Happy Halloween!

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

But maybe less lonely thanks to events like Queer Romance Month.


Tomorrow winds up what is becoming one of the biggest and perhaps one of the most important annual events in the M/M Community. I'm honored to be part of QRM this year and you can find my post here-ish.


There are many, many wonderful posts to browse and consider at QRM. Posts from authors I know but more posts by authors new to me. Posts I agree with wholeheartedly and posts that encourage me to consider a fresh perspective, a new viewpoint.

That said, I confess the older I get, the less patience I have with labels. I consider myself a humanist and while I write many stories featuring gay characters, I don't feel--have never believed--that the sexual identity or orientation is the most important or even interesting thing about the "people" I create. It certainly is not the most important or interesting thing I know about people in real life.


I think I belabor that point a bit in my QRM post, but it occurred to me as I was typing and deleting and typing and deleting that someone else had actually already said what I wanted to say--and probably said it better--in the afterward of the Japanese translation of The Hell You Say.


And because I am--and have always been more interested in what unites us, the things that are universal about humans everywhere--I'd like to share with you a bit of Japanese author and reviewer Shion Miura's words regarding Adrien English (courtesy of Aki Fuyuto, the series translator):



It may not be the problem for gay people only. Every person has a possibility to become a 'minority', if not by sexual orientation. Everyone is minority in some ways. But we hang onto the vague term as 'normal' or 'opinion of the society', comply with the voice of 'majority', we even sometimes foolishly  discriminate against other person by that.

Adrien said to himself "what chance did the rest of us have, especially those who had never quite managed to find someone to share their life?".

Can you think that feeling is only for gay men? Can you tell that? I can't.

Most people have that loneliness in their heart's core like Adrien. Because we are all 'minority', we are all different person from each other. We have different opinion, different feeling. There is no 'majority', just the minority persons gathering to organize the society.


The varieties and differences of all people, which I have a hope and faith in.


Adrien English series is for everyone who has loneliness in your heart.
 
Adrien is fair, he has faith in the society and believe there is a bridge to reach other people even they have different opinion.


Waiting the next book, I wish him the happy ending from my heart!


----------------------------------------------


Isn't that what we all wish for ourselves--and each other? To be listened to. To be accepted. To be loved for who we are.


We may not all be lucky enough to find our Happy Ever After, but we sure as hell have a right to tell our story. Please pop over to QRM and read some of those stories.

Sneak Peak - THE MERMAID MURDERS

I'm starting a four-day green juice cleanse/detox this morning, and I always feel horrible at first during this process, so I'm going to be rather scarce for a few days. I'm still trying to catch up to where I was before I left for Scotland, but my focus is just not there--one of the things I hope juicing will help with--and I find myself postless this morning.

So I'll leave you with a Sneak Peek of next year's first book (something I forgot to mention last week when I was touching on upcoming projects).

This is from The Mermaid Murders, scheduled for a February 1st 2016 release. I'm going to do something a bit different with preorders this time, so at the moment TMM can only be purchased through Smashwords (that will obviously change!)

Smashwords.

BLURB:

Special Agent Jason West is seconded from the FBI Art Crime Team to temporarily partner with disgraced, legendary “manhunter” Sam Kennedy when it appears that Kennedy’s most famous case, the capture and conviction of a serial killer known as The Huntsman, may actually have been a disastrous failure.

 

The Huntsman is still out there…and the killing has begun again.

 

EXCERPT:

Summer heat shimmered off the blacktop.

In that shivery, humid light, the big, blond man casually leaning against the silver government-issue sedan—and checking his watch—looked a little like a mirage. But no such luck. Special Agent Sam Kennedy was not a trick of the light.

Kennedy looked up, spotted Jason, and grimaced. Maybe it was supposed to be a smile. Probably not, given Kennedy’s reputation.

“Special Agent West,” Kennedy said. His voice was deep, and he spoke with a suggestion of a drawl. “I thought maybe you stopped off to see if you could solve the Gardner Museum heist on your way over here.”

Funny guy, Kennedy. Special Agent in Charge Carl Manning had already warned Jason that Kennedy was not thrilled to be partnered again, let alone partnered with an agent seconded from the Art Crime Team. But that’s what happened when you screwed up your last high-profile investigation to such an extent the governor of Wisconsin denounced you on the nightly news. An agent with less seniority would have been “on the beach” for the foreseeable future, but Kennedy was a legend in the Bureau. One of the great “manhunters.” His career would survive, but he was under a cloud, no question. His kind of success earned enemies—and not just from the usual suspects. A successful career wasn’t just about closing cases—and Kennedy didn’t strike Jason as the tactful type.

“Nice to meet you too,” Jason said, reaching the car. Kennedy did not offer his hand, so Jason shoved his own in his pocket. “Just to be clear, I’m supposed to be on vacation. In fact, I busted my ass to get here. I was at Boston Airport about to catch a flight home to L.A.”

“Duly noted.” Kennedy turned away, going around to the driver’s side of the gleaming sedan. “You can throw your bag in the trunk.” He reached in and popped the trunk hood.

Jason opened the trunk and slung his brown leather carryall next to Kennedy’s black Tumi. That was some serious luggage. The luggage of someone who lived out of his suitcase. Primetime TV notwithstanding, it was rare for agents in the Behavioral Analysis Units to leave Quantico and travel around the country, but Kennedy was the exception that proved the rule.

“We need to hit the road. That girl’s been missing over eight hours already.” Kennedy threw that comment over his shoulder, before sliding in behind the wheel.

