I'm not even going to take pictures, because it's so frustrating.

What's happening is this:

For many years, Chicken and Big T had their own rooms, and the "little kids" shared a room.

For WAY too long after the big kids moved out, we used Big T's room as a storage room and Chicken's room as a game room.

We were all stuck here in our tiny house during pandemic, and Mate and I went AUGH and re-did Chicken's old room and got Squish installed in there.

Now, the room they both shared is...

I can't even...

I need to hire workers with shovels to dig it out.

But who's going to come into my dust pit in the middle of a pandemic when we can't pay hazard $$$?

So what we've done is moved all the stuff out of Big T's old room and into the living room, and then moved ZoomBoy into Big T's room.

And now we just need... workers with shovels? Something, I guess, to excavate ZoomBoy's room so we can CLEAR MY WARDROBE AND BOOK BOXES OUT OF THE LIVING ROOM!

And ZoomBoy's fine, you understand. He's got his own bed, his own desk, his own chest of drawers, his own computer. HE COULD LIVE IN THERE right?

And... and I can't walk into his own room without my ADHD zapping my brain like a 2000 amps. I don't even know where to START. 

But I've got to start. We've got to clear this shit out. Because you guys... this is the last stage. We clear this room out and all that's left is mine and Mate's room and the bathrooms and the kitchen. But our kids--they'll have desks and their own rooms and sanctuaries for the next four years. (And I know ZoomBoy is supposed to graduate this year, but  you guys, he's 16 right now. I don't see him picking up to leave any earlier than 20, and I'm FINE with that.) 

We're so close. I mean, SO CLOSE. And I know that another project awaits us when we're done with this one, but... SO CLOSE. 

So anyway--if you see me online (I've been reading out loud to my FB group) and you notice a lot of chaos behind me... cross your fingers, okay? Because eventually--EVENTUALLY it'll get sorted out.

​And until then, my house is as chaotic as my brain.

​
First of all, I'd like to say I hurt myself in the most stupid, middle-aged way possible on the planet. 


That's right, folks--I cramped my hand while playing on my phone while, uhm, ensconced on the throne, as it were. 

And it wasn't just an, "Oh, ouch--a few stretches, some ibuprofen," kind of cramp. It was an all day, "MotherFUCKER, the hell did I do to my hand?" kind of cramp--a tendonitis, if you will, and while it did diminish my screen time, it was with my right hand, and I am left-handed, so I could crochet just fine.

In fact, crocheting seemed to do it good--but then, I've been a big proponent of knitting and crocheting as recreational therapy for a variety of ills since I first started doing it myself, 22 years ago.

Anyway, the hand feels a teeny bit better, and I got some work done on my Caron Cakes shawl--which is embarrassing to admit I'm crocheting to be honest. 

It's so... it's so... EASY. And the yarn is... AFFORDABLE. And it's WASHABLE and PRACTICAL and seriously all the things I seem to avoid in yarn in a big way. Is it rare? Hand-painted? One of a kind skeins that make you feel like shit if you have more than three yards left after your project? Is it hand wash only, with special conditioning soap, with PH balanced drinking water filtered through volcanic stone? WILL IT DISSOLVE WITH EVERYDAY USE? Yup. That's my yarn--I'll buy a lOT of it, and put it in a box and look at it and pet it and MAYBE knit with it one day, when I'm drunk on my own power and pitiful expertise.

But easy-care affordable mass produced yarn?  Well, yes. I buy lots of that too and work the crap out of it.

So, about this shawl--it's made with Caron Cakes Cotton blend--and normally I abhor working with cotton because it's a little like trying to weave rattan with sticks. The thing is, once it's worked, cotton is a wonderful fiber--the more you wash it the softer and more giving it becomes. It's glorious. Bugs hate it, it lasts forever, and, like your favorite T-shirt it BREATHES. But there's that whole, "Makes my hands feel 80 when I'm 50 problem" and usually I'll take a hard pass. 

In this case, though, the cotton is mixed with acrylic (and again--so many things I loathe about acrylic, starting with its squinkiness on metal needles and ending with a raw scrubbed feeling in my yarn-guiding finger if I work with it too long. 

