Gone Girl ruined women’s fiction

As part of my job, I review books, which means I receive about nine advance review copies a week. Yes, nine. My husband just loves the immense stack of never-to-be-read books piled willy-nilly in my office. Why will some books—many books—never be read?

Because they’re all the same book.

I’m not saying I blame Gillian Flynn for the current overbearing trend in women’s literature. In fact, I think she’s extremely talented and introduced a groundbreaking genre with her masterpiece Gone Girl. The publishing industry apparently agrees, considering they’re now almost exclusively publishing Gone Girl wannabes OR books about Sad Shit.

Allow me to quote some cover copy from upcoming releases:
“A provocative and relentlessly gripping novel about seduction and betrayal …”
“The heartbreak is overwhelming …”
“A suspenseful novel about a woman who fakes her death …”

There are troubled girls, missing girls, revenge, and ostensibly, everything is now Suspenseful, Stunning, and Shocking. (I guess alliteration is big right now, too.) In this new era of women’s fiction, everyone is betrayed or abandoned. Everyone is broken.

I used to get excited when FedEx knocked on my door with another specially-wrapped ARC from HarperCollins, St. Martin’s Press, et cetera. Now, I barely bat an eye, because I just know I’m going to open that package and see another book with a sad woman on the cover.

Why won’t you LOOK AT ME?

(By the way, this is a trend we can’t blame on Gillian Flynn. There’s a joke that all Nicholas Sparks books should be called “White People Kissing,” based on the covers. Well, now, all women’s lit books are pictures of women facing away from the camera, presumably because they’re all crying. Yawn.)

I am so tired of a) suspense novels about disappearing wives/murder/deceit/dead children and b) sad ass stories about redemption and reconciliation. If I get one more book with “gripping” in the marketing copy, I might scream.

The publishing world is so oversaturated with depressing women’s fiction, I have to wonder if the big publishing houses are even paying attention. I understand they’re looking for the next Gone Girl or Girl on the Train, but I’ve had enough.

I’m not innocent. I do write some depressing stuff on occasion, but for the most part, I write stories so far outside the realm of reality, I dare to say I’m depressing no one. Take my novel, BITE SOMEBODY. It’s about an awkward, 80s-obsessed vampire named Celia who’s in love with the smell of her neighbor. She drinks A-positive blood because it makes her feel like she got a good grade.

Now, you could say, “Not another vampire book!” However, mine is different. It’s a vampire book that makes fun of vampire books. It’s also not particularly “gripping” or “provocative” or “shocking” (unless you count the bit about a pilfered Virgin Mary statue).

I’m really hoping someone notices the Gone Girl trend and writes a parody. It would be super simple. Just make the husband run away, have nobody notice he’s gone, and The End.

Thanks to popular publishing, we are now being fed the same book over and over infinitum. Do we blame Gillian Flynn? No. It’s not her fault her book was successful. However, she did start this whole mess, so perhaps, she gets a bit of my flack. More so, it’s the industry itself that can’t stop publishing depressing shit in an era when depressing is the last thing we need because, oh, terrorists.

I say go out and read something funny. Read something not under the umbrella of “suspense thriller.” Read something that isn’t about cancer or betrayal or infidelity. I realize that really cuts down on your modern literature options, but maybe, if we all huddle together and read funny books, the publishing houses will realize there are only so many incarnations of Nick and Amy Dunne we’re willing to read.

Suicide involves more than one person

Suicide isn’t only about the person who’s dead. When someone dies at his or her own hand, a gaping emotional hole remains in the people left behind. What do we do with that pain?

Avoid it?
Embrace it?
Drown in it?

“Forget Me Do” is a story of pain but also of magic. Published today in Rose Red Review, this one is dedicated to dear friend, gifted editor, and brilliant woman Trysh … who understands.

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“Forget Me Do” (an excerpt)
By Sara Dobie Bauer
Published by Rose Red Review

She half-heartedly listened as Tanya explained exactly how her boyfriend had screwed up her perfect prom dream. Debra also listened to the sounds of the coffee bar. She flipped her lashes open and closed and took in the emotions around her, predominantly those of lust and occasional self-interest. Lust felt like a heavy steak in her stomach, cooked well done; pride was like sour grapes.

