Rachel Spangler Blog

2025

Mon, 08 Dec 2025 14:59:55 GMT

Spangler Year-In-Review Video for 2025

Thank you all for the love and support you've shown us over the last year. If you would like to see what the Spangler 3 got up to in 2025, you can watch our year-in-review video below.

Happy holidays!

Love,

The Spangler Family

https://youtu.be/LyrnyasDWE0

Big Announcement!

Fri, 04 Apr 2025 13:58:31 GMT

Bigger Table Books

I have been teasing a big announcement for some time, and I have been working toward it for much longer, and now today is the day!

I am thrilled to announce that I have founded a new publishing LLC called Bigger Table Books!

So what does that mean? Initially, Bigger Table Books will function as a framework that will allow me to begin publishing my own work. Stage one will see my learning the business of publishing and beginning to take ownership of my career in a more direct and hands on way. I hope to release Relationship Material (a spin-off of Informed Consent) under the Bigger Table Books banner this summer. I also hope to move some other books I have the rights to under the BTB brand in the coming months as well, so stay tuned for more details there.

If this stage goes well, I have big dreams for expanding publishing in distribution channels to include a broader section of the community in ways that offer authors, readers, and even fellow publishers a new option for sharing sapphic stories without big corporate intermediaries.

But that's getting ahead of myself. For now I'm excitedly looking forward to learning and growing as an independent publisher of sapphic fiction. This is my community, this is my passion, these are our stories, and I am honored to share this journey with all of you!

Sincerely,

Rey Spangler

Press Release
March 4, 2025

Author Rachel Spangler Launches Bigger Table Books

Rachel Spangler, the best-selling author of 25 sapphic romance novels and a prominent figure in LGBTQ fiction, has announced the founding of a new publishing house, Bigger Table Books. With multiple Golden Crown Literary Awards and Independent Publisher Awards to their name, Spangler plans to use this new imprint initially to publish their own work, with ambitions to expand and support other sapphic authors in the future.

Spangler, who has 17 years of experience as an author and 10 years in publishing, brings a wealth of expertise to this endeavor. They previously worked in submissions at Bywater Books before transitioning into the role of senior romance editor, where they collaborated on books by Goldie-winning authors such as Anna Burke and Jenn Alexander. In recent years, Spangler has focused on editing independent clients and mentoring emerging authors through the publication process.

“This is an exciting time, not just for me personally, but for the entire field of sapphic publishing, as we have so many new opportunities to grow and expand our genre,” Spangler said. “Things are changing fast. I look forward to learning and finding ways to keep serving our community of storytellers in the rapidly changing landscape around LGBTQ publishing.”

Spangler also reflected on their journey in the industry: “I’ve had so many people support and teach me over the years. I’ve worked with some of the best minds and most generous people in our field, and as I take this next step of claiming ownership over my own career, I look forward to paying some of that forward. I want to be an advocate for our community and our stories.”

Considering their proven track record as an award-winning author, editor, and mentor, Spangler hopes that Bigger Table Books will further embody their commitment to creating inclusive spaces within LGBTQ publishing.

For more information Bigger Table Books or Rachel Spangler’s work, visit their website www.rachelspangler. com or follow them on social media.

2024

Fri, 06 Dec 2024 01:13:26 GMT

Spangler Year in Review Video for 2024

Thank you all for the love and support you have shown us over the last year. If you would like to see what the Spangler 3 got up to in 2024, you can watch our year-in-review video below.

Happy Holidays!

Love,

The Spangler Family

https://youtu.be/kVtWAg4aOgA

2023

Fri, 08 Dec 2023 03:29:30 GMT

Spangler Year in Review Video for 2023

Thank you for all of your support over the last year. Here's a video of what the Spangler family got up to in 2023!

And here's the direct link to YouTube.

https://youtu.be/HhGpkk0COnA

Happy Holidays

Wed, 29 Nov 2023 17:56:54 GMT

Autographed Books for Sale!

We are now in the full on holiday rush, and if you've got a sapphic-book lover in your life, I'm about to make your shopping a lot easier, because I have autographed copies on hand for you. Here's a list of titles I currently have in stock:

Close To Home
Edge of Glory
Fire and Ice
Heart of the Game
Heartstrings
Learning Curve
Love All
Plain Engish
Spanish Heart
Spanish Surrender
Trails Merge
Timeless
Thrust

The special holiday price is $15 a book and $4 for shipping within the US.

I am happy to combine shipping if you want more than one. And I'm willing to ship to other countries, but I will have to get a price check for you. What's more, if you buy 5 books, you get a free ebook or audiobook. And as always, I am happy to personalize an autograph to you or a loved one for no extra charge, because who does that?

If you're interested, please email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com with "Autographed Books" in the title. In the email, tell me a) which books you'd like, b) where to send them, and c) who you'd like the inscription made out to.

Then I can get you a total price, which you can pay on either PayPal or Venmo. I plan to start shipping books Friday, December 1 and continue until I run out of them.

Happy Holidays!

Birds Give Back 2023

Thu, 23 Feb 2023 15:25:34 GMT

Help me pay it forward for queer students

HI All,

Today is Birds Give Back, which many of you know is my big annual fundraiser, as part of the larger campaign for my alma mater, Illinois State University. I am a proud Redbird for so many reasons, not the least of which is that my big queer family started here, and so did my big queer career. I wrote my first two books as a student there, surrounded by love and support, and it's important to me that our future rainbow Redbirds are given the same chances I was afforded.

So to that end, my wife Susan and I have been working to establish a scholarship in service of social justice, and we have become challenge donors for the LGBTQ+ Student Support Fund. When the fund receives 100 donations of any size today, it will unlock a $6000 student affairs scholarship over the next four years. This is a win-win for everyone here, because not only does a very deserving fund get money to help students, we also get to start a long-term scholarship for social justice, AND you can get some of the great prizes below.

All you have to do is click this direct link to choose the LGBTQ+ Student Support Fund.

https://birdsgiveback.illinoisstate.edu/pages/division-of-student-affairs-bgb?referral_id=63eeb3aaf96fe3205423bd75

Anyone who donates at least $10 to the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment while using this link on Feb 24 will automatically be entered into a drawing to win a free e-book copy of any one of my novels.

Anyone who d onates at least $100 dollars to the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment will be guaranteed to receive any one of my audiobooks or ebooks.

Anyone who donates $250 to the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment will receive a free, autographed, print copy of Heartstrings , along with a handwritten thank-you note.

And finally, anyone who donates $500 to the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment or more to these students who mean so much to me will receive not only a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books and a thank-you card from yours truly, but also the right to name a side character in one of my future books!

Important: if you donate, you MUST shoot me an email at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com to let me know which book or e - book you’d like! The donation website will not give your contact information or tell me how much you donated.

Sports Romance

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Thu, 29 Dec 2022 17:55:34 GMT

New Best of List

Hi all, just a quick blog to let you know about a cool thing I got to do. A couple months ago Shephard.com approached me about the possibility to cultivating at "Best of" of list for their website. As a leading author of Sapphic sports romance they wanted my take on some books in the genre, and I chose to do my list on sports romance like Thrust, that feature either some lesson common sports, or different spins on them.

If you're interested in my take on the subject, here's the link to the post: https://shepherd.com/best-books/sporty-sapphic-romances

And while you're there, poke around because the web site if full of other "best of" lists that might catch your fancy!

Happy Holidays 2022

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Wed, 21 Dec 2022 01:51:02 GMT

Merry Christmas from the Spangler 3

T here will be no paper Christmas cards for us this year. We had to go all electronic as we do not have a return address. Want to know what's going on with our family this year? Check out the video at this link: https://youtu.be/BGqc8Z-Wv6M

Christmas Mouse

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Tue, 13 Dec 2022 13:40:28 GMT

Available Everywhere this Holiday Season

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Heartstrings Release

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Tue, 21 Jun 2022 22:08:55 GMT

Get your copy today!

Hi All,

I am thrilled to announce that my newest release, Heartstrings is now available!

You can get the ebooks directly from the publisher here, from Amazon for Kindle here, and from Barnes and Noble for Nook, here!

You can also pre-order the print copies which should start shipping any day now, or if you are going to be at GCLS in July, we will have a few hard copies there for me to sign.

And however you prefer to take in your romance novels these days I do so very much hope you will give this one a read. I know I am a bit biased on the subject, but I think it's a really sweet, fun read. I know I had all the warm fuzzy feelings pretty much the whole time I was writing it, so I really hope you feel the same when you read it.

Here's the blurb:

Mira Collins has her life together. She’s built a solid career as a financial planner, a comfortable home, and an uncomplicated and regimented routine…until her wayward sister, Vannah, shows up unexpectedly and drops a bomb on her orderly world. Ever dependable Mira reluctantly accepts temporary custody of her ten-year-old nephew, Ben, then quickly learns that not all responsibilities can be handled with a color-coded calendar system, a nd that being a substitute parent is terrifying. There are new skills, stressors, and emotions to contend with, many of which are simultaneously simplified and complicated by Ben’s beautiful young violin teacher.

Sh elby Tanner is fresh out of grad school and eager to start her first job as an orchestra teacher, and although she believes the power of music will enrich her students’ lives, she still feels like she’s waiting for her own to start. Working harder than ever to make ends meet while struggling to find her feet, she quickly learns that not everything can be handled with a well-tuned instrument or a creative mindset, and that being an adult is terrifying. She’s desperate to feel confident and competent, but the world keeps tripping her up. Case in point, her growing attraction to the guardian of her most gifted young musician.

Drawn together by their changing circumstances and their mutual affection for Ben, Shelby and Mira learn to lean on each other despite their differences in age, personality, and lifestyle, until Vannah’s reappearance threatens to upend everyone’s lives all over again. Is attraction enough to sustain opposites without the commonality of Ben between them, or will the beautiful music they’ve created together fade into silence?

Stem Cell Donation Update

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Sun, 29 May 2022 15:56:58 GMT

Facebook memories reminded me that we are approaching the 1 year anniversary of my stem cell donation. On June 1st of 2021, after five days of injections, I underwent a medical procedure to donate stem cells via a line in my chest. Those cells were then transferred into a cancer patient somewhere in Ohio. In addition to feeling like a high tech medical miracle, it was also a huge, awe inspiring experience for me personally, and I’ve spent the time since then feeling so proud and honored to have been in a position to so something so powerful.

Then about two weeks ago I received a phone call that my recipient had passed away. I’m gutted. The news has ripped at me in ways I could not have anticipated. This is, in effect, the death of a stranger, a young woman in a different place, whose name I have never known. And now I will never know it.

In some ways I don’t feel entitled to this level of grief. In so many ways she’d only ever existed for me as an idea. But we were not nothing to each other. I have prayed for her every day for almost a year, and now I pray for her family. I have wondered and worried over her. I have woken up in the middle of long nights and on Christmas morning thinking about her. Every time I notice the little scar on my chest where the line went into my body, I have felt her with me. Still, I did not know her. And I never will.

When the transplant coordinator called, she broke the news quickly, then she said that she needed one more thing from me. She wondered if I might release my remaining stem cells to researchers. I was still a bit rocked back from the start of the conversation, and this request confused me. She explained that there were some cells left over after the transfusion, and they still belonged to me. Legally and ethically, those cells, even after they left my body, are a part of me, and no one can do anything to those extensions of my body without my releasing them. I thought about asking her if anyone had mentioned that to the Supreme Court, but I was too sad in the moment. The anger would come later, but as I’ve pondered that fact, it has helped me at least contextualize the level of grief I am feeling: A woman died with a part of me inside of her.

I have tried to temper the dramatic impulse to surrender to the idea that if she died with a part of me inside her, a part of me has died as well, but I’ll admit I have gone there a time or two. What I have leaned on more frequently, though, is that despite not knowing anything other than her rough age and gender, we shared something more fundamental than names or letters. We shared stem cells, the very building blocks of what makes us who we are on a cellular level. With those cells I sent my hopes, my best impulses, my health, my love, the pieces of my blood and bones that allow me to live such a wonderful life in the hopes I could sustain her with those things.

Turns out I could not. It has been two weeks of wondering if I could have done more. Fearing that my body, which I have always had a problematic relationship with, has failed me again, and this time betrayed someone else in the process. Worrying someone else paid the price of my insufficiency. Remembering loved ones I have lost to cancer, feeling that pain anew. Imagining the anguish of those who loved her as deeply as I loved the people I lost, and almost crippling empathy for the pain they are living in right now, pain I couldn’t save them from even though I tried. It’s been dark in my brain.

My emotions have overwhelmed me often. Sadness ruled the first week. I burst into tears several times at inopportune moments, and cried until my face hurt. This past week anger took over. I will admit, other than a general sense of the injustice of it all, I didn’t understand where the anger came from. Then in session this week, my therapist explained that anger is a common outlet for a sense of helplessness. Helplessness is tied to our fight or flight instincts, and I am a fighter. I suppose a part of me is still trying to fight a battle that has already been lost. I am also still fighting against this slew of emotions I had no way to anticipate. I told her I was afraid of the strength of them. Since she knows me, she told me I needed to take hold of this narrative and find the through lines of what will sustain me as this story’s conclusion becomes a part of the larger story of my life.

Even for a writer it was hard task. I know so very little for sure. I will think of this woman for the rest of my life, and I will never have any more closure than I have today. Despite my best effort and intentions, I will only know that she is gone, and she took a part of me with her. What is to be made of all the emotions that come with that? My therapist then asked if regret factored into the mix. I quickly said it did not, and I was surprised she even asked that. She smiled like she knew that, then gently pushed. “If one year ago someone had told you, there’s a woman in need and you will never know her. She needs the very base of your body’s building blocks, it will be a grueling process over several days that will take more out of you physically and emotionally than you had imagined, and all it will give her is 11 more months. 11 months to say what she needs to say, to hug loved ones, to try to make peace. One more Christmas, one more birthday, one more fall, and winter, and spring, but that’s all. She will be gone, and you will live on with the questions, and a connection most people will never comprehend. Would you sign up for that?

The answer was yes. It is yes.

If I got the same call tomorrow, the answer would be yes that day and every day after.

It will always be yes.

I suppose that is the through line. That’s the story. It’s part of my story, and it will be, for as long I have cells in my body…or out of it.

· If your answer would be “yes” too, and you are eligible to donate, please consider registering with Be The Match , and if you aren't eligible yourself please share this information with the people in your life who might be!

Birds Give Back 2022

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Thu, 24 Feb 2022 14:05:28 GMT

Time to pay it forward!

Hi Friends,

Those of you who have followed my career may remember that Birds Give Back is a huge, single-day, annual fundraiser to help students at my alma matter, Illinois State University. I have written blogs in the past about why I feel so grateful to ISU for the support and opportunities it provided in my life and career. I've also written about why I've thrown my support behind the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment which offers emergency resources for students who face financial hardships or loss of family backing after coming out, as well as providing funds for special programming around queer issues.

This year my wife Susan and I are going a step further, to become challenge donors in support of the fund. What's a challenge donor, you may ask? Here's what the website says:

Rachel Spangler ’05, '07 M.Ed and Susan Spangler ’86, PhD. ‘06 will contribute $2,000 to the LGBTQ+ Support Fund when 100 gifts are received for the fund.

So basically we are betting $2,000 on your support for LGBTQ+ students, and we are really hoping you will make us pay up. The best part is it doesn't matter how much you give. We just need 100 people to give something! And to sweeten the pot for you sapphic romance readers out there, I'm tacking on a few rewards:

Anyone who donates at least $10 to the LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment while using this link on Feb 24 will automatically be entered into a drawing to win a free ebook copy of any one of my novels.

Anyone who donates at least $100 dollars LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment will be guaranteed to receive any one of my audiobooks or ebooks.

Anyone who donates $250 LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment will receive a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books, along with a handwritten thank-you note.

And finally, anyone who donates $500 LGBTQ+ Student Support Endowment or more to these students who mean so much to me will receive not only a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books and a thank-you card from yours truly, but also the right to name a side character in one of my future books!

Important , if you donate, don’t forget to shoot me an email at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com to let me know which book or ebook you’d like! The donation website will not give your contact information or tell me how much you donated.

I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and I am proud to know each and every one of you who opens your heart (and wallet) to make sure that every Redbird is given the opportunities I was given at ISU. You never know whose future you might be helping to secure.

Again, all you have to do is use this link: https://birdsgiveback.illinoisstate.edu/amb/Spangler

Let the Games Begin

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Fri, 04 Feb 2022 18:58:52 GMT

Winter Olympics 2022!

If you follow my career at all then you know I am a huge sports fan, and even more obsessed with the Olympics. OBSESSED!

I loved virtually everything about the all games, but if really pressed I'd have to admit that the Winter Olympics are my favorite. I love skiing, and snowboard, and of course curling most of all, but also hockey, and speed skating and bobsled, oh my! Whether you're like me, and have been counting down the days until the open ceremony, or if you're wondering what all the fuzz is about, I wanted to take a couple minutes to try and build that excitement for you!

First off, in order to get into the sports you have to understand the basic, so in years past I wrote a couple bogs on some of my favorite, though less well known sports, so you can watch them from a place of knowledge.

Here's one on Curling https://www.rachelspangler.com/2018/01/19/olympic-countdown-curling

Here's one on Boardercross https://www.rachelspangler.com/2018/01/25/olympic-countdown-boardercross

Here's one on Alpine Skiing https://www.rachelspangler.com/2018/01/31/olympic-countdown-alpine-skiing

And here's a guest post from a friend/fellow author who's an expert in ski jumping: https://www.rachelspangler.com/2018/02/08/olympic-countdown-guest-blog-ski-jumping

But what if you already know the basics? What if you want to go deeper? Well have I got a deal for you!

Check out these two books that feature THREE of the sports mentioned above: Curling, Alpine Skiing, and Boardercross.

Fire & Ice

Max Lauren made a mistake that shattered her pride, her heart, and her career in one fell swoop. Relegated to covering the lowly game of curling, she already resents the so-called “sport,” and then she steps onto the ice, where things get infinitely worse. She’s been knocked down before, and she’s always gotten back up, but a frosty resolve only goes so far in a world of people who thrive on ice.

Callie Mulligan is the amiable skipper of America’s second-place curling team. Upbeat, optimistic, and with a fiery passion for an icy sport, she has both the mental and physical skills to become Team USA’s top contender. What she doesn’t have is the fame or the funding. Coverage from a journalist of Max’s caliber could be the answer to both problems if only Max wasn’t so cold to the idea. As Callie tries to warm her to the sport, a little bit of heat grows into a fire neither of them can contain.

Passion, competition, ambition, redemption, and raw need collide as the bright lights of success and celebrity grow hotter, but can the fire between them be sustained when it’s put on ice?

Edge of Glory

The clock is ticking as two champions face the run of a lifetime . . .

Corey LaCroix is Boardercross royalty, but Olympic medals and World Championships only carry you so far when your knees ache and you’re suddenly an underdog for the first time in your career.

Elise Brandeis doesn’t need a training partner, especially an unorthodox has-been snowboarder with a devil-may-care attitude. But Elise has already lost a full season to injury, and she’s struggling to regain her form in time to make the Olympic ski team. Teaming up with Corey might give her the edge she needs to go for gold, but the snowboarder’s cocky smile and rock-hard abs might prove a distraction she simply can’t afford.

Corey and Elise put their broken bodies on the line as they fight the competition, the clock, and the frozen terrain for one more chance at glory. But this time, as they ride the razor’s edge between victory and defeat, the stakes are steeper than any mountain they will ever face when legacies and hearts collide.

You can download either of these book TODAY from www.bywaterbooks.com or anywhere great WLW romances are sold.

Lastly, if you're ready to dive all the way in, or perhaps you're looking to surprise a sports lover in your life, I have one final option: Autographed copies !

If you want to do something special or personalized to mark these winter games, email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com and I'll hook you up for $16 a book, plus shipping. What better way to celebrate the love of these winter games, than by delving into an actual love story?

Let the games begin!

2021 Family Video

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Thu, 09 Dec 2021 00:39:55 GMT

Happy Holidays to all. Below you will find the link to the Spangler Family year-in-review video for 2021. We hope you enjoy it!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Irt6KRsmhCA

Holiday Shopping

Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com (Rachel Spangler) — Wed, 08 Dec 2021 19:48:18 GMT

Holiday Rush getting to you? Running out of time? Running out of ideas? Running out of energy?

Have no fear I am here to help!

I have a series of ways to get you back on track with both your gift giving and you personal relaxation. The first, and perhaps most exciting is an autographed book sale on several of my winter books.

I currently have an over stock of Fire and Ice, Edge of Glory, and Close To Home that I would LOVE to sign and ship out to you. Each book sells for $17. Shipping is $3.50 for one book, but if you buy more than one I am happy to combine shipping for the lowest price I can get. These books make great gifts for the romance readers in your life, and they can also serve as a form of self care if you need a little escape in your own right this season. All you have to do is shoot me an email Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com to let me know which book(s) you want, who you want me to personalize the autograph to, and where I should send it. Then I'll get you a total and you can pay me through PayPal. Just remember shipping is slow this time of year, so the sooner you get the order in the better!

Option number 2, is not book related, but still near and dear to my heart. I am currently hosting a Pampered Chef virtual party . For those of you who don't know, Pampered Chef sells REALLY good cooking related products. I used to work for them when I was a struggling author trying to make ends meet. No my cousin is a consultant and she's doing a great job keeping up the family tradition. If you order through my specific link you can get great stuff and help our both me and an awesome member of my family at the same time. So for all those folks you have to buy for who maybe aren't queer romance readers, just click here, shop, and the items will come right to you (or wherever you want it shipped) in about 7 days. Really, is great stuff, both to impress the avid foodies in your life and to offer aid to people who can't cook at all. Check it out!

The next two items on the list are perfect for those pesky people who seem to have all the STUFF you can imagine. Why not give experiences instead? They are take up less space, are better for the environment, require no shipping, and are always gluten free.

Option number 3, if you or someone who love wants the special VIP access to the inner world of yours truly, there's always the gift of Patreon. Sign them up to become a patron and they get the gift that keeps on giving. Each month I post about what I'm working on, thinking, about reading, or plotting for my future. Patreon at various tiers gets sneak peaks, behind the scene info, Q&A sessions, and even polls on things like what to name characters. This is a fun and safe space for someone who want the inside scoop and prince points range from $2 to $20 a month. Patreon also get discounts on author services through this website.

Which brings me to option number 4. If you know an aspiring author, please go up to the header of this website and check out the wide array of author services I am now offering. Need help hashing out a plot point? I can do that. Want to ask questions of how to submit your book for publishing, I'm here. Finished that first draft and need some expert advise on editing, I'm your boi. Wherever you or a loved one are in the writing process I'm here to help you jump to that next step.

Birds Give Back 2021

Thu, 25 Feb 2021 05:01:00 GMT

Every year my alma mater , Illinois State University, has a major fundraising drive, and for the past couple of years it has been my honor to be a part of giving back to the place that gave this Redbird my wings. Last year I wrote a blog about why I feel so indebted to ISU , complete with adorable pictures of me from my days on campus and from the time they gave me a very nice award.

Today, I want to share some information that is about so much more than me. Today I want to tell you about some of the Redbirds I am raising money for. You see, this year my Birds Give Back link will take you directly to the donation page for the LGBTQIA SUPPORT FUND .

This fund is used to offer emergency support for LGBTQIA students who have been disowned or financially cut off from their families solely on the basis of their sexual orientation or their gender identity.

It breaks my heart to think that we still need this kind of support, but the fund is now getting requests from 8-10 students a year. Let that sink in. All those students are facing complete abandonment by their biological families just for being queer in some way.

One of the administrators of the fund told me that the students are incredibly humble in what they ask for, just enough to make the next tuition payment or to purchase a text book, but doing so also alerts those in charge to often greater needs, including basics like food, toothpaste, or safe living arrangements. Because the fund (and the processes around it) exists, many students have been connected to larger support networks that can save not just their educations, but also their lives.

As someone who understands the power of family of choice, I strongly believe that each and every one of these students is my kid. They are your kid. They belong to us, to our community. That is why this fund exists, as a way for us to save our kids. We are their families now, and I pray we can show them the love and support their biological families failed so badly to provide, but the fund is dangerously low. They currently have nearly $5,000 in need and roughly $100 in expendable funds.

But we can change that today. 100% of the money raised as part of Birds Give Back will go straight into expendable funds. And what’s more, a generous donor has offered a to unlock a $10,000 gift to the fund if we get 100 donations, no matter what the size of those donations are.

I want to do my part, and that is why I’m offering some of my own incentives to anyone who makes a donation during today’s fundraiser:

Anyone who donates at least $10 while using this link on Feb 25 will automatically be entered into a drawing to win a free ebook copy of any one of my novels.

Anyone who donates at least $100 dollars will be guaranteed to receive any one of my audiobooks or ebooks.

Anyone who donates $250 will receive a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books, along with a handwritten thank-you note.

And finally, anyone who donates $500 or more to these students who mean so much to me will receive not only a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books and a thank-you card from yours truly, but also the right to name a side character in one of my future books!

Finally, if you donate, don’t forget to shoot me an email at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com to let me know which book or ebook you’d like!

Again, all you have to do is use this link: https://birdsgiveback.illinoisstate.edu/amb/Spangler

Close To Home Audiobook Winner!

Tue, 05 Nov 2019 15:56:00 GMT

Today is a contest winner day, and I am excited to announce that Jax Meyer of Twitter won a free audiobook code for Close To Home !

But do not worry if you didn’t win! You can still get your own copy right here!

I honestly can’t wait for you all to listen to this one, so go ahead and get it downloaded, turn it on during your commute or while you’re power walking or doing dishes, and then please be sure to let me know what you think, either in a review or via social media.

Then if you like it, it’s worth mentioning that all three Darlington romances are now available in audiobook form, so the good times can keep right on rolling.

Okay, that’s enough shameless self-promotion for one blog. I’ll see y’all next week. In the meantime, happy listening!

Close to Home Audiobooks

Tue, 29 Oct 2019 14:01:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

I know I’ve been pushing hard re: the wide release of Fire & Ice , and I’m going to get back to that next week, but today I want to pile on the excitement by announcing that Close to Home is now available in audiobook form!

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Close to Home , here’s the blurb:

Kelly Rolen is a CPA—she’s smart, she’s focused, and she’s worked hard to build an orderly career and a respectable life in her hometown of Darlington, Illinois. Everything is precisely as it should be. Well, it is until her father suffers a debilitating stroke during the busiest time of her year—tax season. Suddenly, Kelly finds herself overworked, exhausted, behind schedule, and forced to hire an intern to meet her deadlines.

Elliot Garza is young and brash, but she’s also a talented accounting student who is charismatic, driven, and solely focused on completing her internship so she can escape from the bleak Midwestern town to Washington, DC and her dream job. She knows she has the professional skills necessary to do the job well, but she is less certain about her ability to handle her beautiful, prickly, demanding, and compelling new boss.

In this fresh new romance from one of the genre’s top young authors, will Kelly’s past and Elliot’s future add up to something greater than the sum of their escalating attraction, or will the answer to their equation end up hitting too close to home?

And if you aren’t sure this book is your cup of tea, here’s a link to the The Lesbian Review’s write up: https://www.thelesbianreview.com/close-home-rachel-spangler/ *Spoiler alert* They liked the book so much they gave it two reviewer-favorite badges along with the designations of “Best of the Best” and “highly recommended.”

If that’s not enough to pique your interest, wait there’s more! The audiobook version is narrated by my super-talented friend Ann Etter, who also read the audiobook version of In Development .

Aside from being an all-around vocal joy, Ann has the perfect voice for this book, as she actually is a Midwestern CPA. I mean, seriously? Could you get a better fit for Close To Home ? I think not!

So to celebrate, I am going to give away a free Audible download code to one lucky winner who shares this blog on social media. Don’t forget to tag me so I have your entry on record. And if you already bought your copy of Close To Home on Audible (thank you!), I will give you a download code for one of my other audiobooks instead!

Fire & Ice: Wide Release!

Wed, 23 Oct 2019 14:45:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

I am super excited to announce that Fire & Ice is now widely available in print and eBook, wherever great books are sold!

And if that wasn’t exciting enough, the awesome reviews are rolling in and making me feel all the warm fuzzies. I’ve always been a little shy about reading/sharing/asking for reviews, but I’m working on that because feminism!

I’m working on not putting myself down so much, and trying to accept compliments with grace rather than brushing them off. I’m also, slowly, working on being more comfortable with self-promotion, because honestly, if queer women don’t learn to promote ourselves and each other, who will do it for us? The Patriarchy? I think not.

Besides, we have so many wonderful reviewers in our fields of lesfic and romance, and their work deserves to be seen, so here goes, starting with the big boss of all reviewers because for the first time ever, I got a review from the New York Times.

Yeah, talk about nerd porn, I almost passed out when the NYT included Fire & Ice in a piece on fall romances .

“ Max and Callie emerge as a complicated, messy, believable match. The professional drive, stubbornness and pride that connect them also create the challenges to their happy ending. Spangler writes fights and misunderstandings with heartbreaking precision, but she puts her characters’ hearts — and the readers’ — back together by the end. ” ~ Jamie Green, NYT Book Review

They may have also mentioned the book’s “copious charm,” and I may or may not be planning to have that phrase tattooed somewhere on my body. I’ll leave you to guess where as I move on, because as cool at as it is for the NYT to pick up a lesbian romance novel, I’m not about to forget the awesome folks who have been doing that for years and years. Velvet Lounger of the Lesbian Reading Room has been doing just that for our community, and I was thrilled to hear that someone who has read so many great romances enjoyed Fire & Ice enough to say:

I really enjoyed this one, read it in a day, couldn’t put it down, not because it’s a page-turning drama but because I enjoyed seeing the interaction and growth of the two main characters, literally fire and ice coming together to make steam. Excellent reading and highly recommended.” ~ VELVET LOUNGER, The Lesbian Reading Room .

That’s right, fire and ice together makes steam, people! Who’s ready to get steamy with me? Gaby, from Lez Review Books, that’s who! She wrote:

“ There are a few authors that really know how to write sports romances and Spangler is one of them. What Spangler is great at is having the perfect amount of sports to romance. While most sports romances don’t have enough sports, they can occasionally swing the opposite direction so that the romance takes a backseat. Spangler gets the ratio perfect so that both the romance and the sport featured shines. ” ~ Gaby, LezReviewBooks.com

Thanks Gaby, and I agree, sports + romance = so much fun to write!

And lest I forget the men who also show love to women’s fiction, I also want to share a bit from Amos Lassen and Grady Harp, who continues to support queer writers up and down the spectrum.

“ This is not the first book by Rachel Spangler and in fact I have read several over the past ten years. This book shows a level of maturity in her writing that was not always there in her other books. Sometimes this is just what an author has to find his turf and I believe that Spangler has done just that with “Fire & Ice”. ~ Amos Lassen

“ Said before, and say again, Rachel’s writing style is so natural it makes the reader feel the sense of eavesdropping – a polished skill for authors. This is a solid, entertaining, lusty and well-scribed important novel .” ~ Grady Harp, Amazon Top 100 Reviewer

Sincerely guys, y’all are next level gays, and I appreciate you!

And now this has become a long blog, which makes me happy because our community is awesome. I hope you all have bought your copy of Fire & Ice so you too can get in on this big ole lesfic love-fest, but either way, I appreciate you sticking with me. You’re here, I’m queer, we have many books and readers out there to share the joy, and that’s a great space to be in!

Fire and Ice: Early Release

Wed, 02 Oct 2019 16:20:00 GMT

Fire and Ice is out! Well, the eBooks are available on my publisher’s website, that is. The print books will still launch at Womencrafts during Women’s Week in Ptown, but if you can’t be there, then what are you waiting for? Go get your eBook copy of Fire and Ice today!

That’s it. That’s the end of the blog. Why are you still reading this when you could be reading Fire and Ice ?

Fire and Ice: The Book Box!

Thu, 26 Sep 2019 18:25:00 GMT

Hello Folks,

Welcome to this week’s edition of the Fire and Ice countdown.

Shit is starting to get real now, as not only have I heard rumors that the ebooks might be available a few weeks early, I know for a fact that early print run is starting to roll off the presses because I got my copies this week!

This is my 16th full length novel and let me tell you, the arrival of the never gets old!

My whole family gets excited about it, bless their hearts. My son found this box first and ran in shouting, “You got books!” And, after fixing my hair a little bit, my wife grabbed the camera to document the opening. I always feel a bit embarrassed, but then again why not make a fuss? I started working on this book a year ago!

The moment when I finally see the new baby my heart always gives a little skip. I mean a years worth of work on screens and in clouds and emails and PDFs, followed months out of my hands, and then it’s there, and more real than ever, and beautiful!

And I’m proud. And happy. And a little wistful. And a little in awe of it all. I feel so grateful to be able to do this work, and so appreciative of everyone who supports me along the way. This moment always feels like the completion of a journey for me. My work here is done. I am holding my reward. Now the only thing I can do, is pray that some one you enjoy it, too.

You can pre-order your copy of Fire and Ice today or if you’re going to Women’s Week this October in Provincetown, you can pick up your copy at Womencrafts, a week before it’s available in any other stores!

Fire and Ice: The Basics

Wed, 18 Sep 2019 17:58:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

First of all, the book sale is still going on, so you can check that out here, but I am down several more copies from last week, so don’t wait too long, or the ones you want might be gone!

But it you’ve already got all the Rachel Spangler backlist you can handle, please read on, because I’m already looking ahead to next month and my Women’s Week Release: Fire and Ice !

Last week I shared this awesome Ann McMan cover with you.

I am totally in love with it. And really, what’s not to love. I mean, I am totally a leg person, so, check!

And she’s on a bed, which sends all the right messages here, but lest we think this is some straight up erotica, look at that heart in the coffee cup, and together we all say, “Awwww,” ’cause we just know it’s going to be sweet. And possibly cozy, because look at those leg warmers and that oversized sweater.

But wait? What’s with the computer and the rules of curling? That’s not the type of light reading someone just snuggles up with on a lazy Saturday morning. By golly, is this woman working? What is her job, and how do we all get gigs like that?

It seems as though this cover has a lot of feels to it, and yet also so many questions. I think it’s time to start teasing a few answers for you. Not all the answers, mind you. I still have to hold your interest long enough to keep you coming back for more until Fire and Ice is released next month. Unless of course you want to go pre-order it right here .

So, in my attempt to string you along until it’s time for the big release, here’s the official blurb of Fire and Ice .

Will the heat building between a disgraced reporter and a rising curling star melt the already thin ice they each are on?

Max Lauren made a mistake that shattered her pride, her heart, and her career in one fell swoop. Relegated to covering the lowly game of curling, she already resents the so-called “sport,” and then she steps onto the ice, where things get infinitely worse. She’s been knocked down before, and she’s always gotten back up, but a frosty resolve goes only so far in a world of people who thrive on ice.

Passion, competition, ambition, redemption, and raw need collide as the bright lights of success and celebrity grow hotter, but can the fire between Max and Callie be sustained when it’s put on ice?

Fire and Ice

Wed, 11 Sep 2019 15:19:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

First of all thank you to those of you who have ordered books from my book sale . We’ve put a little dent in my stock, but I’ve still got plenty left, so if you haven’t had a chance to place your orders yet, it’s not too late.

And for those of you who did look at my sales deals, you got a little hint of things to come because you saw that one of the incentives for buying a copy of everything I’ve written was the chance to get a sneak peek at my next release; Fire and Ice .

It’s hard to believe that autumn is nearly upon us here in the Northern Hemisphere, but it is, and with the change of the global seasons comes a shift in the sports seasons as well, which leads me right into the wide world of curling.

Yes, I said curling. No, I am not curling my hair. I mean the sport of curling. If you are someone who is excited by that news, boy, have I got the book for you! And if you are someone who wrinkled up your nose and thought “Curling isn’t a sport!” boy, have I got the book for you!

Fire and Ice, which will be launching officially at Women’s Week in Provincetown, follows a professional curler who is passionate about the sport, and a sports reporter who thinks that curling is a silly game and quite beneath her. And of course, since I wrote it, the two of them are about to embark on an epic romance!

In the weeks leading up to our big release celebration, I’ll be sharing some insights into the book, the main characters, and my own connections to the world of curling, but for today I am going to leave you with two things:

This Link to pre-order Fire & Ice on Amazon.

And this fantastic cover from the fabulously talented Ann McMan.

Book Sale!

Thu, 05 Sep 2019 13:55:00 GMT

Hey folks,

First a little bit of housekeeping…not the boring kind, the fun kind! I have been remiss in sharing reviews of Spanish Surrender , but I hope you know how much I appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time to write one on Amazon, Goodreads, or other outlets. This week I got my first big write up from one of the LesFic community’s biggest review site, The Lesbian Review . Thanks goes to them, especially Anna Gram, who made my heart swell with comments like this:

“This book is hot in every way you can imagine. From the passionate arguments to the passionate love making. You’ll be entranced as you follow Simone and Loreto on their journey to discover the truth about Spain and the truth about each other. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn as they do that sometimes you have to surrender to truly embrace life and love as it was meant to be enjoyed.”

You can read the full review right here , but let me tell you, it’s just about everything a writer could want to hear.

And that puts me in a great mood, and when I’m in a great mood, it makes me want to share more books with y’all, which brings me to the main point of this blog: I’m having a book sale !

I’ve got at least a few copies of every single one of my books on hand, and I’m selling them off at below the cover price, with a few extra bonuses along the way.

Each book is $15. Here’s a list of what I have available:

Learning Curve (2 Copies)
Trails Merge (4 Copies)
The Long Way Home (A Darlington Romance) (4 Copies)
LoveLife (2 Copies)
Spanish Heart (2 Copies)
Does She Love You? (2 Copies)
Timeless (A Darlington Romance) (4 Copies)
Heart of the Game (4 Copies)
Perfect Pairing (4 Copies)
Close To Home (A Darlington Romance) (2 Copies)
Edge of Glory (7 Copies)
In Development (3 Copies)
Love All (7 Copies)
Full English (9 Copies)
Spanish Surrender (10 Copies)

Now for the extras:
I will autograph each book, either with a personalized inscription to you or with my name and the date, depending on your preference. I will autograph each book you buy.

Shipping is $3 a book in the continental US, but if you buy more than one, I will combine shipping. The more books you buy, the cheaper the shipping gets per book. I make no money on shipping and I am willing to get price quotes for you ahead of billing. Same goes for international shipping: I can check the price, and you pay only what I pay in shipping and packaging.

And in keeping with the theme of buying more saves you more…

If you buy 5 books, I’ll throw in a 6th one for free.

If you buy 9 books, I’ll throw 2 in for free.

If you buy 13 books, I’ll throw in the two free print books, plus a free eBook copy of my upcoming release, Fire and Ice , before its wide release! (Obviously there are only 2 copies of a couple of these, so only two people have a shot at the 13-book offer. If you want it, move quickly! First come, first served.)

Email all orders to Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com. Put something like “Book Sale” in the title, because if you don’t, I might think it’s spam and delete it. Also in the email, be sure to tell me your PayPal address, your shipping address, and how you want me to autograph your books.

Spanish Surrender: Winners!

Wed, 28 Aug 2019 17:07:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

I know I am a week past my giveaway deadline, and I am sorry about that! The last week has been another trying one for our family. I won’t go into all the details, but suffice it to say, this has not been our finest summer!

That being said, I didn’t forget about you all, and I am ready to give away some books! Thank you to everyone who reached out with comments, tweets, FB and Insta posts, etc. You all rocked my socks off, and I appreciate every single one of you!

So without further ado here are the winners.

Winner number one: Dorothy Hermes wins a free autographed copy of Spanish Surrender !

Winner number two: Stephanie Autry wins a free copy of any one of my books in print or ebook.

Winner number three: Sue Robinson wins a free proof ebook of my next release, Fire and Ice , months ahead of its October release!

If you are one of the winners, send me an email at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com, and I will get those out to you as soon as I reasonably can (Just be sure to say something like “I won the book” in the email title so I don’t accidentally delete it).

And if you didn’t win, don’t worry; you can still get your own copy of Spanish Surrender here !

Spanish Surrender: Giveaway!

Thu, 08 Aug 2019 17:52:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

I’m feeling extravagant! I want to run not one, not two, but three giveaways!

I want to get as many copies of Spanish Surrender out there as possible, but I also want to reward the people who have already supported me and this books that means so much to me.

So, here’s what we’re going to do:

1) IF you haven’t yet purchased Spanish Surrender , comment on here or on social media (be sure to tag me) and tell me why you want to read it. If you do that, you’ll be automatically entered for a chance to win a free, autographed copy of Spanish Surrender .

2) IF you have already bought Spanish Surrender , post a picture on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram of you with your print or ebook and tagging me and you’ll automatically be entered for a chance to win a free, autographed copy of any one of my books!

3) IF you have done the Holy Grail of author support and bought and read Spanish Surrender AND posted an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads, you can share a screen shot or link to that review here or by tagging me on social media, and you will automatically be entered to win a “read- it-before-you-can-buy-it”, proof eBook of Fire and Ice , which won’t even be available until October!

I will keep all three giveaways open until August 15 to give you all plenty of time to level up if you want to. And yes, you can enter both contest 2 and 3 simultaneously if you want! Multiple social media posts get multiple entries, up to 1 per day, because you all rock like that!

And in the meantime, thank you for being awesome. I hope you know how much I appreciate you!

Spanish Surrender: The Photo Blog

Thu, 01 Aug 2019 13:19:00 GMT

Hey there friends,

If you’ve been following along for the last couple weeks, you already know that Spanish Surrender is out and widely available. You also got to read an excerpt from the first chapter in my last blog. I really hope that was enough to pique your interest for you to go buy it, and I’ve actually even heard from a few of you who’ve so graciously posted reviews on Amazon or taken the time to post on social media.

First of all, thank you!

Second, one of the comment trends starting to pop up repeatedly is something along the lines of “ Spanish Surrender made me want to visit Spain.” A couple folks have mentioned googling places described in the book, and a handful of you have asked whether or not some specific restaurants or businesses actually exist. This blog is to assure you they do!

While my previous novel Full English was heavily inspired by my time living in England, I had to make a few adjustments, both out of respect for the privacy of people who live there, the legal issues involved with writing about a real dukedom, and the need to make a few scenes flow more smoothly. I am here now to tell you the same was not true for Spanish Surrender . Every single location described in the book was portrayed with all the painstaking accuracy I could muster, from hotel layouts to menus to driving routes, and even some of my family’s own experiences.

And of course I say all of this as an elaborate excuse to show you our vacation photos. You will notice that we are wearing jackets and hoodies because we were there in winter as opposed to summer, but the scenery is largely the same, starting with this night time shot of Calle Larios, the upscale shopping area that Simone loves and Loreto hates. In this photo the area is decked out for Carnival, but you can see it’s a pretty busy and trendy place.

And staying with the theme of places Simone loves, especially early in the book, here’s a photo of my wife and son at the Starbucks Simone visits on her first morning with Loreto. Can’t say that it’s authentically Spanish, but as far as Starbucks goes, it’s not a bad view.

That being said, given the choice between frappachinos and something a little more Spanish for breakfast, we’ll always chose the latter, and that’s why by the very next morning we’d located a tastier option just down an little offshoot of the same plaza where we found the Starbucks. Anyone who’s already read Spanish Surrender knows what I’m talking about, right? Churros!

Loreto’s love of churros con chocolate mirrors our own adoration of this Spanish breakfast dish. We ate them in every city we visited, but few could compare with the ones we had in Málaga.

And before we leave that city, I want to share one more photo, this one from the Alcazaba. This site doesn’t make it into the book, but I wanted to include it here for two reasons. 1) I don’t want you to think Málaga is all polished and gentrified, and 2) I just love this shot of my wife atop the old Moorish fortress.

From Málaga, our protagonists Simone and Loreto head northwest, away from the coast and up through the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They have a serious discussion I won’t spoil here. I’ll just say they begin to set the stage for some encounters that prove every bit as dramatic as this scenery.

Once up in the mountains, Simone and Loreto begin their Andalucian cultural lessons in earnest, starting at La Alhambra.

In the photo above, I’m standing in the gardens at the Generalife, and below is a shot of Jackson in a courtyard that features one of my favorite scenes of Spanish Surrender because it’s one where the temperature begins to really tick up between the two main characters. After you read that scene by the courtyard pool, come back and look at this photo again.

And no trip to the Alhambra would be complete without the obligatory photo of the Lions Fountain, so here’s one of those. Aren’t they adorable?

Then last but not least, there’s a scene in which Loreto relays a legend about a family who literally lost their heads while staring up at a particularly ornate ceiling…here it is! You can see where that might capture someone’s attention long enough for them to be snuck up on.

After Granada and La Alhambra, our protagonists head to Cordoba where, without any spoilers, things start to get tense again as world views collide. What better place to show clashing world views than the Great Mosque of Cordoba, a stunning example of Moorish ingenuity and devotion with a Catholic Cathedral cut right up through the middle of it.

This photo is of me standing in the infinity forest of columns and arches that make up the mosque.

And this one, for contrast in style, is some of the dark wood carvings at the center of the gothic-style cathedral.

After the intensity of the mosque/cathedral (and the things that happen there), Loreto finally gets the more uptight Simone to do a little day drinking in the form of local wine and fruits…aka sangria.

I am not a drinker. I don’t generally consume alcohol more than 4-5 times a year, and never in excess. One glass is generally enough to wipe me out, but when we were in Spain, a friendly waiter comped Susie and I each an extra glass of sangria, so just to prove how good it really is, here’s a photo of me well on my way to being toasted…let’s say it was all in the name of research.

And while we’re on the subject of local delicacies, Loreto convinces Simone to try a dish that takes a bit of bravery for most of my American audiences. Pulpo!

Don’t feel bad if that doesn’t look super appetizing to you. Even as an enthusiastic pursuer of all things Spain, I wasn’t eager to jump on board the pulpo bandwagon, but that’s something I regret now! Don’t let the little suction cups fool you: It’s not slimy! And when rubbed in paprika and olive oil or sprinkled with roasted almonds, it’s actually quite tasty.

After shit gets real for Spanish Surrender ‘s dynamic duo in Cordoba, they move on to Sevilla. The first thing they do (after the pool of course) is visit the Plaza España. Interesting side note, the Plaza España is also featured in Spanish Heart , and even makes an appearance on that cover.

In Spanish Surrender , however, Simone and Loreto hone in on the moat surrounding this famous landmark, and even more so on the people who rent the rowboats on the moat. This exchange comes directly from my family’s experiences of doing just that. This was not Susie and I’s first time in a rowboat. We knew how to sit, how to work the oars, and which direction to face/pull in order to go the direction we wanted to. You wouldn’t think that would be setting a very high bar, but turns out it put us well ahead of everyone else in the moat that night! We saw people doing some of the most absurd things in wildly unsuccessful attempts to even navigate away from the dock area. They were sweating and swearing, and several of them nearly ended up in the water. It was the biggest collection of inept numpties we’d seen in ages, so we dubbed the place “Numpty Cove.” And there you have it: When Loreto uses that term, you’ll know we earned the right to do so by weaving our way through them all!

The Plaza España was also the only place we actually got to see flamenco. Since we were traveling with a kid in tow, unlike my characters who can go out to clubs at 10:30 at night, we had to make do with street performances of this powerful and passionate dance, but even on that front, we were not disappointed!

From Sevilla, my characters travel back toward the coast and up the Rock of Gibraltar. Again, this is a spoiler-free blog, so you will have to see what end ups in the story, but I will tell you about my own family’s experiences of taking a trip up “The Rock.” For over a year, Jackson had wanted to go see the monkeys that live there. As we neared the top, our tour guide informed us that while the monkeys were friendly, curious, and vaccinated, they were not by any means tame, and they would bite if they felt threatened. He told us to secure our belongings, put away food, and not to make any sudden movements. Then he asked who would like to hold a monkey. Every single person in the group raised their hand…except for my wife. Anyone care to guess who the monkey jumped on first?

This is one of my favorite shots of the whole trip. No worries, the money soon climbed onto Jackson’s head, much to his (Jackson’s, not the monkey’s) delight, and Susie was no worse for the experience. She simply declared that monkeys were merely cats with opposable thumbs.

Finally, as Simone and Loreto complete the circle of their journey in Malaga, they visit an establishment I am very happy to report really does exist. The Hammam Al Andalus is heaven on earth in my opinion. While my personal experience was vastly different from my characters, I still had one of the most luxurious experiences of my life here. The various rooms my characters visit are all real, and I did my best to describe them in luscious detail, but here are a few photos to better illustrate my point.

I think it’s pretty clear why I loved this place enough to put it in my book completely unaltered, but if you want to find out what my characters do in these rooms and why it matters, you’ll have to read Spanish Surrender !

Spanish Surrender Excerpt

Tue, 23 Jul 2019 13:57:00 GMT

Hola Friends,

Spanish Surrender has been out for one week, and I am starting to recover from the death-warmed-over-style plague I came down with at GCLS, so let’s get the ball rolling for real now!

I can’t think of any better way to get you all interested in this book than to give you a peak at this book. Seriously, I know that might sound a little vain, but I honestly believe these characters speak best for themselves. So what do you say? Want to play hooky from work for the next few minutes and read the first chapter of my sexy, new travel romance?

Of course you do!

Spanish Surrender – Chapter 1

Simone sighed dramatically and tapped the tips of her high heeled shoes against the terra-cotta tile of the hotel lobby floor. The lone woman working the registration counter had been on the phone for six minutes and forty-three seconds. Simone checked her watch again, mentally preparing her strongly worded complaint to this woman’s supervisor. The clerk turned to Simone, giving her a little smile and shrug before laughing at something the person on the phone said and turning away once more. Simone’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t blow her top. Her temper simmered, slow and exacting, liquid nitrogen in place of fire.

“ Perdoname, señora ,” someone said behind her, but Simone didn’t turn around until the person added in unexpected English, “excuse me, ma’am.”

“Yes?” Simone spun on her three-inch spike of a heel, hoping for a manager, but the sight of a short, unassuming woman caught her off guard. She couldn’t be more than mid-twenties, with a broad, easy smile that didn’t seem consistent with management material.

The woman scanned her up and down before giving her a knowing smile. “I’m sorry, señorita .”

Simone was vaguely aware that the title made some sort of comment on her age, or her marital status, but she got enough of those speculations in English that she wasn’t going to indulge them in Spanish, too. “Can i help you?”

“May I buy you a cup of tea?”

Simone was exhausted from her red-eye flight from Milan, but she examined the woman more closely. Her chestnut hair wisped deliberately across her forehead, and her bright blue polo shirt that read ‘Corazones Española Tours’ made her cornflower eyes stand out against her golden tan. Even without having slept in twenty-four hours, Simone recognized a tempting little dish when she saw one. Had she been on the vacation she was supposed to be on, she would’ve accepted. However, the vacation had turned business trip, and she hadn’t gotten where she had by mixing business with pleasure.

“Thank you, but I need to get checked in, and if that doesn’t happen in”—she glanced at her watch again—“the next thirty seconds, heads will roll.”

“Spain has seen a few beheadings over the years,” the woman said, not seeming the least bit intimidated, “but it seems a shame to get blood on those fancy shoes.”

Simone arched an eyebrow but didn’t budge.

“Fine,” the woman said with a grin, “would you like some company while you wait?”

“I really don’t think that’s—”

“I’m Ren, by the way.” She extended her hand.

Simone accepted with a quick firm shake, her frustration slipping despite her effort to maintain it. “Ren, you are persistent.”

“You really have no idea, Americana .”

“Simone. I’d love to chat, but I don’t have the time.

“I doubt that.”

“Which part?”

“Both,” Ren said, her grin disarming despite the comment. “But we can focus on the latter, because I’ve been in this hotel every two weeks for the last two years, and I can tell you with authority, no one’s getting into any of the rooms until at least noon.”

“We’ll see about that,” Simone said, causing Ren to laugh softly.

She didn’t appreciate the humor. drawing herself up to her full height and folding her arms across her chest, she fixed Ren with a steely glare, but the smaller woman continued conversationally.

“The clerk doesn’t speak English, and I take it you don’t speak Spanish?”

“I speak with a visa platinum card.”

“Ah, so this your first time in this part of Spain?”

“I’m an experienced traveler.”

“Good. So, tell me this, experienced traveler, what do you notice about that sign?” Ren pointed to a white sheet of paper in a wooden frame that said, “wait your turn.”

“It’s shoddily made.”

Ren laughed outright this time. “What about the fact that you can read it?”

Simone read the sign again, then contrasted it quickly with the other signs in the hotel lobby. This was the only one in English, and it was written only in English, with no Spanish counterpart.

“You, Ms. impatient Americana , are that sign’s audience,” Ren said. “And you’re not the first of your kind to be in this predicament, so you have two choices: continue to stand here fuming, only to be summarily told there’s no room available yet, or have a nice, soothing cup of tea with me while my wife finishes up in our room. Then I’ll ask the clerk, in Spanish, to give it to you.”

Impatient American? Simone’s anger at Ren’s presumptuousness warred with her practical side, which recognized a useful partnership when she saw one. She glanced once more at the clerk, who was still chatting happily on the phone with little sign of wrapping up, and decided that, despite the well-timed mention of a wife, Ren was clearly the more enticing option for getting what she wanted right now.

###

Loreto opened one eye enough to see that the clock read nine. She mentally reviewed her schedule. It was a free day for her current tour group, so she didn’t have any responsibility to the students until dinnertime. She should be entitled to sleep off whatever it was she did last night, so why was her boss yelling at her from the other side of her hotel room door?

“Loreto, open the door, por favor .”

Lina didn’t sound like she was here for a fun chat, and Loreto tried a little harder to remember the fuzzy parts of the previous night as an arm snaked over her shoulder and slid down her chest. The details came back to her. She rolled onto her back, allowing herself to look at the owner of the hand, who was now drawing circles around her nipple. La Señora Markus.

Loreto smiled. She always loved finding out one of those deliciously studious teacher types by day turned into a hellcat by night.

La Señora bit loreto hard on the shoulder and sucked her skin. Apparently, she could be a hellcat during the day, too.

“Loreto, if you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to get the housekeeper to open it for me,” Lina called, her voice holding both annoyance and amusement.

“ Mierda .” Loreto groaned and disengaged herself from La Señora Markus’s lovely mouth. “I’m coming.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Lina said dryly, and Loreto laughed. She loved her boss’s dry sense of humor, and if she was wielding it so early in the morning, odds were good Loreto wasn’t in that much trouble.

She pulled on a pair of boxer shorts but left her chest bare and opened the door. Lina stood in the hall with three of the girls from their current tour group. “ Buenos dias, chicas .”

