The groundhog can’t see his shadow cause he’s buried in SNOW…

I hail from New England, famous–no, wait, infamous–for its winters. This one has been the exception, however. Between the single digit temperatures and about 5 or so major nor’easters and blizzards to hit us, we are, shall I say, buried.

For people who love the cold and enjoy skiing, this must be a blast for them. For those who struggle in limited to no sunlight and cold weather to keep our energy up, sleep well, and generally get through the day this is hell. Some us the expression “a snowball’s chance in hell” but for me, hell is already a frozen tundra. There is no heat and sun in hell, only freezing fucking cold weather and darkness.

Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) isn’t a nice condition for one living here in the northeast, nor is having allergy-induced asthma aggravated by the chilly dry air. I survive through eating a very clean diet, exercising, using my inhaler preemptively, and using a dawn simulator alarm clock as light therapy. I also plan a trip to Florida around mid-winter every year to soak up as much sunlight and warmth as I can to get me through the rest of the winter.

On a side note, I do find that my writing helps along with getting involved in positive projects. I just had a book release in an anthology whose proceeds go to provide art supplies and training for battered women’s shelters. I do my best not to “plug” stuff on here, but this is a worthy charitable cause and I hope you will consider supporting it:

For those of you who hate this time of year, what are some of your coping strategies? Do you find that some things work better than others? Or do you simply recommend selling your homes and moving south to better climates? 😀

Also, if the groundhog is buried in snow, it usually means six more months of winter, not weeks. 😉

 

Love & Magic,
Adrianne
www.adriannebrennan.com

All works out in the end…

At the beginning of this month, I talked about life changes and upheavals. I also promised an update. Well, here goes…the dream job I had interviewed for? As I write this blog, I’m actually there! After getting laid off I was given a fantastic with a pay increase two days later, started working there after a week off. Not all change is bad, and sometimes a shakeup which can be stressful can lead to good things. Wouldn’t it be lovely if all things were like that? Sometimes yes, they are. Once again, I have a job I actually look forward going into the office for. If it can happen to me, it can happen to you, too. So happy Friday, all!

Those of you wondering where this leaves me with my writing, no worries! I have four upcoming releases, two of which are in the month of February. One is another anthology for a charitable project called Dreams and Desires, vol 4, and it’s with Freya’s Bower. My story is a paranormal erotic romance, leaning to the sweet but not without passion! It’s called Catch the Touch of Blue and it is out on Feb 1st. I also have a f/f science fiction erotic romance called Pisces out in the Sapphic Signs series with Torquere Press. That will be out on Feb 14th. Check back on Pisces in a few days; the cover art is underway! And it’s gorgeous… 😀

More about Catch the Touch of Blue here: http://www.adriannebrennan.com/touchofblue.html

Pisces: http://www.adriannebrennan.com/pisces.html

So all of that stress, pressure, and craziness? It led to good things. Busy things, but good things! Things have a way of working out, and I’ll leave you this Friday with that thought. Stay classy, everyone…

 

 

Love & Magic,
Adrianne
http://adriannebrennan.com

Pen Names: Are there pros & cons?

©2010 Faith Bicknell-Brown

Previously posted early 2010 on the AWH blog (which is now closed).

Pen names, aliases, nom de plumes, pseudonyms, alternate identities…what pitfalls and amenities arise from using them? They serve in giving writers anonymity, but aliases can cause problems for a writer if he’s not careful.

With electronic reader sales and e-book purchases steadily climbing, the perfect pen name is as important as finding the perfect literary agent. Whether it’s the print or e-book world, rest assured, your pen name, if used and promoted effectively, will be recognized.

As the founder of Avoid Writers Hell and its sister site, AWH Chatters, one of the most common questions writers ask me is whether or not to use a pen name. And that question is usually followed by: How do I choose one to reflect who I am as a writer and the material I write?

There are many reasons for using a pseudonym, but writers must carefully weigh the pros and cons of an alias. However, no matter the motivation behind a pen name, a writer must choose something he’s comfortable using and one that’s professional too. Once he shrugs into the coat of an alias, readers know him as that person.

Often one reason for a pen name is when a writer writes more than one genre such as erotic romance and young adult fiction. I know authors who pen both, and they are very careful to keep the two genres and their pseudonyms separate. Erotic romance is a booming market. Penning adult romance stories often causes people to raise eyebrows (oh, stop drooling. You’re getting the pages wet). Sometimes family members, small towns, religious communities, or an employer will frown upon adult fiction. In that case, Jane Doe might write science fiction, but she might also pen erotic romance as Jane D. Smith.

Additionally, I’ve spoken with scores of e-book authors who use aliases because of ex-spouses. The last thing these authors need is an ex causing trouble online as well as in the real world.

There are times a writer might not want anyone to know he writes fiction until he’s well established. I hate to say it, but I’ve encountered people who feel writing isn’t a real job, or, if he isn’t published by a big print publisher, then he’s not a real author. Such viewpoints can make a writer glance heavenward and utter a few warm, fuzzy words, so until he establishes his career, he may choose to use a pen name.

So how do you choose a nom de plume? Well, it depends on what you write and what you want to convey through your writing.

Do you want a name that sounds like a porn star? Sorry, but I had to list that one first. I’ve worked for e-publishers and newsletters, so I’ve seen many pen names that have made me wince or caused me to snort coffee through my nose. Exercise caution and taste when pondering a pseudonym. Cherry Surprises or Boinka Allnight will give editors and readers the wrong impression.

A byline must be easy to remember. Unique is good, but if it’s too unique, then the reader might have trouble remembering your name.

Imagine yourself in the local Barnes and Noble as you’re looking for more books by a great, new author. However, you can’t recall her pen name because it’s so unusual. You approach the store manager and say, “Excuse me? Do you have any books written by What’s Her Name?”

“Who?”

Then, with a pained expression and smoke billowing out of your ears, you concentrate to remember the author’s name, and all the while the clerk wonders if you’re constipated. You then leave the store in a huff and thoroughly embarrassed.

A really long name or one difficult to spell makes it tough for readers to remember too. People use search engines to find information on authors and Hollywood actors all the time, so something catchy yet simple is a plus and easy to Google.

Long names are a pain to fit on a cover, whether on print or e-books. Such names create more work for the cover artists and those who format the fonts. Print magazines and e-zines allow a writer more leeway, which is why I use my full name in non-fiction articles, but I use a pen name or an initial variation of my real name for my e-books.

Another thing to ask yourself is whether or not your name conveys the wrong genre. Take my name, Faith, for example. What’s the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear the word faith? Inspirational? God? The Bible?

It’s sort of like using Strawberry Shortcake as the author name of a horror novel or Genghis Khan for inspirational fiction.

I have three pseudonyms I use for my erotic romances, depending on sub-genre and category. If you’re an aspiring author or desire to break into another genre, remember the more pen names you have, the harder it is to promote them and to find the time to promote them. If you have two or more pen names and need the anonymity of each, then there are obstacles a writer must address and manage.

• You’ll need a website for each name.

If you’re able to hire a web designer and pay for domain names and website services, that’s great, but most writers have day jobs and families, and therefore tight budgets. WordPress is a blog site that offers excellent free (and premium) web services. If you opt to use the free version, choose a template, then find a friend who can whip up a static page, a matching banner, and an email signature banner. Another method of avoiding extra expenses caused by multiple pen names is to find someone who will swap services with you.

A good friend of mine designs static pages and banners for me, and I repay her by sending her books from her amazon.com wish list. And since she’s halfway around the world from me, this system works well because we avoid the headache of customs and the money exchange rates for monetary payments. I just go to her wish list, select what she wants, and send it to her.