Then, there was something else. The feeling crept over Debra’s shoulders and down her chest like a winter wind. She let go of her coffee mug. Her fingers clutched to her upper arms, and she made a noise.

The noise scared the vapid young women around her. The way they looked at her, their perfectly waxed eyebrows turned down in the middle, made her realize the sound must have been animalistic. Like something dying.

“Debra, are you okay?”

She looked around. “I need to get up.”

“You’re not going to be sick are you?” Nicole looked vaguely concerned.

“No, I just …” She shoved her hip against Rebecca until she finally moved and permitted Debra to exit the booth. Then, she stood. She searched out that feeling again, something horrible, and found it, ten feet away.

He was mostly obstructed from her view, painted over by layers of men in black-rimmed hipster glasses, women in short skirts. As Debra moved closer, she saw the edge of a slumped shoulder covered in blue. She saw the back of a long neck. Then, visually blocked, she only felt him again: cold, so cold.

“Excuse me.” She said it once, then twice. People wouldn’t move out of her way, too focused on getting a phone number, trying to sound good, act cool. They didn’t notice the cracked shell of a human in their midst.

She wondered how they couldn’t feel it, feel him? How could they not see the way he hurt? How could they not sense it like an incoming storm, smell the rain on dry pavement? How?

Debra did not usually heal in public. She shrank from human touch, because she knew what her powers could do. Yet, as she passed one more man, this one in a pink button-down, she reached her hand out and wrapped her open palm on the blue-clad shoulder.

She closed her dark eyes against the images. She would not betray a stranger’s intimacy that way. Instead, she focused on the pain, the horrible pain. She clenched her jaw and tried to suck some of the ache from his chest. She pulled at the despair inside him until she heard him take a loud breath. Warmth radiated out from Debra’s palm into the t-shirt material. Some of his pain went away.

Then, he crushed her to him. She didn’t see him move, feel him move, but there she was, her nose against his neck. His grip surrounded her. Her slim, strong arms pressed into his back. She stood between his legs, parted on the barstool. He smelled like overdue laundry, but he was warm. His skin was warm, and his t-shirt was soft. He moaned a shuddering breath against her collarbone and pulled away.

He stared up at her, eyes impossibly light in the yellow lamps, rimmed red. Up close, his hair was light brown. He was a little bit older than her. He looked like the kind of man who had an incredible smile. He reached up with long fingers and touched the side of her chin.

Debra looked at the half-empty glass of something dark and menacing on the bar. “You need tea,” she said.

He smiled just a touch, one side of his mouth curved up in the shape of a U-turn. Then, he nodded. Debra took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. She did not say goodbye to her friends.

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Read the full version of “Forget Me Do” HERE at Rose Red Review, and keep the conversation going. The more honest and open we are about mental health, the more people we can save.

(Photo credit: Alice on Flickr.)

Anna Kyle reveals sexy new release Omega Rising

I’m sorry, but this book just sounds scorching. Today, the world gets its first look at author Anna Kyle’s upcoming release, Omega Rising (due to hit bookshelves this summer). Read on …

Cass Nolan has been forced to avoid the burn of human touch for her whole life, drawing comfort instead from her dreams of a silver wolf—her protector, her friend. When her stalking nightmares return, her imaginary dead sister’s ghost tells her to run. Cass knows she should listen, but the sinfully hot stranger she just hired to work on her ranch has her mind buzzing with possibilities. Not only does her skin accept Nathan’s touch, it demands it. Cass must make a decision—run again and hope she saves the people who have become her family, or stand and fight. Question is, will it be with Nathan or against him?

Nathan Rivers’ life is consumed by his quest to find the Omega wolf responsible for killing his brother, but when the trail leads him to Cass and her merry band of shapeshifters, his wolf wants only to claim her for himself. When evidence begins piling up that Cass is the Omega he’s been seeking, things become complicated—especially since someone else wants her dead. Saving her life might mean sacrificing his own, but it may be worth it to save the woman he can’t keep from reaching for.

