Green's Hill-Amy Lane's Home - News

Thursday, November 14, 2019

Everyday Things

So, back to trying to finish this GD book. (Thanks, Karen Rose for the acronym--GDB--it should go down in history.)

It should be done by tomorrow, but I think it will be closer to Monday, and I'm really sort of loving it. God, urban fantasy--even quirky, low-key fantasy--is just so much fun.

Anyway-- it was mostly a low key day--walked the dogs, did the grocery shopping, took Chicken some soup. She came home with the crud, and, well, I haven't seen her new kitty, who is a hyperactive adorable little goblin and I love him.

Anyway-- came home and watched television and am about to write again. Woohoo!

But something fun DID happen to me today-- as I was walking I came across a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman with three smallish dogs on a leash.

"My dogs are all dog friendly," he proudly pronounced.

"Mine are idiots," I said. (This is my standard answer.)  "The cute one has super aggressive body language but she has bitten neither man nor beast in five years. The cowardly one is afraid of everybody, but he has manners."

The nice man made nice noises about what good dogs I have (yes, I think they're good dogs, but I don't like to give people unrealistic expectations for their situational comprehension) and I asked about his.

He had a Pit-Weenie, a Chi-Weenie, and a Chi-corgi. (A Chorgi? A chihuahua orgy? You be the judge.)

Yes. Yes, that was a pit bull and a dachshund mix. What did it look like? Like an animator tripped some acid and drew a dog, why do you ask?

Seriously-- big head, long body, and, of course, the best part: dog. He was a dog, and therefore better than 99% of most humans.

The Chiweenie was also a dog--but apparently the old soul of the group. The Pit-Weenie was a baby at two, and apparently still growing. (Lengthwise, I assume.) The Chorgi was finally getting used to all the young chippersnappers, but she had made her peace with her odd troop of Chis and Weenies, and that was probably for the best.

And as I walked away, I thought, "Hey-- that was like an Amy Lane family, only in dog groupings. A little of this, a little of that, the least likely people in the most everyday of lives... Cool!"

Which brings me to my job, which, well, I'm off to do!

But first, a big hearty Happy Birthday to ZoomBoy. He turns 16 tomorrow, and while we did most of our celebration at DizzyLand--and are thus broker than broke atm-- he deserves all the bday love all the time.

Quirky, hilarious, awkward, graceful, brilliant and out to the zoo almost by the minute, he's our cave troll--because he had us outnumbered from the first--and our ZoomBoy, because his brain goes zoom, and Thing 3--the oldest of the second set and the youngest of the boys.

He has the potential to be all of the magical, marvelous things, and I know this, because so often, he already is. And those other times, we can attribute to growing, and oh my stars, we have all seen him grow.

So happy birthday, my beautiful son--you are stunningly loved.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019


I'm still trying to make up the loss of 2K last night to the Microsoft Word gods--and finish this WIP so I can work on a couple of edits, so just a short post tonight.

ZoomBoy had a lot of fun at Dizzyland--not gonna lie--but he started out sort of bumpy. Seems that his Math teacher had just decided to e-mail Mate regarding ZoomBoy's less than stellar grade. We got the email the night we got to Anaheim, and ZB was exhausted and stressed and "Why? Why do we have to go to Dizzyland in November?"

Well, he sort of had a point, but after the week was over, I pointed to the zero wait time on Haunted Mansion and said, "Was it worth it?" and he was like, "Oh HELL yeah!"

Anyway--irony of ironies, they had two days off school when we got back. The good news was, they both had time to make up all their homework. Or so they say. I mean, we can only hope, right?

So this morning, Mate and I were getting up around 8:30, thinking ZB would be up sneaking in some PS4 time before we woke up and Squish would be sleeping until licked awake by kittens and dressed by magical birds. (She does have sort of a Princess thing when she gets to sleep in. It's both charming and amazing. She'd sleep until the next day if she could.)  I had a dentist appointment at 10, so I was trying to get ready and yet stay out of Mate's way since he's used to having the bedroom himself.

Anyway, into this, ZoomBoy comes thumping into the bedroom. He throws the door open, ignores the fact that I'm not dressed, and blurts, "It's EIGHT-THIRTY YOU GUYS!"

We stare at him. "You don't have school today."

He is quite perplexed. "That was YESTERDAY. Veterans Day!"

"And today," Mate said, getting out his phone and pulling up the school schedule. "Teacher work day."

ZoomBoy looked at us, genuinely at a loss. "What am I supposed to do today?"

Both of us, without even looking at each other: "HOMEWORK!!!"

It was like someone let the air out of him. "Fine."

I said, "You thought you got away with not doing any yesterday, didn't you?"


He slunk into the living room, to spend the rest of the day going from doing the dishes to doing his homework and really not finishing either one. Whatever.

I was at the dentist. He still had a better day than I did.

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Whew-- What a week?

So, we've been planning this trip for a year--and it all started when my friend Berry Jello said, "We should go to Disneyland together! I think we could stand each other for a week!"

Well, I still adore her, but I gotta tell you, that was one rough week.

On Friday, when I bailed early because the noise and the crowd and the rides were just all too much, Chicken said, "Geez Mom, you didn't bail the last time we did this!"

Oh yes. I totally did.

I remember it very clearly.

Thanksgiving morning, Mate had a plan--they were going to run from ride to the ride and get fast passes at strategic times and basically have a non-stop Disney experience.