But in this case, the blend works wonderfully--and the resulting fabric is sort of like a towel. Not going to keep you TOO warm--but for a summer-weight shawl you wouldn't mind dragging to the beach cause it'll wash like magic, I'm sort of a fan.

Anyway-- I like my shawls to be monster, even if they're for other people, and this one is fitting that bill just fine. I'm rooting for an 80 inch wingspan, and there might even be some left over for a hood--woot! (I also, inexplicably, like hoods on my shawls. Yes, I know they're impractical. So?)

And the thing is, I'm, uhm, sort of obsessed with them. 

Shawls. You may have noticed it. I shipped that box of 6 shawls to my cousins, and promptly started a sweater for Squish. Well, the sweater is probably 1/3 done, but, well, it's a pain in the ass and there's counting involved and the yarn is too thick and... *whine*

But shawls?  Oh yes. Finished one, am working on... *counts in head* others. More. Working on more. And a scarf. 

Okay, fine. Shawls as my comfort knitting are still there. 

And I'm still buying yarn way faster than I can knit with it. 

And it's still bringing me great joy.

Mate and I just watched the Michelle McNamara documentary--I'll Be Gone in the Dark--and we were riveted. For one thing, the events in the story--from the East Area Rapist's original hunting grounds in Rancho Cordova, to where he was eventually arrested--only a couple of miles from here, to where Patton Oswalt came for the book signing--our home Barnes & Nobles-- was ours. All of it. And one of the things that hit me, as Patton was talking about his wife's death, was her fear of what she was leaving their daughter with--would Alice know she was loved. 

My life is probably not as consequential as Michelle McNamara's--but I still might leave my kids with a few things when I pass on.  Definitely I'll leave boxes full of books that I wrote and lots of shawls. And a fuckton of yarn to ship off to other people. 

But mostly I think I"ll be leaving them the memory of going, "Mom was fucking WEIRD, but it was a NICE weird, so our childhood didn't entirely suck."

And also, shawls. 

By the way-- the yellow and green/green skeins up there were color-patterned after the wooly bear caterpillar. 

Isn't that FANTASTIC?

* Note-- Folks, I've run up against the glitch of re-posting on the website, which is that the website is NOT friendly about multiple pictures in the same post. I'm putting the covers up as a slideshow--I hope that's okay!


YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA!!!

WHEW!


Well, to say it's been an odd summer would be... an understatement. Some of you may be reading this
on my website, because FaceBook did a VERY odd thing, and, well, what can I say-- we improvise, 
right?

(Also, at the last moment as I was typing this up on blogger, blogger decided it was going to be unco-
operative to say the least, so, uhm, *crosses fingers for formatting*)

That being said, I'm going to count my blessings. There are new books to read here--some from old 
favorites and good friends like Kaje Harper and Andrew Grey, and some from my assistant's favorite's 
list, because she's the most excellent of eggs and wanted to flail some books that made her happy. 

So with way less ado than usual (see the formatting problems!) I'm going to let the books do the talking!

May you all be healthy, happy, and reading. Some days that's really all we need.




Tracefinder: Choices (Tracefinder book 3)

By Kaje Harper


An ex-cop and a psychic on the mend find their safe haven threatened by vandalism, arson, and the shadow of their dangerous past. 
After overusing his Talent till he almost died, Brian wants nothing more than a quiet job on the farm, with Nick to come home to. He's trying to start a new life, despite bad dreams he can't shake, vandalism close to home, and his sister's problematic baby on the way.
Nickgave up the police force and moved to North Carolina to be with Brian, and he doesn't regret it. But he's at loose ends, with no real work, the lurking specter of Brian's brother Damon hanging around, and a worry in the pit of his stomach that Damon's old enemies might still be afterBrian. Nick's keeping his eyes open and his gun loaded.

