is. As someone who gets asked a lot for writing and publishing advice I thought I would direct my post today to the writers among us.

I was going to say to the "frustrated writers" among us, but that's a given.

So here they are. Five little things you can do right now with guaranteed results to boost your career and slim your wais--er. Sorry. I got carried away. Five little things you can do that will serve you well in the remaining years of your career. (Now that sounds like the Ghost of Christmas Future pointing a skeletal finger at the headstone...)

Five little things you ca -- never mind. Just read them.


1 - Stop bitching about your writing career.

In public. Key word is public. Knock. It. Off. Stop the kvetching about the bad reviews, the incompetent publishers, the indifferent readers, your selfish and overrated fellow writers. Turn off the faucet, you're wasting water.

What happens when you post these moans on the lists, blogs, and discussion groups you belong to? Ten other equally frustrated writers jump in with their own moans and horror stories. Does anyone EVER have a practical fix for the problem? Any problem? No. Of course not. These things are a fact of publishing life. They are the downside to what is a pretty cool job, after all.

I'm not suggesting you keep a stiff upper lip about the slings and arrows and outrageous misfortune of your publishing career. I'm suggesting you save it for your writer friends. Why? Because a lot of success -- any success in any field -- is about image. If you announce to the world that you're not very successful or not as successful as you want to be...what image do you think you're projecting?

2 - Analyze the data.

You've got data. You've got your royalty schedules, you've got your Amazon sales figures, you've got your website tracking, Facebook and Twitter algorithms...you've probably got more data than you know what to do with.

Well, here's what you do with it. Sit down and study it. You want to see steady incremental growth everywhere. In most businesses, three to five percent annual growth is pretty good. Maybe it's not as fast as you'd like, but it's solid, real growth.

Next, start figuring out what the variables are. What did you do differently on the weak months? Try and narrow it down. It's not just as simple as I wrote BDSM that month and BDSM always kicks ass. Consider titles, covers, who else had a book release that month, your promo efforts, whether you had multiple titles releasing, how close you were to holidays, etc.

Really look at those figures. Make a note of what worked and what didn't seem to work as well. And moving forward, track it. All of it.


3 - Update your website.

I'm as guilty of this as anyone. If you don't offer fresh content, readers won't continue to return, and if they don't return on a regular basis, it could be weeks, even months before they notice you've got a new release out.

Make sure your website is up to date and easy to navigate.

What kind of content should you have on your website? Cover art and excerpts -- and the preorder link as soon as you get it. Review snippets -- and don't forget to reward the better reviewers with name mentions and/or links. If you've got a blog, link it. If you belong to Twitter, put that up on your news page like so. (Actually, it's too far down on that page -- I need to talk to my weblord).

Have a news page where you post where you're appearing and what you're doing -- and update it often.

4 - Stop directing your promo efforts toward other writers.

Yes, we do buy and read and review each other's work, but we are NOT our target audience. Why? Because as much as I love your books -- and I do love many of your books -- in my hardscrabble struggle to survive in this jungle, I don't have the time to read that I once did. I read maybe a book a month. Your average ebook reader (the human kind) reads a book or two or three a week.

Quit talking to the other writers and start seeking out that rarest commodity -- the reader who has no desire to become a writer. This leads us back to 5TYCDtBYWCN #1. Whinging in public. Readers don't like it. They don't understand half of what you're talking about (nor should they) but they do get that you sound negative and angry and frustrated.

Now, lest I be misread, I'm not saying ignore other writers -- thank God for other writers and their friendship as they help keep us sane -- but look at the composition of your Twitter followers and Facebook followers and etc. If they are largely other writers, then those numbers are misleading.

Also misleading (painfully misleading, apparently) are those gigantic lists of strangers that some people "friend." Puhleaze.

