2020 Wrap-Up

I drafted this post an embarrassing number of times yesterday, each more detailed and ridiculous than the last, and finally just tossed them all out. No matter how I approached it, the post was a semi-ranty throat punch, in which it became clear how hollowed-out and overtired, and joyless I've felt about writing this year. 2020 kicked everyone's ass, and, for me,  it arrived on the heels of three years of feeling less and less like anything I was doing actually mattered. This spring, I realized it was time to step back, stop posting, stop talking about writing, stop putting any part of myself out there, and just write. And write, and write, and write. I could offer nothing in the way of joy or hope to anyone, but I could offer a few stories. 

The end result is a personal record of six published works this year, over 540k words. I don't  know when or if I'll return to having an online presence again. I still feel incredibly frustrated, and incredibly numb, and just...tired. And, ultimately, expressing myself beyond my published words never leads to anything good. So.

Here's a quick recap of this year's offerings, if you'd like to lose yourself in a book for a little while:

May: Lone Star - Dartmoor book 7..

June: King Among the Dead - Hell Theory book 1 (a new horror/dystopian erotica series that I started on a whim after reading The Mirror & The Light but which contains my sharpest prose by far of the year).

August: Homecoming - Dartmoor book 8, with a side of extra smut.

September: Night In A Waste Land - Hell Theory book 2

October: Mystic Wonderful - Hell Theory tie-in novella

December: Heart of Winter - Drake Chronicles book 1 (high fantasy romance with dragons and multiple pairings, and all the feels)

Who knew you could start two brand new series in the midst of a pandemic? I've got another very full publishing schedule for 2021, and there's lots to look forward to on that front. Stay safe, everyone, Happy New Year, and be on the lookout for new books. 

New Book: Heart of Winter

 New book alert! Book one in a new fantasy romance series is now live. You can grab Heart of Winter for Kindle HERE, and it's coming to Nook and Kobo soon.

“It so happened that Oliver’s father was a profligate, a playboy, and an exceptional warrior. He was also not at all married to Oliver’s mother, a washerwoman, who died when Oliver was only six.”

Oliver Meacham, bastard nephew of the Duke of Drakewell, and a massive disappointment to his father, has just lost all his male relatives to the war with the invading Sels from the West. Without an heir, the duchy of Drakewell stands to fall into enemy hands, unless one of Oliver’s cousins can marry a lord with an army strong enough to defend it – which is how he finds himself escorting his cousin Tessa to the Great Northern Wastes; to the kingdom of Aeretoll, with a hope that Tessa might wed the fearsome warrior king who rules there, Erik Frodeson, in order to protect her people.

But the stern, forbidding Erik refuses to marry. He offers his nephew’s hand to Tessa instead. And to Oliver he offers insult, challenge – and the sorts of loaded glances that leave Oliver as flustered as he is furious.

Tessa doesn’t relish the prospect of marrying for a political alliance, but she’s ready to fulfill her duty to her family and people – even more so when she realizes that she won’t have to wed the churlish Erik, but his charming nephew, instead. Only…the king has two nephews. And Tessa has a choice to make.

The Drake Chronicles is a slow-burn fantasy series, full of court intrigue, adventure, drama, dragons, and passionate romance. Heavily influenced by Viking history and mythology, the series follows the intertwining stories of multiple couples as they fall in love, and fight to save their families, and their kingdoms.

Mystic Wonderful: A Hell Theory Novella

 New book available now: Mystic Wonderful: A Hell Theory Novella. The story runs concurrent with book two in the Hell Theory Series, Night In A Waste Land, and focuses on Gallo and Tristan. 

It should be live for Nook later today!

New Book: Night In A Waste Land

 Book Two in my paranormal/urban fantasy/erotica series based loosely on the tales of King Arthur, set in a not-too-distant future, is now live. 

You can grab Night In A Waste Land HERE for Kindle, and HERE for Nook.

New Release: King Among the Dead

Book one in a new series, now available:

King Among the Dead

Hell Theory Book One

“It’s a love story. Love doesn’t require morality, does it?”

Rose Greer’s life of pain and terror changes the night Simon Becket finds her locked in a cabinet. Blood on his face, but a hand held out in offering – a hand she takes.

Beck is kind, and eccentric; rich, and generous, and soft-spoken. Beck is cultured, and patient. Beck is lonely, rattling around his crumbling townhouse with only his elderly upstairs tenant for company.

Beck is a killer.

And Rose thinks she might be, too.

With Beck, she’s discovering all her darker impulses – and her passions. And she’s learning that the Atmospheric Rift which altered the world years ago isn’t exactly an event from the past.

“King Among the Dead” is the first in a new supernatural/horror erotica series based loosely on the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, set in the not-too-distant future. Featuring angels, demons, mythology, monsters, plenty of steam, and an eventual OT3. Dark, weird, and sexy, Hell Theory isn’t for the faint of heart.

#DartmoorSeries Read-Along: Tastes Like Candy Part One

Men win wars.

