Tonight’s dinner: char siu chicken and rice.
A story about love….and food….and love.
Okay and to be honest, some people have asked about how I feel when stuff goes on sale. Sincerely? Fantastic. Go for it. I’m the first one to tell you grab a bargain. Do it. Take a chance on a book for less than the price of a latte!
So to celebrate Quinn and Rafe finally getting a voice, I’m going to be dumping a couple of audiobook codes into a magic hat and the first two names I pull out of it on Halloween will receive a code good for one audiobook on Audible.
Now, I’d like to point you to my fabulous narrators Greg Tremblay and Tristan James for your selecting pleasure so keep them in mind. These codes will be good for any audio book. Not just mine.
What to do to win? Just leave a comment below about the best Halloween costume you’d like to wear or have worn in the past.
Easy as pie. Well not really because pie is a fucking bitch to make. Easy as a glass of water. If you live in a first world country. Easy as dirt. DIRT! and BUGS!
Sheesh. Just leave a comment if you wanna win.
Half Moon Bay woke to a veil of gray and wet, the air thick with fog and a pounding cold rain a degree away from hail. The drops sliced at Lang’s face as he ran from his parking spot to his shop, cursing himself for not taking one of the spaces in front of Between the Lines.
“Customers.” A vicious snap at his cheek made him flinch, and Lang juggled his messenger bag around, tugging his jacket’s hood down. “Spaces for customers.” None of whom were there at eight in the morning and probably would be in their right minds if they stayed home altogether.
The wind carried more than the cold with it. A taint of salt and spoil ran along its edges, carried up from the shore. With the wet came the rot, decomposing leaves and grasses piling up until they grew hot from the decay. The rain broke through composts and brush, a frigid hand scraping back the dank until the grungy smell carried through the streets.
It was early, too early for most people to be out, but there was already a light on over at the auto shop. Shaking out his jacket, Lang spotted a sheriff’s car and two dusty vans parked to the side of the building, their windows misted nearly opaque. From where Lang stood, there was no sign of that day’s violence except for the shops’ boarded-up windows and a few specks of glass tumbling around in the gutter’s flow. Deacon’s truck sat close to the field, its camper top a dull beige as the torrential downpour scraped the dust from its paint.
It’d been two days since their ride to the coast and back ended in tragedy, and the air still felt heavy with confusion and regrets. There was no blood on the asphalt, no piercing screams bouncing off of the surrounding wood and brick walls. Picked clean, the whole cul-de-sac seemed more an eerie ghostly backdrop than an actual crime scene, but Lang’s nerves knew differently. He could still see Eli lying broken apart in Abe’s terrified embrace, and there were echoes of booming pops in his ear, the smell of blood steeped into his mind and senses.
When he looked up, Lang’s day went from dreary to full-out shit when he saw Deacon limp out of the auto shop and stand in the chilling rain. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, weariness hanging on his shoulders. He looked bruised and worn, beaten up by the past few days.
Angled with one end farther from the rest of the businesses, the auto shop had been a later addition and set up by its original owner, Lang’s great-grandfather, a Chinese-born immigrant who’d not wanted the street’s bad luck to flow into his shops. As a result, the end unit was a slanted jog off of the main building, the end cap of a long L, practically spread open for everyone to see inside if the bay doors were open.
They were all open now, rolled-back shutters laying Deacon’s life out for everyone to see. There were people inside the shop, pacing shadowy forms picking at bricks and the floor. A grim-faced cop stood a few feet away from the spot Deacon’d shoved Lang and Zig to keep them out of the shooter’s sight.
Seeing how open and vulnerable the space was, it struck Lang how close they’d come to dying.
Fish Stick Fridays is being released by Dreamspinner Press on November 30.
Deacon Reid was born bad to the bone with no intention of changing. A lifetime of law-bending and living on the edge suited him just fine—until his baby sister died and he found himself raising her little girl.
Staring down a family history of bad decisions and reaped consequences, Deacon cashes in everything he owns, purchases an auto shop in Half Moon Bay, and takes his niece, Zig, far away from the drug dens and murderous streets they grew up on. Zig deserves a better life than what he had, and Deacon is determined to give it to her.
Lang Harris is stunned when Zig, a little girl in combat boots and a purple tutu blows into his bookstore, and then he’s left speechless when her uncle, Deacon Reid walks in, hot on her heels. Lang always played it safe but Deacon tempts him to step over the line… just a little bit.
More than a little bit. And Lang is willing to be tempted.
Unfortunately, Zig isn’t the only bit of chaos dropped into Half Moon Bay. Violence and death strikes leaving Deacon scrambling to fight off a killer before he loses not only Zig but Lang too.
Swing Riot Invitational Battle Part 3 – Crossover & Finale – Montreal Swing Riot 2015
Formerly known as Lindy Hoppers vs Street Dancers, this is part 3 of the Invitational Battle Vintage vs. Modern Street Dancers at Montreal Swing Riot, bringing together swing, jazz, soul, funk and the break beats in one epic battle: http://montrealswingriot.com
Download the entire VAST catalogue for only $29.95!
I know… I sound like an ad. But wait, there’s more…
VAST is a glorious melange of music. I wrote a shit ton of Sinner’s Gin to Visual Audio Sensory Theater and many of my subsequent books have been written with one VAST album or another playing as I typed.
I gave a shout out to VAST in Murder and Mayhem’s acknowledgements because so much of the delicate steel girder beauty of VAST’s music resonates and tickles my muse. I cannot imagine writing without having the lace grit of this music behind me.
If you’ve not heard of VAST, then prepare to be amazed. If you do not own VAST, then by all that is holy and coffee, go do so. Your life cannot be complete without this artistry. These albums are a pure craftsmanship of sound and lyric.
And yes, Visual Audio Sensory Theater is my favourite but it’s all just so damned fricking good.
Before I begin writing for the day, I wanted to stop by.
The cat woke me up at oh dark thirty for his insulin shot. Okay so he woke me up for his chicken that he gets after his shot but we’re going for the delusion of him knowing he needs his insulin. I was going to say that he only really comes by for the food but the asshole JUST proved me a liar by coming by for a head scritch as I was writing this.
It’s funny how the number of views to the blog dropped following the lack of nekkid men and in the increase of actual blog content.
I am going to be in Austin come April 2016. Going to see if we can find a bookstore or coffee shop place to host us as we gather. I’ll bring swag or something. I’ll let you all know the when and wheres.
Monday will have a Fish Stick Fridays excerpt. Wooooot! I’m really looking forward to that book coming out. It was so much fun to write. And agonizing. Kids are difficult to write.
Whatcha all up to this Saturday? We’d hoped for rain. God once again denies us.