You want quality not quantity. I know when I see a lame-ass writer with 3000+ friends that 3000+ people are not buying his books. (Which is why he whines in public about poor sales!) You want to build a focused fan base of folks who really do love your work and really will buy everything you write as quickly as they can afford to do so. Three hundred people who buy everything you write is waaaay better than 3000+ people who are talking at the same time and didn't even notice you had a new book out.

A key way to appeal to readers? Talk to readers about things of interest to readers. Quit showing off for other writers. Quit talking about stuff readers don't care about. And don't...how can I say this kindly. Censor the personal information. I'm sorry you have toenail fungus. I'm sorry your husband left you. I'm sorry your employer fired you for writing porn on company time. But this is not information to share with your reading public. When you're a venerable publishing icon of eighty, do you really want some of these posts dug up? It's like getting a tattoo. Sure, it's cool right now, but once your butt is sagging and your breasts are down to your knees, do you really want that misshapen butterfly as a reminder you were twenty once?

I don't know. Maybe you do. I don't.

5 - Say please and thank you.

Not a week goes by that someone isn't asking for my advice on...you name it. Everything from a definiton of cozy mysteries to my experiences with a particular publisher. And with the exception of the guy who recently asked how I first got published (seriously?!) I always answer to the best of my ability. And do you know how many people bother to thank me for taking time out of my schedule to answer their questions? A handful. What am I? The Encyclopedia Britannica? I've got my own problems, folks. I expect at least a polite, Thanks, Josh!

Manners count in this business as in everywhere else in the world. Yes, I know. We've become a society that blabs our most personal, private business on the phone in public, but manners are all part of networking, and part of how you get ahead in this business is networking. I don't forget slights and I am loyal to my friends.

And I am not unique in any respect.

Don't make enemies where you don't have to. Be polite -- treat others as you would wish to be treated -- and do the obvious basics. Don't demand, ask nicely -- say please. Say thank you. Be patient. Be fair-minded. And when someone wrongs you, destroy them. Wait! That just slipped out. Don't destroy them. Walk a mile in their fuzzy slippers. Cut them slack. We're all busy, overworked and underpaid, we're all worried that we're not where we need to be, we're all...human.

Don't forget the human element in all this. We're none of us perfect, we're all of us learning as we go along. We're all doing the best we can with the tools that we've got. That's probably the number one lesson.

Happy Holidays! Health and happiness to you and yours. May 2011 be a productive and successful year for you.

BLOOD HEAT by Josh Lanyon

I forgot what I was blabbing about around the time of my last release -- I think perhaps the release fell between blogging dates -- ennnywhoooo (as my dear old gran used to say) I'm in that headlong rush to meeting a deadline and I thought I'd be a slacker this morning and just plug my latest LI release, Blood Heat.

Blood Heat is the third book in the Dangerous Ground series. That's the one about the two DSS agents who find their partnership and friendship endangered when one of them decides he's in love with the other. Matters come to a head (NO, don't say it) during a camping trip in the High Sierras.

It's the "hot tub story," in other words.




Dangerous Ground was followed by Old Poison AKA "the phone sex story" also known as "the cobra in a bottle" story (and that is NOT a sexual reference, for the record). I find in this genre that books are often referred to by...uh...specific scenes of intimacy. I'm sure that's just for convenience sake.

Not sure how readers will refer to Blood Heat. The "speeding bullet story?" The "flash flood story?" Certainly there are plenty of speeding bullets and a flash flood. Anyway, book three finds Will and Taylor on the run again. I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing!

978-1-60737-869-3
Genre: LGBT Action/Adventure
Length: Novella
Series: Dangerous Ground; Previous Book: Old Poison
Price: $4.99

BLURB:
Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Taylor MacAllister and Will Brandt have been partners forever and lovers for three months, but their new relationship is threatened when Will is offered a plum two-year assignment in Paris.