All three students immediately turned bright shades of red and averted their eyes, while Lina took the chance to give Loreto a warning glare, then shook her head.

“Loreto, the ladies are worried because they can’t find their teacher. She usually meets them for breakfast and then spends some time on the phone with her husband back in London, but she wasn’t in the restaurant, and her husband has been calling for her.”

“Her husband, you say?” Loreto rubbed the bite marks on her shoulder

“She went out with you last night,” one of the girls cut in. “Do you know where she is?”

Lina shook her head almost imperceptibly, and the little lie rolled naturally off Loreto’s tongue. “After dinner I suggested she take in the sunrise on the beach, and then maybe walk through the markets back up through the old town. I’m sure she’ll return within the hour.”

“See, girls, I told you Loreto had likely played tour guide to La Señora Markus,” Lina offered soothingly. “She’s always eager to introduce people to the finer experiences Spain has to offer.”

“Well if you see her, tell her we’re going shopping in Larios this morning,” the same girl said, her tone infinitely more relaxed.

“If i see her, i’ll let her know,” Loreto said, and the girls hurried off, but Lina stayed put. “yes, boss?”

“What do i have to say to make you understand we have a responsibility to the people on our tours?”

“A responsibility to introduce them to the finer experiences Spain has to offer?”

Lina rolled her eyes. “We’ve talked about this, Loreto.”

“No, we talked about not sleeping with the students, you never said anything about the teachers.”

“Then put on your pants and come downstairs so I can clarify the company policy.”

“Right now?” Loreto whined. “I have plans.”

“Your plans have to call her husband back.”

Loreto’s stomach tightened just a bit. “Oh yeah.”

Lina tapped lightly on the large hickey on Loreto’s shoulder.

“And wear a shirt with sleeves.”

###

Ren set a small kettle of tea on the table between them. The hotel’s restaurant was more of a café or collection of tables on a patio off a small kitchen. Simone had no idea why her boss’s secretary had booked her in a place like this. Something about a film festival, and last minute. The excuse hardly seemed acceptable.

“What brings you to España ?” Ren asked, pouring the tea through a small mesh sieve and into a baby blue mug.

“Work.”

“ Trabajo ,” Ren said, then added, “Just in case you wanted to pick up a little Spanish.”

“I’d rather pick up a good translator. Are you interested? I’d be willing to pay well above the going rate.”

“I’m a tour guide, not an interpreter.”

“I could use a guide, too. I have an important meeting this time next week, and I need to pick up some conversation topics between now and then that make me seem in tune with Spanish culture. If you want the job, I’ll gladly compensate your employer for your time.”

Ren’s smile faded. “Make you seem in tune with Spanish culture, not actually help you get in tune with it?”

Before Simone had the chance to dismiss that idea, a sexy, young woman with long, dark hair and olive skin sidled up next to Ren and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Loreto is on her way down.”

Ren snorted softly. “Down on who?”

“ La Senora Markus, but then down here for a talking-to before we head home.”

“This day just keeps on getting better.” Ren sounded tired for the first time, but she regained her smile quickly enough. “Lina, this is Simone, una Americana with money to burn and in need of a tour guide to help her fake an affinity for Spain.”

“ Hola Simone. Forgive my wife. Spain has softened her edges, but she hasn’t lost all her American bluntness yet.” Lina ran her fingers through Ren’s hair and gave it a loving tousle.

Simone sipped her tea. “I can respect bluntness as long as it’s paired with efficiency.”

“ Excellente ,” Ren said with a mischievous grin. “Then I’ll go tell Marcela to turn over our room so you can get some rest. After the siesta we’ll meet back here, and I’ll introduce you to your guide.

“Introduce me? i made the offer to you, or maybe to your employer.

Lina slipped an arm more possessively around Ren’s shoulder. “Her employer isn’t willing to share her.”

“ Corezones Española is your company?” Simone asked coolly, refusing to show the hint of disappointment that pricked her chest.

“It’s our company,” Lina corrected, exuding pride, “and between school trips and family holidays, the summer is our busiest time, but if Ren thinks we can spare one of our guides, I’ll trust she has a good reason.”

“I’m certain her reason is better than good,” Simone said. “It’s platinum.”

Lina bit her lip as if trying not to smile. “Be careful. The last time I underestimated her, I ended up wearing this.” She pointed to a gold band on her left ring finger.

“Thankfully, that’s not something I have to worry about.” Simone stood. “Now if you’ll be so kind as to show me to my room, I’ll freshen up and meet you back here at one o’clock?

“Three o’clock,” both women said in unison.

Simone sighed. She was used to setting the schedule. Why was everyone in this country so contrary?

###

Loreto checked her coal-black hair in a mirror she passed on her way down the hotel’s wrought-iron staircase. Not that she minded looking disheveled. If anything, she preferred it. Women like La Senora Markus seemed to prefer it, too. The fact that her white T-shirt and cargo shorts weren’t exactly business attire didn’t bother her either. Lina and Ren had always been lax about stuff like that, though judging by the stern look on their faces when they saw her, that may be about to change.

Loreto was not what anyone would call a morning person, so she bypassed the table in the café and ordered a café cortado, a strong, black coffee with just a kiss of milk, before joining them and laying her arm, palm up, across the table. “Okay, here’s my wrist, boss. Go ahead and give it a little slap.”

Lina shook her head. “We’ve been through this before.”

“Not exactly this. You said no university students, and I listened. La Señora Markus is a teacher, and she crawled into my lap, not the other way around.”

Lina showed no sign she found this logic any more compelling than she had earlier, so Loreto changed tactics. “And wasn’t Ren one of your clients? Can you honestly say if she’d showed up in your room wearing nothing but a bath towel, you’d have just said, ‘Sorry, my boss wouldn’t like that?’”

“ Sí.”

“It’s the truth,” Ren said wistfully. “It took me days before she even let me kiss her.”

“You’re not helping, amor ,” Lina said, but the bite drained from her tone, leaving her sounding more tired than angry. “And we aren’t talking about us. We’re talking about a habit that’s getting out of hand.”

Loreto sighed, finding the topic as tedious as Lina now seemed to. “You can’t tell me not to sleep with a grown woman on my own time. It’s my business.”

“No, it’s my business. Your meeting a woman and taking her back to your place is not the same thing as one of my guides taking one of my guests back to one of the rooms I’ve paid for, leaving my underaged guests unattended overnight . . .”

Loreto slumped in her chair resignedly. Lina obviously had a speech prepared, and Loreto had sat through worse. Ultimately, she’d learned she didn’t have to win every argument. She didn’t even have to engage them if she didn’t care to, and she didn’t care about much. besides, a stern talking-to was a small price to pay to keep a job as good as this one. Still, she wondered how long this was going to take. Lina seemed to be on quite a roll.

“. . . but it’s not only bad for our business. I’m starting to worry about you, too. I know you’ve been through a lot, and it’s probably hard to have faith in people, but you’ve moved past irreverent and into self-destructive. Are you even listening?”

“ Sí , you’re irreverent and self-destructive.”

Ren set her forehead down on the table with a thud. “Uh-oh

Lina threw up her hands. “Clearly, nothing I can say is going to change anything.”

“It’s good we realize we can’t change each other. No use going on about it.”

“No, we’re done talking. You’ve forced me to take action. You’re relieved of your next tour.”

Loreto sat up straight. “What? you’re firing me?”

“Not firing, just a leave of absence.”

I don’t have an apartment, or income. What about my papers?

Dios mio .” Loreto turned to her other boss. “Ren, help.”

“Why do people always think you’re the nice one?” Lina asked.

“Sorry, Loreto. This was my idea,” Ren acknowledged. “you’ve worked nonstop for three months. You need a break. or maybe you need a new challenge to pull yourself out of this rut you’re in.”

“Living ten days without a paycheck will be a challenge all right. What am I supposed to do? Lay on the beach? Go to the clubs? No offense, but that’s not exactly the way to get me away from women.”

“We thought of that. Obviously, we care about you.”

Loreto snorted.

“We don’t want anything to jeopardize your status,” Ren continued, “and the choice is yours. You can mope around if you need a break, but there’s another option.”

“Why do i have the feeling I won’t like this other option?”

“It’s a private tour.”

“I didn’t think you did private tours.”

“You don’t work for us for the next ten days,” Ren explained.

“The client doesn’t seem very interested in playing tourista , so you’ll likely do a lot of driving and translation, maybe offer context and cultural insight, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she expects you to carry her bags while you’re at it.”

Loreto started to understand. “So, the tour’s not the challenge, the client is?”

“Nicely put,” Ren confirmed. “An Americana on business for some important meeting next week. She’s willing to pay heavily for what I can only assume will be a very long seven days.”

“She wants a pack mule?”

“Pretty much, so if you want to sleep in hostels for the length of your suspension, no one would blame you, but personally, I think the job will be good for you.”

“Lina, you think working for this woman is what I need to do my penance?”

“No, I think one of you is likely to arrive at our next meeting in a box,” Lina deadpanned, “but if it’s you, just remember you dug your own grave.”

“Ouch.” Loreto had enough experience to know Americans with money could be a high-maintenance breed, and she had a particularly low tolerance for them. “So, it’s a test?”

“Consider it a contest,” Ren offered cheerfully. “You versus the naysayers.”

Loreto rolled her eyes. Nothing about this sounded promising, but she did have a competitive streak, and virtually no cash. Ten days of no plans and no money didn’t exactly appeal to her either. “Fine. i’m in.”

Ren grinned and Lina sighed again.

“When do I meet this woman?”

“Two-thirty,” they both said in unison and then laughed,

Loreto assumed at one of their inside jokes. Then Ren added, “Go get some sleep.”

###

“Thanks,” she mumbled and headed up the stairs. If this client was as bad as they were making her out to be, she’d need all the rest she could get.

Simone woke up to the familiar ring of her cell phone. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, which meant it was morning in New York, though she was too foggy to figure out what time. She’d had four hours of sleep, which was more than enough to function, but not enough to thrive.

“Hello,” she said, instantly sounding professional even if she didn’t feel it yet.

“I take it you’re on the ground,” Henry Alston said without introduction. he was used to being instantly recognized.

“Yes, sir. I arrived in Málaga this morning. I’m checked into the hotel your secretary suggested, and I have a meeting with a potential guide in an hour.”

“Good girl. I know I don’t have to tell you to do your home-work on Liberdad. I want this fish mounted on my wall by this time next week.”

Simone grimaced, both at being called “girl” and at her senior vice president’s absurd fishing metaphor. They were talking about a small publishing company, not a large-mouth bass. “Have I ever let you down?”

“Never,” He laughed, “Which is why I wrecked your first vacation in over a year, but you know I’ll make it up to you.”

He’d make it up to her bank account, which to him was the same as making it up to her, and generally it was. “Of course. I had a chance to glance at the specs on the flight from Milan, and it looks like an insanely generous offer, given their limited assets.”

“Asset. They only have one, Juanes Cánovas. He’s a fucking god with a pen, and American women are going to think he’s sex on a stick, but Liberdad Press has everything from translation rights and movie rights to right of first refusal on future works.”

“No one has everything. There’s no way their lawyers can stack up to ours. Why not poach him?”

“Already tried. He’s got some misguided loyalty to that little mom-and-pop shop in Málaga. They’ve fed him some line about his artistic integrity being compromised. He says they are quintessentially Spanish, whatever the hell that means. They’re all afraid we’re going to Americanize Juanes and sex him up.”

“Are we?”

“Of course.”

“If they won’t sell him, what makes you think they’ll sell the company?”

“Two reasons. One, we’re going to make sure the owners never have work again, and two, I sent you, and you never let me down.”

“Both very good points.”

“Wine them, dine them, hell, tattoo a Spanish flag on your ass. I don’t care how you do it, but get the contract on my desk without giving me any more headaches.”

Simone realized her window for asking questions had ended. “I’ll be in touch.”

She ended the call and got out of bed, mentally making a list of what she needed to do to get going on this project. powering on her laptop, she perched it on the bathroom counter while she hopped in the shower. There wasn’t time to luxuriate under the warm water. In a matter of minutes, she was drying her long, blond hair with one hand while she googled “ebooks on Spain” with the other. She picked out one on history and one on the country’s economic development, as well as a guidebook to southern Spain. She had them downloaded by the time she slipped into a pair of gray linen slacks and a white oxford shirt, a move she regretted the moment she stepped onto the hotel patio.

It had to be one hundred degrees outside, and the humidity made her hair seem to double in both volume and weight. She stopped to pull an ink pen from her leather business satchel, and winding her long locks into a bun, she stuck the pen through the center to hold it up off her neck.

“Nice,” someone said in a suggestive tone. Simone turned to see a rakish boy laying on his stomach on a lounge chair by the pool. He wore ratty shorts and beat up sandals. His dark hair was a mess, cascading over dark aviator glasses as he propped his chin atop his folded arms.

“You wish.”

The boy shrugged and resumed his nap while Simone headed inside to find a table in the lobby. Was there anything in this country that wouldn’t annoy her? The café was closed, and there was no one working the front desk. The entire place was empty and quiet in the middle of the day. What kind of establishment was this?

She took the seat that put her back to the wall, giving her a view of both the front door and the entrance to the patio. She was in control of this meeting, and she wanted to situate herself as such. She pulled out her ipad and checked the time. While the meeting wasn’t scheduled until three, anyone who wasn’t at least five minutes early was late. It was 2:40, and her tour guide was now on the clock.

She was tapping her toe like a ticking clock ten minutes later when Ren and Lina pushed through the front door to the lobby.

“ Hola , Simone,” Lina said, her smile more welcoming than earlier. “I hope you got some rest.”

“I did, but i’d really like a bottle of water, and I can’t get any service in this hotel. It’s like no one works here.”

“It’s siesta time. No one works from one to three in the afternoon.”

Ren had said the words clearly enough, but they made so little sense she might as well have spoken Spanish.

“Siesta? Surely that’s not a serious thing.”

“I know it’s probably a little jarring, but we do things differently in Southern Spain.”

“I don’t care where we are. You can’t shut a business down for two hours in the middle of the day. You can’t run a company like that.”

“And yet this city has thrived exactly like that for centuries. You’ll find billion-dollar homes less than three miles from here, and Michelin-starred restaurants, and upscale boutiques to rival New York or Milan. They’re all doing just fine. Spain sets her own tempo. It’s best to go with it.”

“It’s best to do what you’re paid to do. I’m being paid to work, and my guide will be expected to do the same. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

Ren sighed. “You can negotiate your terms with Loreto when she gets here.”

“I thought i’d be contracting her services through you.”

“No,” Lina said quickly. “We don’t do individual tours. Loreto’s completely free to accept or deny any terms she sees fit. We’re merely offering an introduction.”

“Why?” Simone eyed her suspiciously.

“Why what?”

“Why offer an introduction? Why give up your room early? Why provide one of your guides to a stranger if you aren’t going to accept payment?”

Ren shrugged. “Spanish hospitality.”

Simone didn’t buy that. No one did something for nothing, and she was about to say so when the door from the patio opened and the boy from the pool came strolling in, only upright and facing forward. Without the sunglasses, he was most definitely a she, and a very good looking she at that.

Her baggy shorts now hung off of the feminine curve of her hips, showing a tantalizing glimpse of tanned midriff, and her plain white T-shirt barely concealed her pert breasts. The style was grungier than Simone usually went for, but despite her disheveled appearance, the woman exuded a confidence anyone would find appealing. Most alluring, though, were her eyes. Deep brown irises swirled so dark, then almost melted into her pupils.

“Good afternoon, Loreto.” Ren rose to meet the newcomer. “This is Simone. Simone, meet your guide, Loreto Molina.”

“My guide?” Simone was caught off guard, a feeling she detested. This woman may be a fine candidate for eye candy, but she didn’t appear to have an ounce of professionalism. Shouldn’t tour guides look like, well, she didn’t know, closer to zoo docents or the retirees who sat on stools in art galleries, rather than some sort of sexy skateboard model or a latina boi band front man?

“ Hola, Señorita .” Loreto extended her hand, and Simone accepted it, sneaking a peek at her watch in the process. It was two minutes until three, so technically she wasn’t late.

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“That’s not a problem. I’m a native English speaker,” Loreto replied with little more than a wisp of an accent, proving she couldn’t be discredited on the basis of a language barrier.

“How long have you been a guide?” Simone asked, as they took a seat.

“This is my third season working for Lina and Ren. Before that, I spent a few years traveling through the country on my own.”

“We can vouch for the fact that Loreto is one of our most knowledgeable guides. She consistently gets very high satisfaction ratings from our clients.”

Loreto’s grin flashed something more smug, and Lina gave an almost-imperceptible shake of her head. The move may have gone unnoticed by someone who didn’t watch for tells, but Simone wasn’t one of them.

“If she’s one of your best guides, why are you willing to part with her?”

All three of the women exchanged another quick look before Ren stepped in diplomatically once more. “She just finished with a group from England this morning. She’s got the next week off, and we thought she might be a good fit for you.”

“but if you want to shop around, feel free,” Loreto added quickly. “It’s only peak travel time, school holidays, and film festival week on short notice.”

Simone’s jaw tightened at the challenge in Loreto’s voice, but again, she only chose battles she expected to win, and she didn’t have enough information on viable alternatives to dismiss this woman’s points. She’d had plenty of practice swallowing her resistance over the years, but it still tasted bitter as she tried to hedge her bets. “I’m on a tight time frame. I’m willing to give you a trial on your employer’s recommendation.”

Loreto nodded, as if she were neither impressed nor offended by the tepid offer.

“We can come to terms on a price per day, but I reserve the right to terminate the agreement with payment made only for services rendered. does that make sense?”

Loreto shrugged. “I don’t work, I don’t get paid. I piss you off, I don’t get paid. You find a better offer, I don’t get paid.”

Simone fought the urge to defend herself against an accusation of unfairness that hadn’t actually been spoken. The harsh summary of terms wasn’t exactly false, so much as blunt.

Lina shook her head. “That’s very one-sided. There should be some sort of neutral metric put in place for the possibility—”

“Nah.” Loreto cut her off. “I’m good. She wants me gone, I’ll go.”

“Reto,” Lina said, dropping her voice. “Make sure it goes both ways.”

Simone smiled slightly as she realized what Lina was suggesting. “She’s right. Some people find my standards too high. If that turns out to be true of you, you also have the right to terminate the agreement at the end of any day without financial obligation.”

Loreto seemed to ponder the offer, lowering her chin and closing her eyes so that her full, dark lashes rested on smooth skin for a second, then opening them, she said, “No commitment. I like that.”

Simone pursed her lips as the feeling the comment should have inspired in her butted up against the ones it actually did. “So, we have a deal?”

Loreto nodded once more, this time resolutely. “deal.”

They sat staring at each for a long, heavy moment before Ren broke the silence by pushing back from the table. “All right then, we’ll leave you two to hash out the details.”

Lina didn’t jump up so quickly, instead looking from one to the other. Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to inspect each of them, but whatever thoughts spun in her head were silenced before they reached her lips as Ren laid a hand on her shoulder.

“All right,” Lina said and rose. “you’re right.”

Simone shook her head slowly, not understanding who or what the comment referred to.

“It’s not you,” Loreto whispered conspiratorially. “They just do that sometimes.”

“Do what?”

“Have conversations no one else can hear.”

“We do,” Ren said, without a hint of chagrin, “and now we’ve decided to leave you to your own devices.”

Simone found the choice of words a bit odd, but everything about this country had been odd so far. She thanked them both and tried not to examine the minute twist of wistfulness in her stomach as she watched them walk away hand in hand.

###

And there you have it! Your introduction to Loreto and Simone. What do you think? Want to see what happens next? Want to see where they go? If they kill each other? When they jump each other’s bones? Why not go get your copy of Spanish Surrender today and find out?

Spanish Surrender is out!

Wed, 17 Jul 2019 14:00:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

So, my back up release for Spanish Surrender went about the same as my original release in that I managed to get sick at GCLS, too. Great, fine, whatever, I’m not bitter at all.

The bottom line though is that Spanish Surrender is now available wherever great books are sold, and you can get your copy today in print or eBook.

I am really proud of this book. I do my very best with each and every book I write, but this one goes to a level of meaning for me that I’ve rarely let myself go to in my writing. I really hope you’ll give it a chance, and more than that I hope you love these characters the way I do.

Spanish Surrender and GCLS

Tue, 09 Jul 2019 14:42:00 GMT

Hiya friends,

I am freshly returned to the states after a month abroad. In June my family traveled to London, North East England (to visit the town and people who inspired Full English ) and Mallorca, Spain.

Anyone who follows me even a little bit knows of my vast love for Spain, and I was so very looking forward to spending five whole days exploring a brand new part of the country, this time on of the Balearic Islands of the Mediterranean coast. I had the added bonus of planning a book launch while I was there.

You see, I had the most wonderful plans to promote my new release, Spanish Surrender , from the island. I was going to livestream readings and announcements. From my lounge chair beside the pool at the finca where I was staying, I was going to read a few paragraphs from a sexy scene where my characters do a little swimming on a hot Andalusian day.

From a mountain-top olive grove, I planned to tease a scene where my characters have an important conversation on a road just like that one.

And for the big shebang, my family and I had ponied up the money to sail out on a traditional Mallorca fishing boat and watch the sunset. From there I planned to read a snippet of a scene where my characters take a boat ride that isn’t at all what it might appear on the surface, and talk about the many layers of meaning this book has to me.

Alas, the best laid plans…<heavy sigh>

My son Jackie spiked a fever before our plane even touched down in Palma De Mallorca. By the next morning it had climbed to worrying levels, and we spent much of our first morning tracking down an English-speaking doctor who would see tourist children on short notice.

By the time we got cleared to travel farther into the country, it was in the heat of the day and poor Jackie was sweltering. We did get our drive through the mountains, but the heat, both internal and external, meant we stopped only long enough in Soller to collect food. No time for readings.

Things did not get better from there. We used the pool only once to try to lower our temperature. There were no sexy feelings or stories to be shared. We left our rural finca only one morning to visit a nearby market and lived to regret it.

Not only did the fever return time and time again, soon it became clear it was also a precursor to a nasty stomach bug.

We all shed a few tears as we had to miss the sunset sailboat cruise we’d already paid so much of our budget for, but in a matter of hours, even that would seem like wasted salt and water, as I was so wracked with sickness I ended up at another medical center with dual IV lines running wide open into my veins.

We didn’t eat any of the Spanish foods we love, and I didn’t have a single class of sangria, and no books were launched.

Still, I have much to be grateful for. One, this was not my first trip to Spain, and God willing it will not be my last. Two, we received excellent medical care at prices so far below what those services would have cost us in America, we had to laugh even in our distress. Three, I learned that when push comes to shove, my Spanish is sufficient to get through basic medical conversations, a fact that bolsters my sense of self and my Spanish street cred. Four, the people of Spain did not let me down. From the hosts of the places we stayed to the doctors and nurses and pharmacists who cared for us, their tenderness, competency, and eagerness to help exceeded every idealistic image I hold of the Spanish population. Five, we are all safe and heathly, which is more than a great many people in the world can say.

Finally, on our last morning in Spain, we all felt well enough to wander down to the water and spend just a few minutes jumping off rocks into the cool, blue, beautiful waters of the Mediterranean. It wasn’t the vacation we hoped for, but it was at least a nice note to go out on.

But now that I am back in America and back to basic good health, I am left with the problem of how to launch Spanish Surrender .

Sadly, I have no more magnificence up my sleeve. I’m afraid I will have to do this the old-fashioned way. You see, Wednesday I head off to Pittsburgh, PA for the annual Golden Crown Literary Society conference. The Mediterranean coast it is not, but what it lacks in breathtaking ocean views, it makes up for in really awesome people.

Seriously, a boi could do worse than launching a novel in a room full of hundreds of literary lesbians. So, that is what I will do! Then, after I do the official Spanish Surrender launch at GCLS, we will upload it to various retailers and web stores around the Internet.

I’ll release more details at the wide release later, but if you are going to be at the conference, you will have the exclusive opportunity to get your hands on the first paper copies of Spanish Surrender ! I will also be reading from and talking about the book (and other things) at various events throughout the conference. If you want to find me, say hello, and maybe even have me sign one of those exclusive copies of Spanish Surrender , here’s where you can find me!

Wednesday July 10
1:00 – Conference Opening Ceremony
4:00 – Writing the Perfect Lesbian Lead – Kings Garden 3
5:00 – Opening Reception – (Bonus, Jackie might come to this one, too)

Thursday July 11
10:30 – The Art of Self Editing – Kings Garden 2
1:30 – Membership Meeting
4:45- Bywater’s Book Launch – King’s Garden 3

Friday July 12
10:30 Mentoring Matters – King’s Garden 4
11:40 – Generation Gap – King’s Garden 4
4:30 – Author Spotlight- King’s Garden 1

Saturday July 13
9:00 – Social Media and the author Kings Garden 5
10:30 – Conflict of Interests Panel
2:30 – autograph signing
5:30 – Awards dinner
7:00 – Awards
9:30 – Dance

Sunday July 14
10:00 – Closing Session
10:30 – Brunch – last chance to say hi!

I’ll also be around most of the times they are serving food, because food. So please don’t be shy! Come up, say hello, ask for a photo, ask for an autograph, ask me anything you’ve ever wanted to know about me or my books, because really, and please, help me celebrate the launch of Spanish Surrender , because even though it didn’t go the way it was supposed to, I’m still really excited to share my new baby with each and every one of you!

Surprise!

Thu, 13 Jun 2019 18:10:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

I haven’t been blogging much lately, and I would apologize for not writing more, except I haven’t been blogging as much lately as I’ve been busy working on a surprise for you! Spoiler Alert–the surprise is a book!

That’s right, a brand new, not even on the schedule, sexy summer romance called Spanish Surrender . And I wrote it fast! Like In Development fast. So fast that, also like In Development, it knocked the traditional publishing schedule out of the park, and once again my awesome friends Susan and Carolyn over at Brisk did me the great favor of allowing me to do it as “drop in” title with them. What this means is that we just sent it right to print with no idea when it would actually come out. Then we held our breath until we got the news I’d been hoping for.

Are you ready?

Spanish Surrender will officially debut at GCLS in Pittsburg July 10!

That’s less than a month away, and better still, it’ll be available on the Brisk website right around the same time, with a wider release on Amazon in August. You can even pre-order it there now, but if you want it sooner, stay tuned for updates on when and where you can make that happen, or better yet, get ye to GCLS!

In the coming weeks I’ll be sharing more about why I think you’ll want to get your hands on this hot little number, but for now I’m going to leave you with the blurb and the sexy Ann McMan cover, just to pique your interest and hopefully keep you coming back for more.

Spanish Surrender
Simone and Loreto don’t have to like each other. They only need to work together, but the heat and the history around them and between them conspires to demand so much more.

When Simone Price lands in southern Spain, she has one job upon which the future of her entire career rests: She must convince a small, Spanish publishing house to sell their business to her much larger American corporation. The job should be easy, but many others have failed. Refusing to repeat their mistakes, she hires a guide, translator, and purveyor of Andalucían culture for the week leading up to her big meeting.

The plan seems simple enough until she meets Loreto Molina, and it quickly becomes apparent that Loreto knows more than her casual demeanor might suggest. The complications only escalate as the two set out on a scorching path through a region that shatters all expectations. As their time together stretches on, both women must confront not only their assumptions about each other, but also their own world views amidst a steamy landscape of temptation, power, purpose and raw attraction. Spain acts as both catalyst and conduit for unearthing desires long buried and threatening carefully planned futures.

As the stakes and emotions rise like the hot, unrelenting sun, Simone and Loreto fight to hold onto the ideals they hold dear, but what if the only way for either of them to truly win is to surrender?

British Bits and Bobs

Tue, 19 Mar 2019 12:16:00 GMT

Hey All,

First of all I want to say a big thank you to every who helped me raise money for my alma matter, Illinois State University, as part of our Birds Give Back campaign. I did a drawing of everyone who donated at least $10, and the winner is Anne Hart! Anne, just let me know which ebook you want and where I should email it.

And now it’s time to get back to business, and by business I mean looking at pictures I took when I lived in Northeast England last year.

For those of you who have read Full English , you may have noticed in my author notes that much of my inspiration for the book stemmed from the time I spent living in a small, seaside village called Alnmouth. I had to fictionalize a town/dukedom because of a few legal issues that could arise for having your main character interact with people of specific titles, and I also enjoyed the freedom of being able to add or subtract a few features for convenience’s sake. That being said, virtually everything Emma encounters by way of culture shock is something my family and I experienced, and I wanted to share those, along with some of the spots around town that inspired various places in the book with those of you who follow this blog.

First, let’s start with the basics. Emma’s house in the story is largely based on the house we lived in for a little over 6 months. Ours was a triplex, while I made Emma’s free-standing, but beyond that, the location and the layout were largely the same. Here’s a picture of my son standing outside of ours.

One of the best features of Emma’s house was exactly the same conservatory as we had in our house. In America we might call this a sunroom or a 3-seasons room. Ours looked out over a small garden and then out toward the North Sea. I loved to sit out there and stare into the vast blue yonder. It was always the first place to get toasty warm in the morning, and at night the stars shined so brightly we set up a small telescope out there.

Out in the garden we has a small shed that was a regular perch for a pheasant we named Phez. He stopped by on Thanksgiving and stayed much of the day. We could see him from the kitchen window seeming to revel in the fact that it wasn’t his holiday to be on the menu.

Inside the kitchen, though, was where our culture shock began. Our oven was a “fan oven.” To be honest, I never did quite figure out exactly how that translated to my American recipes, but British recipes all seemed to list that option for cooking temps and times, so I learned to cook roast veg, meat pies, and Cornish pasties. I like to think I’m a decent enough cook to be passible with any oven. What I hadn’t yet tested my mettle with was the very British staple of the electric tea kettle, and like Emma, my issues began long before I even got to the point where I had to add water.

That is a pretty standard English outlet, and even though our kettle had right type of plug, our kettle (and our lamps, and TV, and anything else that plugged in) wouldn’t work no matter what wall switches I tried, because every outlet in the house also had that little switch to the right of the plug that engaged the power to that outlet. Once you know it’s there, it’s not hard to figure out how it works, but most of our outlets were behind furniture or along the floor, and many of our small electronics were already plugged in when we arrived. If our friend Kelly hadn’t pointed out those little switches, I’m not sure how long we would’ve gone around flipping wall switches fruitlessly before we got on our hands and knees to check behind the couch and found the root of the issue.

The other perplexing switch in the house was connected to the water heater. Thankfully, our new friend Jane pointed ours out on day one and saved us from cold showers, but here’s what we were dealing with.

While our shower had it’s own little water heater attached to the pipes (“power shower”), if we wanted to do laundry, wash dishes, or take a bath, we had to turn on house’s main water heater in advance, hence the third switch (the first two were a timer and control for the radiators). After traveling around the UK quite a bit, we found many new houses no longer use this set up, but they are far from uncommon.

Much less perplexing to us was the village social life. Alnmouth is home to about 300 residents, and it seems like we met most of them in two places 1) the cricket pitch and 2) the pub. While Emma has neither the opportunity nor the interest to play cricket, even our introvert Emma had more than one occasion to find herself in the pub. And of course, as a bartender and part time cook, Brogan practically lives there. We feel somewhere between those two options on the pub scale. We certainly didn’t take up residence, but when we were in town, we rarely missed a “Friday club” with the locals to catch up on the gossip of the week. This is where we learned about everything from who was moving, to who was dating, to who was on vacation, and what was on tap for the weekend. In other words, this is where we learned what it meant to be members of the community.

Can’t you just picture Brogan standing behind that bar while all the locals sit just to the right and harass her good-naturedly?

And while we are on about places we ate, no report of our time in England, or Full English itself would be the same without a trip to Bertram’s. Though I didn’t use the name of the business in the book (again, sticky legalities), this is very much a real place, and it can be found just inside the city walls in Warkworth. I won’t rehash all the details I share in the book, but I do want to offer photographic evidence that the tower of amazing yumminess Brogan and Emma order is very much on the menu.

It really is quite amazing that we didn’t gain more weight while living there. While we didn’t eat like this daily, we did eat scones as often as we got the chance. The only thing that saved our pants from splitting was that the sheer beauty of our surroundings inspiring us to walk nearly everywhere and every day.

And now I’ve just devolved into showing you pictures of where I lived, but I hope that when you look at them, you can see why I loved this place enough to make Emma fall in love with it, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll fall a little bit in love, too.

Birds Give Back

Thu, 28 Feb 2019 12:51:00 GMT

I don’t do this often, because it’s kind of awkward for me to talk about money when I have so little of it, but I’m about do so now because the cause it just that important to me.

This is Birds Give Back day at my alma mater , Illinois State University, and I was asked to be an “ambassador” for the cause. I’m told this is an honor, but I was joking with a friend that what it really boils down to is that instead of the university calling to ask me for money, they have asked me to ask you for money. I see this honor clearly, folks. I am not getting duped by the fancy terms or videos, or the promise of a lunch box if I raise enough money to dwarf the actual retail cost of said lunch box.

And yet, even seeing those incentives for what they are, I am still jumping wholeheartedly into my ambassadorship role, because my time at ISU made me who I am today.

ISU is the first place I ever got to be fully out. It was a bastion of love and acceptance amid a vast landscape of cornfields and soy bean fields where I had previously lived in fear.

I started dating, and married my wife during my time at ISU.

I became a women’s studies major and learned the history, philosophy, and argumentation skills that would help me articulate demand for a fairer, more inclusive society.

I learned the ins and outs of campaigning politics and human rights legislation at ISU.

I met Jackson’s Big Papi there, and this awesome family sprang to life.

I became the president of PRIDE and Speaker’s Bureau, where I learned to raise my voice for my community and tell our stories, even when my voice shook.

I wrote my first book while I was an undergraduate at ISU.

I wrote my second book during graduate school there.

I met and cultivated relationships with the most wonderfully inspiring people who continue to support and challenge me, as mentors, beta readers, editors, sounding boards, and unwavering supporters.

I tell you all of this in order to make it clear that I would not be the person, the author, or the community member that I am today if not for my time at Illinois State University. That is why I feel such a compelling need to give back, and to pay it forward.

As part of this process, ISU sent me the promotional video below. They asked that I share it so that you can see the things that current and future Redbirds might miss out on if donors like me, and hopefully you, don’t step up. As you watch it, though, I hope that in your mind you will also ask yourself what it would be like if you’d never read a Rachel Spangler novel (or heard of Sean Hayes or Jane Lynch, who are also Redbirds!), or be better yet, ask yourself what it would be like if the next lesbian romance novelists never get the chances I was afforded at Illinois State.

I hope that thought alone is enough for you to open up your wallet and give a few dollars. However, in case it’s not, I’d like to sweeten the deal for ONE DAY ONLY!

Anyone who donates at least $10 while using this link on Feb 28 will automatically be entered into a drawing to win a free ebook copy of any one of my novels.

Anyone who donates at least $100 dollars will be guaranteed to receive any one of my audiobooks or ebooks.

Anyone who donates $250 will receive a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books, along with a handwritten thank-you note.

And finally, anyone who donates $500 or more to this cause that means so much to me will receive not only a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books and a thank-you card from yours truly, but also the right to name a side character in one of my future books!

Again, all you have to do is use this link:

https://birdsgiveback.illinoisstate.edu/giving-day/13273?utm_source=scalefunder&utm_campaign=amb_share&utm_name=ntx62fq39ke5j8c1a0aq2u5&utm_medium=plain

I appreciate it, and I know for a fact that so many future Redbirds will as well!

ISU GO!

Full English – Wide Release

Thu, 14 Feb 2019 15:49:00 GMT

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I’m celebrating this holiday of love and romance with the wide release of my 14th romance novel, Full English ! Bywater Books sure timed that well, didn’t they?

While the book as been available at www.bywaterbooks.com for a full month now, this week marks the official wide-release date, which means it’s now available everywhere great books are sold. So, if you are one of those Kindle aficionados, today’s the day. If you are an iBooks loyalist, today is your day. If you love to buy from brick-and-mortar bookstores, get to your favorite one today. Or if you’ve just been waiting for the right day to be whisked away for the English seaside for a romantic travel adventure, can you really think of a better day than Valentine’s Day?

Still not enough inspiration? What about a sale? Well then, today is still your lucky day because from now until Saturday, you can get 25% off your entire order at www.bywaterbooks.com when you use the coupon code 19HEARTS.

So to sum all that up:

New Romance + Available Everywhere + Valentine’s Day + 25% off sale = What are you waiting for?

Descended from Voyagers

Sat, 02 Feb 2019 22:43:00 GMT

We are descended from voyagers Who found their way across the world They call me I’ve delivered us to where we are I have journeyed farther I am everything I’ve learned and more Still it calls me And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me It’s like the tide; always falling and rising I will carry you here in my heart you’ll remind me That come what may I know the way ~ Moana

The above song is on my writing soundtrack for Full English , but more than that, it was my answer to the question Emma Volant asks herself repeatedly through much of my newest release, Full English .

“What have you done?” It’s Emma’s common refrain largely because it was mine for the eight months we spent living in the UK and Spain last year. There were moments when the panic nearly chokes Emma. Those scenes often coincided with the worst moments of doubt in my own adventures, and while I couldn’t always answer that particular question, I could often hold the panic at bay by whispering back, “I am descended from voyagers.”

My grandpa is kind of big into genealogy. He has family trees that when spread out will span whole rooms…big ones. I was raised on stories of our American ancestors. The first woman to be married at Jamestown, she was one of us. My grandpa took my brother and I there to see her mentioned in the video at the visitor’s center. We were at Valley Forge with Washington and were granted the land now known as Free Union, Virginia for service to him. The family homestead still stands there, and my grandpa took me to visit in middle school. The real-life Johnny Appleseed was also a relative on my grandfather’s mother’s side. That side of the family also fought at Gettysburg and served time as POWs in Andersonville. My grandfather spent summers walking all the grandkids through cemeteries across central Illinois to point out our people.

Then when I was in high school, my grandparents took a trip to Europe and told me that if I earned enough money to pay my way, I could tag along. I did, and it kicked off a love affair with international travel. I stood in the doorway of the church where my grandmother’s grandparents were married near Essen, Germany. I stared up at The Arc d’ Triumph as Grandma and Grandpa recounted stories my great-grandpa had told about the liberation of Paris during WWII, you know, ’cause he was there.

Honestly, as a kid I just thought everyone’s family did that sort of thing. I was much older before I realized it was unusual for people’s families to go off chasing ancestors across the world, and by then it was too late for me to be persuaded that wasn’t normal.

I am everything I’ve learned and more Still it calls me

So when my main character starts Full English by arriving in a small English village she’s never seen simply because her grandmother used to live there, I was aware of the disorientation she’d feel, but her motivation never felt illogical to me. There’s a scene early in book where she walks the streets of the little seaside town remembering the stories her grandmother told her, and she has a sort of inherited sense of familiarity. It was only after finishing the book that it really set in for me that not all my readers will intuitively relate to that experience, because it was only after I returned to America after similar experiences that I came to understand how much of a disconnect exists between people who have felt those ancestral echoes and people who haven’t.

As a writer, it is frustrating not to have the words you need to explain something amazing. Until recently I had experienced this only a few times (e.g. explaining what it’s like to feel the first flutters of a baby kicking inside me), but that was nothing compared to the disbelief we encountered when I told people, first in America and then in England, that we’d packed up our family and moved across the ocean because I felt a call I couldn’t explain.

And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me It’s like the tide; always falling and rising

I wasn’t in quite the same place as my main character, Emma, in that I did know one person in Alnmouth in the village we chose, and we had at least been there for a whole 36 hours several years earlier. I mean sure, we had never seen the house we’d be living in, and we wouldn’t have a car, but we didn’t know how to drive on the left side anyway. And, yes, Kelly would be traveling often, which meant there would be stretches were we didn’t know anyone, but we’d meet folks eventually. And yes our visas wouldn’t allow Jackson to attend school, so we’d have to figure out how to homeschool, but my wife and I are both highly educated. We’d learn. And okay, so the village was too small to have a pediatrician, or a doctor even, or a real grocery store, or, you know even an ATM, but what’s that compared to striking out in a wooden ship in search of a northeast passage to China?

Yeah, that probably seems like a really random comparison to most of you, right? Well, one thing I didn’t mention in the earlier list of my lineages, is that in the age of internet genealogy, my grandfather had been able to trace not only our American ancestors, but gain access to resources across the pond. And since no one in my family does anything halfway, he’d gone right back up to Eleanor of Aquitaine .

To be clear, well more than half of Brits can trace their family back to royalty, so this in no way indicates a superior bloodline. What it does offer, however, is a really clear picture of who some of the people that shaped my family’s path through the world were, and it turns out by the 1500’s, my people were seafaring explorers.

The framed photo above sits in my living room. (I blacked out the identity-stealing portions for this blog). It shows a direct line from me all the way up to Stephen Borough.

We are descended from voyagers Who found their way across the world They call me

Stephen was one of the captains on several expeditions in search of a northeast passage to China. While they found no such route, what they did find was Russia. This was mind-blowing to many Europeans who knew of Russia only as a small country that barely touched the Black Sea. At this point, England had no real trade relations in that area and no genuine knowledge that Russia was a massive set of territories and duchies that at its largest stretched from modern-day Scandinavia through to the far northeastern edge of Asia. Obviously I’m condensing a lot of this, but Stephen sailed all the way through the North Sea, around the northern-most coasts of Norway/Sweden/Finland, then many many more miles between the coast and the Arctic circle before having to winter in the White Sea.

While there, he interacted with some locals, and it went something vaguely like this:

Stephen: Who are you?
Locals: We are Moscovite Russians
Stephen: You mean that piddly little country on the Black Sea?
Locals: No, we mean this place:

Stephen: Holy hell! I gotta tell Bloody Mary about this.
Locals: Cool, in the meantime, want to meet Ivan the Terrible?
Stephen: Sounds legit, let’s go!

Anyway, obviously I super condensed that part, too, but Stephen took lots of trips, negotiated the first trading charter with Russia, set up the first Russian trading company in England, etc. Later he reformed the way British navigators were trained and the tools they used, like you do, when you’re a well-traveled dude. If you want to learn more about him, you can check out this book that my grandpa gave me a few years ago.

To be honest, though, it’s value for me lay not in the dates and details of journeys long past, but in the constant reminder that people up my family tree took off with a lot fewer resources and a lot less knowledge to much more remote locations and not only survived, they changed the world. If Stephen Borough could strike out in the unknown and sail the frigid waters of the North Sea in search of new lands, new ideas, new connections, and renewed sense of global identities, then there was no reason I couldn’t do a little bit of the same.

So, I did.

I’ve delivered us to where we are I have journeyed farther

I packed up my family and moved them across an ocean to a country my ancestors hadn’t inhabited in 400 years, to a village I’d barely visited, and into a house I’d never seen. And when I walked out my back door, I stared out at the vast, vivid expanse of the great North Sea.

I’ll blog more about my time abroad and how it connected to various details in Full English . I’m even planning to blog some more about my search for Stephen Borough, but for now, as you begin to read Full English , as you see Emma arrive in her grandmother’s village for some reason she can’t fully understand, and read about Brogan hoisting sail because of a pull she can’t quite explain, I hope you’ll think of me getting lost in this view and listening to the echoes of my ancestors calling to me in memories made before I was born.

I will carry you here in my heart you’ll remind me That come what may I know the way

Another New Release!

Thu, 24 Jan 2019 15:02:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

Welcome to this week’s edition of Rachel’s Really Excited!

Last week I got to celebrate the early release of my newest romance novel, Full English , and that part is still going on, exclusively over at www.bywaterbooks.com where you can pick up the book in print and ebook several weeks ahead of its wide release.

And now I get to pile on the fun with ANOTHER big announcement. Are you ready?

In Development is now available in audiobook!

This is the first audiobook I have self-produced. A few years ago when I gave the special address at the GCLS Annual Conference, I spoke about how our community needed to do a better job of reaching out to a wider array of audiences, and how until recently our visually impaired readers have either had to miss out on our fiction entirely, or suffer through substandard, computer-generated recordings. I challenged al of us, myself especially, to make more of our work available in high-quality audio formats. We have come a long way in those few years, and I’m proud to say that more than half of my releases are now out on Audible, with more in production.

So, when it came time to publish In Development under a new model where I retained the audio rights, I knew that I wanted to continue that commitment, but I also knew it wasn’t something I could do at a high level all on my own. Enter the wonderfully talented Ann Etter.

Ann and I met through the lesfic community several years ago and have forged a connection over great romances, raising active kids, and never shying away from long road trips. She’s become one of my go-to proofreaders. She also did a couple public/podcast readings of my work for various outlets including The Lesbian Review, and I just fell in love with her voice. Her accent is incredibly similar to my own mash up of American Midwest and Northeast, but she has a much better range and smoothness I could never master. Honestly, I listened to several other narrators, but there wasn’t even any real competition.

From there, Ann took on the heavy lifting of reading and editing, while I got to focus on being the rights holder (it involved reading a lot of paper work, of clicking tons of consent boxes and e-signing documents, then listening, approving, and clicking more boxes. Dramatic, I know). Then the ever-awesome Ann McMan formatted her stellar cover to fit the audio book, and we held our breath.

But today the wait is finally over! In Development is available through Audible and Amazon!

For those of you who have been waiting for this one on Audible, get it today !

For those of you who loved the book and want to hear it performed by a real vocal talent, get your copy today !

For those of you who support more accessibility in lesfic, get your copy today!

And for those of you who want to support authors, narrators, editors, cover artists, etc. so we can afford to keep producing lesfic audiobooks, you guessed it, go get your copy today !

Full English – Limited Release!

Wed, 16 Jan 2019 15:13:00 GMT

Wow, look what arrived at my house!

That’s my new romance novel, Full English , and it’s here more than a month early. I swear Bywater keeps getting better and better at this roll-out business. My last two books have both been ready early, so I’ve come to expect a little lead time on the actual publication date, which is why I started introducing Full English to you in my blog last week . However, being more than a month ahead of schedule caught even me by surprise.

So, surprise to you, too! I will still spend the next few weeks blogging about Full English and the events, places, and people who inspired it, but you no longer have to wait for the back story in order to get the main story. For the next month, you can get your own copy of Full English in print and in ebook exclusively at http://www.bywaterbooks.com !

After a publicly humiliating divorce, best-selling author Emma Volant runs away to hide in the seaside English village of Amberwick, where she doesn’t know another living soul. She wants nothing more than to surrender to her broken heart in private. However, when the locals discover their newest resident is world famous, they gather at the local pub and hatch a plan to draw Emma out of her self-imposed isolation, hoping her celebrity status will elevate the village’s reputation to something more than a holiday hotspot.

It doesn’t take long for them to try to rope their favorite bartender, Brogan, into the act. Born and raised in Amberwick, Brogan McKay has built a comfortable life by never overreaching. Part-time jobs and short-term flings have always been good enough for her, but when she meets her beautiful and wounded new neighbor, Brogan realizes Emma has the potential to wreck the carefully controlled expectations she uses to protect her heart. Despite their obvious attraction and growing friendship, both Emma and Brogan are in firm agreement that neither of them is in a position to look for love, but how long can they fight their fears and desires as the events and people around them all conspire to create a full English love story?

Go get your copy now at https://www.bywaterbooks.com/product/full-english-by-rachel-spangler/

What’s In a Title?

Fri, 04 Jan 2019 15:42:00 GMT

Happy New Year! I hope you all are acclimating well to 2019 so far. I know we’re just getting started with a new year, but I am eager to start it off right, and in my world, that means we start it off with a new book!

My next release was born out of the time my family and I spent living in England in 2017/2018. I am going to do some blogs on those details later, but for now, let’s just say it was a magical, golden time filled with adventure and romance, and I felt inspired every day. I wrote a classically sweet and romantic novel while nestled in out little village looking out over the North Sea. I couldn’t wait to share it with you all when I got home; however, I couldn’t even begin the publishing process because I didn’t have a title.

Titles are the worst for me. Okay, actually they are the second worst after blurbs, but still I am terrible at them. I haven’t titled even half of my books, instead waiting for friends to do the job for me. So, I headed off to Indiana to visit friends Sarah and Andy, who have helped with this process in the past. We did like we always do. We put the kids to bed, got out some wine, and I told them about the story: Recently divorced American writer moves to her ancestral home in the hopes of hiding out and healing her wounds, but the whole village wants to be friendly and tries to fix her up with the only other lesbian they know, the town’s loveably understated British/Irish bartender. Then I turned to my friends and said, “Go.”

What followed was an hour of the worst British puns and romantic cliches you can imagine. We ran through themes of hiding, of running away, of travel and homelands. And things only devolved from there. At one point were were listening to ’80’s pop songs and scanning blurbs of Hallmark movies. All we got was tipsy and this list of the least horrible ideas, most of which actually were pretty horrible for this book.

Heart’s Hideaway
British Beginnings
Hearts in Hiding
Longing for Home
Getaway Romance
British Begin Again
Worlds Apart
Crossing Borders
Escape to the Country
Borderline
Across the Pond
Run for the Border
Seaside Lover Holiday Village
Waiting for Love in All the Wrong Places

Weeks, even months later, we were back in in England, still tossing around the ideas and feeling the pressure of a deadline, when we decided to play the same game some of our British friends. They came up with a similarly tragic list of randomly British things that had virtually nothing to do with the books, usually followed by requests to make them fit through some sort of rewrite.

Castle and Queen (there is a castle in the book)
Garden Party (nope, she does have an important garden, but hosts no parties there)
Tea Time
High Tea (they could get high and drink tea?)
Pub Quiz
London Calling (doesn’t fit and already taken)
The Royal Guard (just no)
Tea and Scones (there actually are assloads of scones in this book, but no)
Borderlands
Bonfires

The list went on and on, and I feared we’d never find a single, catchy, English thing in any way related to the actual book I’d written. Then came breakfast, a full English breakfast.

From there, I wrote a blurb, and Ann McMan designed the deliciously romantic cover. Then Bywater Books started the long process of getting Full English out to you!

Happy Holidays

Thu, 20 Dec 2018 18:47:00 GMT

Today we travel.

It is not the end of the year, but it always sort of feels that way. By the time I am back in my own living room, New Year’s Eve will be upon us. The time for work is nearly past, and the time for reflection is setting in.

I like this time of year. I like how the hustle and bustle and anticipation of what’s to come manages to blend with the urge to slow down and look back. It’s a time of great darkness, but also a sense of impending light. Whether your Hanukkah has come and gone, your Solstice is nigh, your Christmas or Kwanzaa is just around the corner, or you’re simply ready for the start of a New Year, I pray you find something worth celebrating.

I also hope you take the time to find your center, look back on where you’ve been, and turn your intentions to what may be. A big part of that process for our family is making our year-in-review video. So many times it’s easy to remember the hard times, the losses, the sadness, and the hopes that didn’t come to fruition. I don’t mean to negate those experiences. They were real, and they took their toll on all of us, but when I allow myself to set them aside for just a while and seek out the good, I usually find there was a lot more good than I initially thought. That was especially true for our family this year.

If you’d like to share in some of those happy memories, here’s the video below.

And no matter where you are, or how you choose to mark the season, Happy Holidays from the Spangler family.

Holiday Book Deal

Tue, 27 Nov 2018 13:22:00 GMT

Hey Folks,

The holidays are upon us, the time of year when everyone is trying to feed you something or sell you something. I don’t part take in any of the hectic Black Friday bustle, but I’ve been doing all my Small-Business Saturday and Cyber-Monday shopping. I was also reading up on the Icelandic Jolabokaflod, which translates to the “ Christmas Book Flood .”

Apparently, Iceland is super literary. They publish a lot of books, and they read a lot of books, a fact that is never more evident at Christmas time, when they gift a lot of books. I am falling in love with their tradition of giving loved ones books as presents on Christmas Eve so everyone can snuggle up in their warm pajamas and read until Christmas. How amazing does that sound? I want to make it a thing here, so I’ve already gone ahead and bought Jackson some books for this Christmas Eve.

What about you? You want in?

If so, I’ve got a couple ways to help. Obviously, my awesome publisher, Bywater Books, has a webstore at www.bywaterbooks.com , where you can get not only my books, but some fantastic books by my friends and colleagues in print or ebook.

If you are looking for something personalized to go the extra mile, I also have a few copies of Perfect Pairing , Close To Home , Edge of Glory , In Development , and Love All at my house. I’d be happy to autograph and mail those to you to give to someone you love, or to yourself, because it’s important to love yourself, too, right?

The price on those books is $15 each, plus $3 shipping in the continental US. If you buy more than one book, we can combine shipping, and if you don’t live in the continental US I will still ship them too you, but the price will be dependent on whatever the post office tells me. Supplies are limited and on a first come first served basis.

If you want to order books directly through me, either email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com, or comment below with your email, and I’ll contact you. If I don’t respond within 48 hours, please assume the Internet ate your message, and try again!

Okay, now for a completely shameless and non-book related plug: I am also hosting a Pampered Chef Party next weekend. You see, not so long ago, while still struggling to make it as an author, I used to sell Pampered Chef products, and I got kind of addicted. Even though I’ve settled into my dream job as a writer, I still love to cook, and I still love all my Pampered Chef gear, so once a year I host a show for my friends. If you or anyone you know likes to cook, please check out this link: www.pamperedchef.com/go/rachelspangler122018

And even if you don’t buy a damn thing from me this holiday season, I hope it’s a good one for you, filled with laughter, light and love.

Thankful

Fri, 23 Nov 2018 14:10:00 GMT

Happy belated Thanksgiving from the Spangler family!

I hope that those of you who celebrate all had a wonderful holiday. I don’t believe in the whole pilgrims/Native American/colonist aspect of the day, but I do love any reminder that I have so much to be grateful for. My wife and son, extended family, great friends, amazing church, good home, food on the table, and the best job in the world all top my list. Also this year, after a quick brush with strep throat, I am grateful for urgent care, rapid strep tests, and effective antibiotics. I don’t take any of these things for granted.

The strep is also my excuse as to why this blog is late. I hope you all don’t mind, because honestly I’m tremendously grateful for all of you, too. That whole “best job in the world” thing wouldn’t be possible without those of you who buy and read and review and talk about my books. You all feed my soul, and you also pay the bills for my literal food as well. I wish I could have given each one of you a bite of my turkey or pumpkin pie yesterday. What I can give you instead is 25% off my books, and the books of my awesome colleagues at www.bywaterbooks.com for the rest of the weekend.