Genre: M/M mystery/thriller/romance
Ending: HEA
Content warnings: some violence, history of a sexually-abusive episode
Length: 127,000
Release date: July 30th

BUY HERE (US)

OR HERE (UK)







Fire and Diamond

by Andrew Grey

When Deputy Nick Senaster chastises a bunch of college kids at a bar, he doesn’t think anything of it, even if their leader is gorgeous. The guy is too young and way too cocky, and soon Nick has an emergency foster placement to focus on. His first job is ensuring ten-year-old Ethan knows someone cares for him. But Nick doesn’t realize Ethan is a package deal.

When Alexander finds out his abusive stepfather, Dieter, has lost custody of his half brother, he’s torn between relief and dread. Alexander can’t get custody until he can provide a home for his tiny family. In the meantime, at least Ethan’s foster father will let Alexander visit.

So of course the man turns out to be the cute but dour cop who gave Alexander a hard time.

Soon Nick and Alexander discover they misjudged each other. Nick is more than an authoritarian automaton, and Alexander has a drive and a maturity that belie their first meeting. But between a campaign of intimidation from Dieter, their own insecurities, and the logistics of dating with Ethan’s fragile sense of stability hanging in the balance, they have their work cut out for them if they want to build a future.

BUY HERE 






Barbie's Choices-- So, folks, my beloved assistant, Barbie Pomales, has asked if I could Flail some of her favorite reads. Since the Flail is driven mostly by volunteers--writer friends who hit me up and go, "Hey, wanna flail me?" and sometimes not many friends are flailing that month, I was like, "Hey--we could make this a segment, because that way, I'll ALWAYS have stuff to flail!"  Also, because Barbie is super passionate about the books she loves, and you all know that's my jam. So, here's Barbie's choices--this month, it's three books she really really loves and is happy to recommend. 


Finding Me
Book 1: Voice Out series

by Stella Rainbow

Brady:

I thought I was happy with my life. I have a successful business, an awesome found family, a dog who is a bigger princess than me and volunteer work that keeps me busy and satisfied when nothing else does.

I was content—and I'd thought I was happy, too—to live my life just like that. No mess. No one to demand things of me I wasn't willing to give. No complications.

But then I met Charlie.

Charlie:

For my whole life, I'd been sure I was destined to live a half-life, to hide a part of myself so I wouldn't lose the only two people I cared about. And I was resigned to my fate.

But when my dad died of a sudden heart attack, I realized life was too short to keep hiding. I moved to a new city, but I had no clue how to go about finding a part of myself that I'd buried so long ago.

And then I met Brady.

A man who is out and proud of who he is and a person who has spent their life hiding a part of themselves. Will they be able to forge a path together or would their differences end up pushing them away?

(Finding Me is a 60k words long queer romance full of sweet kisses, makeup tutorials and a tiny doggo called Cherry you can't help but fall in love with. Finding Me is the second book in the Voice Out series, but it can be read as a standalone and has a definite HEA.)

Trigger Warning: Deals with gender identity issues like Dysphoria.
Pre-order Kindle  and KU on August 8, 2020.
BUY HERE 



Times Yet to Come 
Time of Our Lives: Book 1
 by Morgan Mason 

When an unexpected letter arrives in the mail, Aero assumes it’s bad news about the grandmother he hasn’t seen in years. A trip to Southern California to reconnect with her and pick up a family heirloom, however, produces an introduction to a hotter-than-hell surf god who asks him out to dinner.

A chance encounter at the beach piques Charlie’s interest and gets him thinking about things beyond the beach and his antiques restoration business. Making an impromptu dinner invitation, to a man of all things, has Charlie opening his mind to unexplored feelings and incredible possibilities.

With Aero living in Seattle and Charlie in Huntington Beach, is their quick romance doomed to fail before it even takes off? Is five days enough time to realize that some things are just worth fighting for? 
 
BUY HERE 





Lightning Dragon Strikes Out


by Toshi Drake



Lightning Dragon Strikes Out is an MM novel featuring two stubborn fools, one a dragon, second chances, cosplay and tender loving care!

Nick is a human who’s fed up with his dragon companion, Phin. He’s tired of being an afterthought. With the help of a friend, he leaves his life behind, hoping for a chance at happiness, at being first, even if it means being without his dragon.


