Wait, this book is queer? —Always was.

The past few months I’ve been reading more queer SFF, with delight at seeing better representation for all sorts of LGBTQIA+ folks in stories both good and jawdroppingly amazing. In case you weren’t already aware of these, put them on your reading list immediately: 

 

The Murderbot Diaries series by Martha Wells. Most of these are novella length but pack a hefty punch. The first book, All Systems Red, rightfully won the Hugo and Nebula awards for Best Novella and is a master class in story pacing. A self-aware security construct (SecUnit) hacks its own governor module and slowly begins to form friendships with humans it’s been assigned to protect. It’s explicitly agender and asexual and finds the very idea of human romance strange, but as the series progresses, it does form strong bonds with some people and even with a snarky ship’s AI that is all wonderful to watch develop. The series is set in the far-distant future, with human colonies scattered throughout the galaxy and megacorporations running most of known space. Most of the human characters are in polyamorous, bisexual relationships, and neopronouns are used for some, though any sex is only intimated, not on-page. Lots of BIPOC representation, as genes have mixed well over the centuries. The action is realistic and heartpounding, the snarky humor wonderful, and the characters absolutely delightful throughout. 

HIGHLY recommended, and yes, read them in order because a lot happens in each story. 

The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir. Though this is marketed as YA fiction, its events and themes are deeply felt and will resonate strongly with adults. It’s been glibly described as “lesbian necromancers in space,” and much the same as Firefly was “cowboys in space,” that fits but doesn’t explain just how wonderful and complex these books are. Again, any sex is off-page, but the protagonists of the first two books, Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth, are definitely lesbian (though one may be asexual), and there are bi and straight characters represented as well. I can’t say much without giving away the plots, but the characters are deep and wonderful and the worldbuilding amazing. With every few chapters my jaw hit the floor again. Muir is an astonishing writer, and this series will pull you in and hit you hard. If you like SFF based on character depth and intrigue, read these. 

On a softer note, TJ Klune’s House in the Cerulean Sea is a sweet, humorous modern fantasy about a meek, proper British bureaucrat who works for an agency monitoring orphanages for magical beings in an otherwise human world. He’s sent to inspect an orphanage on a sunny island far from the dreary, rainy city, to see whether it’s being run according to code, and encounters children gnomes, a weredog, and the Antichrist in kid form, as well as their enigmatic director. The pace is slow and sweet, the humor delightfully Brit, and the growing attachment our protagonist feels for the unwanted children and their teacher causes him to question all the codes and orders he’s lived by for years. It’s a cozy, magical queer romantic fantasy, though again without anything more explicit than kissing, and a beautifully written antidote to rough days in the real world. Enjoy this one with a cup of tea in a quiet reading nook. 

The Strangeworlds Travel Agency series by nonbinary author L.D. Lapinski. Very YA and very British in language and tone; the protagonists didn’t resonate as much with me, and I didn’t finish reading the first book. However, it’s well-done and gaining in popularity, with the final book in the series just released. Younger readers might well enjoy it. A tween girl and teen boy team up for adventures with magic suitcases that allow travel to other worlds, in the grand old explorer tradition, but get into more trouble than they expected. Not to my taste, but your mileage may vary, and I hear it does have good queer representation among the characters. 

I’m currently reading The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers and really enjoying it as a change of pace. Very slow-building SF with a varied cast of characters aboard a ship that build stable wormholes for interstellar travel. Aliens and weirdness abound, and most of the book so far has been character-exploring interactions. Not much action, but the characters are so much fun I don’t at all mind. There are nonbinary, plural, and trans folks, all portrayed positively and empathetically. A young clerk signs aboard the ship to get away from a family scandal on Mars and ends up getting a crash course in multiple alien cultures, as the crew relationships drive the story. Looking forward to finishing and reading the next in the series. 

Lastly, I’ll note that my own books feature LGBTQ+ and BIPOC characters in positive roles. My bloody, snarky horror comedy Wendigogo has Ojibwe and other First Nation folks and folklore, as well as bi supporting characters. Dark romantic fantasy Straw Song has gay supporting characters, and Scarecrow himself is a straw tangle of transmasc angst, as I realized when working on rewrites for it, and this theme will be emphasized more in the sequel I’m currently working on. While my light magical romance Straw Man doesn’t have LGBTQ+ characters directly involved, heroine Cassie is Black and this is a major plot point of the story as her new neighbors are distinctly unhappy about that fact. And yes, I have consulted sensitivity readers on all books for characters which don’t reflect my actual experience, which I feel makes the stories richer and much more well-rounded. You can buy signed copies of any of my books through Graythorn Publishing, or from the ‘zon and other online sellers; I write as K.A. Silva. 

