You know it's November when...

... The cats become determined to pet you with their fluffy furry bodies, so that you're not inclined to throw them outside in the cold.

... You realize your body can no longer tolerate pizza--and yet you have at least three after-soccer pizza parties to attend.

...You try to remember if these are really the only jeans you own.

...You're on the edge of your seat waiting for you Christmas release.

...You make stupid plans to cook your own turkey even though you're going somewhere else for Thanksgiving.

...You start wondering exactly how cold it has to be to make you change from iced coffee to hot mocha. (I suspect I would have to live in Michigan.)

...Your circadian rhythms keep trying to make you sleep at six o'clock at night.

...You lose half a pair of fingerless mitts that you made especially for yourself this year.

...You find half a pair of last year's fingerless mitts that in no way match this year's.

... You are too deep into Christmas knitting to take three days to knit yourself another pair.

...You think, "Gee, the kids are tired-- they need a break!" without realizing it's two days before Thanksgiving vacation.

...You have to spend fifteen minutes in the hot tub after aqua or your feet will cramp too bad to walk to the shower.

...It's not close enough to Thanksgiving to use your Thanksgiving clipart, but you have nothing else to post a picture of.

...All you want to do is sit and knit and cuddle and knit and catch up on all the shows you've gotten behind on in the fall.

...You panic, because, Holy Goddess, there's only a month until Christmas, and you have all the knitting to do!

...You also panic because you're supposed to write 2,000 words a night.

Goodnight everybody!

Amy Lane Christmas Stories

 Okay-- so, everybody knows the Gambling Men story, and how Amy came to be a writer for Dreamspinner Press.

But, little known fact, Gambling Men was my first submission, but If I Must was my first published work from DSP-- it was for their Advent Calendar, and nobody could have been as surprised as I was at how much everybody loved the befuddled Ian, the gentle, organized Joel, and the miserable cat named Manky Bastard.

If I Must came out in 2009.

The next year, I wrote for the Advent Calendar again, and I wanted a hero who was not perfect. I ended up with the chubby, well meaning Kit, and his rather slutty, but kind-hearted Jesse, and that was Christmas With Danny Fit. 

That came out in 2010

The year after that, I had the idea for, well, a story that ended up with a rather interesting knitted item at the end. Mate and I had gone traveling a few years beforehand, and we'd been to Granby--the real Granby-- and I thought, what if... what if a grumpy bastard named Craw lived in Granby, and ran the mill there. What if he met a tenderfoot named Ben...

The Winter courtship Rituals of Fur Bearing Critters came out in 2011.  It spawned three sequels-- How to Raise an Honest Rabbit, A Knitter in His Natural Habitat (all together, these are in the paperback, The Granby Knitting Menagerie), and Blackbird Knitting in a Bunny's Lair. These books spawned a character that people still refer to as "Jeremy Bunny" because I referred to him as that-- he's never actually called "Jeremy Bunny" in the books.  And we love him so very much-- still.

ETA: And I can't believe I forgot this one! Puppy, Car, and Snow.   The book was a sequel of sorts to two shorts-- one called Shirt and one called Phonebook which came out from DSP. Eventually, I think I will be offering those stories for free, but in the mean time, Puppy, Car, and Snow is the story of two long term lovers (although we've seen them meet ;-) who have to endure a holiday under a mother-in-law's gimlet eye, complete with over achieving children and socially awkward inlaws.  It was fun and light, and sort of overlooked, really, in the midst of the Fur-Bearing Critters excitement;-)
In 2011 I also came out with a book called

The next year, I wrote a book about a care taking uncle who effectively became a single parent, and learned to relax with the irrepressible childcare worker at the nearby gym. The childcare worker was based after an actual childcare worker named Justin-- I don't know if Justin was gay, but I do know that when Squish was little and I went to work out, he was one of the best parts of her day. She was still getting over losing her regular childcare people then-- Justin saved our lives.  People responded to that, I think, because Turkey in the Snow was a big hit.  Of course the cover helped-- and an interesting fact is that Catt Ford, who was doing much cover work at DSP at the time, enjoyed the story so much that she painted the haunting, poignant cover picture on her own. My idea was to do a campy picture of a turkey wearing boots, ala the Granby books--but her painting was so lovely, I picked it out of a lineup, almost in tears. It remains one of my favorites to this day.