Legends inspire them to do so.

And some legends...some are still living...

We've lost all momentum with this read-along, but I'm endeavoring to limp along anyway. For the next few days, we'll take a closer look at Tastes Like Candy. 

Looking at reader comments since the book's release in summer of 2016, this is one of the most well-liked books in the series. After Fearless, it's the one most often mentioned as a favorite in reviews, comments, messages, and emails, and I must admit I've always found that a little surprising - though maybe I shouldn't have. Candy is tall, and bold, and a good brother, a good leader, with a honeyed tongue. I've always loved his name; as with so many of my characters, Derek Snow's nickname was borrowed from a horse I used to know. Candyman; Candy for short. In-universe, this human Candyman earned his nickname thanks to a mean right hook; he's got a reputation for ruining teeth. 

The thing I enjoyed most about writing this book, however, was the glimpse it offers us of Devin Green's brood. 

It had begun like any other task, a photograph slid across her father's ancient cherrywood desk. It was raining, fat drops sliding down the window, casting shadows across the rug in the upstairs room above Baskerville Hall. 

(By now, you'll know that the club is named after a black dog legend - just as in "The Hound of the Baskervilles," and I couldn't resist the chance to name the London chapter's pub and headquarters after the estate in my favorite Sherlock Holmes story of all time.)

Like Ava, Michelle was born into the club - but unlike Ava, she was brought up as a useful soldier - or, more accurately, covert operative - in her father's London biker army. 

Her mother's passing had hit him hard. Someone had needed to step up and be the woman of the house. The woman of the club. She'd never viewed it as a choice, but as a natural progression. 

Michelle's dad, Phillip, never remarried after his wife died, nor did he settle down with a serious, long-term girlfriend, so Michelle, by default, became the woman of the London chapter. Not only that, but the London chapter operates very differently from the Knoxville chapter. London is a major metropolis, and an international hub, and it's simply not possible for a club like the Lean Dogs to be much in charge of anything, the way they are in smaller American cities and towns. Everything Phillip's done, every ladder he's climbed, every toe-hold he's achieved, has come through subtly and subterfuge, rather than the outright flexing of muscles, and he's used every tool at his disposal - including his daughter. The London chapter doesn't ride down the street in formation, or have shootouts in public - but like with all chapters, they handle problems that regular folks bring to their doorstep. When someone gets in deep trouble that can't be handled by the police, they come to the Dogs, and the Dogs make it right - though with less flash and strutting about than the American Dogs. The delightful irony of it all, for me, is that all of Devin's boys hate him, and yet all of them have tackled life's problems with dispassion, cunning, treachery, and finely-honed skill, just as he would. 

I'm still genuinely surprised that readers were surprised by the spy angle in Prodigal Son, when this book lays all the groundwork for it. Oh well. 

TLC opens in London, with Michelle and her uncle - who was raised as her brother - Tommy on an op gone wrong. We get to see flashes of the weeks leading up to it, the ways the club, as it expands and matures, is changing, the ways Tommy's already worried about the way some members react to her role with the Dogs. We get to meet Albie, and see his secret stash. And we get to see the verdict handed down, after the explosion: Michelle can't stay in London. 

Michelle has a lot in common with the other old ladies that we've met - her toughness, and her attitude, and her fierce love of family - but she interacts with the club in a completely new way from all the women we've met so far. That was exciting to write. Her role is one that inevitably shifts when she goes to Texas...but it's a role that we're exploring again in Lone Star, which is book seven of the main series, and coming soon. LS asks, Can someone who worked in the trenches alongside the club take a step back and be content with a more domestic life? The book is all about restlessness, in all its forms, and learning how to reconcile the different sides of a life. 

#TeaserTuesday: Lionheart First Look

Big teaser today! A look at Sons of Rome book five, Lionheart, due out this Christmas. 

Red set the little potted cactus down on the table in front of her brother, Eighteen. We have to give him a name! she thought for at least the hundredth time. She wanted him – both of them, Twelve, too – to choose their own names. Rooster had given her hers – but it had been a choice. What about Red? And she’d liked it right away, the simplicity of it; the way, just three letters, it sounded like a pet name, something intimate between two people who cared for one another. And in his low, rough voice, too…Red…

#Loverboy Read-Along

At the beginning of last week, I anticipated writing several posts for the read-along of this book. It was the most challenging - and in that sense rewarding - book of the whole series for me, and it covers all sorts of sensitive topics. There was a lot of unpacking to do, I thought. I've blogged about it in the past, but I spent all of last week struggling to put together a post. And I finally realized why. It's a tough book to read, yes, but I also think it's a book that says what it needs to. I don't know that blogging about it after the fact adds to its meaning or impact. 

So I decided I'm not going to pick it apart and tease out every scene. But I will say two things about it.