• Juggling alternate email accounts is as difficult as managing several websites.

If you must keep your pen names quiet, maintaining more than one email account will force you to gnaw on your keyboard into confetti. This walks hand in hand with handling more than one website. An author must be careful where he posts; otherwise, there is always that person or two who will notice the slip-up in email addresses and blab about it to the cyber world.

• Keeping your identity safe when you have to promote on groups and forums is difficult.

Writers haunt groups and loops such as Yahoo, Google, Hotmail, and the thousands of private forums in cyberspace. These are the worst places for a writer to slip up by revealing their pseudonym(s) via posting from the wrong site with the wrong email address or ID. If your anonymity is of the utmost importance, be careful!

Another problem of multiple aliases is others with alternate IDs.

Did that make you pause? It should.

As much as we like to believe we’re safe online, many groups and forums have trolls and members with egos that will fit inside your Aunt Gertrude’s size 54 muumuu. And when new or aspiring authors are all competing for acceptances from the same publishers, jealousy will rear its head.

My rule of thumb as an author is to avoid most of these circles. If you must participate in them, lurk for a few weeks. Watch IDs that seem like trolls. Bear in mind these are communities of struggling authors, so the e-publishing world is dog-eat-dog. If you’re attacked online by author John Doe, who goes out of his way to slam your work, stop and consider that he might also be Jack Deere who hangs with you at your favorite forum. An online brawl is not only unprofessional (watch out for that beer bottle!), but it can follow an author all over cyberspace. If you find yourself in a situation where you must defend your work, choose your words wisely so you’re not accused of unprofessional conduct. Such fiascos can ruin an author’s name and kill book sales.

You never know who you might be talking to online. Authors use more than one pen name, and you might find one of them in the office cubicle next to yours (no one likes an office catfight…well maybe me).

• In order to promote on blog or interviews sites, you often must reveal your true identity.

I’m a firm believer of watching sites and reading their material for several days or weeks before approaching them for blog or interview spots. Sometimes an author must supply factual information. Do you trust those who run the site to keep your pen name quiet? Most places keep such information confidential, but occasionally problems do arise, so be wary.

• Unless you’re open about your pen names, your reader base won’t be able to find your other titles.

Again, writers have various reasons for using pen names, but should you want your readers to buy your material published under other pseudonyms, you have no choice but to reveal your identity. Using different names requires the author to build individual reader bases. Do you want to do all that work for each name? Do you have the time? Can you hire someone to do it for you?

Ask yourself this: How much time will multiple pen names take away from my actual writing time?

Think it over, choose one, maybe two, and concentrate on those. With dedication, professionalism, and hard work, your readership will grow.

Christmas Story Continued: Part VIII

It always gets worse before it gets better…

Previous installments:

Part One:   Santa’s New Line: http://dontkickmycane.livejournal.com/146309.html

Part II: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/10/28/a-christmas-story-continued/

Part III: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/10/a-christmas-story-cont-part-iii/

Pat IV: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/23/a-christmas-story-part-iv/

Part V:  https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/12/14/christmas-story-cont-part-iv/

Part VI: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/christmas-story-continued-beyond-christmas/

Part VII:

https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2011/01/11/christmas-story-continued-part-seven/

 

 

Snow drifted lazily out of the indigo wash overhead. Kriss watched at the picture window, long arms wrapped around his middle. Behind him, the lights on the Christmas tree winked on and off, a random pattern of illuminations and shadows that changed his reflection in the window with every flash. His stomach rolled over itself. It couldn’t be because he was hungry. He never got hungry. That fact weighed on him heavily every time he sat down at the dining table with his lover, Michael and forced himself to eat. If he was succeeding in his quest, he’d get hungry and tired. There wouldn’t be the thin membrane of other between him and the world.

No. He wasn’t hungry, so why had the sharp twisting in his gut woke him and hauled him out of bed in the middle of the night? Why was it keeping him up, pacing the small living room and making him sweat, something else he hadn’t done in the year since he’d been back in the human world?

Clive had made short work of reprogramming him. He’d arrived back just a week after he’d left, he eventually figured out, in a city far south of the tiny house he’d been stolen from. For the first month after his arrival, Kriss had volunteered at a homeless shelter in the city where he’d found himself, oblivious to his previous life. He’d worked closely with young police man, Michael Bridges, to patrol a secluded park frequented mostly by gay homeless men looking for safety in numbers. A month into their association, when Michael had discovered Kriss himself was one of those homeless, he’d had a small conniption.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” Kriss remembered the fury on Michael’s face, his tight grip on both Kriss’s arms as he shook him slightly, and he remembered the visceral feel of the fear behind the words. Fear Michael had been unable to voice. The shock of realizing Michael’s words and actions didn’t match his inner emotional state–knowing that they didn’t–had rocked Kriss. He couldn’t have explained how he knew. He just did.

Kriss had a flashing image of Clive ram through his head in that instant. He didn’t understand it. At the time he didn’t even know who the miniature man in his mind was, and it had thrown him off. “You didn’t ask,” he’d snapped, not sure where the angry response came from, unable to stop the random flashes of what he now knew had been memories. At the time, he’d thought he was going mad as those images overrod the artificial memories Clive had installed in him.

“I didn’t…” Michael had stared at him. “I didn’t ask? Kriss. I thought…” Michael’s inner confusion had battled the anger off his face. As Kriss righted his thoughts from the knife sharp flashes of memory he didn’t recognize, all of Michael’s agony hit him like a wrecking ball. “I thought we were friends,” Michael had said, voice dropping to soft, liquid emotion. The young cop was just too soft on the inside for his own good, and Kriss had stepped close, touched him, needing to comfort him.

“We are. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it mattered. I helped the others. I have everything I needed.”

“A home? You don’t think you need a home?”

“Home is…” Kriss had frowned, unable to answer. He could only see an vague shadow of a small, white kitchen, a ragged living room with faded brown carpet. He didn’t know the house in his mind. He couldn’t have said where it was, who’s it was, or that he’d ever been there. But he couldn’t shake the indistinct images away, either, and they left him dizzy and uncertain. Michael had taken him off the street, then and there, brought him to his own small, cramped house on the outskirts of the city.

At the time, confusing memories had assailed Kriss, leaving him disoriented, even a bit frightened. It had taken days to sort them out. Images of Clive’s workshop had overlapped with sweet memories of a man who’s name Kriss couldn’t, to this day, remember. A lot of quiet, lonely hours curled in the only bed Michael owned passed as he sorted out what was happening to him.

In the end, he gathered up the memories of Clive, sorted them into order and figured out who and what he was. Whatever Clive had done to him, however he had tried to reprogram Kriss, it hadn’t worked. The reality was, Kriss knew he was meant to be somewhere else, with someone else, but he couldn’t remember where or who. He also knew, instinctively, that Michael needed him here. He’d been sent to help him overcome his debilitating fear of persecution and loneliness, and he knew this was his quest, because Michael was the only person who’s heart Kriss could understand.

In remembering what Clive had done to him, Kriss also understood he could no more leave Michael searching and alone than he could get back to the place he thought of as home. This was his life, now, and if he was going to keep it, he had to solve the puzzle of Michael’s fear of coming out. It would be wrong to say he was resigned to it. He did love his partner. Michael was a good, kind man. He treated Kriss well. If Kriss had to be stuck somewhere, he couldn’t really complain about it being here.