I slept in and met everybody for dinner at three o'clock.

They were all psyched--I had zero regrets.

Ten years ago, we only did two days at Disneyland and one at Universal Studios--I don't know if Mate knows this, but I cried quietly all the way to the hotel. Theme parks are... well, they're fun, but they're sort of the anti-me.

Well, this time was... harder. Not just the years, and not the extra twenty pounds I've added since then. (Yes, I know I'm bigger than that--but the twenty pounds are the last five years.)  It was that there were NO LINES. So, we ran from ride to ride in a never ending progression. Frankly, I'm used to waiting in line, appreciating the ride, taking a breath, figuring out where to go next--but I was with fanatics here. Berry Jello, Mate, and Chicken walked into the park with apps intact and ready (and no--my phone was not up to the app) and they ZOOMED from ride to ride.

On the one hand, they literally hit every park we went to at top speed, and that's pretty cool.

On the other hand, I was exhausted. And even if my legs and feet didn't ache, my stomach was cursing at me the entire time.

So yeah--I bailed midway through Friday. I enjoyed my stay, but damn. Everything hurt and if I had to hear the piped in music rotation at the park entrance one more time I was going to cry--and that was no fun for anybody.

My family and my friend and her family had a blast--and so did I. But I was reminded of who I have never been--and that's a theme park person. That's fine. We can really only afford to go there once every five years anyway--we're going to be paying this off for ages.

So I love the pictures here, and I loved this vacation. But I am SO glad to be home with my dogs and my quiet home and life. And the kids are so grateful for their time at Dizzyworld--it was time well spent.

That I'll appreciate even more after a little more sleep.

But I do have some good stories to tell--I'll stick to three.

The first is that we all dressed for Stranger Things on the first day--and all the kids (including Berry Jello's) wore pajama pants on the third. (We hit DisneyLand, Universal Studios, California Adventure, Downtown Disney, and DisneyLand again, Monday through Friday. Downtown Disney was our "day off" because we went food shopping and didn't do any rides. So they wore their pajamas to California Adventure.)

But the day we were dressed for Stranger Things Chicken and ZoomBoy were dressed in "Scoops Ahoy" outfits, like Steve and Robin, and Mate was dressed as Hopper, and Squish was dressed as Eleven. Anyway-- the first thing that happened when we walked into the park was Chicken and ZoomBoy getting their picture taken with Donald Duck--and that amazing salute, complete with ZoomBoy's tooshie wiggle. ADORABLE.   The second thing that happened was really hilarious.

We hit the Haunted House ride--which is decked out for Nightmare Before Christmas, and we went and got our picture taken with Jack and Sally. They looked at Mate and said, "And what's your name, sir."


Jack was wearing a mask, but you could see his head tilt back. "So, we're in character. Got it." And then he asked the rest of us-- and we all gave our character names. I was wearing a Barb T-shirt--and if you know the show, you know she died in like, episode three of season one.

Anyway, I said, "And I"m Barb!" Because I look JUST LIKE THAT CHARACTER.

And Jack and Sally said, "Justice for Barb!"

It was awesome <3 p="">
The second story happened at Universal Studios. Mate and I went on Jurassic World, and the last part of the ride takes you to a peak, where a T-Rex roars at you from the side and then one jumps at you from the dark, right in front of you, as the ride drops and you hit the water at the bottom.

The ride broke. We were at the top of the peak and the T-Rex jumped out at us and roared and then faed into his little niche, and we were...stuck.

Now, we can't see in front of us--we assume that we're CLOSE to the top of the peak, but we're there long enough to get bored. The T-Rex is roaring and roaring and roaring and roaring and roaring and we're making Emergency 9-1-1 jokes and and then the ride started moving.

"Yay, we're mo--"

and the DROP.

Cold. Like, with no adrenaline warning, or happy excitement. We realized the car was moving and we were falling through the air.


Scariest ride I've ever fucking been on.

And the last story was at California Adventure--

We were at the ferris wheel-- which, I should mention, I love. Mate and Chicken LOATHE this ride. Because the one at Disneyland has two different cars--one just swivels, like a regular car, and the other has a big loop for the car to swing on--it's terrifying.

Mate was looking at the cars and doing statistics. "Well," he said in front of the ride operator. "Technically only sixteen of the cars swing."

The ride operator looks up with a devilish look in his eyes. "Are you sure only sixteen of them swing?"

It was a double entendre, and fortunately, we had time for me to come up with an appropriate response. "Well," I said, "We may not know how many of them swing, but I do know none of them go both ways."

He gave me--in Mate's words--"a proper look", and Mate and I cackled.

"Hey," the guy said, still wicked. "I've got over here a button that says 'release'. I push this and..."  His eyes danced. "You all are gonna be living your best lives!"

We cackled some more, and he said thoughtfully, "Actually, that would be sort of horrifying."

Mate and I nodded--because either meaning of the word "release" and being down below would be a bad idea--and got on the car.

Chicken said later, "You guys should have seen Mom and Dad flirting with the ferris wheel guy. It was EPIC."

I gotta admit, I took the win.

Monday, November 4, 2019

Kermit Flail November!!!



Or, well, a timeshare resort maybe, but seriously-- we are Disneyland bound tomorrow. Today, Mate, Berry Jello and I spent valuable time at Target, buying food for NON Disneyland times, and, of course, I'm doing little work for making up for the times when we get back at midnight and fall face first into the mattress.