Will believes the posting only means postponing what they both want. Taylor fears that kind of separation will mean the end of their new and still-fragile relationship. It’s a bad time to find themselves in the middle of the New Mexico wilderness responsible for the health and welfare of a suspected terrorist. Especially when everyone else they run into seems determined to see their prisoner -- and them -- dead.

EXCERPT:
According to Taylor’s watch, it was after six in the morning by the time they started down the far side of the mountain and found the black SUV mired in mud up to its custom rims.

By then the rain had stopped and the water had receded considerably. The canyon road was a knee-high swamp of debris and water, but the danger was past.
“It could be anyone’s vehicle,” Will called as Taylor splashed through the water to peer through the tinted side windows.

“Sure,” Taylor said. “Who doesn’t go on vacation without taking their leg irons?”
Will joined him in the water-filled ruts at the side of the road, making a frame for his face and trying to see inside. “Are you sure?” He could just make out a baseball bat, what looked like a military utility bag, and, yes, metallic links that appeared to be leg shackles. “Hmm. You just might be right.”

“I guess someone could have kinky tastes.”

“You ought to know.”

Taylor grimaced.

“Which is one of the things I like best about you,” Will added.

“Just a born diplomat, aren’t you? No wonder you’re climbing through the ranks.”
Will had no reply to that. They sloshed through the water and clambered back to the relatively dry area of the hillside.

A flash of blue caught Will’s eye. A blue jay landed on the branch of a pine tree and greeted the morning with its harsh song. The sun was rising, and it was already growing warm. The receding floodwater had a dank, unhealthy smell to it.

Taylor wiped his forehead. “Which way do you think they went?”

“Assuming they aren’t lost or didn’t get swept away, they’ll be heading the same direction we are. They need food, water, and shelter, the same as us.”

“Hedwig couldn’t climb these mountains. Could she?”

Will shrugged. “I guess if she had to, she would. I’ve seen pregnant weight lifters. In magazines.”

“She didn’t look like the athletic type to me.”

“Maybe Nemov carried her. He looked like he could.”

“He looked like he could carry his SUV. I don’t know why he didn’t.” Taylor had his BlackBerry out and was clicking away and frowning at the results. Or lack of same.
“You’re not going to get any reception down here.”

Taylor muttered something uncomplimentary, though whether to the national forest or Will was unclear.

They began to walk, continuing at a brisk pace until the sun appeared over the trees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Pine needles glistened and sparkled in the pure sunlight.

“You have to admit this is beautiful country,” Will said, shading his eyes and gazing up at the distant snowcapped mountains.

Taylor opened his mouth -- though it was unlikely he was going to admit anything of the kind -- when something big, mottled brown and gray burst out of the brush and took wing, gobbling in fright.

He jumped a foot and gazed openmouthed at Will. “Jesus. What was that?”

Will dropped against a tree trunk and tried not to laugh. He didn’t really have the breath to spare, but Taylor’s half-alarmed, half-offended expression struck him as hysterically funny.

“Wild turkey. A hen, I think. You should see the size of the toms.”

“No thanks. I prefer my turkeys on a Thanksgiving platter.”

Again, Will had to struggle not to laugh.

They resumed their hike, having found what looked like an old track. Possibly a former stagecoach route. It paralleled the highway for a time and then led up into the hills. It was Will who spotted the two sets of footprints in the mud. One large, one smaller.

“That answers one question. They both made it out of the flash flood.”

Taylor nodded. He looked as relieved as Will felt. “They’ll have holed up somewhere ahead of us on the trail. No way did he drag a pregnant woman up and down a mountainside in the middle of a rainstorm at night -- even if he wanted to. She’d never have made it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need her to make it.”

Taylor stared at him, thinking it over. He shook his head. “In that case, I think he’d have taken advantage of the flood to arrange a fatal accident. Plenty of opportunity. Especially if he left her handcuffed. Get her halfway up the slope and then give her a little push. Oops.”

“You worry me sometimes.”

“Good.” Taylor grinned a brief and dangerous grin.


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