Michael cared about people, possibly too much. Kriss suspected that care was what held him back, prisoner inside himself, afraid to hurt people by telling them things they didn’t want to hear. Michael’s beat partner, Jack Chance, was one such person. Kriss had asked many times to meet the man Michael spent ten hours a day with. He wasn’t jealous. He wanted to know what the guy was like. But Michael’s response had always been that Jack wasn’t comfortable with their relationship. Michael didn’t want to rub his face in something that upset him when there was no reason to. All Kriss could do was accept that for now, Michael wanted to live this half life. Kriss just hoped he could help him understand people could be accepting if he was brave enough to try.

In truth, he felt most sorry for Jack. He had a partner who would move the ends of the earth to protect him, to do right by him, and he didn’t get the full benefit of Michael’s warmth and love. He was resolved to do his best to meet the man and talk to him, find out if he really was that uncomfortable with the idea of working alongside a gay man, or if there was something else going on.

Except, now, as Kriss watched the night and the snow, and tried to reach for the comforting warmth that was his lover’s heart and soul, he found nothing. Only the churning in his gut. The empty feeling kept him company as he gazed out at the first snow fall of the year. Three days to Christmas, Michael’s last shift before a week of holidays, and Kriss knew, on a gut-deep, bone-chilling level, the warmth he searched for had been taken from him.

A half hour passed. The snow accumulated on the front porch. Kriss moved from the window to turn on the outdoor light above the front door. Someone would be there soon to tell him what had happened. It wouldn’t be Michael. Damp warmth curled it’s way down Kriss’s cheeks.

It was Jack Chance who finally knocked on his door. Though he already knew the news the other man carried, Kriss invited him inside and showed him to the couch. People needed to talk, he’d learned. They needed to say things to make them real. The look on Jack’s face said he was trying very hard to hold back the reality he’d come to tell Kriss.

Jack sat, lighting on the very edge of the couch cushions, skin pale against the dark wrinkles of his uniform. He turned his hat around and around in his hands. He said nothing. His lips parted, like he might speak, but closed again on empty air.

“Where’s Michael?” Kriss was surprised how flat his own voice sounded.

Jack met his gaze, and they both knew Kriss already sensed why Jack was here. “There was a shooting,” the police officer said, finally. Mechanically, he described the freak riquochet that had entered Michael’s body on a downward trajectory , just missing his clavicle, his flack jacket, his ribs to shear straight through his heart.

Kriss nodded. That had been what woke him, what set his stomach roiling. Michael had died instantly, and Kriss had felt it, even the quiet trance-like state that passed for sleep for him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his voice a dull throb. “Is there someone I can call for you? Family? A friend?”

Kriss shook his head. “There’s just me. Me and…” his gaze drifted to the photo sitting on the mantel of himself and Michael at a party. He shifted to look at the shining tree. “Just me.” He hadn’t ever cried. Ever. But his cheeks were damp again, his heart empty. His only consolation was knowing, in three days, it wouldn’t matter. In three days, his expiry date would arrive, and there would be no Michael to save, no puzzle to solve. No wish to grant.

“You can’t stay here by yourself,” Jack said. There was something in his voice, something strong and resolute that made Kriss look up to where he was now standing. “Christmas is in three days.”

Kriss nodded.

“Since Michael had no family…no one but you, that is, and he never filed anything official about you…” his brows drew down. “And I’m sorry that he didn’t. I tried to get him to, but he wouldn’t. He was afraid it might affect both our careers.”

“It’s fine.” Kriss managed a fake smile. “He was private…”

Jack just nodded. “The department is arranging his funeral. Please.” he drew in a deep breath. “Please don’t stay here by yourself.”

“Where would I go?” Kriss rose, suddenly needing to be alone. “There was just us. Me and him. This is my home.” That hollow feeling, that vague, thin memory of another house, another, worn but welcoming living room flashed through his mind and he ached as much for never having found that memory as for the loss of his life now. He found himself leaning heavily on the door handle as the memory faded.

“You’ll come to mine,” Jack said, reaching and supporting him by the elbow.

“You don’t even know me.” he tried to pull away. His motion was weak, though. He couldn’t free himself even of that gentle touch.

“Michael loved you, Kriss. He talked about you…I’m sorry we never met before now. You can’t spend Christmas sitting here alone. Michael wouldn’t want that.”

Unexpected, Kriss felt a heavy twinge of regret. It twisted it’s way through his heart and he winced. It wasn’t his emotion. He looked up into Jack’s eyes and saw it there, a deep sadness the man was holding in a tight grip of control. He nodded. “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

Kriss didn’t know for sure if that was true. He realized he’d relied heavily on his ability to just know what Michael was feeling and now that the feeling was gone, he couldn’t say for sure what his lover would have wanted. But he could see in Jack’s eyes that he wanted very much to fill the void for both of them that Michael’s death would leave.

Sighing, he left Jack in the living room and went to pack a few clothes into a bag. He’d told Jack this was his home, but without the warmth of his lover, it was nothing to him now, just an empty shell. The last thing he did before following Jack out the front door was unplug the Christmas lights. They winked out and the room sank into darkness.

Beautiful, But Deadly…

First off, I’d like to wish my son, Dusty a ! We’ve been busy celebrating so I’m a bit late getting my post out. Sorry for that, but here he is with his son, Trevor.  Gah, my kids are making me feel old!

Okay, now on with my post….

In North Alabama,  winter temps average around 40 degrees, give or take a cold snap or two. This year has been bizarre. We’ve had snowfall twice already. Once on December 25th, and although it was only about three inches, I loved it. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wished for a White Christmas and finally got one this year. But last week’s snowfall, as beautiful as it was, is a different story. With eight inches on the ground, our area was at a standstill. No work for a few days and no school for a week. I didn’t leave the house for eight days!

Can we say “stir crazy?”

Okay, I’ll admit, we loved it for about two days, and then I wanted it gone.  Morgan, Jackie and I played a bit, made a couple snowmen, walked around taking pics and throwing snowballs. The next day it grew bitterly cold.

Can we say, “Brr?!”

Too cold for Morgan to go out and play, for sure. We don’t have clothes for this type weather, or boots. And me? Living in the south my whole life, the blood is a little thin. Lol. All I wanted to do is hibernate.

From the photos you can tell it was beautiful, but even beauty can be deadly. The third day, Morgan and Madison, my niece, who I was babysitting, wanted to play outside. We have a pond in our front yard, so I warned them to stay close to the house, play around the snowmen, and not go near the water. I kept watch on them through the window. Satisfied that they were following orders, I settled into my chair to check a few email and…

BAM! BAM! BAM! A frantic knock on the front window vibrates the wall, and sends me scurrying.

Morgan screams, “The puppy fell through the ice!”

I look out, and, OH. MY. God. The pond had frozen days ago, and the night before, we’d had an additional half inch of snow. Katie, our seven month old pup is floundering in the middle of the pond in an attempt to keep her head above water. The ice had thinned toward the middle, cracking under her weight. The only thing I can figure is, when she ventured onto the ice she’d thought she was walking on solid ground.

In a panic, I screamed for hubby. He flies out the door, runs this way and that, trying to find a way to save her. It’s early, and still in my PJ’s, I start yanking on clothes, all the while racing back and forth to the window. Katie continues to struggle, and with each thrust of her paws, the ice breaks more and more.  Morgan calls to her, yelling encouragement, and poor Katie takes heart, battling even harder. Desperate, hubby tries to pull an aluminum boat, now full of snow toward the pond. It’s useless.

Katie claws at the ice which has thickened closer to the bank. Dazed and confused, she gets a grip and scrambles up and out of the water. Morgan grabs her and brings her to the house where I wait with a blanket. We place her in front of the gas heater, dry her the best we can and wrap her in heated towels until the violent shivers subside and her coat dries a little.