See what I mean? Scorching. Now, here’s the cover you’ve been waiting for:

A bit about Anna: She wrote her first story at age 12 on her dad’s old typewriter and hasn’t stopped since. Author of Skye Falling (2015) and Omega Rising (2016), Anna lives in the Midwest, surrounded by family and friends and dogs and horses. They’ve forgiven her (mostly) when they appear in her stories. She reads everything she can get her hands on, but romances, especially paranormals, are her favorite. Vampires, humans, Fae, shapeshifters, or demons, it doesn’t matter …  Anna’s heart goes pitter-pat for the Happily Ever After.

Her favorite equation? Hot heroes + strong, funny heroines = Awesome.

The book comes out June 7. Buy HERE. I know I’ll be scooping up a copy. Meow. For more about Anna, visit her website or find her on Twitter.

BITE SOMEBODY has an official release date!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Albuquerque, NM (March 23, 2016) – World Weaver Press has announced Bite Somebody, the new paranormal romance novel by Sara Dobie Bauer, commiserating with fledgling vampire Celia as she tries to gather the courage to talk to her delicious-looking new neighbor and realizing immortality may not be all it’s hyped up to be, will be available in trade paperback and ebook Tuesday, June 21, 2016.

“Do you want to be perfect?”

That’s what Danny asked Celia the night he turned her into a vampire. Three months have passed since, and immortality didn’t transform her into the glamorous, sexy vamp
she was expecting, but left her awkward, lonely, and working at a Florida gas station. On top of that, she’s a giant screw-up of an immortal, because the only blood she consumes is from illegally obtained hospital blood bags.

What she needs to do—according to her moody vampire friend Imogene—is just … bite somebody. But Celia wants her first bite to be special, and she has yet to meet Mr. Right Bite. Then, Ian moves in next door. His scent creeps through her kitchen wall and makes her nose tingle, but insecure Celia can’t bring herself to meet the guy face-to-face.

When she finally gets a look at Ian’s cyclist physique, curly black hair, and sun-kissed skin, other parts of Celia tingle, as well. Could he be the first bite she’s been waiting for to complete her vampire transformation? His kisses certainly have a way of making her fangs throb.

Just when Celia starts to believe Ian may be the fairy tale ending she always wanted, her jerk of a creator returns to town, which spells nothing but trouble for everyone involved.

Bite Somebody will be available in trade paperback and ebook via Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, World Weaver Press, and other online retailers, and for wholesale through Ingram.

World Weaver Press is an independently owned publisher of fantasy, paranormal, and science fiction. We believe in great storytelling.

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You heard it here: Bite Somebody is yours June 21st. Mark your calendars.
AND the cover reveal happens next week, along with opportunities for pre-order!

Flesh-eating cacti attack slow-moving Phoenix residents!

I’ve been in love with Stoneslide Corrective since they published my Pushcart Prize-nominated short story, “Don’t Ball the Boss,” what seems like a bazillion years ago. Ever hopeful, I entered their 2015 writing contest and was gleefully bewildered when my story, “The Saguaro Apocalypse” won “striking use of wit” (which allows me to walk up to strangers and say, “I’m officially funny,” because Stoneslide said so).

Their new issue came out yesterday, so head on over and read my completely ridiculous imagining of what might happen if saguaro cacti suddenly came alive in Arizona and developed a taste for human flesh. Inspired, strangely, by my mother.

The Saguaro Apocalypse (excerpt)
by Sara Dobie Bauer
From Stoneslide Corrective

The night of the Waldendorfhouse Meteor Shower, my idiot boyfriend forgot to meet me at the Star Tower. Nine PM. I told him: “Tommmmm, be there by nine PM, because the meteor shower will only be visible from 8:30 to 9:30 and then it’s gone forever.”

I called him “Tommmmm” because he hates when I call him Tom, which, in hindsight, may have pissed him off to the point of ignoring our date at the Star Tower, where crowds were out in throngs to watch little lights flicker across the sky. I didn’t stay long, just long enough to “oooh” and “awww” a few times with a bunch of strangers, surrounded by the spiny saguaro cacti that grow in the deserts of Arizona.

I went home and found Thomas on our front patio in the dark because we kept forgetting to replace the porch light. I avoided tripping over him because of the small, orange glow from his pipe. The night smelled of burning pine.

“Where have you been? I forgot my keys and I’ve been sitting out here for half an hour.” He choked on a heavy hit and handed me the bowl.

“You were supposed to meet me at nine. Remember? Meteor shower? Now, it’s almost over. Congratulations.”