Here’s to more queer rep in SFF! Even if you’re straight and cis, I think you’ll enjoy these books as much as I have or more. Check ‘em out!

STRAW SONG and the darker side of Oz

 

My new dark romantic fantasy/urban fantasy Straw Song is finally available! At last, the brainy but insecure Scarecrow and brash but empathetic witch Theo can invade others’ headspace the way they have mine for a year. On this Monday the 13^th , I’m contemplating my enjoyment of the darker side of Oz.

 The original book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum was intended as light entertainment for children, according to Baum’s forward to the book, yet it contains some gruesome scenes. Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman, relates to Dorothy (who is supposed to be a young child in the story) how his cursed axe lopped off his arms and legs and head, so he had tin replacements made by a skilled smith. Even in an enchanted land like Oz, that had to hurt and be bloody as hell. Later in the book, horrible tiger-bear monsters called kalidahs attack the party and are stopped only by chopping down a log bridge which sends them tumbling into a crevasse to their implied deaths. 

Scarecrow's first murder.

And when our heroes raid the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West, she sends wolves, crows, stinging insects, and her guards to kill them. The Tin Woodman chops off the heads of all the wolves. The Scarecrow twists the necks of the crows. Even though these are just straightforward sentences in the book, with no blood or gore mentioned, any kid who understands that living things bleed may be a bit taken aback by such violence. The witch’s servant monkeys rip the Scarecrow apart and dop his head and clothing into a tall tree, and it’s not clear he’s not dead until some time later when Dorothy rescues him and has him restuffed. The Cowardly Lion proves his mettle by beheading a giant spider (he bites its head off!). So just in this first classic children’s book we have death, dismemberment, body horror, and monsters aplenty. 

illustration by Skottie Young, The Wizard of Oz
(Eric Shanower's adaptation from L. Frank Baum, Marvel Comics)

Me? I’m all for it. I love monsters, I enjoy a bit of body horror, as any reader of mine will know. Hell, even in my lighter romantic fantasy Straw Man, protagonist Jack experiences quite a bit of body horror as Cassie’s spell takes unexpected effect on him. I love transformation, as evidenced in horror comedy Wendigogo . In Straw Song I have body horror with Scarecrow, although its impact is diminished some by the fact that in his original state he can’t feel pain even when ripped apart, as well as Ozian monsters and some truly evil characters causing all manner of casual horror. Why? Well, for one, because I enjoy it, and also because Oz DOES have a darker side which some fans love even more than the sweetness and light of the MGM musical.

 Case in point: the 1985 film Return to Oz. It hasn’t become a cult classic despite the creepier elements but because of them. Dorothy is threatened with electroshock therapy to cure her of her delusions about Oz (a truly scary part of the film, moreso if, like me, you ever dreaded being sent to a mental hospital or, gods forbid, did end up in one). When she finally lands in Oz, she encounters the Wheelers, amazingly and frighteningly portrayed by actors on actual wheels in grotesque masks. Every fan I’ve encountered who saw this film as a kid was legit scared of the Wheelers.

Gimme some sugar!

The Nome King, unlike his more comical depiction in the books, is sadistic and genuinely threatening in the film. The witch Mombi (in the film, an amalgamation of the book characters Mombi and Langwidere, who enjoys collecting people’s heads) is also a problem for Dorothy, and her cabinet of still-living bodiless heads definitely creepy at the very least. (Yay! More body horror!) The scene where Dorothy sneaks into the head collection is one of the scarier moments. I’ve seen some Oz fans complain about how “dark” this film us while seemingly ignoring the fact that the books have plenty of low-key horror as well. Langwidere does threaten to cut off Dorothy’s head and add it to her collection, and the Nome King does trick most of the adventuring party into being turned into tchotchkes for his collection, in the book Ozma of Oz. I submit that pondering the implications of your head becoming just another pretty thing in a witch’s collection, to be put on and off like a hair bow as her whim dictates, or spending your existence transformed into a motionless, helpless objet d’art to be occasionally dusted, is guaranteed to strike horror into the heart of anyone.