Anyway--It's November, and we're at Disneyland and there are a thousand things going on that I will not bore you with--mostly because they would take whole other blog posts. But we are all chilling out, recovering from the long ride yesterday and keying up for all the excitement tomorrow.

And there are some fanTASTic books to offer you this month--and they run the gamut, too! Sci-fi, suspense, and contemporary--here are some very cool picks to read as you prepare for the holiday season.

J. Scott Coatsworth, my fellow Sacramentan, has the third book in his award winning sci-fi trilogy coming out, and it looks fantastic! Lissa Kasey offers us a spooky suspense novel and Jay Hogan gives us a sizzling opposites attract contemporary!  And the third book in the Winter Ball trilogy is out December 3rd, so I hope everybody is ready for Fall Through Spring!

So there you go--everybody give it up for the Kermit Flail--YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!

The Shoreless Sea

by J. Scott Coatsworth

As the epic trilogy hurtles toward its conclusion, the fight for the future isn’t over yet. It could lead to a new beginning, or it might spell the end for the last vestiges of humankind.

The generation ship Forever has left Earth behind, but a piece of the old civilization lives on in the Inthworld—a virtual realm that retains memories of Earth's technological wonders and vices. A being named Lilith leads the uprising, and if she succeeds in setting its inhabitants free, they could destroy Forever.

But during the generation ship's decades-long voyage, humanity has evolved. Liminals with the ability to connect with the world mind and the Inthworld provide a glimmer of hope. They'll have to face not only Lilith’s minions, but also the mistrust of their own kind and persecution from a new government as homotypicals continue to fear what they can't understand.

The invasion must be stopped, the Inthworld must be healed, and the people of Forever must let go of their past and embrace what they’re meant to become.

Buy at Amazon 
First Impressions

by Jay Hogan

Two years ago, I made a mistake, a big one. Then I added a couple more just for good measure. I screwed up my life, but I survived. Now I have the opportunity for a fresh start. Two years in NZ. Away from the LA gossip, a chance to breathe, to rebuild my life. But I’m taking a new set of rules with me. 
I don’t do relationships.
I don’t do commitment.
I don’t do white picket fences.
And I especially don’t do arrogant, holier-than-thou, smoking hot K9 officers who walk into my ER and rock my world.
One thing for certain, Dr. Michael Oliver is an arrogant, untrustworthy player, and I barely survived the last one of those. He might be gorgeous, but my daughter takes number one priority. I won’t risk her being hurt, again. I’m a solo dad, a K9 cop and a son to pain-in-the-ass parents.
I don’t have time for games. 
I don’t have time for taking chances.
I don’t have time for more complications in my life.
And I sure as hell don’t have time for the infuriating Dr. Michael Oliver, however damn sexy he is. 

Stalked by Shadows

by Lissa Kasey 

A missing girl, ritual murders, and a shadow stalking every footstep.

Alexis Caine survived an attack in the deserts of Afghanistan. An attack the government denied and discharged him for, leaving him broken and in a mental institution. What Alex saw that day in the desert continues to haunt him.

When a new job working as a bodyguard for a New Orleans ghost tour guide, Micah Richards, opens Alex’s eyes to a world of paranormal possibilities, he’s not sure he can believe his eyes. What if he’s not crazy after all? When a ritual murder in which two fellow tour guides die and a tourist vanishes, Alex wonders if he brought a curse down upon them all.

A shadow from the desert rears its nightmarish head offering Alex something he wants more than anything, but at what cost?

Fall Through Spring

by Amy Lane

A Winter Ball Novel
As far as Clay Carpenter is concerned, his abusive relationship with food is the best thing he’s got going. When a good friend starts kicking his ass into gear, Clay is forced to reexamine everything he learned about food and love—and that’s right when he meets troubled graduate student, Dane Hayes.

Dane Hayes doesn’t do the whole monogamy thing, but the minute he meets Clay Carpenter, he’s doing the friend thing in spades. The snarky, scruffy bastard not only gets Dane's wacky sense of humor, he also accepts the things Dane can’t control—like the bipolar disorder Dane has been trying to manage for the past six years.

Dane is hoping for more than friendship, and Clay is looking at him with longing that isn't platonic. They’re both positive they’re bad at relationships, but with the help of forbidden desserts and new medication regimens, they prove outstanding at being with each other. But can they turn their friendship into the love neither of them has dared to hope for?

Friday, November 1, 2019

A Brain on Borrowed Power

So I haven't blogged in a while because my interwebs were down.

I didn't know why they were down. All I knew was that I had two edits to finish and a deadline to make and MY INTERWEBS WERE DOWN.

Yikes, right?

Anyway, so, downed interwebs, and stressed Amy. Not so much fun, no.

And in the middle, we had the Weenie Hallows, and the shopping and the dogs to the kenneling, and, oh yes, let us not forget, the PACKING FOR THE MOUSE-EARS PLACE.

*hangs head* I have two T-shirts I promised to wear at the Mouse-Ears place and I can't find them. I put one of them in a special drawer, just to wear to the Mouse-Ears place, and it is nowhere to be found.

I am so ashamed.