So, Happy Thanksgiving, Happy Black Friday, Happy Small Business Saturday, Happy Cyber Monday, and, oh yeah, I’m happy you’re in my life. Now go get some books!

Tennis Mom Time

Thu, 15 Nov 2018 15:07:00 GMT

Hey All,

So the election is over and I’m ready to get back to books for a bit. Things have been going pretty well with Love All , and I’m getting lots of great feedback. If you’ve already read it, I’d really appreciate an honest review on Amazon . Those things make a huge difference to authors, especially those of us in small genres like lesfic.

I’m thrilled to the hear so many people are enjoying the romance between Jay and Sadie, but I will admit I have heard from two people now that they were afraid to start the book because they don’t know anything about tennis. If you fall into this category, fear not. I purposely wrote the book in a way that even people who don’t follow tennis can understand. However, if you still don’t trust me, I got some help from my favorite up-and-coming tennis star to give you a quick primer.

Below you’ll find a video featuring me and my son, Jackson, in which he shows you exactly what I mean by every tennis term I use in the book. Seriously, this ten-minute video tells you everything you need to know in order to fully enjoy Love All with out getting lost on the sports end of the story. Well, except we forgot to mention that in tennis scoring, “love” means zero. Yeah, I get that that’s kind of an important point for a book titled Love All , but now you know.

Get it on…

Thu, 25 Oct 2018 20:04:00 GMT

And by “it,” I’m referring to the act of voting, ’cause, y’all, we need to get to the polls.

I am assuming that if you read my books/blog, you do not hate lesbians/trans/queer folks. I mean if so…

I also hope that my previous blogs about things like the Confederate flag ran off a high portion of racists. And my Christmas blogs frequently talk about how my faith requires me to see Christ in the face of immigrants and refugees…because, duh! So, I am going to assume that most of you care about women/racial minorities/queer folks, and just the general state of humanity. And therefore it should go without saying that you’ve got to vote. If you can’t see how important that is even while living in our current dumpster fire, I don’t know what logical argument I can make to change your mind.

However, I’m not giving up on you. Even if you don’t have a single shit to give about this being an actual visual of America for the foreseeable future:

I won’t try to appeal to your better angels or play the voice of reason. I will drop down to a baser level to straight up carrot-and-stick this conversation with sex and free books.

Yeah, you heard me. Sex and free books, people.

You see, a couple months back I was approached by lesbian romance writing heroes KG McGregor and Susan X Meagher . They asked me if I’d be interested in submitting a short story to a collection aimed at getting out the vote. At first, my response was the same as it is to every other short story I’ve ever been asked to submit to.

I am a novelist for a reason. I am long-winded AF. The last time someone made me write a short story, I turned in 33,000 words. I mean, thoughts and prayers to you, but I don’t write short stories. And I’m happy with that.

Then I watched the news some more, and was like

Okay, so while I maintain I don’t write short stories, I also don’t sit around and do nothing while a megalomaniac despot and an army of white nationalists march across our political landscape. So guess what?

All in, actually. Not only did I submit a short story for the anthology, I submitted an EROTIC short story.

Yep, yep, yep. Me! Ms. I-Hate-Writing-Sex-Scenes turned in a sexy little number for the whole world to read (not you, Mom and Dad). My entry, called The Tie That Binds, is about what happens when a campaign director and a staffer get to cut loose in the wake of a big congressional win. Because, come on, we all need some big congressional wins Nov 6, and when you help make that happen, you should get to celebrate in exactly the way my characters do.

Which brings me back around to my main point. When you do your part by marching yourself down to your official polling place and pulling that lever (or pushing that button) you can have a copy of the We’ve Got The Power collection as soon as you prove you’ve lived up to your most basic civil responsibility to vote.

Seriously, that’s the only way you get your hot little hands on this hot little book. You cannot buy a copy anywhere. This is not some Citizen’s-United-style bullshit. It’s not for sale, and it’s never going to be. One person, one vote, one ebook.

It’s not hard (unless you’re a minority or a student, and then voting might be kind of hard, but that’s all the more reason to do it ( I llegitimi non carborundum ).

But once you have voted, all you have to do is comment below, or on my FB/Twitter/Insta, and share a picture of you (or your pet) with your absentee ballot ready to mail, or at your polling place, or with your “I voted” sticker. If you can’t do any of those things, get creative, but show me, somehow, that you voted, and then give me your email.

From there I’ll send you a link to download We’ve Got The Power, and you’ll get to enjoy exclusive works from not only me, but also some of the top names in lesbian fiction. There are stories from KG McGregor, Susan X Meagher , Tracy Richardson , Cheryl Head , Ann McMan , Trailblazer Marianne K. Martin , J.E. Knowles , Mary Griggs , City Rizzo , Jamie Clevenger, and so many more. It’s quality, it’s fun, it’s diverse, and it’s free, just for doing something you damn well ought to be doing already.

There you have it. I hope you care enough about humanity to vote, but even if you don’t, I’m sure you care about sex and books. So this Election Day, let’s get it on!

Wide Release Day!

Wed, 17 Oct 2018 14:50:00 GMT

Hello Friends,

It’s a big day for me! I am once again a new-book mom. I am thrilled to announce that Love All is now available in print and ebook wherever fine books are sold! If you’re one of those people who prefers to buy through Kindle directly, or iTunes, or through your local book store, the time is now. All the options are open. Go get your copy! Please?

I started writing this book over a year ago. Along the way I got to fall in love with Jay and Sadie and Destiny and Hank and Sandy. They became my constant companions as I traveled. Some days I spent more time with them than I did with my family. They became real to me. Through writing and editing and typesetting and proofreading and advanced copies and early ebooks and one super-fun book launch last week, each and every step has led me closer to this moment when my new baby is fully out into the world.

This is it! My work here is done. Love All and all my friends held within its pages belong to you now. I can’t wait to hear what you think. I will try to be patient, and not to pace like an expectant father in the waiting room of one of those old movies, but I make no promises not to keep refreshing my browser as I eagerly await your reviews.

I interview Bev Prescott

Thu, 04 Oct 2018 13:41:00 GMT

Hey all, my friend and colleague Bev Prescott has stopped by today to chat about her new release, 2° , which I really loved. I got a chance to read an early draft of the rip-roaring, action-adventure romance about a year ago when Bev first submitted it to Bywater for publication, and I’ve been kind of obsessed with the story ever since. It’s got a kick-ass heroine, a super villain, an undying love, and too many cool gadgets, tools, and toys to even count. Needless to say, I’m thrilled I finally got to ask Bev a few questions, and I can’t wait to share her answers below, but first I have to do my due diligence and let you all know that if you want to be entered for a chance to win your own copy 2°, just comment below and we’ll pick a winner next week. And if you want learn more about 2°, you can get the full story on the Bywater Books website .

Tell me about the story behind your latest book, 2°. W here did it come from?

Bywater has tagged this books, “Bev Prescott like you’ve never read her before.” What’s different about this book?

I’m not entirely sure why Bywater says that, because I didn’t ask. But, if I had to guess, it’s a couple of things. First, I worked with Elizabeth Sims as my writing coach. I learned a tremendous amount from her about things from sentence structure to character development. I think the quality of my writing dramatically improved from previous books. Second, I let my main characters show their gritty imperfect sides. Let’s face it, if we’re reduced to having to survive each day by clawing and scratching our way to getting food and water, we’re not always going to show our better angels. I let my characters be real. And being real means not being perfect.

This book was a long time coming, I assume part of that came from the research you had to do. How did you tackle all this?

I did loads of research for this book. The good news is that I’m really interested in the subjects of climate and its impact on ecosystems. Reading scientific articles and books never felt like work. But it did keep me up at night because it was interesting and scary. Not only did I read books about the science of climate change, but also books about the impacts on our political systems. For example, “This Changes Everything, Capitalism vs the Climate” by Naomi Klein was excellent. What I learned is that there are some good assumptions we can make about what will happen if the planet warms greater than 2 Degrees, and lots we don’t know. I did the bulk of the research for 2 Degrees before I started to write the story. Once I had a good handle on, generally, what the predictions are for North America, I wrote the outline. From there, I did research as necessary to fill in the blanks.

Great question. The answer is in letting the characters be real. Even in the worst of times, humans are funny, kind and ironic. Little moments of levity within difficult times, or noticing something beautiful in a scary place helped take the edge of the grittier parts of the story. For example, the scene when Sharon notices the flower in the desert, or when her cockroach bot gets some unwanted advances from a real cockroach are those little moments.

There’s a ton of super-cool scientific gadgets and vehicles in this book with an almost bond-esque quality to some of them. How did you come up with all of those, and which one would you most like to own?

Phew! This was the most fun part of the book to write. The thing about us humans is that we are always thinking up cool stuff. The world could be coming apart at the seams, but we still make progress. I think looking at the history of human invention is like looking at the history of the stock market. Even when particular moments look awful, in the grand scheme of things, we are always making progress. So, even in the face of grand disaster like climate change, I imagine that there will be humans who keep creating things in order to survive. I saw a great TED talk about looking for answers to our greatest problems by looking at nature. The TED Talks has a subset of talks called Technology Designed by Nature. Here’s the link. https://www.ted.com/playlists/403/technology_designed_by_nature

I absolutely believe that if humans want to know how to do anything, all we have to do is look to nature. If we want to know how to design a plane that flies in crazy wind, look at the albatross. If you want a vessel that can walk on water, look at the water-bug. That’s what I did when thinking about creating the cool ships and flying devices in 2 Degrees. It was a blast. I’d definitely want an Icarus Vest!

What’s on tap for you? Are you writing? What about events on the horizon?

Yes, I am writing. But, I’m still in the research and outlining phase. My next story will tackle the subject of fresh water, and the coming lack thereof with climate change. Yes, my next book will still be within the eco-fiction and climate fiction realms. It’s where my head and heart exist at the moment. But like you, love and friendship will always be the underpinnings of any story I write. Love, in particular, will save us from ourselves. As for appearances, I’m excited to be joining you and the other Bywater Books authors during Women’s Week in P-Town next week. Here’s the list of events.

Love All – Excerpt

Tue, 25 Sep 2018 14:40:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

I won’t make you wait around. I know what you’re all waiting for, so without further ado, the winner of last weeks’ drawing for a free autographed copy of Love All , is Stacy!

But fear not, I am so excited about the release of my thirteenth romance novel, and I wanted to give all of you a little something, so I’m going to share with you an excerpt of the entire first scene from Love All .

Prologue

“Sadie, you can’t do this all by yourself.” Tad echoed the refrain of her parents, her brother, and every one of their friends. The only difference was, he held a golden ring between his trembling fingers. “I enlisted. I’m going to have insurance and housing and a steady paycheck. I’ll be able to take care of you both.”

Both.

She glanced down, surveying the face so small it was nearly lost in the sea of pink swaddling blankets and the oversized hospital gown obscuring her own features. The two of them were a unit, a package deal, tethered together now every bit as much as they’d been when connected by a cord. She didn’t need him to tell her. She felt the tie tugging at her core the same way she’d felt every kick, every shift, every hiccup.

“A baby needs a dad.” He pressed, the anguish making his voice raw.

“She’s got a dad.” She cupped one hand gently around his cheek, marveling at the contrast of her dark skin stark against the paleness of his.

Black and white. That’s how he saw the world. Right and wrong. So clear-cut. He would make a good soldier. His righteousness would give him strength, but so would hers. She held the sleeping baby closer in the crook of her arm, noticing for the first time that her eyes were the same shape as his. Would they hold her color? Retain the proud bridge of her nose? The little dimple of her chin mirrored his, but the shape of her tiny mouth clearly came from Sadie. She inspected the strangely familiar face, then looked back up at his, unable to tell which of them seemed more vulnerable in that moment. “I’m glad you’re her father, but I don’t want a husband.”

A little muscle in his jaw twitched under her fingers. “You don’t want a husband, or you don’t want me for a husband?”

She sighed softly. That was the question on which all their futures hung. She could add it to the long list of ones she couldn’t answer. “Tad, I don’t know how to explain, much less make anyone understand, but I have to do this on my own.”

“You’re sixteen.” Emotion cracked in his voice.

“I’m almost seventeen.”

“You haven’t finished high school.”

“I will.” “You don’t have a job.”

“I’ll find one,” she said matter-of-factly, partly because this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation, and partly because each time she said the words, her certainty grew.

“And who’s going to take care of her?” He nodded toward the sleeping infant, his smooth face contorted with a worry so discordant with her youthful features. “You can’t be everything she needs.”

She let her hand fall from his cheek as the final break between them was cemented. “I will be.”

He rose, tears shimmering over the cobalt eyes she’d been so drawn to so many months ago. She’d never seen eyes like his, not on anyone who’d ever looked at her the way he had.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, Sadie.”

“So am I,” she said resolutely.

He stared down at them for a long, heavy moment before bending to place the lightest of kisses across the baby’s smooth brow, but he made no attempt to repeat the gesture with her. She could feel the grief radiate off of him in waves with each exhale, but she managed to feel only relief as he straightened.

“I left my enlistment details with your mom. I’ll send my address as soon as I get to basic training in case you change your mind.” He sighed. “Or maybe if you want to send me pictures at least.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

A strangled sound escaped his throat. “You too.”

She didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t want him to stay either. She didn’t feel anything at all from his absence, except maybe a hint of finality. Perhaps she should’ve felt scared, but she couldn’t summon any fear. Did that make her unrealistic? With all the doctors and nurses and social workers gone, had he been the only sensible one left in the room? When it came to her prospects as an unwed teenage mother, everyone she knew agreed with his assessment of her fitness.

Everyone but her.

She lifted her sleeping daughter to her chest, gently easing back the blanket to drop a kiss atop the wispy black curls. The scent of baby shampoo and fresh powder overtook the antiseptic tinge of the hospital air, and peace settled through her aching body. She didn’t know why she couldn’t share everyone else’s concern. She didn’t have answers to all their questions, but she knew with the same certainty she had had since the moment she’d first felt life growing inside her that she would find a way. This was her life, her child, her destiny.

“Destiny,” she whispered, and the baby’s eyes fluttered open, so big and round and beautifully full of awe. A smile built in Sadie’s chest and spread slowly until it stretched her cheeks.

“Do you like that?” she cooed softly.

The little girl blinked up at her, then furrowed her brow as if trying to focus on something complex.

“I think you do,” Sadie continued. “I think it’s going to stick.”

Sadie cradled the baby’s head in the palm of her hand and stared into the wonderment reflected there. “Everything’s going to work out. I don’t know how yet, but I know it will. You’re just going to have to trust me on that, because I’m your mama, and you are my Destiny.”

The baby blinked, and Sadie grinned. “Just me and you, kid. From here on out, everything I do, it’s going to be for you.”

And there you have it! The prologue to Love All . If you want to see how we get from there to the wide world of professional tennis, you’ll have to go to http://www.bywater.com and get your own copy of Love All in print or eBook.

Save Save

Love All – Exclusive Early Release!

Wed, 19 Sep 2018 14:31:00 GMT

Hey All,

I am super excited to announce that while the official wide release for Love All is still three weeks away, you can get the book in print or in ebook right now, exclusively at www.bywaterbooks.com !

How awesome is that? 3 weeks early!

What’s more is I received my author copies in the mail late last week, and let me tell you, they are so pretty. There’s nothing like holding your new baby, all wrapped up in an Ann McMan cover. It never gets old!

And our good friend, Will Banks (aka Big Papi), who happens to be the person who inspired my son’s jump into the world of tennis, just happened to be visiting when the books arrived. It seemed fitting that he get the first autographed copy.

But now who wants the second autographed copy? ‘Cause I feel like I need to give one of these babies away! How about anyone who comments on this blog, either here or on my social media pages, will be automatically entered to win a copy of Love All? And if you want to enter but just can’t wait to go ahead and start the book now, go ahead and buy your copy today, then if I draw your name, you can pick one of my other books to have signed and sent to you!

Go ahead, go get one, and get to reading!

Save Save

Love All – A Tennis Romance

Wed, 12 Sep 2018 14:05:00 GMT

Have I mentioned I have a new book coming out at Women’s Week this year? Have I mentioned that Love All will be available exclusively from Bywater Books even before then?

Of course I haven’t, at least not lately. Between back-to-school time for my wife and son, and being on a deadline for both writing and edits, and being in total denial that summer had ended, it sort of slipped my mind.

That is to say it slipped my mind until this past weekend, because holy crap did you see the US Open? That women’s final is something we will be talking about for years!

I won’t rehash all the details. If you want my take on the ins and outs of the explosion inside Arthur Ashe Stadium this article from Sally Jenkins and the Washington Post is actual pretty close to how I feel.

The reason all that reminded me that I have a book set for wide release in less than a month is that book, Love All , actually ends at the US Open! Yeah, way to whiff on the cross marketing there, Rach.

If I were better at keep up with these things, I would have made that connection here much sooner. I should have been running all sorts of ads all through the tournament. Now it looks like I’m scrambling to catch up, which, in fact, I am. Though not just because everyone is talking about tennis right now, and my book happens to be about tennis. The connections go much deeper, and I hope you’ll indulge me in listing a few of them.

So there you have it. A ripped-(sort of) from-the-headlines tennis romance featuring action, competition, and two wonderful women trying to find to find love in a cut-throat world we’ve all read so much about lately. What do you say? Want to give it a shot?

If so, you can pre-order your copy Love All today from www.Bywaterbooks.com

In Development Wide Release!

Wed, 06 Jun 2018 16:15:00 GMT

Hello Friends,

I come bearing good news: In Development is now available in print and ebook form all over the world! Again, I am sorry for Amazon’s delay in getting those ebooks out to my friends in other countries. As those of you who follow this blog know, I am an avid traveler, and the idea of being stuck in once place makes me crazy. The thought of my work being shared only with Americans stressed me out to no end. Thank you to everyone who emailed from far away to tell me you were eagerly awaiting your chance to read In Development , and I glad you don’t have to wait any longer!

I also want to thank everyone who has already read and reviewed In Development, either on Amazon, Goodreads or a dedicated review site. I mentioned in my last blog how much the reviews mean to the sales and marketing metrics, and some of you responded by adding your own voices to the chorus of people who had already shared their thoughts. It’s never easy as an author to acknowledge the importance of reviews without actually interfering in the review process, but even if we don’t feel comfortable replying directly, I hope you all know how much we authors appreciate the effort.

And in that vein, In Development had gotten some reviews from some major reviewers in the world of LGBT fiction, and I’m going to share a few of those below, just in case anyone reading this blog is still undecided on whether or not they want to read In Development .

“Extremely well written, this is Spangler’s best yet. I rarely want to re-read a romance, but I literally fell for these two and this is definitely on the pile to revisit.” ~ The Lesbian Reading Room http://www.lesbianreadingroom.com/in-development-rachel-spangler/

“While writing about the author’s craft in character development, I must add that her prose is lyrical as it holds everything together. Little by little, the two women share of themselves with the reader but just enough to keep us guessing. They share amazing chemistry yet both are able to say and do how they feel.” ~ Amos Lassen http://reviewsbyamoslassen.com/?p=64683

“Their chemistry is perfectly crafted: sizzling, undeniableable and irresistible.” ~ LezReviewBooks https://lezreviewbooks.wordpress.com/2018/05/11/review-of-in-development-by-rachel-spangler/

So there you have it. In Development is available the world over in print and ebook, and some awesome folks seem to like it. I hope you will, too!

Paperback Release Day! (And Notes)

Tue, 29 May 2018 17:50:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

First and foremost, it’s paperback release day for In Development . If you are one of those people who just loves the weight of a book in your hands, or the smell of freshly cut paper, or the way a page feels between your fingers, this day is for you!

You can get your paperback copy of In Development now! No need to read the rest of the blog, go ahead and go!

However, for those of you who have been waiting so patiently for the international eBook, I am so sorry it’s taken this long. Brisk, the publisher, submitted ebooks for all our domestic and international channels on the same day. Generally that means they all get published on the same day. However, Amazon is having some sort of glitch in their system (or so they say), which is preventing some American publishers from uploading to international outlets. The awesome folks as Brisk have been in constant contact with Amazon, and they assure us they’re working on it as fast as they can, but I really hate that so many of my friends living in other countries are having to wait. So, I just wanted to point out that you can buy the ebooks in both ePub and mobi (Kindle-friendly) formats directly from the publisher, Brisk Press, as well as from my distributer, Bella Books . Again, I’m sorry Amazon is having this problem, but if you really want to read In Development right away (I love you), there are at least a couple of options on the table.

Finally, to everyone who has already bought their copy of In Development , I want to say a sincere thank you. You all keep me going, emotionally and financially. I get to keep doing what I love to do because of you. And to those of you who have already read and reviewed In Development on Amazon or Goodreads, I want to give you a big virtual hug.

I won’t go into what those reviews mean to authors in this blog, but suffice it to say, it’s a lot. Those reviews affect every part of our business metrics right now. Even taking the time to write a simple statement along the lines of “I liked this book, and I bet you will, too,” goes miles on the road for helping bolster both a book and the author. So, for everyone who took the time and effort to do so over the last week, I appreciate it more than you probably realize.

In Development eBook Release!

Tue, 22 May 2018 14:30:00 GMT

Great news! Shout it from the roof tops (or various social media platforms) that In Development is now available as an eBook!

For those of you saying, “wait, I thought it didn’t come out until next week,” well surprise! Amazon has its way of doing things, and I rarely understand the finer points, but the wonderful folks at Brisk Press (Thanks Carolyn and Susan!) got things all sorted out ahead of schedule, which means In Development is now available as an eBook!

This is the moment we’ve all been preparing for! You’ve seen the hawt Ann McMan cover and wondered whose sexy legs those were by the piano. You’ve heard about the awesome women who helped inspire my characters’ looks. You’ve read an excerpt from the first chapter of the book. And you’ve read the first review telling you this book is well worth your time and $9.99. You are ready! You know what to do now! So what are you waiting for? Go get your copy of In Development today !

From a young age, Cobie Galloway made a career of playing the girl-next-door on the silver screen. Only, she’s not a teenager anymore. Ready to challenge herself artistically and earn the part she’s always dreamed of, she’s forced to face the realization that in order to win the roles afforded to edgier actresses, she might first have to audition by playing someone edgier in her day-to-day life.

Pop star Lila Wilder built a multimedia empire by always having her finger on the pulse of what’s hot. However, as she struggles to produce her next smash hit record, she’s finding it hard to keep her name in the public eye, and a string of tumultuous relationships with Hollywood boy-toys no longer captivates anyone’s attention.

Both women tentatively agree to a headline-grabbing fauxmance, with two simple rules: Always stick to the script, and never forget that on the stage of public perception, nothing is real. Can two women find love in a world of carefully crafted illusions, or will a successful charade mean the potential for something more gets left on the cutting-room floor?

In Development: First Review

Thu, 17 May 2018 20:19:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

I am super busy right now. I just finished writing a book, and I need to start my self-edits this week. I have also been doing my last round of substantive edits on Love All, which will be released this fall, and best of all, we’ve been working on getting the ebooks of In Development into the Amazon distribution system!

That’s right, even as I type this, my new baby is making its way out into the world. So for those of you who want print books, you can pre-order them right now. And for those of you who want ebooks, hang in there. They are on their way.

For those of you who aren’t sure if you want to order In Development right now, let me offer you the book’s very first review to try to tip the scales in my favor.

This one comes from LezReviewBooks, and if you aren’t familiar with the site, you really should check it out. You can see the review of In Development here , but spoiler alert: They like it! They said nice things like, “Their chemistry is perfectly crafted: sizzling, undeniableable and irresistible. ” They also gave it 4.5 out of 5 stars.

In fact, they liked it so much they made In Development their recommended book of the month! Yay for being the book of the month before it’s even officially released. I hope that means some of you will make it your book of the month (or at least one of them) as soon as it comes out.

It’s Excerpt Time

Wed, 02 May 2018 15:00:00 GMT

It’s May! May is a happy month. My wife wraps up her school year in May. My son’s little league season starts in May. And In Development comes out in May! Yay for May!

To celebrate, I am sharing the first excerpt from the book. What follows is the opening scene, so there’s no set up needed. Read, and hopefully enjoy, my gift you to. Then scoot on over and pre-order your copy today!

In Development – Chapter 1

The office of Levy and Levy was a whir of human energy vibrating off glass and steel. Everywhere phones rang or buzzed, and there wasn’t a surface that didn’t glisten or gleam. All the bustle and brightness made Cobie Galloway feel even more out of place than she had outside in Times Square. The lights there were brighter and the noises louder, but at least she’d blended into the crowd. As soon as the elevator doors had opened on the forty-second floor, every eye trained on her. Well, maybe not her so much as her clothes or her hair or perhaps the way she slouched and shuffled up to the desk.

Then again, maybe her demeanor made her stand out more than her low-slung jeans and plain cream waffle-weave shirt. She didn’t act like she owned the place, unlike every other sleek, suit-clad person bustling back and forth, talking on a myriad of devices: phones, tablets, Bluetooth earpieces. One guy even seemed to be chatting with his watch. She glanced down at the thick script in her hands and considered trying to have a conversation with it. Instead, she chose the old-fashioned approach and smiled at the receptionist with a severe up-do.

“Hi.”

“Yes?” the woman asked, drumming her jet-black fingernails on her frosted glass desk.

“I’m Stan’s eleven-thirty appointment.”

The receptionist pursed her lips in a way that suggested she highly doubted the truth of the statement but clicked open a document on her iPad. “Mr. Levy has an eleven-thirty appointment with . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she regarded Cobie with a little more interest. Gray eyes flicked over her attire and settled on her face, clearly searching for something to tip the scales of recognition. Cobie decided to make it easier on them both, so she shook her shoulder-length brunette hair from her face, then fluttered her eyelashes a little.

The receptionist’s entire demeanor changed. She leaned forward in her chair, showing a startling amount of cleavage, her cheeks flushing pink and her lips curving upward. “Oh, honey, you’re much taller than you look in all the movies.”

“It’s the angles they shoot from,” she said frankly. “Jeremy doesn’t like anyone to know how short he is.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “How short is he?”

Cobie smiled. “Five-seven on a good day. When I’m barefoot, I look him in the eye.”

“And is everything else about him . . .” She glanced around like she knew she shouldn’t ask but couldn’t pass up the chance. “Proportional?”

Cobie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. He uses a body double for love scenes.”

The secretary’s mouth dropped, and Cobie felt the tiniest bit of guilt. She didn’t care a wit about protecting Jeremy’s fragile ego, but she didn’t want to do anything that might serve as tabloid fodder. She worked hard to protect her own life. She wouldn’t want to carelessly subject someone else to that kind of scrutiny, whether she particularly enjoyed their company or not. “That’s just between us though, okay?”

The woman pantomimed zipping her lips, locking them, and then depositing the imaginary key in a wastebasket under her translucent desk. The little display made Cobie realize the young woman likely had acting aspirations, which reminded her why she’d stopped by in the first place. “Is Stan in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The woman rose. “Right this way.”

Cobie followed her through a series of hallways reminiscent of a shiny anthill. She wondered if she should leave breadcrumbs to find her way back, but she was sure one of the starving actresses or musicians waiting in the wings would eat them before her meeting finished.

Finally, the last hallway dead-ended into a massive set of frosted glass doors accented in polished chrome. The receptionist pressed a button Cobie couldn’t see and whispered, “Cobie Galloway to see you.”

The doors swung open seemingly of their own volition, and the receptionist motioned for her to go inside, even though she didn’t cross the threshold herself.

“Thanks,” Cobie said, hesitating slightly, as though she’d been summoned by the great and powerful Oz. Then she remembered she’d called this meeting with her manager, who worked for her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and stepped purposefully inside.

“Hey, Stan.”

He smiled at her, holding up one finger and motioning to a cell phone against his ear, and turned to stare out the large windows. “I don’t care how much money he thinks the project is going to make. That’s a problem for the producers. I only care what my client makes, and if there’s not another zero on the next contract I get from you, we’ll go shopping.”

She should probably be glad he said things like that. Hell, maybe he’d said it for her benefit. He’d likely said it on her behalf several times in the last ten years, and judging from the view of Times Square from his office, he got the answer he wanted more often than not. That’s why she stayed with him, she reminded herself. He knew how to get what he wanted, which was what she wanted.

She took a seat in what she assumed was a chair, even though it was made entirely of chrome and angled in a way that kept her feet from touching the ground. Staring down at the script in her lap, she flipped it open and ran her fingers over the title.

Vigilant.

The word stood in bold print. When she closed her eyes, she could still see it. She’d dreamt about it last night. This was the project she’d waited a decade to be a part of, a project that could make, or rather remake, her career into something she could be proud of.

“Cobie.” Stan’s voice boomed from across the room as he tossed his phone onto the desk. “What a treat to see you in person. What brings you to the city?”

“I heard my manager works here.”

“He does. He works very hard here, makes the big deals too, but enough about me.” He flashed her a smile, showing teeth too bright not to have been enhanced somehow. “Tell me about you. Surely you didn’t fly in just to meet with me. You got a hot date?”

She shook her head. “No, I really wanted to talk to you about my next project.”

“Oh, yes. Let me see.” He tapped his temple, drawing attention to the fact that his dark, wavy hair had grayed considerably at the sides. “You just wrapped the last Nick Sparks adaptation, right? Hey, how’s Jeremy?”

“He’s Jeremy,” she said with a sigh. “So very . . . Jeremy.”

“Ah, I remember you two canoodling outside my office when you were just kids.”

She wanted to say she’d never canoodled. Not with Jeremy or anyone else, especially in his office. But she needed to stay focused.

“The time sure does fly, and now you’re practically all grown up, both of you.”

“Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk about,” Cobie cut in. “I have grown up, and I’m ready for the roles I take on to reflect my maturity.”

He stopped abruptly on his stroll down memory lane to look at her seriously for the first time.

“I was looking over the script for Vigilant last night.”

His eyes went wide, signaling she had his full attention now. “ Vigilant is a New York Times bestseller. Where did you get the script?”

She shook her head, not wanting to go there. She couldn’t let the conversation become about her contacts versus his. “That doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s drafted and in my hands to negotiate with.”

“Negotiate?” He eyed the document like the Pope might look at a crucifix.

“A full treatment, script, screen writer, and female lead,” Cobie said in her most businesslike voice. “It’s a package deal. All or nothing.”

“Nothing is all or nothing,” he mumbled and began to pace. “I heard the author wasn’t willing to negotiate, or I’d have beaten down her door myself.”

“Yes. But would you have pitched me for the lead?”

“Uh, well.” He smoothed his thumb over his eyebrows. “The thing is this will be a very sought-after role.”

“So no, then?”

“It’s not that I don’t think you could handle the acting.” He started patronizing, and she gritted her teeth to stay calm long enough to see if he could turn it around. “But since so many people have read the book, they’re going to have an image in their heads for the character of Vale.”

“And I don’t fit the image?”

“No. But do you know who I spoke to last night?”

“Not a clue.”

“Christopher Columbus, the director, not the explorer.” He chuckled at his own joke.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s never heard that one before.”

“He’s doing Night at the Museum Four , and there’s going to be a love interest for the son this time.”

“The son that went to college in the last movie?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“So I’d play a college student?”

“Exactly, but there’ll be a few fun action scenes.”

She sighed and wiggled her way out of the awkward art chair. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve never played a character over the age of nineteen.”

“Okay, well, Jeremy is in talks for one where he plays a city kid who gets offered a job on a dude ranch for the summer.”

“Target audience?” she asked drolly, already knowing the answer.

“Girls, twelve to eighteen.”

“I’m too old for teen movies,” she said flatly.

“Oh, honey, don’t talk about yourself that way. You could easily pass for a high school student. Did you know Olivia Newton-John was twenty-nine when she played the role of Sandy in Grease ?”

“You’ve mentioned it before, but the thing is, I don’t want to pass for younger than I am.”

He opened his mouth but didn’t seem to know how to respond to the comment. “Say again?”

“I don’t want to be Olivia Newton-John. Don’t get me wrong. She killed that role, but I don’t want to be America’s sweetheart anymore. I don’t want to do teen flicks or musicals either for that matter.”

“But really you do sing, right?”

“Stan,” she said forcefully, “I want to do Vigilant .”

He shook his head slowly.

“I’ve got the skills. I’ve got the build. I’m in great shape.”

“All true, but you don’t have the image. The character is dark, morally ambiguous, a drinker, a fighter, a lesbian shit-kicker.”

“I’m a lesbian shit-kicker.”

“Are you?” he asked, his voice a little higher, like someone talking to a puppy or a child.

“Yes,” she said emphatically.

“Look.” He cut the patronizing tone. “I’m glad you want to branch out, but no one is going to buy you as a lesbian.”

“But I am a lesbian!”

“Oh, I know. I wrote that press release, but this character is actually going to sleep with women, plural, on screen, and you’re just not that kind of lesbian.”

“The kind of lesbian who actually sleeps with a lot of women?”

“Exactly,” he said, almost triumphantly.

“Excuse me?” she spluttered. “I have slept with women. I mean not in the last few months, but it has happened.”

“Good for you. I have a lesbian niece, and I am a sponsor of the big parade in the Village, but— and I mean no offense— to the rest of the world you’re still sixteen. And they love that about you. You’re a safety gay.”

“A safety gay?”

“Like Ellen Degeneres or Ellen Page. Really, it’s a shame you’re not named Ellen. Hey, that reminds me, how do you feel about a sitcom? We need someone to read for the role of Jane Fonda’s granddaughter on that Netflix thing. She’s a lesbian, right?”

“No. Lily Tomlin is.”

“Really? Since when? Never mind, she’s funny! You could be funnier, you know.

“Thanks. And I don’t want to play Jane Fonda’s granddaughter. Is there an audition for the role of her lover?”

Stanley about choked. “Was that a joke? If so, it was a funny one. If not, then it wasn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” She practically exploded. “I want to be challenged. I want a grown-up career. I want a manager who wants to make me happy.”

“How about a manager who makes you boatloads of money? Then you can buy whatever makes you happy.”

He didn’t get it. At least not the way she wanted him to. She would have really liked for him to jump on board with her. His enthusiastic support would have been a boon to her confidence, but ultimately, she didn’t need him to share her vision of herself. She did, however, need him to go to bat for her, so she twisted a silver, three-string ring on her right ring finger and played the biggest card left in her hand. “Is your wife in the office today?”

Stanley practically jumped out of his Italian loafers at the comment. “What?”

“Mimi. Is she working today? I haven’t seen her in a long time, and I was wondering what she’s up to.”

“She’s very busy. Big meeting on the music side today.”

“Do you think she’d make time for me?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, suggesting he knew she would. They might love each other dearly, but they also loved the job. They were as competitive with each other as they were with outside agents, maybe more so. She’d long wondered how that kind of competition could work in a marriage, but she understood that’s what made them work as business partners. If it also made Stanley work a little harder for her, great. If not, Mimi certainly would.

“Can I see that script for a second?” Stan came around the front of his desk. “I promise I’ll give it back.”

The change in his tone, from polite to purposeful, told her everything she needed in order to hand the document over.

He scanned the first page, the line of his eyes indicating he’d stopped on the short background sketch of the lead character.

“Dark, tall, brooding, magnetic, sexual, powerful, edgy.” He read the adjectives aloud. Then he looked up to study her. “Your hair’s too long.”

“I can cut it. Dye it, too, if need be.”

“Your eyes could be right, especially if you wore some eyeliner.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve been working with a trainer?”

“Weights and cardio.”

“Double your routine,” he said flatly, “like yesterday.”

She nodded. She’d gladly push harder for a shot at the role.

He handed her the script and walked around the desk, falling into his chair and leaning back so far he stared at the ceiling. “How bad do you want this, Cobie?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Even something you can’t undo?”

She paused, wanting to clarify a little bit, but worried he’d see it as a sign of weakness if she did. “Yes.”

“There will be no more teen movies, no more sappy cowgirls or cheerleader roles.”

“Good.”

“You’ll need a complete image overhaul. Six months minimum of your working the press and photo shoots and being seen playing with the big kids.”

Her stomach turned. “I can’t just go up for the part?”

He frowned. “I can’t pitch this with you as you are. Not if you want a major studio and the budget needed to do this right.”

“I do. I want everything about this project done to perfection.”

“Then you need to make a long-term investment.”

She nodded. She wanted long-term. She needed it. “Tell me what to do.”

He pushed his palm down his forehead as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles forming there. “Give me twenty-four hours to see what I can come up with. Show up tomorrow, same time, same place, ready to take big steps.”

“I will, Stan. I promise I won’t let you down.”

His smile was faint, showing none of his shark teeth now. “I’ll see you then.”

Sensing the need to get out while she was ahead, she backed toward the door.

“Tomorrow, eleven-thirty,” she repeated, but he’d already picked up the phone. She kept backing away down the hall as she heard him telling someone to clear his schedule. She couldn’t believe this was happening, even though the details of what this was were kind of shady, very shady actually. Still, it felt big, and she didn’t want to do anything to mess up.

She took another step backward and stepped on something hard.

“Ouch,” someone said, causing her to jump and bump into a wall, then trip and stumble again.

She might have flailed all the way to the floor if not for two strong hands catching her roughly under her arm and hauling her up.

“What’s the matter with you?” a different voice snapped.

She teetered a bit, trying simultaneously to right herself and see the people around her. As she planted her feet firmly back on the ground, she realized she was staring at a massive chest topped off with big shoulders and a sequoia-sized neck. Only when she tilted back farther did she see a strong jaw and deep-set, dark eyes. The African American man was good-looking enough to be an action star, but the set of his features and his crossed arms and his bulging biceps screamed bodyguard.

“Sorry,” Cobie said, flustered. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Do you know who you just walked into?” someone behind her asked.

She turned to see a much smaller Latino man in maroon skinny jeans and a paisley shirt purse his lips at her.

“You?”

He started to roll his eyes, then stopped abruptly and narrowed them. “Hey, are you the girl from that one movie, with the guy, the one who’s got those pecs?”

“Yeah.” Cobie didn’t need any more description. She was always that girl in that movie.

“Ooh, girl, you look better with the make-up on,” he said dramatically.

“Thanks,” she muttered and tried to edge past him, but the bodyguard shot out his arm.

“It’s fine, Malik,” a female voice said from behind him. “I don’t think she’s a threat to anyone.”

He didn’t argue, either out of actual agreement or knowing better than to disagree. He simply lowered his arm and stepped to the side.

Cobie’s breath caught at the sight of the woman he’d shielded. Honey blonde hair fell to slender shoulders, framing a pale face. Startling blue eyes flashed amusement from under thick lashes, and painted red lips sparked a heated contrast to the otherwise pastel pallet. Cobie actually took a step back at the sight of her. Not that she hadn’t seen the face a million times, including the billboard towering several stories high just outside, but she’d never stopped to really notice the perfection of its symmetry and precision. It was almost too flawless to be real, and only after too many seconds of being stupefied did she manage to look away.

Not that lowering her eyes actually did anything to improve her brain function, because that only left her staring at a low-cut, white blouse and a long, flowing black skirt with a slit so far up the side even a gentle breeze would reveal anything underneath. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant prospect. Finally, though, when her eyes reached floor level, she noticed a glaring scuff where the heel of her Doc Martens had clearly tread across the toe of patent leather Manolos.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, snapping her head up, “about your toes.”

The woman’s smile was slow. “They’re fine.”

“Well, your shoes are scuffed. And probably expensive, so if, um, you want to bill me, you can send an invoice to Stan’s office. They can get it to me.”

“You’re going to buy me new shoes?” she asked, clearly amused by the offer.

“I would,” Cobie said earnestly.

“That’s adorable,” the woman said with the faintest hint of a Southern drawl. Then with a minimal wave of her hand, she turned and walked away.

Cobie stood, bewildered, watching her go, skirt blowing in the breeze she created, entourage trailing dutifully in her wake. She may have even craned her neck a bit as they turned a corner, but when finally left alone in the hallway, all she could manage to think was, “So, that’s Lila Wilder.”

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Look What I Got!

Thu, 26 Apr 2018 16:52:00 GMT

So this is just going to be a short, happy blog with two main points.

1) I am going to Toronto tomorrow! I freaking love Canada. And on this trip I have the honor of reading with several other Lambda Literary Award finalists at Glad Day Bookshop (the worlds oldest LGBTQ bookstore!). If you are in the area, I sure hope you will join us at 7:30 .

2) I got a box in the mail yesterday, and I didn’t know what it was because I didn’t think I’d ordered anything, until I saw the return label. Not going to lie, first I tried to rip it open, then I tried to use my keys, which didn’t work because I drive a Prius. Finally I found some scissors.

Thankfully, I got it open without cutting myself, and yup, it’s my books! <new release squee> Check out that sexy cover, and look away from the fact that I look like a big goober with that cheesy smile.

Really though, that’s book number 12 in my hands, and I know I’ve said this before, but I’m happy to report it still hasn’t gotten old yet. This is always the moment it feels real, like up until this point I have just been hanging out with my imaginary friends. It’s not until I hold it in my hands that I really feel like I’ve written a book.

So maybe, if you want to hold one of these babies in your hands, you can pre-order your copy of In Development right now !

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In Development Sights and Sounds

Thu, 19 Apr 2018 15:09:00 GMT

Blog Subtitle: When Taylor Swift and Ellen Page Make Out In My Mind.

I am an auditory person. I suppose this shouldn’t surprise anyone. Between my affinity for words and my never-ending need to verbalize any complete thought, it’s pretty clear that nothing in my life is really set until it’s been spoken or read or sung aloud. This aspect of my personality informs my writing in several ways. One of the big ones is that I always read my novel, out loud, front to back, before I send it off to my beta readers. Another important factor is that I (almost) always have a soundtrack to every book I write. Some books have full-length, album-style soundtracks. They have enough music on them to get me through a full 1-2 hour writing session. Spanish Heart was like that and was filled unsurprisingly with Spanish-language or Spanish-influenced pop. Timeless ‘s play list was over 2 hours of songs mostly from my own time in high school. Does She Love You? was a Reba McEntire greatest hits collection (duh). Poor Edge of Glory, on the other hand, was four of the most random songs. I cannot even tell you how they were connected to each other, much less the story. I listened to them on repeat for about 4 months.

Thankfully, for my wife’s sanity, In Development went in a very different direction in that 6 of the 11 songs came from a surprising source: Taylor Swift.

I had never been a Taylor Swift fan until this book. That isn’t to say I disliked her. I simply didn’t know enough to form an opinion. Of course, I’d heard her songs on the radio and seen her on the TV a bazillion times, but I’m not sure how many of her catchy hits I could’ve pegged as hers, much less been able to sing along to. Until I heard Blank Space .

I am not at all ashamed to admit that Lila Wilder, one of my main characters from In Development , found her voice in that song. However, Lila, like Taylor, would not be content to be confined to one song. Soon I was a proud owner of 1989 on my iTunes. And I listened to it A LOT over the next few months. Slowly, Lila got sassier and stronger and savvier, and at times, shadier.

She also got a fashion upgrade. Lez be honest: I am no fashion icon. I own suits in black, gray, and navy. Beyond that, I’m a jeans-and-T-shirt boi. Most of the time when I’m writing a scene where characters have to dress up, I just look at the Eddie Bauer or Athleta catalogues online.

This is usually enough to rip a few descriptions needed for my girl-next-door characters.

This was not enough for Lila. The pop star/social media mogul/designer put me through many hours of Pinterest searching for what super-famous, super-fancy women wear to work and on stage and at home, and once again I kept coming back to Taylor.

It was an easy jump, seeing as how her voice was already inside my head. And boy, does that woman have all the outfits. All. The. Outfits. Honestly I’m not sure at what point they stop being outfits and start being costumes, but I feel certain that line got blurred in the book and on my Pinterest board.

Before long, all my listening and the pinning got into Google’s metrics. Soon I was bombarded with ads for Taylor Swift fragrances and gift sets and movies and concert tickets and unauthorized biographies and interviews. Taylor infiltrated every inch of my work space, and most of my brain. Then for some reason I started getting ads for Justin Bieber. Clearly the Sales Guardians of All Things Online had pegged me as a 16-year-old girl. And then at the moment I needed it most, a 16-year-old girl appeared on my pages…but you’re not getting that spoiler in this blog. Let’s stick to clothes and the admission that when it came to dressing Lila, I was in over my head and way outside the realm of personal experience. Thankfully, the Internet giveth in abundance.

But what about my other main character, my actress, Cobie? Despite being named for one of my few TV crushes, Cobie Smulders , she didn’t have much of a face or an image. As I mentioned before, I’m an auditory person, so I heard Cobie’s voice very clearly early in the writing process, and generally, that’s enough. Voice, heart, motivation, these are the important aspects of character development for me, and they’ve been more than enough to turn out some of my most popular characters over the last ten years. However, when compared to the Lila/Taylor mash-up, it felt like poor Cobie was getting the short end of the stick. And to be honest with you, Cobie has been under-appreciated and undercut in a lot of areas of her life, but that’s another spoiler, so let’s just say I started to feel like she needed a visual counterpart too.

Re-enter Pinterest. You see, it’s a bit if-you-give-a-mouse-a-cookie, because if you listen to Taylor Swift for mood, you get voice, but if you give a character that voice, she demands a look, and when you’re on Pinterest looking for, well, looks, you might as well look for all the looks, which led me to search for things like “lesbian girl/boi next door,” or “lesbian boi,” or “boi fashion,” and low and behold, all of those search terms eventually led to one person.

Yeah, I should have seen that coming. A better lesbian would have seen that coming. As someone who has literally answered “Ellen Page” to several interviewers who’ve asked “Who should play you in the movie of your life?” I should have seen Ellen Page coming when writing a novel about a lesbian actress who got her start in teen movies. I am embarrassed to admit I did not.

I do not watch a lot of movies, okay? I’m poor. I have a ten year old. I live in a small town without a lot of entertainment opportunities. I missed the obvious connection right up until Pinterest smacked me over the head with it.

Suddenly, my actress didn’t just have a voice and conflict. She had style. If you go to my Pinterest board for In Development you will find several outfits/costumes/looks on Ellen Page that will be described piece for piece on Cobie throughout the course of In Development .

Right now, I should probably stop and give the disclaimer that In Development is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No, really, this is true…for everything but the characters’ clothes!

I mean it. I do not know Taylor Swift or Ellen Page in person (duh!). I have not read a single one of the unauthorized biographies Amazon tried to sell me when Google sold them my search histories. I have read a sum total of two articles about them (this one about Ellen Page’s #MeToo moment because I support the movement, and this one about Taylor Swift’s love of read and writing because I am a whore for books).

Neither Cobie nor Lila’s central conflicts are based on their actress/songstress they look like, and I know nothing about either of their relationship histories, so any similarities truly are coincidental (Okay, if pushed, I would have to admit that I think Taylor Swift dated that one guy, from that movie with the other guy who is super-pretty, but whose name I don’t remember).

I did not/do not hold either of them up as role models, nor am I encouraging my readers to. Nor am I saying other people shouldn’t consider them as role models. Maybe they’d be good ones; maybe they’re terrible. I don’t know!

I’m just saying, all I stole from them were my own descriptions, mostly of their clothes. I hope there is no copyright infringement on descriptions of beautiful women in tuxedos and flapper dresses, because if there is, a lot of authors are in trouble.

That being said, I will admit that playing character dress-up with two stunning, heavily photographed, outgoing women in the public eye is not the worst form of “research” I’ve ever had to do. Right?

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Big Announcements

Wed, 11 Apr 2018 14:21:00 GMT

First of all, thanks to everyone who commented on last week’s catch-up post. I drew a random name from the computer generated hat, and stephanielaz won a free audiobook of Does She Love You?. Congrats stephanielaz , email with your info and I’ll get you the claim code.

If you didn’t win, do not despair because I have a pretty awesome prize in store for you. Not one, but TWO new books on the 2018 calendar!

That’s right, I’ll be publishing two, full-length contemporary romances novels in the next 6 months!

Those of you who follow these things closely have already noticed that the awesome Ann McMan cover and blurb for my October release, Love All , appeared on Amazon and the Bywater Books website.

Love All is a fun and fast sport novel based in the world of tennis. Think hot locations, hot bodies, and hot tempers thrown into the pressure cooker of the women’s professional tennis circuit. I have had such awesome fun with my other sports romances I just can’t wait to share this one with you starting at Women’s Week in October. But, as I heard from several of you, October is a long way away!

So, I’ve got a special treat for you. It’s another release, and this one is coming out NEXT MONTH. This one is called In Development, and it’s another high-stakes romance, one featuring an actress and a pop star who might have bitten off more than they can chew when they agree to a headline-grabbing fauxmance. As you can imagine, when two powerful, driven, talented women get thrown together in a myriad of situations meant to showcase their sex appeal, fun times ensue.

I will be sharing A LOT more about this novel in the coming weeks, but there is something I want to address straight away to stop the rumor mill before it starts. Because In Development was written so fast, and because I already had a book in Bywater’s summer/fall catalog, my friends and colleagues Susan and Carolyn over at Brisk Press are doing me a huge favor by letting me piggyback on their catalogue. They have gone above and beyond the call of friendship in holding my hand and answering a billion questions over the last few months. Without them, In Development would be on the back burner for months and months. That being said, Ann McMan of Bywater did the insanely sexy cover design; Kelly Smith, owner/editor at Bywater, did all my typesetting. The ebooks are formatted by Toni, who does my Bywater books, and Lynda Sandoval did the substantive edits the same way she has for all my Bywater books. I say all this to announce that I am NOT leaving Bywater Books, which is why my fall release is currently in their very capable hands. Everything is copacetic, and I am still a proud member of the Bywater team. That said, I am beyond grateful that the Brisk brand found In Development worthy of the their high standards they uphold in the genre of Lesbian romance. This entire experience has reaffirmed for me what an amazing lesfic community I am part of.

So with that in mind, let the countdown to May 29 begin. That’s less than 7 weeks! Not going to lie: I feel a little bit like Beyonce dropping a secret book on such short notice, but hell yeah, let’s do this!

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We’re Baaaaaack!

Wed, 04 Apr 2018 14:21:00 GMT

Hey All,

Sorry I haven’t been writing as much here over the last couple months. Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter know I’ve been traveling steadily since early February. For those of you who don’t follow me on those social media platforms, you can still catch up with the Spangler family adventures by checking out my son’s blog at www.jackietrax.wordpress.com . Not going to lie here, I’m pretty proud to have another blogger in the family.

But long story short, at the end of a couple of very eventful months, the whole Spangler clan is back in America and working through some re-entry bugs, so I wanted to take just a few minutes to catch up on some miscellany ahead of a HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT coming (hopefully) next week.

The first thing I want to mention is that it’s award season. It always feels a little awkward to toot my own horn, but I also don’t want to seem ungrateful, either, because I really am truly honored to be a finalist this year for both the Lambda Literary Awards, where Close To Home is a finalist in the Lesbian Romance category, and the Golden Crown Literary Society, where Edge of Glory is a finalist for the Ann Bannon Popular choice award. Both awards have wonderful fields full of great nominees, including many of my favorite friends and colleagues, and it’s wonderful to see my work counted among them. I’m also thrilled, though I can take zero credit for this one, that Ann McMan’s wonderful covers for both Close to Home and Edge of Glory are finalists for the Tee Corinne cover design awards. The Lammy winners will be announced in June, and the Goldie winners will be announced in July. On a related note, I will be attending the Annual GCLS conference in Las Vegas this July 4-8. I hope to see some of you there. I also hope that those of you who are members of this amazing organization have voted for your favorite books and book covers here .

Next, I’m proud to share that I was selected as one of this year’s inductees to the Steve and Sandi Adams Legacy Hall of Fame at Illinois State University. I have always been a proud ISU alum, and I can’t express how much it means to me to be considered part of the Redbird Legacy. ISU was the first place I ever felt free to be myself. It’s the place I started to date the woman who would become my wife. It’s the place where I met my son’s donor and countless other friends I now consider family. It’s the place I learned to speak up for my community and other vulnerable populations. It’s the place I cut my teeth on campaign politics, LGBT rights, and women’s rights. ISU is also the place where I wrote all of my first book, and most of my second. I am looking forward to returning to my alma mater for the Adams Legacy Hall of Fame induction ceremon y, and if any of you happen to be in Central Illinois on Friday, April 13, I’d be honored to have you join us for that event.

Third, and finally (because Sandra Moran taught us there’s always three things) Does She Love You ? is now available as an audiobook! For those of you with long commutes or vision impairments or those who just simply love of having stories told to you, you can now get your copy on Amazon, Audible, or iTunes! This is my 7th audiobook release, and I’m so stoked about it, I’m going to have to give one away for free. So, just comment below telling me what you’re most looking forward to about this spring, and you’ll be entered to win a free claim code for the audio version of Does She Love You?

Then be sure to check back next week to see if you won, and also to find out about the super exciting news I’ve been dying to share with you all.

Olympic Countdown Guest Blog – Ski Jumping

Thu, 08 Feb 2018 11:50:00 GMT

Hello, wonderful friends and blog readers. We’re getting close now. Can you feel the Winter Olympics nearly upon us? We’re in our final week before the games officially open tomorrow! Let’s take care of some fun business first and announce that Tsha is this week’s winner of either an ebook of Edge of Glory or audiobook of Trails Merge . Just shoot me an email at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com and let me know which option you’d prefer. And for this week’s contest, comment below telling me for favorite Olympic moment for another chance to win!

And now without further ado, I’ve got a special treat in store for you! This week’s blog is an Olympic guest post from my colleague over at BSB, Julianne Rich. Julianne knows more than anyone I know about the thrilling sport of ski jumping. She’s also got an amazing book on the subject called Gravity , but that’s enough from me. I’ll let her tell you more.

This blog on Women’s Ski Jumping, just like Gravity, is dedicated to every woman who has ever dared to fly free.

Until now.

For seventeen-year-old Ellie Engebretsen, the 2011 decision to include women’s ski jumping in the Olympics is a game changer. She’d love to bring home the gold for her father, a former Olympic hopeful whose dreams were blown along with his kneeson an ill-timed landing. But can she defy the pull of gravity that draws her to Kate Moreau, her biggest competition and the girl of her dreams?

How can Ellie soar through the air when all she feels like doing is falling hard?

“A spicy novel about two young women daring to fly free in life and love while accurately depicting the thrill of ski jumping!” ~ Sarah Hendrickson , Olympic Ski Jumper and Member of the US Women’s Ski Jumping Team.

As a former competitive free-style skier, I’ve been fascinated with the sport of women’s ski jumping for some time. I’ve watched the videos of these daring athletes launch off a jump and fly the length of a football field at 60 miles per hour. I’ve admired the body control, core strength, and sheer guts it takes to participate in such a sport so when I considered writing a book about empowered women in sports, I naturally turned to ski jumping.

