Excerpt

I'm actually writing. Yes, indeed. Been having lots of fun, too, on the third of my were trilogy. And here is the unedited WIP:

They were almost mouth to mouth. Shit, Yeah, it was Grey all right. The same scars criss-crossing his face. The same scowl. Grey said people were put off by his scars. He’d even seriously thought Rome should be put off because Grey was older. But there was a hell of a lot more to him than some old wounds or white hair at his temples. Ah, hell. Grey’s scent was just as sexy as ever. His body was just as muscular, tough and potent. Rome swallowed, his throat suddenly going dry.
Grey barked out a short laugh. “You’re getting mighty close for a fighting man. Do you want to fight me or fuck me?”
Both. Holy God, he wanted both.
“Why’re you here?” Rome kicked, landing a blow right under the chin of the bartender, who had been inching toward his nightstick.
“To fetch you back, boy. We need you.”
“Why?”
We need you wasn’t I need you. But then Grey wasn’t much on telling folks what he wanted. Hadn’t that been the problem? Grey’s dumb ass “I don’t feel anything” act was why Rome had vowed he wasn’t ever going back. And he wasn’t.
Grey slammed the next would-be brawler onto the bar and then slid the unconscious man onto a bar stool, where he slumped, completely out for the count. “Well, like they said in another family, we’ve got a little proposition we don’t think you can refuse.”
He wasn’t doing what Grey or the rest told him to do any more. But somehow Rome found himself inching out of the bar when a few minutes ago all he’d wanted was to stay and fight. Grey was at his back –protecting him? herding him? both were possible -- and neither of them bothered to say anything until they stepped out into the night air.
Then it seemed Grey had plenty to say.
“Shit, boy, haven’t I told you to keep out of stupid damn brawls? I don’t care if your wolf is up and you want to go howl. Fighting like that just isn’t smart. Non-weres can get the best of us if there are enough of them. I’m proof of that. If it hadn’t been for your Daddy—“
“I know the lecture. How Dad saved you from death when you got into a fight where you were outnumbered. How I’m just a stupid pup with no sense. How you should never try to mess with anyone when the odds are bad. I’ve got it memorized.” Rome threw his hand up in the air. “Now you need to ask me if I care.”
“You’re an idiot, Rome.”
“I’m on my own now. All grown up and not listening to what my elders tell me. I’m not going back.”
“You fucking well are. I promised.”
“Ohh, because you promised. That’s why. Be honest. If I did die in some damn fight, you’ve already shown you don’t give a damn. Good riddance, I’d finally stop bothering you. Right?”
Before he got his answer, lightning struck—lights danced in front of his eyes before darkness slid, peacefully but inevitably, around him.
Grey spat once, flexed the fist that had knocked out Rome and looked down at the huddled heap in front of him. Damn, the boy had turned out handsome. Handsome as his daddy, but with his mama’s pretty eyes.
Pretty boy. He’d never gone for pretty boys before. Non-weres would call Rome a twinkie. Weres didn’t like things that sweet. They went for meat. Preferably raw. But damned if this twinkie wasn’t tempting. Rome had been tempting him for years, in fact. When he wasn’t getting Grey mad enough to do something like hit him.
Ah, hell. There was no way around it, no way to make little of Rome or ignore him. Rome wasn’t a pretty boy even though he had the face of an angel. If he had been, Grey would never have looked twice. What he was, though, remained to be seen.
The kid had a tongue on him, though. He could hone right in and make a man’s head buzz.
You don’t give a damn. Right?
Ask me if I care. Do I? “Yup. I guess I forgot to ask if you cared.” Grey hoisted Rome’s dead weight over his shoulder and headed for the truck. “But then again, boy, you forgot the part about even when it looks safe, you still gotta keep your eyes open.”

Herman Acapulco Mellon

Gasped his fishy last sometime last night or this morning. This is the second pet I lost this year and it's just awful.

Bon voyage, Herman! You lived a long and happy life.

George Washington

Wow. Just saw the forensic recreation of George Washington and --you know--he's kind of sexy. Or he was when he was in his 20s and alive and however many hundred years ago that was. I always had a soft spot for George -- I mean, think of how hard it was to try to be a real leader in the middle of a revolution with no particular role models. And he refused to become a dictator or king (all right, he got stuffy in his old age, but he's forgiven.) Yay, George. Niiiice.

Oh, and I'm really relieved about my Stay reviews. People seem to like it. I'm finally feeling like I'm understanding my third were story in the trilogy, tentatively titled Home.

The Writing Life (and this post could have a point)

I don't really talk about my personal life much. I don't think readers really want to know--they want their books, darn it, not reasons why they don't get them as fast as they want.

But what the heck. I'm tired and for some reason I feel like telling whoever is out there in cyberspace what my "typical" day is like.

I get up and run to get the kids up -- the first is out by 7 a.m. and she's the night owl. She just makes it. The early bird's bus is ALWAYS late. He has to wait until 8:30 today and his school starts at 8:45. In between buses I answer LI email and start on the day job.

My mother, who is sliding ungracefully into middle stage dementia (senility for the uninitiated) gets up in a foul mood -- I've learned she always does since it's been a while since coffee and meds. I remind her to TAKE her meds, which causes much grumbling and snarls, and head up to work because if I stay around there will be an unproductive argument. The DH is sick and grumpy that I dare to work at home when he wants to sleep. Jack hammers start outside--there is going to be roadwork done on our usually quiet street. Yay.

During the day I get calls saying my daughter doesn't want to use the special accomodations she has during testing for her attention and dyslexia issues. I find this after her testing and btw, do I want to talk to her teacher about the D she got. (She forgot to turn in her homework.) I take my mother to the bank where she doesn't really get what she has to do for her new accounts and everyone turns to me to explain it to her. Again.

I get the in home person who is trying to help me with the son's behavioral issues and we agree we're stumped and he's getting increasingly hostile. She leaves, I go back to work and the son returns. He's actually in a good mood although his school report is not so good.

The DH wakes up and gets pizza for everyone so no one has to cook.

Then I sit down to write because, well, besides everything else, I'm a writer. And even if I can only get a few words down each night, what writers have to do is write.

Columbus Day

As I said on the LI Community List, I'm waiting for a review from JERR. It's bad when you know a review is coming. It's bad when you have enough time to fret about it.

Maybe I need fewer holidays so I have less time --- naaaaw.