And there was money--very forgotten money, and I had to get the money into the bank place so it would be remembered money, and there were problems, and I had to call the magic money people and there was paperwork and... *looks down* I am no good with magic money people--but they figured out how for me to get the magic money and now we can go to the Mouse-Ears place and do that most wondrous thing.


Also walk all over and go on rides.

And the smol dogs had must be taken to nice puppersitters and they were very sad. They like the puppersitters, but not as much as me.

And I was very sad.

And did I mention the Weenie Hallows where the smol people who are no MOSTLY ALL THE BIG got to wear fun things?

I was so proud of all the once-smol-people and their determination to wear the fun things.

And the Mate, to wear the fun things with them.

And I could not find my T-shirt then, and not now, and there are writings and sendings and cars to be cleaned and...

And the interwebs were down.

And this afternoon, the once-smol-boy who is now MOSTLY ALL THE BIG got under my desk and said, "Mom, I am going to fix the interwebs," and you know what?

He DID. He DID fix the interwebs, and now I can make with the postings.

And tomorrow we go to the Mouse-Ears Place in a car jam-packed-full of smol people and friends and clothes and snacks until it all pops out of the car thing like a zit.

I shall bring my knitting.

And close my eyes.

And write on the way.

And try to send postings from the Mouse Ears place.

And wish for words now that there are interwebs.

Stay safe this week. It seems that chaos is not just in my brainy-head, it seems to be the world.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Removing the Mask--A SuperBat fanfic

Hey all--thanks so much for your words of encouragement. I actually have to deep dive an edit tomorrow, but tonight? It's all about fiction.

And just for fiction, I'm jumping on the SuperBat train. Are you ready boys? Cause I'm home.

* *


Halloween approached again--what was it now, three years? And Bruce slept less and less and Clark worried more and more.

He'd asked Alfred about the kidnapping when Bruce had been very young, and Alfred had paled, and then asked Master Clark if he'd be having steak that evening per usual.

Three years, Clark had been asking that question. Three years, and he'd been eating steak while Batman went out and tried to kill himself with exhaustion.


Wasn't he supposed to be a reporter?

This year, the first nightmare rocked Bruce a good week early. The week before had been bloody. The Joker had escaped, and had let loose the Scarecrow as well. Together their monstrous masks had been on television nearly every hour--and Bruce had faced them down alone, and people had died.

Clark had been off planet with Diana, intercepting an invasion attempt with most of the rest of the Justice League. He'd returned to find his lover in the infirmary, taciturn and distant, too much gauze on his wounds for Clark to even think of taking him to bed to make him talk.

The wounds had been healing--and, thanks to Alfred, who had snuck some of Superman's platelets into his antibiotic injections, they'd been healing well--but Bruce was not all right.

That first dream happened two nights after Clark's return, and Clark had been lying awake, studying him. Bruce's brow wrinkled in sleep, as though he were approaching dream land with the same intensity he approached everything else. He hadn't even spoken, hadn't twitched, hadn't even murmured. One moment he was studying sleep from the inside, and the next Bruce Wayne was sitting up in bed screaming.

"Bruce! Stop! it's me! You're fine! You're fine! Stop!"

And like a light switch, that's how fast Bruce Wayne went from screaming and lost to wide awake and irritated.

"I'm fine!"

"The hell you are! Jesus, Bruce--Halloween's not for another week! I know you hate the holiday but--"
"I'll deal," Bruce said, and had rolled over and gone to sleep.

"I'll deal?" Clark murmured to himself. "You scream like that in my ear and all I get for my pains is 'I'll deal'?"

Bruce was lying, eyes closed, chest--with the deeper wounds still bandaged--exposed, as though very sexily asleep. "You know who you're sleeping with."

"A complete and total asshole," Clark muttered. "Yeah, I've figured that out." But that didn't stop him from spooning along Bruce's back and murmur against the nape of his neck.

"You know it makes it worse," Bruce said, surprising him when it shouldn't have. "That comfort. Comfort never stays."

Oh. Clark sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry--"

"You were doing your job. Not your fault. Don't worry about it."

"Then let me comfort you!" Clark begged, almost peevishly.

"Fine. Whatever makes you happy."

Clark held him so tight, he was afraid he'd break something, and for his part, Bruce feigned sleep--right up until he wasn't pretending anymore, and he woke up screaming.

After the second night--the one where Alfred had dished him up two prime rib slices instead of one, presumably to buy his silence, Clark put on his reporter cap because he was done with this shit.

"Yo, Clark," Diana murmured in his com. "What are you doing? You don't work for the Gotham Post!"

"Yeah, but I'm trying to find a thing... something that happened around forty-five years ago."

"Something to do with Bruce Wayne's parents?" Diana asked dryly. "That shouldn't be hard to figure out. They used to make all the--oh!"

"Oh," Clark said, hitting microfiche probably at the same time she hit super-computer recorded microfiche.

"He was kidnapped?" she asked, but there it was, in lurid color, splashed on the front page.

"It's forty-nine years ago," Clark said, his voice thick. "He would have been four."

For a moment, both of them were quiet, Diana in the Eye-in-the-Sky on space age equipment, Clark down on earth looking at an ancient microfiche scanner.

Both of them appalled. "They almost killed him," she said, her voice a little broken too. "Shoved him in the back of a car with... a clown outfit?"

"It's how they lured him away from his parents," Clark said. "And when the police were closing in they drove the car into the river."