The fight for women ski jumpers to be allowed to compete in the Olympics, as referenced in my book, Gravity, is a very real part of the sport’s history. In 2010, a lawsuit was filed by fifteen female ski jumpers against the IOC on the basis of gender discrimination, and though the suit was defeated, public relations pressure eventually caused the International Olympic Committee to reverse their decision and allow women’s ski jumping as an Olympic sport. For more information about this incredible fight for equality, please read: https://deadspin.com/why-it-took-90-years-for-womens-ski-jumping-to-make-the-1520520342

American ski jumper, Sarah Hendrickson, made history in Sochi in 2014 when she became the first female ski jumper to ever compete in the Olympics. Though the Olympic barrier has been breached, the struggle to find equal footing continues. Currently women ski jumpers are allowed to compete in one event while their male counterparts compete in three. Funding remains a critical issue and athletes rely on endorsement money, crowd-funding, and private donations. This is especially true in the United States, where the sport does not garner the attention it deserves.

Because of the culture rich in equal parts strength and struggle, it was vitally important to me to do my due diligence and capture not only the spirit of the sport, but the spirit of the women who participate in it.

So…I climbed to the top of the ski jump in Hyland, yes – with the intention of attempting a first-person experience; however, the view from atop the K90 jump drove that thought immediately from my mind! Gravity’s book trailer will give you a glimpse into what I saw and why I chose to do the next best thing: write to Sarah Hendrickson!

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9UM73C382k&feature=youtu.be

Truthfully, I had no expectations I would hear back from a busy Olympian in training. However, Sarah is as amazing a person as she is an athlete and wrote me back, fully answered all my questions, beta-read Gravity for fact-checking, wrote advanced praise for the book, and even video-taped a greeting for my guests at the launch party.

Sarah’s greeting: https://youtu.be/irBIod2WvEo

She also taught me all the technical ins and outs of ski jumping, which greatly enhanced Gravity as seen in this excerpt from chapter four:

Time slows. Stops.

Thinking slows. Stops.

My body takes over. I spread my skis into a V in front of me and lean forward. Far, far forward. Beyond the edge of sanity and yeah, I’m not gonna lie, it’s scary as hell. Standard ski jumping equipment should include a pair of wings. Sure would help with the flying part and they might come in handy in the event a jumper lands at the pearly gates.

I reach out with my arms and hold them parallel to my body. They’re not quite wings, but they give me some stabilization as I fly. I’ve taught my upper body to stay loose in case the wind changes.

And the wind always changes.

I shift a little to my right to correct my course. My eyes stare down the knoll of the hill to the K point, the line that marks the average “par” or achieved distance on the particular jump. In ski jumping, all the difficult math is saved for calculating flight formation angles to achieve maximum aerodynamic lift. The actual scoring part is simple. Land on the K point on a normal hill, which is 90 meters, and score 60 points. Land behind the K point and lose two distance points for every meter. Land ahead of it and gain two distance points for every meter. Distance points are straight-forward. Style points, not so much. Each jumper faces five judges who award up to 20 points for style and they examine everything. How smooth the skis are during the jump, how well the skier is balanced, overall form, and whether the jumper nails a telemark-style landing. The top and bottom scores are thrown out, so 60 is the max a jumper can get for style points. It all sounds easy, but it’s hard as fuck.

I fly with the shifting wind and merge into it. Two seconds. Three. Four. I stop counting because the wind has ceased to be wind and has become my breath. I am no longer Eleanor Engebretsen. Or Ellie. Or even El. I am no longer seventeen, or made of flesh and bone, or ruled by my head or heart. I am me. Nameless and uncontainable and free.

But not this time.

This time the magic happens. One ski and then another, I touch down with a fluidity that tells me I nailed full points for style.

“Fuck yeah!” I drop my arms by my side and ski toward Jack at the bottom of the hill. I cut deep into the snow as I approach her and send up a sheet of slush and ice. It’s a cocky move, but I’ve earned it.

Published by Bold Strokes Books
ORDER GRAVITY: IndieBound | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bold Strokes Books | WorldCat
NOTE: All rights reserved by Juliann Rich. May not be reproduced without permission.

To support the sport of women’s ski jumping, please visit wsjusa.com, a non-profit organization, where you can make a 501c3 tax deductible donation.

Juliann Rich is the author of four young adult novels: SEARCHING FOR GRACE, TAKING THE STAND, and GRAVITY. She writes character-driven books about young adults who are bound to discover their true selves and the courage to create an authentic life…if the journey doesn’t break them.

She is the recipient of a Golden Crown Literary Award, the Emerging Writer Award (Saints and Sinner’s Literary Festival). She was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award in the Children’s and Young Adult category and has also been nominated for the Stonewall Book Awards, Lambda Literary Awards, Minnesota Book Awards, Rainbow Book Awards, and Foreward Indie Awards. She speaks frequently on writing uncompromisingly while standing at the intersection of art and advocacy and teaches aspiring authors of young adult fiction how to craft the contemporary young adult voice in both narrative and dialogue.

Juliann lives with an adorable but naughty dachshund named Bella in a quaint 105-year old house in Saint Paul, Minnesota, she is lovingly restoring to its original beauty.

To learn more about Juliann, visit her website at http://www.juliannrich.com .

Olympic Countdown Alpine Skiing

Wed, 31 Jan 2018 16:25:00 GMT

First thing’s first, let’s give away the FREE BOOKS for this week. Everyone who commented on my last blog about boardercross got their names thrown into the virtual hat and the winner is solargrrl . Just email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com and let me know if you’d rather have the ebook of Edge of Glory or the audio book of Trails Merge .

Now, with that out of the way, let’s move on to this week’s blog and another chance to win more books.

I have to admit, I went back and forth on this week’s topic but ultimately settled on Apline skiing because I gave Corey, one of my characters from Edge of Glory , a lot of love last week and I didn’t want to leave Elise out.

She might get mad or her feelings hurt, and yeah, I can hear you saying “Rach, those are fictional characters,” and to that I say, “Fictional people are people too, especially the ones that fill my waking hours for weeks on end,” so now it’s time to talk Alpine skiing!

Skiing is one of the quintessential Winter Olympics sports. Skiing has been part of every Winter Olympics since their inception in 1924. It’s one many people have tried at least at a recreational level, myself included.

And while most people get the concept of skiing, boards on each foot, poles in each hand, and a big mountain to slide down, the Winter Olympics showcase a few specific types of races you might not be familiar with.

First up is the Alpine Downhill race. This race is probably what most of us think of when we thinking of a ski race. It is the longest race as well as the fastest. Skiers fly down the course around sweeping turns at speeds surpassing 70 miles an hour. The course is marked by polycarbonate gates or flags, but within them skiers can chose their own lines, and they do their best to find the fastest one, because the fastest person across the line wins.

Next is the Super G, which is very similar to the downhill in that it’s a speed event, where skiers pass through wide-set gates that mark the course. In fact, Super G races are often set on the same slope as downhill races, but the starting point is lower, and there are more turns. This makes the course a little slower and a little more technical to run. You’re more likely to see people go out of bounds in Super G than downhill because of this.

The next two races move more fully into the technical area. They are called slaloms.

The Slalom has the shortest course in all of skiing and the quickest turns. Skiers have to weave around color-coded gates, which are more like flexible poles placed very close together, and skiers have to turn incredibly quickly in very little space. While they actually cover a lot less ground and don’t reach nearly the speeds of Downhill, their skis switch direction with vision-blurring transitions. Even after watching this sport quite a bit, I occasionally need to see the slow-mo replay to tell if a skier has actually cleared all the gates.

The Giant Slalom follows the same basic principles but has fewer turns and wider, smoother turns. I find this one to be one of the prettiest events to watch because it combines a lot of the elements of the other races. In both the Slalom races, each skier makes two runs down two different courses on the same slope. The times are added, and the fastest total time determines the winner.

Lastly is an event called the Super Combined. That’s what it sort of implies, in that it combines the times from one shortened downhill run and a one-run slalom. The fastest total time determines the winner.

So there you have it, the 5 events that both the men and women race in order to make up Alpine Skiing at the Winter Olympics.

But because I spent so much time researching skiing for Edge of Glory , I don’t want to leave you with just the basics. I wanted to share with you just a couple things I found fun or impressive along the way.

The first is this article about how Julia Mancuso prepared physically for the winter games. There are pictures like this.

You’re welcome.

And now it’s your turn. Because skiing is something I actually do for fun, comment below and tell me what you’ve done that is either an Olympic event, or something you think SHOULD be an Olympic event. I’ll do a drawing for FREE BOOKS and announce the winner with next week’s blog.

Olympic Countdown – Boardercross

Thu, 25 Jan 2018 15:35:00 GMT

Last week I introduced you to curling, which is a sport I love to play, and you all offered up some great curling team names. I drew one from a hat and the winner is Carleen. Just email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com, and I’ll send you your choice of either an Ebook copy of Edge of Glory or an audiobook of Trails Merge .

For this week, I’m moving away from a sport I play in real life to one I got to play with in a book because it’s time for Boardercross!

In the grand scheme of Olympic sports dating back to ancient times, or even modern winter Olympic sports dating back to 1924, Boardercross is a real Johnny-come-lately. In fact, it’s so new that my character who is only 30 years old was able to compete at the very first Olympic snowboard cross event in 2006, and the entire history of the sport isn’t much longer than that. The earliest informal races began in the ’80s on the backside of mountains and uneven terrain far from the main resorts. The sport was so counterculture that when Olympic organizers first asked competitors to do an exhibition at the Nagano games, many of the big names initially refused, and the rag-tag governing body denied the International Olympic Committee to even use the name “Boardercross,” which is why it’s listed on the Olympic program as Snowboard Cross despite the fact few of the riders use that term themselves.

So, what’s the point of all this excitement and open rebellion? Well, in Edge of Glory my skier describes the sport of boardercross as a cross between BMX and a mountainside bar fight. I stand by that as a base explanation, but the full story is a little more complicated.

In Olympic Snowboard Cross there are multiple heats or preliminary races featuring an early round of qualifying or seeding, followed by knockout or elimination heats where 4 or 6 racers are pitted against each other with the top half of the field moving on. In each race, boarders or riders shoot out of gates atop a mountain course, then the fly over jumps, through turns, and past various obstacles all at the same time. As they jockey for position, the riders often come into contact with each other, and while things like punching or deliberate tripping are frowned upon, elbows flying and shoulders bumping at high speeds is part of racing. The first one across the line at the bottom wins.

At the end of each heat a certain number of riders, usually the top 2 or 3, advance to the next heat.

The subsequent races are generally run back to back with the entire event taking place in a single day. This year the entire Men’s Snowboard Cross program will take place on February 14, and the entire women’s program on February 15. It makes for a gruelling day for competitors and an exciting one for spectators.

And one of the things I love best about this sport, aside from the speed and crush of bodies, is that everybody has a shot every time out. No lead is ever commanding enough for feel secure. I’ve seen big names get tripped up and go down right out of the gate. I’ve seen people lead the entire way with no one else around, only to wipe out completely on the last jump, and I’ve seen people fall at the start of a race and look completely out of it, only to have every other rider crash later on, giving them a clear path to finish.

Anything can happen at any point, and then the top riders in that race go right back up and run the same course again, so that someone who looked dominant the first time down might end up with a face full of snow fifteen minutes later.

Don’t take my word for it. Check out this race from 2006.

And while these riders do have a reputation for bucking both the tradition and formalities often associated with the Olympics, don’t let their laid-back natures fool you: They are top flight athletes. If you want to see more of what goes into getting competition-ready, check out this video of legend Nate Holland’s training workouts. You might just catch a glimpse of where I got some reader-favorite scenes from Edge of Glory .

I hope I’ve convinced you to mark February 14 and 15 as important days on your Olympic viewing calendars (You all have Olympic viewing calendars, right?) but in the meantime, let’s give away some free books!

For an entry into this week’s drawing, leave me a comment telling me which Olympic sport you’d most like to compete in if you had all the necessary abilities. I’ll announce the winner next week.

Olympic Countdown – Curling

Fri, 19 Jan 2018 17:43:00 GMT

Hello and welcome back to my Olympic countdown. Let’s start off by announcing that the winner of last week’s comments drawing is Virginie. You get to choose either an ebook of Edge of Glory or an audio book of Trails Merge. Just email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com with your choice.

And now on to this week’s entry on curling!

Those of you who follow me on social media know I love curling and have filled the position of skip of the Lusty Shams at the Buffalo Curling Club.

What you might not know is how the game is played.

Curling isn’t a sport that many people follow, much less play in most of America, but it always gets a boost in Winter Olympics years as many people cock their heads to the side in confusion as their TV screens fill with images of people in loud trousers shout and sweep big rocks down a sheet of ice. When I tell people I curl, the most common comment I get is, “That’s awesome. I watched that during the Olympics, but I still don’t really get it.”

So here’s your crash course in curling.

The equipment is simple enough. You need a sheet of ice with some concentric circles at each end, and 16 smooth rocks or stones with handles. These each weigh between 38-44 pounds or 17 and 20 kilograms.

You also need curling shoes, or slip ons to go over your regular shoes: one to grip, one to slide. The block you push off of is called a hack.

You need a broom for each player.

The part of the ice with the target is call the house, and the middle of the target is called the button. The line that cuts the house in half from top to bottom is called the tee line.

On most curling teams, you have four players (a mixed doubles event is being introduced this year, but let’s stick to the basics). The positions are easy enough to follow. They are first, second, vice, and skip. In competitive curling, there are ten ends, which are like rounds or innings. In each end, every person on the team throws two stones, alternating stones with the other team. Generally, the order stays the same with the first throwing first, the second throwing second (easy, right?), followed by the vice and the skip. So the order of play for each end will usually look like this,

Team A – First throws
Team B – First throws
Team A – First throws
Team B – First throws

Team A – Second throws
Team B – Second throws
Team A – Second throws
Team B – Second throws

Team A – Vice throws
Team B – Vice throws
Team A – Vice throws
Team B – Vice throws

Team A – Skip throws
Team B – Skip throws
Team A – Skip throws
Team B – Skip throws

None of the rocks or throws have special names except the last stone of an end, which is called the hammer, because you hope to use it to hammer the other team, who is out of shots.

Easy enough to follow. Now the next layer comes in the sweepers. When the first is throwing, the second and vice sweep. When the second throws, the first and the vice sweep. When the vice throws, the first and second sweep. Then the skip and the vice trade places, and the vice acts as the skip while the skip throws and the first and second sweep.

If that got a little confusing, don’t worry. You just need to know that most of the time the first, second, and vice all rotate sweeping for each other, and the skip only comes down to that end of the ice to throw the final two stones.

So what does the skip do the rest of the time? They call the shots, using their broom to indicate the direction they want the rock to go, and hand signs or voice commands to indicate the type of spin and speed they want the person throwing to use. They stand behind the house and watch both the line and the speed of the stone and call out commands to the sweepers. When you hear someone on the ice shouting, “HARD!” or “Up up up!” that person is acting as the skip.

The skip can help sweep their own team’s rock at any point. They cannot sweep the other team’s rock until after it passes the tee line. Mostly they do a lot of yelling and a little sweeping.

So, why do the sweepers need those commands, or for that matter, why do we need sweepers at all? Well, in short, science.

You see, curing ice is pebbled with very fine dots of waters that are sprayed on top and then allowed to freeze. This guy is pebbling the ice. Then the tops of the dots are shaved off.

See the texture now?

As the stone travels down the ice, it spins where it catches on these tiny bumps, causing it to slow down or move slightly from its starting trajectory. The friction of the brooms can warm up the ice though, causing a thin layer of water to form and even or lessen the pebbles for a second or two, thus creating a path of least resistance.

Contrary to popular belief, the brooms do not make a rock spin in different directions, but they can speed up or slow down the rate at which a rock spins, which contributes to the path it takes. If you speed up a rock’s rate of spin it will curve more, if you let the rate of spin slow down, it curves less.

I can tell you from experience that the sweeping is much harder than it looks, and faster, too. Staying upright while hurrying down the ice with your body weight pressed forward on a moving broom while your feet push and slide offers a tremendous core workout, and the difference it makes is often inches in a game of centimeters.

Okay, so those are the basics of who is doing what and why, but what’s the point?

Well on the surface it’s simple: You hope to finish the end with as many of your stones as possible as close as possible to the button. The scoring often gets confusing to first-time observers, because they think points are awarded for proximity to the button or by the color of the ring the rocks land on. Not true.

When all the stones are thrown, the team that is closest to the button gets a point for every stone they have closer to the button than the other team’s closest rock.

Okay, I get that can sound a little confusing, so here are a few illustrations.

Here, the green team had a lot more stones in the house than the yellow team does, but the yellow is closest to the button, so they get one point and the green team gets none.

Above, both teams have two stones in the house, but both the reds are closer than either of the yellows, so red gets two points, yellow gets zero.

This example is a lot more congested. Care to take a guess? It’s hard to see for sure, but it looks to me like the yellows have three in the blue to be points one, two, and three, but red has the fourth closest rock, cutting off those other two yellows and making the score for this end yellow 3, red 0.

Finally in this one, the red just barely looks to edge out the yellow, even though both of them are on the red circle. This still means red 1, yellow 0.

So, only one team gets any points in any given end, and once those are tallied up, all the stones are cleared and the process starts over, with the team who scored in the previous end throwing first, and the team who didn’t score having the hammer (last rock).

They do this for ten ends, and whoever has the highest cumulative score wins!

There you have it. Everything you really need to know to start following curling during this year’s Olympics.

There are a couple other rules that may come into play occasionally (stripping guards, hog lines, etc.), as well as tons of strategy for blocking and knocking out stones, but those are things the announcers will explain in detail if/when they arise.

In the meantime, here are a few curling shots to whet your whistle until you get to watch the real deal in Pyeongchang.

And finally, here’s this week’s question for the comment second and a chance to win a free ebook/audiobook: If you were on a curling team, what would you name it?

A few of my personal favorites are Sweeping With The Enemy, Rockin the Sheets, and Dwayne Johnsons (think about it).

Lay your best ideas on me.

Let The Olympics Countdown Begin

Thu, 11 Jan 2018 15:44:00 GMT

Okay, before I get to the main subject of the blog, let me thank all of you who commented on last week’s post. I did a random drawing, and Lynn Lawler won the free Rachel Spangler ebook of her choice. Congrats, Lynn!

And now, with the new-year tasks checked off, let’s turn our attention to the first big awesomeness of 2018, the Winter Olympics!

Clearly I am kind of a fan. I mean, if my writing an entire book about the lead-up to these games didn’t give that away, I don’t know what does.

Some might say I am a bit obsessed. I don’t know about that, but I have been known to make elaborate spreadsheets of view times to make sure I don’t miss a single viewing of my favorite events, which to be honest is most of them. I may or may not have even set alarms to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to see some races/meets live so as to avoid spoilers. And as to spoilers, I have developed a detailed process for posting about events that provide for adequate spoiler spaces and safety blocks without having to stay quiet for hours until people in other time zones catch up.

If all those things add up to equal an obsession, then I’ll gladly take up that mantle and wear it proudly.

And what does that mean for all of you sitting at home in your varying level of interests and knowledge?

Well for one, you get to share in my excitement, and everything is more fun when you can manufacture some excitement about it. What’s more, though, you get to share in my knowledge of sports, which will helpfully let you enjoy them a little more without having to do all the intensive researching and spreadsheeting on your own! Over the next four weeks, I will be blogging about some of my favourite events and, of course, sharing some of the things I learned while researching Edge of Glory in the hopes of giving you some background in sports you might not be as familiar with, so by the time they grace our TV screens, you will not only be able to follow the action, you’ll have a few talking points to impress your viewing companions.

For starters, Winter Olympics sports are divided into three categories: ice sports, alpine sports, and Nordic events. Why the Nordics felt the need to call their sports “events,” I do not know (maybe someone will tell me in the comments), but they did, and that give us three overviews to do.

Ice sports are, fittingly enough, played out on ice. They include.

Bobsled – Two-man, two-woman and four-man
Luge – Men’s singles, women’s singles, mixed doubles and mixed team relay (new) Skeleton- Men’s and women’s skeleton event
Ice Hockey – M en’s and women’s
Figure Skating – Men’s singles, ladies’ singles, pairs, mixed team event and ice dancing

Speed Skating – (Long track) 12 events – 500 m for men and women, 1,000 m for men and women, 1,500 m for men and women, 3,000 m for women, 5,000 m for men and women, 10,000 m for men, team pursuit for men and women

Short Track Speed Skating (8 Events) – for men and women 500 m, 1000 m, 1500 m, and also the 5000 m relay for men and 3,000 m relay for women.
Curling – (A personal fave!) – Men’s and women’s, plus a new mixed doubles event

Alpine events are basically the skiing and snowboarding events where you’re pointed downhill at all times. They include:

Alpine Skiing (A Rachel favorite you’ll hear more about) (10 events – 5 disciplines for men and women) downhill, super G, giant slalom, slalom, and super combined
Freestyle Skiing – (five events) aerials, moguls, ski cross, ski half pipe and ski slope style
Snowboarding – (4 events for men and women) parallel giant slalom, slope style, half pipe, and snowboard cross (another Spangler favorite!)

Last are the Nordic events, which include:

Biathlon – (11 Events) men’s 10k sprint, 12.5k pursuit, 15k mass start, 20k individual, and 4×7.5 relay. women’s 10k pursuit, 12.5k mass start, 15k individual, 4×6 relay, 7.5 k sprint, and the mixed relay
Cross-Country Skiing 12 events (6 for men, 6 for women): individual sprint, team sprint, freestyle, pursuit, classical, and relay
Ski Jumping – (4 events) – Men’s individual large hill, men’s individual normal hill, men’s team large hill, women’s individual normal hill
Nordic Combined – Ski jumping plus cross country skiing (3 events, men only) individual large hill /10 km men, individual normal hill /10 km men, and team

So there you have it! So much to learn about and look forward to. Also, free books! Because what better way to foster excitement than free books?! So for each blog I write in the lead of to the Olympics, I’ll ask questions for you to answer in the comments section and then do a drawing to select the winner, who will have their choice of a free audiobook of Trails Merge or ebook of Edge of Glory.

So for this week’s drawing, I’ll ask you to look at the list of Winter Olympics sports above and tell me which ones are your favorites to watch, or which ones you want to know more about!

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Happy New Year

Thu, 04 Jan 2018 15:52:00 GMT

I am smidge supersticious. I usually blame my massive sports fandom. I never say “no hitter” when someone is throwing one. I don’t ever step on a foul line. And if the Cardinals are losing in the 3rd inning of a post-season game, I have to eat crab rangoon (It’s a long story.). However, as the “on this day” feature on my Facebook has spent the last few days sending me photos from New Year’s Days past, I’ve realized my Southern influences might have actually made New Year’s as steeped in superstitions as the baseball playoffs. In every year of recent memory, the tree has come down and the house cleaned on New Years Eve, so as not to carry any mess from one year to the next. I move heaven and earth to be with the people who matter most to me. Susie and I do not usually go out unless we take Jackson with us for fear of starting the new year with our family split. And on New Year’s Day we always eat black-eyed peas (Hopping John) with honeyed cornbread and some kind of greens to symbolize both frugality and prosperity.

I can’t remember how long we’ve done these things. Facebooks says for at least the last eight years. Some of those years have been good, some of them have been bad, most of them have been a mix, still the tradition means more in the doing than what it does or doesn’t actually do (which is probably nothing more than putting a wish in my heart). And yet this year we did none of those things.

There’s no Christmas tree to take down because we didn’t have one. We weren’t home to deep clean the house, also, because we don’t have one. I mean we’re not homeless, but we’re traveling. We’re renting a lovely little seaside cottage in England, but as we spent the holidays with family back in America, there was neither a holiday mess in the cottage, nor anyone there to clean it. You see, we sort of straddled the new year, not fully in any place except 27,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean. When we left America, it was still 2017 for about 4 more hours, and by the time we landed in Ireland and then England, it had already been 2018 for about 7 hours. There was no countdown, no ball drop, no glass of champagne. At some point I did look over at my wife and whisper, “I guess it’s past midnight wherever we are right now. Happy New Year.” And we shared the quick, chaste kiss of two women surrounded by strangers with a kid snoring softly across their laps.

We had to make quick airline connections, so there was no breakfast. Lunch was in a train station coffee shop, and dinner was literally the only thing left in the freezer when we made it to our cottage, a frozen pizza. Even if any of the stores had been open, I doubt I would’ve found the fixing for a Southern-style New Year’s dinner in them, and I know I wouldn’t have had the time or energy to assemble such a feast after being awake for 28 hours. Any other year I would have legitimately freaked right out at losing nearly every one of my holiday traditions/superstitions. This year I didn’t.

This year I spent the new year flying east. I got to 2018 hours earlier than I otherwise would have if I’d stood still. This year I sped toward the rising sun, and by doing so shortened my time in darkness. This year I didn’t celebrate a new start. I went out to meet it. This year I traded superstition for symbolism in action. And it felt good.

I don’t know if I will end the year in a place I love. I don’t know if I will end the year healthier or skinnier. I don’t know if I will end the year more prosperous (doubt it). I don’t know if the Cardinals will make the playoffs.

What I do know is that I’m not going to sit around waiting for my dreams to come true. I can’t control the cosmos or the world at large. In the theme of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Aaron Burr, “I am the one thing in life I can control,” and I am not going to be a passive observer in 2018. I am going actively seek it out and ask, “What cool things can I do today?”

With that in mind, I’ve made my list of goals (not vague resolutions like “eat less, smile more,” but tangible, measurable goals) as action-oriented as possible. But I’ve also made peace with the fact that sometimes life has something better in store. Sometimes you start a year in a small college town with no real changes on the horizon and end it on a plane to the place you’re living on the North Sea in the border lands of England. I’m not just open to that, I will run out and greet it.

In the meantime, here’s some cool stuff I’m looking forward to trying.

Finish level 3 of Rosetta Stone

Have a Full interaction in Spanish

Learn to Sail

Cook 12 new things

Attend 4 book events

Take an online course

Visit 10 new Cities/Towns/Sites

Entertain friends 12 times

Write two novels

Write 25 blogs before December

Read 12 grown up books

Watch 12 documentaries

Do at least one thing that scares me.

12 dates with Susie

12 outings with Jackie

12 family game nights

Walk 1,400 miles

Burn 700,000 calories

Donate to a Food bank 4 times

Donate to 12 Democratic House candidates

Tithe all book and Bywater checks

Visit Spring Training

Have a Day of Yes

Pay off a credit card

Now, comment and tell me what you are hoping to get out there and do this year. There might even been a free ebook in there for one lucky commenter.

Happy Holidays

Sat, 30 Dec 2017 14:35:00 GMT

All the holidays! Whichever ones you celebrate, and the Spangler family celebrates a lot of them, I hope you’ve had the best of times.

I didn’t do my usual song blogs this year, and I know some of you missed them. I sort of missed them, too, but I didn’t have it in me this year. However, now that I’ve told a few people that, I worry that I might have given folks the wrong impression. It’s not that I didn’t celebrate Christmas or that the world was too dark and sad for me to find the joy of the season. The world is dark and sad and scary, which is why we particularly sought joy this year. We clung to it. We fought for it. The holidays, like much of our year, were almost an act of defiance for us. We did all the things, we went to all the places, we reached out to all the people, and we celebrated all the blessings, because that’s what we needed.

As one of my favourite Christmas songs reminds us, “God is not dead, nor does He sleep.” Christmas is Emmanuel, God with us, even in the darkest times. The voice in the wilderness, the light in the darkness, the joy amid sorrow, we are pressed but not crushed, persecuted not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed. And this year, instead of just writing or reflecting, we went out and lived and loved with abandon, partially because that’s what Christmas calls us to, and partially because when the power structure wants nothing more than to break you, queer joy is a revolutionary act.

So with that in mind, here’s the 2017 Spangler year-end review. It showcases some ups and downs, but mostly a whole lot of things to love.

A Tale of Two Winter Romances

Fri, 01 Dec 2017 13:46:00 GMT

So, lately I’ve been banging on about my new winter sports-themed romance, Edge of Glory, and that’s because I’m pretty proud of it. As I mentioned in my last blog, I really love snow. And I think you all know by now I love sports. It only makes sense for me to put those things together. In fact, it makes so much sense that Edge of Glory is not the first time I’ve done so.

Way back toward the start of my career, I wrote a romance called Trails Merge , which I set at a small, family ski resort. That book was inspired by a vacation (also mentioned in the previous blog ) that I took with friends in grad school. And funnily enough, that book had come around again just in time for the release of Edge of Glory, in that Trails Merge is now available as a new release in audiobook format!

Seeing (and selling) the two books/audio books side-by-side as new releases has left me pondering the ways they are the same and different. Trails Merge has a much more home and hearth setting, while Edge of Glory sees the main characters traipsing across the globe. Both books get holiday scenes which move the romance forward in different ways, and both books also use holiday scenes with big family gatherings. And both books offered me some good fun in the research phases, albeit in very different ways.

For Trails Merge, I took my first formal ski lessons. I’d been skiing on my own for a couple of years but didn’t know any of the formal moves or terms needed to describe the things I’d been doing. The lessons helped my form, but more importantly, they gave me the language I needed to convey that form to my readers. The scene in the book where Campbell gives Parker her first ski lesson, and then a disastrous lesson for Parker’s ex much later in the book, both have dialogue taken exactly from the conversations I wrote off on my taxes. Not a bad gig, huh?

The other really fun aspects of researching Trails Merge was that I took a mountain tour in a snow groomer. Snowcats are the huge, tank-like vehicles that spread and shape snow across the slopes. When the guy giving the tour found out I was writing a book, he let me ride up front wth the controls and told me way more information than any lay-person has a right to know about snowmaking and grooming.

So, when it came time to write Edge of Glory, I already had a pretty solid base in the basics of ski and snowboard terrain, but I was no longer working the realm of mom-and-pop ski resorts, or lessons for novices like myself. Though I did take a snowboarding lessons with my son in which he and the hill both kicked my ass for 90 minutes, most of what I needed to know so far outstripped my abilities and access that I had to employ a lesson I hadn’t learned 9 years ago when writing Trails Merge , and that is to go ahead and ask important people what they know.

Seriously, one thing I’ve found over the years is that people generally like to talk about what they’re good at. Everyone likes being recognized as an expert in something other people value. And generally if you cast a wide enough net and are polite about it, you’ll find someone who has the time and inclination to talk to you about almost anything.

With that in mind, I put out a call for people with top level access to the worlds of competitive skiing and snowboard cross. A Facebook friend pointed me to the contact info for several Olympic snowboard cross racers, and I just started at the top of the alphabet and worked my way down until I heard back from Jacqueline Hernandez . For those of you who don’t follow the sport of boadercross, Jacqueline Hernandez is an actual Olympian who represented Team USA in Sochi.

I was so geeked that someone like her would actually talk to me that I pulled on her expertise at multiple stages of the project. We chatted on Facebook about things ranging from training schedules to diets to locations, and even what a day of pre-season training would look like. There’s one scene in Edge of Glory in particular that hadn’t even been imagined until Jacqueline told me about a training exercise called “hiking the start section.” Her description of this process was so interesting to me, I could suddenly picture my characters doing exactly what she’d described. To say that scene wouldn’t be the same without her isn’t an exaggeration, because I literally didn’t know such a thing existed until she told me. When you read the book, you’ll have to look out for Corey and Tigger stepping into Jacqueline Hernandez’s boots and know your favorite Olympians are doing the same thing right now.

On the ski side of things, I was tremendously blessed because my friend Heather McEntarfer responded to my Facebook call, not just with contact information, but with an actual human contact. It turned out that a man who’d grown up in the town I currently live in was a ski journalist. I would later learn that Hank McKee was legendary in the world of downhill ski reporting who had won the FIS Journalist Award, presented by ski racing’s international governing body for career contributions to the sport on a worldwide basis, but from the first Facebook message, I got to know him as a kind, exuberant and generous storyteller.

Hank didn’t just relay information to me, he jumped in headfirst and pulled me along for the ride. His understanding of skiing went so far beyond gear and trail maps. He taught me what makes up a skier’s psyche. He told me stories about obsession and drive that defied the most human instincts to avoid bodily harm. His insights shaped Elise’s formation at a minute level. And his attention to detail pops up in a million little ways. For instance, once over a big breakfast, he stopped eating and said, “If someone’s going to blow up a story about a skier’s personal life it’ll be the Austrians. Austrians are obsessed with ski gossip. Who do you think exposed Tiger Woods and Lindsey Vonn?” It was just an aside in the book, but but every time I read it, I thought of Hank and knew I got it right, even if no else ever did.

Hank even went so far as to read a very early draft of the book and gave me some feedback while he was in town to sing with his long-time high school rock band, the Wretched Group. Sadly that night, while he was rocking out on stage with his friends, I saw Hank for the last time. He passed away, in true writer fashion, while working at his computer. Hank never got to see the final draft of Edge of Glory, but I like to think he’d be proud of the role he played in the book it became.

So as we head into this winter, I’ve got two items on the table for you. If you’re looking to listen to a Midwestern ski romance set amid a warm home and a big family in audio book format, the new audible version of Trails Merge is there for you with plenty of authentic touches gleaned from my personal on-the-snow experiences. If you’re looking for something a little more worldly and fast-paced, Edge of Glory is available in print and ebook and filled with insights shared by two amazing experts in sports most of us can only watch in awe.

Or you could just go ahead and buy them both!

Snow!

Wed, 22 Nov 2017 17:07:00 GMT

My new book, E dge of Glory , centers around the world of snow sports. In the story I follow a downhill skier and a snowboard x racer as they race toward the Winter Olympics starting all the way back in summer.

I did a lot of research on training regimens, and I’ll write more on that later, but one of the things that really impressed me was that what I considered seasonal sports actually are year round endeavours. I read and talked at length with athletes who were putting in full-time hours in the middle of July, and every one of them was adamant about two things. One, to be the best, there is no off-season, and two, despite the many summer hours in the gym, every one of them is working for the snow.

This was a mentality I had no trouble relating to. Not the working year round, or the being the best at anything remotely athletic, but the idea of killing time waiting for the snow to fly is infinitely familiar to me. Starting September 1, I check the ten-day forecast daily, first looking for the time where there are no more 80-degree days on the horizon, then 70s, then 60s, and on down until I see those night-time temps staying solidly in the 30s. Then, one day I finally I wake up to the smell of snow. Those of us who live in dramatic winter climates can smell snow coming days before it arrives. It’s crisp and clean, and it rides on a north wind even stronger and farther than rain across the Midwestern plains. And unlike the pressure drop preceding a hurricane, snow in the air makes everything feel a little lighter and more invigorating.

Or maybe that’s just me. You see, when I speak of hurricanes, I know what I’m talking about there, too, because I grew up in Florida. I lived in the balm and heat of the sunshine state until I was fifteen. When you grow up in a place where sweating on Christmas is not unheard of, the idea of snow is downright mystical. I remember being obsessed with it as a kid. I have only one memory of snow as a child (there are pictures of me in a pink snowsuit when I was one year old, but that’s before recollection takes hold). One year, though, we drove to Illinois so we could spend Christmas with my grandparents and cousins. We must have been there for almost a week without so much as a flurry, then on the day we loaded the car, winter weather reports started to come in. I begged my parents to let us stay, but since they’d grown up in the Midwest and understood what a snowstorm would mean for our 20-hour drive home, they made no promises. In my excitement, though, I climbed into the loft of my grandparents’ house and pressed my nose to the north-facing windows. I shivered with excitement and dread as the clouds moved slowly across the park and then the field with two horses which I also enjoyed watching. Finally, the pine trees at the edge of the lot fell under its shadow. Squinting, I made out minuscule white flakes against their green bows, and I exploded down the stairs with my brother and cousins all jostling to get to the door.

The amount of snow that actually came down was negligible. By the time we left it was barely sticking to the ground, but for that half an hour we danced and played and tried to catch snowflakes on our tongues, and then we scraped off the little bit that had accumulated on top of the picnic table and made the world’s smallest snowman. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t much, but it was enough to hook me.

The next time I saw snow I was 16. We’d just moved to my father’s hometown in central Illinois. That year it didn’t snow in December. No white Christmas for us. I was gutted. What was the point of living up north if we weren’t going to get snow? Then very late on New Year’s Eve it dropped below freezing. By the time my friends and I woke up from our sleepover, the flurries had started to fall. A friend drove me home in her little car, and as we tried to crank up the defrost, snow started to come in through the vent. I had no idea this wasn’t supposed to happen. To me it felt like living in a snow globe. Snow, inside the car? Magic! My brother and I spent much of the day finding new ways to play in the snow. That may be why the trampoline didn’t last long in Illinois.

My next great snowy adventure came in 2003. Vermont had just legalized civil unions. San Francisco had gone rogue and was performing same-sex marriages. George W. Bush and company were mounting a serious backlash. And I had fallen in love. Susan and I were both living and working at Illinois State University, a long way from either coast, but we decided Vermont was our best bet to get in on the possibility of legal status for our relationship. So along with a small group of friends and family, we headed to the mountains. We were there just long enough to get our license and then wait a couple days before tying the knot in a little white clapboard church. So, what did we decide to do with that day in between? We decided that the day before our wedding was the perfect time to take up skiing.

Yes, you heard that right. The day before we walked down the aisle, we strapped boards to our feet and tried to ride them down one of the biggest mountains on the east coast. I don’t have any pictures of that ski trip, as we spent most of the day careening out of control. We were bad. We fell constantly. And in our Carharts and welding jackets and camo hunting clothes, we were clearly the rednecks of the run, but right before we left, Susan and I each had one really pretty ride down a gentle bunny slope. Again, it wasn’t much, but it was enough. We went skiing again for our first anniversary. Then the next year we rented a cabin in the UP of Michigan with friends and had what is still one of the best vacations of my life.

A year later we moved to Western New York, right in the shadow of Lake Erie. Our town averages 215 inches of snow a year. Susie and I were so excited the first time we heard we were getting lake effect snow that we actually drove to the lake because we wanted ringside seats (We didn’t really understand that concept fully yet.). And when our boy was born within view of that lake, there was no doubt how he’d be raised.

Watching Jackson have the winter experiences I dreamed of as a kid has been one of the most purely fun aspects of the last ten years of parenting.

And that brings my love affair with snow to the present. The towns I lived in, both in Illinois and New York, have already seen their first snowfalls of the season, but I wasn’t there for either of them. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m having another kind of great adventure as I travel around the UK with my family, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t missing the anticipation of a white winter just a little. My son pointed to a big hill we like to climb and said, “This will be so much fun to sled down when the snow flies.” His smile fell and his shoulders slumped when I explained that there probably wouldn’t be enough snow for sledding here. There might not be any real measurable snow at all.

The thought had never occurred to him. A December without snow was as completely foreign to him as the idea of a white Christmas had been to me at that age. Since then he’s mentioned several times that not having snow is sad. I usually redirect the conversation, pointing out all of the other magical experiences we’re enjoying, but I can’t quite disagree with him.

But fear not, this blog does not have a sad ending. Last week we took an epic three-day road trip through Scotland, and low and behold, there atop Ben Nevis, an old friend greeted us.

And before any of you Scrooges cut in, I understand that snow is cold, and it can be a lot of work and can be hard to drive in, but none of that outweighs the magic for me. Seeing that snow last week gave me the first real joy of winter. And I’m excited to share that with all of you and Corey and Elise.

Edge of Glory Wide Release

Tue, 14 Nov 2017 15:22:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

It started with print books in Ptown, followed by ebooks on the Bywater website, and now Edge of Glory is available everywhere! If you’re those Kindle fans who love the ease of buying your ebooks directly from the Kindle store, or international Prime members who need to buy from the big warehouses to get shipping that doesn’t cost a kidney, your time is now!

And for those of you who have already gotten your copies, thank you! The great reviews are rolling in. And while I don’t ever go looking for them because of feelings and creativity and art for art’s sake and yada yada yada, my publisher does send some along from time to time and asks me to share them, like these from The Romantic Reader who gives the book “5 stars, hell all the stars. I love this book!”

Or Carleen Spry, who says, “ Edge of Glory is, in my very humble opinion, one of the books to read in 2017. In fact, it’s probably one of the best I’ve read in two or three years.”

Or Amos Lassen, who wrote “When that romance comes, it is very special. I can say the same about this book; it is very special.”

I hope that those of you who have read Edge of Glory have had similar responses to the story and characters, because that’s really the goal here. Every time a new books comes out, I sit around waiting and hoping and praying that the story I put so much love and work into will resonate with someone else out there. I’m not going to lie, I love that moment when I finally hear from a reader saying I achieved that goal. I adore getting that kind of feedback from readers, and so far I’ve gotten some really nice notes about this book, but here’s where I have to address one troubling comment has come up three times in the last two weeks. It goes something along the lines of, “I’m not a reviewer, but….”

Friends, Romans, Readers, I desperately need you to know that you don’t have to “be a reviewer” to give valued responses to a book. Authors are happy to simply hear, “I really liked your story!” If you can add a sentence or two as to why, that’s the cherry on top for all of us, but it’s not even necessary. That kind of stuff is soul-sustaining and I don’t want any of my readers to ever feel like they can’t comment on my Facebook, blog, or twitter simply because they don’t have the polish of some of our more established genre reviewers.

What’s more, your simple reviews of, “I really enjoyed reading this, 5 stars!” when posted on Amazon or websites like Goodreads sustain much more than our writerly souls. They sustain our careers. Lots of advanced industry articles have been written on the correlation between reviews and the ways books are promoted on those sites (i.e. ads and bestseller charts and the “if you like this book, you might also enjoy everything Rachel Spangler has ever written” features), but the bottom line is the number of reviews matters . It matters a lot. And for better or worse, ten 5-star reviews that simply say, “I like this book” carry more weight than 2 long, elaborate thesis papers about Virginia Woolfesque prose or the subtle classist work ethic permeating the plot. More positive reviews equals more help to authors. It really is a simple as that.

So I guess I’ve written this entire blog to say thank you for reading Edge of Glory, and if you enjoyed it, I hope you will say just that on whatever review websites you can find because that sort of thing means a lot to authors, in a lot of different ways.

Edge of Glory Sexy Pictures

Fri, 27 Oct 2017 14:21:00 GMT

That title got your attention, didn’t it?

Sorry, they might not be exactly the kind of sexy pictures one hopes for when researching a lesbian romance novel. I did not find any Instagram shots of lesbian skiers and snowboarders in tawdry embraces, or semi-clothed lip locks you often find on the cover of our erotica novels.

What I did find, however, were pictures of truly powerful women with truly powerful bodies, none of which really fit with the type of bodies we traditionally see in Lesfic. I know, I know. I hear from one reader at every conference that they want to see larger women represented in our fiction, and that’s absolutely what I had in mind when I wrote Beth from The Long Way Home , but that’s a different blog. What I’m talking about with Edge of Glory , though, is muscular women. And I don’t think I fully understood that when I started writing.

During my first pages of my first draft, I will admit I thought of skiers, and to a lesser extent snowboarders, as skinny women. You wouldn’t believe how prevalent this image is. So much so that my amazing cover artist Ann McMan almost had to use a hand drawn snowboarder for the cover of this book, because public domain images of female snowboarders generally look like this.

I’ve watch more than enough snowboarding to call bullshit on that, but even as a winter sports fanatic, I’d only seen these athletes in the act of their their various professions, and when skiers are flying down a steep grade at 30 miles an hour in skin-tight Spanx, they looked pretty thin to me. Snowboarders wear a lot more clothes (which is also another blog), but there didn’t seem to be any extra fat on them, and how could there be with the amount of calories it must burn to hold off the weight a competitor around an c-curve where crushing g-force meets almost reckless speed. Sure, I knew they were strong and fierce, but anyone who worked that hard and went that fast had to be super thin, right?

Wrong.

I mean, don’t misunderstand me, these women are not what anyone would call overweight, but that sort of skinny/fat dichotomy is super problematic for all women, and our community is not immune to dualistic thinking. I know I’m not. Thankfully, though, when writing this book, I had some real-life role models who refused to let me fall into that either/or trap by being comfortable enough with their badass bodies to show me exactly what I was working with. The picture higher up in this blog is one I found while researching Olympic downhill skier Julia Mancuso’s off-season work out routine. Look at those shoulders!

And this gem happened to come out right after I started writing Edge of Glory , thanks to the epic body confidence of Lindsay Vonn.

Why yes, yes that is a painted on swimsuit. Go ahead and enjoy the view for a moment. I’ll wait. But before you’re ready to read on, can you take a moment to look at her thighs. Not a hardship, right, but I’m not just making the request to excite you or sell books by telling you this is the body my skier Elise is modelled after. I want you to look at those thighs, along with the thighs and glutes on pro-snowboarder Elena Hight.

There’s no thigh gap on either of them. In fact, on both of them, their thighs are wider than their waists. Not going to lie, the task of describing thighs like those in prose wasn’t as easy or as enjoyable as one might expect. You see, in English we don’t have a lot of ways for describing women’s thighs in ways that are both flattering and accurately portray them as large. In our culture, large usually equates to undesirable, at least when talking about that body part. My editor actually put a limit on how many times I could say “stacked.” At one point we went with “bodacious.” “Sizeable,” “thick,” “big,” “mammoth,” even “meaty” or “muscular” all seemed to have at least borderline negative connotations, and yet I worried that if I didn’t describe them at all, or gave a generic descriptor like “beautiful” or “sexy,” readers would fall prey to the thinking that had filled my own mind early on and equate those terms with “thin.”

And when you look at the skier’s mid-sections, virtually none of them are flat. They don’t have “pot bellies” or “spare tires” or any of the other pejorative terms we use to denigrate women’s completely natural body types, but neither do many of them have washboard abs. And that’s awesome, but you know what else is awesome, snowboarders abs.

So often my characters get labeled as butch or femme, whether I write them with those labels in mind or not, which goes back to our dichotomy driven minds, but I’m not sure how and who gets to decide those things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with readers putting their own types and fantasies on my characters. I want them too do that within reason. However, the women I follow in the snowboarding world don’t easily conform to those labels any more than their bodies conform to societal expectations of the female form. Their cores are hard and cut and powerful. They do not have soft curves, they do not have gentle swells, they do not have flat planes. They have ripples and ridges and raw strength. They are not classic examples of a feminine form, but neither does their strength make them masculine any more than skiers thighs make them mannish.

These body types are beautiful, these bodies are sexy, and these body types are worthy of being praised for the ways they lift up the majestic female form while defying the boxes we try to force women’s bodies into.

And so that’s what I tried to do in writing Corey and Elise. Their bodies are not skinny, they are not overweight any more than their bodies mark them as necessarily butch or femme. Elise has big, thick, stacked thighs. Corey has jagged rocks for abs. Both of them find those attributes utterly irresistible in the other. Neither one of them feels any need to judge anything about the other’s personality or sexual proclivities based on those features.

I hope the same holds true for you all as you read Edge of Glory .

Edge of Glory is Out!

Tue, 17 Oct 2017 13:38:00 GMT

The blog title says it all, folks. Today marks the Bywater release of my 11th full-length romance novel, Edge of Glory !

We got our first taste of the release last week in Provincetown, and the response was fantastic! Aside from our official events, I got to have a book launch party with some awesome friends and readers and my family at the beautiful Harbor Lounge in Ptown. I think Jackson was especially proud to be there, which of course made me proud that he’s still impressed with what I do for a living. I also think he may have sold more copies of Edge of Glory than I did, though to be fair, his happy little expectant face when he says, “My mom wrote this one,” is super hard to resist.

Thanks to so many readers who came by our Bywater readings and signing, we sold out of every single copy of Edge of Glory in Ptown! Let me honest, that’s a real heart boost for me. I loved working with these characters so much, and I’m so excited to share them with readers. To know that some of them are just as excited to meet Elise and Corey as I am to introduce them gives me all the feels!

And since we actually had to turn a few readers away for lack of books to sell them, my amazing team at Bywater books rushed to get Edge of Glory live and online a few days early. You can now get your very own copy in print or eBook exclusively at www.bywaterbooks.com

But wait, there’s more! We had such a rush on these books in Ptown that we decided to celebrate the big release by putting the entire Bywater catalogue on sale! That’s right, every single Bywater book is currently on sale, including Edge of Glory . All you have to use coupon code Glory17 at checkout to get your discount!

So really, a new romance, an early release, and a sale…why are you even still reading this? Go get your copy right now and start reading.

Please and thank you!

Women’s Week Release

Thu, 12 Oct 2017 12:11:00 GMT

I am excited to announce that Edge of Glory is out! Well, it’s out at Women’s Week anyway. Folks who are in PTown right now can get their copies at Womencrafts ahead of the wide release.

Best of all, I got to hold the book in my hands for the first time. This is always a super special moment for me, but it usually happens alone in my home when the book box arrives in the mail. For the first time ever, I got to share the moment, the one I’d worked for and waited for over a year, with my friends and colleagues who were all in Womencrafts when I walked up to the table.

Thank you to awesome author Lynn Ames for getting this shot of me beaming proudly as I picked up my new baby for the first time. And here’s a happy, congratulatory photo bomb hug from trailblazer Marianne K. Martin.

I really loved the special chance to share the culmination of such hard work with people who know what it’s like to stand in that spot. It was also wonderful to have this experience in a place like Womencrafts . We are losing so many of our bookstores and gathering places that I appreciate the strength and fortitude it takes for women’s business owners to trust their livelihood to getting our work out to the reading public. I hold Michelle and her team at Womencrafts in the highest regard, which of course is why the whole Bywater crew worked double time to get Edge of Glory on their shelves before we even have it up on our website.

When the time came to get down to signing those first autographs, I couldn’t have been happier to be sitting along side my Bywater colleagues Carol Rosenfeld and Cheryl Head.

I think it’s pretty clear from the way I’m still grinning at that pile of books in front of me, it’s going to be awhile before the high wears off.

Women’s Week 2017

Tue, 03 Oct 2017 14:11:00 GMT

Hey Friends!

We’re one week from Women’s Week! I can’t wait. I love Ptown. I love the readers who gather there. I love my friends and colleagues who make the events so much fun, and I love that this year I get to launch a new book! Did I mention that the book doesn’t even come out at large for a few weeks and people at Women’s Week are actually getting pre-release copies? Pretty cool, right?

I know I’m a bit biased, but I think that Edge of Glory is a fun read, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you. The fact that I get to start that process in one of my favorite places is a major bonus.

So, for those of you who are lucky enough to join me on this part of the ride, here’s all the places you can find me from October 11-14th.

Wednesday October 11
11:30 -12:30 – Signing books at Womencrafts
1:00 – 2:30 – Reading from Edge of Glory during the Author’s Favorites reading Provincetown Library

Thursday October 12
9:30 – 11:00 – Reading with the breakfast bunch at Napi’s restaurant
11:30 – 12:30 – Signing books and chatting with readers at Womencrafts
1:00 – 2:30 – Moderating the Building Tensions panel at the Provincetown Library

Friday October 13
10:00 – 11:00 – signing at Womencrafts
11:45 – 12:45 – Reading a little something sweet at the Provincetown Library
1:00 – 2:00 – book launch at The Harbor Lounge
5:00 – 6:00 – Playing in the annual readers and writers Wiffleball Game (104 Bradford Street) – All are welcome to play or cheer us on.

Saturday October 14
11:45 – 12:45 – Reading from Edge of Glory as part of the What’s Next panel at the Provincetown Library
1:00 – 2:00 – Signing books at Womencrafts

And if that’s not enough to keep you busy, here’s the full Bywater schedule of events:

I’m on the Edge

Wed, 20 Sep 2017 14:45:00 GMT

Whew! I’m finishing up a busy couple of weeks, but don’t let the title of this blog frighten you. I’m not on the edge of a breakdown or the edge of a bridge or anything. I’m on the early edge of the publicity cycle for my upcoming release, Edge of Glory !

My new romance follows a professional downhill skier and a professional Snowboard X racer as they race toward the Winter Olympics. We just finished the page proofs of the typeset and sent it off to the printers so that even though the book won’t be widely released until mid-November, we can have some early-release copies available at Women’s Week! That’s right, those of you who make it in to see us at one of the many Bywater Books events at Womencrafts in Provincetown will be able to get your hands on an early-release copy! After that, we’ll start a more gradual roll out of ebooks on the Bywater website hopefully by the end of October, followed by print shipments to all the big retailers no later than November 14.

So over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing little insights about the story, snippets of the characters’ backstories, and excerpts from the book itself. I’ll also be waxing poetic about my love of the Winter Olympics as we all join Corey and Elise’s countdown to the XXIII Olympic Winter Games in PyeongChang, South Korea this coming February.

In the meantime, let’s get this party started by showing you the amazing cover from the endlessly talented Ann McMan.

And give you your first look at the bones of the story in the form of the official blurb for Edge of Glory :

Corey LaCroix only ever wanted to snowboard, but Olympic medals and world championships only carry you so far when your knees ache and you’re suddenly an underdog for the first time in your career. Elise Brandeis doesn’t need a training partner, especially an unorthodox has-been snowboarder with an attitude. But Elise has already lost a full season to injury, and she’s struggling to make the Olympic ski team. Can teaming up with Corey give her the edge she needs to go for gold, or will the snowboarder’s infuriatingly cocky smile and rock hard abs prove a distraction she simply can’t afford?

Both champions brace themselves for the run of a lifetime. Putting their broken bodies on the line, they fight the competition, the clock, and the frozen terrain for one more chance at glory. But this time, as they ride the razor’s edge between victory and defeat, the stakes are steeper than any mountain they will ever face when legacies and hearts collide .

So, what do you say? Want to join me on this race toward the release of a romance that will hopefully make your winter months a little hotter?

Audio Book Winners

Tue, 29 Aug 2017 12:45:00 GMT

Wow, I had so many responses to my last blog that I decided to draw not one, but two names out of the hat. And without further ado, the winners are:

Linda Scibilia, who won a copy of The Long Way Home .

And MeBuchanan, who won a copy of Heart of the Game .

If the two winners would email me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com, I’ll happily pass along your claim codes.

And for those of you who didn’t win but would still like to listen to one of my books in audio form, you can get a copy of Timeless , The Long Way Home , or Heart of the Game on Amazon or Audible!

Free Audiobooks

Thu, 24 Aug 2017 14:43:00 GMT

Hey Folks,

I am in the final push to get Edge of Glory out to you during Women’s Week in Ptown and then wide release the week after. This is simultaneously a stressful and exciting time as we rush around checking things like acknowledgements, typesetting and page proofs off the to-do list. Everyone behinds the scenes is working frantically for the next two weeks, but you don’t really get to see any of that.