 So, given all this existing (and fully canon!) horror in Oz, I have zero problems writing it. Though Straw Song is definitely a weird love story at its heart, the characters have plenty of awful things to deal with. Though Scarecrow and his friend Nick Chopper can’t be killed by normal means, creative evil witches can certainly come up with ways to torture them to elicit their compliance. Having a friend who can survive being beheaded doesn’t make seeing it any easier for a mortal. And monsters well known in Oz are guaranteed to be scarier once they invade our world.

 Of course, even stronger than monsters or malicious magic is the horror of seeing a character you’ve come to love in serious danger, and I hope I’ve accomplished that in this book. You don’t need to be an Oz fan to enjoy it, either. If you like urban fantasy with romance, or romantic fantasy with a dark ambiance, dive in! Scarecrow promises you won’t regret it.

Straw Song by K.A. Silva available for purchase in ebook or print from amazon.

Signed copies available exclusively through Graythorn Publishing! 

All Scarecrows, All the Time

I’ve been reading a lot of Oz books (both the original L. Frank Baum works, and newer stuff by other authors) and Scarecrow stories the past few months, both as research for my ongoing dark Ozian romantic fantasy-in-progress (tentative title Straw Song), and just for fun. This particular chase through the cornfield has unearthed two absolute gems of short story anthologies, Shadows of the Emerald City (ed. by JW Schnarr), and Scarecrow (ed. by Rhonda Parrish). So what’s so awesome about them, you ask? Well, my friend, beyond the fact WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING, SCARECROW IS THE BEST, both contain a number of well-written tales worth a read. Even those weird Tin Man fans will find a few stories they’ll like. (I mean I’m not judging, but brains and crinkly hugs over a heart and a hard metal body any day.)

Let’s start with Shadows. The publisher is Northern Frights, 2009. If you’re not familiar with this indie house, they publish a number of excellent ghost tales and Northwoods/Great Lakes legend collections. Quite a few of their books helped me in research for Wendigogo. I did notice a few grammatical errors in this anthology which really should have been fixed before publication. For instance, “Scarecrow’s Sunrise” contains several incorrect uses of “it’s” instead of “its,” which shouldn't have slipped by the editor. Also, some formatting issues with the kindle edition that don’t exist in the paperback (I liked the anthology enough to buy the physical book after reading the ebook). That said, it's a wonderful collection.

Tin Man and Scarecrow had no idea what they were in for.

Hilariously dark stories nuzzle affectionately next to truly bleak ones. Only a couple of them have anything like a happy ending, but fans of dark humor will find a few laughs here. The delightfully cannibalistic “Mr. Yoop’s Soup” (Michael Turner) plays with a little-known Oz monster and the canon idea that Ozians feel no pain due to an enchantment upon the entire land. By the inevitable, E.C. Comics-style ending of “Four A.M. at the Emerald City Windsor” (H.F. Gibbard), you can almost hear the Cryptkeeper’s cackle as the sleazy Wizard reaches his much-deserved fate. 

Eee hee heee!

My favorite story here, “Scarecrow’s Sunrise” (Gef Fox), gives our beloved straw man a hint of a darker side and also shows Glinda isn’t as Good as she’d like everyone to think. “Dr. Will Price and the Curious Case of Dorothy Gale” (Mark Onspaugh) also has an EC Comics feel to the ending, though with a surreal, dreamlike mood throughout. Fans of the Wicked Witch will enjoy “One Wicked Day” (Frank Dutkiewicz) and “The Perfect Fit” (E.M. MacCallum), both of which have a little bleak humor sprinkled into the murky stew. 

Much darker are stories that play with the canon idea that no one in Oz can ever die, such as the sad and frightening “The Fuddles of Oz” (Mari Ness), or how horrifically a metal man with no heart would behave, as in “Tin” (Barry Napier). The genial Jack Pumpkinhead takes on a much more sinister aspect in “Pumpkinhead” (Rajan Khanna). Poor Scarecrow confronts his deeply flawed son in “The King of Oz” (Martin Rose). “Not in Kansas Anymore” (Lori T. Strongin) starts out feeling like one type of gritty alt-Oz story and morphs into something more fantastical by its end. It also features an heroic performance by Scarecrow as a voice of conscience and hope, which I loved.