Jason started to answer, but restrained himself. SAC Manning had clued him in to a few facts about his new—temporary—partner. And, ostensibly, this urgency to get to the crime scene out in rural Kingsfield was all part of what made Kennedy so good at his job—not to mention the reason they were meeting in a diner parking lot instead of the division office at One Center Plaza.

He slammed shut the trunk, walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. The car was still cool with air-conditioning, so Kennedy hadn’t been waiting long.

Kennedy turned the key in the ignition. More cold air blasted out along with news radio. “So you know the area? Your family used to have a vacation home in Kingsfield?”

“That’s right.”

“How nice.” Kennedy’s tone was more like Oh brother. He wore too much aftershave. The fragrance as aggressive as everything else about him. Top note sandalwood, bottom note obnoxious.

“I guess so.”

Kennedy threw him a sardonic look as they exited the parking lot. Or at least the twist of his mouth was sardonic. The dark Oakleys he wore concealed his eyes. He was not handsome, but he had the kind of face you didn’t forget easily. Although Jason was going to try his best the minute this case was over.

Jason said, “Clarify something for me. The Kingsfield Police Chief asked specifically for you because he thinks he might have a copycat killer on his hands?”

“It’s too soon to say, but yeah. That’s the concern, of course. No girl is going to go missing in Worcester County ever again that people aren’t going to fear it’s some kind of copycat crime.” Kennedy began to bring Jason up to date on the case.

It was a swift and concise summation, but then the facts were few. Rebecca Madigan, the teenage daughter of wealthy local residents, had disappeared Saturday night while hosting a party for friends. Rebecca’s parents were out of town, so her boyfriend had reported the girl missing. A search had been organized, but so far there was no sign of Rebecca.

“There could be a lot of reasons a teenage girl disappears,” Jason pointed out.

“Yep. But like I said, the folks of Worcester County have long memories.”

Jason stared out the window at the slideshow of skyscrapers and historic buildings. Parks, playgrounds…ponds. The dazzle of bright sunlight on green water. He removed his sunglasses, passed a hand across his eyes, and replaced the shades.

Worcester was an old city with a modern attitude. It was only about twenty-four miles from Kingsfield, not much more than a forty-five-minute drive, but it could have been a different planet.

He said, “I remember the original case. You were behind the capture and conviction of Martin Pink.”

“I played a role.” Kennedy was displaying unexpected—and undue—modesty. There was no question the Kingsfield Killings had stopped due to Kennedy’s efforts, which was no doubt why the police chief had been so quick to call him in this time. It was a little surprising the Bureau hadn’t waited to see how things developed in the Madigan case, but maybe this was as much about putting Kennedy on ice as finding a missing girl. That was certainly the way it had sounded to Jason when SAC Manning had asked him to cancel his vacation.

“What kind of a party was it?” Jason asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s June. Was it a graduation party? Birthday party? Sweet sixteen? Secret baby shower?”

Kennedy’s laugh was without humor. “It was the kind of party you throw when your parents are out of town for the weekend.”

“Was everybody invited or was it private?”

“We don’t have the details yet. You know everything I know.”

Yeah, probably not. Kennedy was one of these lone-wolf types who no doubt “preferred to play his own hand” or whatever bullshit macho phrase he’d use to excuse not being a team player. It made for good TV, but in real-life law enforcement, not being a team player was how people got hurt.

Sometimes you got hurt even when everyone was playing for the same team. Jason’s shoulder twinged, and he rubbed it absently.

 

There was a large heart-shaped sign by the side of the road on the outskirts of town. The sign read IN OUR HEARTS FOREVER Honey Corrigan June 15th 1998.

The sign had not been there the last time Jason had driven this road. But it was probably familiar to Kennedy. He’d probably passed it a hundred times that long ago summer.

Neither of them spoke, and a couple of minutes later they were out of the green woodland and into the shady streets of the picturesque and rustic village of Kingsfield. It was classic New England. Pretty and quaint. Clapboard houses surrounded by wide lawns or gardens of old roses, renovated nineteenth century commercial buildings of red and yellow brick, war memorials—that would be the Revolutionary War—white churches with tall steeples, all artfully positioned around the large and lush village green. Nothing like California, that was for sure. But then that had been the point of spending summers here.

“Just like you remember?” Kennedy’s voice jarred Jason out of his thoughts.

“Doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

And that was the truth. They passed Beaky’s Tavern. Bow windows and a hanging, hand-painted sign featuring a bewigged gentleman with a nose like a hood ornament.

“When was the last time you were back?”

“Years.” His parents had sold their vacation home right after Honey had disappeared, and Jason had not been back since. He was not going to share that information with Kennedy, even if Kennedy had been listening.

Which he wasn’t. His attention was on the information his GPS was providing in crisp, mechanical tones. His big hands moved with easy assurance on the steering wheel, his gaze raked the pretty little shops and cafes.

The police station was located in the center of the village, housed in the former Town Hall building. It was a two-story structure of faded brick complete with a clock tower—including a rooster weather vane—and gray columns supporting the front portico. The arched windows had a nice view of the Quaboag River, a blue shadow in the distance.

Jason and Kennedy parked in the rear beneath a row of maple trees.

“I’d expect to see a lot more cars here,” Jason said, studying the nearly empty lot.

“They’re out searching,” Kennedy replied.

His tone was neutral, but yes. Of course. The problem was it had been a long time since Jason had worked a violent crime. Or at least since he’d worked a crime where there was an expectation of violence. People were always unpredictable. Especially when they felt cornered.