“Oh, shit.” He stood and brushed his hands against his jeans. He wasn’t that tall, but people assumed we were tall: Thomas because he had the thin stretchiness of Gumby and me because I always wore heels. “I’m sorry, Kylie.”

I hit the bowl hard until my throat burned but held in the dingy smoke, the flavor of which reminded me we needed to clean our pipe. “Save the apologies for your mother,” I exhaled, which was a low blow, since Thomas was always apologizing to his Christian mum who once told me my work as a sex columnist would land me in Hell.

She just loved me.

“Don’t be a bitch. I forgot.”

“You always forget.” I shoved the pipe at him and unlocked our front door. The foyer was its usual disaster of kicked-off shoes, dust, and unopened mail.

Thomas slumped inside. “I do not always forget things. You just do too much.”

“And you do nothing but smoke weed and play video games.” I threw my purse on the second-hand sofa we bought at Goodwill. If you stuck your nose in it, you could still smell senior citizen.

I heard him kick off his black high tops. “It’s my job, Kylie.”

To be clear: not the smoking weed part, the video game part. He was a video game designer, which meant whenever he talked about his job, I visited a la-la land where Colin Farrell sang me Irish lullabies.

I went for the fridge, which was… yeah, empty except for pickles. I bit a pickle. Thomas came up behind me and stole the half-eaten pickle from my hand. “Dude!”

He slumped into one of three chairs that surrounded a kitchen table we never used because we always ate dinner on the couch to get a better view of Jeopardy!

“You need a haircut,” I said. “Your head looks like a mushroom.”

“You’re always picking at me.” He finished my pickle with a satisfied hum.

I headed to the bedroom to put on PJs when I heard a thumping knock-knock against our front door. “If that’s one of your good-for-nothing gamer friends, no.”

Thomas didn’t stand up but instead dug into a bag of potato chips he’d apparently been hiding behind the couch. “Tell ’em yourself.”

I sort of hoped it was some late-night Jehovah’s Witness to tell me the Waldendorfhouse Meteor Shower meant the end of the world. I liked to tell them I was a stripper who worshipped Lord Voldemort.

I looked out the peephole, but since our porch light didn’t work, I saw nothing. Thomas and I lived in a safe neighborhood in southwest Phoenix, so I doubted it would be a robber. Plus, robbers don’t knock. I opened the door. At first I thought it was some really tall, skinny dude with short arms.

Then, I realized it was a saguaro cactus. Must have been a young one, since its limbs were only about two feet long, but they were long enough to swipe at my face. I had the momentary thought: What the hell was in that weed? I tried to slam the door, but a wily, green arm got in the way and swung the door back open. The cactus kept brandishing its T-Rex arms at me.

“Thomas!”

“What now?” I heard the shuffling of his sock-clad feet.

By the time Thomas reached me, the cactus was banging its rounded top against the doorframe; guess it couldn’t figure how to duck. I glanced down in the darkness. Roots spread like a floor-length ball gown, which I assumed was how it walked to my house.

The measly T-Rex arms spun with more fervor.

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Read the rest of “The Saguaro Apocalypse” at Stoneslide Corrective.

BOOK BIRTHDAY: WOLF AMONG SHEEP

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CLICK HERE TO BUY WOLF AMONG SHEEP.

It’s ALIVE! Today, my erotic suspense novella Wolf Among Sheep (Hot Ink Press) is available to the masses on Amazon and Goodreads.

About Wolf Among Sheep:

“What exactly do you deduce we proposed?”
“That I enter into a sexual relationship with a married couple.”

Avery Collins is an ambitious young journalist in early-1900s Charleston, South Carolina, when exotic newcomers Timothy and Vonnie Duke spot him at a fancy gala on the Battery. The Dukes like bringing pretty playthings to their marriage bed, and with a promotion in mind, Avery entertains their advances not knowing lust can quickly turn to love — and love to murder.

Vividly atmospheric and told from three points of view, Wolf Among Sheep proves sexual prowess can get a man far in life in exchange for his soul.

CLICK HERE TO BUY WOLF AMONG SHEEP.