That came out in 2012.

In 2013, I actually came out with two Christmas stories. One of them was my first full-length Christmas story, an actual novel not a novella, written for Riptide, and part of the proceeds were donated to the Ali Forney center for homeless teens. Christmas Kitsch was near and dear to my heart, because it deals with two kids who were on their own (well, Oliver's family helped a lot) and stupid in love. I remembered that feeling-- and I got to relive a lot of it in the book and the blog tour, and that was wonderful.

The other was written for the Advent Calendar-- and I should clarify here. Books written for the Advent Calendar usually had to be under a certain word count. In this case, 20K.  I was not aware when I submitted Going Up! that it would be released on Christmas Eve, as a standalone-- but I was enchanted by the storybook cover, that depicted the lonely prince in the city of San Francisco, and his ebullient, joyful knight who rescued him one elevator ride at a time.

For Christmas 2014, I released Candy Man-- and since I knew it wasn't for the Advent Calendar this time, I let it run a little... uh, long. (Okay-- 49K. Yes. It's two Christmas stories long.)  And Candy Man spawned Bitter Taffy, which was out this summer, and Lollipop, which will be out in January, and Licorice Whip, which I will start writing about the time Bitter Taffy comes out. So, whew! Thank God I stopped by that little store in Sacramento, Candy Heaven, and met the real life Darrin who inspired so much joy. I've had the best time writing these books--I"ll be sorry to see the series come to an end!

Also for Christmas 2014, I released The Bells of Times Square, which nobody wanted to read because it was hella sad. But it was also apparently really good, because it was nominated for a RITA award, and no--I'm not going to let anybody forget about that, why do you ask?

So, here we come to Christmas, 2015-- and my seventh year of having a Christmas release.  (Yes-- I had to count that on my fingers-- 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and 2015-- that's seven years of releases.)

And I've got another full length novel for you--and I love it so very much.

It's not out until December 24th-- I guess my other books have done very good on that date-- and I'll definitely be letting you know when those buy links are up!  (Dude-- you will not be able to toss a cat on social media without seeing this cover. I promise you. Swear to the cat on the front!)  There is something... wondrous about this book-- for me at least.  See, I spent the first part of the year writing Quickening. It was 205K. It almost killed me. It was enmeshed in a previous 1 MILLION words or more of world building, and I was writing it with the full knowledge that it would be released with a VERY LONG lead time. I would wake up in a cold sweat, thinking, "I MUST WRITE MORE!" I usually release a book every two months-- I was shaking whenever I thought about how long it would be between Bitter Taffy and my next release.

So when Quickening was done, and it was time to write Winter Ball-- oh, I cannot tell you how free I felt. How much I was longing to write a simple story-- two guys, working shit out. How much I wanted to write about first times, first sex, first true love, first holiday season in each other's arms. Something visceral, and hot, but with an underlying tenderness that would just cut you off at the knees, make your breath stop, make you think, "Oh. This is love."

So, yeah. That's my history of Christmas releases.

As always, the one coming up is my favorite.

Needling Up

Okay-- I admit it.

I knit a little every day, but some stretches of time are more firmly devoted to knitting than others. I can go for months without ordering yarn online, or visiting my LYS, and then suddenly... BAM. I MUST.

And I must watch all of the television every night, so I can continue to knit the things I must knit.

I'm in one of those stretches right now, where every moment of stasis is a moment of knitting, and the following things are either on the needles, on the roster, books I wish to knit from, books I wish to own, yarn I wish to order, or general stuff of yarnly interest.

Are we ready? Let's go!