Phin is a Lightning Dragon. His greatest treasure is a man who has inexplicably turned hostile. Chasing Nick to the human realm, Phin discovers the joy of being one’s true self. With this knowledge, he finds the love he never knew he had.


In this humorous tale of costumes, outdoor naughty times, claimings gone awry, watch as two men find out what it means to be both treasures and mates.

This novel features friends to lovers, second chances and snarky best friends.


Live August 17

BUY HERE 


Out Last Month:


Stick the Landing

by Kate McMurray

Jake Mirakovitch might be the best gymnast in the world, but there’s one big problem: he chokes in international competition. The least successful of a family of world-class gymnasts, he has struggled to shake off nerves in the past. This time he’s determined to bring home the gold no matter what.

Retired figure skater Topher Caldwell wants a job as a commentator for the American network that covers the Olympics, and at the Summer Olympics in Madrid, he has a chance to prove himself with a few live features. He can’t afford to stumble.

Olympic victories eluded Topher, so he knows about tripping when it really counts. When he interviews Jake, the two bond over the weight of all that pressure. The flamboyant reporter attracts the kind of attention Jake—stuck in a glass closet—doesn’t want, but Jake can’t stay away. Topher doesn’t want to jeopardize his potential new job, and fooling around with a high-profile athlete seems like a surefire way to do just that. Yet Topher can’t stay away either….


BUY HERE



Shortbread and Shadows

by Amy Lane


Hedge Witches Lonely Hearts Club: Book One

When a coven of hedge witches casts a spell for their hearts’ desires, the world turns upside down.


Bartholomew Baker is afraid to hope for his heart’s true desire—the gregarious woodworker who sells his wares next to Bartholomew at the local craft fairs—so he writes the spell for his baking business to thrive and allow him to quit his office job. He’d rather pour his energy into emotionally gratifying pastry! But the magic won’t allow him to lie, even to himself, and the spellcasting has unexpected consequences.


For two years Lachlan has been flirting with Bartholomew, but the shy baker with the beautiful gray eyes runs away whenever their conversation turns personal. He’s about to give up hope… and then Bartholomew rushes into a convention in the midst of a spellcasting disaster of epic proportions.


Suddenly everybody wants a taste of Bartholomew’s baked goods—and Bartholomew himself. Lachlan gladly jumps on for the ride, enduring rioting crowds and supernatural birds for a chance with Bartholomew. Can Bartholomew overcome the shyness that has kept him from giving his heart to Lachlan?


BUY HERE

​The kids had--and this was a surprise!-- a dentist appointment this week.


The dentist office was really good-- took our temperatures outside (I was actually around 99.7 which means, I think, I have another ear infection--I get them a lot) and then let me sit in the lobby since I was the only one there and I wore my mask.

While we were there, we had some discussion as to whether or not ZoomBoy should keep going to this dentist or not, since he will be eighteen in a year and a half, and he's going to need his wisdom teeth pulled out, and possibly braces.

See, they're still going to a children's dentist, and while my children are fully adult-sized, I have much love for these people.

When Big T  was little, he had nursing caries. Before people get their judgy pants on, yes, I did give him apple juice at all hours of the night. Yes, I did know it would rot his teeth. But all of the things that work for putting a baby or toddler to bed without a bottle did NOT WORK for Big T--and I know, because they worked for the other kids, no problem. Big T did not do transitions, and he didn't do changes in routine, and he was always hungry, ALWAYS hungry, particularly when he was super tired. 

It was give him the damned bottle or have the neighbors report him to CPS because he screamed instead of slept. For days. (Yes, they threatened to, why do you ask?)

So we gave him the bottle and took him to the dentist to get his teeth sealed. 

I was young and naive--but not stupid. I called up the dentist and asked if they took children. That was a yes.

Do you take children with special needs?

Oh, absolutely.

Do you take... large children with special needs?

No problem, ma'am.

You're willing to anesthetize and restrain?

We don't think it'll come to that.

*sigh*

Sure.