One, it was important to me that Tango not be stoic throughout this story. This isn't a book about being a tough biker guy. Tango can't be stoic here - he's hurting in so, so many ways. He needs help. His heart's shattered. I wanted to show him in pieces; show him struggling, and emotional, and leaning on his friends - and I wanted to show those friends picking him up and showing him that he's loved, unconditionally. It's a story about hope and healing and recovery, and, not about forgetting the past, but learning to live with it. I wanted Kev to be vulnerable. Every single line in which he seems fragile was a deliberate choice. 

And two, I wanted to pull back the curtain on Ian and show that this villain started as a victim. He isn't cruel for the sake of it. He isn't a cackling madman. At heart, he's a very damaged little boy doing the best he can - but where Tango has punished himself, Ian has punished others. His drug of choice has been flexing his power. I wanted to show the ways two people can go through the same thing, and walk away from it with completely different coping mechanisms for their trauma. Neither is right, neither is wrong. This is who they are; this is how they've healed, which is to say, badly. But, with loving support, they can start to soften some of those scars. 

What's your favorite thing about Loverboy? Is it a book you can read over and over again? Or does it hurt too much? 

Empathy

Over the holidays, I took advantage of my Amazon Prime membership and finally started watching a show that's intrigued me for a while, but which I'd been too chicken to start. I'm happy to report that Bryan Fuller's Hannibal - based on the novels about pop culture-notorious cannibal Hannibal Lecter - lives up to the hype, and then some. The show is DARK. The show is GORY. It's given open-minded me a nightmare or two, and, at this point, halfway through season three, I'm not ashamed to admit that I often pause the stream, and peek ahead on the progress bar so I know when to close my eyes or skip an especially icky moment. It's not a show for the faint of heart - nor for the close-minded. You see, I could wax poetic about Mads Mikkelsen - who I was a big fan of prior to watching this - for pages and pages, but this post isn't about the show. Not really. It's about the ways fiction offers us these special, exclusive windows into hearts and souls not our own...and the ways a lack of nuance, hate, and cancel culture are currently eroding all the benefits of dark fiction. 

In the first moments of the first episode of Hannibal, we meet Will Graham, a professor and special agent in the employ of the FBI. He's a profiler; he's also what's called a "pure empath." Will's gift is empathy: he - through artfully done segments of the show's narrative - has the ability to put himself wholly in the shoes of the criminals the FBI is trying to catch. He can follow their logic, and therefore anticipate their movements, thanks to his unique ability to let go of his own thoughts and biases. He himself doesn't have murderous impulses - though it's a theme Hannibal seeks to exploit in the show - but he's able to think like a murderer. He's wildly empathetic. 

What struck me from the first was this: authors have to be empaths, too. Oh, how often I beat the war drum of empathy. It's my constant refrain: a fiction author's job is to think like other people. I'm not putting my whole life and truth on the page, but I'm putting someone's life and truth there, and if anyone can read my work, and identify with it, and find something special in it, then I've done my job well. 

This week, in our Dartmoor Read-Along, it's Loverboy's turn. And, quite honestly, given the policing that's been happening in the book community over the past year, I knew some trepidation going into it. Tango's experience is not my experience - do I have a right to tell his story? That's just one of the things being debated on social media. In the past year, I've watched the same book "influencer" target two women authors I respect and admire greatly with Twitter callout posts. In one case, challenging a three-year age gap between characters as "pedophilia," and in another challenging an author's previous fanfic stories as "pedophilia," in the latter case, without any nuance or clarification as to the fic's actual intent. These are two specific, high-profile cases, but it happens all too often: someone on the internet using a cartoon avatar, a name that may or may not be real, and boosted by the safety of anonymity, launches a callout post in the name of "protecting" and "informing," but with the clear intent of harming an author's name and reputation. The conversation starts as "concerned" members of the book community wanting to limit who can tell which stories - but ends up, in truth, demanding that certain stories not be told at all. Both sentiments are appalling to me. In both cases - in any case - a reader has the choice to not read something he or she finds upsetting. Determining what's allowed to exist, however, is a form of censorship, and, unfortunately, it's alive and well amongst authors, bloggers, influencers, and plenty of insulated, cartoon-avatar social media users. 

The sad part? In NO cases that I've witnessed have any of the authors actually been promoting harmful behavior. All of this is the result of particular whiny consumers wanting to control every aspect of the art being created. "Don't Like Don't Read" is something in which I believe in wholeheartedly. There are plenty of books out there you couldn't PAY me to read. 50 Shades? NO THANK YOU. Catch me enjoying that never. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't exist; that doesn't mean an author needs to be bullied, called-out, etc. 

If we limited a person's "right" to write about certain topics based on their own experiences, we'd be cutting fiction-writing off at the knees. For example: I don't write about my own issues, for the most part. I can't. There are stories that I've had family ask me to put to paper...and I just don't know how. It hurts too much. But there are other people who can tell those sorts of stories, and who have, and who will. I don't care if they've lived any of it - I just care that they portray the issues thoughtfully, empathetically, in a way that resonates with others. And if they don't...? I simply move and read other books.

