Picture my head in the clouds. I slap out floral arrangements and work around customers to write. My mom has an anemia bone cancer (doing well after treatment, thanks), and my loving parents put the last of six florist shops in my name including all the paperwork (their excuse, her vision isn’t what it should be), so as of June I’m not just a slave, but an owner also. Ashes’ release is scheduled for May, the worst month of the year for a florist, but priorities. I clearly know the
twins come before anything. Logan
My life is as mundane as grey parchment. My family thinks I’m deficient, my son has to have a few beers to dummy himself down before he explains how to set up a word sheet in excel to do sales tax, blah blah.
I can’t say enough nice things about the publishers who’ve opened their doors to me.
Did I mention that Ashes comes out in ten months, 300 days, 7,200 hours, 43,2000 minutes?
Here's a sample:
Lyle Logan: “Why? Give me one reason I should believe this crap? I think, therefore I am. I don’t need some frickin’ deity to tell me—”
Arlene: “Yes, you do. Without me, you can’t form words. And, son, you will watch your mouth on this blog. Understand?”
Lyle: “No. I don’t understand a god@#$% thing. Because you’re bored, the sweetest guy on—where the @#$% am I? Cyberspace? Right. Anyway, my twin suffers a horrible death and it’s my fault?”
Sigh. “I’m not infallible.”
Lyle: “Just a self righteous, under worked florist who makes me hold the knife to the sacrificial goat.”
Arlene. “Idiot. Myles is a lamb, not a goat and if you’d called his lover, the cop still wouldn’t have been able to save either of you. Sorry.”
Lyle: “Screw you. Bring on hell. It’d have to beat listening to you.”
Arlene: “Myles, you there? Talk to your brother, will you?”
Myles: “Yes, God. What should I say?”
Lyle: “Hey, MyMy? Whaddya get when you cross a wimp with a puss?”
Myles: “I’m not a wuss, am I, God? But I am dead, right? Not a zombie who’s gonna eat Ren’s brains out.”
Sigh. “How many times does Lyle have to explain? No vamps, no zombies, you’re a sweetheart without a backbone. If I ask you to say no to the next predator who wants to jump you when Lyle’s not around to terrify them, can you do it?”
Arlene: “A bisexual slut will remain true to one man?”
Myles: “Yes. I love Ren.”
Arlene: “You’re painting in the park. A lonely cougar eyes you. She asks you to carry her bags, walk her home, come in and step into her bedroom, what will you say?”
Myles “Yes. Right? I mean, I’m strong and I like helping people. Can I ask you something?”
Lyle: “Give it up, God. He doesn’t have a safe word. Only one way to save him, leave me and mine alone. Stay the @#$% out of our business. Don’t you have flowers to sell? Paperwork to do? Other bastards to torment?”
Sigh. “Myles, you didn’t answer. Can you say no?”
Sigh. “What’d you want to ask me, son?”
Myles: “Why vanilla? Can my favorite flavor be hard spicy mango, thick sweet pistachio, a threesome with chocolate and strawberry, so many lovely things. And, am I seriously D-E-A-D? Murdered in Vegas? Where—exactly—am I? Lyle can’t die too, but he also won’t leave me, right? It’s fact. We’re binary. Can’t be separated—or, I’d die. Where’s Ren? Am I a bad man? Why does Lyle think….”
Ashes. May 2010. MuseitHot
You’d find me on my website if my loving elder sister would either give me my domain name that she got for me 3-4 years ago and stop insisting I’m not capable of establishing a website, or she’d just get it done.
Yippee, I have a blog with links to tweet, FB, Goodreads, etc.
Thank you, Ginger, for having the twins and me on your blog.