Today, we’re celebrating with a Facebook event from 1 to 4 PM EST, so if you want to join, come visit HERE, and enter to win Amazon gift cards and book giveaways. If you can’t make it, be sure to pick up your copy of Wolf Among Sheep anyway and leave a review on Amazon!

What people are saying about Wolf Among Sheep:

“Incendiary, sensual, and wicked, Wolf Among Sheep is a thrilling reminder that the ecstasy of lust can be peppered with dark and sinister desires. With crackling prose and tension aplenty, Dobie Bauer weaves a sumptuous picture of the American South, alight with characters that will lure you into their beds … and then won’t let you go.”

-Tiffany Michelle Brown, author of Spin and Give It Back

“Sly and sexy, Dobie Bauer’s Wolf Among Sheep captures three beautifully fierce creatures straining against proper Southern society and shows what dangerous passions can happen when their lusts break them free.”

-Cassie Alexander, author of the Edie Spence Series 

“Sporting sexy characters, erotic manipulations, and sensual settings, Sara Dobie Bauer’s new novella is riveting, delicious, and delightfully decadent.”

—Jeff Mann, author of Fog and Desire and Devour

CLICK HERE TO BUY WOLF AMONG SHEEP.

New release: WOLF AMONG SHEEP book trailer

“What exactly do you deduce we proposed?”
“That I enter into a sexual relationship with a married couple.”

Avery Collins is an ambitious young journalist in early-1900s Charleston, South Carolina, when exotic newcomers Timothy and Vonnie Duke spot him at a fancy gala on the Battery. The Dukes like bringing pretty playthings to their marriage bed, and with a promotion in mind, Avery entertains their advances not knowing lust can quickly turn to love — and love to murder.

WOLF AMONG SHEEP will be available February 27 from Hot Ink Press.

To support my Thunderclap campaign for WOLF AMONG SHEEP (and I totally need your help!!), GO HERE.

A ghost story in Bop Dead City

Some stories we write and love to read again. Others we write and sort of shudder. Not because they’re bad, but because they remind us of a certain time and place we’d rather not revisit.

My short story, “Ghosts of Ice Cream,” is one of those stories, written during a deep depressive phase in Phoenix when I was … blocked. A writer’s nightmare. Plus there was just some bad shit going down, so I wrote this story, haltingly, alone in a corner, probably smoking a cigarette.

Bop Dead City admired the freak factor of a ghostly ice cream truck at Christmas in the desert. There is something creepy about that ice cream truck song, especially when there aren’t any children around to hear it.

Excerpt: “Ghosts of Ice Cream”

by Sara Dobie Bauer

Presented by Bop Dead City

My marriage now feels like something that happened to someone else—a story told over the phone by an old high school friend you never liked, never cared about, but pretended to because you used to be a nice person. But the dreams. I don’t dream. For the first time in my life, I don’t dream.

***

I wait every day for the ice cream truck. Today, I try to see it. I consider running outside and ordering an ice cream cone, but I don’t want to leave the house. I wait for the telltale ting-tang-tinkle, and when I hear it, I scurry to the nearest shuttered window. I hear the music, right out front, the same nameless tone shooting like sparks into the tepid Arizona winter sky. I wait for the little truck to pass by. It must be close, so I check another window, on the side of the house.

The noise grows louder—the low hum of an engine, the continued music, but no words, just music. I see no ice cream truck. I must have missed it. Surely it turned the corner before I made my way to the window, as the music now seems far off, perhaps blocks away already. I take a seat on the living room floor and open my computer. I go so far as to open a Word document, but all I can type: “Ting. Tang. Tinkle.”

***

One night, I drink vodka and manage to sleep. I wake in Michael’s arms, the side of my face stuck to his chest. He always did sweat in his sleep. My fingers rest like a sleeping spider against his collarbone. I breathe the scent of him: salty sweat with an undercurrent of men’s cologne, leftover from his day at the office. He takes small inhales, exhales, and hums a little when my fingers touch his throat. Our legs are tangled together. We’re both naked, the way we used to sleep during the long Arizona summer. I don’t open my eyes. I sense the darkness in the room around us, probably close to midnight.

And then I hear it: the ice cream truck. I recognize the song: an off-key, off-tempo version of “Beyond the Sea” that comes to me like screams through water. It was our wedding song. I shiver and pull closer to Michael, who falls apart, a pile of ash in my hands.