So in the same way that I give Jackson little treats to distract him while Mommy is working, I thought you all deserve at least the same consideration, and your treat is free audiobooks!

I am super proud that I now have three audiobooks out: Timeless , The Long Way Home , and Heart of The Game . So if you comment on this blog, on Facebook, or on Twitter telling me a) which of them you would most like to win and why or b) which of my other books you would most like to see in audiobook form, you will automatically be entered to win a free copy!

I’ll do the drawing early next week, so get your answers in ASAP!

GCLS 2017 Recap

Wed, 09 Aug 2017 13:47:00 GMT

I know I haven’t blogged in ages, and I have lots of excuses for that, but they are mostly boring, so let’s skip that part and say I’m sorry as we move on to what I’ve been up to!

As usual, the Spangler family has been in full travel mode this summer with trips to Kansas city (Susie’s work), Chicago (my work), Lake Puslinch, Canada (family), and Central Illinois (family).

I won’t bore you with all the work and family details, but I’ll show you this picture of my adorable nephew because I love to show him off,

and this one of my nephew kissing Jackson because I love how much they love each other.

Now I will put on my author hat and update you on my trip to the Golden Crown Literary Society’s annual conference, because that was both work and play at the same time.

There are so many reasons why I love attending the GCLS con each year, and this year was no exception. Between readings and workshops and book talks, I went non-stop for days. Some of the highlights of my official responsibilities in Chicago were two fantastic panels I got to be a part of.

The first was a panel in which authors of faith talked about our experiences being gay in our faith communities, our experiences of being people of faith in the gay community, and how that lens affects who we are as artists. The panel consisted of Nell Stark , Georgia Beers , Alison Solomon , Rachel Gold , and myself. Aurora Rey moderated. I know I’m probably biased, but I thought the conversation was open, frank, and affirming, both on behalf of my fellow panelists and the audience members. The feedback we got from other conference attendees suggested this topic is one we should be exploring a lot more in our communities.

The other panel I got to take part in was on the editorial relationship, alongside Melissa Brayden , Georgia Beers , Susan X Meager , and the woman brave enough to edit all four of us, Lynda Sandoval . Nikki Smalls was the moderator crazy enough to moderate. This panel was tons of fun as we focused less on the nuts and bolts of editing craft, and more on the types of relationships that lead to productive teamwork between authors and editors. Also, we laughed a lot, which might, in fact, be one of those relationship keys!

Then in addition to my author work at the conference, I also got to wear my social media director hat as I interacted with my wonderful Bywater colleagues. We have occasionally joked that trying to wrangle everyone’s events and social media accounts while juggling my own author appearances on- and offline is like herding cats, but thankfully someone snapped this great picture to show what that job actually looks like in action.

Seriously, if anyone ever asks me to come in for career day, I’m just going to send them this picture. So much love and joy and smile-for-the-camera and gentle redirections that could turn into chiropractic adjustments if need be.

The last of my must-do’s for the conference every year is the annual awards ceremony. I have been honored to present awards to my fellow authors for several years in a row. This year I got to be part of the crew that presented a Goldie to my awesome friend and role mode KG MacGregor for her book Trial By Fury .

Then, shockingly enough, I ended up back on the stage after I won one of the contemporary romance awards for Perfect Pairing . I would like to say that I made a dramatic and moving acceptance speech; however, as it had been so long since I’d won anything, I stopped writing acceptance speeches a couple of years ago. And in my excitement, I think I managed to bumble through only a short bit of thanks that went something along the lines of Jesus, Bywater , Susie, Jackson and the GCLS readers. Not my finest moment, but I did get my picture taken with the famously awesome Susan X. Meager , who also won a Goldie in the Romance Category.

Side note: Susan and I are both from neighboring, tiny towns in Central Illinois, so two-thirds of the romance winners that night were from the same 15-mile stretch of farmland where they grow corn, beans, and apparently, lesbian authors!

I also got to share my awards-night fun with my friend and Bywater colleague Ann McMan , who won the prestigious Director’s Award for all the amazing graphic design work she does in service of the organization. Here we are with our Bywater management team , Marianne K. Martin , Salem West, and Kelly Smith.

From there on out it was fun and friends as we danced the night away! What follows is a few of my favorite photos from the rest of the conference.

Here’s a shot of me with my Bywater buddies. Isn’t that an awesome group of kick-ass women?

And of course there’s my besties, Melissa Brayden and Georgia Beers , because it wouldn’t be a party without them.

This one is with my friend Jane. She won the first dance with me via the author auction, though by next year I suspect I’ll have to pay to dance with her, because I hear she’s got a book of her own in the works.

And here’s me having selfie time with the epic Nikki Smalls, who is not just a fun friend to dance with, she’s also a member of the all-volunteer board of directors who helps make GCLS the smashing success that we know and love.

And while we’re on selfies, here another, this time with one of my all time favorite funny women, Fay Jacobs, who writes not only hilarious memoirs, but also a fantastic one-woman show called Aging Gracelessly: 50 Shades of Fay.

One more selfie with the Dirt Road Books crew. If you don’t know them, you need to be sure to check them out at https://www.dirtroadbooks.com.

Finally, one of my favorite photographs ever (thanks Brenda Barton!) is of me, Nikki, Georgia Beers , and Jackson all saying goodbye.

Someone also took a picture of Georgia and I crying while Jackson hugged us both, but this one has smiles, so let’s leave it here until we’re all together again for GCLS 2018 …in Vegas, baby!

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Da Capo al Fine – Guest blog by Ann McMan

Tue, 27 Jun 2017 14:11:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

Today my good friend Ann McMan has done me the honor of writing a guest blog about her new release, Goldenrod and her journey back to Jericho! What follows are her unedited words, so read on, but when you’re done, be sure to click one of the many links to take you to your own copy of Goldenrod .

Da Capo al Fine – Guest blog by Ann McMan

Many years ago, the great Joni Mitchell commented on one of the frustrations that dogged her throughout her career as a songwriter. She talked about how fans would clamor for her to keep telling the same stories or writing the same kinds of songs—and she marveled at how this repetitive feedback was absent from her work as an artist. “A painter does a painting and he does a painting,” she said. “Somebody buys it and hangs it on some wall someplace. Or maybe nobody buys it and it sits up in a loft until he dies . . . but nobody ever said to Van Gogh, ‘Paint a Starry Night again, man.’ He painted it. That was it.”

Six years ago, under cover of darkness, I stuck my toe into the world of writing and hammered out an ambitious and meandering work of fiction called Jericho . Never in my wildest dreams—and believe me, some of them were genuinely wild—could I have imagined the success of that first foray into lesbian literature. Jericho took flight and found a home in the hearts of many devoted readers. I was and am happy about this, of course—but that quirky success arrived all wrapped-up with a shiny new set of hopes and expectations—often expressed energetically—that the story of Maddie and Syd would go on. And on. Forever and ever. Amen.

It reminded me of that iconic Xerox copier commercial where a solitary monk painstakingly illuminates a manuscript. When it’s finished, he bundles it up and scurries along the cloister to deliver the prized original to the Abbot—who examines the beautifully crafted text before handing it back to the monk, saying, “I’d like 10,000 copies, please.”

Cue pique, umbrage and ennui—what Ursula Le Guin called the “French diseases of the soul.”

Did readers really want me to write another Jericho ?

Yeppers. There might have been energetic disagreement about climate change—but the answer to this question was a big ole 10-4.

So, I wrote a sequel. Aftermath . And I attempted due diligence by crafting a story that took the characters deeper and wider (I paid attention during Sunday school) than the original narrative. I pushed them for greater depth—and I pushed myself to be a better steward of their stories. I paid attention to things like structure and pacing, and I routinely snapped my fingers or clapped my hands to keep us all focused on the roadmap of our journey together. At the end, we all arrived at our destination mostly unscathed. Or so I thought.

Enter the voices. Again.

“What happens to Henry?”

I got this question a lot.

It even cropped-up one night as I was en route to the restroom at one of our favorite restaurants in town, Sweet Potatoes (which provided the inspiration for Nadine Odell and the Midway Café). Imagine my surprise. I lead a pretty incognito existence here in The Tar Heel State.

If you’ve ever gone camping you know the hazards that exist if you start mucking around in the embers of a dying fire. Will it refuse to cooperate unless you douse it with a quart of Gulf-Lite? Or will it flare up and singe your eyebrows? Will it flash and take off, leaving broad swaths of scorched earth in its wake? Or, as my dour mother always warned, will messing with it just make you wet the bed?

These things matter.

Dire warnings aside, I took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. I found a big stick and started mucking around in the embers of a place called Jericho. Enter Goldenrod , book three in the Jericho series. Was it terrifying? You bet it was. Would the characters be willing to sit up and start talking? Who knew? And if they did, would what they had to say be worth hearing?

You’ll have to be the judge of that.

Suffice it to say that after a bit of prodding, talk they did. And oh boy, did that little pastiche of pastoral protagonists have some grand stories to tell. It quickly became apparent that Maddie and Syd had been hoarding ideas. And we got to hear from some new voices, too—notably, Buddy and Dorothy—who, along with little Henry, now occupy the narrative epicenter of this writer’s heart. Is it wrong or arrogant for me to say I love them—and that I’m grateful they trusted me with their stories?

I hope not.

If you do me the honor of reading Goldenrod , I hope you’ll let me know . . .

Oh. And in case my mother asks—I haven’t wet the bed yet.

Podcast Fun

Fri, 12 May 2017 14:29:00 GMT

Hey Folks,

I’m just here to spread a little bit of Friday fun for you. Last week I got to chat with Tara Scott about one of my favorite things…books! Les Do Books gives authors a chance to just be readers for a little bit and I had a blast with. The podcast is pretty safe for work and it’s even short enough to fit most lunch breaks, so go ahead and give it a listen to hear about three books I love!

Big news!

Fri, 21 Apr 2017 14:29:00 GMT

Hey Folks,

I’m super excited about this announcement, so I’m not even going to make you wait for it.

My first audiobook just came out! *Squee*

You can now get The Long Way Home in audio form from Amazon/Audible or iTunes .

You can even hear an audio excerpt of it right here .

This is a big deal for me for a couple reasons.

1) I just really like audio books. My family and I travel a lot, and one of the ways we like to stay awake/engaged with each other on the long car trips is by listening to audio books. We’ve heard some gripping tales as of late, and I love the thought of someone getting to meet Beth and Rory while on a journey of their own.

2) My son is super impressed about this. He’s told all his friends, and he even told my doctor yesterday. As I mentioned, our family listens to a lot of audio books, and he loves them. I think he’s excited to think I’m on par with some of his favorite authors (shhh don’t tell him Rick Riordan sells a lot more audiobooks than I do), and I’m excited to think something I do still excites him. He’s quickly reaching the stage where his friends are way cooler than his moms, so I’m going to take all the wins I can get right now.

3) And this is by far the biggest one for me, at GCLS last year I challenged our community to do more for underserved populations, and one of the groups I highlighted was readers with impaired vision. Women who were born blind or are dealing with failing vision due to heath or age have too often been denied easy access to our work. Thankfully we have moved into an era when audio technology is more readily available than ever before. Our community needs to make it a priority to use it. Lesbian books have always been a lifeline for me, and I want to share that with as many people as possible. I’m grateful to Bold Strokes Books for giving me the opportunity to reach those women who haven’t previously been welcomed fully into our lesfic community.

And the best news is, The Long Way Home is just the beginning! I recently signed a contract with BSB to have EVERY one of my releases with them made into audiobooks. Next up is Timeless, so stay tuned to this blog for more information on the next audio installment of the Darlington romances!

In the meantime, I hope you’ll support this project by going and getting your own audio copy of The Long Way Home today.

Love Is Growing Up – Paula Martinac Guest Blog

Wed, 22 Mar 2017 13:26:00 GMT

Hi friends,

I have a treat for you today. As most of you who follow this blog know, I write romance. I am fascinated by the transformative power love has to shape our lives and how we view the world around us. I also happen to be in love. I was blessed to meet the love of my life at a young age and we’ve been a couple for 15 years. So it follows naturally that I field a lot of requests to write a long-term couple in my books. Now I’m not opposed to the idea in theory, but it’s yet to happen for me, but you know who has managed to write a beautiful book featuring a long term couple? My friend and Bywater Books colleague, Paula Martinac ! Her new release, The Ada Decades , is an fantastic look at the type of couple our community has been aching for. I’m so impressed with Paula’s ability to weave such a powerful and timely love story I asked her to stop by the blog today and tell you a little bit about it.

So without further ado, here’s Paula.

Thanks to my friend and colleague Rachel Spangler for welcoming me here to Wonder Boi Writes! I’m a fan of her Lammy-nominated romance, Perfect Pairing. (In fact, I get hungry just thinking about it…) Rachel invited me to introduce you to my new novel, The Ada Decades, which follows a lesbian couple over the course of almost 50 years.

I’m a history nerd, and LGBT history is my particular passion. Call me weird (or maybe voyeuristic), but I like to imagine how women in the past found each other and created lives together. I met my wife at the L.U.S.T. Conference (as in, Lesbians Undoing Sexual Taboos), so there was no ambiguity for us! But how did lesbians of the past meet and indicate their interest in each other, without the benefit of a lesbian community?

That was one of the jumping-off points for my first novel, Out of Time, and it played a big role again in The Ada Decades , which I describe as a love story. At the start, there’s the romantic meeting of Ada and Cam, two women in their early 20s who work as a librarian and teacher in a North Carolina public school in 1957. They click, even though Ada – who has never been sexually involved with anyone , man or woman – doesn’t know what to make of their connection. They begin “dating” without being able to call it that, then cautiously express their love and eventually decide to embark on a life together.

And then comes the “long-term” part. As an epigraph for the novel, I chose a James Baldwin quote: “Love is a growing up.” Along with all the good times, Ada and Cam hit rocky patches that test their relationship, obstacles that many long-term couples, both gay and straight, encounter: problems with parents, trouble at work, jealousy over old loves, differences of belief, money matters, and the reality of “in sickness and in health.”

The writing of this novel was very immediate to me, even though Ada and Cam belong to the pre-Stonewall generation. I’m in a 25-year relationship, so my wife and I have encountered our own share of struggles over time. Writing about growing up and into a relationship came naturally.

Still, there was the difficulty of trying to understand challenges I haven’t personally faced, like working in the same place as your partner but having to hide your relationship because if people knew, you’d be fired. I thought a lot about how being in the closet didn’t have to define a relationship – how lesbians who couldn’t live openly could still create their own “families” and cultures of choice.

When Ada reaches eighty, she finds it perplexing that a younger generation of lesbians considers her a role model and hero. I write in the novel, “She had never thought about her life, or Cam’s, in that way…. They had just gotten by as best they could and been thankful for the years they had together.” For me, their love story is that they stick it out and make it work – and all before our community obtained the legal right to marry.

Story Behind The Story: Kelly

Wed, 01 Mar 2017 14:53:00 GMT

First of all, let’s kick things off with a book giveaway. Last week , in honor of my father-in-law , I asked you all to leave a comment mentioning a person who left a legacy of love and joy in your own life, and I got some great responses. So I randomized them and picked a winner. Melinda won a free, signed copy of Close To Home or an ebook of any of my other novels. Melinda, please shoot me a quick email (Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com) with your details.

Now, on with the show. When I did my survey a few weeks ago, 80% of you said the types of blogs you most want to read here are ones that feature “the stories behind the stories,” so that’s what I plan to do here, and I want to start with Kelly.

Kelly has probably had the biggest evolution of any character I’ve ever written (though Nic from Does She Love You? would win a lot of votes in that category, too). Kelly has quite an arc from the first time I ever met her in the opening chapters of The Long Way Home . This is hard to do without spoilers, but as I started writing her, I couldn’t stand her. I’m not sure why I didn’t like her. Maybe I felt like I needed a villain in this story. Or maybe I was mad at people like her, people who conformed and hid and fed into the small-town status quo when people like me (Or should it be “people like Raine”?) were out there fighting an uphill battle everyday. Then in one of those chicken-or-egg type of artist tussles, I made her look like, and to a certain extent sound like, someone I hadn’t gotten along with in high school. I’m still not sure if I wrote a villain and made her similar to my high school foe, or if I wrote someone like my high school foe and turned her into a villian.

Then the unthinkable happened. My beta readers felt sorry for her, because my beta readers are good people who saw a humanity in her I wasn’t willing to admit to yet. Then my editor cut two scenes Kelly had been a big part of and asked me to incorporate the aspects of her that had been cut into other scenes. I had to go back and take a look at Kelly as I’d initially written her, but with new understanding of her as important, as sympathetic, as human. I realized that in a story where Raine/Rory has to overcome her childish understanding of her hometown and the people in it, I as a writer had failed to do the same. Kelly’s actions remained the same. Outwardly she was the same person I’d butted heads with in high school, but inwardly, and occasionally when she was alone with Beth, a tenderness had been revealed just enough to leave me wondering about who she really was, and many of my readers felt the same way. Even my boss at the time, Radclyffe, wrote and said something along the lines that she liked that I’d been fair and sympathetic in my portrayals of life in the closet. I wasn’t at all sure that’s what I’d wanted to do, but it was done, and I was left feeling a little unsettled.

I laughed again, but Real Life Kelly turned serious and said, “I mean it. That character has the potential to have a great redemption story. She could be a complex character to unravel. There are real people out there just like her. They are human. They became how they are for a reason.” I said I’d thought a little bit about that but doubted anyone would really be able to root for someone like Fictional Kelly, especially after the things she’d said and done to Beth (who seemed to be universally loved by my readers). Real Life Kelly got a giddy glint in her eye and said, “Oh yeah, you’re going to have make her pay for that, really put her through the wringer, break her down in a big way, but it’ll be fun, and it’ll be interesting.”I admitted that putting a character that reminded me of people who had been tools in high school through the emotional wringer did sound enjoyable, but I had other books to write first. And I did.

And yet I moved on to other books, but between each of them as I’d consider possibilities for my next project, my wife would say, “How about Kelly’s book?” The term “Kelly’s book” became common in our house for its double meaning, the book Real Life Kelly suggested, the book that lets the world finally see the whole picture of Fictional Kelly. But each time I had the chance to write it, something stopped me. Looking back now, I suspect I wasn’t ready to let go of my anger at her and what she represented for me. Or maybe I just wasn’t in the right place as a writer to tackle a project as complex as Fictional Kelly would be.

It wasn’t until I had been working for Bywater for a while that Real Life Kelly asked again about Fictional Kelly. I’m not sure what it was about the timing or the setting, or maybe I’d just grown weary of fighting the urge, but I agreed to at least sit down with her (Fictional Kelly, that is) and really listen. I’d like to say she just poured out her soul to me. She didn’t. She wrestled me, and she wrestled Elliot for months just like she always had. Tiny flashes of something human only occasionally peeked out from under piles and piles of frustrating anger, professional excuses, and emotional brick walls. I’m not sure Fictional Kelly had changed a whole lot, but maybe I had. As a writer, as a person, I was more willing to ask the harder questions and more willing to listen to the answers.

Kelly does the right thing, always. Not always the nice thing, or the thoughtful thing, or the reasonable thing, but the thing she believes is right in the long run, or the big picture. She might have bad reasons or faulty logic, but she always does what she thinks is expected of her, what she would expect out of others, according to her high and often skewed personal standards.

I went home and reread what I’d written, and Marianne was right. When I focused on that driving thread, I didn’t always love Kelly, but I understood her. From there I learned to recognize the strength and conviction it had taken to make the decision she’d made, even at the same time I disagreed with them. And once I could do that, it was much easier to respect her motives while still hating the outcomes. It also made it easier to throw her in to Elliot’s path because much like I’d learned to recognize something fundamentally good in her, I also understood that someone who is focused on doing what’s right would have no choice but to see the same fundamental goodness in Elliot.

From there on out, much of my wrestling with Kelly mirrored Kelly’s own wrestling with Elliot, so much so that by the time I finished, I actually ended up liking her quite a bit, both as a character and as a metaphor for my own journey as a person and as a writer.

She’s still complex, she still grates on my nerves, she still challenges me, but somewhere over the last three books, she stopped being a product of my high school angst and became a real person, at least in the fictional sense.

At some point over the last eight years, she grew up.

Or maybe I did.

Catch Up Post and Sale

Tue, 21 Feb 2017 17:55:00 GMT

Hi All,

I had every intention of following up my Valentine’s Day post with another book giveaway, but things in Spangler land took a sad turn that evening. My family and I had to make an unexpected trip to Illinois to say goodbye to my father-in-law who passed away last Thursday. The next few days were spent grieving and going through the funeral process. We are home now, but we are still sad and exhausted. My father in law, Harry was a good man, a loving father, and a doting grandfather. In 16 years I never heard him say a cross word to anyone. He brought so much warmth to everyone he met.

We will all miss him terribly, and we would welcome both your prayers and your patience along that road to recovery.

One of the ways our family is starting to move forward is by staying busy. We’re also making an effort to spend time with people and on activities that bring us joy. Thankfully my work provides me with plenty of opportunities for both. One thing that made me smile this morning is that Bold Strokes Books has put my first two Darlington Romances on sale to help folks who just found Close To Home catch up on the earlier books in the collection. For 24 hours (from 10am Feb 21 until 10am Feb 22) you can get The Long Way Home and Timeless in ebook for $4.99. This is really awesome of them. I know my move to Bywater set the gossip mill spinning, but I continue to be proud of how strong my relationship has stayed with my BSB friends and colleagues. Their continued support both personally and professionally is yet another powerful reminder of how many good people there are in this business.

I also want to share the results of the online survey where I asked you all to tell me what kinds of blogs you’d like to see surrounding the release of Close To Home . By far the most popular option was “Stories behind the stories” type blogs with 80% of respondents clicking that box, so I promise to start working on that right away. More than 45% of you also said you’d be interested in a video recorded reading from the books, and just over 40% said you’d like a question and answer blog series so stay tuned for those in the coming weeks as well.

Finally, 50% of the survey respondents said the blog they’d most like to see here are book give aways, so let’s go ahead and do one of those right now!

In honor of my father-in-law, who despite his man health issues always had a smile and hug and a kind word for everyone please comment below, and tell me about someone who left a legacy of joy and love in your own life. It doesn’t have to be long, just a name or a short description, and you’ll be entered to win an autographed copy of Close To Home , or an ebook copy of any one of my books.

I’ll pick a winner in a few days!

Happy VD

Tue, 14 Feb 2017 15:58:00 GMT

Anyone ever wonder why this is the only holiday with the name initials as an STD? Ponder that for a while.

First of all let’s kick off this holiday with presents! After compiling a list of everyone who commented on this blog here and on my various social media outlets we pulled a winner out of a randomized list and that winner is Ona Marae! And while we’re at it I never heard from last week’s winner Declan Smith. So Ona and Declan shoot me an email or hit me up on social media so I can get you your books.

And now for a present for the rest of you…Valentines Day Sales abound! Bywater is running 25% off all romances with the code BeMine. You can see their full list of romance titles here http://www.bywaterbooks.com/product-category/genre/romance/

I am all about romantic love. I have written 10+ books on the subject. But that being said, I like a holiday that celebrates love in the broadest sense. And there are so many kinds of love worth celebrating.

I celebrated my love for my son with pink, heart pancakes and Legos and extra Pokémon hunting.

I celebrated my love for my wife with steak and cherry pie.

I celebrated my love for my fellow humans in need by reaching out to several of them, offering help with meals and transportation and hugs.

Now I want to celebrate my love for some awesome people who helped restore some of my faith this week by their showing love to some kids they will never meet. I think that’s my favorite kind of love.

Backstory:

Over a month ago, a movie called Hidden Figures came out, featuring some amazing African-American women who changed the course of history via the space program. I was so excited to see it, but after a couple weeks of waiting, I began to fear that our local theater wouldn’t show the film. My initial instinct was to go to Buffalo, because that’s where we often have to go to see high-quality films, but instead I just shot the theater a quick note on Facebook asking if they intended to show Hidden Figures . They immediately wrote back, saying they had no intention of doing so. Instead of letting it go (I’ve been more politically persistent lately) I told them I always try to support local businesses, but if they didn’t show qualify films, they would force us to go elsewhere.

Then several of my friends (many of them in pink hats) began to pepper the theater with similar comments, talking about how important the film was and how much money it was making. The theater reps said it wasn’t up to them. Their corporate office made the call on which movies to show. We asked them to please put a little pressure on them, and much to my surprise, they came back three days later and said after a lengthy discussion with their headquarters, they had been granted the right to show Hidden Figures for one week.

That was my victory. I was happy. I made a Facebook event for all my friends to go see it, and then in sort of a last-ditch bit of goodwill, I mentioned that if anyone knew of a kid or two who would benefit from learning about these amazing women they should bring them along, and I’d cover their tickets.

The response was overwhelming, and not in the ways I could have predicted. Within minutes I was getting messages from amazing readers and friends wanting to donate money to the cause. I was kind of taken aback. I didn’t think I had a cause, but within 48 hours, people had pledged several hundreds of dollars for students I hadn’t even located. By the next week the fund was over $1,000, and I was frantically contacting teachers I knew at local schools, trying to find someone to use the money for their kids.

Three days before the movie opened, I didn’t have a single kid in line and I was kind of freaking out, because I hadn’t really intended to try to organize a mass lesson plan. Then a friend from a local middle school called and said his school had agreed to pay for a bus if the theater could do a matinee showing. I checked with the theater, and they not only agreed, they offered to let all the students in for the kid’s price, the lowest one their system could handle. Then they one-upped that and said they would even extend the offer to any high school and middle school students for the entire run of the film, no matter if they came with a class or not.

By that afternoon the school I’d talked to said so many kids wanted to go that they were sending TWO busses. Another local middle school called to say they had approved a bus for some of their most vulnerable kids. Then I ran into a teacher at the store who said she was bringing her special ed class as well. The next day a middle school teacher from Jackson’s school emailed to say she was going to send out fliers to all her students, offering to meet them at the theater on Saturday to chaperone them through the screening. Then a high school teacher did the same thing for an evening showing.

Whew, all I wanted to do was see an important movie, but by the time it was all said and done, 180 kids had seen the show. What’s more impressive to me, though, is that I never asked for a penny! These readers and friends of mine were so generous, they had a fundraiser of their own good will for kids they have never met, at schools they didn’t go to, and in a town they will likely never visit. Without a single call for funds or any sort of public panhandling or coordinated effort, people quietly gave $1370. In fact, I had so many offers to cover tickets I turned away a few because we had so much more than we needed, but people kept coming out of the woodwork, wanting to help.

So here’s a quick accounting of the money, because aside from being blown away by everyone’s generosity, I’m also very humbled that you all would entrust me with this much cash!

$1370 raised. I was able to buy tickets for $180 students at $6.50 apiece, leaving $199 left over.

After talking to the teachers I worked with, we have decided to spend the leftover money buying copies of Hidden Figures, both in movie and book form for all of the local schools and libraries so students can keeping engaging the story for years to come.

First of all I want to thank you, all of you who donated money or offered to donate money or helped to spread the world or nudged me toward a much greater action than I’d initially wanted to take on. Your acts of love inspired me to believe in the goodness of people again. At a time when I was really down and angry, you all showed me the amazing love flowing through this community, and I am so humbled to be counted among you.

But I’m just one person and you all touched so much more than me and my friends. You helped 180 kids in so much more than just seeing a film. You let them see themselves in a positive light, you let them see that they can be anything, you helped them see beyond their own small-town perspective, you let them see what can be accomplished when good people come together. Most of all, though, you made sure they know that people care about them and want them to succeed. And you don’t have to to take my word for it, because the students themselves have reached out to tell you.

You guys were the change for these kids this month. I love you all, and that’s a big thing for me to celebrate this VD!

More Thank You Books

Fri, 10 Feb 2017 16:45:00 GMT

Hello All,

The continued outpouring of support for Close to Home is blowing my mind. This is the most feedback I have ever gotten from any of my books, and I know I owe that to all you who gave it a chance after the whole early release issues . Every time I hear from a reader I am overwhelmed with gratitude that you allow me to tell our stories for a living.

To show my appreciation I’ve got two things going for you. First is the reader appreciation survey at https://www.quicksurveys.com/TolunaAnalytics/Report/1358389 It only takes two minutes to fill out so if you haven’t done so yet, please let me know how to give back to you in ways that make you feel the love!

Second, I want to give you a chance to win free books! This week, since we’re talking about a Darlington Romance , why don’t you comment here or on social media about your favorite Darlington character or moment? And if you haven’t read any of the Darlington Romances ( The Long Way Home , Timeless , or Close To Home ) then you can just mention a character from any of my books.

I’ll prick a winner at random next week, and that person will receive an autographed copy of Close To Home or an ebook copy of any of my other novels.

Thanks again, and happy weekend reading!

Sermon on Isiah 58

Wed, 08 Feb 2017 18:03:00 GMT

Hi All,

Just a quick note to remind you I still have my reader survey up and running. If you haven’t had a chance yet to make your voice heard, please do so. I am listing!

And now, I had several requests to see my sermon from last Sunday so I am going to post it here. If you’re not a sermon type of person go ahead and focus on the survey. I will not be offended at all. This one is addressed specifically to those people who claim to walk in faith, because that’s who the scripture is addressed to. I was preaching to the choir if you will.

The lectionary reading this week was from Isiah 58 . If you haven’t read it recently it’s worth a refresher because it’s so good. It comes from the prophet Isiah talking to God’s chosen people and telling them they are not living lives of true worship. I found the message especially fitting right now. So here’s what I had to say about it.

P.S. These are my unpolished notes. I’m sure the commas are in all the wrong places and there are plenty of typos, but this was only ever written to be preached aloud.

It’s no too late to turn this car around

Have I ever mentioned I went to a Southern Baptist School while growing up in Florida? I did. The pastor there looked vaguely like Jimmy Johnson the football coach, with these big rosy cheeks and slicked back sliver hair and he has the most powerful voice. It could be low and smooth and then ratcheted up to boom out his points from the pulpit, and of course every prayer was delivered in the evangelical fashion with a thick southern drawl.

“Jesus, we just wanna thank you Jesus….”

As a kid I loved to listen to him talk. As an adolescent I learned that the message wasn’t always one of love. As I reached adulthood I learned I wasn’t welcome in those circles at all. They had all the trappings of a powerful ministry without any of the love worth worshiping. I haven’t been back in a Southern Baptist church since then. I’ve been blessed to be part of so many other more welcoming denominations with much kinder theology, but I will admit to occasionally missing the style of charismatic preaching I witnessed early on. I’ve often wished for the chance to combine those two worlds and see some of that fire and brimstone passion paired with a radially loving message.

Then two weeks ago, the day after the inauguration, I checked on my lectionary reading for this week. In my Bible at home the first line of the passage from Isaiah reads “Shout out, do not hold back. Lift your voice like a trumpet, proclaim to my people their rebellion, and to the house of Jacob their sins.”

Whewee. I could feel that old fire and brimstone a stirring in my veins. Do not hold back…proclaim to my people their rebellion. They seek me daily and delight to know my ways as if they were a nation that did righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance of their God.”

In this passage God is really ripping in to people who claim to follow him. He’s talking through the prophet Isaiah directly to his chosen people saying, They delight in my ways as if they were a nation that actually did what I told them to do .

And then God goes on to imitate the people of Israel and their whining. “Why have we fasted and you don’t see it? Why have we humbled ourselves and you take no knowledge of it?”

Then God plays both sides of the conversation booming back, “ Behold! In the day of your fast you seek your own pleasure and oppress all your workers…You fast only to quarrel and to fight. Fasting like this will not make your voice heard on high .”

In other words, you pretend like you’re doing these things for, me but you’re just using your religion as a chance to fight with each other and oppress the people below you. God is blasting the people who claim to follow him and saying in no uncertain terms that while they might say the right things and it might even look like they are doing the right things on the surface, God sees through it. God is not interested in their empty words or gestures. God could care less that these people are fasting and praying. He tells them point blank that none of those things will make their voices heard in heaven.

And let’s be clear these fasts the people are taking part in do not sound like fun. God admits the people go without food, that they wear sackcloth, that they lay on ashes. That’s not messing around. That’s not a quick Our Father or bowing your head before a meal. I think most of us who saw someone starving themselves and rolling around in ashes while wearing only sack cloth we would say that person is pretty serious about their faith.

But God is not amused.

He asks them, is that the fast I chose? Is that the day is that is acceptable to the Lord ?

Clearly this is a rhetorical question for the people of Israel at this point. Right?

It sort of reminds me of when I was little and my grandpa would take us to Disney World. He’d pile all the grandkids into the back of the station wagon at five am, and drive us across the state for hours. It never failed, by the time we neared the parking lot, we’d all start to get twitchy. Someone looked at someone wrong, someone leaned too far into someone else’s space. Then the kicking would start and before long everyone was pushing everyone else. Right around the time we saw signs for Disney Grandpa would pull the station wagon over and say, “It is not too late to turn this car around! Do you want to go home?”

We did not want to go home. We did not have to tell him that. He was clearly offering us the keys to the Magic Kingdom, and we didn’t want to miss out. We would all sit a little straighter in our seats while he then gave us the talk about the rules for getting through the gate. “No running off, no grabbing things without asking, help the littler kids, hold hands, don’t pester your brother. You’re at Mickey’s house for Godsakes, behave yourselves.”

I kind of hear my Grandpa’s voice in this passage from Isaiah as God says, “Is this the fast I chose?”

Clearly for the people of Israel the answer is no.

So then God lays out the ground rules for them to get it right.

Is not the fast I that I choose to loose the bonds or wickedness, to let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke.

Is it not to share your own bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless and poor into your house, to give clothes to the naked, and not to hide yourself from them.

Those are the terms for being God’s people.

God has already taken them out of slavery in Egypt and still they doubt Him.

God has led them through the dessert and still the broke Her commandments.

God has given them a land they can call home, a land they can be proud of, and yet they refuse to love their neighbors the way God has loved them.

God has given them prophets to show them God’s way, and they reject them in favor of mindless religious rituals.

God has led these people right up to the doors of the Kingdom, but God will not push them inside.

God is done accepting their devotion a religious order, to ancient traditions, to personal sacrifice. God has had it up to here with them, and now he’s letting them know that their prayers will no longer be heard unless they first answer the call of the least among them.

(Breathe)

Jesus, I just wanna thank you Jesus…

Folks, this is God’s equivalent of “It’s not too late to turn this car around.”

To truly follow God they have to feed the poor, they have to shelter the homeless, they have to welcome the stranger, and free every person from the yoke of oppression.

God says, then and only then will the light break forth like the dawn. Only then will their prayers for healing be answered. Only then can they call on God and have God say “Here I am.”

The passage says “Only if you pour yourself our for the hungry and satisfy the desires of the afflicted will the Lord satisfy your desires. Only then can you restore the breach.”

Think about that.

Only when you satisfy the desires of the afflicted…Only then will you be worthy to bridge the divide between who you are and who God has called you to be.

This is God’s fire and brimstone passion being used to deliver a radical message of love.

Sometimes I wonder if that Southern Baptist minister I grew up listening to ever read this passage. I wonder if our politicians have? I wonder if the average, every-day American has. Mostly though I wonder if most Christians have really heard this passage. Because that’s ultimately who the passage is addressed to. God is talking to the people who claim to follow Him. God is talking to the kids in the back of his station wagon, because we are the ones standing at the gates to the kingdom and asking to be let in.

We are the ones asking God for help, asking for guidance, asking where God is in this world we’re living in. So in return we are the ones who must first answer God’s question, “Is this the fast I chose?”

And in our case the question is not rhetorical. It is not limited to any one day or any religious act. It is the question being whispered to us every minute, in every encounter, on every issue. The questions is not who did you vote for, the question is not what party you are a member of, the question is not what church do you go to, or what prayer did you last pray.

The question is whether or not at every opportunity, with every chance to act, did you side with the poor? Did you feed the hungry? Did you welcome the stranger? Did you invite the homeless into your house? Did you do everything in your power to break the bonds of oppression wherever they may be found?

(Breathe)

Brothers and Sister do we choose the fast of our own glory, or do we choose the one God asked of us? Are we living a faith worthy of being heard on high?

I don’t have the answers for everyone. At the end of the day I’m not really a fire and brimstone preacher. I do not presume to know enough to tell other people what’s in their hearts. I can only try to use my own voice to echo the questions God asks in this passage. I can ask them of my representatives, of my neighbors, and of church and I can ask them in the mirror every morning.

But only you can answer them for yourselves, and I encourage us all to do so every single day, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that it’s never too late to turn this car around.

Amen

Book Winner and More

Mon, 06 Feb 2017 16:35:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

Happy Monday!

I am starting the week off right by giving away a FREE book.

Thank you to all of you who commented on my last blog, either here or on social media. I read and appreciated every single one. Once again, you all bolstered my faith in this awesome community and made me want to give back.

So first thing this morning we picked Declan Smith’s name out of the metaphorical hat, and Declan is going to receive a free, autographed copy of Close To Home , or an ebook copy of any one of my previous books.

But it hardly seems right to do just one give-away when so many awesome people reached out to offer their support after the whole early release debacle , so I’ve decided to do one give-away every week for the month of February! Stay tuned to this blog for more info and extra chances to win.

But wait, there’s more! Since I really love interacting with y’all, I’m always looking for new ways to do so, and I figure, what better way to find out how you want to be interacted with than to ask you? So, I’ve created this poll for you all to weigh in on some ideas I had, and you can add your own. Let me know which ones you’re most interested in, and I’ll do them in the coming weeks!

https://www.quicksurveys.com/s/Ni3k7B

I’ll leave the survey open for one week, so lay it on me, and then please share widely!

Y’all Are Awesome

Fri, 03 Feb 2017 14:18:00 GMT

Really.

The title says so much of what I am feeling today. The outpouring of support after my last blog has been amazing. You have commented and emailed and shared the post on Facebook and bought copies of Close to Home and left some wonderful reviews on Amazon or Goodreads. Mostly, though, you have tugged at all my heartstrings with your messages of love.

I can’t tell you how good it feels after 10 days of worrying and waiting to finally wake up to such an emotional turn-around. I’m so proud to be part of such a beautiful and caring community. I hope you all know I don’t take my responsibility to you lightly. I will never forget the love you have shown my family over the last few days.Thanks to all of you, Close to Home jumped into the top 25 of Lesbian Fiction on Amazon. Thanks to you, I feel like my hard work is going to be seen by the people I wrote it for. Thanks to you, I’m breathing easier about my family’s financial forecast. Thanks to you, I feel connected to something bigger once again.

And thanks to you, I popped the cork on the bottle of bubbly I didn’t get to enjoy the first time around. My wife and I were so bolstered by your wonderful responses, we decided to have a “do-over” on the release of Close To Home , on the actual release date, and because you all were such a part of that moment for me, I wanted to share some totally nerdy feel-good photos of that celebration with all of you.

First up, the guests of honors arrived, finally. Getting the book box never gets old.

There’s the new baby, with the proud mama. Isn’t that Ann McMan cover beautiful?

And now for the celebration to begin. Why yes, yes, that is pink moscato, and don’t even mention taking my butch card. You can have it. I’m gender fluid, and I like pink champagne!

And because I love you, and I feel like you rewarded my honesty and openness in the last blog, I am going to continue that streak by showing you this picture, too!

Go ahead and laugh, but you all know this is the face you make when opening champagne. It is hard and frightening. That’s what makes it fun!

Also the drinking-it-part is fun, because I’m someone who drinks only 3 or 4 times a year max, so one pretty glass was more than enough to make me profess my undying love to all of you for making this do-over celebration so fantastically happy for me.

So here’s to all of you wonderful readers. I couldn’t have done it without you. Cheers!

Seriously, though, you give me so much more than I can ever give you. I promise to take your votes of confidence with me into my next book and the next one and the next one. I have already pledged to give you all 8 books in the next four years, but I promise not to let up on that promise.

And in the meantime, one thing I can offer you (since the book box finally arrived) is a chance to win a free, autographed copy of Close to Home ! Just comment below or on my Facebook for your chance to win a free copy of Close to Home , or if you already have that one, a free ebook copy of any one of my 10 books!

I’ll let Jackson pick the winner on Monday.

And now I can tell you…

Tue, 31 Jan 2017 13:04:00 GMT

It’s 1 a.m. on January 20 ^th .

In a few hours Donald Trump will become President of the United States. There are lots of people with far more reason than I to be afraid, but I am afraid for all the same reasons as everyone else. I’m also afraid for completely separate reasons right now. The two threads are unrelated but they are feeding off each other as helplessness and uncertainly abound in multiple areas of my life. The combination finally drove me from my bed at 1 a.m., so I’m going to put my troubles on the page in the hopes that they will then release me.

My tenth book was released earlier this week. It went up for sale way ahead of schedule. I don’t even have my author copies yet. I have never held this book in my hands, but it’s now available worldwide. That should be cause for celebration. Ten books in nine years is something worth being proud of. Normally I’d greet the occasion by popping the top on a $10 bottle of bubbly I’d had chilling for the occasion, the same way I had for the other nine releases.

But this time around, that happy moment was taken from me. This time I found out my book had gone live not from my publisher, and not because I’d been counting down the hours on my own. This time I received word that the story I’d worked for a year on was in the hands of my readers, because one of them wrote to tell me someone had trashed it on Amazon. Or rather, someone trashed me, because the “reviewer” hadn’t actually read the book. They’d merely seen the price, the price I had no control over, and decided it was too high, and therefore the book itself deserved a one-star review, followed by a series of nasty comments.

Reading the comments there in that moment made my heart feel like someone had jammed it into a shoe two sizes too small. Not only were people saying the book was overpriced, they dragged my character into the mix for “condoning” this perceived greed. I was shocked, and, I’ll admit, hurt. At no point in my career have I had one ounce of input on the price of my books. If you’d asked me a week ago what my ebooks sold for, I would’ve had to look it up. Contracts vary widely in this business, but I have yet to see one that designates pricing to the author, and because of this, I honestly didn’t know how prices are set, other than the publisher has to somehow come to terms with distributers, warehouses, and retail outlets in a delicate and balanced web.

What I did know was that this was a conversation I shouldn’t have had to even think about for two more weeks, because the book wasn’t supposed to be available for two more weeks! Close to Home was supposed to be on presale exclusively on the Bywater website January 1st and then go to wide release on January 31.

I immediately contacted my publisher, saying, “Is my book supposed to be out yet?”

The honest-to-God, directly quoted response I got was, “#$@&%*! Amazon is now saying 1/31, but they are selling them.” Then there was lots of talk about warehouse dates, release dates (when books are supposed to ship to retailers only), and publication dates, (the date books are supposed to be shipped to readers). This was the first I’d head any of this, and even knowing it all now, we’re still not sure why Amazon would ignore the dates posted on their own sites.

What followed was three days of meetings and phone calls and emails and frantic pleading. But pleading was all I could do. I have no control over any part of the listing once the book goes to our distributors. And this entire listing for Close To Home was a mess. The shipping date was wrong, the blurb was wrong, the price was wrong. By yesterday, the amazing team at Bywater had spent countless hours working and worrying and reworking the listing to make up for a mistake we had nothing to do with. I didn’t understand this until now, but apparently a publisher sets wholesale prices and pre-sale prices, then from there retail prices get calculated and then large retailers use those figures to calculate their discount prices. If anything goes wrong in the process the whole chain must reset and restarted. My publishing team stepped up like champs and put in tons of hours, doing massive amounts of work most of my readers will never know about.

And then we waited. Because despite the fact that when big companies want something, they demand it immediately, people like me have to wait up to ten days for our work to be fully recognized by their system, and during that time we are bound by legal contract not to offer or even advertise a lower price than the one listed publically on their website. In short, we were trapped for up to ten days.

Ten days of worry.

Ten days of not being able to answer questions about a price I had zero control over.

Ten days of watching the nasty comments pile up under the name of a book I was so proud to have written, from people who hadn’t even taken the time to read it.

Ten days of silent helplessness and fear as I watched my sales ranks hover in the nether-regions of the lesfic charts.

Ten, long, sleepless nights.

As I slipped out of bed a few moments ago, I pulled on the sweatshirt my wife had left out and sneaked into my son’s room. I leaned close enough to breathe in the scent of his ninja turtle shampoo and place a kiss on his soft cheek. I watched his dark lashes flutter, and I tucked the covers a little closer to his chin. Then I stood back and wondered what I would tell him six months from now.

Summer. That’s when I’ll start to see my first royalties from Close to Home . Do people know that? Authors with mainstream distributers generally wait at least six months before they see a penny of their royalties. After Amazon takes their hefty cut (look it up) and distributors are paid and the typesetters are paid and the ebook formatters are paid and the copy editors are paid and the substantive editors are paid and the cover designers and marketers and taxes are paid, I will get my percentage.

When that time comes, what will I tell my little boy about why the check is so much smaller than usual? Thankfully his other mother makes a steady enough income, so we won’t be faced with the choices too many Americans will have to make under a new President. We are blessed. My son will have a roof over his head. He will have food on the table and medicine if he needs it. My wife will make sure of that, but my book sales, small as they may be, pay for things like Little League and trips to the ice cream parlor. My piddly royalties pay for trips to the movies when the summer days get long and hot. That small portion of what’s left after everyone gets paid is what allows my son to buy the new pair of summer shoes he’ll need, because instead of using the brakes on his bike, he drags his heels and wears out the rubber.

What will I tell him then? How can I possibly explain that someone I don’t know made a mistake, and a company I don’t work for decided to sell my books ahead of the presale for a price $1.20 above what some people deem my books are worth? Can he even comprehend that because my books got sent out before we had the chance to shave $1.20 off the price a multinational distributer considers fitting for a genre romance, people who didn’t even read the book decided to write bad things about me online, and for ten days no one bought any of my work?

Look, I don’t mean to be overly dramatic. My kid’s not going to starve. This isn’t a sob story. There are people in the world way worse off than we are, people who would feel blessed to know their biggest problem would be extra spending money six months from now. I’m not asking anyone to host a fundraiser for my family’s Little League expenses. I’m not asking for anything. I’m just rambling because if I don’t get the absurdity of that chain of events out of my head, I’ll never get back to sleep.

This is not my most thoughtful, professional moment. This is my most human moment.

What’s done is done. I’ll never be in charge of the pricing on my books, and even if I were, I couldn’t have those ten days back. I can’t have a do-over on the release of my tenth book. I can’t regain the hours of sleep I lost or the tears that fell as I looked at my sleeping kid, knowing the months I spent writing something we could all be proud of weren’t enough to overcome a $1.20 price discrepancy. That’s not an easy thing to swallow and keep down for ten days … or eight now … or whenever I can legally tell anyone this story.

When that time comes, I will post this blog. I’ll fall on the mercy of this community I’ve been so proud to be a part of. I’ll pray for calm heads and open hearts. I’ll swallow my pride and ask readers to go onto websites like Amazon and Goodreads and Facebook and give Close To Home an honest review. I’ll hope the good ones outweigh the bad, but mostly I hope people will review the book on its merits . I’ll try to believe the work I did on this book and the work I’ve done as part of this community over the last nine years is enough to overcome things I have no control over.

And yes, if I’m being honest and human right now, part of me hopes the Internet trolls will be drowned out completely, but I also hope this doesn’t become about them (After note: I’m serious. Please don’t feed the trolls. Ignore them). I want more than anything for Close to Home to start different conversations, ones about love and regret and missed chances and second chances. I want this book to start conversations about redemption and courage and the resilience it takes to be queer in places were conformity rules. I want to talk about the transformative power of love even under dire circumstances. I want to give that to our beautiful community right now, and I do have faith in their ability to give that back to me as well, eventually.

But for the next ten days, I wait and I worry, my sense of helplessness about global events compounded by the helpless I feel about my own ability to provide for my family. As I pace the floor in the wee hours of the morning, I think about new ways to save a few dollars every week. I kiss my kid and I watch the clock. I pray and I check Amazon three times a day. I wrack my brain trying to think of ways to make things better, to drum up sales, to personally refund people the $1.20 they are so upset about. And I try to tell myself everything will be okay.

Or maybe it won’t be okay this time around, in which case I’ll go back to the drawing board and start over again with book number eleven. That’s my job. It’s a job I’m blessed to be able to do. I love giving voice to our community. I love telling our stories. I love empowering queer women to believe in their right to a happy ending. I just hope Close to Home gets one, too.

Close To Home Wide Release

Tue, 17 Jan 2017 19:00:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

Just a quick blog to let you all know that Close To Home is now widely available in both print and ebook. And once again, it’s early! How early? I don’t even have my author copies yet! You all have the rare chance to hold a book in your hands before the author does. How lucky are you?

So, for those of you purists who were waiting for the feel of pages between your fingers or longing snuggle up with a smooth cover against your palms, the time is now!

And just look at that amazing, Ann McMan cover? Doesn’t it just scream to be read under a blanket on a cold winter weekend?

What are you waiting for? Go ahead and buy it now so you’ll have it in time to spend the weekend in Darlington!

What’s in a Darlington Romance

Wed, 11 Jan 2017 15:27:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

So my new book, Close To Home , has been available at www.bywaterbooks.com a little over a week, but since it was released ahead of schedule (first time that’s ever happened) I’m still playing catch up a little bit. I had intended to do a series of blogs leading up to the release to build anticipation, but I figure that you’d rather just have the book first and get the blogs to fill in as we go, so that’s what I’m doing now.

The first thing I want to talk too you about is the first thing most people notice about the book, the cover.

The amazing and talented Ann McMan gets all the credit for this one. Isn’t she fantastic? She is better than anyone in the business at capturing so much more than 1,000 words in a single image. Go ahead stare at it for a minute or two. I certainly have.

And while you’re at it, take note of those three words between the title and my name.

A Darlington romance.

For those of you who have followed my work for a long time, that’s a new subtitle, but it’s not a new concept. If you’ve read either The Long Way Home or Timeless (or both), you will recognize the name “Darlington” as belonging to the fictional Midwestern town where those books take place. Close to Home is set in the same world.

I’ve struggled a little bit to figure out what that means, but first of all, let me be clear about what it doesn’t mean.

Close to Home is a stand-alone romance, as is The Long Way Home and as is Timeless (They, too, have been labeled as Darlington romances retroactively) . That isn’t to say that people who have read the others won’t recognize some character crossover. Characters from all three books appear in the others, as do some landmarks that readers have come to recognize as synonymous with Darlington; however, those are the things that most significantly tie these books together.

Honestly, that connection is hard to define. So hard to define, in fact, that we almost didn’t use the Darlington romance moniker. The commonalities of these books goes so much deeper than setting or character connections. The Darlington romances ultimately share a sensibility much like the Midwest itself, complex layers, homey and hostile all at once. It’s the longing for front porches and lightning bugs, laced with a silent vigilance carried by all those who cannot conform. It’s a love of a place that can’t love you back. It’s a quiet kind of defiance that allows only the most stubborn to stick.

These are romances about ordinary women living ordinary lives in the most ordinary of places who still find the strength to fight for extraordinary love stories.

If that sounds like your kind of book, pick up some Darlington romances today and read them in any order you like.

Close to Home Early Release!

Sat, 31 Dec 2016 14:50:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

2016 has been kind of terrible for so many of us that when I have the chance to share good news, I want to shout it from the rooftops or cling to it like a life preserver. This week I got some news like that.

My newest novel, Close To Home , came back from the ebook formatters way early. It wasn’t slated to be released until February, but since it was ready anyway, and since we can all use some good news right now, Bywater decided to get it up on their website a whole six weeks early!

You can get it and read it right now!

But wait, there’s more. Because of the early release date, it now falls under our holiday sale! So if you download it now (through January 4, 2017) and use the code yulesave25, we’ll take 25% off your entire purchase!

So yeah, you get an ebook more than a month earlier than expected and for cheaper than expected.

Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still reading this blog, because you should be in the Bywater web store by now, but if you really need more information. Here’s the blurb:

So there will be many more blogs about the story and the characters and the setting and the ways in which they all connect to my larger body of work, but by then the sale will be over, so really, go buy it now , and then make sure you sign up to follow this blog in the weeks ahead!

Love and Heroes

Thu, 25 Aug 2016 16:12:00 GMT

The Olympics are over, which means I’m no longer spending every spare moment in front of the television. This makes me kind of sad. I love the Olympics for so many reasons (see previous blogs), but I especially loved them this year for the break it gave me from the current political climate. They helped me escape a depression that has been hovering just in the distance for months. I needed a break, an escape to a place where people meet across distance and difference and strive to be their best instead of capitalizing on the lowest common denominator. I liked living in that place where we at least try to lift up the best in the human spirit for two weeks.

I didn’t want it to end. It wasn’t long enough to heal all the things ailing my head and heart right now. I am just so fatigued by the vitriol of Trump and his cronies and his legions of bigoted followers taking up all the news cycle. And it seems like the only time we get a story other than Trump is when we have something more devastating to talk about. Floods, genocide, mass shootings, rapists not facing jail time. It’s all important, and it’s all exhausting because it is so important, but still, it is crushing sometimes.

I think that’s why I like to read so much. I’m obviously drawn to fiction. I’ve made my life out of romance because I love, love. I think it’s one of the few truly transformative human experiences. I don’t know why more people don’t study love the way we study science or history. Love has the power to unite us across cultures and genders and socioeconomic levels. I am fascinated by the whys and the hows that can let two people on completely different ends of any given spectrum overcome everything between through this power we call love. And there’s never an end to those questions because there’s a infinite number of real life humans beings with real life challenges to overcome. I think my work has always reflected that, and I hope it continues to do so.

Increasingly, though, I’m also becoming interested in hero stories. My son is responsible for that. We’ve always read a lot together, but for a while he was into early reader chapter books, that while important for developing independence as a reader, bored the crap out of me. Thankfully his reading level has progressed to the point where he’s reading really gripping stuff on his own, and he wants to share it with me the way I shared my favorite picture books with him. I’ve also gotten to share some of the classics with him, and it seems that when we read together, we’re drawn to completely different stuff than I pick up on my own. We read the Narnia books first, then the first Harry Potter book followed by Percy Jackson and the Olympians. These are worlds that are far from the girl-meets-girl-next-door books I read and write. The books take place in faraway places with mythical creatures, magical powers. There are talking animals and wizards and fauns and centaurs and heroes. So many shapes and sizes and colors and species, but always heroes.