A horrific ordeal for all of us, and especially our, Katie, but she’s doing fine now, and seems no worse for wear. We’re all just thankful to still have her with us. I hate to think what the outcome could have been. Katie started life as an abandoned and unloved baby on a lone mountain road, but luck was on her side. My oldest daughter found and saved her in the nick of time and brought her to us. She’s a sweet and trusting little soul, and we love her dearly.

Maybe we should have named her LUCKY?

For a Dark And Sensual, Edge of Your Seat, Contemporary Romance, don’t forget to check out my Amazon Page. I’m sure you’ll find a title to tickle your fancy and keep you warm on a cold winter’s night. 🙂

And before I go, I’d like to tell you that One Touch, One Glance, A Collection of Romantic Tales will be out in PRINT sometime in February. Here’s the new cover.

~**~

Blurb

Elise, a widowed mother, finds attraction in the most unbelievable of forms—a toy store Santa with twinkling blue eyes.

Cade, drawn to mother and child, wars with inner demons from his past. Is his instant and emotional attachment due to the loss of his wife and child?

Both grieve extraordinary past losses. Will a Christmastime miracle heal Elise and Cade’s wounded souls, allowing them a second chance at love?

~**~

 

Excerpt from The Unexpected Gift

Multi-colored lights beckoned Elise. Perched on her hip, her daughter, Jamie,

gurgled with delight. Elise pushed through the doors of Willingham’s Toy Store, and the toddler’s eyes lit with excitement.

They cruised the overstuffed toy aisles. A huge Christmas tree twinkled in the store’s center. Nearing the tree, Elise spotted Santa with a child on his lap. She looked down at her daughter, her heart swelling with emotion. I can actually enjoy Christmas now.

Two long years had passed. She hugged her daughter tightly. Thanks to her precious gift, life moved forward in its never-ending circle.

Elise stepped into the long line and waited. When it came their turn, she moved near Santa’s chair. Her gaze locked with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He smiled and took Jamie onto his lap.

“What would you like from Santa this year, little lady?” he crooned.

Jamie grinned, jutted out her two tiny lower teeth, and gazed up at him through

innocent brown eyes. Drool spiraled from her mouth, dampening his hands.

“Ba-be,” she babbled.

Elise laughed, and her daughter joined in. Jamie’s tiny arms crossed. She imitated a mother rocking her child.

“She wants a baby doll,” Elise explained. “Also a couple puzzles and a few fairytales. Jamie loves it when I read to her.”

Jamie clapped her hands, giggled, and tugged Santa’s beard.

“Be nice, honey,” Elise scolded. She laughed, reaching for her daughter. “Let’s not

disrobe Santa. We wouldn’t want to traumatize the other children.”

The toy store Santa smiled, and Elise’s breath caught in her throat.

“You may think me forward,” the Santa said, “but I’d love to have coffee with you on my next break.”

Shock shuddered through Elise. She stepped back and scrutinized the Santa. His

eyes held kindness; his smile seemed genuine. What could it hurt to meet with him? She needed to move on with her life and stop hiding. In the coffee shop, they would be safe.

She looked down at Jamie.

“What time is your break?” she asked.

The Santa glanced at his watch, his smile barely visible behind the snow-white beard. “In ten minutes.”

Elise nodded, mesmerized by his twinkling blue eyes. She hefted Jamie on her hipand eased away.

Ten minutes later, doubt heavy in her stomach, she sat in a coffee shop booth.

Reinforcing her hold on a squirming Jamie, she chewed her lip. Never had she acted so rashly before. Why had she agreed to this?

Christmas made her crazy. Why did the lure of a Santa suit and the warm glimmer of his eyes make her feel she could trust this man? Damn, I’m just lonely.

Elise gathered her things, pushed up from the seat, and turned to leave. In her haste, she bumped into a hard chest and looked up. A face like none she’d ever imagined stared down at her. Hauntingly familiar blue eyes twinkled.

The man was no regular Santa; he was Santa extraordinaire. Heat fused throughout her body, tingled to the tips of her toes. She averted her gaze only to glimpse a light furring of hair through the vee of his blue shirt.

Lord above, it’s been a long two years.

Visit Lisa at: www.lisaalexandergriffin.com

Christmas Story Continued Part Seven



So, I figured it was time to see where Kriss is really from. What he’s meant to do, and you know, maybe shake things up a bit.

Previous installments:

Part One:   Santa’s New Line: http://dontkickmycane.livejournal.com/146309.html

Part II: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/10/28/a-christmas-story-continued/

Part III: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/10/a-christmas-story-cont-part-iii/

Pat IV: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/23/a-christmas-story-part-iv/

Part V:  https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/12/14/christmas-story-cont-part-iv/

 Part VI: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/christmas-story-continued-beyond-christmas/

Kriss stood on the doorstep for only a second before wrapping his arms around himself and stepping down. He glanced up at the sky. It had been overcast, now it was snowing, and the stuff was falling thicker and thicker by the second. The temperature dipped so fast he thought he could feel it stripping away all the warmth left over from his trysts with Cody. He shivered.

“Screwed that one up right good, didn’t ya?”

He looked down to the source of the sharp, stinging words. “Clive.”

The little man, elf, actually, pixie-perfect with his curly brown hair and almond-shaped eyes glared up at him. “Come on, then. Let’s get you back to the shop and re-tuned. Maybe you’ll get the next one right.”

“What?” Panic flashed through Kriss. “Wait! No. I did. This was right.”

“Sure.” Clive reached up and grasped Kriss’s arm. “That’s why he kicked you out.”

A bright searing light cut across Kriss’ vision. The ground dropped out from under him, and the world tilted him, churning his gut. Bile rose and spewed out, then he was stumbling back onto his feet and almost to his knees. The bitter taste of vomit clung to his tongue. “Geez, Clive. You could warn a guy.”

Clive snickered. “Just be glad you didn’t get any on me.”

Kriss yanked his arm free of the elf’s hold and glanced around. They stood outside the little man’s shop. The bright red walls rose up three stories above the snow-covered ground, a patchwork of windows, gears and pulleys and chimney stacks protruding from the walls. A large satellite dish swivelled to and fro on the green-shingled roof.

“What are we doing here?” Trepidation crept into Kriss’s voice and he hung back when Clive took a few striding steps forward.

Clive stopped, looked back. “I told you. Reprogramming. We’ll give you another project. This one was obviously too much for you.”

“No.” Kriss planted his feet firmly. “No, I can do it. Send me back.”

“He tossed you out on your kister, there big guy.”

“It was a misunderstanding. I can fix it.”

“Through a closed door?” Clive lifted one finely tapered brow. “For an emissary of the season, you kinda suck at your job.” his eyes glittered. “Or did you not suck and that was the problem.”

“For an elf, you’re jackass,” Kriss shot back. “It’s his family. He’s scared to let them in. Let me go back. I can help him.”

“You’re lucky the Old Man let me bring you back here, Kriss. He could have had me exile you to The Island. Or worse.”

Kriss flushed. There was worse than The Island? “I’m not a toy, misfit or otherwise.”

“No. You’re a construct.” Clive turned and headed toward his shop. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“What do you mean ‘a construct’?” The slip of information was just enough to get Kriss curious, make him want to know more, and he inwardly cursed Clive for dropping it and walking away, practically forcing him to follow if he wanted answers.

“The Old Man had this idea,” Clive explained as they reached the door. He opened it, held it for Kriss who had to duck to get inside, and followed him in.