The standout tale in this collection, “Dorothy of Kansas” (JW Schnarr), has haunted me for weeks. It is very much Cormac McCarthy’s The Road meets The Wizard of Oz. Flashes of humor give way to a relentlessly bleak narrative all from the Tin Man’s POV. I couldn’t stop reading it, despite the downward spiral into utter despair. Tin Man and Scarecrow trek through a burned-out, apocalyptic Oz seeking a savior. This is the story that will make you go hug your significant other or seek out a friend to talk to at dark-thirty. Powerful and very well done but just bleak af. You’ve been warned. 

Not that Road.

The Scarecrow anthology (World Weaver Press, 2015) contains fewer references to Oz than you’d think. Jane Yolen has a lovely poem, “Scarecrow Hangs,” which starts off the collection, and the ending story “If I Only Had an Autogenic Cognitive Decision Matrix” (Scott Burtness) makes sly reference to “The Wizard of Oz” film, with an unexpectedly hilarious and dark scifi turn. The tales in between deal with different kinds of scarecrows, with humor, horror, and love intermingled nicely. 

Just the crinkliest, crunkliest stories ever.

The standouts for me: “Kakashi & Crow” (Megan Fennell) is a beautiful blending of Native American myth about the trickster Crow having to team up with his adversary Kakashi, the Japanese Scarecrow spirit, to defeat a grim enemy in modern times. Even old gods can be killed. This reads like a supernatural buddy comedy with some bloody, serious sharp turns. “A Fist Full of Straw” (Kristina Wojtaszek), about a scarecrow enslaved to a wicked witch, and the desperate woman he meets on her regular grocery store runs, is beautiful and full of longing. Made me hug my little Scarecrow companion tight. “Black Birds” (Laura Blackwood) barely has a scarecrow in it and is more about the inner voices of depression and self-loathing, but it’s masterfully done and hits hard. 

“Edith and I” (Virginia Carraway Stark), told from a scarecrow’s viewpoint through the seasons, is a wonderful bit of fantasy, and like several other tales in this collection plays with the concept of tulpas: when we imbue a created thing with personality, does it not then have a life and awareness of its own? (Absolutely yes, many created things have spirits, but I know other folks disagree.) “Waking from His Master’s Dream” (Katherine Marzinsky) is an odd bit of magical-realism where created ficciones take physical form, much to the dismay of those who prefer reality separate from imagination. 

The other stories here range from scifi versions of scarecrows, such as the cybernetic creature in “The Truth About Crows” (Craig Pay), to more fantasy-themed stories that only tangentially have straw men in them, as in “Only the Land Remembers” (Amanda Block) and “The Roofnight” (Amanda C. Davis). “Judge & Jury” (Laura VanArendonk Baugh) is a tidy little revenge tale of crows who love a ghost. And “The Straw Samurai” (Andrew Bud Adams) feels like something right out of a Japanese or Hong Kong movie studio, with anthropomorphic animal clans warring evil spirits. 

The only bones I have to pick with this collection are that the kindle edition has some formatting glitches, and the paperback cover in matte would have fared better as a glossy finish. (The matte finish, as I discovered with one of my own books, just feels sort of fabricky and wrong, and doesn’t display cover art to its best advantage.) I haven’t checked out any of editor Rhonda Parrish’s other collections, though Corvidae definitely sounds like a good addition to my nest. 

If you know of other scarecrow (or Scarecrow) tales I should read, drop a rec in the comments or let me know over on the twitterverse (@gravewriter71)! Fantastical, horrific, erotic—I’ll read ‘em. (As a side note, yes there is scarecrow--and Scarecrow--erotica out there, and all but a couple of 'em are terrible and unimaginative. I will change that.)

Meanwhile I continue to scribble away on my own Scarecrow novel, romantic dark fantasy Straw Song, out for publication later this year. The Scarecrow of Oz comes to our world seeking a grown Dorothy, but nothing goes as he’d hoped. Young witch Theo from my prior romantic fantasy Straw Man takes him in and on a wild road trip to Kansas. Given Scarecrow’s major Issues with witches, a secret and deadly plot afoot back in Oz, and nightmarish creatures showing up in our world with bloody consequences, things are gonna get darker before they get lighter. Witches and zombies and Wheelers, oh my! Stay tuned.