"He picked the lock," Diana muttered. "Jesus, Clark, he was four years old and he picked the goddamned lock."

"God," Clark muttered. "He must have been so scared." No wonder he felt like comfort was a lie.

"Clark," Diana said ominously. "Clark, did you see the name of the kidnapper who died in the car?"

"No--wait. Cordell Chopper--why is that fam--oh." Fuck.

"He was charged posthumously with over thirty counts."

Clark couldn't say it--the bile rose in his throat. Inappropriate touching seemed so... so tame, for the violation, the indignity, of what the man was charged with.

"But wait," he muttered. Then, both of them, "Oh dear God."

It was buried in the article--nobody wanted to talk about it, perhaps? Nobody wanted to suppose that a child could defend themself with such absoluteness.

"Two sharp puncture wounds in the groin," Clark murmured. "Go Bruce."

"Look at him," Diana said, and she'd apparently come to the same picture Clark had. Long before child rights were respected, long before the victim had rights, there stood Bruce Wayne, aged four years and three millennia old, staring directly into the camera.

He had his Batman face on.

"He must be so angry," Clark said.

"For which part?"

"Look what he did as a baby to defend himself," Clark told her. "And all he could do when his parents died was hide."

"Aw, Clark. Fuck you." She was crying. Well, join the fucking club.

*  *  *

Bruce Wayne scanned the chaos below him and tried hard to sort the good from the bad. Drug dealers in that house over there--but dumb drug dealers, so Bruce sent a text to Barbara Gordon, who sent a couple of cop cars that way.

A bunch of teenagers, squealing in excitement as one of them stood on his housetop in a Superman costume and sang Ave Maria to the stars. At first he thought they were high--but nope, local glee club. Go kid go, he had to remember to make a donation.

And children wandering too close to the lake--that required a dart--sans anaesthetic--blown at their father who was mostly just trying to stay awake during Trick-or-Treating after a long day's work. Dad popped up and looked at the youngsters and practically lost his shit. Tragedy averted.

And again and again and again. Small stuff, mostly. No terrorists in masks this year. He'd put away Scarecrow and Joker, even though they haunted him in his dreams.

Or someone in a clown mask did.

He didn't want to think about that.

But he was tired, to his bones, his recovering injuries aching even as they healed. It was almost like he was floating with--

"Hey! Put me down!"

"Are you kidding?" Clark muttered. "You're so tired you didn't feel me lifting you by your ass? No. You're a danger to yourself, you're a danger to others. Come home and go to bed."

"But it's Halloween!" Oh dear God--that really was Clark's hand right under his ass. Bruce had nothing to hold on to--he had to literally clench his asscheeks and his stomach tight enough to keep his balance as Clark spatula'd him across the sky.

"I know. Cool your jets. We've got reinforcements. I was gone for a couple of days, not forever you know."

"Oh right--you come back and hover over me like the ghost of Christmas future and I"m supposed to be all excited you're home!" Augh! What he'd really wanted was sex, but Clark had been all "You're hurt! I can't touch you then!" which was stupid because if he really loved Bruce, he'd figure out that's when Bruce needed him most!

"Yes," Clark said shortly. "And you need to tell Alfred to stop feeding me steak whenever I'm worried about you. I'm getting older you know. It could constipate me."

"Oh like you'd need fiber if you ate a whole fucking building," Batman growled from clenched teeth. "Where the hell are we--oh. Is that all?"

"Yes, idiot, I'm taking you home," Clark told him, and in a fluid movement, he hefted Batman up in the air and stopped, going vertical, so he could catch him and hold him, hovering in front of the waterfall that protected the BatCave.

Okay, so, fine. Bruce had to admit he did like the view from here.

"What are we doing?" he grumbled, trying hard to resist the appeal of Clark's heat and the kindness in his eyes and the strength in his broad chest.


"I know you know this," Clark said, looking at him so intensely, Bruce felt a rare compulsion to remove his cowl outside of the cave. "But my name is Clark Kent. I'm not circumcised. I'm a total mama's boy and I miss my father so badly that I want to cry sometimes."

"We bring flowers," Bruce said gruffly. "On his birthday. With your mother."

"We do," Clark said, kissing his forehead. "She thinks you're a nice boy but she wishes I'd find somebody serious."

"I'm sorry." He really was. He loved Martha--he knew Clark tried again and again to explain that Bruce was merely putting on an act, but she believed the newspapers, because Clark was a newspaperman. Yet another reason to come out of the closet and stop being a playboy, Bruce supposed, but dammit, how did he keep being Batman?

"I know," Clark said softly. "But I wanted to make a point. You know who I am, and you love me."

"Yes." That was undisputed. Adamant. Penned in iron. Bruce Wayne loved Clark Kent. Taking it back would be ripping back his own flesh.

"I know who you are, Bruce Alexander Wayne," Clark whispered in his ear. "I know why you hate Halloween so badly--no, don't say anything."

Bruce's chest froze, the air in his lungs, his windpipe, everything a layer of ice. "Bu--"

"You can tell me or you can keep it secret," Clark whispered, the two of them hovering in the mist like souls deciding whether to ascend to heaven.  "Halloween won't get better--but you'll know I'll know why it sucks so bad."

"But..." He tried again, but it didn't work any better than the first time.

"You'll know I know the worst, and I still love you."