As I look around at our reality, the anger, the fear, the hatred, I find myself wanting to dive back into these books where love and heroes reign, but after the Olympics I’ve begun to think that impulse is less about escape. After watching refugees complete against all odds, and athletes cross ethnic lines to shakes hands or offer congratulations; after seeing competitors pick each other up figuratively and sometimes physically to get across finish lines; after seeing grace and class upstage greed and seeing people overcome sexism and racism and homophobia and transphobia and Islamophobia, all the things we muck up every day not to survive, but triumph.

Good fiction is like that for me. It lets me suspend my disbelief long enough to actually start believing in our better angels again. It doesn’t take me out of the world so much as it inspires me to see the world anew. Good books remind me that love is real and that heroes still walk among us. They remind me what I’ve forgotten is true: despite all the muck and mire, magic still exists, love still heals, heroes can still win.

Perfect Pairing Is Out!

Tue, 12 Jul 2016 17:44:00 GMT

***Please Share Widely***

Today, July 12, is the official release date of Perfect Pairing ! I am so excited to share this one with all of you for so many reasons. I think it is one of the most fun books I’ve ever written. The characters kept me amused and on my toes the whole time I wrote it. It’s also my first book with Bywater Books, and I adore their team. I think you’ll see that came through in every aspect of the book. Also, of all my books, this is the one I got the most advanced feedback on. We sent out a lot of advanced review copies, and the response has been unanimously positive. I generally don’t read reviews, but my publisher sent a few along, and I admit they impressed even me!

Still, reviews don’t matter to me nearly as much as direct feedback from my friends and long-time readers, so please buy it, read it, and let me know what you think. You are the reason I publish, and I can’t wait to start hearing from all of you.

You can get your kindle version here .

You can get a paperback version here .

You can get an ePub version here .

And if that’s not enough for you, I’m going to offer you this sneak peak of the first chapter right here:

Perfect Pairing Grilled Cheese Pros

Thu, 31 Mar 2016 19:00:00 GMT

So last week I told you all about the various blogs I have planned for the pre-release of Perfect Pairing and gave you a peek at one of my Buffalove blogs . Today’s blog is also part of the lead up for that release, but it’s intro to a different aspect of the story. You see, while I’m not a food truck chef I got to play one in the book, and now I think I’m ready to play one on TV, or at least YouTube. So I’ve got some fun food videos lined up for you in the coming months.

This first video features a guest chef helping me show you a pro-trip that even the smallest cook can use to help take the average grilled cheese up a notch.

Hope you’ll subscribe to the blog, or the Bywater Books Facebook page in order to follow along on a foodie adventure that promises to be “better than you think.”

Perfect Pairing and Buffalove

Thu, 24 Mar 2016 16:56:00 GMT

Hey friends.

Those of you who follow this blog know that I usually start blogging about one of my books about 8- 10 weeks before the release date. I’ve got my standard intros to the cover, the blurb, the sound track, the setting, etc., and I think it’s a good system overall. It gives the readers a little glimpse without (hopefully) overloading them. With my upcoming release, Perfect Pairing , however, I have so much more I want to tell you all, and even though the book won’t be out until July, I just don’t want to wait any longer. So I guess what I’m saying is, prepare to be overloaded.

The overload will likely come in three forms. First, the standard pre-release blogs, the kind I mentioned above: characters, soundtrack, blurb, and sneak peaks. Next, the cooking videos. Because this is a book about a grilled-cheese chef, I want to show you the cool recipes and pro-tips I picked up along the way. And finally the Buffalove blogs, the blogs that go a little deeper than usual on the subject of setting, because it’s time the world (or at least my corner of influence over it) learns a little more about the awesomeness of the Queen City. Today’s blog falls into the last category.

Those of you who’ve followed my writing for a while have already gotten some peeks into how much I’ve grown to appreciate Buffalo over the last few years. Having lived in the Midwest through high school, undergrad, and grad school, my books have largely been set there. My Darlington books have established me as a mostly Midwestern writer, and I’m okay with that, but now that I’ve lived in Western New York for nearly a decade, it’s easier to see those influences working their way into my books.

LoveLife was my first novel set in Buffalo, and it’s a winter book. I got to write a few scenes really exploring the ways in which the epic weather shapes our lives here. Getting Serious from the recent Sweet Hearts anthology is a spin off from LoveLife and therefore also takes place in Buffalo. The timing of that one also put my characters in the magic and mayhem of a Buffalo winter. Here’s the first big secret of Western New York: Most of us who choose to live here actual love this part of the country during winter. Yes, it’s hard, but it’s also dramatic and beautiful. When people say, “Oh I know it’s pretty, but how do you survive the winters?” I always say, “We don’t survive them, we revel in them.” We ski, we curl, we toboggan, we ice skate, and we play hockey. We snowshoe and sled and build snow forts. We make soup in big crock pots and hot chocolate in vats. I don’t love living here in spite of winter; I love life here because of winter.

That being said, I didn’t want to just dispel the myths about Buffalo being a frozen tundra in the winter and be done. With Perfect Pairing I wanted to deal with the larger problem that all people ever know about Buffalo is winter. We have three other seasons (Okay, actually 4 other seasons because right now we are in mud season, but we don’t talk about that one). Spring, summer, and fall are all glorious in Western New York. The climate is temperate, the surroundings are beautiful, and the people are jamming. Sure Buffalo fell on hard times. Everyone knows the stories of the Rust Belt, but those days are history. And speaking of history, we have plenty of that to go around, too. The past and the present are alive and exciting in the Nickel City. Don’t believe me? Well here’s your primer of the City of Good Neighbors (We also have lots of nicknames).

Really, did you watch it? Admit it (in the comment section) you were surprised, right? Excited even? I hope so, but this video is just the beginning. Over the next few months I’ll be taking the Wonderboi Blog on a tour of some of my favorite places in and around Buffalo, and when I’m done, you’re going to want to visit.

Brace yourselves, friends. This is the summer of Buffalove!

Lammy Finalist

Fri, 11 Mar 2016 14:01:00 GMT

Autocorrect keeps trying to change the title of this blog to “Sammy Finalist.” Autocorrect can’t believe it either. Autocorrect is like, “no she can’t be be serious.” Never mind that “Sammy finalist” isn’t even a thing* the idea of me being a Sammy finalist seems more reasonable than a Lammy finalist and yet, everyone keeps congratulating me on being a finalist for the this year’s Lambda Literary Award in Lesbian Romance.

At first I thought it was a mistake. I saw a message from my friend and fellow GCLSer Carleen Spry and I thought I’d read it wrong. It was early, and usually Carleen emails me to remind me to do something I’ve forgotten. I figured she was just messaging me to remind me I still hadn’t made my hotel reservations for the conference this year. But then other people started to congratulate me too, and some of them sent links like this one . And I’ll be damned if Heart of the Game wasn’t on the list. Even after I refreshed the page and then checked on my phone to make sure it wasn’t just a computer malfunction.

Finally I went up stairs and watched Susie brush her teeth for a minute until she finally rinsed, spit, and said, “What?”

I said, “I’m a Lammy finalist.” No real inflection, just a statement of fact. She once again asked, “What?” I think the initial statement seemed a little silly to her too, but after I repeated myself she did the appropriate hugging and congratulating before we both went back about our business of getting the kid fed and dressed and off to school.

Lots of wonderful friends and colleague called, messaged, or Facebooked me to offer their congratulations. Georgia Beers encouraged me to dance. Melissa Brayden suggested waffles might be in order. I stopped by to hug my editor, Lynda Sandoval for all the awesome work she put in with me on this one. I congratulated all the other fantastic finalists (Shelley Thrasher, Andrea Bramhall, Dillon Watson, Jackie D, Julie Blair, Blythe H. Warren and Amy Dunne). Bold Stroke Books ran a one day flash sale on Heart of the Game and their other finalist. It was a good morning.

And then it was afternoon. And then it was time to get back to work. I spent several hours to get my 1,000 words on the day. Well at least now I can say getting shortlisted for writing awards doesn’t make actually writing any easier. Not that I expect it to.

Honestly, I didn’t expect anything. I’d never given much thought to what being a finalist for one of the top awards in my field would be like. I’ve watched my friends go through the experience. I’ve been happy for them. I’ve seen the trappings, the extra line on the resumes, the trophies on mantles (do you call it a trophy?) the new title in the author bio. But I never really thought about what it would feel like. Now that I’ve had the experience I can say, at least for me, being a Lammy finalist is fun, but it doesn’t really change anything.

I’ve never thought about awards while writing. It’s not that I don’t think my work is good, or that I’m not proud of it. I am. I’m insanely proud of Heart of The Game . I wrote it because I love baseball, and lesbians, and love. So maybe I do think about awards, but in a different sense because I always saw the book as the award, or certainly as the reward. I got to hold the finished product in my hand, pass it out to all my friends, and hear back from readers who really like baseball, and lesbians, and love as much as I do.

I’m not going to lie and say I don’t enjoy being a Lammy finalist, or that I wouldn’t enjoy winning. It’s a huge honor, but I am happy to report that even from this side of the fence those sorts of things are not the end game. Not for me. Several days after the big announcement, I’m still plugging along on the early stages of my next project, because that’s what I do. I love what I do, and that’s the best reward ever.

*Actually “Sammy finalist” is a thing. I googled it. Apparently is an award for sports marketing?

It’s Just Hair (Part 3): The End Of It.

Thu, 28 Jan 2016 14:43:00 GMT

After years of hair drama, last week offered the opportunity to close it all out. I’d first shaved it off with a friend going through chemo. I’d then spent the next years dealing with the joys and complications following that decision. Then after only a short time of having my hair at a length I felt good about, I decided to grow it out long enough to donate. Now after more than a year of annoyance and lack of control and the gender presentation issues of growing it out, I finally had the chance to be done with the whole (mis)adventure.

I should have been thrilled. I’d been bitching for over a year and measuring obsessively for months. This was the moment I’d waited for. Why didn’t I feel better about it?

Part of my hesitance came from the fact that in order to get more than eight inches off, I would have to go very short. I’d have to put it in multiple ponytails and snip each one off close to the scalp. All the lessons I’d learned the last time I’d had it that short came rushing back. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to go back to making people uncomfortable because that so often led to making them angry. This fear was reinforced by several people saying things like, “I don’t think it’s long enough” (like I hadn’t had the ruler out 7 bazillion times) or “But it’s so pretty long.” “But you look so much nicer .” “Are you sure you really want to do that again? Remember what it looked like last time.” I knew they meant well. Some of them even made a valid non-gendered point in saying that a buzz cut in January in Buffalo might be chilly. Mostly, though, I feared the censorship that would come from once again not fitting into the prescribed boxes people want to associate with a female body. I would no longer look “nice” or “pretty,” and in our culture there are tangible consequences for people who willingly make that choice.

I started talking about not cutting it. I lied and said I maybe wanted to wait until the weather got warmer, but I’d worn it short in winter before and had never been bothered (also I have a stocking cap I really like). I also tried the excuse that if I waited until it got longer I wouldn’t have to cut it quite so short, thus lessening other people’s discomfort, but that didn’t really feel great, either. My head tried to reason, but my gut wasn’t giving up. It had been denied too long in this whole ordeal. The internal battle raged for a few days until I finally made a pro/con list. It looked like this.

The Pro List
More comfortable physically
Easier to take care of
Cheaper to take care of
Takes less time in the morning
More people will touch it when it’s short
Shorter hair aligns with my sense of self
I like the way it looks short

The Con list
Short hair alters other people’s opinions of me

That list hurt my feels a little bit. To see it all laid out there didn’t paint a very nice picture. Everything that should matter came down on the side of cutting it. The one on the side of leaving it long shouldn’t factor in at all. And yet I’d give that one item enough weight to be equal to or greater than everything from my physical comfort to my sense of self. That’s vanity. It’s scary. And it’s sad. It’s not the person I want to be.

I wish I could say that did it, that the stark contrast of my pro/con list snapped me back into myself and that I charged forward without trepidation. I didn’t. The list did, however, allow me to examine why other people’s opinions mattered so much and made me begin to think about whose opinion should really matter enough to be considered. My wife’s was clearly important, but she likes it better short (mid-length for me). My son’s matters, but he was also a vote for short. He said I didn’t look like his mom anymore. But outside of the two of them, who had to live with me and who I have to face every day, there was another small group of people who kept coming back into my mind in a way that lifted me up instead of tearing me down.

The thing that got lost in all of this, the thing I lost track of in my own selfishness, is that while the process has been enlightening, it had an end goal outside of me. I set a limit on my hair growing, and I stuck to it even when I hated it because I wanted to donate the hair. If not for that, I would’ve caved very early on. And honestly even with that I almost caved over the summer. Then at the GCLS conference in New Orleans, a woman I’ve known for years pulled me aside between sessions. She said, “I promised I wasn’t going to cry,” as tears filled her eyes. She went on to say that what I was doing was such a wonderful thing. Taken aback I honestly had to ask what I was doing. She mentioned my hair, and I remembered that she’d gone through chemo a year earlier. She thanked me profusely and talked about watching her own hair swirl around the drain as she stood in the shower. She talked about how much that moment had frightened her, how demoralizing it had been, how it had shaken her sense of dignity. She said that knowing other people out there did what I was doing meant the world to her. I did not feel proud. I felt sick. I felt selfish and vain. I felt like a spoiled brat for bitching about my hair and what it meant to me when it meant so much more to so many others.

Remembering that conversation and the struggles of other friends in similar positions, I had a very low opinion of myself for pinning so much emphasis on my own looks, and I thought even less of people who tried to pin parts of themselves on my looks. Of all the things I learned along the way, that had the biggest impact. It also gave me the strength for the final attitude adjustment.

You can like my hair or not. I can like my hair or not. The whole world can see what they want or they can sod off. I wish I could say I didn’t care at all what people think, but I do. I just don’t care enough anymore to let it cloud the bigger issues. That night my friends and family gathered around the same way they had when I first shaved it. We laughed, we joked, they took turns with the scissors, and we did something more meaningful than making a fashion statement. It wasn’t even a political statement. It says nothing about you or women in locker rooms or men who won’t hold doors. I am more than my haircut. I am more that what anyone else sees when they look at me. Despite what messages the rest of the world may try to send, in my case it really is just hair, and it really will grow back. But more importantly, when I put aside my vanity and my insecurities, I had the chance to tell someone out there that they are not alone. That’s the message I want to send. That’s the person I want to be.

It’s Just Hair (Part 2): The Long Of It

Tue, 19 Jan 2016 21:36:00 GMT

Last week I posted a blog about all the things I learned in the immediate aftermath of shaving my head with a friend who was going through chemo. You’d think one of the things I would’ve learned is not to be impulsive with my hair. And yet, no.

You see, after my hair grew back enough to style again, I had a lot of fun. Flush from the renewed power after feeling helpless for so many months, I didn’t want to cut it at all. By winter it grew long enough to stand up Jake Gyllenhaal style, then comb over like I belonged on Wall Street in the ’80’s. I did need to trim up the back a little because it kept going into mullet territory, but I never let my hairdresser take much off the top. By summer I could toss it again. I was back! I felt like me again. I loved the feel of it over my ears. My forehead was back to a reasonable size. No more fivehead.

By fall it had grown shaggy. People started to ask when I intended to cut it. I felt my first flashes of defensiveness. I’d just gotten it back. Why all the pressure to cut it? It was so soft and shiny. Couldn’t I just play for a while?

Then it happened. I don’t even remember when or who. It wasn’t their fault anyway, but someone asked one too many loaded questions, and I just said it. “Maybe I won’t cut it.” “Yeah,” I thought in that moment. “What if I don’t? What if I grow it out? What if I donate it?” The idea just flashed through my mind. I buzzed it for someone with cancer. Wouldn’t that be cool if all the hair I grew back after that got donated to someone with cancer? A full circle adventure. Done. The decision was made. I told everyone. I put it out on social media–my grand hair decree.

Everyone looked at me like I was nuts. The people who knew me best quietly asked if I’d thought this through. They gently pointed out that donating hair wasn’t actually easy. There were a lot of factors, the chief among them being that I couldn’t just chop it off when it reached a length that annoyed me. It had to be 8 inches, and not color treated, and not gray and, and, and…at the rate my hair was growing I’d have to put up with all of this for over a year.

When was I going to learn to stop making long-term hair decisions on a whim? Hadn’t I spent months and months learning all those awful lessons about my hair being tied to my identity or at least my comfort level with the identify I wanted to project? No. Apparently I had not. After less than six months of having my hair back under my own control, I dug in my heels and braced myself for another year of wondering, “Why did I do that?”

From fall 2014 until now I have not cut my hair. It currently falls past my shoulders. It has not been particularly fun, but I have to say I learned as much about myself and our society during the long-hair year as I did during the short-hair year. Here are a few of those lessons.

As I’ve said before I used my hair to showcase the parts of my identity I liked best, so when people say things about how much they hated it, it feels a little bit like they hate those parts of me. Only slightly less hurtful are the comments like, “You look so nice now.” Like I didn’t look nice before. I get “nice” as a descriptor a lot these days. Oftentimes it’s qualified with things like “softer” or “sweeter.” More than one person said it “takes the edge off.” But you know what? I’m not sweeter or softer or nicer or less edgy. I’m still the same person, just with a different haircut. I didn’t change. I’ve spent almost a year considering this development because I didn’t want it to be about what I feared it to be about, but these comments always, every single time, come from women who fall on the more feminine end of the presentation spectrum. None of my gender queer friends say it. None of my young male friends say it. It only comes from women whose preferences fit the norms. Even if they know me. Even if they know how much I’ve struggled to find my own niche. Even if they know my personality hasn’t changed a bit. And as much as it pains me to say it, I think the women who REALLY get invested in me having long hair do so for the same reasons the older straight men do. They like when I fit the box. When I don’t challenge them. When I “pass.” This leaves me worried about what it will be like when I go back to looking like me again. Will I embarrass them? Will they be made guilty by association with someone so clearly marked as queer? Will they resent it, even subconsciously? It shouldn’t matter to me, but it does, and it’s a sad and somewhat unfair burden to bear.

So while the practical side of me is really looking forward to going back to short hair this week, the emotional side of me is worried. I’ll be trading privilege in favor of my true personality. I’ll be happy to look and feel like myself again, but I will still worry about all the others who don’t feel comfortable with who I really am. It will be the end of a long journey, and the culmination of many lessons learned, both about myself and about the people with whom I interact. It’s been an amusing and occasionally upsetting ride, and with my next blog you’ll not only get to see the end result, I’ll also reflect on the heart of what it’s all meant to me.

It’s Just Hair (Part1): The Short Of It.

Thu, 14 Jan 2016 15:14:00 GMT

It’s just hair. It grows back!

That was the asinine comment that started the whole thing. My friend Trixie had cancer and was undergoing chemo. She stopped by one night to tell me her hair had begun falling out in big clumps. She seemed a little horrified, and I wanted to comfort her. I should have said, “You are so much more than your hair” or “I’m sorry. That sucks” or perhaps just offered a hug. I didn’t understand then what I would take the next 18 months to learn.

“It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“Easy for you to say,” Trixie said.

In the second comment I would later regret, I said, “Would it make you feel better if I shaved mine, too?”

The words came out before I thought them through, but Trixie laughed and said something like, “Oh my God, would you really do that?”

I felt only slightly shocked and nervous when I shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?”

A few days later I was in her living room while our friend Erika switched on a buzzing set of clippers next to my ear. Gentle hands, warm and soft raked through my locks. Then came a tickle laced with energy, exhilaration. I shivered as I felt the first brush of air against my scalp. Then my stomach turned as I felt my hair flutter along my side and back toward the floor.

What had I done?

My friends were gleeful. We laughed… a lot. Lynda Sandoval covered my eyes and marched me to the bathroom mirror for the big reveal. When she moved her hand, I blinked and smiled nervously.

We’ve always joked that I had the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy, but now I looked like one, too. No, younger than that. I looked 10. Lynda assured me I had a good head for a buzz cut. Trixie seemed amused, and that seemed like the main thing. We’d had fun. We took a scary thing and made it funny. Couldn’t be all that bad, right? I walked home reminding myself I’d done the right thing. It was just hair. It would grow back.

Susie met me at the front door. Her smile seemed to mirror my own. Fake, nervous, and tinged with the unspoken, “What did you do?” She pulled me into a hug and rubbed the stubbles. Then she held me back at arms length and said, “Oh Ponyboi. Your hair. Your tuff, tuff hair.”

Susie for the win. I fell in love with her all over again. We both laughed until we cried. The Outsiders is one of my favorite books of all time. This would be an adventure.

Later when I asked if it was really that bad, she lovingly said, “I love that you’re the kind of person who would do something like this.” I asked again, “But does it really look that bad?” She smiled and repeated, “I love that you’re the kind of person who would do something like this.” Then she added, “I’m also glad your hair grows really fast.”

Well okay then.

That summer I learned a few things:

I admit, after the novelty of a shaved head wore off, I felt pretty sorry for myself. At times the lack of control bordered on panic. The only thing that kept me from going completely crazy with self-pity was watching Trixie go through chemo. If I felt betrayed by my own body over a haircut, what must she be going through? Her body had turned against itself at a cellular level. She had every right to be angry and bitter or paralyzed with fear. Instead, she was rock star. She was strong, fierce, inspiring, and damned if she didn’t look amazing bald. I once told her I looked like a ten-year-old boy and she looked like an awesome punk rocker. I added that women were going to start throwing themselves at her. She looked me in the eye and said, “What makes you think they haven’t been doing that already?”

Clearly, Trixie wins all the things, while I still had a lot of learning ahead of me.

There you have it. The story of the short hair, how the adventure got started, and what I learned in those early moments. Stay tuned next time for part two: The Long of It.

Speaking About Sandra

Wed, 11 Nov 2015 18:08:00 GMT

I’ve been quiet on social media since I received word of Sandra Moran’s passing. I said that I didn’t have any words. That wasn’t quite true. I’ve had a lot of words. They just haven’t been the right ones. And as a writer finding the right words matters to me. Words make meaning and shape understanding. When it came to Sandra all the words I had were laced with pain, sadness. They were honest, so I don’t think they were bad or even wrong. And still they weren’t right, because what I wanted wasn’t what Sandra wanted.

I wanted to relay stories about how we didn’t really get to be close until this past year, until it was almost too late. I wanted to prove our closeness by telling of the many conversations we had in private during our coinciding transitions to Bywater Books. I wanted to share nicknames we had for each other and the slogan we used for talking about all the great things we’d do now that we both worked for the same publisher. I wanted to scream about those plans. I wanted to shout about what we’ll never get to do together. I wanted to beg someone to tell me what I’m supposed to do now. I wanted to make sure everyone felt the pain, and the sense of loss, and my fears about moving forward without her as part of this rebuilding process. I wanted someone else, everyone else, to feel my crushing sense of regret for not starting sooner or doing more. I wanted to make everyone understand how little they really understood about how bad this hurt me.

And while all those things might be real, and even useful parts of the grief process for me personally, they aren’t the emotions I ultimately want to project to the world about Sandra Moran. Those emotions aren’t really about Sandra at all. They are about me. They are self-centered, and most importantly they are not what Sandra wanted.

I don’t pretend to know everything about her final wishes. I defer completely to her wonderful wife, Cheryl, on those. We were only able to talk a few times after her diagnosis, and all of the conversations were brief, but over the last months she made a few very strong statements about what she wanted and what she didn’t want.

She understood people’s sadness, but she hated to be the cause of it. She did not want to be remembered as a tragic figure. She did not want to be remembered for how she died. She did not want to be talked about as an object of pity or despair. She did not want to be a convenient example for all of life’s unfairness. She was so much more, and she wanted to be remembered for so much more. One thing she told me virtually every time we talked was that she wanted to be forever known as Sandra Moran, the writer. She wanted to known as an advocate for queer literature and queer history in all its breadth and depth. She wanted to be known as someone who lifted up the best and the brightest voices, and while she never said so, I think it would honor her to be counted among those voices.

Sandra Moran left us a legacy that means so much to and for our collective queer family. She left us her work, and she left us with the challenge of following her example. GCLS is accepting donations for a scholarship in her memory. Ann McMan and Salem West are carrying on with Sandra’s plans to help raise money for the Lambda Literary Foundation. The LikeMe Lighthouse is naming their library in her honor. Marianne K Martin is continuing on with their work on The Legacy Project to capture and preserve the pioneer voices in Lesbian literature. Sandra’s passion inspired so many of us, and that inspiration will not fade simply because she has passed the torch. She will live on as a big-tent, big-heart, big-talent woman, and each of us is now charged with carrying her light forward in a million different ways.

I am still not sure exactly which pieces of her legacy I will pick up. I’m still lost and confused, and I think she’d forgive me for that, but I don’t think she’d forgive me if I ended things here, or even if I stalled for too long in my memories of her, because my pain, my insecurities, and my fear may all be valid, but they are mine, not Sandra’s. So I will cry, I will grieve, I will wonder what might have been, and I will probably worry too much, but I will always remember that I’m doing those things out of my own fragile sense of mortality, not as part of my friend’s legacy.

Sandra was better than all that. Sandra’s memory is better than all that. So, when I speak of her, I will not speak of what I lost. I will speak about what she brought to our lives. I will not talk about how she died. I will honor the purposes for which she lived. I will not dwell on the unfairness of it all. I will emphasize how she touched more lives in 47 years than most people ever do in twice that long. I will not obsesses about the work left undone. I will cling to the work she left behind, and I will acknowledge its unique power to teach, to inspire, and to move every one of us forward.

That is more than what Sandra wanted. It’s what she deserves.

Sweet Hearts

Wed, 30 Sep 2015 20:47:00 GMT

Hey friends, I know that lately I’ve been focusing on new adventures with Bywater and signing my next novel, Perfect Pairing , but one of the wonderful parts of this transition is being able to keep some of my ties to Bold Strokes Books . As you likely know, I have 8 novels with BSB, but my time at BSB was so much more than “my books.” It’s a place where I learned and grew, and most of all it’s where I made the connections that shaped my experience in the lesbian fiction world. I made so many friends and gained so many mentors during my time with BSB, so many names that will never appear on the cover of a book, but without them my name would have never appeared on the cover a book either. I know where I came from and who helped me to get where I am, and I’ll never forget it, which is why I am so proud of my last project with BSB.

The Sweet Hearts anthology is a group effort of some of BSB’s finest. Melissa Brayden , Karis Walsh , and I each wrote a novel that fits the theme “sweet hearts.” Each of our contributions is a stand-alone story that follows a minor character from a previous book. My story is titled Getting Serious, and it follows Lisa Knapp and Marty Maine from LoveLife . I had a blast getting to hang out with them (and see Joey and Elaine) again. I’d been thinking about their story for years. I knew where I wanted to take them, and I believed their story was compelling enough to be told, but how? They were too much for a short story, and I didn’t know for sure if it could fill the space of a whole novel. Getting to write their romance in novella form fit them, and me, perfectly.

All three novellas were then put together and edited by Ruth Sternglantz. I hadn’t worked with Ruth much before this. She had asked me to write the foreword for Lee Lynch’s American Queer anthology, and she’d gone over that with me, but having her edit Getting Serious was fun. I consider Ruth a friend, someone smart and thoughtful and trustworthy. Getting to work with her helped me cross off one of my BSB bucket-list items, and I think you’re going to really like the results.

Now Sweet Hearts is in the hands of the printer. It will be officially on the market in December, but it’s going to make its paperback debut in Provincetown for Women’s Week. I love Ptown, and I love the energy that comes from reading, so anytime I get that chance I’m happy, but this time around it will be extra special for me. I’ll be reading from Getting Seriou s as part of BSB’s Sweet Romance Readings alongside fellow Sweet Hearts author and close friend Melissa Brayden (Along with longtime friends Ali Vali and Nell Stark as well as new authors Holly Stratimore, Jackie D, and Jean Copeland).

I’m happy to have kept these ties to friends and colleagues at BSB. I am proud of the entire Sweet Hearts anthology and my piece in it, and I am really looking forward to celebrating the culmination of this project in Ptown next month.

I hope those of you who are at Women’s Week will come share the moment with me, and I hope those of you who can’t make it to Ptown will still go preorder Sweet Hearts now.

Lessons from Power Yoga

Wed, 23 Sep 2015 14:09:00 GMT

Hi friends,

Many of you know my friend/editor/neighbor/fellow author Lynda Sandoval recently opened a yoga studio in our little corner of Western New York. I had the privilege of helping her do the renovations to the space, which is to say I talked to her and occasionally handed tools to other people. Still, I feel a sense of pride in the studio, and I want it to succeed. And by all accounts it is succeeding. They are offerings tons of classes in so many areas with so many amazing instructors, and people are responding. Attendance is growing every week. People who have never done yoga before are practicing next to people who can effortlessly pop into handstands. Our little community has thrown itself behind this endeavor, and there is a place for everyone in the movement.

I knew where my place was from the beginning. I would take the slow, not hot-classes where Lynda talked in soothing tones. I would downward dog, and salute the sun, spend lots of time in my beloved child’s pose, and to prove I wasn’t a slacker, I would do some planks. Then I would hang out in the lobby and welcome folks like a goodwill ambassador. Wooing is what I’m good at. Exercise, not so much.

I had the best of intentions, but those of you who follow this blog know I’ve had a busy few months. I’ve visited new places, accepted a new job , started a new novel, and signed a new book contract with a new publisher . So much newness. And of course I want to embrace those changes or I wouldn’t have accepted them, but as schedules got tighter and the pace of life got faster, I felt myself pulling back. I needed order. I needed routine, the familiar. I made a list of areas I wanted to anchor myself in and posted the list on my Facebook page as part of a 30 day challenge.

Here’s my list:

Health
64 oz of water x 30
60 servings Fruit and veggies
Detox bath x 4

Fitness
Yoga classes x 12
Run x 12
Plank x 30 minutes

Mental Health
Read Acts and Romans
Hang out with friends x 4
Donate to the Food Pantry

Work
25,000 words
Edit Perfect Pairing
4 blogs

Family
Family Tennis x 4
Family dates x 4
NYC Vacation

Fun
Inflatable 5 K
Movies x 4
Try a new restaurant

It might look like a lot, but most of the items are basic. They’re things I should already be doing on a regular basis. Taking care of my health and my family and my job, these are the things I know. This list was meant to help me hone in on what I know is best for me. I love my list.

By the middle of the month, I was either on target or close to on target in all my major areas. The only thing I’d had a hard time with was the 12 yoga classes. All those slow, easy, not hot-classes I wanted to do didn’t fit with my schedule or Jackson’s schedule, so I fell behind. I wasn’t going to be able to catch up and stay in my comfort zone, so with a little prompting from Lynda, I agreed to take the power yoga class during the free community-class time slot. I figured I would be in over my head, but there were 20 people between me and the teacher. I hid my mat in the very back corner next to Lynda and planned to slip into child’s pose frequently, or make excuses to sip my water any time things got too hard.

Well, they got hard pretty quickly. I was sweating within 15 minutes. We moved quickly from one pose right into another. I didn’t have time to find an exit ramp we were moving so fast. I stayed up with the group largely out of frantic fear of not being able to untangle myself. Everyone else in the room seemed to be in the same boat. People laughed a lot as we forgot our right from left. Some guy in the front popped into handstand. Someone else tried and crashed. Still, the instructor calmly moved step-by-step through directions upon directions. I couldn’t see her, but she gave beautifully detailed verbal cues. Suddenly I didn’t know a pose looked complicated. I couldn’t see that “crow” was way over my head. I didn’t even have a full picture. I only had one explicit piece of the puzzle on top of another. She said “Put your hands down,” and I did. She said “Look out in front of you,” and I did. She told us, “Bend your arms.” I bent mine. She said, “Use your arms as shelf and hook one knee on.” Once I’d done that, she said to do the same thing with the other.

And I did.

I was in crow, a move I would have never tried if she’d shown it to me and asked, “Do you want to do this?” In fact, I had been asked that very question in the past and politely declined, taking either a modification or child’s pose instead.

But now, here I was, knees on elbows, feet in the air, completely stable and totally in my body instead of my head. I laughed and made Lynda look at me. I know, not very zen, but major progress. And one little accomplishment I didn’t even think I was trying for opened up a world of possibilities. I left feeling much more exhilarated than sore, and two days later I went back to Power Yoga. In fact, I’ve gone back four more times since then. Now I do “crow,” and “bird of paradise,” and supported head and handstands (Someday I will do them unsupported.), and today I got “side crow” for the first time.

(Side crow looks like this…in theory)

Each time I go into class open-minded and let go of all the fears and body image limitations I thought I had, I find I can do so much more than I ever thought to aspire to.

It’s been in a good lesson for me in this time of change. What if I didn’t try to get back to normal? What if I didn’t make reasonable goals? What if didn’t look at a whole problem and decide it couldn’t or shouldn’t be tackled. What if I just took everything as it came without anticipating it, without worrying about the fall or bowing out before I even got started?

What if we assumed we were all capable of doing the things that inspired us and meeting the challenges of the world around us?

What if we approached every step in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that implies everything is possible?

Who could we be then? What could we accomplish?

I don’t know, but I’d love to find out.

A New Book and A New Home

Tue, 08 Sep 2015 18:15:00 GMT

Happy belated Labor Day, all. I am always grateful to the men and women who came before me and fought for workplace rights. I am proud of my grandfathers, aunts, uncles, and cousins who still pay their union dues faithfully, and I am particularly proud of my union-member wife. She works hard in a critical and often contentious academic climate at a time when her union is increasingly under attack from right-wing politicians trying to censure academic freedom and privatize education in order to cut off access for working classes. It is only because she continues to do her work and reap her union benefits that I have the freedom and stability necessary to do jobs that I love.

And I do love my jobs. Both of them. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I accepted a position as the social media director of Bywater Books over the summer. I am really enjoying the work of helping to foster better relationships and communication between authors and readers. But I am, first and foremost, a writer. Writing is the work that sustains my soul. That is the work I feel most strongly called to do. Writing is the work that makes me feel grateful every single day for the opportunities I have. It is also the work I am most proud of. Which is why I found it a little disconcerting to have a new social media job and a new book to be published, but nowhere to publish it.

I finished my 9th novel, Perfect Pairing, in July. It’s a story I can’t wait to have out there, but because my new job at Bywater created a conflict of interest with Bold Strokes Books, we decided it would be best to part ways. I am and will always be eternally grateful to Radcylffe and the amazing team she built for the start they gave me and the wisdom they imparted over the last eight years. I will always consider the people at Bold Strokes my friends and colleagues, and I am thrilled that we were able to part company amicably. (So amicably, in fact, I will be reading with them in Ptown, but more on that later) However, with one door closed, I had until the past few weeks not opened another one.

I considered self publishing, but as so much of my work, both writing and otherwise, revolves around relationships and relationship-building, I’m not inclined to “go it alone” in many areas of my life. I love being part of a team, which led me to look at the team I’d just joined in the business capacity in a new way. I already knew that I liked and respected the management team at Bywater, or else I wouldn’t have started doing their social media, but the more I worked with their authors and publicized their books, the more I grew to respect the creative work they do. Everyone I interacted with had a passion for good books, for quality writing, and for the larger lesfic community. Bywater has published everyone from trailblazers like Marianne K. Martin and Katherine V. Forrest to bold new voices like Carol Rosenfeld and Wynn Malone . They published established genre fiction writers like Georgia Beers , Ellen Hart and Baxter Clare Trautman and some of the funniest women I know in Ann McMan and M ari San Giovanni . They don’t shy away from nonfiction either, with writers as diverse as Julie Marie Wade and Fay Jacobs . The more research I did, the more I became certain that no matter what you write, if you write it well, there’s a space for that writing at Bywater Books. I am thankful that Kelly, Marianne, Salem, and Ann felt that my work qualifies as quality writing.

I am proud to announce I have contracted with Bywater Books to publish my next romance novel, Perfect Pairing, for release in June of 2016.

A New Adventure

Wed, 12 Aug 2015 15:51:00 GMT

Hi Friends,

I am back from my big summer road trip. How big was it you ask? Well here are the numbers:

Our trip by the numbers:
Days on the road: 24
Beds slept in: 8
Cities/towns visited: 11
Animals visited: 13
Phone chargers lost: 2
Hours in the car: 64
States driven through: 14
Miles traveled: 4,277
Friends visited: countless

During that time I attended the GCLS conference and did a reading at my favorite bookstore in St. Louis, both of which I will post about in upcoming blogs. It was an amazing ride, but it also very quite wonderful to be back at home. I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for multiple nights in a row and enjoying the little luxuries or being still for a bit.

However, now that my physical adventures have settled down for the time being, I find it time to focus on a journey of another kind. This one has less to do with the car and more to do with my career. As you all know, I have been a proud lesbian romance author for the last seven years. The lesbian fiction community has given me so much joy, support, and love over that time, and I hope nothing about that will change. I still intend to put the bulk of my time, energy, and heart into producing quality novels, but now, in addition to my writing, I will also be starting a job in social media.

It is with great pleasure that I announce I’ve accepted a position as the new Director of Social Media for Bywater Books .

Those of you who follow this blog and Facebook know how much I adore the opportunities the internet provides for personal interactions with readers and writers. I believe fostering the relationships that bind our community together is one of the most important things we can do to keep our community strong. I find that work to be both personally and professionally fulfilling, so I’m thrilled that I get to combine another one of my passions with my work.

I hope each and every one of you will join me on this new adventure, both by continuing to follow this blog and also by liking/following Bywater Books in Facebook and Twitter.

Onward!

Check Your Entitlement At My Virtual Door

Tue, 07 Jul 2015 17:01:00 GMT

It’s been a long and enlightening couple of days.

I ended my last blog with the statement that I would not be posting “pro rebel flag” comments, nor would I post anything outright racist (and I made it clear I deeply believe the two are connected). I did not rule the comments section with an iron fist. I posted a few comments pointing out perceived inconsistencies in my argument or comments from people who wanted to spin my arguments in new directions. I have not censored people who are grappling with nuanced views or asking productive questions. However, I thought I had made myself clear in my closing that I would not engage outright arguments. Maybe I should’ve led with that statement. I now suspect people who didn’t agree with me stopped reading long before they got to the postscript. I’m not surprised people turned away from an argument that challenged them. It’s human nature to do so. Lord knows I buried my head in the sand long enough on that issue. I understand the impulse to do so, which is why I should have probably anticipated the anger and violence with which people reacted to the post.

I should have, but I didn’t.

Over the last few days I’ve been called a MFing idiot, a n***er loving liberal, a lunatic, a tool of black oppression, a worthless dyke, ignorant, a liar, a bitch, and all of those things were in the first line of the comments because I generally stopped reading after that point. I can only imagine what else those page-long diatribes worked up to by the end. I have the mouth of a trucker on me, but I ended up red-faced with embarrassment for the commenters on more than one occasion and tearful with sadness at others. It’s not often I’ve been personally faced with the full force of racism in its virtual form, and I admit I was unprepared to handle it.

I have had to turn off the comments on that blog post, due to both the sheer volume of the comments as well as the vitriol contained in some of them. As I try to get back to work this week, I simply cannot keep up with them any more. I have a career, a family, summer travels to prepare for, and house under a series of construction projects. I do not have the time or the energy to read/sort through 25-50 angry comments every morning and then again every night. But even turning off the comments hasn’t worked, because now I am being harassed via email, and some people have gone so far as to contact my publisher threatening to boycott the entire company if they’re not allowed to post a comment on my personal blog.

I’m not ashamed to admit I am tired to the point of emotional exhaustion.

Let me be clear. I’m in no way claiming I’ve been oppressed. If anything, I’ve seen this experience as a reminder of my privilege. As an educated, white, middle-class woman, I’m not accustomed to being spoken to the way I have been over the last few days. This is a luxury many of my African American friends are not afforded. My heart breaks for them. I wish I could mitigate all the violence they face. I wish I could somehow act as a buffer. If there was some way for me to bear the brunt of the disrespect and anger they face on daily basis, I would put on my big girl pants, gird my loins, and take my verbal beatings, but that’s not how hate works. It’s not as if the people who hate me will run out of hate to hurl at other people. Hate feeds off of hate, ignorance breeds more ignorance, violence leads only to more violence. I cannot drive out any of those abhorrent virtues by submitting to them. The darkness spreads with each new expression. What I can do, however, is curb their expressions. I can stop providing that insidious negativity with an outlet.

That’s all I was trying to do with my little P.S. about not posting racist comments on my blog. I’m not surprised people tried to post them anyway. Why would someone who makes an argument that “Africans invented slavery” as their defense give any deference to my request for appropriate behavior? What I am surprised about is the number of people who’ve become angry (some even enraged) at my refusal to post their racist, ignorant, or mean-spirited comments. Several of them have written me multiple times, becoming more and more belligerent in the process going so far as to demand I give them their right to be heard at large.

If you’re one of those people, please stop. It isn’t going to happen, and here’s why: This is not an open forum or a town hall meeting. This is my blog . This is my online living room, and I will not allow you to talk to/about me, my family, or my friends here in any way that I would not allow you to talk to/about me, my family or my friends in my actual living room. If you came into my home and shouted at me to “Get my fucking facts straight,” I would ask you to leave. If you used the N-word or in any way suggested African Americans got what they deserved, I would show you the door. If you called young black men thugs and said they needed to be controlled, or suggested slavery/segregation worked well to that purpose, you’d be told never to return. And if you accompanied these messages with hints of violence, I would call the police so fast your head would spin.

Everyone’s entitled to his or her opinion, and as I said in my original post, you’re free to share them in your own blog or on your own Facebook page, but you cannot use my name, my space, or my virtual home as a platform to spread hate. If your comment is something I would not allow you to say in my home, in front of my wife and son, or around my African American friends, it’s not something I’ll allow you to say here. And if you’re trying to engage me in an argument I wouldn’t engage in on the street or in my church, I will not engage it here.

You are not entitled to my approval.

You are not entitled to my space.

You are not entitled to force your views on me or any other human being.

Here’s the final verdict: If you continue to try to spew racism, or try to justify your racism, I will delete your first comment. If you continue to push, I will report you as a spammer. If that doesn’t work, I will report your posts as harassment.

It you don’t like my policies, if they make you angry, feel free to write you own blog about how liberals are silencing you. Post your outrage on your Facebook page, tweet it out to the world, share those posts every day for the rest of your life. THAT is free speech. THAT is the American way. I will stand by your right to blanket your own corner of the Internet with your opinions no matter how much I disagree with them. What I won’t stand is for you to continue to try to force those offensive opinions onto my blog.

Evolving on the Confederate flag

Thu, 02 Jul 2015 19:17:00 GMT

Friends, I debated posting this, because a) I doubt people on the other side of this debate are really capable of having their minds changed. And b) I am not sure this is the biggest issue affecting race in America right now. However, my friend and fellow author Rebecca Weatherspoon shared an article the other day entitled “ Show Up, White America: The Opposite Of Support Is Silence. ” It was poignant and it spoke to me. If you read only one blog today, read that one. But if you continue to read this one, know that while my words might not change the world, this is one small way I am showing up.

I grew up in the South. Confederate flags hung over much of my childhood. Cars, backpacks, notebooks, T-shirts, they were everywhere. I was taught that the Civil War (or the War of Northern Aggression) was about states’ rights and that it dealt a blow to big government. We got a day off of school every year called “Fair Day” on the official school calendar, but all the older teachers still called it Robert E. Lee Day. Some of them would snicker and say, “Oh, but we can’t call it what it really is ‘cause the Yankees don’t get it.” We associated the rebel flag (that’s what we always called it) with the Dukes of Hazzard and Lynard Skynard, free wheeling country people who were real and down to earth. We weren’t racist. We were Southern. You could be one without the other. The flag didn’t mean hate. It meant being proud of where you came from. Other people, outsiders, they just didn’t understand. I get it. I understand all those arguments, all those attachments. I really do. I even believed them.

But I was lied to, or at the very least, not told the whole truth, the bigger truth.

It’s hard to admit that. No one likes to admit they’ve been duped. No one likes to admit they bought into the propaganda machine. No one wants to look around at people they once trusted, agreed with, defended vocally, only to see them for the bigots they are. But we have to. As a Christian, as a mindful human being, I am called to seek light out of darkness. If we are reasonable, educated, thoughtful people, people who want to learn and grow and make the world a better place, we have to be willing to admit we’ve made mistakes, and more importantly, we need to be strong enough, brave enough, loving enough to correct them.

Even if we’re willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume they truly never saw the Confederate flag as tied to any racial issues, and I’ve admitted to falling into that group myself, we still can’t condone its continued use.

Things change, the world changes, symbols change and take on new meanings, or sometimes old meanings bubble up to reveal what had been there all along.

Either way, the Confederate flag is not the first symbol to go through this transformation. The swastika used to have another meaning, too. It was used 5,000 years before the rise of Hitler, giving it much more “heritage” than anything American can ever claim. It was a symbol used to represent good fortune or well being. You can still see it in ancient temples. By the early 1900’s, the symbol was as commonplace as yin-yangs or peace signs are today. Children doodled them on their books, Rudyard Kipling signed swastikas beside his autographs as a sign of respect and good will toward his readers. There is a long-standing, bright, and legitimately beautiful tradition behind the swastika. And yet no matter how German my heritage (and my last name is Spangler, so I’m pretty German), no matter how many wonderful meanings are attributed to the symbol, I would never under any circumstances wave a Nazi flag. I think we can all agree that no reasonable people draw them or decorate with them anymore since it became the official symbol of the Nazi party.

See how that works? Good people were faced with the horror of the atrocities committed under that flag, and they realized the old meaning could in no way balance or overcome the violence and hatred done under that symbol. No amount of warm feelings or past heritage could wash the blood out of the Nazi flag. So they were done with it. Good, thoughtful people do not look at the flag of Hitler and say, “You don’t understand the old meaning.” They simply distance themselves from the symbol and all its modern-day implications. The only people who willingly wear or carry a swastika now align themselves with violence, hatred, and everything the Nazi party stood for. It’s still their right to do so, but no reasonable person would argue that calling someone who brands themselves with a swastika an anti-Semite is an unfair assessment.

The Confederate flag is no different. Southerners, or rednecks, or country folks (however they identify) do not have a monopoly on symbolism. Nor do they control history. No matter what your daddy told you the stars and bars meant, it also meant some people were willing to die for the right to hold other people as slaves. No matter what your teacher said the Confederate flag symbolizes, it also symbolizes white supremacy. No matter what your favorite band told you about broadcasting that you’re a rebel, using that flag also broadcasts the fact that some people are willing to kill to protect the idea of a “racially pure” America. Go ahead and mix all that up, hate and heritage, pride and oppression, good vibes and violence. It still doesn’t come out anywhere near even. The bad by far outweighs the good.

Maybe this flag flew over the park you played in as kids. Maybe it flew in your grandparents’ yard. Maybe it hung in your dorm room. Maybe you associate it with your past or with a past version of yourself. If so, I’m sorry for that. I am sorry for you, and I am sorry for me. I am sorry for what we didn’t know then, and for what we thought we knew so well, but as Maya Angelou said, “Do the best you can until you know better, then when you know better, do better.” Now you know better. Now you know the Confederate flag is the flag that flies over every gathering of the KKK. Now you know it’s the flag flown by white supremacists. Now you know that flag was a rallying point for slaveholders and segregationists. Now you know that flag is carried by men who go into churches and gun down African Americans.

That doesn’t mean everything you held dear is dead or even tainted. Pride and heritage and history and family ties all exist outside of the rebel flag context. I still love so much about the South. I love BBQ and fried chicken and corn bread. I love tea so thick with sugar you almost have to chew it. I love the smell of jasmine and the way magnolia petals blanket the ground in a fragrant sea of white. I love the special brand of hospitality that makes a new place feel at home and the way a slow Southern drawl immediately eases tension from my shoulders. I love SEC football. I love the way country music mixes with southern rock. I love baptisms in a river and sun showers at three o’clock every summer day. I love to call every soda a coke. I love to listen to Jimmy Carter talk about just about anything.

There’s a hundred different ways to love the South. There are a million ways to be proud of where you come from, and none of them have to involve the image used to subjugate an entire race of human beings. If you continue to cling to the one symbol of the South used to hurt and oppress, that says nothing new about the flag or the land it once covered, but it says a great deal about you .

If you hear black voices crying out in agony and still turn away in favor of a flag, that makes you racist. If you prioritize a symbol of a dead rebellion over real, living, suffering people, that makes you racist. If you cling to your pride in what used to be or what you used to believe, instead of learning and growing and striving toward healing, that makes you a racist. Maybe it doesn’t make you the kind of racist that shoots up a church, but it make you the kind of racist who values your own comfortable ideas over the hearts and lives of your black brothers and sisters, and that is racism, too. I am sorry if that hurts to hear, but it’s the reality of the choice you are making. You continue to cast your lot with racists organizations, white supremacists hate groups, and grand wizards of the Klan even after being told that’s what you’re doing. If that’s who you want to side with, that’s your American right, but as we used to say in the South, when you lie down with dogs, you come up with fleas.

As for me, when I was a child, I thought like a child, I talked like a child, I reasoned like a child, but now I’m an adult. I have learned better lessons. I know better than I did before. I value human life over the vestiges of my past, and I can be secure in who I am without hurting anyone else in the process. I no longer want any part in the Confederate flag, and perhaps more importantly, I’m done getting flea bitten by people who do.

P.S. I have to approve all comments on this blog, so don’t even bother sending in racist ones. I am all for free speech, but you have your own walls, your own facebook accounts, and your own blogs and I have said all I have to say on this subject. If you want to post some argument in favor of the Confederate flag just post them elsewhere. They will not be posted here.

Adios Paco

Wed, 24 Jun 2015 22:41:00 GMT

I’d known Paco for about 5 years, but we only saw each other every few months and we rarely had prolonged or deeply personal interactions. We drafted fantasy baseball teams together, we hung out at some of the same parties, we curled together both on the same team and as friendly bonspiel rivals. Paco was not a close friend, and yet in same ways I did consider him a good friend. He was the kind of guy that made you feel happy as soon as you saw him coming. He was the kind of guy that made me shout “Paco’s here!” before he’d even stepped on the ice. He was the kind of guy who could make me laugh even from the other side of the rink. I didn’t even have to hear what he’d said, I could just tell from his facial expression it was hilarious. He had an easy laugh, paired with a comedian’s timing, and a quick, self-deprecating sense of humor.

For a guy I saw maybe 3 or 4 times a year, I feel like we had more inside jokes or catch phrases than people I see every day. He could make me giggle just by drawing out “twenty-four” in a way that sounded more like “twernty-fer.” We could talk about Star Wars or sports or a team of assholes we’d curled against or the letter ñ or anything that amused us that day.

He had a story for every topic. And he was always game to go one more. One more round, one more game, one more drink, one more story. It seems like every time I saw him, he invited me along for a drink, or said I could get in touch any time I was in Buffalo, we could do this or that, or join some sports league or another. And like I said, we weren’t even that close. After watching his facebook page today, it’s clear he made the same kind of offers to everyone he met. He was just that kind of guy. But I never once took him up on it. It was always too late. I was always too busy. I didn’t know him well enough to text him off the cuff. I just never did. And now he’s gone.

At 31 years old, he’s just gone.

There will never be another chance to go get that drink or play that game or do that completely random thing. We’ll never get to confess to each other whether or not we got choked up at the new Star Wars movie. I’m never going to rip on his fringe Mohawk stocking cap, or laugh at his butt crack showing when he’s in the curling lunge. I’m never going to shout “Paco’s here!” again. I’m never going to get to tell him how much I enjoyed chatting with him or how happy it made me to bump into him unexpectedly.

All the clichés are running through my head. Life is short. Tell people you care about them when you have the chance. Take every chance. Live every moment. There’s no guarantee of a next time. It’s the same stuff you hear anytime something like this happens. You hear it all the time, but you know what? My not having anything new to add doesn’t make it any less true.

I am feeling all my regrets today. All the missed opportunities. All the friends gone before I fully understood their worth. All the times I swore I’d do better, only to end prioritizing bedtimes or housework over the chance to make a memory.

I didn’t know Paco well enough to know if he had the same kinds of regrets. He was a human, so he probably did, but I also get the sense that Paco squeezed more joy and all-around awesomeness into 31 years than most people could get out of two lifetimes.

I didn’t do my house chores this afternoon. I didn’t do my work chores either. I picked up my kid from school, got us a chocolate milkshake and some French-fries, and we ate them sitting in the hatchback of our car at driving range. We hit a bucket of balls. We shanked them, we sliced them, and we cheered wildly for the few that went far enough to beat our low expectations. Now we’re having frozen pizza for dinner even though there are fresh fruits and veggies in the fridge.

It doesn’t make a difference. Not really. Paco’s still gone and I will likely go back to freaking out over laundry by next week. There will be more losses and more regrets. But today, just for this day, I did what amused me, and I made a few memories to honor the memory of Paco.

Go Ahead, Get Me Wet

Thu, 23 Apr 2015 14:05:00 GMT

I figured that title would get your attention. After my last blog was shared over 3,000 times, I’ve been a little worried I had to follow up with something catchy, something profound, something to make all 3,000 of you buy my latest book, Heart Of The Game . I thought and thought and thought but came up with nothing.

You see, most of the time I’m not that poignant. I’m just a boi who likes stories. I like characters. I like romance. Long before I ever had any intention of writing novels, I loved to read them. One summer in middle school I found The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. Did you know she (yes, she was also a woman writing as man) was 15 when she started writing the book? Well she spoke to me as a teen. I loved that book so much I carried around with me. I had a paperback copy that fit in my back pocket, and I carried it around the neighborhood and would just sit down and read little snippets. Part of a page got ripped out at one point. The spine cracked, the cover got bent, but I loved that book so much I didn’t want to be outside its world for too long, so I kept it close at all times.

I’ve always been that way with my books. I disappear into them. I sink in so deep I forget what time it is, what season it is, what city I’m in. When they end, I mourn them. I often have “memories” that I never really experienced except from the point of view of some exquisitely drawn character. I’ve seen so clearly places I’ve never actually visited, and I suffer scars that never felt a wound. I don’t read books; I inhabit them. I love my books like a child loves a stuffed animal, and if stories work like Velveteen Rabbits, I have loved more than a few sets of characters into full existence.

Yesterday, I choose to return to one of those old favorites, a classic. In honor of Katherine V. Forrest’s birthday, I picked up Curious Wine again . I don’t know how many times I’ve read that book since college, but it’s one I just sink into like an exhausted person might fall into a feather bed. From the opening pages, from the first glorious appearance of Lane Christianson, I am a swoony puddle of romantic mush. “Your looking is like touching.”

Le sigh .

Suddenly the boisterous, playful baseball boi is big ole girl longing for candlelight and a bubble bath. And I am in touch enough with my feminine side to give it what it asks for.