I'm terribly afraid nuance is dead. And all I know to do is to push back against the loud, ignorant, hateful - potentially paid - voices, and keep striving for art. The only way art survives is if we insist upon it. 

#SecondhandSmoke Read-Along: Tango

Today marks the start of Loverboy week in the Dartmoor Read-Along - you can grab if HERE for 99c - and though most of you have already read it once before, and know what it entails, I think it's only fair to remind everyone that, given the book's dark themes, the discussion from here on out is going to cover some difficult subject matter. I want to start with one last look back at Secondhand Smoke, because the events of that book are what set Tango down the dark path he travels during his own book.

Here goes. 

What happens to Tango in Smoke is no one's fault except Don Ellison's. He's the villain here; he's the one who kidnaps him, imprisons him, and lets his thugs torture him. Aidan feels terribly guilty - because his own drama prevented him from being as tuned-in to Tango's spiraling depressive state before the kidnapping happens - but Aidan's certainly not to blame for what happens. 

The thing about Tango is: that depressive spiral has been slowly happening throughout the course of the series. There's a sadness to him in Fearless, even though the source isn't revealed. Price of Angels is where things really start to go downhill; he's lived for years with a band-aid slapped over his trauma, but seeing Ian again, so unexpectedly, and seeing Ian as this villain who's causing trouble for the club, shatters the fragile peace he's constructed for himself. Tango is not just a club nickname, but a new identity; a shield to hide behind. Most of his club brothers know him as Tango, but here's Ian, who knows every intimate detail of his life as Kev. Who endured all the same trauma and hardship alongside him - and who he left behind. That moment in the funeral home in PoA is the start of everything going sideways for Tango. He begins a slow retreat into a dark headspace, and, through SS, his coping drug of choice is sex. It's all tangled for him; his sense of self-worth, indeed his whole sense of self, is tied up in sex, and so when he feels vulnerable and uncertain, thats' his got-to. That's a part of his identity he's certain of, and so it's become a crutch. 

At the beginning of Smoke, though, we see that it's a joyless vice for him, at this point. He's getting an immediate thrill and gratification, sure, but he's feeling hollow and aimless and pretty bleak. Jasmine has been a source of comfort for him for a long time now; she likes to have a good time, and doesn't feel ashamed of it. In their time together, that attitude has helped him to let go of some of his own shame surrounding sex. But things have shifted, now, and he feels disconnected from her - evident in the way he takes a big step back and lets Carter take his place. He's drowning, and there's only one person who can remind him of who he really is; the person who loved him at his absolute worst. He goes to Ian. 

At this point, Ghost is the only one who knows Tango is spending time with Ian outside of necessary club business. And Ghost is worried; at the beginning of the book, Ian's just asked to be "given" Kev, a favor Ghost refused outright, and with good reason. He doesn't know all the details of their relationship, but he knows Ian has a vicious streak, and a careless streak, and he can see the danger signs flashing for Tango. One could argue that Ghost should have taken a more active role, here; told Tango to keep away from Ian, inserted himself more firmly into the situation. After all, look what he did to break up Mercy and Ava.

But this is a very different situation. For starters, Tango isn't his biological child - not that he loves him any less for it, but he doesn't feel like he has the "right," so to speak, to be dictatorial. The other aspect is, Tango's personal history of abuse and addiction give Ghost pause; he doesn't ever want to say or do anything to put Tango back into his darkest of places. He can see that something is badly wrong, but, given Ghost has the emotional intelligence of an old tree stump, he doesn't really know how to go about helping without causing further harm. And I think there's a part of him, deep down, that thinks Ian might - just might - have a point. Ghost knows that, despite all the love, support, and relative stability of the club, Tango isn't happy, that he doesn't feel safe - evidenced by the way Tango acts nearly frightened of Ghost when he hands over the map. They've tried it this way; what if Ian's life of luxury and insulation, of imported cars and bodyguards, is a better approach? Ghost doesn't know. 

And then Tango is abducted. 

Here's another moment for the audience to hate Ghost! Rest assured I hate him here, too. I remember being actively angry when I wrote the scene where he turns down Ian's offer. But, once again, I see it as my job to adhere to the characters as they are; to write them consistently. The thing about Ghost is that, except when it comes to Maggie and their kids, he doesn't ever operate while wearing just one hat - though we see a shift in that with Loverboy. I think Loverboy is the book where Ghost finally takes a long, hard look at himself. Up to that point, he's always looking at every situation from a variety of angles. It would have been a really feel-good moment for him to jump on Ian's offer and set everything else aside in the effort to rescue Tango. But that's not how Ghost operates. He still doesn't trust Ian, and he's certainly not going to essentially sell his club to the man without thinking things through. Ian would have them at an incredible disadvantage, and he isn't ready to concede to that.