He walked beside Kennedy around the building. The air was hot and humid, scented of warm stone and daylilies. Kennedy didn’t say a word from the parking lot to the front portico. Not a chatty guy.

They went in through the old wood-frame glass doors. A matronly-looking officer was busy answering the phones. She barely glanced at their IDs, indicating with a nod of her head that they should proceed down the dark-paneled hallway—all the while calmly answering the caller on the other end of the line.

An incident room had been set up on the main floor. It was abandoned but for one lone deputy who was erasing something on the large whiteboard. Jason’s heart sank as he recognized Boyd Boxner. It had been a long time, but Boyd hadn’t changed all that much. Square shoulders, square jaw, square head. Well, his head wasn’t square, but his towheaded crew cut gave that impression.

“Special Agent Kennedy,” Kennedy offered his ID again. “This is Special Agent West.”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Boxner said. He glanced at Jason without recognition—suits and shades provided excellent camouflage—and that was fine with Jason. “Chief Gervase is directing the search for Rebecca. He asked me to escort you to the search site.”

“Fine. Let’s get moving,” Kennedy said.

Jason said, “You don’t think we should maybe head over to the girl’s house? Take a look around. See if there’s a reason she might have walked away voluntarily?”

Kennedy stared at him as though he’d forgotten Jason was present. He’d removed his sunglasses. His eyes were blue. Arctic blue. A hard and unforgiving color. He turned back to Boxner. “We’ll start with the search site.”

Okay. That could have been handled with a little professional courtesy. But fair enough. Kennedy was the senior on this investigation. Jason was just riding shotgun. This was not his field of expertise. By the same token, he wasn’t there just to fill a second suit.

He said, matching Kennedy’s blank face and tone, “Do they need us to join the search? They’ll have plenty of volunteers. Maybe we could be of more use taking a look at the case from a different angle.”

Kennedy stared at him for a long, silent moment. It was not a friendly look. Nor the look of someone considering another viewpoint.

“You want me to leave you two to work it out?” Boxner was looking at Jason more closely now.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with my colleague,” Kennedy said with ominous calm.

“I’ll bring the car around.” Boxner was clearly in no doubt as to who would win this round. The old floorboards squeaked as he departed.

Kennedy didn’t say a word until Boxner had vanished down the hall. He turned to Jason.

“Okay, pretty boy. Let’s get something straight.” His tone was cold and clipped. “We both know your role here is to run interference between me and everybody else. All you need to do is stay out of my way and smooth the feathers when needed. And in return you’ll be the guy who gets to pose in front of the cameras with Chief Gervase. Fair enough?”

“The hell,” Jason said. “I’ve been asked to try and make sure you don’t step in it again, sure, but I’m not here to hold your cape and deerstalker, Sherlock. I’m your partner on this case whether either of us likes it or not. And, for the record, I don’t like it—any more than you do.”

“Then make it easy on both of us,” Kennedy said. “You stay out of my murder investigation, and I’ll let you know if I hear about any paintings getting stolen.”

He didn’t wait for Jason’s answer. He turned and followed Boxner down the hallway.

 

 

 

And so on and so forth

Today's post is a day late because yesterday the SO and I did something we haven't done since January. We took the day off in order to have lunch and go to a movie.

The movie was Sicario and it was an entertaining way to spend a couple of hours. I always like Emily Blunt. Lunch was okay. I am increasingly bored by chain restaurant food. I don't miss the lesson afforded by it, however, and that is that in a world full of tired, harried people, opting for the tried and true--even if the tried and true is mediocre--is frequently the best, or at least the usual, choice. This is just as true in publishing as elsewhere, which is why "discoverability" is such a challenge for writers. And why they spend so much time talking about writing rather than actually writing.

This has turned out to be a very strange year. Granted, the only real unexpected turn of events was buying a new house. Everything else was planned out last year--and went pretty much according to plan. But buying a new house...I had no idea how time consuming and complicated that would be. We're still not completely moved out of the old house, and I am increasingly nervous about the items that were left behind. Like all my Christmas stuff. All the vintage Christmas ornaments handed down through my family...that stuff worries me. The other stuff...well, I can't say I'd rejoice at losing several years worth of tax papers, but it wouldn't break my heart the way losing those 1950s mica Christmas angels would.

Once upon a time a couple of novels and two short stories would have been considered a productive year. Now days...not so much--despite the distractions of moving house, two trips to Catalina, the uproar resulting from connecting my real identity to my pen name, and a trip to Scotland. That's a pretty big year with almost no "down" time.

The one creative casualty was my story intended for an anthology to benefit the Trevor project. Unfortunately I ran about a month behind on Jefferson Blythe, which meant that I was packing for Scotland and dealing with emails from readers when I should have been writing my story for charity. Now, I can--and will--donate the cash the story would have earned to the Trevor Project. That's not an issue. But I wanted to write that story--and I hate not fulfilling my commitments. I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who were looking forward to my contribution, but the anthology is still going to be terrific. Please support the effort of these wonderfully generous and talented authors and others! I'll keep you posted on the release date details.

I'm reluctant to commit to anything for next year.  Which is to say I've already committed to a huge and complicated non-fiction project and beyond that...there are two novels contracted to Carina Press: Murder Takes the High Road (Scottish tour bus who-dunnit) and Fair Chance (3rd and final story in the All's Fair trilogy). I know what I would like to do--and that's a number of tightly written mystery novellas in the vein of the things I wrote early on--but we'll kind of have to wait and see.