Claire's Outlander Cowl--modeled here by Squish. It was really very easy-- two strands of ultra thick & lofty yarn (I used Malabrigo, super-bulky, but you could use two strands of Lion Brand Thick & Quick) and size 35 needles. Cast on 12-20 stitches, knit garter until your yarn runs out, save just enough to join in the manner of your choice. I used pickup and cast off--but that's just what floated my boat.  Addictive, this one. Like, size 35 needles BAM.

Stories in Stitches -- not just the knitted item, but the story behind the knitted item. The last volume is strong women in history. There's also a volume of WWI and II-- I love history and how simple things like textiles and woodwork have shaped the lives of all the people who have come before-- I would LOVE  hours and time to explore these.

The Baker Street Scarf  I love this not just because it's modeled by Neil Gaiman, and not just because I'm knitting one for my editor in a cobalt blue by Blue Moon Fibers that would just totally toast your cheese, but also because it's from THIS BOOK-- Geek Knits , and every item in this book is something either my family or I wants.  So. Yummy.

And if you're knitting Geek Knits, you need a special sort of yarn. How about Nerd Girl Yarn.  The colors are stupendous-- saturated, rich-- and even better? Guys, the yarn names are LISTED BY FANDOM! *swoon* They have pretty much every fandom you could imagine. *fans self*  Seriously-- made me hot and bothered, just to read the list of fandoms, and then looking at the yarn? *swoonz and diez*

And, if you've already admitted to being a geek and  nerd, the next step is... THIS HAT.   And yes. I've already ordered yarn for it.  Because Zoomboy needs. It's important. Truly.

And, if you've truly gone round the bend on this knitting thing... there's always THIS. Because your cat may need a hat like you need another dead thing at your doorstep. There's always that possibility. Truly.

And there you go-- my new knitting fetishes for your enjoyment.

Uh... I should warn you-- I begged the internet today for the strength to resist ordering the yarn for ZoomBoy's hat, and I was told in no uncertain terms that ordering that yarn was no more than I deserved for pushing things like Nerd Girls Yarn and Geek Knits on an innocent and unsuspecting knitting populace.

Uh-oh.

I should have told you that at the beginning of the post, right?

ZoomBoy

I talk about Zoomboy and Squish a lot on social media-- but I have to say.

ZoomBoy surprises me every day.

He's growing so tall-- but his geeky sense of humor hasn't changed.

He's so smart-- but he's so cuddly too.

I worried about middle school-- peer groups can be so hard. But on the first day he found Sam, and after that, they had Andy. I worried about that too-- but I met Andy today, and he had a Batman sweatshirt on, and I thought, "Aha! ZoomBoy has found his peer group!"

And it's true-- between that and the chess club, he is having a good time.

ZoomBoy has an infectious smile, and he loves it when I call the dogs "Assholes!"

He's failing English, but he's passing science and he's doing really well in math.

ZoomBoy just needs a few reminders and some calming down, and he can do really well in almost anything.

He loves to play with little kids-- he'd rather do that than anything besides fight with his sister.

And play with the dogs.

And watch sci-fi.

And memorize facts about video games.

He still can't make it through an entire soccer game while paying attention.

But he's getting really good at dance.

ZoomBoy's room looks like a bomb hit it (but I've been talking with other mothers online and I understand it's supposed to look like that. Something about the stench that comes from his pits and feet and twelve and other things that apparently mean a path to the door is pushing my luck.)

ZoomBoy zens out doing legos, and wanted two pieces of pie even though he couldn't eat them.

He played laser tag with all the people-- his sister, his sister's friend, his two friends.  And he got a trinket at the end.

And he asked me for a picture of him from when he was a baby this week-- he needed it for school.

And I almost cried, because I had to remember-- he's not my baby anymore. He's a big boy, growing taller every day.  He knows you shouldn't get hit in the nads and he loves wrestling and he's had crushes on pretty girls.

And he's twelve today.

And eleven years ago, when we called him the Cave Troll, because Mate and I were outnumbered and another kid was overkill, I just could not imagine that he'd ever be this big.

Or that he'd be this awesome.

Or that I'd love him this much.

But I do.

Happy Birthday, Zoomboy.