His hesitation, though, provides a chance for Aidan to act on purely emotional impulse - and for the better, this time. I've seen readers say Aidan was "dumb" for staging a rescue attempt without Mercy leading the charge, but Mercy, loveable and lethal as he is, is a wrecking ball of a human being. Instead, Aidan turns to the precise, knifelike skills of Fox. And, in a lot of ways, Fox is the smart choice, because he doesn't get emotionally involved in things. If Fox agrees to the scheme, and comes up with it, even, then Aidan feels like at least someone is thinking this through, as opposed to merely reacting. 

This situation with Tango is really the most complex of the whole series. There's lots to unpack. And the thing is, I think there could have been a version of the story in which Tango stayed with Ian, and you can't know how tempted I sometimes am to write an AU of my own story - but it would have gotten much darker before it got lighter, because they're both so damaged, and it would have taken a long time for them to learn how to lift one another up, rather than drag one another down. 

We'll talk about it, and so many other things, this week as we crack open Loverboy and tackle Tango's demons. Terrible things happened in that basement in Secondhand Smoke, but Tango also met Whitney there, and she's a vital part of his recovery. 

#SecondhandSmoke Read-Along: Part Two

The title of this book is a nod to the ways a person's actions have potentially damaging repercussions for the people close to them. Aidan's decisions don't just impact him, but those around him. 

Sam

The very first time Sam ever laid eyes on Aidan Teague, she was fourteen, and he knocked the breath right out of her. 

That impression of him had stayed with her, had held him captive in her fascination longer than any man she'd met as an adult - girlhood had a way of sharpening fascination to something dark and deadly. 

For Sam, Aidan represents the kind of deep, innocent longing that comes with being a hormonal teenager. He was beautiful, and in a lot of ways, more grown up than the other boys her age. There was that edge of danger that's always magnetic at that age. But she knew he was a cocky brat, too, and she still knows that. 

Now, as adults, since becoming friends with Ava, she's started to see beneath the very distracting outer veneer to the real person beneath all the tats and swagger, and she's realized that, inwardly, Aidan is terribly self-conscious, uncertain, and, most of all, sweet. At this point, Sam isn't just infatuated, and isn't blind to his faults because she thinks he's hot - Sam knows him, by the time we get to this book. Understands how his brain works. She loves him, and she sees his flaws as areas in which he needs help, rather than as reasons to leave him. She's no stranger to hard work. I don't see it as her "fixing" him, or her being "stuck" with him; she loves him, and it's worth it to her to offer her love and acceptance in return. People like Aidan do need a helping hand, and where so many would have turned away from him, because he was inconvenient, Sam's willing to make the effort. She's the first woman outside Maggie or Ava who's really loved him, and he knows that, which is why he's so distressed that he hurts her.

His problem with Sam is a common one: because he didn't tell her about Tonya's pregnancy immediately, it gets harder and harder to know when to fess up. He doesn't want to scare her off - though the longer he waits, the more hurtful the omission becomes. He expects her to walk away - in his mind, it's a matter of when, not if - and that's testament to the way most of his relationships have played out. Sam knows that; once she gets over her initial shock and anger and hurt, that's what brings her back, and keeps her in Aidan's corner. 

Greg

The Greg Situation is a good example of Aidan's innate kindness. Aidan can be rude, and inconsiderate, and definitely not politically correct in lots of small ways - generally with his careless language and his preconceptions ("chick soap"). But when it comes to actions, and big decisions, he's good at heart. He's an outlaw, so he's not worried about coming across as polite amongst polite society. But he does have a strong moral compass when it comes to what he deems important. He's not a killer. In Fearless, when Ghost sent him to the cattle property to kill Greg, he couldn't pull the trigger. He disobeyed Ghost not only as his father, but as his club president, and put the Dogs at risk - but for him, it was a worthy sacrifice. This wasn't a mistake, but a conscious act of mercy. He thought Greg would run far away, never be seen again, and that the problem was over. 

Often, in counter culture stories, we see characters disobeying their clubs or gangs in nefarious ways that impact the whole group later on. I wanted to turn that theme on its head: what happens when a biker does the right thing? How does that hurt the club? For  me, it's maybe the most fascinating element of the book.

The answer here is that Greg shows up again, his presence and his actions set to harm the club deeply. He doesn't see himself as "owing" Aidan for that act of mercy. Rather, it gave him a chance to seek his fortunes elsewhere. 

For Aidan, it forces him to examine his own life in uncomfortable ways. What's more important? Looking after the club by any means? Or standing by a personal moral code? The answer is muddled, and complicated, and Aidan's realization is that life is perhaps even messier than he's always thought. If you call the club your family, you can't stand on the fringes; at some point, you'll have to get your hands dirty. 

Tango

Tango I'm going to blog about tomorrow, because there's lots to look at there, and I want to take my time with it. Our poor Tiny Dancer has it rough in this book. But his rescue provides some of my favorite moments in the whole novel. 

Scenes From Buffalo Part Six

Major Golden Eagle spoilers ahead! And our Unlikely Triumvirate. 