As for what is still coming this year...

Well, the release of Jefferson Blythe, Esquire (as an ebook and in audio). That's November 16th.

Several audio books including Winter Kill, Murder in Pastel, Dark Horse White Knight, Baby, it's Cold,  and the M/M Mystery and Suspense Box Set are still to come.

I'm contributing an essay on James Colton (Joseph Hansen)  to Curt Evans for his untitled but upcoming book on LGBT mystery to be published by McFarland Press next year.

jbe-inspired artwork for coloring book

There are a number of Italian and French translations in the works for a 2015 release. Lone Star in Italian. The Dark Tide in Japanese. A Dangerous Thing in French. The Darkling Thrush in Italian...  I'm sure I'm forgetting other titles!

 There will be a Josh Lanyon coloring book called Love is a Many Colored Thing, illustrations by Johanna Ollilia. If you love coloring books for grown ups, there's a good chance you'll enjoy the art and excerpts in this one.

There will possibly, probably, be a Christmas story, but again, I'm leery of making promises.

And there will most likely be a number of Holiday Codas.

And that's all I want to commit to just at the moment. It seems like a lot to me, but compared to other years...well, the only less productive year I've had from a writing standpoint would have to be the year I took off. My sabbatical year. ;-)  But it's been a really good year. A really satisfying and productive year from a personal standpoint. A year of growth and change--a year that gives me a lot to write about. And that is always a good thing.

Memorable Moments from Scotland

Other people's vacations are simply not that interesting, so I will not subject you to the entire slide show (which according to my iPhone consists of nearly two thousand photos!?) but will instead just share a couple of quick pics and memories of what was truly an outstanding trip.

On our way from Glasgow to Orkney. Forty-three (or was it forty-four? Can we include the driver?) on our tour bus. Thirty bottles of booze--primarily whiskey. A long and winding road.

 

Standing stones - Orkney. The sea breeze, the cries of birds, the hum of bees. A very ancient place.

Details of the Italian Chapel on Orkney.

Inverness bike tour. Okay, not really. Bike shop and coffee house next to an abandoned mansion/school that would be perfect for a ghost story. ;-)

Inverness garden.

Philosophical observation...

And a final view of Urquhart Castle with a glimpse of Loch Ness.

Up to My Knees In Mud

By the time you read this I will be in Bonnie Scotland and, judging by weather reports, up to my knees in rain and mud. I will be cold and wet and happy--and very likely a little hung-over from the night before.  :-)

A lot of the other kind of mud was slung my way this past week. Although I did not make the decision to reveal my identity lightly, was braced for disapproval, disappointment, even distaste...I have to admit I was taken aback by the hysteria and vitriol that boiled and bubbled for nearly a week. Slopping over not just me, but the entire M/M community. A community that prides itself on "understanding," "acceptance," "tolerance," and "compassion."

It turns out that--for a few--a prism is just a one dimensional photo on a blog page.


Many cruel and cutting comments from people who know the power of words. Aimed not just at me, but at any one who dared to speak up on my behalf.

A lot of talk about "authenticity" from people who believe it's a body part. In fact, a couple of gentlemen of the genre came perilously close to stating a straight man would have more authenticity writing gay romance than any woman ever. Because it's all about the bass, 'bout that bass, 'bout that bass. 

A lot of assumptions. Because I am a happily married woman today...I must have always been so. I must have always been this person. Never kissed the wrong boy. Never kissed a girl at all. Never wondered, never worried, never feared, explored, tested, loved and lost...

I was in junior high the first time I was called "lesbo." I was so naïve, so sheltered I didn't even know what it meant--except that it was clearly the worst thing a girl could be.

How is this anyone's business but my own? How is it some people feel they have the right to interrogate me about things my own husband has never felt the need to question?

It has been horrifying and yet fascinating to watch people who know absolutely nothing about my work history or my personal life pronouncing judgment. Feeling comfortable and self-satisfied in their self-righteousness. "Weighing in" and never asking themselves...do I actually have the facts? Am I distorting the facts to fit my own agenda?

I'm a private person, but I tried to share some of the facts in this interview, because I know some people are still genuinely confused and unsure and hurt.

But there really isn't a lot more that I can say--although, like Columbo, here I am with "Just one more thing..." Though they sang louder and did a better job of clapping along with the chorus, the people who believe this kind of "deception" should be punishable by banishment and bankruptcy are a minority. I remain overwhelmed and moved by how much support and kindness I've received during the past week.

Even people who were disappointed and bewildered and hurt reached out to say I won't stop reading you. Don't stop writing. Support from my peers--which means so much--but even more support from readers, so many readers--readers being the people who maybe know me best because they've read my work and they understand what I've been saying all these years. Probably have formed a reasonable idea of who I am--without ever knowing who I kissed.

As painful as this was, I don't regret being honest about who I am. I haven't asked anyone for anything, but...do you really think it was easy to do what I just did?

Okay, fine that was then, but why didn't she drop the veil sooner?

Think about this: for a long time dropping the veil would have meant nothing. I wasn't earning enough here to matter. I chose to drop the veil when I actually have something--a great deal--to lose. I am willing to risk it all. And despite the shrieks of outrage, I don't have any second thoughts on revealing my identity. I don't regret it. It had to be done.