God, could you slow down a little in the growing department? You're breaking mama's heart!

Well FED

Sorry this is actually Saturday-- Mate and I needed to go birthday shopping last night for Zoomboy and I couldn't quite fit in Nano, edits, and Fanfic Friday. And Soccer Saturday.  I hope you forgive me-- and I hope you enjoy. Someone *aherm* Asked specifically for Cartinski today. I'm thinking SuperBat or Stucky next week, but in the meantime, *glares* You know who you are.

*  *  *

Carter wore his old FBI sweatshirt when they went running.

John really hated it when he did that.

Because as much as Carter made a lot out of being a dumb guy in a smart world, the fact was, John Stilinski had endured his share of the feds barging into his territory from the get go. "You! You Sheriff Stilinski! You've had six kids disappear in two months-- what kind of amateur bullshit shop you been running here in the sticks? That's okay, Sheriff, us feds will come clean it up and we'll kick some dirt over your shitty department on our way out!"

Yeah-- Stilinski didn't have a lot of good memories of the FBI, Scott McCall's father primary among them.

Schmuck.

So the FBI sweatshirt was just a reminder that Carter's job in Eureka was not your average run of the mill job, and that Carter had needed to aspire to Quantico before he'd been placed there, and that John Stilinski really was just your average run of the mill law enforcement joe.

In a town full of werewolves.

They'd been running for a good four miles before Carter said something.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"  John was proud-- since they'd been running together-- and fucking in the shower when they were done-- his wind had gotten much much better.

"Something's following us," Carter said, turning around for a second.  He was so graceful-- they were running through the cross country trail in the woods... that cross country trail. In those woods. Usually turning your back as you ran was a guarantee that you would either trip on a fallen tree branch, fall into a trap, get impaled by an arrow, spear, or Kanima spine, or get eaten by a bear.

Carter turned back around and Stilinski continued to scan their surroundings anxiously.  He hadn't written off that bear.

"You just spotted that now?" Stilinski asked, hopping lightly from fallen tree branch to rocky outcropping to forest floor. "God-- how have you lived so long?"

"In a quiet little town where quantum mechanics try daily to kill me," Carter retorted. "So stop being an ass."

"I"m just saying--" Stilinsky actually spotted the leaf covered pit this time and managed to shove Carter around the giant oak and away from it, "--quantum mechanics aren't actively seeking you out and trying to kill you personally because they don't like the way you smell."

"Was that a--"

"Leaf covered pit-- God, don't ask me what was on the bottom, that shit's serious.  Look out!"

The branch was suspended backwards, so as soon as Carter hit the tripwire it would whip back--and it was big enough to break a few ribs if that happened. Stilinski knocked Carter sideways and...

Caught the fucking branch in the side.

He went sprawling, and Jack scrambled up to help him.

"Scott!" Stilinski wheezed, too out of breath to make much noise. "Goddammit Scott!"

"Motherfucker!"  Cater was kneeling next to him, and his dismay when the red-eyed wolf who had been tracking their movements straightened into a very naked human, was almost comic.

"Sherif Stilinski!" Scott cried, running to his side.

"What in the fuck was all of that?" Stilinski panted.  He closed his eyes and took stock. Yup-- oh yeah. Those ribs were definitely cracked. He could barely breathe.

"There's a whole druid pack invasion... thing going down," Scott apologized. "I wasn't sure how much they'd done, so, you know--"

"You followed us to make sure we were safe," Carter supplied, which was good because Stilinski still couldn't talk.

"Yeah."  Scott smiled at him, that kid's goofy, crooked grin totally hiding the savvy, iron-willed leader beneath. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff Carter. Stiles has told me a lot about you."

Stilinki closed his eyes.

"Yeah?" Carter asked, sounding wary. "Like, uh, what?"

Scott sucked air through his feet. "Let's just say I know what you sound during some of the most private moments of your life," he apologized.

"Crap."

"Yeah, during then too."

Stilinski let out a gasp and then a moan. Fucking ribs. He was going to have to have them lift him up from the torso, and hope his ribs didn't pop through his lungs.  Carter gave up mentally flailing at Scott and turned towards him with that sweet little furrow between his eyes.