Severin had an audience in attendance before he managed to get the bag open, this time. Finches, and chickadees, and even a few woodpeckers, their checkered black and white feathers fluttering like playing cards as they alighted on the snow in the gathering crowd around him, looking up with expectant, black bead eyes, waiting for him. The cardinals were his favorites, the males in their brightest red, and the females in their muted browns and oranges, their rust tails, both genders sporting the little feather hats for which they were named. 

#SecondhandSmoke Read-Along: Part One

The first half of Aidan's arc in book four of the Dartmoor Series is a bit like a car crash: terrible things are happening, you know people are going to get hurt, but you can't look away, as fascinated as you are horrified. Aidan's the sort of guy who's skated along in life, with little regard for the consequences, never over-taxing his moral compass, and in Secondhand Smoke, those consequences hit him in a major way. I've always looked at it like this: he's not someone who was going to have an epiphany one day and decide to get his act together; his transformation was always going to be a reaction to an outside stimulus. In this case, stimuli: three major catastrophes unfold for him here, all of them demanding that he take hold of his life and become - at least in the ways that an outlaw biker can be - a better man.

Readers typically hate Tonya, and I can't say I blame them. She's a spoiled rich girl brought up in a very different world from Aidan; she has everything she could ever want, and treats Aidan like garbage. For her, sleeping with him was a walk on the wild side, a careless fling just to see what it was like. She thought he was hot, but there's a part of her who loathes herself for "slumming it." Mix physical attraction, revulsion, and shame, and you've got one wicked affair. The thing about Tonya, though, is we never get inside her head. We never walk through the story with her - and that's very much on purpose. We're privy only to how she behaves toward Aidan and his family, so our view of her is heavily skewed. I've had readers argue that it seems "out of character" for her to have carried the baby to term rather than terminate the pregnancy, but the simple fact of the matter is, readers have seen only one side of Tonya. They don't know her. Aidan doesn't even know her. While a woman's right to choose is an important topic, this book isn't about that. In SS, she does make a choice. The question here isn't "well, if it were me, I would have..." because this book, as with every other that a write, is not examining instances of "what would most people do." it's what would these particular people do. Tonya has her reasons, but because she's so guarded and vicious with Aidan, and because we never slide into her POV, the audience doesn't get to hear them. The audience doesn't need to hear them, frankly. 

The important thing here is: Aidan's about to be a father. That was always the plan for him, giving him a baby; giving him a baby birthed by a mother who thought she was too good for him, and who didn't want to be involved in any of it. There could have been a story there, of Tonya softening, growing, of loving Aidan. I think there's a part of her deeply saddened by the whole thing; a part of her who knows that, had she let her guard down, could have loved Aidan, and that terrifies her. That's the thing about writing characters as if they were real people: there are always different paths you could have taken. There were the makings of an Aidan/Tonya endgame, however slow and painful it turned out. Just like there could have been an emotional, angsty endgame for Ian and Tango - albeit one very different from what we end up with in Loverboy. 

There's a theme I go back to again and again with this series: that of history repeating itself. Because history does repeat itself: on a large scale, and on a small scale, among families. In Fearless, Maggie reminds a furious Ghost again and again that Mercy and Ava's relationship isn't so different from their own. In fact, Maggie was a year younger when they first got together. Ghost's anger is commonplace in the real world. The hypocritical anger of "do as I say, not as I do." He wants his kids to be smarter and more successful than he was. But Ava fell in love young with a dark man, just like her mama.

And Aidan set his sights on the wrong woman the first time around, just like his daddy. Aidan's in the same boat Ghost was in, back then. A single father, his child's mother going off to live her own life with a different man; she's going to have children that she mothers and cares for, but doesn't want his child - just like Olivia. 

It's that repeating history that has Maggie and Ava so furious and dogged in their insistence that Aidan keeps the baby rather than put it up for adoption. It's a purely emotional mama bear response from both of them. Maggie remembers little eight-year-old Aidan asking her for help with his homework. And Ava remembers the baby she lost to violence, without her having any say in the matter. Every character involved brings his or her own experiences and prejudices to bear on the situation. 

Not to use a child as a plot device, but...The baby is the root of the conflict. She's the impetus for change. Fatherhood is going to make Aidan grow up fast. The baby will force him to grow, and it will create friction for him and Samantha, who's everything Tonya couldn't be for him. 

The two other big fiascos in the book are very different. If getting Tonya pregnant was an act of thoughtless irresponsibility, then the reappearance of Greg, by contrast, is the result of an act of mercy. And juggling these two things, Aidan's caught in his own drama, and not aware that his best friend is slow sliding into darkness. I'll talk about those two issues in the next post. 

Scenes From Buffalo Part Five

“I think he’s afraid.”

#TheSkeletonKing Read-Along: Part Two

Today's the last day to get The Skeleton King for 99 cents, friends! The price goes back up tonight, and then it will be sale time for Secondhand Smoke, which we'll start tomorrow. 