I have a New Adult book coming out in a couple of months. It's a funny story, a nutty story, a silly story. But at heart it's a story about a boy coming to terms with who he is. It's a coming out story. And it occurred to me while writing Jefferson Blythe, Esquire that I could not let that book be published, could not respond to the inevitable reaching out from younger readers--readers the age of my own nieces and nephews--while concealing my truth. That I am a woman. And that my own journey has not always been easy, but I have found my own way. Sometimes by doing as society bade me. Sometimes by following the road less traveled.

Does authenticity come from destination or from journey?

I guess it depends on who you ask. My journey continues.

 

Coming OUT with a New Book!

Alternative blog title: OOPS, MY SLIP IS SHOWING.

This is the blog post I kind of hoped I wouldn't have to write because I really did believe in my heart that the M/M genre had surely moved past this kind of nonsense.

But I have been wrong before. And will no doubt be wrong again.

So here's how this will work. First off, I haven't read all the dramatic, finger-pointing posts about OH MY GAWD!!!! JOSH LANYON IS A CHICK!!!! And I'm not going to. I can guess what they say--pretty much what these same people have been saying for years (yes, nearly a decade now). I'm not interested. Honestly.

And as much as I would like to respond individually to the outpouring of loyalty and support...my God. I'm overwhelmed. Genuinely overwhelmed. And deeply touched. And in the middle of packing. So I'll write my piece for those who are genuinely confused or hurt but I will not open it up to comments because it would get crazy and I won't be here to monitor it.

I'll leave the post up during the weeks while I'm away and then we'll get back to business as usual upon my return.

Like I said, I'm not reading the AH HA!!! DIDN'T I TELL YOU!!! posts but I can guess at the venom and vitriol. I honestly think some of these folks are more pissed off than ever because I lowered the veil.

Why did I lower the veil? Why now? Because it's time. Because I'm comfortable with the idea now. And, while I don't mean to be unkind or rude, my reasons for wishing to conceal my offline real life identity remain my own business.

A bit of historical perspective for those of you relatively new to the genre. Several years ago Jane at Dear Author speculated in a blog about whether I was female or not. The wise and funny Teddy Pig took issue--and that triggered a huge, wearying debate about women using male pen names, blah blah, blah and I said repeatedly in the huge thread of comments (which I don't have time or energy to track down, but I'm sure it's all still there) that I refused to state my gender, that it was irrelevant.

Which I believed and continue to believe.

Had I wished to make life easy for myself, I could have simply answered, Hell yes, I'm a man. How dare you question me? Etc. No one could have proved otherwise and that would have been the end of it. The years of gossip and rumors and speculation were fueled by my steadfast refusal to state whether I was male or not. Which...for God's sake. THAT WAS THE ANSWER RIGHT THERE. Right? Certainly for most people that was the answer right there.

Anyway, old timers have known The Secret for years--one of my former publishers has made a point of "outing" me at every single GRL--but there are so many new faces in M/M that I guess this week's revelation does come as news for some.

Anticipating the complaints/objections/criticisms to my use of a male pen name:

1 - It wasn't just a pen name, you pretended to be a gay man

 See above

2 - It's about assuming a queer identity in order to give yourself  "authenticity" so you can sell more books.

This one has always fascinated me. I am a woman therefore you automatically assume you know my sexual history. Really? You assume too much. Here's the relevant point. I am currently happily

married to a wonderful guy. Everything else is moot. And none of your business.

As for the 2.1 part of this question, the ever popular bit about cashing in on the booming market for gay fiction. LOL. There was no "booming market" when I started writing gay fiction. I wrote and published for years and made no money at it. Is someone seriously suggesting I should have stopped using my Josh Lanyon pen name the minute the market became lucrative because...huh?

In what faraway, distant realm of publishing do these people live? I worked hard to build my brand--and that brand consists of writing mainstream-quality mysteries and being attentive and responsive to my readers.

I make money writing mainstream fiction too. I could have focused on that brand just as easily and been even more successful. I was on that path. But I prefer to write M/M fiction. At least for now.

3 - It is not misogynistic to speculate about someone's gender if they are really female and trying to sell books under a male identity. (Or something equally convoluted.)

Well, yes. Actually, it IS. The saddest part of this is that a great deal of the misogyny comes from other women within the genre. Male writers frustrated because they believe female writers have created a false expectation in the M/M audience...I get that. But these guys still don't understand that this genre evolved from a different literary tradition and the expectations and tropes were already in place when M/M became an actual marketable genre. You take away the HEA aspect and you lose your market as well.

But I also understand that not everyone is going to agree with me on this. So let's agree to disagree.

Are there other points of criticism and contention? Probably.

Look, nobody outed me. Or at least, no more than usual. I chose to drop the veil. I've been planning this for a long time. Which means I was prepared for the hue and cry. I won't deny that I hoped for a little more civility and sanity in certain quarters, but overall I've met with humbling support and kindness.

These are the facts. Make of them what you will.

Frankly, the people who have disliked me for various reasons for a long time now feel justified in that dislike, but I doubt they are saying anything aloud that they have not whispered behind my back.

 I'll leave the rest of you to decide for yourselves.


*****

Here I'm going to reverse myself and add one final thing. A number of people have mentioned feeling hurt because I didn't share the truth--or foolish because they didn't guess it. My intention was certainly never to hurt anyone. The fact that I wasn't in a hurry to unleash the flood we saw today pretty much explains itself.  But as for not trusting people...it wasn't that I didn't trust my online friends. It's that I don't trust circumstances. It's very hard to keep a secret and the more people who know, the harder it is.

I expected the bullshit. What I did not expect, what overwhelms me now is the kindness and support I've received over the last few hours. Thank you--each and every one of you--sincerely for that.

