This is No Fairy Tale…

Another lilac picture for you, because they’re so beautiful this year, you all need to see them often. So there.

So, I have my official back cover copy for Rogue’s Pawn now! You know what I mean – if you were holding a paper book in your hand and you turn it over to read the back to see what it’s about? Yeah, that.

This is no fairy tale…

Haunted by nightmares of a black dog, sick to death of my mind-numbing career and heart-numbing fiancé, I impulsively walked out of my life—and fell into Faerie. Terrified, fascinated, I discover I possess a power I can’t control: my wishes come true. After an all-too-real attack by the animal from my dreams, I wake to find myself the captive of the seductive and ruthless fae lord Rogue. In return for my rescue, he demands an extravagant price—my firstborn child, which he intends to sire himself…

With no hope of escaping this world, I must learn to harness my magic and build a new life despite the perils—including my own inexplicable and debilitating desire for Rogue. I swear I will never submit to his demands, no matter what erotic torment he subjects me to…

This is kind of a weird moment for most authors, I think – seeing the final condensation of the story. For better or worse, I will now see these three paragraphs ALL THE TIME. Any time someone reviews the book or mentions it, these words will tag along. It’s not a bad thing, just part of the business. I’ve always wondered how bands feel singing their signature songs twenty or thirty years later. I mean, does Stevie Nicks sing Landslide and think “Blah blah blah?” Or does Aerosmith, when they perform “Dream On,” which will have released forty years ago next year, think “When will this song ever die?” Never mind that Steven Tyler can’t hit the notes anymore. Or are they just grateful that they managed not to OD and that people still want to hear their music?

Probably a mix of both.

So, it’s funny to get this copy and be given the green light to spread it around. I’ve seen it a few times now – from what they sent me and then what my editor, the incisive and insightful Deb Nemeth, worked up from it. I suppose I’ll be lucky to be still looking at it forty years from now.

No cover yet – I’m promised it any day now. But I know who’s designing it: There are some amazing covers on the site, so I’m feeling all tingly and hopeful. Think good thoughts!

Lilacs for Terry

This time last year, I ordered flowers for David’s Cousin Terry.

I remember it because I called the florist in Seattle and asked if she could do lilacs. The shop was next to the big medical center performing Terry’s latest MOAS. (Mother of All Surgeries, as Terry’s sister dubbed them — a good name since the surgeries were too complex for a simple word like “bypass” or “extraction.” They seemed involve opening Terry up and scraping cancer off every surface they could reach and clipping pieces off of whatever organs were too far gone to clean.) So the florist was helpful, had a listing of patients, but wasn’t sure if she could find lilacs or not.

When she asked me what the card should say, I answered that I’d like it to say “The lilacs are blooming here — come home soon.”

She paused a moment. “I’ll find some lilacs,” she promised me.

I don’t know if she did or not. You don’t expect a thank-you note from someone who’s had her third MOAS. And by Thanksgiving, Terry was gone.

The funeral was Catholic and obnoxious, with the priest talking about how joyful Terry would be to be rejoined with her maker. How all the pain she suffered was for a reason. I wanted to stand up and shout that, no, there was nothing joyful about this. That she died far too young and in conditions no one should have to go through and that her death was a waste of a vivacious and beautiful woman.

But I bowed my head and pretended to pray.