So I walked my 90 lb. 4th-grade sized toddler into the dentist office and filled out the paperwork, and got him into the dentist chair, and he's getting ready to let loose, scream, and tantrum. I'm desperately trying to calm him down and in walks a tiny, 5 foot tall woman, who is probably eight months pregnant.

She was maybe four inches taller than my son, who is about ready to start throwing himself around on that chair like the world's biggest fucking fish.

I say, "Can we give sedate him?" and she says, "No, we're not allowed to sedate minors! Hold him down!"

I made her stop--and we left, and the receptionist--who obviously sold me a bill of goods in the first place, called out, "We'll just wave your visit fee since it didn't work out!" as I was pulling my screaming, tantruming toddler out the front door. 

I was a little savvier with the next phone call.

"Can you accommodate special needs children?"

"Oh definitely."

"Are you sure? He's a big boy. I know you guys can't sedate children--"

"Oh, we can and we will. First we give them a magic popsicle that makes them loopy as fish, then we schwack them onto a sort of board that leaves their face exposed and immobilizes their body while we work on them--and we're really quick, they don't even have a chance to get traumatized. Trust us--your son will be in good hands."

I was SOLD. 

They were the nicest people. 

The place was originally run by a husband and wife, but their daughter eventually took over, and they have all been the kindest people. They love working on kids, and love seeing them grow up. Big T only needed the magic Kool-Aid popsicle and schwacky-board a couple of times before he was comfortable enough there to just go in, play video games while hewaited, and walk in and smile at the dentists because they were nice people. Chicken got magic Kool-Aid popsicles before her first fillings, and the younger kids are just as completely untraumatized and copacetic with the dentist because the dentists are good people.  

These were the people that got ZoomBoy so stoned to get his fillings the registrar at his middle school told me I should probably just take him home after his appointment, because he was staring into space and mumbling that his nostrils were cold.

I don't want to leave the kids' dentist. They've been good to us. And, I know, that as soon as I pull ZoomBoy, I'll probably pull  Squish, because the grownup dentist is about 20 miles away. 

So, they were regarding me kindly and saying, "Well, yes, he is six-foot-two, it may be time to look for an adult dentist. Let's get him another panorex and see what his wisdom teeth are doing. You may be ableto wait another year."

I really want to wait another year.

And maybe it's silly of me, but I just keep remembering how they understood what my difficult child needed, and gave it to him without judgment, and then were so kind, he eventually didn't need that much intervention anymore. 

*sigh*  

It's dumb the things you're going to miss as your kids get older. I never really thought I'd miss the dentist.

​I'm proofing a bookthat I wrote overa year and a half ago-- Crafting Category Romance: The Art and Science of Fiction Haiku--and one of the things that's apparent is that a lot has changed in Romancelandia since the book was written. 
The book is in proofing, like I said, so it can be announced in the fall IPG catalog (which is a big deal? So I've heard?) and there's not a lot I can do to change the content. There are different charts and such in the book--it's one of the reasons the galley was put off until so late, and this edit was mostly to look at the charts. (Thank God. This book. I swear. If I have to read it one more goddamned time I'm going to change the pen name to Penelope Toulouse and pretend I've never heard of her. Oi.)  

And I've asked myself several times as I've proofread, "Oh God--should I just scrap the whole project and run the fuck away? Can't change that, can't change that, don't want to--the hell!"

And then I look at what the book is actually doing.

It's giving people the best advice I have on how to write romance.

And boy, I love romance.

Right now, its romantic suspense or paranormal romance--but it doesn't matter which. I really love it. I love knowing that romance makes the personal connection between two people the most important thing in the world. It makes the individual striving--even against hopeless odds--worthwhile. 

It says the fate of the average person, what's important to them, what makes or breaks their world, is just as important as the fate of kings.

Right now, as our country threatens daily to spiral into fascism, romance might just be the most important thing in the world. The idea that individuals are more important than a government that holds them in contempt is the link that holds the Wall of Moms up in Portland. It's the reason the BLM protests continue, without violence, but with sheer, irrevocable awareness that the assault on Black individuals can't go on. The belief in romance is what makes us protect our children, to the point of sacrificing their education if it means not putting their lives at risk.