As a good friend of mine is wont to say...YOU GUYS ROCK.

PLEASE GIVE ME MONEY!!!!

No, but seriously, I want to hear the "normal" reader reaction to this idea.

I was talking to a reader the other day about turning Fatal Shadows into a graphic novel, and I mentioned Kickstarter and he mentioned  Patreon. That was the second time in three days I'd heard of Patreon. I'd previously read a post by an author relatively well known in our genre, and X made an interesting argument, although I was still doubtful about how it would all work.


PATRONAGE.

It's nothing new in the arts. in fact, as time-honored ideas go, patronage of the arts is right up there with chopping thieves' hands off and hanging pirates. Oh, and burning witches (which I used to get a lot, by the way). :-D And group patronage would be the best option given how few dukes are left with money for the arts burning a hole in their pockets.

Group funding.

Is it the new reality? Is it the future? For some artists--musicians certainly--it is the fiscal present.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. And I'm sincere about that--an album, unlike a book, costs a horrendous amount of money to produce (as in, if there are authors out there spending a minimum of 20K to put a book out, we need to chat.)

Confronted with such publishing realities as B&Ns dwindling ebook sales, Audible's reduction in royalties, Kindle Unlimited, Scribd's decision to cut romance titles (too many romance readers are not cost effective!!) etcetera and etcetera.

Where are we headed?

I honestly don't know. I'm taking this one step at a time, one year at a time. And I wish I was saving more.

At this juncture, it would be very difficult for me to go back into the regular workforce. But should the fiction market go away (HUH?!) I could switch gears and do ghost writing, non-fiction...I got mad typing skilz, let's put it that way.

Do I want to stop writing fiction? Hell no. The idea makes me literally ill. Of course it wouldn't be a matter of not writing, it would be a matter of not publishing. But even that feels pretty unthinkable at this stage.

The gathering funding for a specific project makes more sense to me. I'm not sure whether readers would really get behind the idea of recurring funding.

You tell me.

Oh, and for your edification, here's an article discussing the difference between Kickstarter and Patreon.

What is your feeling in general on this idea? I'm interested in hearing from both authors and readers on this one.

Blog Post Number Zillion and One

Ha! I had lunch with a writer friend last week and we started talking about tropes in romantic fiction. The things we are willing to suspend disbelief for in a book that we don't necessarily believe in real life. Or that we believe, but with qualifications.

I thought rather than me pontificating on what I think all that means, it would be nice to just have a discussion with you, and you tell me what you think it means. If anything. :-)

So here are the topics we discussed.

1 - Love at First Sight

I actually believe in love at first sight. As a matter of fact, I have personal experience with love at first sight. So this is something I believe in both in fiction and in reality.

What about you?


2 - Gay for You (or the alternative version: Straight for You)

I don't believe in this in reality. But I also have no problem admitting I haven't experienced or witnessed everything in the world--and that I understand that people are complicated and wildly diverse critters.

I do understand the romantic appeal of these GFY or SFY stories.

What about you?


3 - Love Conquers All

Yeah. Not so much. I wish it was true, but no. However, I do completely love the idea in romance fiction--especially when the characters are shown as working hard to fix the problems that exist between them. Because that I do believe: love takes work and commitment. And hard work and commitment can solve an awful lot of problems.

What do you think?


4 - Opposites Attract

This is true. I have seen this and I have experienced this. Attraction does not always lead to Happily Ever After, however, but I have seen Opposites living HEA. Or as close as we get to HEA in real life.

You?


5 - Reunited and it Feels So Good

Again, yes. I have seen couples break-up and even years later get back together and live HEA (or, again, as close as we get to HEA in real life). I have not experienced this personally, however. I really don't have regrets about past relationships. I mean, yes, I have regrets, but not about the relationship being over and having moved on.


What do you think? Feel free to expound. I love it when we have these in-depth discussions!

Happy Labor Day!

It was so cool and breezy last night I actually shut the windows--for the first time in four months?

There's still plenty of warm weather ahead, but the summer is drawing to a close. I'm sad about that. I'm always sad when the summer ends, as much as I love the autumn. But I'm looking forward to each new season in this house. Our first fall, our first winter...

In the meantime, have a nice long weekend--if you're in the States. And if you're not in the States, have a nice too-short weekend!

This is Not Your Mother's Publishing Career (part 3)

If you just happened to pop over to the blog today, I’m chatting with L.B. Gregg about how publishing has changed from the good old days. (Although the Good Old Days had their problems too.)

 

The conversation began over at LoveBytes, continued at LB’sblog and we’re finishing up here—and hoping to get some other insights and perspectives.

 

 

Platform and persona

 

 

Once upon a time a writer’s “persona” amounted to a decade-old staged photograph on the back of a book jacket. Raymond Chandler with his cat. Mary Stewart with her pen. Pearls or elbow patches optional. Now it’s a whole different world.

 

The problem with the new emphasis on persona is it creates this huge pressure to be out there being social and personable and “on” twenty-four seven -- which is not necessarily the writer temperament. Not everybody is good at making small talk.

 



L.B. - And ai yi yi, not all of us are good at blogging. I’m very good at small talk and cocktail conversation. I wish there were more opportunities to chat with readers, but I don’t like doing so online. I am uncomfortable with the nature of online commenting and social media. It’s a shit storm on the best of days. I’d rather chat with someone at a conference or signing.