Bruce whimpered, and pulled Clark into a kiss. Clark went willingly, zooming them through the waterfall and to their bedroom, both of them wrestling out of their work clothes alone, because they were so carefully constructed one man's help might be another's lycra/kevlar prison.

Finally they were naked, bare skin to bare skin, Clark on his back taking all of Bruce's weight because Bruce knew he could.

Taking all of Bruce's cock, hard, brutally hard, because Bruce knew he could.

Taking Bruce's guttural scream of completion, swallowing it down, taking his trembling and his gasps of anger, of fear, of pain, and giving back love, because Bruce knew he could.

Finally, the two of them were spent, skin sticky on the other, naked and rank with come.

"Do you want to talk?" Clark asked softly.


But he did anyway, the story tumbling out of him with a four-year-old's diction, his anger, his joy at defending himself, his glee as the car sank and he struggled to swim, fully clothed through the icy water.

His absolute trust when a young Alfred had pulled him out by the scruff of the neck, far from where the police had been searching, because Alfred knew what he was capable of, and hadn't despaired for a moment.

Finally, finally, it was done, and dawn was creeping in through he special drapes, and his alarm went off, calling Bruce Wayne to go be productive in the November morning.

Clark melted the alarm clock into slag.

"That's the third one this year," Bruce mumbled, falling asleep on his chest.

"So you've had a whole three full nights of sleep in a year. Fucking sue me," Clark said, his voice thick as he ran his big hands from Bruce's neck, down along his spine, to his hips.

"You're sounding more and more like me," Bruce mumbled. "No wonder your mother thinks you can do better."

He could, Bruce knew, but his eyes were so heavy, and his heart so much lighter, he just didn't have the strength to argue.

*  *  *
"She's wrong," Clark whispered, feeling Bruce's breathing even out. "There is no man better than you, Bruce Wayne. No man better for me."

Bruce didn't answer, his chest rising and falling evenly, and Clark rolled slightly so he rolled to his side on the bed.

Clark stayed there, half-dozing, as Bruce slept until the next evening, awaking groggy and disoriented and needing to pee.

"You didn't go anywhere?"  Bruce asked, yawning and squinting into falling twilight. "Why not?"

"Because I know what scares you," Clark said simply. "And nothing's going to hurt you on my watch."

They both knew it might be a lie. They both kn ew there were times when the world would need one of them and the other couldn't be there. But this wasn't about Superman and Batman, this was about Bruce and Clark.

Bruce surprised him then with his first smile in weeks. "Like anything could get through you."

Clark smiled back. "Your dick can."

Bruce's outraged grin was as close to joy as the two of them could ever get.

Close enough to warm their fingers in its glow.

Sunday, October 27, 2019

Sorry about that...

So, usually when I get home from a long trip--particularly one that was sort of exhausting. I have a couple of days of downtime and recovery and, you know, lots of long naps.

Not so much this time.

The kids had a performance on Wednesday--at a nursing home, so that was really very sweet (those are the pictures behind the fake ferns)--and there was car shopping for Mate and grocery shopping Thursday, Friday was a cluster of grooming, errands, and exhaustion, and Saturday was a combination of soccer, birthday parties, and the Homecoming Dance.

And somewhere in there, I developed a ginormous headache that still persists, and basically called it quits.

Mate picked up some of the slack--he did the birthday parties and one leg of the Homecoming dance, but at one point my friend Berry Jello was like, "Hey, let's do a haunted house!"

And I was like, "No."

"No, seriously, it's super quick."

"No. Just... no."

And I just couldn't. I was working on an edit and I stetted. A LOT. Because... just no.

It's funny, how sometimes you think you have no options to take care of yourself, but you find yourself going, "Uhm, giving up now. Self-care is the thing."

So anyway--after walking the dogs and picking Big T up and trying for a nap in spite of the headache, I spent much of today staring blankly at the television, knitting.

I may be human tomorrow.


And my big hope tonight is to write. One edit is done, another one is pending, but tonight, I just need to write.

So sorry about the absence--it's been something of a week.  But I should be back online tomorrow, just in time for Halloween, and, three days later, Disney with the family. (Because who needs to keep their kids in school, right?)


May you too have the freedom sometimes to just say no.

I know it did me a world of good this weekend, and a little peace is a great thing.

Tuesday, October 22, 2019


I know--I write a post with this title about six times a year.

Still-- as dusty and decrepit as it is, this home is mine, and I'm comfortable here.



That was some trip!

I was sort of busy pimping  Fish on a Bicycle before I left, so I know I didn't give details!

I arrived in Albuquerque for GRL on Wednesday night, and as usual, GRL was a whirlwind. The author lounges and reading spotlight were wonderful and Amy felt the AMAZING amounts of author love-- thank EVERYBODY who came by and hugged and cried and were kind and gave gifts. (I got two skeins of yarn from AUSTRALIA, y'all-- and a BADGE. Seriously. A special investigator BADGE. And a llama fan and an alpaca pen--it was SOME HAUL, and I am, as always, tickled.)

Also, I got to see some author friends and that was lovely too :-)

Now, on Saturday, literally at the tail end of the signing, I ran out of the signing room with my stuff, shoved most of my stuff back into my suitcases, and caught a plane (or two, actually) to Seattle.

So, around eight o'clock on Saturday night, I arrived at Emerald City Writer's Conference right in the middle of THEIR big spotlight signing event. I am starving, I am a little shell-shocked, and I am exhausted.