Support indie authors! Books available directly from Graythorn Publishing!

No, Your Love Is Not Superior

Recently I had a mild argument with another author who portrayed a relationship in their books as deeply affectionate, soulmates even, but without any physical intimacy past kissing and hugging. Nothing wrong with that. Appropriate for his intended audience of younger readers, even. What seriously pissed me off was the insistence that a soul-to-soul love without sex was somehow superior to and more pure than love that includes physical consummation.

Now that, my friends, is some fucking Puritan bullshit. Screw Plato and Socrates and the notion that agape is somehow superior to loving someone using every possible connection two people can experience. High time we kick dead Greeks and their prudish descendants out of the heads of modern humanity.

I know of writers who don’t include sex scenes between their protagonists even if the characters are romantically involved. I’ve heard of readers, romance readers even, who prefer books without sex scenes. Who view romance as somehow more palatable without the wonderfully ridiculous delights of skin rubbing skin and grunting and moaning as awkward bodies come together to express complete desire for and acceptance of another person. I don’t understand this perspective at all, but I’m very aware that’s my outlook. Not everyone wants or needs sex with their love. Aces for instance see no need for it, and that’s cool, that’s their thing. It’s a valid viewpoint and it doesn’t have to make sense to me to be legitimate.

However, holding up love which doesn’t include sex as better than romantic attraction which includes all possible aspects of personal connection? Making that an all-inclusive statement, one-size-should-fit-all, and looking down one’s nose at those of us who delight in carnal relations as an integral part of true love? That’s some arrogant bullshit right there. That’s some zombie Puritan repression that refuses to die, encouraging bigotry, sex-shaming. Its festering corpse still haunts certain religious sects. This is especially harmful to kids growing up being taught that sex is dirty, or that striving to repress desire, even when mutual, is the only correct outlook on love. Same school of thought extends to anti-LGBTQ+ relationships. Teaching younguns that love without sex is superior only fosters and festers guilt, shame, and insecurity. Kill that viewpoint dead, burn it, and salt the damned earth it stood on for far too long.

Lookin' at YOU, Southern Baptists.

Someone who insists that sex somehow cheapens a loving relationship only tells me that person has never given their partner an orgasm. 

So yes, in my romance Straw Man there is very explicit, very tender and uplifting sex between my protagonists. Also some very silly innuendo as part of that sex, because squishing body parts together is an inherently silly act and I pity those who take it too seriously. This should be fun, you guys, not some holy of holies. Yes, even if the people involved are soulmates, deeply connected, yadda yadda. I’d argue especially if so.

In my horror comedy Wendigogo, Morty is baffled by his girlfriend’s attraction to him, as he thinks he’s nothing special. That doesn’t stop them from enjoying some bedsport, even once Morty begins to feel the effects of the wendigo curse. Book two of The Reluctant Wendigo will explore this in more detail, both because a good chunk of wendigo myth revolves around woman’s power to calm a wendigo (in the old stories, so they can then kill him), and because I want to dig into Morty and Darcy’s relationship further. So yeah, gonna be some weird sex coming up, and it definitely won’t be to everyone’s taste, and that’s fine. 

I mean c'mon. Look how cute he is in antlers.

My work in progress, Scarecrow (working title only, might go with Song of Straw), is a romantic modern fantasy with horror elements. (As if I could write something not horrific at all. Ever.) It is also very much an Oz story inspired by Baum’s books. Young witch Theo, Cassie’s friend from Straw Man, gets involved in the Scarecrow of Oz on his mission to find his true love. And gradually gets involved with him. Not shying away from the physical aspects of that as the relationship blooms. 

The pic that started it all.

So no, definitely not an Oz story for kids, but writing it as true to real relationships as I’m able. 

Sex is often a natural progression in a loving relationship where there’s also attraction and desire. Not for everyone. Maybe not for you, and that’s okay. My characters are as lusty, earthy, carnal and delighted by the physical aspects of love as I am. Some might not want to read that or write that, and that’s perfectly fine—but putting nonsexual love on a pedestal and worshipping it as the best, the purest, the highest and only way? 