Inside, the cold winter cast its white-blue glow through the many windows. The large main floor was cavernous, the ceiling rising, open to the rafters. Balconies and platforms at various levels around the outer walls explained the gears and pulleys. They served to lift and lower the huge creations being constructed up there down the outside of the building when they were done.

“Wow.”

“You were born here,” Clive told him, his voice dropping from the high, digging tone to something a little huskier, maybe even with some fondness in it.

“I was?”

“You don’t remember?”

Kriss shook his head. “No.” He moved further into the building and craned his neck to look up at the glassed in laboratories on the upper-most level. “Not really.” Though as he gazed up, he did have something like a vague recollection of the endless view down into the winter-lit workshop below.

 “The Old Man decided a while back he needed to branch out. Too many people were forgetting, too young, what the season was supposed to feel like. He thought he should find a way to remind the grown-ups.”

“A new line,” Kriss whispered, still gazing up, memories slowly filtering back through his more recent recollections of life among people.

“Yes, exactly. He picked older kids and young adults to try out the first prototypes.”

Kriss lowered his head and blinked at Clive. “Is that what I am?”

“Aye. One of the very first. In fact, all the other units sent out same time you were have already been recalled.”

“Why wasn’t I?”

A wry, grudging smile twisted one side of Clive’s mouth. “Because you seemed to not only be working, but improving your skills as you searched for your target. Since you were spreading the feeling even to people who weren’t your problem, we decided to let you go and see how long you’d last. The others, when they didn’t find their targets after a few years started losing it. Went a little ballistic, some of them. We had to bring them back before they did more harm than good.”

“Ballistic? What do you mean?”

“You ever see the movie “ELF”?

Kriss nodded, a grimace pulling his lips off his teeth. “Bad movie.”

Clive nodded. “Made by one of your contemporaries who was sent to a young man who wanted to find his birth father. He took the kid’s wish on as his own, convinced himself this was the way to get the Old Man’s attention.” He winced. “It worked. Took a lot of doing to convince him to let me keep you in the field as long as we did after that. He wanted the whole lot of you brought back, tweaked, fail safes put in.”

“Fail safes?”

A long sigh escaped Clive and he leaned on a nearby workbench. “The new unites have one year from their release to find their target and get the wish sorted. If they fail, they convert to static.”

Kriss’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“You notice an increase in the number of slightly disturbing, realistic-looking mannequins in the past few years?”

A chill ran just under Kriss’s skin. “That’s…” He studied Clive and for the first time, saw an emotion other than cool indifference.

“That’s the way it is, kid.”

Kriss backed a few steps toward the door. “You’re going to do that to me?” He was still shivering, felt thin and vulnerable.

Clive looked decidedly unhappy. “Orders are orders, Kriss. I’m to give you a new assignment and reset your parameters to shut down after a year if you don’t finish.”

“What happens if I do finish?”

“You never have to come back here. You get your own life. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how that would go. The theory is, you’d slowly take on more and more human traits, your magical ones would fade. You’d be human.”

Kriss frowned. “Theoretically?”

An uncomfortable shrug lifted one of Clive’s shoulders and he dropped his attention to a fascinating hang nail. “We’re still working out the kinks.”

“So none of the prototypes have worked?”

“It’s an issue,” Clive admitted, still not looking at him. He chewed on his inner cheek and picked at a callous.

“An issue.”

Clive didn’t look up.

“Clive, send me back. I was working. I got it right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got hungry, Clive. I needed to eat, sleep, piss. I…”

“You what?” Clive was looking up at him now, interested, excited, even.

“Uh.” Telling Clive he’d had the best orgasms in all the fifteen years he’d been out there suddenly didn’t seem all that pertinent. Heat flashed up Kriss’s neck. “Just trust me. I know I was almost there.”

There was a long pause. Kriss held his breath, sure Clive would agree he had to go back. Then the elf shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Please!”

“Can’t. Orders.”

“Clive—“

“Sorry, kid.” The little elf raised a hand, palm out and Kriss felt the same flash of vertigo just before he crumpled. He was out before the quickly rising workshop floor hit his face.

New Year, new…well, everything

It’s funny how the new year, in spite of all it merely being a number, can have the potential to change so much in one’s life. Has anyone else besides me found that it’s brought about an upheaval in their life, or is it just me? Some of you may remember my blog post from New Year’s Eve on how challenging I personally found 2010 to be, and how I wondered what 2011 would hold for me.

Change is not always bad. It is stressful, but sometimes deep down, it’s something we anticipated. We read the writing on the wall, so to speak, or the little voice in our heads whispered to us as we slept. Such as it was for me. As I type this, I am speaking as one of the newly unemployed. I was laid off on Wednesday (no shock, just disappointment) but as luck would have it, a recruiter caught my update to my profile and I was on a job interview that afternoon. Today I have my final interview with that company. My experience may not be typical, but it’s definitely proof that the economy is getting stronger. I have lost track of how many places I’ve been submitted to and yesterday morning my phone was ringing off the hook–and I hadn’t even put my resume up online yet.

Some of you may still be nervous and struggling, wondering what the future holds. I came into the New Year with both apprehension and pessimism and hope to leave it with a sense of accomplishment and thankfulness. It’s my hope that all of you will do the same.

I hope with my next blog post that I have good news for you all. In addition, I’d like to hear some of your good news too. Boast and cheer in the comments, please! One person’s triumph is another’s ray of hope that we too can achieve the best in life.

🙂

 

Love & Magic,
Adrianne

http://www.adriannebrennan.com

Christmas Story Continued beyond Christmas

I know I promised everyone one more installment of this story. Seems the Characters had other ideas. I wrote the next segment, however, as you’ll see, I can’t leave it here…

Previous installments:

Part One:   Santa’s New Line: http://dontkickmycane.livejournal.com/146309.html

Part II: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/10/28/a-christmas-story-continued/

Part III: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/10/a-christmas-story-cont-part-iii/

Pat IV: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/23/a-christmas-story-part-iv/

Part V:  https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/12/14/christmas-story-cont-part-iv/

New Year’s Day was warmer than it should have been; unseasonable, in fact. It might have been a perfect day for a walk, but Cody couldn’t bring himself to haul his ass out of bed. Beside him, Kriss snored softly, one arm flung over his eyes. 

“Where did you really come from?” he asked the sleeping elf-who-wasn’t-an-elf. 

They’d spent the week eating, sleeping, and making love. Reaching into the bedside table drawer, Cody pulled out the little slip of paper. The green sharpie words were slightly faded, but still clear. 

I know you don’t exist, but someone who understands would be nice. 

He chuckled at his fifteen year old self, but only for a moment. He well remembered the feeling, the desperation to have someone who knew what it was like. His older brother had shrugged when he told him he was gay, and told  him he should try girls. He’d like it if he just did it right. It had never come up again. His father had grunted and said he didn’t want to know. He’d never brought a boyfriend home. In fact, the last few years, he hadn’t even gone home for the holidays. 

“Do you miss them?” Kriss’s voice was sleepy, lazy, and Cody looked down. 

“You look best all mussed from sleep and fucking.” 

Kriss made a face. “Not fucking.” 

“When you put your cock in–” 

Kriss stopped him with a finger over his lips. “Call me girly, but fucking is rather crass for what we’ve been doing.” 

Cody kissed the tip of his finger then pulled his hand down. “So what would you call it, then?” 

Kriss leaned in, dropping kisses along Cody’s stomach and chest. “Love.” 

“That’s a big word,” Cody mumbled, sinking back into his pillow, closing his eyes, feeling the tiny explosions of sensation burst out away from Kriss’s lips and spread through him. 

“Only four letters.” 