During the day, I thought--at different times--that I'd lost both my sunglasses and my wallet, and when I discovered my wallet during check in literally iN MY DUFFEL BAG I cried in front of the registration desk.

Oh yeah-- they remembered me on Monday.

Anyway-- Kim Fielding, her friend lyric, and I all found a place to eat eventually (there was a hangry, nervy trek through a mall first, and very real threats to just go to Panda Express) and then, after dinner and a short nap, Kim and I got up because we both had classes to teach in the morning.

The class went really well. Like, a number of people hunted me up afterward and told me they were grateful for the bullet points and for the worksheets and for the actionable takeaway. I was happy--it felt like a good reason to have put myself through Saturday so I could give that class on Sunday.

And then--after lunch and the guest speaker, of course-- a wonderful thing happened.

A long-time reader and Seattle resident--Tori--and her husband, Dave-- took me on a tour of Seattle. Now remember, I go to a lot of places and DON'T always get to look around, so this was pretty wonderful. They knew their way around the city--I saw everything. I saw the Mo-Pop museum, the Amazon terrariums, the view from Queen Anne Hill, where the Mariners play, and the Seahawks (I got to hear them too--they were having a game that day and that city on game day--WOW!), and we got to see people throw fish and stand in line at the original Starbucks.

And then we got to go to a yarn store--Serial Knitters--and that was one of the best parts. In the same place we found Rocky Horror Picture Show themed yarn, cat themed yarn, The 12th Man yarn (go Seahawks!), and a yarn called Badlands, that was so very mine.

It was a truly charmed day, and worth the very steep price of admission and I'm so glad I went.

I met Kim and lyric for dinner afterwards, and then lyric took Kim to the airport, and then... well, I slept, mostly. Monday  morning I slept some more. My plane didn't leave until nine o'clock at night. When I left the hotel room, I worked, then I caught a lyft to the airport and worked some more.

And finally, home.

Glorious home.

I don't have enough words.

Anyway--so that's where I went. And I wish it was my last trip for a while, but we've been planning a trip to Disneyland with the kids in November, and... well, I wish I could bring the dogs, that's all I can say.

I miss everybody when I'm gone.

Tuesday, October 15, 2019

Fish on a Bicycle--Available Now!


Fish on a Bicycle 
by Amy Lane

Fish Out of Water: Book Five
Jackson Rivers has always bucked the rules—and bucking the rules of recovery is no exception. Now that he and Ellery are starting their own law firm, there’s no reason he can’t rush into trouble and take the same risks as always, right?

Maybe not. Their first case is a doozy, involving porn stars, drug empires, and daddy issues, and their client, Henry Worrall, wants to be an active participant in his own defense. As Henry and Jackson fight the bad guys and each other to find out who dumped the porn star in the trash can, Jackson must reexamine his assumptions that four months of rest and a few good conversations have made him all better inside. 

Jackson keeps crashing his bicycle of self-care and a successful relationship, and Ellery wonders what’s going to give out first—Jackson’s health or Ellery’s patience. Jackson’s body hasn’t forgiven him for past crimes. Can Ellery forgive him for his current sins? And can they keep Henry from going to jail for sleeping with the wrong guy at the wrong time?

Being a fish out of water is tough—but if you give a fish a bicycle, how’s he going to swim?

So, you might ask-- how do you take the fourth--or is it fifth?-- book in a series, add in another series, and make it stand alone?

You work really really hard at making the people you meet--whether it's Dex, Kane, and Henry from Dex in Blue, Bobby and Reg from Bobby Green, John and Galen from Black John, or Burton and  Ernie from Hiding the Moon--Just as new, just as fresh, just as interesting to the reader as they are to our two romantic leads.

And given how much I love Jackson and Ellery, having them meet up with the other people in my world is actually pretty awesome.

Jackson and  Ellery are meeting Henry Worrall for the very first time. Now, fans of the Johnnies series will know what Henry's damage is. They'll know why he's got a chip on his shoulder--and they'll delight in every moment of revelation.

But people who have never heard of Johnnies--well, they'll be shocked! Surprised! Saddened! And in the end, both sets of people will come to the same place: Empathy for Henry, and pride for how much he grows. 

So much empathy and pride, I hope, that they'll be excited to see him get his own book, because Purple Shades of Henry (which will reveal parts of Henry's backstory that will be a surprise to everybody) comes out in March.

And as for folks who haven't met Jackson and Ellery yet?

I suggest you start with Fish Out of Water.  And then buckle your seatbelt--it's going to be a bumpy ride. 

 Fish Out of Water

Fish Out of Water: Book One

PI Jackson Rivers grew up on the mean streets of Del Paso Heights—and he doesn’t trust cops, even though he was one. When the man he thinks of as his brother is accused of killing a police officer in an obviously doctored crime, Jackson will move heaven and earth to keep Kaden and his family safe.

Defense attorney Ellery Cramer grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, but that hasn’t stopped him from crushing on street-smart, swaggering Jackson Rivers for the past six years. But when Jackson asks for his help defending Kaden Cameron, Ellery is out of his depth—and not just with guarded, prickly Jackson. Kaden wasn’t just framed, he was framed by crooked cops, and the conspiracy goes higher than Ellery dares reach—and deep into Jackson’s troubled past.