 

But see, you go to conferences and talk with readers in real life. And, I want to make the point that you were/are a brilliant blogger. You just made the decision not to continue reviewing/blogging once you became an author. And while I miss your blogging, I think that choice to quit reviewing was shrewd.

 



Once you create this expectation of accessibility and interaction, there really isn’t any way of going back without appearing to withdraw or subtract previously added value.

 

L.B. - You can go back, but I think if you withdraw once (and I have) the real question becomes whether interaction and accessibility add value to your writing. Because if it distracts or depresses or overwhelms or angers you, then find another avenue.

Puppy Makes Everything More Interesting
 

 

Maybe it’s crucial to set up realistic parameters to start with. Because I started out being Everywhere All the Time, and that was a contributing factor to burnout.

 

L.B. - You were all over the map. I think finding that one right place, whether it’s Facebook or Twitter or Instagram or what, is better than spreading yourself too thin.

 

Which I learned, to my cost.

 

Then there’s the notion of platform in genre fiction. This is an idea that evolved with mainstream publishers hoping to give certain books a marketing edge in a crowded market. So a former police officer writing a police procedural is theoretically going to be more interesting to readers than, say, an ordinary run-of-the-mill author writing a police procedural.

 

L.B. - Or a housewife writing a romance novel.

 

Ha! So if you’re a gay man writing something like male/male romance there’s supposed to be this added cachet to your work. But that’s nonsensical. You’ve got to bring more to the table than genitalia.

 

Um. In a manner of speaking.

 

L.B. - Not touching that table. No.

 

I don’t care who you are or what you’re writing, platform is about how the work is marketed. It’s an advertising gimmick. It’s not a substitute for the work. And I think sometimes people are disappointed because they’re leaning very heavily on their credentials, and credentials don’t turn pages, don’t leave readers misty, don’t lead to someone heading straight to your website at midnight and clicking a buy link. 

L.B. – Well, true, the notion of platform can and does work against some authors in this flooded market. Does that make sense? There are a lot of people asking for justification. Or offering it. Why do your write x,y, or z when you’re not an authority? Here’s why I write x,y, or z.

 

 I don’t have time or patience for that.

 

No, it’s boring. It’s pointless. To even ask the question is to miss the point of FICTION.

 

This concept of “authority” in fiction is a new one, and I believe an ephemeral one. It’s part of that Every Child Gets a Cookie mentality wherein passion and sincerity are supposed to be just as good as talent and craft. We all give lip service to the notion—nobody wants to be the Genre Grinch—but the fact is when it comes to buying books, craft and talent trump enthusiasm and sincerity (or even authority) because what readers want is a great book. Every. Single. Time.

 

Readers buy books they want to read. Building a readership means you consistently supply the books your readers want to read. If there is such a thing as branding, that’s what it amounts to.

 

And as for platform, well, readers will support enthusiasm and sincerity and authority, but they’ll do it in different ways. 600 likes on your FB post, for example. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, AUTHOR X!! but your books are boring, so I usually don’t buy them.

 



I had an interesting chat with Nicole Kimberling at Blind Eye Books the other day, and she was theorizing that it’s not so much that more books are being published as the slush pile is now largely filtered through DIY publishing. Readers and citizen reviewers have replaced editorial and agent assistants as the new gatekeepers. I think there is a lot of truth to that.

 

But now I digress. What platform does do—and this is very valuable—it gives you something to talk about besides BUY MY BOOK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Original and continual content in the Age of White Noise is an issue. You can’t just keep posting about new reviews or new releases. You have to have something else to talk about. In order to engage with readers, you have to talk to them. And a sales pitch is not conversation.

 


So the pressure is on to be charming and personable and witty and pleasant and…and…say something interesting.

 

L.B. – Or I can tell a joke. Or post a photo of a puppy.

More completely gratuitous puppy 

 

LOL. You have adorable puppies.

 

Then there is branding, which is a big part of—

 

L.B. - I am not a brand. I’m an author. I say this smugly, with the kind of mustached self importance of a hipster, but I’m not selling as much as I’d like so maybe I need to focus on branding myself.

 

It just sounds so painful. And distasteful. And…dishonest. Is it me? I don’t want to walk around with a giant sign that reads LB GREGG BOOKS and, IDK, hand out business cards to strangers like I’m witnessing for Jehovah. (can I say Jehovah?)

 

The thing is…the thing is publishers will try to create a brand for you and sometimes, if you’re not sure who you are yet, you allow that to happen. If if it’s not a good fit? You have to start all over again. The LB Gregg I was when I wrote the first Smithfield books, she’s not the same LB six publishers later. She’s a little less starry eyed and a lot more cautious.

 

So isn’t it better to define your brand yourself?

 

L.B. -- I still don’t know what my brand is. But I know what it’s not.

 

But then I also think too often people are worrying about their tagline and brand before they’ve actually worked out what kind of writer they are. Honestly, I see more authors worrying about promotion than about whether their writing is good enough for prime time.

 

Is this cynical on their part or are they right? I go back and forth on the question.

 

L.B.— Well. Look there’s bubble gum music and quality pop, and people buy and enjoy both.

 

A lot of people buy books based on the ‘cool kid’ word-of-mouth factor (not mentioning any names here—oh fuck that. EL JAMES). The issue is that as a romance author, we’re already viewed as bubble gum writers by the rest of the publishing (and reading) world, and it’s in our best interest to do good work. To focus on craft. Not that I’m the bees knees of romance. Holy no. In truth, I’d love to be a cool kid who sells books based on my incredible promotion machine because there are bills to pay.