“Those are the biggest of all.” 

Kriss stopped his gentle explorations and looked up, his brow furrowing. “Should I take it back?” 

Cody smiled, cupped the elf’s pale cheek. “No.” He spread his legs apart under the sheets, tipped his head. “Actually, I’d let you do it again, if you were inclined.” 

“So much for preserving my innocence.” 

“What innocence?” 

“Exactly. And don’t think that just because I’m letting you distract me with sex I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer the question.” Kriss rolled up and over so his upper body was draped over Cody, his lower half nestled between his spread legs. 

Cody gazed up at him innocently. “There was a question?” 

Hours later, Cody leaned on the kitchen counter, clean, sweet-smelling from the shower and a little sore from Kriss’s enthusiasm. 

“You can sit.” Kriss waved a spatula at the kitchen table. “I’ve got scrambled eggs and toast figured out.” 

“I’ll stand.” Cody hid a small, satisfied grin behind his coffee cup. 

“I’m sorry.” Kriss frowned. “I’m not used to…” 

Cody’s brows went up. “Topping?” 

A shrug jostled Kriss as he turned back to his eggs in the pan. “Guess guys always just figured…I never minded, really. You should have said something.” 

Cody set his cup down and circled his arms around Kriss’ waist from behind. He rested his head comfortably between the taller man’s shoulder blades. “You were in my head, Kriss,” he whispered. “You know I was enjoying myself. It’s not a big deal. Promise. It happens, and frankly, it’s nice to feel where you’ve been,” he pressed his lethargic, but valiant half-hard cock against Kriss’s ass, “know you’ll be there again.” 

Kriss turned and pushed him off by both arms. “Not until you’re not sore any more.” He looked so serious, so very concerned and Cody barely held back a laugh. 

“Not until then,” he assured his elf. “I’ll happily turn the tables…” 

Kriss’s stomach growled. “Maybe after we eat.” 

Cody laughed. “Fair enough.” 

“Speaking of fair,” Kriss turned back to the cooking as he spoke, “you ruthlessly distracted me from my question this morning. Were you ever planning on answering it?” 

“What was the question?” 

“I asked if you miss them.” 

Cody tilted his head, studied his lover. “You seem to have dropped a whole lot of elf attributes, like never needing to eat or sleep, but you can still read my mind. Curious.” 

“I’m not letting you change the subject again.” 

Cody sighed and set his coffee down, leaned both hands back on the counter. “I’ve missed them since I knew I was gay, Kriss. Even before I told them. They don’t want to know. Don’t want to–” 

“Did you try?” Kriss asked quietly. 

“I told them. Jake, my brother, told me to get a girlfriend and get over it. Dad said not to mention it again. Like that part of me is invisible to them. Just not there. I don’t–” Cody swallowed hard and glared out the window at the wet pavement and rising fog of the too-warm day. “Keep telling myself half a person is better than nothing, but it isn’t. They don’t want to know who I am. Who I love.” 

“I want to know them.” 

“No!” The vehemence of the response surprised Cody, but didn’t seem to faze Kriss. “No. Bad enough they treat me like that. I won’t subject you to it.”

“You’re not subjecting me to anything. I volunteered.” 

“Why?” 

Kriss set down the spatula and took the pan off the heat before turning to face Cody. “Because they’re your family. You asked for someone to understand. I get about being gay. I’ve been wandering the world long enough to understand how people are. I understand about being on the outside.” He moved over and leaned against Cody. “But that isn’t really what you wanted, is it?” 

Cody wiggled out from between Kriss and the counter. He pursed his lips as he pulled plates out of the cupboard and began dumping eggs onto them, shook his head over and over as explanation after explanation presented itself and was dismissed. The pan clattered as he set it into the sink a little too hard. Toast crumbs sprayed over the counter, black bits tumbling over the edges of the plates. 

“Cody–” Kriss reached for him but he picked up the plates and carried them to the table. 

They ate in silence. 

Kriss was setting the last of the cleaned dishes back in the cupboard before he spoke again. “You want them to understand.” 

“They do, Kriss. In their own way.” Cody poked at the numbed pocket of disappointment and resentment he felt, that he’d always felt, toward his father and brother. “It’s not that they don’t love me. They just don’t understand. They don’t have to.” He’d stopped hoping to feel welcome in their homes a long time ago. It was just what it was. 

“Nor do they accept you,” Kriss said. 

Cody snarled, an inarticulate sound of frustration. “Stay out of my head.” 

“I can’t help it, love.” 

“I’m not your love. I’m some guy you met in the street.” Cody’s heart twisted and jerked in his chest. He turned his back and stormed out of the room, unable to look Kriss in the eye. 

“Maybe,” Kriss said, his voice restrained and tense, “I can still feel what you’re feeling because I haven’t finished my quest after all.” 

Cody whirled. “Your quest. It’s a piece of paper. I don’t know where you got it or why you’ve been carrying it around for fifteen years, but it is isn’t anything. It doesn’t define my life or anything about me. You,” he poked a finger in the elf’s direction, “don’t know me.” 

Kriss stood staring at him, face pale, breath coming fast. “I told you where I got it. I told you why I’m here. I’m real, Cody. I swear.” 

“Santa?” Cody tried to laugh. It came out a snarl that ripped painfully at his core. “I stopped believing a long time before I wrote that, Kriss.” 

“You believed yesterday.” 

“Yesterday was nice. This whole week was nice. But my family? My father? Jake? That’s real life.” He shook his head. “You don’t fuck with my real life. It’s fucked up enough as it is.” 

“I’m real,” Kriss insisted. Something glittered in his eyes, making them too bright, leaching more colour from his face. “I am, I swear.” 

Cody glared at him. He wanted to take it all back. He wanted to rewind the morning and not have this sharp-cornered lump of anger in his chest making it hard to breathe. He wanted to crawl back into bed, into the fantasy. He imagined introducing this blond, beautiful, vulnerable man to Jake and cringed. Jake would scoff, say something hurtful, derisive, something to tear them apart. 

“You should go.”

“Cody–” 

“Please. It’s best.” 

Kriss wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t know…” 

Cody shook his head, glaring hard at the floor, unable to look at the other man, Unwilling to see the hurt in his eyes. “I have to get back to my life, Kriss. It’s time.” 

You aremy life. 

Kriss said nothing, didn’t move.

Cody wasn’t sure where the thought had come from. Was it his own wishful thinking? Was it what he hoped Kriss was thinking? What he wanted him to say? He kept his lips clamped shut and his face averted. 

Silent, Kriss slipped his feet into his shoes and picked  up his parka from the hall chair. He hesitated with his hand on the door but Cody didn’t turn around. “Cody–” 

“Don’t.” 

“Christmas comes round every year, Cody,” he said, his voice quiet and firm. “I can’t stay if you don’t want me, but I’ll be back.” 

The soft click of the door latch hammered through Cody and he sagged. “Why didn’t you read my mind that time?” he wondered out loud. “Why didn’t you stay?” 

Had he really wanted Kriss to leave? Is that why the elf hadn’t stayed, because in the deepest part of himself, Cody wanted to be alone? Terrified, he spun, lurched for the door and flung it open. In the time since he’d last looked outside, the whether had changed, temperature plummeting and now snow swirled and spun, greying out the day. The street was empty. 

“Kriss!” He ran out, bare feet sticking slightly to the cold, wet sidewalk. He dashed to the end of the walk, but there was no one in either direction. “Kriss!” 

His voice drifted off and disappeared under the drone of wind and snow. 