I had a great question yesterday on Instagram about process, in response to a Tweet I shared in which I stated that Dante from the Sons of Rome series was only supposed to appear in one scene, but has now officially become a part of the pack. The reader asked if, in cases of minor characters becoming major characters, the older, original character voices were drowned out by the new. The answer to that is no. 

When I'm writing a series, I'm always looking at it as a complete ensemble. I have a hard time writing standalones because I so rarely see a story as a discreet set of happenings between just a few people. It's very much like an ornate tapestry, one of those wall hangings from the Middle-Ages in which a hundred things are happening all at once in great detail. You step in closer, at moments, to take an intimate look at one vignette, but then you step back and look at the whole again; focus on another vignette. For me, the series as a whole is the story; I'm always looking at the big picture, rather than trying to make connections between discreet, individual stories, if that makes sense. If a new character is added, it doesn't detract from the existing characters; I just have to look closely at the new character as well. New threads woven in, made a part of the whole. Some voices inevitably grow quieter over time - for instance, I don't feel anything urgent or front-and-center happening for Mercy and Ava anymore - but there's always the potential for a shift. When something happens within the course of the series, it will affect different characters, well, differently, and so there's an ebb and flow in "main character stories." It isn't a case of ending one story, tying if off with a bow, and never returning. 

I have no idea if that made any sense. But! It seemed a good moment to mention it as we take a closer look at two important subplots in TSK that have great bearing on the series as a whole.

From the beginning, Aidan has been a bit of a stereotypical bad boy: handsome, always down for a joke, a ladies man...but, ultimately, an immature douchebag. "Aidan needs to grow up" is a refrain not just within the series, but among readers, and he most certainly does. From a writer perspective, Aidan is an immature clown because, let's face it, we've all known men in their thirties who acted eighteen. That's true to life. From a textual standpoint, Aidan's main weakness is, oddly enough, that he was born into the club. 

This club - like real-life clubs - is made of up societal misfits. They didn't wake up one day and decide to become bikers. They don't fit in, but they've found a place with the Lean Dogs. Aidan, though, grew up around the Dogs. He never intended to be anything but a biker. For him, the club wasn't a lighthouse in the dark; wasn't a port in a storm. It was a given. His view of so-called "normal life" is heavily skewed by this. He was a prospect, sure, but he didn't have to prove his worth the way his brothers did. While his mom leaving at a young age was doubtless traumatizing, he's not faced half the trauma of people like Mercy, or Michael, or Tango. While he wants Ghost's approval, Ghost is still more dad than president for him, and there's less incentive to impress his father - a person he rather takes for granted. His complicated relationship with Ghost is a big contributor to his issues - issues he starts to examine in Half My Blood, after the accident that nearly kills him. 

But Aidan's been immature and averse to reflection his whole life; his attempts to turn his life around are, understandably, misguided, naïve, and bumbling. He knows that Maggie has been the greatest and best influence on his dad, so he decides "I know, I'll find me a good woman, and that'll be the thing that helps me get it together." But - misguided as stated - he equates "classy, rich, and expensive" with "good." He's been sleeping with one kind of woman, so now he's going to switch it up.

Oh, Aidan, you fool. 

His disastrous, downright ugly relationship with Tonya, who might be classy, but certainly isn't loving, kind, or supportive, comes to a dramatic head at the very end of the book when she tells him she's pregnant. We'll talk about that when we get to SS, but suffice to say, TSK, and Emmie's farm, provided an opportunity for Aidan to start trying to better himself...while screwing himself over completely. 

The other big "oh no" moment of the book happens for poor Sergeant Fielding. Oh, Vince, buddy - you've become the thing you hate. Despite all the grief I give him, I do like Vince. He's more or less a stand-up guy. He hates the Dogs because they're criminals, but he's not going to resort to any underhanded, dirty-cop scheming in order to put them away. He wants to do everything by the book. For him, the line between Good and Bad is solid and easily defined: do bad things, you're a bad person; do good things, you're good. But in TSK, despite all his good intentions, he kills someone. And there's Ghost, his nemesis, offering a hand to help him up, telling him he can make it all go away. 

So now Vince is stuck: he's done a bad thing, so is he now a bad person? Or, is it as Ghost's been saying all along, a case of life being complicated. 

For Ghost, this is a boon: he's get leverage over Fielding, and now an in with the police.

But for Vince, it's the start of a slow spiral into depression, guilt, and self-doubt. But, though he'd be loath to admit it, it puts something in perspective for Vince: maybe the Dogs aren't "bad" for the sake of it. Maybe this is how they survive in an ugly world. Maybe nothing's as clear as he's always thought it was. 

And, after all, this whole series is about perspectives...

#DartmoorSeries Read-Along: The Skeleton King

"Excitement means nothing, King, my boy. It's a man who comes to the club out of desperation that finds his heart and soul there, on the road, with his brothers. You come to the MC a broken man, and it'll make you whole again, mark my words."