 

Well, I guess it comes back to what you want out of your publishing career. I think people aren’t always honest when they answer this question. Me, I want to continue to do the work I love for a living. I don’t need six hundred “likes” on my posts and I have zero wish to be a celebrity.

 

Genre authors as celebrity

 

What? Who? Define celebrity in this genre.

 

I guess we could both name a few of the “celebrity” authors in any given genre. Basically these are the people with name brand recognition (I know!) which translates into earning power.

 

I mean, being known within your genre doesn’t always translate into earnings. The nutjobs are well known but they usually don’t earn well. And there are those who are highly respected by their peers and reviewers, but they don’t always earn well either. Which of course creates great confusion and frustration.

 

Success in publishing is not always fair. 

Nor is publishing a democracy.

 

At the same time, celebrity does not always equal success (unless ego-stroking was the primary goal). But maybe again here is where people need to be honest because, not to be the Debbie Downer, most authors will not earn a living at writing fiction. Period. And maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe you love your day job and being considered one of the cool cats in your publishing circle is all you’re really looking for.

 

L.B. –I like to believe one can keep on the radar without being an online personality. In this new publishing world, where producing four books a year is considered the bare minimum, keeping readers interested is vital, particularly if you’re not producing four books a year. Free reads, self-publishing the back list, producing audio books, foreign rights—blogging—there are small ways to keep your name on the radar, but you have to be realistic if you’re a) not able to churn out books and b) you suck at promo.

 

So. I’m not going to buy a Tesla with my earnings any time soon, but I’m okay with that.

 

I will have my friend J. Lanyon buy me a Tesla.

 

I wish. And not just about the Tesla. I want to believe you’re right about the promotion side of it, and maybe you are. I do know that I can be out there tap-dancing twenty-four-seven, but three months without a new release, and my sales slump. You have to feed the engine. Or maybe "monster" is a better word.

 

You also have to be honest with yourself. And I think you have to get informed about the industry. Frustration and anger and depression are a reality, but I think information helps diffuse some of that anxiety.

 

Or maybe not. But the bottom line is, this is the new publishing reality. This is not your mother’s publishing career. That was then, this is now.  

 For the moment. 

 

===================================================

 

BIOS:

 

L.B. Gregg –When not working from her home in the rolling hills of Northwestern Connecticut, author L.B. Gregg can be spotted in coffee shops from Berlin to Singapore to Panama -- sipping lattes and writing sweet, hot, often funny, stories about men who love men. Buy her books here: www.lbgregg.com

 

Josh Lanyon – A distinct voice in gay fiction, JOSH LANYON is the multi-award-winning author of nearly seventy stories of male/male mystery, adventure and romance. Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews award for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist, and the first recipient of the Goodreads M/M Romance group's Hall of Fame award. Learn more at www.joshlanyon.com

 

 

If it's August it Must be...

No significance whatsoever to thumbtack in New York

Wait. It's SEPTEMBER?

I'm still struggling with the fact that it's August.

I was going to write about the weirdness of the month, but who am I kidding? It's the weirdness of the year--and more weirdness ahead. This has been a year of many changes. And it's not so much that I planned for them as they just seemed to come upon me. Me and the Lady of Shalott.

I seriously underestimated how distracting and time-consuming--all consuming--this move would be. Because it's not just about where I hang my hat. Buying a new house at this point in my life is kind of commitment to...well maybe not forever, but a foreseeable future. It has to do with long term financial decisions, which by default have to do with long term creative decisions.

Many, many changes. And while I am eager for them, embracing them, change is a tiring thing. Change is movement, and movement requires energy, and energy is not inexhaustible. That's not a revelation, or it shouldn't be, but yet it always comes as a shock to me that I can't do as much as I think I can.

I'm a slow learner on that point.

Anyway, Jefferson Blythe, Esquire is now in lines. So that's exciting because as usual, when I'm in the rough draft phase I always believe I can never possibly finish the book. Maybe some day it will be true. It is weird how much I LOATHE writing during the phase of rough draft. I mean hate it with a passion.

Which is funny given that in the dreaming, planning stage, I am totally in love with writing and the book and the characters. Then it begins. Then I hate the book, the characters, writing, my life, whoever the hell got me into this, etc. It is effing torture. I am not exaggerating. I hate writing a rough draft. Some more than others, but always without fail, I hate writing a rough draft.

Nearly as much as I love the initial planning and dreaming about the book. And nearly as much as I love the editing process.

During the rough draft phase, I feel like English is a second language. I feel like I'm brain damaged. And then comes editing. And suddenly I speak English again. Suddenly I've made a miraculous recovery and I remember how the world -- and words -- work.

It's pretty weird. And I don't know that it works for most writers like this. I do know that it has not been a spectacularly productive year for me. But life is settling down again. Sort of. Still plenty to come. Scotland, for one thing. Cannot. Wait. As much as I dread traveling.

Next year will be a very different year for a lot of reasons, but I feel good about it. I feel calm. Fatalistic? I don't know.

Anyway, on Monday I'm doing a joint multi-part blog with my writing chum L.B. Gregg called THIS IS NOT YOUR MOTHER'S PUBLISHING CAREER, wherein we discuss how much things have changed in today's vibrant and competitive (AKA enormously stressful) publishing environment). It's not so much that we have great advice for anyone because what advice can anyone give in a tornado beyond HOLD ON!!! This is the new normal.

We'll start out over at Love Bytes, continue the conversation at L.B.'s and finish up over here. Your comments and insights are encouraged!