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Read the rest of “Ghosts of Ice Cream” (and other awesome stories) by buying the newest edition of Bop Dead City for $3 HERE.

(Intro photo by Laurence Demaison.)

A recap of 2015, including that time I almost drowned

I get kind of dizzy thinking about 2015 because so much happened. I can’t believe Jake and I squeezed so much into a single year, but here goes. Let’s sum up an incredible 12 months.

1. THE MOVE

Jake, the farmer boy, with my parents.

Jake and I built a life together in Phoenix, Arizona, for five years. We moved there so Jake could have a lifelong career as a nuclear engineer only to have him realize he actually wanted to be an organic farmer, which he is, here in Chardon, Ohio. Four months ago, I returned to the state of my birth and have already been seduced by the small town charm, friendly neighborhood, and excellent dive bars. It’s great to be so close to my family now, too, just a few hours away. Despite my affiliations with the Michigan Wolverines and Pittsburgh Steelers, I haven’t been run out of town yet … and we’ve had snow three times!

2. BITE SOMEBODY

Back when I was still in Phoenix, I sent a query letter for BITE SOMEBODY to World Weaver Press and their imprint, Red Moon Romance. A lovely gal named Trysh wanted to see the full manuscript. She adored it and even laughed at all the right parts, but she needed me to do a rewrite, which I painstakingly undertook in one week, knowing I needed to pack all my worldly belongings for a cross-country move to Ohio. Once in Ohio, I got the email: BITE SOMEBODY had been accepted, to be released in the spring of 2016. Now begins the final edits, cover design, and publicity. Now begins a whole new chapter, literally, as I work on the BITE SOMEBODY sequel. In 2015, my dream of being accepted as a published novelist finally came true.

3. MODELING

I can’t count the number of photo shoots I did in 2015. I can tell you about the one I did underwater which earned me the nickname “Mermaid” (although I swallowed about six gallons of water to get the perfect pic). Or the one where we shot in an abandoned house with a massive beehive in the wall. Modeling has, strangely, become part of my routine, and I even have a teammate here in Ohio: makeup and hair stylist Megan Lacy Sullivan. I used to think I was the awkward girl with goofy charm. Now, finally, I think I’m beautiful.

4. PUBLISHED SHORT STORIES OF 2015

“Project: Terminated” in New Myths

“Why do you do that?” She gestured to the sleeping man.

“Do what?”

“You always touch him when he’s asleep.”

Violet stood by her captain and glanced back at their Emotive. “Oh,” she said. “Well, his dreams are beautiful. He lets me watch.” She shrugged. “And he feels peaceful when he sleeps. Which of us can say the same?”

“The Wendigo Goes Home” in Flapperhouse #8

“The tumor in your brain. They’ve told you it’s inoperable. How long do you have before the symptoms start to show?”
“You can smell cancer?”
“I smell death.” He put his nose against Blake’s throat and inhaled. “It smells delicious.”

“A Good Match” in Romance Magazine

“If you want honest answers, Alice, then kindly ask good questions.”
“I never gave you permission to call me Alice.”
“And I have given you permission to call me George, yet you refuse. We shall frustrate each other equally.”
“Sounds like marriage indeed.”

“Forever Dead” in Blood in the Rain

I spent a whole week with him that visit, because I couldn’t bring myself to say something stupid like, “I love you,” but I also couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him. Finally, he was the one who said it.
Well, he said, “No.”
“What?”
“I’m not in love with you.”

“A Man of Light and Scales,” Maricopa District Writing Competition Winner

You fall into conversation, and it’s not the usual, polite, getting to know you babble. Graydon Kelly says odd, irresponsible things like, “You have an amazing mouth” or the worst, “What do you think of me exactly?”
You only respond to the last comment: a terse, “I’m not sure.” You know this is a lie. You’re wild about every inch of him.

“Mouth and the Muscle” in Over My Dead Body

“Fuck off, Chuck.” Only Max would have the balls to say something like that to a drug addict criminal with a gun in his face.
Chuck hit him good for it, gun to forehead, which almost sent Max sideways. He managed to stay on his knees, and Chuck grabbed him by the hair and forced the silver muzzle between his lips.
Here’s where things get kind of fuzzy.