Both men are soon enmeshed in the mystery of who killed the cop in the minimart, and engaged in a race against time to clear Kaden’s name. But when the mystery is solved and the bullets stop flying, they’ll have to deal with their personal complications… and an attraction that’s spiraled out of control.

Red Fish, Dead  Fish

Fish Out of Water: Book Two

They must work together to stop a psychopath—and save each other.

Two months ago Jackson Rivers got shot while trying to save Ellery Cramer’s life. Not only is Jackson still suffering from his wounds, the triggerman remains at large—and the body count is mounting.

Jackson and Ellery have been trying to track down Tim Owens since Jackson got out of the hospital, but Owens’s time as a member of the department makes the DA reluctant to turn over any stones. When Owens starts going after people Jackson knows, Ellery’s instincts hit red alert. Hurt in a scuffle with drug-dealing squatters and trying damned hard not to grieve for a childhood spent in hell, Jackson is weak and vulnerable when Owens strikes.

Jackson gets away, but the fallout from the encounter might kill him. It’s not doing Ellery any favors either. When a police detective is abducted—and Jackson and Ellery hold the key to finding her—Ellery finds out exactly what he’s made of. He’s not the corporate shark who believes in winning at all costs; he’s the frightened lover trying to keep the man he cares for from self-destructing in his own valor.

Buy Here
A Few Good Fish

Fish Out of Water: Book Three
A tomcat, a psychopath, and a psychic walk into the desert to rescue the men they love…. Can everybody make it out with their skin intact? 

PI Jackson Rivers and Defense Attorney Ellery Cramer have barely recovered from last November, when stopping a serial killer nearly destroyed Jackson in both body and spirit.

But their previous investigation poked a new danger with a stick, forcing Jackson and Ellery to leave town so they can meet the snake in its den.

Jackson Rivers grew up with the mean streets as a classroom and he learned a long time ago not to give a damn about his own life. But he gets a whole new education when the enemy takes Ellery. The man who pulled his shattered pieces from darkness and stitched them back together again is in trouble, and Jackson’s only chance to save him rests in the hands of fragile allies he barely knows.

It’s going to take a little bit of luck to get these Few Good Fish out alive!

Buy Here

 Fish Out Of Water: Book Four - A Fish Out of Water/Racing for the Sun Crossover
Can a hitman and a psychic negotiate a relationship while all hell breaks loose?

The world might not know who Lee Burton is, but it needs his black ops division and the work they do to keep it safe. Lee’s spent his life following orders—until he sees a kill jacket on Ernie Caulfield. Ernie isn’t a typical target, and something is very wrong with Burton’s chain of command.

Ernie’s life may seem adrift, but his every action helps to shelter his mind from the psychic storm raging within. When Lee Burton shows up to save him from assassins and club bunnies, Ernie seizes his hand and doesn’t look back. Burton is Ernie’s best bet in a tumultuous world, and after one day together, he’s pretty sure Lee knows Ernie is his destiny as well.

But when Burton refused Ernie’s contract, he kicked an entire piranha tank of bad guys, and Burton can’t rest until he takes down the rogue military unit that would try to kill a spacey psychic. Ernie’s in love with Burton and Burton’s confused as hell by Ernie—but Ernie’s not changing his mind and Burton can’t stay away. Psychics, assassins, and bad guys—throw them into the desert with a forbidden love affair and what could possibly go wrong?

 Racing for the Sun

"I'll do anything."

Staff Sergeant Jasper "Ace" Atchison takes one look at Private Sonny Daye and knows that every word on paper about him is pure, unadulterated bullshit. But Sonny is desperate, and although Ace isn't going to take him up on his offer of "anything," that doesn't mean he isn't tempted.

Instead, Ace takes Sonny under his wing, protecting him when they're in the service and making plans with him when they get out. Together, they're going to own a garage and build race cars and make their fortune hurtling faster than light across the desert. Together, they're going to rewrite the past, make Sonny Daye a whole and happy person, and put the ghosts in Ace's heart to rest.

But not even Sonny can build a car fast enough to escape the ghosts of the past. When Sonny's ghosts drive them down and run their plans off the road, Ace finds out exactly what he's made of. Maybe Sonny was the one to promise Ace anything, but there is nothing under the sun Ace won't do to keep Sonny safe from harm.

The Johnnies Series  (* The link is to all five of the books, but Henry appears in book 2.)

Dex in Blue

Johnnies: Book Two

Ten years ago David Worral had plans to go to college and the potential for a beautiful future in front of him. One tragic accident later, he fled to California and reinvented himself as Dex, top porn model of Johnnies.

Dex’s life is a tangled mess now, but the guys he works with only see the man who makes them believe even porn stars can lead normal lives. When Kane, one of Dex’s coworkers, gets kicked out of his house, the least Dex can do is give him a place to stay. Kane may be a hyperactive muscle-bound psycho, but he’s also a really nice guy. What could be the harm?

Except nothing is simple—not sex, not love, and not the goofy kid with the big dick and bigger heart who moves his life into Dex’s guest room. When they start negotiating fractured pasts and broken friends, Dex wonders if Kane’s honest nature can untangle the sadness that stalled his once-promising future. With Kane by his side, Dex just might be able to reclaim the boy he once was—and if he can do that, he can give Kane the home and the family he deserves.

Buy the Series Here