I posted that photo and immediately got a comment saying “If you drop that book in the water, you are dead to me.” It was from my editor Lynda Sandoval, and she quickly added a “just kidding.” And she was just kidding. I’ve been to her house. I’ve seen the books everywhere! But the comment still got me thinking about the idea that some books are just too precious to risk getting wet or bent or dirty. I get that as a way of honoring them, of holding them up as the precious treasure they are, but for me a good book isn’t like a piece of jewelry or fine china. A good book is much more like a beautiful woman, something to touched, explored, held close no matter where you are. To enshrine a set a books high on some shelf like a showpiece seems somehow akin to having Halle Berry and not taking her to bed for fear you might muss up her hair.

It’s fine that people collect books, that they save them and protect them and get obsessive about keep them pristine, but at the same time, please don’t feel the need to do so for my sake. Not with my books. That’s not how I’d like my books to be cherished.

I don’t want to write the book you give a prominent place in your bookcase. I want to write the book that stays on your bedside table for so long someone uses it as a coaster.

I want to write the book you bend the spine on because you stayed up reading so late you just set it beside you in bed and ended up rolling over on it.

I don’t want to write the book you never bend or dog ear the pages of. I want you to fold down the pages and star the margins of passages you want to go back and read again later.

I don’t want to write the book you make people wash their hands before they touch. I want to write the book you get Cheetos on because you can’t put down it down long enough to eat a real meal.

I want to write the book you get sand and sunscreen on because you took it to the beach and got so absorbed in it the tide snuck up on you.

I don’t want my titles to be collected for collector’s sake. I don’t dare hope to achieve the longevity and beloved status that Katherine Forrest has. I don’t expect to ever write a book on par with Curious Wine , but if some time down the road, someone who isn’t even born yet finds a copy of Heart Of The Game and thinks they’ve stumbled onto a lesbian romance classic, I hope they won’t be afraid to go ahead and take it into the bubble bath with them.

There’d be no better compliment to me than if readers let my characters into their hearts do deeply they couldn’t help getting them a little wet or dirty in the process.

It’s all personal

Wed, 01 Apr 2015 18:51:00 GMT

So the news the last few weeks has been kind of bad. Between the bigot who blasted my family on Facebook and trans kids being bullied to death and Indiana going bat shit crazy, it’s easy to get caught up in our national back swing. Never mind that rapid social progress is always followed by conservative blowback. Never mind that any seasoned activist will tell you it’s always two steps forward and one step back. Never mind that for every crazy politician spouting hate there’s two more moving closer to full inclusion. It still hurts.

I’ve been out for fourteen years. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I still feel the burn of shame in my cheeks when I hear a pastor rail against my family. My stomach clenches when I have to explain to my son why he’s not a boy scout. My shoulders still tighten in anticipation every time someone I don’t know asks me what kind of books I write. It’s not that I think these people are right. It’s not that I’ve bought into the bigotry. It’s not that I lack the courage of my convictions. It’s the opposite. It still hurts because it’s personal.

To the man who railed against queers on my uncle’s Facebook wall and then said he wasn’t talking about anyone personally, yes, yes you were. To the governor of Indiana who says he wasn’t motivated by a desire to hurt anyone specifically, yes, yes you were. To people who say, “that’s so gay,” then say they didn’t mean “gay,” yes, yes you did. Your pretending like you didn’t mean anything personal doesn’t change the fact that those things are personal. We are people. I am a person. My wife is a person. My son is a person. My uncle is a person. Our church members are people. Your words, your laws, your discrimination are all personal to each and every person who is gay, or questioning, or loves someone who is gay or questioning. We are real people with real feelings (and real dollars to spend) and real families to care for. Every hurtful thing you say about gays and lesbians is about real people.

But you know what? The responses are personal, too. From my uncle, Mr. Blue-collar-union-electrician and all his blue-collar union friends who verbally beat down the Facebook bigot, they are real people, too. The CEOs who pulled their companies out of Indiana, they are people. The people who pull their own kids from scouting, or create alternative activities that our family is welcome to join, those are real people too. The students who march and hold candles for trans kids they never met, they are people. The straight man who read Heart of the Game because he likes books about baseball, lesbian characters or not, he’s a real person. The women at my church who clipped out an article about my book in the local paper, they are people. They are good people. Honorable people. Loving people. They aren’t gay, or necessarily liberal, or highly educated. They don’t live in trendy neighborhoods or always know the pc terms. But they are people who take our feelings, our rights, our lives seriously. They take issues that aren’t their own and they make them personal.

That’s why we’re going to win this fight, why we’re already winning it. To us, the big tent collective of not only queers but also anyone who’s ever loved a queer, this time it really is personal.

Heart Of The Game now in the Kindle Store!

Tue, 17 Mar 2015 13:36:00 GMT

Hey Friends,

I know I owe you a blog, and I want to write it, really I do, but some crazy lesbian romance writers have descended on my house! Maybe you recognize them:

Yes, that’s Melissa Brayden on the left and Georgia Beers on the right. So now there’s wineries to be toured, food to be consumed, mischief to be made, and selfies to be taken. But in the midst of all that, Heart Of The Game became available in the Kindle store yesterday. I know I have told you all several times you can get the Kindle compatible ebook directly from Bold Strokes Books , but I’ve also heard from a lot of you who like to shop the Kindle store. If you’re in the latter group, now’s your chance. You can get your copy of Heart Of The Game right here, right now ! I sure hope you’ll give it a read and let me know what you think.

In the meantime I’m going to get back to those selfies.

Heart Of The Game is now available!

Wed, 04 Mar 2015 01:11:00 GMT

I am proud and seriously excited to announce that Heart Of The Game is now available in from Bold Strokes Books! This is my eighth book, and it never gets any less thrilling (or nerve-wracking) to know that the characters I have poured my heart into for over a year are now in your very capable hands.

The book actually went live last Friday, ahead of schedule, and I want to thank everyone who’s dropped me a line saying they already got their copy. If you have gotten yours yet, don’t fear. Just go on over to the website , where you can buy it in print or download it in epub (iPad), Mobi (Kindle), or PDF (all the things) format.

I know I am biased, but I think the timing of this release couldn’t be better. For most of us in the United States (and parts of Europe) harsh winter weather has dragged on for entirely too long. We are all ready for the smell of fresh cut grass, warming rays of sunlight, and yes, a little bit of baseball. And we’re in luck because Spring Training games started yesterday, and the hope of a new season, a fresh start, and even an early taste of summer is in the air. All those things are also in Heart Of The Game , along with a sweet romance that also happens to offer you a good look at a new season, a fresh start, and an early taste of summer.

If you’re not sold yet (why? why? I ask you) I hope you’ll do me a favor and at least go check out the full first chapter excerpt of the book on the Bold Strokes website , because even if you don’t end up falling in love with Duke and Molly the way I did, it would sure make me happy if you at least got to meet them for a little while.

And once again, thank you to everyone who has already bought the book. I appreciate it greatly, and now I start the long, nervous process of pacing the floor, wringing my hands, and waiting to hear what you think of my new baby!

Countdown to Heart Of The Game: 1 Week!

Thu, 26 Feb 2015 16:01:00 GMT

We are (less than) one week from the official release of Heart Of The Game ! I cannot wait! Can you feel the excitement radiating from me through the interwebs? Or is that just static electricity from the winter weather? Either way, spring is coming (someday), and so is baseball, and so is the latest lesbian romance novel from yours truly. You can pre-order Heart Of The Game now right here . And if you aren’t sure yet about wanting to buy it (why not?), you can read on below where I share with you the first scene of the book (after the pre-game, which I shared last week).

This is the opening scene of the present-day part of the book, and our whole cast of major players are here for your introduction. I sure hope you like them!

Top Of The First

You Can’t Win ’em All if You Don’t Win he First One

Sarah Duke stood in the first row of the stands with nothing but a low green wall separating her from edge of the field. She could have easily stepped over if she’d had to, but she didn’t. Instead she ran her fingers slowly over the press pass hanging from a lanyard around her neck. The little badge was her ticket to virtually any part of Busch Stadium. The small, laminated index card granted her access to even the field itself during batting practice. A thrill coursed up her spine as the security guard swung the gate open wide. She nodded gratefully in his direction, but the emotions clogging her throat prevented her from actually saying “thank you.”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the doorway. Her foot hovered only a second on the rising cloud of old memories before landing firmly on the clay of the warning track. She stepped slowly forward until she was almost directly behind home plate, enjoying the crunch of the dry ground beneath her feet. Then looking down, she kicked up a little cloud of burnt orange dust simply because she liked the way it settled across the toes of her shiny black shoes. It didn’t matter that she’d polished them earlier that morning. Nothing ever looked as good as it did with a thin sheen of ballpark on it.

She playfully scuffed up another little cloud of dirt, then glanced over her shoulder, still half expecting someone to scoop her up and carry her away, but no one paid her any attention. Not security, not the trainers or the grounds crew working at the edge of the field, not even the players gathered around the batting cage. Everyone was right where they were expected to be, diligently performing the task they’d been assigned, playing their part in this magnificent play, and now she was one of them. It might have taken twenty-six years from that first game with her father, but she’d earned her spot on this field. No matter what anyone else said or thought, she belonged here.

The crack of a bat drew her attention long enough to confirm the ball would land safely away from her, but, like a child, her focus wandered quickly to the next amazing detail. Stepping forward a few paces to the side of the batting cage and into foul territory, she crouched down between the dugout and the back stop pretending to eye the pitcher or the batter. Then, hiding another smile, she bent low and ran her fingers through the short grass. She relished the prick of the soft blades against her palms and wondered if there was any scent in the world more invigorating than freshly cut Kentucky bluegrass.

Behind her, the crowd filed into beautiful Busch Stadium. She could hear them now, their jubilant, anticipatory sounds filtering in through her sense of awe as they all clamored to get a better view of last batters to warm up. Those masses she’d waded through so many times were to her back now, and every person in the crowd would love to be in her shoes. The glee was almost too much to contain. She snatched up a single blade of grass, then, standing, released her grip and watched the grass flutter to the ground. She wanted to do it again, but press pass or not, she shouldn’t play around out there so close to such an important game.

Shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun, she turned and took in the mammoth stands of the stadium rising red and gray until she had to tilt her head back so far she almost toppled over. Expected attendance for the Cardinals’ home opener was over forty-two thousand people, teeming mobs of fans decked out in a sea of red and white. Already, hordes of young, and young at heart, stacked five or six deep around the wall closest to the dugout, each one jostling for a better position. They held hats and balls, trading cards and jerseys, in their outstretched arms as they called to the players still warming up. An autograph wasn’t likely forthcoming at this stage, since the players were as keyed up as the kids, but she didn’t blame the fans for trying anyway. She’d been covering the club every day for the last four weeks of spring training, and she still got the urge to ask for an autograph when one of her favorites brushed past on his way to the clubhouse. Of course, it wouldn’t do much for her credibility as a serious sports journalist to ask an interviewee to scrawl his name across her notebook, but she still thought about it occasionally.

Members of the grounds crew bustled around her as they began to clear the field. The final players and coaches had cleared out, and the crew was hauling away the batting cages. She recognized her cue to leave. Glancing at her note pad once more, she confirmed again that she already had everything she needed. She’d been at the park for six hours already. She’d submitted her pre-game comments half an hour ago, and they were likely already up on the website. The clubhouse and players were now off-limits to the media as everyone entered their final warm-ups. She had nothing left to do until she started her in-game Twitter feed once the Cardinals took the field. Maybe she’d comment on the Opening Day ceremonies, but even those wouldn’t officially begin for another thirty minutes. Eschewing her formal seat in the press box for the excitement down below, she decided to spend a few minutes being a spectator.

She flashed her badge, and once more the security guard swung the gate open wide. Ambling into the stands, she threaded her way through the crowd of boys around the dugout. Their numbers had dwindled significantly with the end of batting practice, but a handful of enthusiastic holdouts remained. They leaned on the rail and called out, “Hey, mister! Hey, mister!” at the batboy or the trainer or the security guard, anything to get a leg up on the competition. She admired their commitment. They all went after what they wanted, ceaseless in their efforts.

All except one of them.

A few feet back, a lone child sat in the seat closest to the dugout, but didn’t seem to pay any attention to the scrum gathered there. He was dressed like the rest of them in his white jersey and blue jeans. His red baseball cap and round glasses shaded his face, nearly covering the smattering of freckles across his nose. He chewed lightly on the end of his pencil while he balanced a notebook on his knees, a steady look of concentration creasing his otherwise youthful features. Why wasn’t he clamoring to be noticed like the others? He didn’t even glance in their direction when their noise level rose at the sight of a player entering the dugout. Instead his eagle-eyed focus remained centered on the outfield, or perhaps something just beyond.

She scooted closer and scanned the direction he was watching. There were no players in the outfield. Had something on the Jumbotron caught his eye? No, he wasn’t looking up quite that high. Was it the fans over the outfield wall? Curiosity got the better of her. She crept closer and bent down behind him, trying to match his line of sight. Maybe it was her reporter’s instincts, or maybe she was nosy, but she had to find out what could hold a little boy’s focus in such a chaotic environment.

His shoulders tensed and he turned slowly, suspiciously to look up at her, his little brow furrowed. “Am I in your seat?”

“No.” She straightened quickly and stepped back, embarrassed to have been caught trying to scoop a child. “You’re fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, uncertainly. “I can move.”

“No, really.” She laughed nervously as she realized how creepy she probably seemed to him. “I’m sorry. I should get back to work.”

His eyes widened in sudden recognition. “You’re Sarah Duke.”

“Yes, I am.” She squared her shoulders, inordinately pleased at having been recognized publicly for the first time and surprised that it came from a kid. Some of the players didn’t even know her yet, and she’d covered them for weeks. Of course some of them ignored her on purpose either because she was new or a woman, but her response remained the same in both cases. Hard work, dedication, and raw skill had answered every question ever raised about her over the years. It would prove the naysayers wrong here, too. This boy didn’t seem to require any convincing, though.

“I read your column on MajorLeagues.com this morning,” the boy said with a seriousness exceeding his age.

“Yeah? What did you think?”

“I think Molina is going to have a good year, too. Maybe MVP kind of stuff.”

She chuckled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“It’s bad luck to have to start against Cary Pistas, though, with the wind blowing in from right field.”

Duke glanced out to the outfield wall. While the flags on the third base side were barely stirring, the ones on the right side of the field were blowing harder, directly back toward the pitcher’s mound.

“Huh. You’re right, and it’s chilly, too, which will deaden the ball.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then flipped open his notebook and scratched a few marks in the top corner.

She peeked over his shoulder to see him add “game time temp” to an already elaborate heading with the date, start time, and opposing team. All things she’d already made note of on her own tablet.

“That’s not an autograph book.” She stated the now obvious.

“No, it’s my game notes.”

“Then you better add starting pitchers, too,” she said, amused once again by his seriousness. “When you review it next time the Pirates come to town, you’ll remember who started each game.”

“Thanks.” A sparkle of light shone in his dark eyes beneath lenses a little too big for his face. “Do you think Ben Cooper will have his good stuff today?”

She considered the question and then glanced at her watch. “You know, now actually might be a good time to get some inside info. Maybe I should head out to the bullpen and do some scouting.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, and a frown pulled at his smooth face. “Yeah, okay. Thank you for talking to me.”

He looked like a sad little puppy who’d been told to sit and stay. She wanted to pat him on his head. Instead, she arched an eyebrow questioningly. “You wouldn’t want to put a few notes in your book, would you?”

He hopped up eagerly. “I could come, too?”

“Well, it’s too late to go down on the field, but I know a good place out of the way where we could peek into the bullpen and make our own assessment of warm-ups if you want.”

“Yes ma’am.” He jumped up and grabbed his things eagerly, his excitement magnifying hers. She remembered being that age and loving the game so very much, but not being seen as part of it, or even worthy of having an opinion on the subject yet. She would’ve loved to talk baseball with anyone who would listen, much less someone who had inside information. Okay, maybe she was showing off a little bit, too, but she’d finally earned her dream job, with the access every kid craves. Who could blame her for wanting to flaunt that to someone who could appreciate it? She indicated a direction and happily loped on alongside the boy as he moved excitedly toward the end of their section.

She was about to steer him into the tunnel under the stadium when a voice sent her skidding to a stop.

“Joseph Landon Grettano, freeze right there.”

And freeze they did. The hair on her arms stood on end and the muscles in her neck tensed instantly as if a cold blast of artic wind had raked across her back. The boy whirled around, and his profuse apologies starting to flow immediately.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run off. I got excited. It won’t happen again. You can trust me to sit closer on my own. I promise. I just, I met Sarah Duke.”

Way to throw me under the bus, kid . She turned around slowly to see a young woman raise her hand, cutting the boy off mid-sentence.

Her sun-kissed skin stood out against her white jersey, a bold contrast to the dark hair flowing freely down her back. Her stunning brown eyes smoldered, making her look older than she probably was. The curly-haired child perched on her hip didn’t do anything to highlight her youthful features either. Still, in another place, a beach, or a bar, she might have passed for a co-ed if not for the expression on her face, which couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than that of an angry mother.

The boy, Joseph Landon Grettano apparently, shifted quietly from one foot to the other as he awaited his sentencing.

“I trusted you, and you broke my trust. It’s time for you to come back with us until you can prove yourself to me again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled, hanging his head.

Duke felt guilty for getting him in trouble. She hadn’t thought her offer through, but how could she know he wasn’t supposed to run around the stadium? It wasn’t her fault he didn’t ask his mom first.

She quietly slid back, hoping to fade, unnoticed into the crowd.

“And you,” the woman said, slowly, deliberately turning her focus. “Who do you think you are?”

“Um,” she glanced down at her press pass, suddenly unsure of the answer to that question, “I’m Sarah Duke. I’m a sportswriter.”

“A sportswriter who lures little boys into dark tunnels?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but”—that sounded horrible—“not like that.”

“Seriously? You try to abscond with my child without telling me, then lead him into the underbelly of a sports stadium to some place I don’t have access to and cannot see.” She waved her free arm so wildly it flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “And all you can say for yourself is, it’s ‘not like that’?”

“Uh, well.” She squirmed much the same way the boy had. Could anyone in the world stand a mother’s scolding when they knew she was right? “Look, I’m sorry. He was sitting alone and—”

“He was not alone,” she snapped. “I was ten rows back, and I had my eye on him the whole time.”

“Okay, fine. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know anyone one was watching him so you thought you could take him?” She shifted the younger child to her other hip while giving Duke a moment to realize how bad that sounded. “I should call the police on you.”

That was just what she needed on Opening Day. “I said I’m sorry.”

“When it comes to my kids, sorry doesn’t cut it. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, obviously.” She shrugged. “I’m a massive moron who wanted to do something nice for a kid who seemed, I don’t know, smarter, or more together, or just better than the rest.”

The women’s expression softened, so Duke plowed on. “He asked me some intelligent questions about pitching, so I wanted to show him where the pitchers warmed up. Clearly that was stupid of me.”

“No.” The woman sighed exasperatedly. “ That was nice of you. You were stupid not to think he had a mother somewhere who would worry herself sick if he disappeared. You were stupid to think it would be okay for a stranger to take a nine-year-old boy into a tunnel at a sports stadium. You were stupid to—”

“‘Stupid’s bad word,” the child on her hip said around the two fingers in his mouth.

“You’re right, honey.” She paused to kiss him on the forehead, and for one second, her entire being transformed. The tension in her face relaxed. Every line softened as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips tenderly to his smooth skin. Then, as if exhaling all her anger, she blew out a heavy breath and asked, “Sarah Duke, do you have children?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Then you have no idea what it feels like.”

“What does it feel like?” she asked, captivated by the change in the beautiful woman before her.

The woman raised her eyes, deep, dark eyes awash with fear. “Like I watched you pick up my heart and carry it into a place it might not return from.”

Duke thought she’d been sorry before. She’d certainly felt sorry while getting yelled at, but now with her stomach clenched and her breath caught in her throat, she understood true remorse. “I am so sorry.”

“Fine.” She sounded exasperated and tired.

“Fine?”

“Does this mean we can go now?” The older boy asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

“No,” his mother said. “You’re still ballpark grounded. You’re not to leave my side. Got it?”

The kid looked absolutely crestfallen but managed to mumble, “Yes ma’am.”

“It’s hot dog time?” the younger boy asked, clearly immune to the trouble his brother was in.

“Not until the third inning, honey.” His mom handled the non sequitur gently before she turned back to Duke. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, then waited, unsure of what she should do. Had she been dismissed? Should she apologize once more? Offer to make it up to them somehow? Or run? Clearly getting out of there was the best option. Something about the woman’s disapproval and her son’s disappointment constricted Duke’s chest. “Okay, then I guess I’ll go. Really, I’m very sorry, to both of you.”

The woman said nothing. She didn’t even acknowledge her retreat. She’d clearly returned her focus to her family, leaving Duke on the outside of the circle.

Pre order Heart of the Game!

Countdown to Heart Of The Game: 2 Weeks

Wed, 18 Feb 2015 07:34:00 GMT

Hey friends,

We’re in the final weeks before the release of my next novel, Heart Of The Game! Today I’m going to give you the first sneak peak of the book. It’s the prologue, so there’s no real set up needed, but by way of introduction, I will say I’m pretty proud of this piece. If you like it, too, why not head on over and pre-order yourself a copy ?

Pre-Game

The crowd pushed around her, a mass of denim and skin blocking the sun and even, at times, the air. Tall trunks of legs rose past her line of sight, a solid forest uprooted, flowing and shifting like a river and carrying her along. Everyone towered impossibly high and swift around her, a legion of giants, but such is the worldview of every four-year-old. With her small hand engulfed securely by her father’s, she found nothing disconcerting about her inability to see beyond the blue jeans in front of her. She allowed herself to be pulled along in his wake, content for once to be part of this stream of people with him for once. She even looked like him now, almost. Her overalls were only a shade lighter than his pants, and they covered her legs the same way even if they did come up higher and have silver buckles. They also said “Oshkosh.” She liked that word. Her mother had said it when she pointed to the blue label. Her father didn’t have a blue label, but he wore a red shirt like hers. Red like a fire truck, red like a crayon, red like the little bird on her hat. It wasn’t her hat, though. It was Aidan’s, but Aidan was sick, so she got to wear it.

She also got his ticket. “Ticket.” She said the word loudly enough to be heard by her own ears, then float away on the sea of moving trunks behind her. She liked word as much as she liked the slip of paper protruding from her tight fist. She’d seen it at home but hadn’t been allowed to touch it until they’d come into this cavernous hallway. Once in the dim night and the forest of knees, her father had handed it to her. She sensed its importance without understanding its purpose and silently hoped to prove herself worthy of this thing, this ticket.

She felt more than saw their path change. There was a pause, then a step to the left, a few more steps forward, then over. Soon they were near a wall, close enough she could have touched it, but she didn’t. She followed only the denim knees she recognized as his as they turned down another smaller hall. This one wasn’t as crowded. Light slipped in among the legs ahead, and the gray slab walls on either side offered shelter from the pushing, grinding river of bodies. Her father slowed, allowing the tension in their joined arms to slacken, and she scooted up even with him. Gradually the layers of legs before her stepped away, each one leaving more slivers of sunlight for her eyes to adjust to until finally the last of the legs stepped away, revealing the most beautiful sight her young eyes had ever seen.

The enormity of the view seeped in slowly, like the gentle warmth of the setting sun against her cheeks. The path before her descended steeply to a low wall, separating this plain of cold, gray concrete from a vast open field of colors more vibrant than anything she had in her box of crayons. The dirt was a rich shade of orange, but not like an actual orange, burnt, crumbled, and cut through with stark, bold white lines. They offered a dry contrast to the lush green of the grass, which stood bright and deep, rippling into patterns. Rows crossed one another in the faintest shades, lighter or darker, like those left by her mother’s vacuum across their living room carpet. If someone had vacuumed the field, it must have been God. Surely no person could have done something so big and so perfect. Even though the concept of the divine hovered foggy and uncertain in her mind, she knew God lived in the stained glass and tall pipe organ of her church, and she knew instinctively He lived here, too.

Men, or rather, big boys occupied the field. They dotted the richly colored grass, the brilliant white of their clothes signaling to her they were part of the field, or maybe the field belonged to them. They ran about, back and forth, or swung bats. Some of them simply sat in the grass, arms and legs outstretched, bending and straightening languidly. They were playing. The formality of gods blended with the youthfulness of children to draw her closer.

A group of younger children brushed passed her, their hands clutching cotton candy, popcorn, snow cones, but her eyes remained locked on something more compelling than any petty treat. The men on the field had birds on their shirts, red birds, bright and definitive against the white, the same little bird she had on her hat. She drew steadily nearer now, slowly but purposefully inching closer, over the lip of each stair. She’d let go of her father’s hand, but still felt anchored, as if tethered to him. He had brought her here. He wore the red bird, so did those boys in white, and so did she. Her mind made connections loosely, rapidly, freely, but her feet moved to a rhythm set to a reason she could only sense.

She stepped to level ground, the last of the gray concrete beneath her feet, before the low wall, and saw her opening. A little door, a small gate, towering bodies of men shifted all around, but they were dull and faded compared to the sharp pull beyond. She strode with an unnamable confidence now, threading her way nimbly around obstacles too big to pay her any mind. Her foot struck out, both of its own accord and of her deepest wish, then hovered, suspended over the burnt orange clay. Inches from Eden, she halted, then was whisked backward and upward as her father scooped her swiftly into his arms.

“You scared me to death, Sarah. Don’t ever wander off like that again.” The harshness of his words was undercut by both relief and exasperation as he carried her slowly back up the muted gray stairs.

She struggled against his hold, squirming around to see the field over his shoulder, her face scraping against the dark stubble of his beard. “I want to be out there, Daddy.”

“So does everybody else who’s ever picked up a baseball,” he snapped, then sighed. “We all want to be out there, but we’re not allowed.”

“Then why are those boys out there?” She pointed to the players.

He turned slowly toward the direction indicated by her outstretched hand. He stared at the men on the field, his blue eyes seemingly focused on something bigger or farther away than the players in his line of sight. He didn’t speak, and she waited, captivated by the pensiveness in his gaze, the sag of his shoulders, the slight crook at the corners of his lips. He’d always been a giant in her eyes, but for a moment he changed in a way a mythical creature may be timeless, or boundless. They stood, transfixed for what felt like a long time before he sighed heavily. His shoulders dropped and the deep creases along his mouth returned as he turned back to her and said, “Some of those boys are blessed, some of them work harder than all the others along the way. Most of them are both. Either way, they earned the right to go on that field. The rest of us are just lucky to be able to see them play.”

He set her down on the stadium seat, then with a smile even a child could tell was fake asked if she’d like a hot dog.

She ignored the question and tried to focus on the feeling slipping away. “Blessed,” she repeated as she stood on her bright red chair and looked out once more on the field, the colors, the boys, and their play. She didn’t know if she was blessed, but she did understand hard work. If that was what she needed to do to get closer to that game, then that was what she’d do. Somehow those men with the bird on their shirts had earned their spot in this place. She turned to her dad one more time and said, “Someday I’m going to earn it, too.”

Heart of the Game Cover Reveal

Mon, 12 Jan 2015 19:08:00 GMT

I am couching today’s cover reveal in a bit of political terms because I have been deeply saddened by the news from Paris, and Pakistan, and Nigeria lately. A wave of extremism seems to be on the rise in our world. This is not unsurprising to me. Backlash always accompanies great surges in progress. No one likes to find out they are being left behind, and thankfully outright bigotry has suffered huge blows in the past months. We see it on our own shores in the recent advances in gay marriage, (congrats to all of you in Florida) and in the raised levels of awareness around racism at every branch of our justice system. We see it worldwide too. Women and girls are more educated than ever before, and their right to express themselves safely is being tested in counties that have long denied them even basic human rights. New ideas are gaining ground and old grievances are finally being heard. At times like this our most powerful tool is our voice and the right to use it freely.

Do I believe there are no limits to the right to self expression? No. Do I believe that free speech is synonymous with speech without consequences? No. Do I believe in every human being’s right to express themselves without fear of violence? Absolutely. There is no greater weapon in the fight against terrorists and tyrants alike than free speech. It is the first right we are guaranteed as American citizens. People of every race and religion have fought and died for that right and that fight goes on in every part of the globe today and honestly I think continued fighting is part of the purpose of these attacks. Not only do the people who perpetrate them intend to silence individuals they want to turn entire groups of people against each other. They want to make enemies out of every one. If you are afraid of your neighbors you are less likely to share ideas with them. If you view the world with suspicion you are less likely to see the good in it. If you carry anger and resentment with you everywhere there is no room for love, and if you expend all your energy on defenses you have nothing left to devote to progress.

I will not be part of this cycle. Not only do I refuse to be silenced I also refuse to live in fear of being silenced. I very much see the work I do as part of this ongoing fight for free speech. I live every day aware of the fact that there are people who violently oppose my right to write about the things I do. I have heard from some of these people over the years both in writing and in person. On social media and in social situations alike. I’ve been screamed at on college campuses and the National Mall. I’ve seen hate and anger and venom wrapped in the thin veil of religious piety. I’ve been told Jesus hates me, and that God will rejoice to see me in Hell. I’ve even been told I should be in hell right now and that such a visit could be arranged. I have been frightened. I have been hurt. I have been angered and saddened by other people’s attacks on my right to tell my stories, and yet I will continue to tell them.

You see the only reasonable response to an attack on free speech is more free speech. I once heard Lee Lynch say that we’ve written so many books now they cannot possibly burn them all. I intend to keep adding to that total. That is my answer to everyone who has ever told me I didn’t deserve to say the things I am called to say. That is my answer to the fear, and the anger and the violence. I will not fight fire with fire. I will not turn against my neighbors. I will not give into the forces that try to tear us apart. I will not turn to hate and I will never resort to violence. I refuse to allow those flames to consume me. I will smother them with my own stories. I will drown them out with my own voice. I will throw another book on the pile my sisters and brothers are building, and say, “There’s another one, and another, and another. If you burn them I will write more. And there are more like me. Many more who will dedicate their lives to undercutting your tales of hate with stories of love overcoming them. You cannot frighten us all into submission. You cannot silence us all. You cannot kill us all. We will not go quietly.”

So, without further ado, I am thrilled to share with you the cover of my latest project, Heart of the Game .

It is the story of a sports writer who falls for a single mom. It’s a love story. A romance between two women. Two lesbians. Two people who strive to overcome whatever forces in the world threaten to keep them apart. It is the kind of story a lot of people don’t want told, but it is more than that. It is my latest contribution to the larger body of work, to the larger chorus of voices who proclaim, we will not be silenced.

Goodbye Cate

Mon, 27 Oct 2014 20:27:00 GMT

I had a dream last night about losing a friend. When I woke up, I thought for a second that’s all it had been, a dream. Tears fell again upon realizing it wasn’t. I know that Cate Culpepper would not want me to cry over her passing, and yet I can’t seem to stop. I’ve dissolved into a blubbering mess multiple times over the past twenty-hours, and I fully believe she’s somewhere looking down on my tears and cracking jokes about them right now. She was irreverent like that, never rash or inconsiderate in her humor, but also unwilling to let me slip into too dark a place or take anything too seriously for my own good. She saw the good in things, in people, in me. From the posts I’ve seen both publically and privately, I think she played the same role in many people’s lives.

It’s strange to try to sum her up, as if that sort of summation could ever be done by anyone, and least of all me. I feel like I didn’t know Cate very well at all. I certainly didn’t know how sick she was. I feel terrible for that, even while realizing I likely didn’t know because she didn’t want me to. But more than that, I know very few details of her life. We didn’t talk about her personal life or her history much. I hope that wasn’t because I failed to ask. We did talk about her work with her cherished youth in Seattle sometimes. We talked about her beloved Kirby occasionally. We talked about issues of faith more often. We talked about writing, both the art and the business of it, most often, but even that didn’t happen frequently. In reality we only talked a couple times of year, and by talk I mean we emailed or facebook messaged. We met in person only once, and very briefly. To be honest, the level of grief I am experiencing seems disproportionate to the amount of time we had together. I spent much of last night trying to sort out my feelings on why that is.

In her farewell video, Cate said, “There’s no need to measure the happiness of a life by it’s longevity.” She was very wise, so I will believe her and humbly add that maybe there’s also no need to judge the happiness of a friendship by its frequency of communication, because Cate’s friendship has certainly been one of my most cherished since breaking into this business. It was also one of my most dependable. At the darkest hours of my career, Cate was there for me. During a time when I counted the people I could trust in the business on one hand, she was always among them, and I like to think I know which of those fingers she would have liked to be counted on because she never left any doubts about her willingness to “Go to bat for y’all in a hot second.” I cannot begin to go into details about this time in my career or the things Cate said to help me get through it, partly out of respect for everyone’s privacy, but also largely because the statute of limitation is not yet up on some of the pranks we proposed or pulled through the years.

Her support for me was so unwavering it’s hard to imagine what it will be like going forward without her. She was a bellwether for me without even knowing it.

It wasn’t so long ago that I struggled with so much uncertainty about my own gender identity, not to mention my fear of how it would be received in the world of Lesfic. I worried that maybe I should femme it up, or at least keep to labels people understood, like butch. The established dichotomies, while not without their detractors, at least had a solid place in our community, but Cate saw me clearly even before I fully saw myself. Even in the earliest days of our friendship, she took to calling me her “handsome lad,” “darling boi,” or “mi hermano,” and I found myself almost giddy at the terms of endearment. She used playful pronouns, and even created a few of her own terms that I co-oped for myself. She recognized that part of me and made me feel accepted, understood, and even enjoyed long before I felt those things about myself. To this day, even though others have become more comfortable with those terms, few have ever given me as much pleasure as hearing them from Cate the Great Amazon Queen.

Likewise, she encouraged me to write and talk about my faith at a time when I feared how such topics would be received. I still hold tight to two emails she sent on the subject. At one point she said, “I hope you’ll “go on” for much longer about your faith, when it feels right. You would write beautifully about this. I fully understand your (concerns) but consider writing it anyway…As spirituality is so central to your life, I’d think writing about it would be a great stretch of your creative wings — a story from your heart.” The words meant even more from me because Cate didn’t share in my religion at all, to my knowledge. She had found the Divine along a different spiritual path, but she never criticized my own. In fact, when another author once mocked me for my faith, Cate swooped in, seemingly out of nowhere, and defended my faith more swiftly and decisively than I could have. Her courage, strength, and consideration inspired my own. She gave so many of us such a wonderful gift by showing us the best in ourselves even before we knew it was there.

At the same time though, she wasn’t one to linger in the heavy, or in places of fear or sadness. I know that when the shock and sadness of her passing fade, Cate’s sense of humor and mischief will once again be the first things that come to mind when I remember her. I will be forever thrilled that the last conversation we had consisted of an uproariously funny and hilariously detailed revenge fantasy that came with her sincere assurance that she’d “love to fuck with a few people and then take pictures of them and send them to you to affirm your confidence in me!”

We both closed the thread by saying “I love you,” a fact I will be eternally grateful for (please don’t ever leave those words unsaid). But she was never one to leave things on too serious a note, so I won’t end this reflection that way either. Instead I will close with the last words Cate ever said to me, I think they are a fitting summation of the nature of our friendship and a perfect example of what I will miss so much.

“Just remember, I will be happy to donate Cate’s personal butt-sweat to this cause at any time! Just steal something from their office and mail it to me — I’ll mail it back after ‘treating’ it.”

First Day Of School

Thu, 04 Sep 2014 18:37:00 GMT

My son went back to school this week. He’s in the first grade and he’s super cute about it. See?

I know he was a little nervous, especially since his best friend moved over the summer and it was the first “first day” without him since pre-school. Still, he smiled and walked off with an I-got-this look. Never mind he’d only seen the teacher once before or that none of his close friends from last year were in the class. He bought school lunch too, something I always found a little nerve-wracking (still do). I know he wished for more friends around hime, but he seemed confident he would make them. I know he wasn’t sure what kind of work first grade would require, but he told me he was confident in his ability to learn it. And I know he misses his teacher from last year, but he seems so sure he’ll be fine with this new teacher’s way of doing things. It’s not perfect, it’s not what he had before, it’s not even what he knows, and yet with a quick hug, he said, “Bye, Mom.” And off he ran.

It’s disorienting for me, probably much more so than it is for him, to leave him there and come home to…what? I just sent a completed manuscript to my editor. Won’t have edits to do for a while now. There’s housework of course, and believe me I fell into that trap last year (Here’s the terrible secret: It’s never done). No, I’m not really a housewife. I’m a writer. I have to write. It’s not a conventional job, but it is my job just as much as being a first grader is Jackie’s job. And really those jobs feel pretty similar right now.

No one is making me a lunch to take with me or packing my backpack in the morning, but I am meeting new friends. My characters have just barely introduced themselves to me. I don’t even know their last names yet, but I do know we’re going to be working very closely over the next six months or more. What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if I don’t like them as much as I liked my last set of characters? I’m feeling those subtle pains of loneliness for my old friends. Remember how easy things were with them? Well, they weren’t always easy. My first days with them were just as awkward and nervous, but it doesn’t feel that way now.

I’m going into a new classroom of sorts, too, in that I’m working with a new setting. I don’t know all the rules and constraints of the places and spaces I’m writing about. Like my son who has to find a new cubby and new backpack hook, and learn a whole new set of classroom norms, I’m hanging back a little bit. I’m watching, I’m asking questions, and I’m making tentative moves to test the waters. Even with all that, some things will never be perfect, and no one likes to be corrected. Even at 31, I’m nervous about hearing, “You can’t do that,” from an editor or reader instead of a teacher. And sometimes there’s no way of learning but to mess up first.

How do little kids do it? At least I get to pick what I write about. At least this is a job that I chose. At least I can walk away when things bother me too badly. Little Jackie boy and his friends are stuck at school with a teacher they didn’t chose and a set of rules they have no say in. And yet, off he goes into the great unknown, happily smiling, Minion backpack in tow, as he greets his new adventure. And it is a new adventure, for both us, and for all of you following along.

I always thought maybe this guy would grow up to me like me, but maybe it’s just time for me to grow up and be a little more like him.

Timeless Is Out!

Tue, 01 Apr 2014 18:23:00 GMT

No April Fools joke here, friends. Timeless is available now from Bold Strokes Books. You can order it in print or ebook right here ! I know I’ve spent months telling you all how excited I am about this release but it’s worth repeating. This one is different from anything I’ve ever tried before. Big surprises ahead. I’m not going to spoil anything yet, but I will say things like this can’t be kept under wraps for long so if you’re even remotely interested (and you’re here, so I assume you are) you’re going to want to read this one early.

In order to keep piquing your interest and help speed up the reading process I’m going to share one final print excerpt from Timeless . This will lead us up to a special treat for you next week, so you’ll want to be caught up before then. In case you’re new to the blog you’ll want to read the previous excerpts before going on. Scene one , scene two , scene three/four . If you’ve been following along from the beginning then please, read on!

Timeles s
Scene Five

Dinner passed easily enough. Edmond and Rory took turns holding court from their end of the table while Beth and Miles made cheerful conversation at ours, occasionally stopping to ask my opinion or explain an inside joke. They never left me out, but I had plenty of time to steal little glances at Jody. I couldn’t say she hadn’t aged in the last decade, but the signs of time were minimal. If I didn’t know she had a few years on me, I would’ve placed her in her mid-twenties. Something about her face…maybe the slight upturn at the end of her slender nose, or the sparkle in her eyes, or the way her grin hinted at something mischievous just often enough to catch me off guard. But whatever the cause, she carried an air of perpetual youth.

I pulled my gaze away to see Beth eyeing me sympathetically. Could everyone in the room tell I hadn’t been on a date in three months?

“We’d better call it a night,” Miles said, pushing back from the table. We’ve got some work to do at the house if we’re going to get it on the market this spring.”

“You have a house here?” I asked, eager for a diversion.

“Yes, I worked at the college until about two months ago, when I transferred to the admissions office at DePaul University.” He smiled sweetly. “I wanted to be closer to Edmond.”

“We miss him terribly,” Beth said. “And we hold Edmond personally responsible for cutting our gay and lesbian group by one fifth.”

“It’s not my fault you had only five gays in the village,” Edmond teased her. “Surely you could recruit some more.”

The table went quiet, and Jody seemed suddenly interested in folding her napkin until Edmond realized even though he was among friends, Darlington wasn’t the best place to publicly joke about recruitment, especially with teachers at the table. Despite the fact that Rory and Beth had clearly been granted some level of acceptance, wariness and a level of caution permeated my senses here. That awareness of my surroundings had been born from years of watching, testing, and observing what types of behaviors were rewarded, which were tolerated, and which were met with rebuke, silent or otherwise. Those lessons had guided me through my youth and stayed with me always. Rory, on the other hand, seemed quicker to move on as she rose and extended her arm to Edmond, saying, “Ladies, shall we adjourn?”

“We shall,” Edmond answered cheerfully and, looping his arm through hers, headed toward the parking lot.

We all said good-bye to Edmond, who hugged me again, and to Miles, who thankfully did not, but as we turned to go, Jody lingered.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, wishing I’d come up with something more impressive or charming or at least a question I didn’t already know the answer to.

“Yes, of course. I look forward to it, but I won’t be free before the assembly. I have a class until ten o’clock, and after that we won’t have much time to do anything but lead you to the stage.”

I didn’t know what bothered me more, the thought of the stage or the reminder I wouldn’t get another chance to talk with her. Say something, anything. My brain begged my mouth to keep the conversation going, but I managed only to say, “It’s okay, I understand.”

Jody nodded. “So you have everything you need for tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I started to back away. Who was I kidding, wishing for more time with her? I’d likely make a fool of myself, and on the off chance I didn’t, what would it matter? I’d be around for only twenty-six more hours. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thanks.”

I took another step back and bumped into Beth. She steadied me with a gentle hand on my shoulder before saying, “I’m sure you’re tired, but it might be better for you two to run by the high school tonight. You know, to go over the itinerary and walk through the setup for the assembly.”

“Honey,” Rory interjected. “They’re both professionals. I’m sure they don’t need a dry run on something this straightforward.”

“I didn’t mean to imply they couldn’t handle it,” Beth said, her tone understanding but her gaze purposefully angling from Rory back to me. “But not everyone loves to just jump up on the stage. Having all the information ahead of time might put their minds at ease.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep Stevie out too late, but it might not be a bad idea to check things out tonight. If we do need to make any changes, tomorrow will be too late,” Jody said tentatively, her smile shy but hopeful as she turned to address me directly. “That is, if Stevie doesn’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine with me.” I might have been tired, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I lost another chance to talk to Jody.

“Good,” Beth said. “It’s best to be prepared.”

Rory wrapped her arm around Beth’s waist and kissed her quickly on the temple. “That’s my little librarian for you. Why don’t we just follow you to the school, Jody?”

“We don’t need to go.” Beth subtly steered Rory toward their car. “I’m sure Jody can handle things.”

“We’re Stevie’s ride,” Rory said.

“Jody can drop her off when they are done. Can’t you, Jody?”

“Sure.” Jody’s voice carried a hint of the awareness that warmed my cheeks even in the cold February evening. Beth had arranged for us to be alone together. Why didn’t it surprise me that the darling of Darlington liked to play matchmaker? I didn’t know if I should trip her or hug her, so instead I shrugged my acceptance.

There you have it, friends, your final print excerpt from Timeless . I hope you’ll check out the full book and stay tuned for more updates and adventures between the pages in the weeks to come.

Countdown to Timeless: One Week Left

Wed, 26 Mar 2014 17:57:00 GMT

Friends, we only have one week until you can have my new release, Timeless , in your hands! If you order from the Bold Strokes Books website, it will ship on or before April 1st. I know I’m biased, but I think you’ll want to read this one early. I’m going to be discussing the big surprises in this one a lot at various events over the next few months, and you won’t want any spoilers in your way, right?

So with that in mind I’m giving you a little bit of a head start on the novel by slowly releasing the first chapter in the weeks leading up to the official launch of Timeless . I’ve already shared the first scene here , and the second scene here , but since the next scene is a short one, I am giving you two scenes today. TWO SCENES in one week. See how generous I am? No, really, I just love these characters and want to share them with you. I hope along the way you start to fall a little bit in love with them too.

Timeless
Scene Three and Four

Rory knocked on the door of my bedroom at five o’clock sharp. I felt weird staying at her farmhouse on the edge of town. We’d never been friends in high school. She was older and infinitely cooler. I’d known Beth a little better, but while she was friendly with the whole town, we’d never actually been friends. Maybe I should’ve opted to stay in a hotel, but there wasn’t really one in town, just a motel, and maybe even that term was too generous for the set of rooms for rent in a concrete building by the railroad tracks. Rory and Beth’s home clearly offered the better option, even if the setup meant more social contact than I would’ve preferred.

“Hey, we need to get going soon, but I wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”

Beth had left out two extra blankets, two extra pillows, three towels, two washcloths, and enough magazines to fill a dentist’s waiting room. I held up one of the bottles of water I’d found on the bedside table. “I’m sure I could survive the zombie apocalypse in here.”

Rory laughed, shaking a wisp of chestnut-colored hair from her forehead. “Beth is nothing if not a diligent hostess.”

“She’s great and so are you. Thanks for putting me up. I hope I’m not too much of a bother.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been here over two hours and we haven’t even heard you yet. The cat has made more noise than you have.”

I’d hidden in my room with the dual purpose of passing the time calmly and staying out of Rory and Beth’s way, but maybe I’d been unintentionally rude. I should’ve napped. I tried, but everything felt too surreal, so I settled for some quiet time staring out the window at a vast, vacant cornfield. Should I have stayed downstairs and chatted with my hosts? I already feared my ability to make small talk during dinner tonight, and breakfast tomorrow, and at the awards assembly. I hadn’t planned on downtime too.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” Rory asked casually, but I clearly read the concern in her expressive eyes. Her worry amplified my own.

“Um, no, I mean maybe a little, but I—”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. My first week back in town I didn’t leave my room once. I wouldn’t even go to the grocery store until Beth dragged me there.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’ll go to dinner of my own free will. I’ve got nothing against Darlington. It’s just fine by me. Not the place for me to live, but who am I to judge, right?”

“Good for you. It took me months to leave the past in the past and start to move forward,” Rory said. “You’re a much stronger woman than I.”

“Not at all.” If I’d been strong in the face of my publicist I wouldn’t even be here now. “You had a lot more to overcome. I’ve never had a hard time letting go of the past because it never mattered in the first place. I guess I’ve just been lucky that way.”

Rory’s expression turned introspective, causing her dimples to fade.

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. My past was certainly complicated, but even the bad parts helped make me who I am. Without facing those struggles I wouldn’t have learned the things I learned about myself, about the people I love. I wouldn’t trade any of it.”

Damn, I admired her. We’d been raised in the same town, gone to the same schools, chosen similar career paths, and we were both gay. How had she turned out so strong, so reflective, so self-assured? Then again she’d always been that way. A born leader. I, on the other hand, had wallflower written all over my DNA. “We’re really different people.”

Rory slung one arm around my shoulder and said, “Maybe, but we’ve both ended up in the same place tonight, and who knows where we’ll go from here.”

“Rory! Stevie!” Edmond burst into the restaurant, and his presence in Darlington accosted my senses like the stiff February wind blowing through the still-open door. Rory immediately jumped into his embrace while I took an involuntary step back. Reaching out with one arm, he caught me by the shoulder and pulled me into an awkward group hug. “Look at this, both my little Midwest lezzies together in the spot where it all began. I’m so proud.”

He released me just far enough to hold me at arm’s length, the bright paisley pattern of his shirt dizzying me into submission. “How are you holding up, cupcake?”

“I’m fine,” I said, mortified, then in an attempt to preempt any more embarrassing questions added, “Everything’s great.”

“Damn right. This is a Kodak moment.” He pulled a camera out of the pocket of his skinny jeans but gave me little time to wonder how he’d squeezed himself into pants that tight, much less added a camera before he handed it to an attractive man just stepping in from the cold. “Get a picture of us all together, babe?”

I had no time to protest before he’d rearranged himself between Rory and me so we all faced the camera. I summoned my photo smile automatically, and the flashbulb temporarily blinded me. Everything happened so fast. I barely had time to consider what this blur of activity would look like to the other restaurant patrons, but as Edmond turned his attention to Beth, simultaneously hugging her and complimenting her hair, I took the chance to glance around.

The Highlands was the nicest restaurant in Darlington, which was about like saying it was the biggest shrimp in a salad. The carpet, a small step above the indoor/outdoor variety, reminded me of a patio or putting green. The tablecloths shone a shade off from white under the fluorescent light, and the walls held paintings of woodsy scenes or placid lakes. The dinner crowd leaned toward the older side of fifty, and while some glanced our way, most of them seemed perfectly content to focus on the huge slabs of meat or piles of carbs on their plates. Best of all, I didn’t see anyone who appeared to recognize me. The longer I lasted without having to chat with some casual acquaintance of my parents, the better.

“Apparently if I wait for my darling boyfriend to make introductions, I’ll be standing here all night.” The man who’d taken our picture extended his hand. “So, hi. I’m Miles.”

Very handsome and only slightly less polished than Edmond, he wore a less garish blue oxford shirt and standard gray slacks, but both were fashionable and fit like they were made for him. “I’m Stevie.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Edmond talks about you all the time.”

I glanced over at Edmond in time to see Rory give him a playful shove and felt a stab of envy at their easy camaraderie. “I’m sorry. He’s probably exasperated with me on a regular basis.”

“Not at all. He admires you, and yes, sometimes he wishes you’d cooperate more, but only because he’s so proud of you and wants to show you off.”

I didn’t know what to say, or if I should even try to say anything around the little catch of emotion in my throat. Miles had no reason to lie. Then again, maybe he simply loved Edmond and wanted to play the role of supportive business spouse. Still, I appreciated his attempt to include me, and his kind brown eyes soothed my insecurities. “Thank you.”

A young hostess led us to a large table in the back corner of the restaurant. While still in the main dining room, the position shielded us a little from the other patrons, and I dared to hope I could pass the evening without drawing any attention to myself. I’d have to make plenty of small talk at the awards ceremony, but why deal with today what I could put off until tomorrow? At least at dinner I knew everyone and how they related to each other. I allowed myself to relax a little in my seat next to Miles and across from Beth while Rory and Edmond chatted easily about news from Chicago. Perhaps this evening out in Darlington could be like any other night out with a group of friends. After all, we were in the Midwest, where people weren’t prone to scenes or drama. Though pettiness and gossip always flowed in the undercurrents of small towns, stoicism reigned here, and unlike in New York City, politeness generally overruled curiosity.

The waitress brought menus and water, conversations went on amicably around me, and I contented myself to wonder if the subtle highlights in Miles’s hair were natural or if he had a truly gifted stylist.

Then, from across the room, a woman drew my attention. To the casual observer she would’ve merely been another patron entering a busy restaurant on a weeknight. There was nothing unusual about the way she smoothed her hair, so blond it was almost white, as she untangled the delicate strands from the scarf she slowly unwrapped from her neck. No one would likely note anything out of the ordinary in the way her long camel coat hung open down the front, revealing a green V-neck sweater and khaki dress slacks. And nothing stood out about the pink flush that tinged her pale skin either from the cold or excitement. No one else in the room even seemed to notice her arrival or the fact that I seemed to have captivated her attention in the same consuming way she had mine.

She appeared to realize she’d been caught staring the same moment I did, and we both looked away, then immediately back at one another before grinning sheepishly. As she threaded a path between tables and waitresses carrying trays laden with food, I rose to greet her. Stepping forward to initiate a social interaction for the first time all day, I extended my hand while she was still several steps away. “Hi, I’m not sure if you recognize me, but—”

“Stevie. Of course I recognize you. Even if your pictures weren’t on the back of your books, I’d still know you anywhere. Welcome home.”

I tried not to grimace. I didn’t consider Darlington home, though I didn’t think of New York that way either. The concept of home eluded me, but then again at the moment everything eluded me. Everything but the dazzling blue of her eyes.

My eyes are blue, but not at all like hers, not so engaging or so complicated a mix of shades and hues, and not with the pure lightness that shone through them. My writer’s brain searched fruitlessly for a natural comparison—the Colorado sky? a sun-soaked sea? a robin’s egg? They all fell short, and I was staring again.

“It’s very nice to see you, Miss Hadland,” I finally managed to say. Then I just couldn’t help myself from asking, “It’s still Miss Hadland, right?”

She smiled a sweet but knowing smile. “Only to my students. Please call me Jody.”

“Classroom habits die hard.”

“Really? It’s been over ten years. Surely you don’t still think of all your teachers as perpetually in a position of authority?”

“No, honestly I don’t think of most of my teachers at all, much less as having authority in my life, but you never had any heavy authority to begin with. Student teachers rank below substitutes in the high-school food chain.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m glad to know I left such a strong impression.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” It was hard to make myself clear with my foot in my mouth and my head full of clouds. “I meant to say I’ll always think of you as a teacher because you were such a good one.”

Jody’s smile grew from one of politeness to genuine pleasure. “Nice recovery.”

“I mean it. Your theater class my senior year is still my favorite of all the classes I’ve ever taken, even in college.”

“Really? Why have I never seen you on a stage then?”

“Oh, me? Never.” I hoped my nausea didn’t show. “Exposing myself on paper is nerve-racking enough. I could never lay myself bare in front of an audience. But I pulled heavily from your teachings while writing my play.”

“You’ve written a play?”

“I have…I mean it’s still unproduced. It’s not much really, just a first attempt.”

“Damn it, Stevie, stop doing that,” Edmond called loudly from the other end of the table. Both Jody and I turned toward him. I’d forgotten he was there, which is exceedingly hard to do with Edmond. “Her play is amazing. It’s very Wendy Wasserstein mixed with…I don’t know…some other smart, independent woman. And even if it wasn’t, we’re trying to sell the rights, Stevie, so telling people it’s ‘not much’ isn’t helpful.”

“Right. I’m not good at publicity,” I said, embarrassed both to be caught entranced by Jody and to be called out publicly. “This is Edmond, by the way, my booking agent, publicist, and the all-around boss of me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jody,” Edmond said graciously. “Now sit down and tell me lots of embarrassing high-school stories about Stevie so I have something to blackmail her with the next time she won’t listen to me.”

Jody looked at me expectantly, clearly deferring her decision to my wishes. I wanted her to sit by me more than I’d wanted anything in a long time, but I wouldn’t overrule the loudest person at the table. Suddenly I wasn’t grateful to him for keeping the conversation going. I wanted him to stay out of it altogether, but I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t just stand there either. Everyone stared at me now. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m sure you two have a lot in common. You should get to know each other.”