Believing that as individuals, our wants and needs matter, right down to who we love, is why we will never relinquish same-sex marriage to the bloodless antagonists that hold our government hostage. 

Believing that individuals matter is what holds doctors and nurses up on the front lines as the COVIDIOTS in Texas and Florida threaten to overwhelm the hospitals. 

Romance, literally, will save the world. 

So I can take a few bumps for relationships that have changed--the book itself is sound, and I'm proud of it. 

It's one in the morning as I type this, and my youngest and I suddenly remember that we'd forgotten to water the lawns, something Mate and I typically do around sunset. At their prompting, we went outside, me to the front, Squish to the back, to man the sprinklers.

It's July in California-- the air is blistering, frequently near 100 if not hotter, and after I walk the dogs, I feel no reason to go out again, particularly since the pools are closed. Today, when I took the dog in to get groomed, the tide of heat coming off the blacktop almost rolled me over.

But tonight, the air was cooler, and a breeze had blown up from the somewhere (delta, mountains, it could be either one). The wind held a hint of damp, as well as scorched grass, and the stars were clearly strewn on the black velvet sky. 

And I remembered the summer Mate and I got together, and every night we didn't work was a chance to drive off into the foothills in his Mustang and find secret places to do what young people do when their bodies are prime and the world is new. The future was so bright then--we were young, we were in love, what could hold us back?

A lot--you all know that. Shakespeare wasn't shitting around about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, was he? 

But in that moment on my front lawn, I was nineteen, a size 8, and my hair hung in a bright red rope to my waist. And I was in love with my everything.

Thirty-three years later, my everything is still here, and that smell of promise is still in the air.

So yes--things have changed. Things have changed since those stolen moments at the beginning of our romance, and they've changed since I first wrote this book.

But the core things--the things that make Mate and me us, the things that made this book worthwhile in the first place, are still true.

I'll cling to that in hope. 

​* Original Post can be found HERE, at Yarning to Write 
​
Okay-- so FaceBook, being the pile of garbage that it can be--has banned my blog as abusive. 


I don't know the qualifications of that--I mean, I've called the president some pretty nasty things here, but mostly, it's kids and dogs and knitting and books, so maybe it's something else. A troll, a hater--doesn't matter. FaceBook, where my blog gets a number of its hits, is a no go, but the blog itself streams to Amazon and GoodReads, so I don't want to close it down completely.

Besides--I've kept a nice little stream of consciousness record of my family growing up, and I don't want to lose that. I still talk about them once a week or so, although most parents know that after a certain age, the hilarity happens less often, but more intensely.  I do like the idea that my kids' growing up is on journal here--for my sake, if for now one else's, so, leaving it to rot isn't such a great idea.

For the moment, I'm going to try a little bit of double-posting, both here and on my website, and see if that works. I'll watch my Ps and Qs and try not to compare British television cops to real American cops (I swear to God, that's the post that got me banned!) and let's see how it goes! Maybe it'll help me keep my website up-to-date, because God knows, that's not something I'm great at, even though it's really pretty easy to do. (I do pick and choose my favorite jobs. Writing and editing--yay! Blogging--yay! Promotion? Are you kidding me? Seriously?)

Anyway--I'm reluctant to let it slide. I just am. 

And a word about Squish's cat--

I seem to be in trouble for "spoiling" said cat. It appears as though I've given that cat a "wet food" habit, and I'm responsible for the creature not being the lithe, delicate young thing it was when it arrived here, six months ago. My response to that was A. He's the closest thing to a grandchild I'm likely to get so grandma's gonna go to town, and B. If I'm so responsible for his chubby little body, how come HE'S the one eating dog kibble after cleaning out the cat food bowl, hm?

It doesn't matter. In a world where you're locked in a house with your parents, with only your phone for company, Mom's the bad guy. 

But Grandma, on the other hand, is a HERO!

Here, kitty kitty kitty--Grandma's got some lunchmeat for ya!