His feet ached, reminding him he was not dressed properly and he trudged back inside and closed the door. A glance around revealed nothing but his small, empty house in a forlorn little town north of everything. The only sign he’d not spent the last week on his own was a missing cup of soup and the empty hole in his chest.

A tip of the hat to the old, and a glass of bubbly for the new…

It’s been a very tumultuous year for me, filled with a great deal of writing prospects but also a lot of personal ups and downs. I’ve learned an awful lot in the way of what it means to have courage, being true to yourself, and doing the right thing. It’s been said that courage isn’t about not having fear, but being afraid and doing what must be done anyway. I’ve been through much of that this past year, and while it never gets any easier I find that it’s better to do so than live with regrets on your conscience for the rest of your days.

As we turn the page to a new year and a shiny new decade, I think of my gains as well as my losses: new contracts, including one that will land me in the bookstore in addition to more releases in the ebook world, my successes in my workout program, my walking the full 39.3 miles for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, my blogathon on behalf of the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center, and my new job which has treated me well and hopefully will continue to do so in the months (and hopefully years) to come. My primary career is software engineering, which can be a very volatile field especially in today’s economy. I have been most fortunate to land what appears thus far to be a stable job and one which I actually enjoy.

While I don’t doubt that I won’t be looking upon 2010 very fondly, I think when I do it will be more bittersweet than bitter–and that’s not a bad thing in the long run.

Whatever you do and however you choose, remember to be yourself, cherish those whom you love, and live every day with mindfulness. No regrets, only with respect to your heart and yourself. And if you can think of any other pearls of wisdom, jokes, and thoughts to pass on to others for the New Year, post them in the comments. Inspire us all and remind yourself of what’s important.

 

Happy New Year, all. ❤

 

 

Love  & Magic,
Adrianne Brennan

http://www.adriannebrennan.com

A True Christmas Miracle

Christmas is over, thank God!

The Good Lord saw fit to help us out and we were able to provide a decent Christmas for the kids. It wasn’t nearly as lavish as I know some folks had, but it was nice, and I’m very relieved for the blessing.

The highlight of my Christmas? Well, my oldest has returned home. We’ve had so many problems with him, worried ourselves sick about the crowd he was running with, the people he was living with, and all the trouble he’d gotten himself into. I prayed about him until I felt myself turning blue, lol.

On Thanksgiving Day, I noticed a change in my son, but I didn’t get excited about it because he’s prone to doing one thing for a short time and reverting back to old ways within a coupla days. Well, he started calling more—just to talk, and he starting stopping by more and was paying attention to his siblings too, spending not a few minutes but big blocks of time like three to four hours before going home or going into work.

Finally, he took me Christmas shopping one evening, took me out for my birthday and took me to a movie. We had a wonderful time together!

And then he came in Christmas Eve and I opened my gift from him. My mouth dropped open. There, in a beautiful satin case, lay a sapphire and diamond teardrop pendant—a big one!

His job at the coalmine has turned into a promotion to a better division. We talked a long time, and he realizes everything myself and the rest of the family were trying to tell him was all true. He got involved in drugs and something happened that shook him so badly he had an epiphany that struck him so hard it rattled him right down to his very soul.

My son is back. My son is home where the heart is.

That was my real Christmas present and the Christmas miracle for the entire family.

It’s my belief the New Year will be just as special.

Who Needs A Vacation From Christmas?

Hello I’m in panic mode here even though I’m ready to fall asleep. I have two short stories to finish and a novel! Not to mention I have my family and husbands family all coming here on Christmas Eve for dinner. I think we should all rent a room in one of those four star hotels after Christmas and order massages then sleep for a week!

I was talking to Faith today and I realized that if I didn’t have this madness I would be bored to death. I don’t know why it is, but if I don’t have at least three things going on at one time I’m bored out of my mind! I might complain, stomp and scream, but it keeps me young at heart. It doesn’t keep old age  from kicking my butt with ache’s and pains though.

So what am  I up to these days! I have two new releases up now at Ravenous Romance. The first a Christmas novel, The Naughty Angel and Her Three Very Wise Men.

Now at All Romance Ebooks.

Amazon

Ravenous Romance

The Second book is a Christmas Anthology at Ravenous Romance Called All I Want For Christmas Is Two Hot Men!

I hope every one of you have a great Christmas even among the madness!

Trinity

Handling Grief at Christmas

Okay, so this may be a fairly sensitive subject, but for me, and others I know it is a timely matter.
We lost my brother in law four years ago in November. He was only thirty-six and it still seems like yesterday. This year our Uncle, who travels everywhere is dying of lung cancer, and if we can get him through Christmas, we’ll be lucky.

Very dear friends of ours lost their nine year old son, ten years ago at the beginning of December. A loss like that never goes away.

So when I was reading an article about dealing with grief during the holiday season, I thought some of the suggestions, plus my own, might help some of you get through Christmas a little easier. This is not to say that these suggestions will work for everyone. We all deal with grief in different ways, these are just some helpful hints I’ve learned from my years of being a nurse and caregiver.

First off, if this is your first Christmas without your loved one, allow yourself time to grieve. Some people believe if they keep themselves busy enough, they can out run the inevitable. But, there is no escaping it. In the book Death and Dying, a required read for all health care professionals, bereavement expert Edwin Schneidman says ” The deep capacity to weep for the loss of a loved one and to continue to treasure the memory of that loss is one of our noblest human traits.”

Second. Accept comfort from friends and family. Read their cards, listen to their words. Most likely they are feeling a profound loss as well. I went to the funeral of a friend of ours this past summer. He was only fifty and died in a  freak accident. I kid you not, we stood in line at the funeral home for three hours before we actually got into the building. At the end of the receiving line stood Matt’s widow, heels long gone, make up washed away and hair a mess, but she stood their and hugged each person with all the strength she had left. I told my husband I didn’t think I could be strong enough to do that, and he said, “You get your strength from family and friends in times like these.”

Third. Take care of your physical health. This is no time to let yourself get worn down. Exercise regularly, don’t over do, take regular walks, listen to your favorite music, read your favorite book. And, number one in my opinion is to laugh. Don’t feel guilty if you are attending a holiday party and you catch yourself laughing. It’s okay.

Fifth. Honor your loved one at Christmas whether it’s done with a toast at dinneror through a donation to his or her favorite charity in their name -even something as simple as getting one of those little tree’s already decorated for the table in his or her memory. Just talking about favorite memories, playing your loved one’s favorite music with family around or making their favorite dish can help. The saying is gone, but not forgotten. I think you’ll find once you start talking about all your loved ones little quirks, the table will be all smiles and laughs in no time.

Finally, don’t forget the ones left behind. Tell your children, parents, your entire family, how much they are loved and cherished, not just on Christmas, but everyday of the year. Leave no room for regrets.

Have a Blessed Christmas.

DEBBIE

Christmas Story con’t Part V

Here is par V of my Christmas tale. Next week, I shall close it out and shortly after, there will be a free dowload available at SLPP press for anyone interested.

Previous installments:

Part One:   Santa’s New Line: http://dontkickmycane.livejournal.com/146309.html

Part II: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/10/28/a-christmas-story-continued/

Part III: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/10/a-christmas-story-cont-part-iii/

Pat IV: https://sixdreamweavers.wordpress.com/2010/11/23/a-christmas-story-part-iv/

And today: Part V:

“How I work,” Cody mumbled to himself as he dug in his clothes closet for a pair of shorts or sleep pants for his guest. He’d left Kriss in the bathroom with a new toothbrush and toothpaste, and a look of surprise on his face.

“It almost tastes like candy canes!” Kriss had exclaimed.