Fuck that. And kill that decaying Puritan smugness already. Love is never one size fits all. 

Support indie publishers who support lusty weirdness! https://graythorn-publishing.square.site/shop/author-k-a-silva/6

Wendigook and Magic and Scarecrows, oh my!

Who wants some book teasers? Well, shuh, who doesn't like a good tease?

Like a starving wendigo staggering into a Republican convention, the issue I currently struggle with is not whether to dive into a book project, but what to slurp and chomp and encompass into my very being first. It’ll all get eaten—I mean written—but I’m at a loss which looks tastiest. 

I’d love to release my Wendigo Yule story, featuring Morty’s comic adventures as a not-quite-reindeer on Christmas Eve. However I really should wait until The Reluctant Wendigo Book 2 (working title Love Song of the Murder Deer) is finished and published, as the events in it need to happen before the Yule tale. Which means I need to finish writing this Northwoods horror adventure. Morty tries to resume normal life despite his carnivorous diet, Marie the mishibizhu is tasked by her father to bring the wendigo to him for a job interview, Darcy comes to grips with the fact her boyfriend is a monster, and Kim is beset by the creepy little people of the forest. 

A sample (Love Song of the Murder Deer):

“What the hell’s your problem, freak?” The leader strode forward, getting in the stranger’s face. 

Though the six-foot-plus fisherman towered over the skinny stranger, Ben’s fear ratcheted up. Suddenly he recalled campfire tales his grandfather had told him, stories about things that roamed the subarctic forests in winter. Things that sometimes looked like hungry people, but weren’t people any more. Ignoring the man who’d stomped him, Ben grabbed Danny’s jacket and lurched backward, hauling both of them upright as best he could. 

The white leader looked the skinny man up and down. “What the hell’s wrong with you, anyways? You lost? You on drugs or something?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” countered the stranger. He gestured at the two boys, and Ben flinched. “Looks like you’ve beat the shit out of them over a damned fish.”

The leader barked, “Look, someone’s got to keep these goddamned Indians in line, keep ‘em off our lakes! All they do’s take all the fish and game and then bitch about tribal rights. Well what about our rights? We’re the ones being discriminated against here! Now if you got a problem with that, then you got a problem with us.”

The stranger grinned wider. His teeth looked too big, too sharp. “Funnily enough, I am actually part Menominee. But I’m not the one here with a problem.”

“Half-breed asshole!” The leader swung a fist, and his buddies yelled, all starting toward the stranger. 

The thin man caught the fist in his own wide hand. His fingerbones burst through his flesh, stretching into white claws, piercing the wrist of the leader who howled in pain. The stranger laughed, his eyes wide and wild. Antlers shot up from his head. 

Ben stared in horror as the man’s body stretched, limbs lengthening, skin tearing, his grin becoming a long bony muzzle full of fangs. 

“Thank god, a bunch of racists,” the stranger growled, his voice rough and weirdly hollow, “I’m fucking starving.”

Book One, Wendigogo, is available in ebook from the usual vendors, paperback from amazon, and personalized, autographed paperback only from Graythorn Publishing. The perfect Yule gift for anyone who, like me, enjoys “Cabin in the Woods” as one of the best comedies ever filmed!

Or I could finish the Straw Man Yule story which I have about half-completed. Following on the heels of their paranormal romance, Jack and Cassie are having some unexpected hitches in their relationship around Yuletide. Jack is dealing with a discrimination suit that takes a nasty turn, and Cassie’s sister and family drop in unannounced to stay with them a few weeks. Given that Cassie’s green witchcraft has had unusual effects on Jack, and that they’re trying to keep their relationship a secret, the added complication of a nosy sister and curious kids doesn’t help matters. And Jack has always hated Christmas. 

A sample (Straw Man Yule):

        Jack grinned at Cassie as she turned around and embraced him, and forced strength into his shaky voice. “Oh yeah. Another satisfied customer of the Strohmann produce stand.”

        She laughed. “I better be your only customer, turkey.” 

        Jack hugged her tight. She leaned into him, kissing his neck. He could feel her heart pounding in counterpoint to his, both calming slowly, still charged with the heat of their connection. “My only, always. Love you so much, Cassandra.”