“The Way We Forget,” Liar’s League NYC

“Are you doing okay?” he says. “You seem to be doing okay.”
In movies, women ask men to have sex at times like this. They say something like “I need to feel something other than pain.” I wonder if that’s why Ethan is out here now.

“Hope in Orange” in Chicken Soup for the Soul

I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe Perryville Prison is haunted by the women themselves. The ghosts of the past surround their heads like teased hair, and I see reflections of loved ones in the edges of their eyes.

“You Were Here” in Under the Gum Tree

When I leave this place for the last time, the house will not explode. It will not burn to the ground. It will remain, and there is some comfort in that. Another family will move in. I wish I could tell them, explain all that happened here, but then, I would be haunting them with my ghosts—forcing my memories to fit their lives.

5. BOOKS READ: 54

Best of the bunch: The Girl on the Train, Welcome to Night Vale, Furiously Happy, The Curse of Crow Hollow, Reasons to Stay Alive, Carry On, The Uninvited, and The Diva Rules.

6. COMING IN 2016

I finished a new novel this year that’s, well, pretty damn dark compared to my usual fare. It’s also erotica, which means my mother will not be reading it. The as-yet-untitled new manuscript is with a first reader now (someone I trust), so we’ll see what I end up doing with it.

Other than that, I have a short story in Bop Dead City in January and another in the Marked for Scorn Anthology. I’m the January featured interview in Arizona Cinematics Magazine. In February, my novella, “Wolf Among Sheep,” will be released by Hot Ink Press. In March, “The Saguaro Apocalypse” (Stoneslide Corrective Contest winner for “striking use of wit”) will make its debut on the magazine’s website.

Then, there will be BITE SOMEBODY. Yes, I suppose 2016 is already shaping up to be a busy year. For now, I wish everyone a Happy New Year’s Eve and a fond farewell to the wonderful year that was!

Hot vampire sex anthology, just in time for Halloween

I blame Anne Rice. I read Interview with a Vampire at an inappropriately young age, so now, mention the word “vampire,” and I’m like, “Bite me, you sexy beast.” (Especially if you look like Alexander Skarsgard.)

As you know, my vamp rom-com novel BITE SOMEBODY comes out next year. BITE SOMEBODY is funny and sweet and, yeah, sexy as hell–but mostly funny. My short story, “Forever Dead,” is not funny but scorchingly hot and now available in Cwtch Press’s Blood in the Rain: Seventeen Stories of Vampire Erotica.

In the words of the anthology’s editors, Cecilia Duvalle and Mary Trepanier, “Forever Dead” brings us “a muscular, vamp-hunting detective with an uncomfortable hankering for a blood-sucking guy.” Zach and Dario are possibly two of my hottest characters to date, and they do really hot things to each other. But they’re not alone.

More about the anthology: In this collection of erotic vampire tales from authors Northwestern and Northwestern at heart, the creatures range from classic to alien, from dom to sub, from blood-drinking to soul-sucking. In Jeff Mann’s “Summer Solstice Sacrifice,” a burly, kilted vampire faces losing a lover or turning him before it’s too late. Colleen Anderson’s “Hold Back the Night” explores how cultural norms divide two very different women in Mumbai—one of them undead. A male vampire watches his wife solve his murder in Joscelyne Gray’s “The Longest Death of the Year.”

And that’s just a tease. For the full round up, you can buy the Kindle or paperback version at Amazon today. It’s the time of year when all things ghoulish run free. Why not invite a vampire (or several) to your bedroom tonight?

If you want print, click HERE.

If you want Kindle, click HERE.

And to get you hot and bothered, here’s a quick excerpt from “Forever Dead:”

He wasn’t even out of his shoes when I threw my first punch. I lifted him about ten feet off the ground and dropped his dead weight on the kitchen table. I pinned him down and let him know, “I was just playing earlier. Now, I’m gonna kill you.”

He didn’t even yell when I tore at his throat. He barely struggled. Guess he figured when your time’s up, your time’s up. But then his hands were in my hair. He made a pleased “ung” noise, and I felt him, hard against my thigh. Before I knew what the hell I was doing, my mouth covered his parted lips. I shoved my tongue against his teeth, setting up imaginary flags that said “Mine, mine, mine.”