“Not a Christmas elf, huh?” had been Cody’s retort, which had earned him first an annoyed look, then a kiss as Kriss pinned him against the bathroom door, that had curled his toes and melted some of his insistence over Kriss’s perceived innocence.

“How I work.” He shoved a few t-shirts aside. “I don’t even know how I work.”

“Then we can figure it out together.” Kriss’ voice made Cody jump.

“I thought you were in the bathroom.” He hadn’t heard the elf enter the room, let alone walk up right behind him.

“I’m not and elf” Kriss whispered, his head next to Cody’s his lips brushing lightly against the corner of his jaw.

“Then what are you?” Cody asked, letting his eyes drift closed and his attention follow the path of Kriss’ lips.

“Horny.” Kriss pressed his groid against Cody’s ass, the curve of their bodies fitting perfectly together and the hard ridge of Kriss’s cock indented the soft flesh of Cody’s ass.

“Jesus,” Cody whispered. He tilted his head, fast losing his battle with his good sense.

“Oh, most definitely not.” Kriss’ fingers were brushing lightly through the hair at the nape of Cody’s neck and his other hand he’d worked downward until his fingers hooked into the waistband of Cody’s jeans.

“I can only say stop so many times, Kriss.” Cody practically pleaded with his elf, but at the same time, he sank back into the perfect contours of Kriss’ body, the encompassing warmth
of his embrace.

“I certainly hope you’re nearing your limit, then.” Kriss kissed more fervently along Cody’s neck, playing his tongue along the curves and nipping with his teeth, light, enticing nibbles that had Cody shivering and melding himself against his partner, seeking more.

He was long past his limit and he knew it.

“This is why I’m here, Kriss assured him. You aren’t taking anything I’m not freely offering. I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

The unexpected image of Kriss’s face hovering over him as he lay on his back brought a throaty moan from Cody.

The elf’s arms tightened around him. “I like that picture.” He turned Cody around, cupped his face in both hands and Cody was lost, looking up at him, gazing into the blue of his eyes. “You want to know what I see?”

The image flooded Cody’s mind again, only this time, the strength of Kriss’ desire came with it, and Cody’s breath caught, deserted him. He swallowed hard, unable to escape the grip of Kriss’ gaze.

“I don’t normally…”

“Sleep with strangers.” Kriss drew him into a tender kiss. “I know. A very good policy when the prospective partner will be gone in the morning.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Day. How do I know you’re not just a sugar plum dream. Maybe you’ll vanish.”

“No vanishing. Promise.” His next kiss was not tender, but deep, equal parts promise and need.

That need finally broke Cody. He couldn’t ignore the want in Kriss’s touch and once he opened up, every brush of those gentle fingers set another patch of skin on fire. He backed toward the bed, drawing Kriss with him, and in no time, they were both naked, Cody on his back, the image in his head come to life.

“If you’re not an elf with frightening powers, then how did you just show me the future.”
Kriss grinned. “That wasn’t the future. That was inevitable.”

“Huh.” Cody sighed as Kriss moved against him, their cocks gliding together, just the right amount of friction to scramble Cody’s thoughts.

“Don’t think,” Kriss encouraged, adding light kisses along Cody’s collar bone to his movement. “Just feel it.” His lips travelled lower, his tongue came out, licking a path down Cody’s chest, tracing a circle around one nipple, then the other.

Cody moaned, ground his hips up, arched his back, free floating in the sea of pleasure. His orgasm crashed through him, unexpected, way too soon, and mind-numbing. Kriss’ laughter was like the far off sound of Christmas bells, his soft, encouraging voice wrapping around the jagged edges of Cody’s forceful release and softening his fall back into reality.
Cody blinked up at him. “Uh.”

Kriss grinned, his hips still moving, his arms holding him up so only their hips connected. “I hope that’s a good, uh.”

Cody nodded. He reached between them, wrapped his hand around Kriss and watched his face closely as he began to stroke him.

Kriss’s eyes fluttered closed, pale lashes brushing cheeks turned a delicate pink. His lips parted, his breath huffing out in tiny puffs, and his nostrils flared. A soft sound escaped and every delicate line of his face seemed to shimmer.

Cody watched the transition from confident lover to sweet receptiveness transform Kriss’s face. The elf’s hips rocked more fervently and Cody tightened his grip, slipped his thumb over the tip of Kriss’s cock and watched his lips part in a soft gasp. His body went rigid. His eyes flew open as Cody felt the warmth of his cum spurt over his fingers, and there were stars and lights there, and wonder like Cody couldn’t remember feeling since he was a kid.
A sharp stab of panic sliced through Cody, but Kriss smiled a dreamy smile and shook his head. The panic was dispelled in an instant.

“That’s never felt so good before.” Kriss leaned down, kissed Cody and rolled off him to lie on his side. “Don’t worry. I have done it before. Just not with anyone so…” his fingers drifted over Cody’s face.

“So what?” Cody asked when Kriss didn’t finish the thought.

Kriss curled closer, draped an arm over Cody’s chest and a second later, the barely discernible sound of snoring reached him.

Cody smiled. “I bet he’ll insist he doesn’t snore, either.”

First Snowfall…YAY!

We had our first decent snowfall of the season yesterday, but still we only got four inches. Just a half an hour north or us got twenty-eight inches. Soooo not fair. Every year, somehow, we manage to miss the big “dumping” of snow. Just once, I want three feet in one snowfall.

Of coarse I want all this before and up until Christmas. December 26th it can all melt away and go back to seventy and sunny. (Not very likely in Vermont.)

I’d also like this dumping to happen on the weekend, when I didn’t have to be out on the road. Just because we live in Vermont and are used to the snow, doesn’t make the drivers any safer. Actually, in my opinion, it makes them worse.

First of all, you have the sane people like me, who drive at a reasonable rate according to road conditions. Just because the speed limit sign say 55 doesn’t mean you should be driving at that rate with several inches on snow, slush or ice on the road.

Then you have the overly cautious people who drive 10 mph no matter if it’s a dusting or a dumping. These people can be dangerous. In the dumping, 10 miles per hour is fine. With the dusting, they tend to get the next group of drivers anxious and over zealous.

This next group of drivers are the ones found the most on our small state and town roads. They are the ones that believe that since they have a big truck and four-wheel-drive, that they can drive as fast as they like and their 4WD will keep them on the road.

News Flash: They’re wrong. Number one, NOTHING works on ice. Number two, when you’re flying down the road and get caught in slush or a rut, your big bad 4WD isn’t going to be much help for ya, and number three. When you come up upon the ass end of that 10mph driver and have to slam on your breaks, your bid bad 4WD isn’t going to help much either.

Rant aside, Christmas is near, it’s snowing, and that helps me battle the anger that the big retail stores bestow upon me at this time of year. But, that’s a whole nother story, lol.

DEBBIE

The end of 2010

In less than a month’s time we will be in the holiday season once again, then starting a new year. And I just got used to writing 2010 on my checks!

This year I made good on two goals: writing deadlines and WIPs, and fitness. Next year I hope for more of the same with increased progress in each. At this time last year I was looking to escape the Job from Hell and wound up in something far better than I ever expected. It’s good when things work out that way.

Next February I have two releases plus one in the spring. Two are paranormal romances and the third is a science fiction erotic romance. I’ve also been very busy finishing up a few WIP sequels on existing books, so expect more news toward the New Year!

What are people looking forward to in the New Year? What are you hoping to gain? What are you hoping to lose? Was this year all you’d hoped for, or do you wish other things happened/didn’t happen?

Share away!

 

 

Love & Magic,
Adrianne

http://www.adriannebrennan.com