        She gazed up at him with low-lidded dark eyes. He’d never get tired of that soft, drowsy smile she had right after sex. “Love you, Jack.” They held each other a minute more, listening to each other’s breath, feeling warm and happy. 

        As Jack’s brain came back down to earth, he wondered if this might be exactly what he needed. She was right. He could afford to not think about anything else for a few days. He could stay right here, in her arms. Contentment suffused his whole being. He kissed her hair, breathing in the sweet, lush scent of her, blackberry and deep earth. 

        She chuckled. “Okay, you. Coffee’s still hot. Help yourself. I’m going to grab a shower and then we can decide how to spend the rest of the day.” She gently pulled away and tugged her pants up. 

        “Can I come join you?” Jack asked. When she glanced at him he gave her his patented filthy eyebrow waggle.

        “I think there may be room in the tub,” she agreed. 

        Grinning, Jack pulled her back to him for another kiss. 

        Knocking sounded at the front door. Loud, insistent, and from more than one set of knuckles. Jack froze. “You expecting anyone?” he asked. 

        Cassie shook her head. Her confusion and dismay echoed his own. “Stay here. Get your coffee. Probably the Jehovah people again, trying to convert me.” She sighed. “I made the mistake once of inviting them in for tea and ever since, they come ’round at the winter and spring solstices trying to convince me I need their god.”

        Jack pulled his sweatpants back up and retied his robe shut. “Let me handle ’em.”

        “No, just in case,” Cassie warned, and he nodded. 

        He tamped down his unease as she left the room. She was more than capable of handling whomever it was by herself. He still hadn’t seen her cast a hex. He imagined green lightning shooting from her fingers at any dumbass who crossed her. Now that would be fun to watch. For now, though, discretion was the better part of romance. He plucked a stoneware mug from a cupboard and poured coffee into it black, hearing voices. Quite a few voices. Then shouting, though he couldn’t make out the words. 

        Alarmed, Jack immediately pushed through the swinging kitchen door to the rambling hallway, heading for the front door, forgetting to set down his mug first. Hot coffee splashed onto his long robe. He cursed but didn’t break stride, rushing around the corner to find Cassie standing awkwardly in the arms of a tall Black man. A short woman with a round face and tied-back black hair was grinning widely next to him. Two boys jostled past them, arguing loudly about rooms, falling silent and drawing up short as they saw Jack. 

        Jack looked at the kids, at the woman whose upturned nose and broad cheeks echoed Cassie’s, at the man who now released her and straightened his shoulders. Bulging suitcases and bags of wrapped gifts sat on the hall floor and the porch past the open door. A chill breeze swept through, flapping the hem of Jack’s robe and blowing his hair back. He looked at Cassie. Her expression was full of anxiety. 

        “Oh,” said the other woman, glancing between Jack and Cassie. “Well. My goodness.” She bit her lip, clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

        The man stepped forward and stuck out his right hand. “Hi, sorry about that. I can see we’re interrupting. Barry. Barry Elmwood.”

        Jack shook his hand. “Jack Strohmann.”

        “Sis, you lied,” the woman said, nudging Cassie. Cassie gave her a sickly smile and threw a desperate, apologetic look at Jack. “You did have more news you neglected to share.”

“Jack,” Cassie said, brushing her hair back from her face, “This is my sister. Brandy. And her family. They just arrived this morning from overseas.” 

Jack nodded, swallowed, and forced a smile to his lips.

If you need a story full of hope, magic, and love triumphing over intolerance, Straw Man ticks those boxes quite well. Also, it has pumpkins aplenty, steaming hot love scenes, magical botanical transformation, and small-town legal drama. Available everywhere in ebook. Did I mention the love scenes are hot enough to fog up your windows this time of year? 

Cassie’s cocky friend Theo elbowed her way into Straw Man, drank all the tea, and sauntered off into her own book to collide with one of the citizens of Oz. Working title for this WIP is “Scarecrow.” 

What if Oz was a real place? What if Glinda wasn’t so very good? It is a “fairy land,” after all, and we all know the fae were not cutesy little butterfly-winged, simpering cherubs, but cold and occasionally vicious creatures. What if Dorothy wasn’t a child when she visited, but a young woman whose energy and affection captivated her first real friend in that strange land, the Scarecrow? What if he missed her so much he dared to travel to our world to find her?