~Phillip Calloway, The Skeleton King

Dartmoor book three is a departure from the first two in several ways. Most notably, Walsh is much milder and less imposing than Mercy and Michael were before him. Not just because of his height (honestly, I'm still a little bemused about the reaction to his and his brothers' height. I just...don't really get it), but because of his personality. He's quiet and thoughtful; if you're lucky, you'll get a snort and an eyebrow lift out of him. He's better with numbers than with breaking kneecaps - though he's got a strong stomach when it comes to violence. He's Mercy's preferred "secretary" when it's sledgehammer time. 

I look at it this way: Walsh is the CFO to Ghost's CEO of the Dartmoor Inc. experiment. The club, like any successful enterprise, requires diverse talents. They can't all be head-bashers; you've got to have some logical, common sense guys in there, too, to stay on top of the financial side of things. That's Walsh - that's the Walsh I wrote into Fearless, and I don't believe in changing characters just because it's time to center a book on them. 

Emmie's a different sort of leading female, too. We had Ava, who was born into the club, and then Holly, running from a family far more terrifying than the club. But then there's Emmie, who's not an outlaw, and who has no interest in becoming one, either. She's a club outsider, and she carries all the fears and prejudices most of the Knoxville civilians do. Still, she's attracted to Walsh, and things are going nearly well - until she follows him over to the cattle property that night, sees something she shouldn't, and is strong-armed into a courthouse wedding. 

In my marathon of MC documentary watching back in the day, I encountered several tales like this: of women who'd "seen too much" having to marry into the club to prevent them from being able to ever testify. (It's better than the alternative, let me tell you). It's a case of pulling a person so far in that they can't get out, and it was something I thought would be fun to explore with Dartmoor. 

In this case, with Walsh and Emmie, it created a really tense dynamic, at least for a little while. There was attraction on both their parts, and even real feelings on Walsh's, but suddenly Emmie is terrified and distrustful. She spends the back half of the book torn between falling for him and fighting everything polite society has told her she ought to think about this situation she's wound up in. 

They're well-suited, though, and by the end, it's real love keeping them connected. 

I'm always keeping an eye out for a chance to work equestrian sports into my books, and TSK was a perfect opportunity. 

This book also provided plot movement for some of the bigger, overarching, background stories in the series - namely Aidan's misguided redemption attempt, and Vince Fielding becoming the club's lackey. I'll blog about those important plot points tomorrow!

Happy Valentine's Day.  

#PriceofAngels Read-Along Part Four

"You never promised them you'd help get the girl back," Walsh said. Not a question. Not even a guess; an understanding. 

"No." Shaman glanced toward him, sharp-boned face warming, pleased. "Naturally, they assumed that I would, but no, I didn't care about any of that. I'm a fan of many debauched things, but rape isn't one of them."

"But you sent them out to Wynford Chace's farm," Ghost said.

An elegant shrug. "You're looking at it the wrong way, Mr. Teague. I don't care. Not about any of it."

Enter: the villain.

Angels is Michael and Holly's story; it's also another chapter in the ongoing growth and expansion of the Lean Dogs MC. They've all faced rival clubs, drug dealers, corrupt mayors, and law enforcement. But now, here, at the end of this novel, we meet a more classical, archetypical villain: the incredibly wealthy, incredibly powerful drug dealer known as Shaman. 

Mr. Ian Byron, originally from London. 

I always wonder what readers think when I tell them that Ian is my favorite character in the whole series. In this big, sprawling Southern epic about outlaw bikers, it's our clever, cutting, complicated villain-turned-adopted-son who I enjoy writing best. The truth is, Ian is the sort of character I like best. A sophisticate; a survivor. Elegant, and learned, and bristling with all the best dialogue. 

He likes the finer things in life. This was the first time I wrote a character like him - and if my Sons of Rome series is any indication, I'm not looking back anytime soon. I love Ian, and I love his journey, but in Angels, he was still a dangerous enigma. 

In any book series, there are stories of the moment, and then there are long game stories. Tango is a long game story. From the first moment we see him, when he's the sweet to Aidan's sour when Ava gets out of the truck at Dartmoor for the first time, it's obvious that Tango is gentler than most of his brothers. It's obvious, too, that he's deeply scarred emotionally: a truth of which we only catch glimpses, here and there. Glances, twitches: we know something terrible happened, but we don't know what. This is my favorite kind of storytelling: showing you a hint, and then peeling the onion of truth down, and down, until the sharpness of it brings tears to your eyes. 

When I wrote this book, I knew exactly who Ian and Tango were to one another; that moment in Ian's office, when he's still just Shaman, and Tango sees him, and chokes, and says, "Ian?" That was exciting to write. That was standing at the top of the roller coaster and knowing all the drops and loops, knowing some would be gut-wrenching, but being excited for the challenge. 

This book was a first in a lot of ways, craft-wise, and Ian's introduction was another example. A new kind of challenge; a tweaking of old skills, and a gaining of new ones.

Also, I just love him. But I said that already. There's lots of great Ian moments in the rest of the series.