Jody’s smile faded back into one of courtesy, and I watched in disappointment as she acquiesced and took the seat next to him. It was for the best. They probably did have a lot in common, and he’d have no trouble holding up his end of the conversation.

As I returned to my place and tried to steady my buzzing nerves, I caught a look of understanding, perhaps tinged with amusement, pass between Beth and Rory. Had I been too obvious in my favorable appraisal of Jody? I wasn’t surprised my admiration showed through. I’d meant everything I’d said about her influences on my work. She’d introduced me to theater, helped foster a love of literature, and taught me the true power of language. She deserved praise, but she didn’t deserve to be ogled by a grown woman as if I were a cross between a love-struck schoolboy and a salivating animal. So much for going unnoticed. Of all the ways I’d considered embarrassing myself, revealing a crush on a former teacher hadn’t been one of them.

I was leaving in less than thirty hours and couldn’t imagine returning to Darlington in the foreseeable future, but for some reason that fact seemed less comforting than it had in the past. At least my embarrassment would be short-lived, but I also felt a subtle pang of regret that I likely wouldn’t get another chance to talk with Jody.

Countdown to Timeless: Two Weeks Left!

Tue, 18 Mar 2014 18:17:00 GMT

Hey friends. We’re down to two weeks until the release of Timeless . Can you tell I am so super excited? As many of you know from last week’s blog, I just can’t wait to share this story. I actually gave you the first scene to read here . If you haven’t read that first scene yet, you should do so before going on. For those of you who have read the first scene and still want more, here is second scene for your reading enjoyment and general interest piquing.

Timeless Scene Two

“Hey, Stevie,” someone called.

I scanned the crowd at St. Louis’s Lambert Airport until I saw a sign that read Geller. Cringing at the blatant display of attention, I forced myself not to grab the sign out of Rory’s hands and toss it into the nearest trashcan. Instead I jammed my hands into the pockets of my olive-green cargo pants and said, “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

“Of course I remember you.” Rory laughed easily. She was even more magnetic than she’d been in high school, and that was saying a lot. “Beth made the sign. She loves cutesy little things like that and I…well, I love her.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the silly grin on Rory’s face. Who would’ve thought the mere mention of a plain Midwestern farmer’s daughter could turn such a formidable warrior into mush. A hint of longing tapped at my own heart, but I shrugged it off and grabbed my bag. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No worries. Beth and I enjoyed the chance to spend a morning in the Central West End. She’s in the car. We couldn’t find a place to park.” Rory nodded toward the luggage carousel. “Do you have any more bags?”

“No, just the one. I’m only here overnight.”

Rory nodded sympathetically as we headed toward the parking lot. “Are you silently thanking God for that now?”

“What? No,” I lied. I’d been counting the hours until my return flight would touch down at JFK tomorrow night. I’d actually started counting before I left as I lay awake trying to calculate how many hours of sleep I could get if I fell asleep right that instant. Of course I didn’t fall asleep right then. With all the thoughts of my return to Darlington, the pressure to drum up good publicity, and the fear of a public appearance I didn’t sleep at all, so as the sun began to peek above the crowded New York skyline, I shifted my countdown to reflect the number of hours until I’d be back in my own bed once more. Only thirty-four to go.

“It’s okay. I was in your shoes not long ago, which is why I appreciate your coming back. It’s important for the kids around here to see success stories like yours. It shows them there’s life out there, you know?”

I didn’t know, really. I’d never considered myself a success story, and certainly not a role model. Sure, I’d published a few books, but I wasn’t what most people would call famous. I still had so much more to accomplish, which of course was the only reason I’d agreed to this trip in the first place.

As we stepped outside, a blue Prius pulled to a stop and Beth Deveroux got out. I might not have recognized her if I hadn’t been expecting her. She’d grown out of her teenage awkwardness and into an hourglass frame. Her form-fitting blue jeans and a light-blue V-neck sweater made it a little clearer why Rory went all romantic at just the mention of her. I’d last seen her at her parents’ funeral eleven years ago, and she looked like a new woman now. Not just older and happier, but also beautiful. “Hi, Stevie.”

“Hi, Beth.” I tried to stick out my hand, but Beth drew me into a hug. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been hugged. Not a real hug anyway. People in New York often did that shoulder-grab-and-lean-in sort of greeting, but Beth chose a full-on arm wrap and body press.

“Are you hungry?” Beth asked, stepping back.

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay, let’s get on the road then.” Beth handed the keys to Rory with a sweet kiss, then said, “Stevie, why don’t you ride up front? You’ve got longer legs than I do.”

“Thanks.” Normally I’d refuse so I could try to avoid making conversation, but after being on a plane for two hours, I did feel a little cramped. Or maybe the stress of my responsibilities and my past had started to weigh me down as we headed away from the city and toward the great expanse of farmland along Interstate 55.

“When was the last time you came home?” Beth asked.

“About five years ago, for my parents’ retirement party. I haven’t had a reason to visit since they moved to Boca Raton. I don’t have any other family in the area.”

“Is there anyone you want to see while you’re in Darlington?” Rory asked. “You’re welcome to use one of our cars while you’re here.”

“I haven’t kept in touch with anyone since graduation. You know how busy life gets.”

“Sure.” Rory only glanced from the road to search my expression with those trademark emerald eyes for a second. “Well, Edmond and Miles will get in around five o’clock tonight, and then we’re all going out to dinner with Jody.”

“Jody?”

“Jody Hadland, my co-chair for the arts committee. She teaches at the high school.”

“Miss Hadland? The student teacher?” Memories flooded my mind and caused my heart to beat faster. We all have that first crush, the one that confirms those nagging suspicions about our own sexuality. For me, that crush was Miss Hadland.

“You had her when she was a student teacher? She never told me that,” Rory said.

“She probably doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh no, she does. She said you were one of her most talented students. I just didn’t know it was before she got hired full-time.”

“She really called me one of her best students?” The compliment sent a flush of warmth to my cheeks. I’d had her for two classes my senior year, and while they’d been my favorites, I’d spent both of them huddled quietly in the back corner trying not to get called on or caught staring at her legs.

“Yeah. She’s the one who suggested we have you back.”

Under other circumstances I would’ve been disappointed Rory wasn’t the driving force behind the award, but the fact that Miss Hadland remembered me enough to follow my career gave me a thrill I didn’t care to examine too closely.

“She’s made all the arrangements, which reminds me. I need to call my dean at the college tonight and make sure she remembers the assembly tomorrow.”

Rory continued to ramble, but I allowed my mind to wander. The city faded into suburbs, then to farmland, but the insecurities I’d expected to suffocate me were sublimated by the pleasant memories of my first and only schoolgirl crush. Miss Hadland had shown me a peek of the type of woman I’d later come to recognize as my type, the perfect mix of smart and beautiful I still found irresistible.

There you have it folks, a little hint of things to come. If you want to find out more about what happens to Stevie, you can pre-order Timeless here . Ordering from the Bold Strokes Website assures that your book will ship two weeks before it becomes available from anywhere else. You can also subscribe to this blog for further updates and maybe even a live reading from yours truly in the coming weeks!

Countdown to Timeless: Time to order!

Wed, 12 Mar 2014 15:39:00 GMT

Hey friends,

You can preorder your copy of Timeless now, and I really, really hope you will. You see, I’ve told you about and the settings in NYC and Darlington . I told you about the cover: Front and back . I even told you about my new author photo . Many of you have followed this project on social media from the day I started writing. I love that about you. You’re with me all the way, sharing in so much of this process. I’ve talked to you about all the ups and downs, or writing, editing, and publishing this book, but there are some things I haven’t been able to talk to you about. Big things!

There are parts of the story I’ve been sitting on for so long, and it’s killing me. I want to talk about the actual story of this book so badly, but that would be a spoiler. A big spoiler. (Side note: When you know what I’m talking about, please don’t post about it on social media or review sites without using spoiler alerts). Of all the books I’ve ever written this has been the hardest to talk about without spoiling. And when I say spoil I mean reveal a MAJOR plot point. Like the-bulk-of-the-book major. It’s also the first time I’ve ever written a plot point like this. And I’m covering my mouth with my hands in so many situations to keep from spilling the beans.

Anyway, I want you to read all my books, (please) because I love them, but when you read this one, I get the added benefit of finally getting to talk about it!

So, instead of doing more talking about the book, I decided I am going to let you just start reading the book. Yep, you heard me right. For the next three weeks I’m going to give you sneak peeks of Timeless . That way when you do get your copy of the novel, because I know you ordered one, you’ll have a jump start on the story. That way you can read it faster! You gotta promise me, though, that when you do you’ll let me know what you think, deal?

I’m going to assume you said, “Deal,” so without further ado, here is the first scene of Timeless .

Chapter One

“You’ve got to put yourself out there more, Stevie.” Edmond’s voice came through clearly on the speaker of my iPhone.

I lay on my bed and stared at the line where my high ceiling met the rising brick wall. Holding the phone against my cheek, I thought of how I’d describe the intersection of two such unique textures. Of course there was the aesthetic, the rich colors, the materials, the symmetry, but in this moment I felt more drawn to what the structure represented. The very building blocks of my loft symbolized stability, strength, and most of all, safety. They offered a symbolic balance to my current phone conversation with my publicist.

“Make yourself vulnerable, available, transparent. It’s what writers do.”

“Thanks for the explanation. All this time I thought writers wrote.”

“Unpublished writers, maybe. But you’re a successful novelist, and you want to be a produced playwright, which means you have to network.”

“I’m not good at networking. It’s all fake small talk and sweaty palms. I don’t want to waste an evening being socially awkward with people I’ve never met and will probably never see again.”

“It doesn’t have to be strangers. I got a call from Rory St. James yesterday. She wanted your phone number.”

I sat up at the mention of Rory’s name. The small-town gay activist who’d confronted her demons head-on had been in the news a lot lately after remaking herself and finding love in the town she’d once fled. The same hometown I’d left in my rearview mirror. Everyone we’d grown up with was a bit in awe of Rory, myself included. I was also impressed she even knew I existed. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

“She’s on some arts committee in Darlington.” Edmond sounded like he found the idea amusing. “They want to give you an award.”

That wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t so great either. I probably should’ve been flattered but felt only a mix of relief and disappointment Rory had called on a formality. “Just have her mail the certificate to your office, will ya?”

“They want you to go there to accept it.”

“Pass.”

“What do you mean ‘pass’? It’s free publicity.”

“It’s fluff, I’m busy, I don’t want to.” I flopped back onto the bed, unwilling to give the idea of a return to Darlington another thought. “Whatever. Just pass. Okay?”

“Fine.” Edmond acquiesced, but the flippancy of his tone made me suspect the topic wasn’t fully closed.

“Have you had any bites on the play?” I asked, ready for a change of subject.

“Not yet, but you’ll have another shot at the Theater of Youth fund-raiser next week. Especially if you agree to say a few words.”

“Not going to happen.” The tension in my neck ratcheted up a notch at the prospect of spending a night in a room full of politically charged actors and activists. “I’m not going to the actual dinner, but I’ll send a check.”

Edmond blew out an exasperated breath directly into the phone. “This is your charity of choice. You’re the one who mentioned the event to me. You said you loved youth theater.”

“I do. That’s why I’ll send a check, but I don’t want to get into politics.”

“Even politics you agree with? You won’t lift your voice for something you claim to love?”

I threw off the covers and put my bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. I didn’t have to defend myself to him. He worked for me, not the other way around. Not that I’d ever have the guts or the inclination to tell him that. Still, I wouldn’t be pushed into a political minefield. I’d lived almost thirty years by staying above the fray and had no intention of slipping now.

“Stevie, these kids need this program, and they need people in a position of power to speak for them. You’ve got the time, the money, and the talent. What do you have to lose?”

“Why do you care? If youth theater matters so much to you, then why don’t you give the speech or direct a play?” Why couldn’t anything be easy? I just wanted to give money to a good cause without fighting with anyone.

“I’m not the one shopping a new play. I’m not the one selling books. You are, and you hired me to help.”

“Right, I hired you so I could focus on my writing and you could handle all the publicity.” Actually I’d hired him because he was the only publicist I’d ever heard of. And he only took my call because I went to school with Rory, but still I paid him a nice cut of my royalties so I wouldn’t have to exert any energy on anything but the actual writing.

“You have to give me something to publicize first.”

“I gave you the script for the play.”

“Yes, you’ve got a great play, but so does half of Manhattan.”

“Fine.” I threw up my free hand in defeat. “If their plays are better than mine, I can live with that. I just want to be judged on my merits.”

“You’re adorable.” Edmond laughed. “But you clearly don’t understand how this business works. Without a solid hook you won’t get judged at all. The big names won’t even read the synopsis of an unknown.”

“I’m not an unknown. I have three high-selling novels.”

“They could be best-selling novels if you’d publicize them.” Edmond’s voice rose in volume and pitch as his frustration built. “And I could sell a best-selling author, but I can’t sell someone who refuses to put herself out there.”

I wandered across my apartment to my one big window. Ignoring the reflection of my black hair standing out at odd angles, I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and stared down into the gray streets of New York. I sighed, unwilling to be swept into an argument. I hated confrontation, and this one had already drained me enough for one day. “What do you want from me?”

“Something, anything personal to help me connect you to a producer. Give me an impassioned speech about theater education, or play up your small-town-girl-makes-it-big backstory. Hell, fuck a Rockette in the middle of Times Square to get your name in the tabloids. Do something I can spin.”

Damn. He’d led me right back to the event in Darlington because he knew I’d never consider the other two options. Well, I was open to sleeping with a Rockette, but not the tabloids, and that’s the part he cared about. “I don’t want to go back to Darlington.”

“Why not? Look what it did for Rory St. James’s career. Connecting yourself to her right now would move you way up the social food chain, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my client too,” Edmond said with a hint of pride in his voice. “Go back to your hometown for one night, talk to people you already know, accept an award without a speech, and then come home.”

“It’s not simple.” My resolve wavered but didn’t crack. I had a bad feeling about this whole thing, though I couldn’t articulate why.

“Sure it is. I get a human-interest story, and you get an award and your picture taken with a celebrity. Rory gets to mentor an up-and-coming artist. Everyone wins.”

“She doesn’t want to mentor me, and it doesn’t matter because I’m not Rory St. James. I have no ax to grind. My writing isn’t about Darlington. It’s not even about being gay. My hometown means nothing to me. It’s just a place I used to live.”

“Then why are you afraid to go back there?”

“I’m not afraid.” I was protesting, but I wasn’t sure what I felt about Darlington. Maybe fear was part of it, but more than anything the idea exhausted me, much the same way this conversation did. I’d spent my youth trying to get by, trying to do just enough to stay solidly in the middle. I didn’t want to stand out as exceptional, but I didn’t want to be an outsider either. Maybe that’s what bothered me about this award. I’d stand out. I’d be acknowledged and therefore exposed.

Still, at least I could leave after a day. Even if I did humiliate myself, I wouldn’t have to live with the consequences there like I would if I messed up in New York. Plus in Darlington no one whose opinion actually mattered would be around to see if I fell flat. I could slip in and slip out, then leave all the publicity spin to Edmond. I did want to see my play produced, and while I hated taking a chance, this one seems the least risky of my current options.

“Come on, Stevie. You’ll be in and out, and I’ll even drive down to hold your hand along the way.”

I wasn’t sure if his presence would make me feel better or worse, but at least with Edmond around I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping up my end of the conversation since he rarely let anyone else get a word in “Fine, I’ll do it. For one day.”

“Yes, of course, just one day. How bad can one day be?”

For Creed or Country?

Wed, 05 Feb 2014 17:07:00 GMT

I believe in the Olympic movement.

I believe in the Olympic spirit.

I believe in the Olympic creed.

Faster, higher, stronger. That is the Olympic motto, but I would add a fourth word, the word the Olympics always inspire in me: “Better.”

I believe the Olympics, at their heart, call us all to be better. Better than those who came before us, better than those who stand against us, better than the people who try to divide us. Better than our rulers, better than our government, better than even we ourselves have been.

Notice I didn’t use the word “perfect.” Or even “best.” Better is a quest. It’s not final or finished. Better is always a possibility. Better is a steady endless march forward.

I am not happy with these particular winter games in Sochi, Russia. I thought they were a mess from the moment they were announced. Sochi is a remote playground for the rich, and these games have been largely funded by those tycoons. Then there’s the politics of suppression that began almost immediately and have continued to silence many through anti-gay “propaganda” laws, crackdowns on free speech, human rights abuses, racial profiling, and terrorist threats. Now I hear that there’s no running water in many of the hotels and wild dogs in the streets. The whole thing is a mess, and I join everyone calling for the International Olympic Committee to review the processes they use to award the games to specific locales.

Still, I’d be a massive hypocrite not to acknowledge that Sochi is not the first Olympic host to fall short of the Olympic ideals. Most recently, China used the games as an excuse for massive human rights violations, forced labor, and the rounding up of political prisoners. Issues with the host country are not a new problem either. The Berlin games were pure propaganda for Hitler. Mexico City was the site of major racial conflicts (remember the famous photos?). And lest I be accused of xenophobia, America has not been some sort of shining example of modern hospitality. The Salt Lake City games were horribly mismanaged and rife with corporate scandal. The Atlanta games displaced hundreds of poor residents, and you want to talk about terrorist threats? Those games actually got bombed!

No, many, if not most, host cities have fallen short of the Olympic ideals. Host countries have consistently misused the international good will associated with the games. Even more governments or individuals in power have used the Olympics as a chance to suppress their critics or further their own agendas.

Not perfect, not even close.

Then again, what is? I am a member of a mainline protestant church. I hardly agree with every decision my denomination has made, and yet every Sunday I put a few dollars in the plate. I am a member of a labor union, and while I generally agree with them, they occasionally do something that really disappoints me, but I still pay dues. I am employed by a company that occasionally makes decisions based on profits more than people. That hurts, yet I’ve not joined a nonprofit. I am a citizen of America, and at times the decisions of my government have almost crushed me with grief, yet I do not renounce my citizenship. I am a member of a family whose members sometimes advocate for things I abhor, and yet I love them anyway.

I remain an active participant in a multitude of problematic systems because ultimately I think those organizations do more good than harm. I prefer them to the alternative, to going it alone, to isolation, to throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I do not ignore their inherent failings or deny my part in them, but I do not feel they need to be rejected forgoing all their benefits for the sake of their shortcomings, and I feel, at least in the cases highlighted above, that supporting them while simultaneously advocating for change is the best way to make them better.

The Olympics are no exception. One of the ways these games are already helping to make things better is by shining a spotlight on Mother Russia and her recent transgressions. Do you honestly think that a gay propaganda law in Russia would have made international headlines for months were the Olympics someplace else? Do you think corporations would have felt such massive pressure to weigh in? Do you think there would have been this outpouring of international support for gay and lesbian Russians if not for these games? I may be wrong, but I believe most people would have seen this as just one more step by an oft-oppressive government. What else could we expect from a country like Russia? This political crackdown is completely consistent with their history. I believe the only reason it’s made news is that the laws are inconsistent with the Olympic charter. Suppression may be a Russian ideal, but the Olympics call us to be better.

Even more important, though, than the effects the games have on Russia is the power they have to effect change on a much more personal level. You see, these Olympics don’t really belong to Russia. They belong to world. To the people. To you. To me. To us. While the Olympics do undoubtedly enable their hosts to wield a lot of power, they are not about their settings. They are not about their hosts. They are not about the powerful or the rich. Once the games begin, their setting is largely irrelevant, or certainly less relevant than what they enable the global community to experience.

In this world it is very rare that we meet people from other cultures, from other countries without money or guns between us. There is very little chance for us to strive for the best without force or threat of force. There is virtually no opportunity for individuals to reach out to a fellow competitor and shake hands, to acknowledge that no matter what issues our governments have between them, you and I, we are striving for the same things. At time when drones kill from afar and money taints everything it touches, I long for more spaces to compete peacefully. I ache for more opportunities to meet the world as individuals. I cherish every change we have to look someone in the eye and say, “No matter what religion we follow, what language we speak, what color our skin, hair, or eyes happen to be, no matter who we happen to love, we are all pouring our hearts and spirits into being faster, higher, stronger.”

Despite all the things, real or imagined, that divide us, the Olympics reminds us we are all ultimately just trying to be better.

I am boycotting Russia in a way I suppose, but not the Olympics. I do not think I will watch the opening ceremonies of these Olympics. That will be hard for me because I love them so much, but that’s the part of the games that are not really the games. That is the time when the Russian government will lead the show, and I cannot support Russia right now. But once the games truly begin, I will not miss a minute. Once the people take to the ice, the mountain, the podium, it really could be any ice, any mountain, and any podium. Those moments, those dreams, they are human and they are universal, and I believe every time we come together to recognize our commonalities we are all made a little better.

Follow your own hearts regarding these Olympics. Watch, or don’t. Boycott, or celebrate what you chose. I cannot condemn either course of action. But to me the Olympics are not about being perfect. They never are. Their unifying creed reads, “ The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win, but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered, but to have fought well.”

Choose your own path. For me, I will take part.

Story Behind The (Author) Photo

Tue, 28 Jan 2014 16:51:00 GMT

Last week, as part of the count down to Timeless (don’t worry we’ll get back to that) I shared some of the elements from the back cover. One of those was my new author picture. I shared it largely so I could brag about the fact that it was taken by my son, then I moved on to talking about the book blurb. Mostly the post what about the blurb, which is about the book, which is why I assume most of you read this blog. And while I did get plenty of lovely comments both here and on Facebook about the blurb, along with people promising to buy the book (thank you!), I actually got a lot more questions about the author photo. I was surprised at first, because I generally don’t find pictures of myself all that interesting, but I have to admit there’s a pretty cool story behind this one. So, while I do promise another “Count Down to Timeless blog soon”, I hope you don’t mind if I digress just a little bit to tell you a little more about this shot.

You see, the day this picture was taken was special for several reasons. For one, it was my birthday, and I am someone who really loves birthdays, whether they are my own, or a loved one’s. I love holidays of any kind really, but birthdays are special because they are dedicated to a single person. I’m not a big present person mind you, birthday’s are more interpersonal than material for me. They’re a chance to think about all the special qualities I associate with the birthday person, and reflect on all my hopes and dreams for them. On my birthday I always try to celebrate the things that made the past year meaningful for me and then think about all my goals and wishes for the year ahead. This past birthday was made even more special by the fact that I got to spend it in Provincetown.

Women’s week always falls pretty close to my Birthday but this year they actually overlapped for the first time since I’ve been attending the event. (Side note: I thought it was going to overlap last year and I told every one that but it turns out, I’m bad at math…and calendars) This year my birthday, fell on the Sunday of Women’s week, which meant I had no readings to do and could, for the first time in my life, spend a totally free day around Ptown. I started off my celebration at midnight on the beach over looking Ptown Harbor with Melissa Brayden. We both love the water so we made our wishes for my 31st year and then sent them out into the waves to be carried off around the globe with the tides. What an awesome way to kick off a birthday!

My wonderful family let me sleep in that morning. Then we headed off to Joe’s for breakfast. Joe’s is my favorite coffee shop in town. They have a ham and gouda crescent that I dream about, and lovely brick patio where I like to sit and watch Commercial street wake up. The day was sunny with a light breeze, and I had visions of a very Virginia Woolf sort of expedition where I’d trek all the way across To The Lighthouse with my wife and son, and our friend Will. We packed a picnic and some blankets and set off for the breakwater.

For those of you who have never been to Provincetown the breakwater is a rocky jetty that extends between the main harbor and the estuary to help prevent the tides from washing away the sands that keep the tip of Cape Cod in place. It’s meant to function as sort of man made barrier reef. The extra upside though it that it’s a fun way to get from one side of the harbor to the other. It’s rough in a few places, and uneven in others, but we’d spent some time playing there earlier in the week and Jackson is now old enough hop from rock to rock pretty easily so we would be able to go all the way across…in theory.

We set out in the beautiful sunshine, surrounded by bright blue water rushing quickly under the rocks we traversed. Backpacks in tow we made quick progress, stopping only occasionally to check out the stellar views to either side of us.

When we got just short of the midway point a fisherman warned us that the tide was coming in quickly and if we wanted to get back across the low part we were currently crossing we only had about twenty minutes to make our return. There was no way we’d be able to get all the way to the lighthouse that quickly, so I asked how long it would be until the tide receded enough to come back. He assured me that, that part of the breakwater would be under for only about an hour, so we decided we’d be fine. After a twenty minute walk to the lighthouse, half an hour or more to eat and explore then a twenty minute walk back we’d return after the tide had begun to go out again. So, off we went once more toward the lighthouse.

We were so close we could see the sand on the beaches ahead when a group of what looked like students passed us going the other way. They said that there was a low spot ahead that the tide was already tumbling over. We’d already crossed a few low rocks were we’d had to jump over small rivulets on the large flat stones, but it hadn’t been a real problem yet, and since the students hadn’t mentioned how low the rocks dipped, or for long, we believed that at the worst we’d have to take off our shoes and tip-toe across. Then we came to this:

The “low point” was at least ten yards long and more than a foot deep in one place where we couldn’t even see the rocks any longer. Whats more the water was now rushing across in a deluge strong enough to sweep Jackson clean away. We stood there for a long quiet moment, listening to the ocean sweep across our path and staring at the lighthouse, so close now, and yet more unreachable than it had ever seemed. I guess I should have been more specific about that Virginia Woolf-esque birthday wish I’d made earlier. Then we realized that not only was the water rising quickly in front of us, it was doing the same behind us too. With that thought we hauled ass back across the rocks in the direction from which we’d come. We made it back to the spot the fisherman had warned us about in half the time it had taken us to get there, but our efforts were in vain.

We plopped down and unpacked our lunch. At least we’d brought a good meal with us. We sat eating our sandwiches and watching the wind drive the cold waves around us. The water crept higher and higher for another twenty minutes or so, and I’ll admit to being nervous. I knew the waters wouldn’t submerge the area we were camped out on, but I did worry about the waves splashing us. I felt bad enough that I’d gotten my family stuck, I didn’t want us to end up wet and freezing too.

Lunch passed quickly, and we were once again at a loss. There’s not much to do with a five year old on a slab of rock surrounded by water. The boy grew restless, and while Will and Susie were wonderful enough not to outwardly blame me for this disaster I knew they both had things they rather be doing. What a screw up. I was now going to spend the middle of my birthday with nothing to do but stew about my mistake and stare at the water praying for it to go down quickly.

We decided to kill some time by taking family pictures. We’d initially hoped to do that at the lighthouse, and while our surroundings were beautiful on the breakwater it felt like a sad compromise. Plus there were random fishermen in the back ground, and the wind had continued to pick up splaying our hair every which way, and Jackson kept making this face in every shot.

Will must have taken about thirty photos and not a single one of them looked worth keeping much less using on our Christmas card like we’d hoped. We all just ended up even more frustrated while Jackson reminded us for about the 100th time that he was bored! In a last ditch effort to entertain him I did something I felt almost certain to regret and handed him my camera. My good camera. As I put the strap around his neck I remember thinking, as long as he doesn’t drop it in the water I’ll consider this a win .

Then something funny happened. He started to take pictures. Pictures of Me, of Susan, of Will. Pictures of seagulls floating in the current, photos of fishermen casting their lines, photos of lighthouses and boats and sand dunes. Suddenly he seemed to find everything around him interesting, and it was hard not to enjoy seeing our surroundings through his lens. We even noticed a seal trying to steal bait off a fisherman’s line. The fisherman didn’t find it amusing, but we sure did.

Slowly, the magic returned. I took a deep breath, then another, and looked around me. So we weren’t at the lighthouse, we weren’t even moving toward it, or moving toward anything at all. I am a goer, a doer, and I had big plans for my birthday. I should have been a mess, but for some reason I felt more relaxed than I had in ages. Yes, I had messed up, but for once I was in my favorite place, on a special day, surrounded by the people I love most in all the world, with nothing, absolutely nothing I could do but enjoy the view.

We did end up taking a few more cool pictures that I’ll share with you here. Jackson eventually handed the camera back over, and cuddled with his moms to keep warm.

Then he used our picnic blanket to roll himself up into a baby burrito and spent some time dropping shells into the cracks between the rocks.

Finally, the tide went out enough that we could take off our shoes and wade back across, Huck Finn style. (Photo credit goes to Jackson on this one too.)

Then we headed back the way we’d come before, a little tired and a little cold, without ever having made it to the lighthouse. At least we’ve got something to look forward to the next time around.

It wasn’t the birthday adventure I’d hoped for, but it was an adventure nonetheless, and a good birthday lesson for me too. It took getting stuck, completely helpless with nothing I could do to move forward or back for me to start a new birthday tradition. From now on, when I reflect on my life it’s okay to think about where I’ve come from, and where I’m headed, but I’ve also learned it’s important to take some time to enjoy blessings I have in that moment. So this is me, totally relaxed, totally at peace, and totally filled with love for the little boy behind the camera.

Timeless: The Back Cover

Tue, 21 Jan 2014 16:37:00 GMT

We’re now less than three months away from my upcoming release, Timeless . It’s written and edited. I’ve turned in the front and back matter like the acknowledgements and dedications. I’ve been going through all the final checklists lists and details to prepare the official documents for print. My task for this week was to approve the cover proofs. This doesn’t mean the actual cover designed as that was done months ago. ( You can see my blog on that here. ) Cover proofs are when we check the details like making sure my name is spelled correctly on the font and on the spine. Or making sure the fonts are consistent with my pervious books. We check to make sure my bio is up to date and the photo is properly accredited.

Interesting side note on my new author photo: The official credit goes to Jackson Spangler. That’s right, my son took the shot while we were in Ptown this year. He was 5 at the time. I’m not certain on this, but I’m willing to bet that’s the youngest author photographer BSB has ever published.

Not bad, huh? I also chose this one because the blue background of Ptown harbor fits perfectly with the blues on the cover of Timeless, even if the horizon is slightly askew.

So anyway, I have a multi-sectioned checklist of things to fine-tooth comb before the cover can be approved. The biggest piece on the back though is the blurb. I know that those short little paragraphs will likely be all that most people have to go on when trying to decide whether or not to buy the book, (Not you dear blog readers, I promise you will have much more information and backstory before this one launches) and that short synopsis or teaser will either pique their interest enough for them to spend hard earned money, or it won’t, and my book will go back on the shelf. I have about 500 words to give you the basics of the story along with enough style and enough mystery to hook you in without giving too much away. Characters, plot, conflict, intrigue, and a hint of romance all in half a page. It’s not an easy task, but it’s an essential one.

I actually withheld that blurb when I posted the cover earlier because it’s so important it deserves a reveal of its own. So without further ado here’s the part of the cover to Timeless that carries more weight than even a picture taken by my son.

What would you change about your past if you had the chance? What if you didn’t have a choice?

Stevie Geller doesn’t do conflict. She likes her job as a successful novelist and playwright because it allows her to peacefully ensconce herself in her New York City loft, avoid human interactions, and leave personal drama for the page and stage. When her agent asks her to return to her hometown of Darlington, Illinois, to accept an award, she agrees only because he promises the process will be quick and easy. One panic attack and concussion later, Stevie is forced to confront her past in ways that seem to defy reality. As if befriending a social outcast and confronting high school bullies weren’t enough, she also finds herself falling for a closeted teacher. Along the way, Stevie must decide if some things are worth fighting for. In her rush to escape the past, will she leave behind a better future, or are some conflicts really timeless?

So? What do you think? Did it help interest you enough to read Timeless? Let me know in the comments below.

Rachel’s First Erotica

Fri, 22 Nov 2013 15:52:00 GMT

Announcement: I have published my first erotica short story, Safe Word , and it’s a pretty graphic first attempt.

If your reaction to that news is: WhooHoo! What took you so long, Spangler? Then please, go read it right now !

If, however, you reacted to that announcement by scratching your head in confusion, don’t feel bad. This might not seem very consistent with the image I project as a writer or a person, not at first glance anyway, but I’m asking you to hang with me. You’ve all come to know me (I hope) as sweet romance writer, a family person, an all -around good boi, and it’s ok if the idea of my writing some major adult content takes some getting used to. It took some getting used to for me, too. Years of getting used to.

I started writing erotica as a way to hone my craft. Sex scenes are always the most challenging part of my novels. Every word matters in a way it doesn’t in other areas. For instance, no one freaks out when I say “cabinet” instead of “cupboard,” but the difference between “butt” and “ass” can completely pull a reader out of the story. There’s also the added challenge of balancing the physical with the emotional. All good fiction is character driven, so it’s important to keep the readers in the characters’ minds, but if you’re too cerebral, the reader will get bored. Then again if you’re not in your head enough, they might as well be reading an anatomy textbook. Some people say good writing is all about making choices, and erotica taught me to make those choices more purposefully and more quickly.

Writing short erotic pieces also helped me to practice basic writerly tasks like developing conflict and characters very quickly. The more erotica I wrote, the more I appreciated the genre, not just as tool to teach writing, but as a place to test boundaries, power dynamics, the nature of relationships. Sometimes I explored big issues at a micro level. Other times, I examined ideas that didn’t have enough substance to carry an entire novel but had no less ability to reveal a person’s character. Sex is a time when we as humans bring as much baggage to the table as possible, then expose it all. Issues that may lie dormant for months in polite company come roaring to the surface when people let down their guard, and sex makes people vulnerable in ways few other acts can. The way people react to that vulnerability tells you a great deal about who they are and how they relate to the world. I found myself understanding and expressing more about my erotica characters in a short amount of page space than I ever had about the romantic leads in my novels.

So if writing erotica was good for my craft and for my understanding of character and produced work I was technically very proud of, why didn’t I share any of that with any of you? This is the question I wrestled with for years. The impulse to write drives me. It defines me. I don’t know who I’d be with out it, but the impulse to publish is a different animal entirely, and the impulse to publish about sex carries almost as much baggage as the act of having sex. Sure there has been sex in my books, but it’s been part of larger romantic arcs. We have names in our culture for people who just have sex without the romantic build up. They aren’t nice names. They aren’t names I think any of you would dare level at me up until now, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about you thinking them after you read some of these stories. I’ve worked hard to give you my best both as a person and as a writer, but what if my best as a writer didn’t always look like me at my best as a person?

The most common comment I got from friends and fellow authors who helped me along the way was, “Damn, Rach, I didn’t know you had this in you,” usually accompanied by a look of glee. For a while that made me nervous. So I tried to forget about the story. But the people who’d read it kept bringing it up. They asked questions and made suggestions, they wanted to talk about the issues raised, they wanted to share experiences, and somehow, these erotic pieces gave them the freedom to do so. It turns out we all had these questions, these feelings, these fears, and fantasies inside of us. We had some of the most revealing, enlightening, and purely fun conversations I’ve ever had. Throughout the months and years that followed, I came to realize being interested in sex and all the emotional and physical complexities that come with it didn’t make us bad people, and admitting that might even have made us more complete versions of ourselves.

You see, I can’t promise you this story will be your thing, and it’s okay if it isn’t, but I can promise you it is some of my very best writing. I can promise you real characters I worked hard to paint with full brushes. I can promise you a tight balance between the emotional and the physical. Oh, and by the way, I can promise some pretty hot sex along the way.

This story might not be the Rachel Spangler you’re used to, but if you give it a shot, I think this more complete version of me and my work will still offer you a Rachel Spangler you identify with.

Big Reveal

Wed, 30 Oct 2013 22:05:00 GMT

Hey Folks,

I’ve been sitting on some fun news for awhile. I wanted to wait for the right moment. I wanted the perfect amount of time before my next book would be released before I let you in on it. This is not the right time. It’s not the right day of the week. It’s not even the right time of day, but you know what? Time is a fickle, fickle thing (hint, hint: story theme), so I’m going to just blow timing out of the water and give you what I’ve been wanting to give you for weeks now.

Here’s your first official look at the cover of my next release!

What do you think? What does the image evoke for you? I hope it piques your interest because there’s so much more where this came from.

Eventually I will tease you with the blurb and introduce you to the characters, but , well, that’s for another time.

Gender: To Play or Get Played

Fri, 27 May 2011 18:52:00 GMT

Gender is a subject that’s never far from my mind. Which is to say gender identity, or even more accurately gender performance is never far from my mind, but this week it seems to be knocking directly on my skull, most recently in Kate Christie’s blog about the gender war over children ( here). This reminded me of a conversation we had with Jackie early in the week. We were going to meet another lesbian couple with a child, which is rare since our peer group at home is entirely made of straight couples with young kids. We were excited to show Jackson there were other families like his, but when we told Jackie we were going to meet another kid with two moms, all he said was, “Does she have a cat named Tybalt, too?” Clearly the two-moms thing is still a no-issue compared to important things like pets. If it didn’t matter to him, why did it matter so much to us?

When we arrived at the get-together, we were introduced to the new couple and their daughter. Jackie referred to the little girl as “he” and Suz gently corrected him, which rubbed me the wrong way, because I secretly like that he doesn’t really notice gender yet and uses his pronouns interchangeably. He did it again few seconds later and got another correction. I bit my tongue because I know Susie is nearly as liberal as I am in the area, but she’s more aware that other people get really sensitive about their kids being perceived as the “wrong” gender. Then I referred to the little girl as “she,” but Susie, who was sitting further away misheard and said, “She’s a girl,” to which I snippily replied, “When did we become the gender police?” Folks kind of chuckled and we moved on, but I was left wondering why someone else’s preference for gendering their child is more important than my unwillingness to teach my child about gender.

We had dinner with the new couple and some other friends, and it was a great time. They are likeable and good with the kids, and they work at the college, so we’ve got plenty in common. As we were getting into the car I ask Suz, “So what do you think?” She said, “I like them; they are like us.” “How so?” I asked thinking “ They have a kid? One of them is tenure track one is an adjunct? They like to cook?” She said, “You know, one of them is kind of girlie and the other one is a little more butch.” “You mean they are butch/femme?” We both kind of cocked our heads to the side in that silly pondering way. Had I just said we were butch/femme? Neither of us are opposed to that label. We don’t find it offensive, and certainly other people have suggested it before, but to my knowledge, in nearly ten years together neither one of us has ever self-identified that way. Susie finally said, “Sort of, I guess.” We let the subject drop, but I’ve kind of been wondering about those gender presentations, why Susie zoned in on them as the thing that made the other couple “like us,” and why I chose those terms for both them and us without anyone self-identifying that way.

Then another day this week I was working at a coffee shop in Buffalo when a friend stopped by to chat. She had her dog with her, so we sat outside. The weather was cool, but I was in a short sleeve shirt. She, being the nurturing type, said, “Are you cold? Do you want my sweater?” She tugged on her purple fuzzy sweater. I told her no I was fine. “No really, I’ve got long sleeves on under this one.” She tried again. I assured her I wasn’t cold, but in my head added., “Not cold enough to wear a purple fuzzy sweater,” and resolved to drink more hot tea. How cold would I have to be to wear a purple fuzzy sweater? The term frostbite came to mind.

I told another friend (someone who knows both of us) about the exchange, and she laughed saying, “You missed a shot. You could’ve smelled like her for the rest of the day” (I like how girls smell, though I don’t wear perfume of my own for much the same reason I don’t wear purple fuzzy sweaters). I admitted that I’d actually thought of that but reiterated we were talking about purple fuzzy sweater, then added “How could she ever take me seriously again?” This of course being said with a full understanding that I had no trouble taking her seriously in that sweater. More than serious. She looked quite nice and very cozy. At the time it seemed so clear, the idea of me in a woman’s purple fuzzy sweater was absurd, but why? If a man had refused warm clothing because of its style or color I would have probably said he was insecure, sexist and probably homophobic. Why do I get peeved when gender conforming people relentlessly conform to their genders but not when I as a gender non-conformist do the same thing?

We queers like to think we’ve got it all figured out. We know our Judith Butler, and we silently judge folks who dress their daughters in princess costumes. I rail about the restrictions society puts on folks to fit into those little boxes, and we love to point out the absurdities of extreme gender performances, but are we really all that different? Simply because I don’t play to the role of “woman” doesn’t mean I’m not still invested in playing another gender role. Just because we don’t try to fit the models we see of straight couples doesn’t mean we aren’t tied to other models that can be just as awkward and reductive. And just because we refuse let other people exclude us from a group because of our sexuality doesn’t mean we’re above forming connections based solely on that part of our identity when it suits us.

I’m not sure there is anything inherently wrong with playing a gender, Honestly I like to play my gender identity. I like my Justin Beiber hair, I like meeting other boish lesbians, I like getting mistaken for a 13-year-old boy, but I also like fucking with my gender identity too. I love spa days, chick flicks, candle lit bubble baths, and I’m very particular about how my eyebrows are waxed (yes I get them waxed). I think what I’ve learned most from this week is that whether I’m transgressing or conforming, the best thing I can do is be aware of the choices I’m making and critically assess my reasons for doing so. If we’re going to make friends with lesbians, it should be because we have a shared experience, not because of some societally imposed minority status. If we take on a label then it needs to be because that label empowers us, and not because its awkwardly convenient. And if I decide not to wear a purple fuzzy sweater, it needs to be because I’m really not that cold.

P.S. This is what my gender identity looks like today.

What’s yours look like?”

First Step To World Domination

Sat, 05 Mar 2011 16:41:00 GMT

I have such deep ties to the Spanish language and culture, and I am beyond giddy that folks in Spain and large parts of Central and South America (as well as my Latina friends in the USA) can now ready my work in their native tongue.

If you or someone you know habla español, please send them over to http://www.editorialegales.com/fichalibro.php?id=2691

Plus this gives me a new excuse to listen to some Spanish music all day.

Truth in Fiction

Fri, 11 Feb 2011 19:33:00 GMT

Hi all – after blogging every day for the month of December, I needed to take a little time to recuperate, but I missed you, and I’m ready to get back on schedule.

The Long Way Home has been out for a few months now, and hopefully you all have either read the book (if you haven’t read it what are you waiting for?) or you’ve at least read enough about it on this blog to understand that the setting of the book is based on a combination of the small towns I’ve lived in. But there’s a difference between what’s real and what’s true in that though I didn’t lift this story directly from a real place or person (that would make it non-fiction), I did work very hard to be true to the types of places and people I’ve known. Sometimes real and true can be the same things, but sometimes they have a looser connection. For instance, it’s both real and true that I lived in a small town. That small town is a real place with chili parlor and small college. However, that college doesn’t really have a lesbian librarian (or if it does, her husband and sons sure don’t know it), but it is true that a small college library could harbor liberals just waiting for the right moment to surprise people who’ve walked those stacks 100 times.

You see, I used to sneak off to the college library when I was in high school. The college seemed so different from the town, and the people who belonged to each place rarely interacted. No one ever seemed to notice me slipping in and finding a quiet spot upstairs to flip through old issues of Newsweek . No one knew who I was or tried to find out. They didn’t care what I was I was doing or what I was thinking. It was the only place I didn’t feel like I was under the microscope, and even while I didn’t know to look for anything gay in those stacks, I always felt like I wasn’t being judged there. When I wrote Beth’s character, it was only natural for me to put her in a library, because while it wasn’t exactly a real place, I was able to be true to the way I felt about college libraries.

Then last fall while visiting Illinois I got the urge to visit that library again, a little bit of nostalgia mixed with a desire to see if that real place held true to the way I portrayed the library in The Long Way Home . While sitting upstairs I noticed the Newsweeks had been moved and the fiction section put in its place. The temptation to check the true against the real was too much. I started scanning the shelves for the books Beth gives Raine’s students in The Long Way Home . I started with Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Gra y figuring that was the safest bet, and found it.

Then moving on to Virgina Wolf’s Orlando . Since the book is generally considered to have “literary merit” despite being claimed by the gays, I wasn’t terribly surprised to find it as well.

The next book Beth points out is Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and it’s also another “literary” classic, so I thought I might find it there, though it did occur to me that a black and gay author might be pushing it just a bit. And yet, there it was.

Finding three out of the five books I’d listed in The Long Way Home wasn’t a bad record given that this was a real library without a real lesbian, but I decided to go for broke. Surely they didn’t have that paragon of lesbian feminism called Ruby Fruit Jungle . And yet, there it was.

I was kind of giddy. There had to be a liberal feminist somewhere on that campus. Did they have women’s studies department? Clearly I had underestimated that little bitty college library. I was happy to have found almost every book Beth recommended to Raine’s students. What was true and what was real were coming together almost perfectly. In fact they were so close that I almost left it at that. I mean, why end on a low note? They had gay classics, gay African American classics, feminist classics, even a lesbian feminist classic, there was no need to actually push for a purely lesbian book. This was still middle of nowhere Illinois after all

Still, I’d come this far, so it seemed a shame to leave without looking for the big Kahuna. Besides, how could I attend Lee Lynch’s upcoming wedding and tell her I found all the other books I’d listed, but stopped short of looking for hers, or was that better than looking and not finding it? The library had already exceeded my expectations. Couldn’t I just leave it at that? No. I needed to know.

I turned down the row for “L” authors, chuckling at the fact that I was looking for a capital L lesbian. And look what I found.

Seriously, that is Sweet Creek by Lee Lynch complete with its official library bar code there for anybody to check out. It’s not Toothpick House, which is the book Beth chooses in The Long Way Home, but it is an unabashedly lesbian book, by an unabashedly lesbian author. I was simultaneously overjoyed and saddened that I’d spent all those afternoons being the gay kid reading Newsweeks in the corner to avoid being noticed when I could’ve been the gay kid reading Lee Lynch books in the corner to connect with my community.

What had been true for me, and what I hoped would ring true for everyone who read The Long Way Home , now gets to be real for every gay kid who goes to that tiny library in my little hometown hoping to find a bit of truth in fiction.

P.S. Lest you get any ideas that the place I’m describing is actually a bastion of liberalism and education, I had to take this picture for you.

And here’s super fun librarian video to kick off your weekend.

The Long Way Home – Excerpt and Weekend Play

Fri, 27 Aug 2010 20:08:00 GMT

Here we are, inching up on a moment that’s over two years in the making. This will be my last weekend blog before the release of The Long Way Home on September 1. Most of my blog readers have been with me from the beginning of this project. You’ve met the characters, explored the setting, and been privy to all the ups and downs of my writing process. There’s not much else I can say to get you interested in this book. We’ve reached the point where the story has to speak for itself. So here, for the loyal Wonderboi readers, is a sneak peak of the opening scenes of The Long Way Home.

August 1

Ali was sexy as hell, but she was awfully high maintenance for a sometimes lover. Now she wanted to go downtown to the theater.

Raine said, “For the fifth time, I’m broke and out of energy. And I told you I don’t want to go anywhere right now. I’m staying in and trying to find a way not to get evicted.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “You won’t get evicted. No one in Boystown would evict their Little Orphan Annie. You’ve spent ten years playing the disowned teenager. Why stop now?”

“I’m not seventeen anymore. Eventually I’ll have to—”

The phone rang, mercifully saving Raine from having to come up with an end to that sentence. How could she get her life back on track? Change her act? Find a new career? She didn’t like to think about either of those options. She glanced at the caller ID and saw the number of her agent, Edmond Carpenter. “I have to take this.”

“We’re already late,” Ali whined.

“We’re done, Ali.” Raine turned her back to the living room and answered the phone. “Edmond, please say you’ve found me a job.”

“Who loves you, baby?” Edmond asked a second before Raine’s front door slammed shut. Ali had recognized her cue to exit. Raine chuckled. “I hope you do, because I’m pretty sure Ali doesn’t.”

“Another one bites the dust. Good riddance to bad trash, there’re other bitches in the sea, and all those standard breakup clichés that are supposed to offer comfort.”

“I don’t need comfort. I need a job.”

“How about a job, room and board, and a chance to get published again?”

Raine flopped onto her couch, dizzy with relief. “Oh my goddess, you’re shitting me.”

“Ugh, you can’t be that vulgar if you accept an academic position at a liberal arts college, especially since they’ve offered to put you up on campus as their guest lecturer for the year.”

“A lecturer position?” Raine felt giddy. “That’s exactly what we wanted. Could it be more perfect?”

“Now before you get all excited, it’s not totally perfect. It’s four hours away from Chicago.” Edmond’s voice pitched a little higher, a sure sign he was tense.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. This place is starting to wear on me.”

“It’s at a small college. You’d be their first guest lecturer.”

“I’m a trendsetter.”

“You’d have to start in two weeks.”

“Edmond, I’m out of options and my rent was due yesterday. I’ll take anything.”

“I hoped that’s what you’d say.” Edmond didn’t sound relieved.

“The job’s in Darlington.”

“That’s not funny.” Raine struggled not to let the mention of her hometown dampen her mood.

“Seriously, where is it?”

“I’m serious. It’s at Bramble College in Darlington, Illinois.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ve spent my entire life getting away from that place. I’m Raine St. James, the one who survived.” Raine needed to remind herself that she’d made it out alive.

“Exactly. You made it, you beat the odds, you made something of yourself, and now you’re a local celebrity ready to return triumphantly. Think about the articles you could write. Hell, maybe even a book. You’d be a hero.”

“No, I wouldn’t. In Darlington I’m just Rory, a dyke who disgraced her parents and snuck out one night, forever. Those people have no idea who I’ve become. They don’t read The Advocate . They’ve never seen any of my articles or heard any of my public speeches.”

“Well, somebody at Bramble knows who you are, because the dean’s office contacted me. They want you there. They’re offering you a prime job with a place to live, two classes of your choice. . .”

Raine didn’t hear any of it. Her chest ached and her head throbbed as memories of her youth rushed back. The angst, the fear, the selfloathing— she could summon it all so easily even after a decade. No way could she take that job. She wasn’t that desperate, was she?

“Nice to meet you, Miles.” Raine returned the handshake with a genuine smile. A gay man with an administrative position in Darlington. Maybe some things had changed. “Could you point me toward the dean’s office?”

“She’s in a meeting, but I’ll let her know you’re here.” Miles stretched over the desk and pressed a few buttons on his phone. “She’ll want to see you.”

“Flores, Raine St. James is here.”

Not thirty seconds later a door off the entryway opened and a striking Latino woman in a brown pantsuit smiled broadly at Raine. She had short black hair and wore no makeup. “Raine, I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you. I’m Flores Molina, the dean of academic affairs and a big fan of your writing.”

“Really?” The warm welcome surprised Raine and made her wonder if she was getting the same kind of vibes from Flores that she had from Miles, but when she discreetly raised an eyebrow in his direction she received an equally discreet shake of his head. Raine didn’t let her disappointment show. A gay man and a lesbian would be too much to hope for.

“I’d love to show you around, but I’m in the middle of a meeting, and I’m sure you’d like to settle in.”

Raine forced a nod but couldn’t bring herself to make peace with the idea of getting settled in Darlington. “Why don’t I walk you to the library and introduce you to Beth Devoroux. She’s made your housing arrangements.”

“That would be great,” Raine said, but Flores was already headed out the door. Raine barely had time to wave good-bye to Miles before she jogged to catch up with the dean. Between her angst caused by her drive through town, her surprise at meeting a gay man in Darlington, and her race to keep up with Flores, Raine didn’t have time to process the notion that the name Beth Devoroux sounded awfully familiar.

Reading in G-Vegas

Mon, 25 May 2009 20:39:00 GMT

Cate Culpepper instructed me to greet Jackson by kissing her on the hand, and when Cate tells me to do something, I usually do.

We had a great venue in the Tipsy Teapot which is a cafe/bar/used book store. We had the bar part all to ourselves and got a nice crowd filled with a lot of friends. There was a little stage up front that we made our own.

Georgia read a new short piece entitled “Insignificant” that was just fantastic .

D. Jackson read a great scene from Brokeback , and let me tell you, she’s got an awesome reading voice.

I read a scene from Trails Merge that I hadn’t read aloud before but seemed to go over pretty well.

Then we answered questions from the audience as well as from each other. This was a wonderful event. We all had a great time, and it seemed like we did more than our fair share of laughing.

Rachel Spangler Blog

2025

Spangler Year-In-Review Video for 2025

Big Announcement!

Bigger Table Books

2024

Spangler Year in Review Video for 2024

2023

Spangler Year in Review Video for 2023

Happy Holidays

Autographed Books for Sale!

Birds Give Back 2023

Help me pay it forward for queer students

Sports Romance

New Best of List

Happy Holidays 2022

Merry Christmas from the Spangler 3

Christmas Mouse

Available Everywhere this Holiday Season

Heartstrings Release

Get your copy today!

Stem Cell Donation Update

Birds Give Back 2022

Time to pay it forward!

Let the Games Begin

Winter Olympics 2022!

2021 Family Video

Happy Holidays to all. Below you will find the link to the Spangler Family year-in-review video for 2021. We hope you enjoy it!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Irt6KRsmhCA

Holiday Shopping

Holiday Rush getting to you? Running out of time? Running out of ideas? Running out of energy?

Birds Give Back 2021

Close To Home Audiobook Winner!

Close to Home Audiobooks

Fire & Ice: Wide Release!

Fire and Ice: Early Release

Fire and Ice: The Book Box!

Fire and Ice: The Basics

Fire and Ice

Book Sale!

Spanish Surrender: Winners!

Spanish Surrender: Giveaway!

Spanish Surrender: The Photo Blog

Spanish Surrender Excerpt

Spanish Surrender is out!

Spanish Surrender and GCLS

Surprise!

British Bits and Bobs

Birds Give Back

﻿ISU GO!

Full English – Wide Release

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I’m celebrating this holiday of love and romance with the wide release of my 14th romance novel, Full English ! Bywater Books sure timed that well, didn’t they?

Still not enough inspiration? What about a sale? Well then, today is still your lucky day because from now until Saturday, you can get 25% off your entire order at www.bywaterbooks.com when you use the coupon code 19HEARTS.

So to sum all that up:

New Romance + Available Everywhere + Valentine’s Day + 25% off sale = What are you waiting for?

Descended from Voyagers

I am everything I’ve learned and more Still it calls me

And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me It’s like the tide; always falling and rising

We are descended from voyagers Who found their way across the world They call me

I’ve delivered us to where we are I have journeyed farther

I will carry you here in my heart you’ll remind me That come what may I know the way

Another New Release!

In Development is now available in audiobook!

Full English – Limited Release!

What’s In a Title?

Happy Holidays

Holiday Book Deal

Thankful

Tennis Mom Time

Get it on…

Wide Release Day!

I interview Bev Prescott

Love All – Excerpt

Love All – Exclusive Early Release!

Love All – A Tennis Romance

In Development Wide Release!

Paperback Release Day! (And Notes)

In Development eBook Release!

In Development: First Review

ISU GO!