But what if he overshot Dorothy’s era by a century?

A sample (Scarecrow):

“The sun rises,” Glinda warned. “Step away, Tin Man, lest you want to journey with him.”

Nick retreated. Tears at the corners of his eyes shone in the dawn light spilling through the stained glass window. “Stop that, you’ll rust,” Scarecrow said, and Nick managed a grin at the old refrain. “Goodbye, Nick. Thank you.”

“Close your eyes, and focus your every thought on this: I am seeking my heart’s desire,” commanded Glinda. 

Scarecrow took a deep breath, smelling the emerald dust and the faint flowery perfume of the Emerald City one last time. He shut his eyes and repeated the spell, tense, feeling the magic creeping into his straw as Glinda wove her enchantment on him. I am seeking my heart’s desire. I am seeking my heart’s desire.

A whirlwind kicked up around him, dust blowing in his face. Scarecrow clutched one hand to his hat. He kept his eyes tightly closed, trembling, feeling his feet leave the floor. Did she conjure a tornado? Was this what his love had felt like when she was blown so far away from her homeland? 

A horrible wrenching sensation made him double over in surprising pain. 

Oh, this was bad. This was worse than having his straw yanked out. That was merely uncomfortable and inconvenient. This must be what actual agony felt like. A gasp escaped his lips. The howl of the wind deafened his ears. The swirling wind compressed his body tighter and tighter until he couldn’t even scream.

The sudden release of everything dropped him to the ground. Scarecrow lay there, drawing air into his chest to expand the straw, wheezing. Pain prickled through his whole frame as he slowly uncurled. Blinking back tears, he tried to focus his vision. Everything was a blur, deafening, hot. Hard yellow bricks underneath him, bright red lights above, things zooming past. He turned his head and saw a number of people standing around, pointing and exclaiming at him. Pounding, cheery music assaulted his ears.

With effort, he braced his knees and stood. Dizziness threatened to send him tumbling to the floor again. No, wait, the floor itself tilted to one side. The air swirled with constant movement. He cringed from the thousands of candles above until he realized they weren’t burning, but lit with some sort of internal magic. 

No sign of his love. He turned, and saw a parade of creatures gallivanting in tiers, those strange red fireflies illuminating their march. Their feet did not move. How were they sweeping past? Were any of them even alive? He saw unicorns, merpeople, odd centaurs. Many others he couldn’t name but which wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Emerald City.

Were these travelers who had come before, their magic lost, now frozen as statues for all time in this horrible, deafening parade?

Disoriented and ill, Scarecrow took a step too hastily, lost his balance and tumbled down the sloped brick floor toward a yawning doorway in the shape of a great beast’s mouth. 

Gasps and cries went up around him. His limbs sprawled every which way, his gloves slipped across the smooth bricks. He struggled to right himself. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he flopped, ungraceful, aware he looked ridiculous. This was as bad as learning to walk, fresh off the cornfield pole. 

Worse than his humiliation, everything hurt. If this was what humans called pain, he wanted no part of it. His straw body had never experienced anything like it before. 

“Oh crap, don’t move, your leg looks broken,” said a sharp, feminine voice just behind him. 

Was that her? Had she found him? It sounded like and somehow not like his love. “Dorothy?” he asked, hope wavering in his chest. He looked up into an unfamiliar face. 

The young woman pushed her pumpkin-orange hair from her hazel-green eyes, frowning at him. One eyebrow quirked upward. Tiny silver beads there and over her left nostril gleamed pink in the reddish lights.

“Nobody calls me that,” she said. “Do I know you?”

The House on the Rock IS a gateway.

So, dear readers, I assure you all of these stories will be finished. I’m just at an impasse as to which to work on. Scarecrow calls to me, but Morty is getting annoyed that I’ve abandoned him so long. Marie itches for a fight. Jack might rather avoid the holidays altogether, but Cassie yearns for family and sweet witchy traditions. 

Which delight should I pluck first? What savory mouthful should I squeeze until it yields up its blood to me? Let’s hear from the peanut gallery!

And remember, if you’ve read either of my published books, please be sure to leave a review on your favorite site! Reviews help authors achieve verbal-conjugal consummation. Why, I once heard of an author whom no one reviewed. His writing hand withered away and he was unable to even satisfy himself with it. True story.