"Did you hear that? Your son knows what I sound like when I'm on the potty. I'm thrilled."

"You're loud," Stilinski said. "Now can you help me up or not?"

"Not yet," Scott said.  He was still naked, which Stilinski had gotten used to, given how many werewolves lived in Beacon Hills.  He hadn't realized how new it was to Carter until he saw Carter's eyes widen as Scott scooted from Stilinski's shoulder to his side, gently nudging Carter out of the way.

"Uh..." Carter mumbled in protest. "So you're naked and... uh..."

"Dude!" Scott muttered, elbowing Carter a little more to the side and burrowing under Stilinski's sweatshirt until he could place cold paws... arm, hands... on Stilinski's tender ribs.  "He's literally as old as my father."

"Older," Stilinski gasped, heat building in his side.  "By two years, goddammit."

"Yeah. And more my dad than my dad. Now shut up and let me work--"

Stilinski could feel it now. Stiles had told him Scott could do this, but until that blissful heat, that almost chemical release from pain permeated his flesh and bones, he hadn't realized what a tremendous power it really was.

The pain eased, and John felt tears slide down the corners of his eyes, his relief more overwhelming than the cracked ribs.

"Wow," he said after a moment.  Scott gave a little grunt and sat back on his heels. "That was... that was awesome. Thanks, Scott."

"Not a problem, Sheriff.  Next time, I'll try to get there before the trap goes off."

Carter glared at him and nudged him out of the way again. "Next time, how about tell us where the bad guys are setting traps, and we'll maybe run in Eureka."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? Stiles is experimenting with chronochromatic technology today. You could walk across a green line and end up in 1793. No thank you. I mean, seriously. I'd rather deal with the traps.  Are you okay now, Sheriff?"

John nodded and pushed himself up.  "Much better now-- appreciate it."

"Good. I'm going to turn wolf now and lead, okay?  I think I know where most of the traps are, but be alert."

Stilinski took Carter's offered hand up, and he submitted to a quick pat down to make sure he was okay, and then they were on their way.

It wasn't until they made it back to the road that would bring them home that Scott turned around and took off, presumably to contact the rest of the pack and let them know about the traps.  As soon as he was out of sight, Carter muttered, "Asshole."

"What?" Stilinski said, surprised. "He helped us out!"

"Nothing," Carter mumbled, glaring mulishly as they ran up the stairs home.

"Seriously--mmmf..."

Carter was all over him, mouth slanting over his, hands all over his body, checking-- intimately-- for anymore bruises, any broken bones, any hurts.

"I"m fine," John panted. "But sweaty-- are you sure you want to--"

Carter yanked his sweats down, right there in the hallway, and pulled John's cock into his mouth.  Stilinski groaned and threw his head back agains the wall with a thud. "Carter, I'm..."

Carter pulled him so deeply, Stilinski's cock bottomed out in his throat, and Stilinski was suddenly very, very close to coming.  Carter slid a spit-slicked finger between his bottom cheeks and into his asshole, and Stilinski beat feebly at the wall at his back.

"Jack!" he panted. "I'm going to... I"m gonna..."

Jack pulled back long enough to say, "Come. So I can fuck you. And you can come again."  And then he sucked Stilinski's cock back into his mouth, into a haven of heat and wet and pressure.  His finger stretched and twisted and white fire rushed Stilinski's spine, blinding him as he cried out in orgasm and sagged against the wall.

Carter swallowed--but not enough. Come spilled over his lips and glazed his chin as he glared up at John and ordered him to "Turn around!"

John, weak and confused in the aftermath of climax found himself facing his own hallway wall, hands out, legs spread, as Carter breached him unceremoniously from behind.

His howl of pleasure echoed off the wall.

Carter pounded him without words or mercy, thrusting hard, deep, and fast, until Stilinski was hard again, until every crash against his prostate left him white-blind and shouting, and his next orgasm threatened to burn every nerve ending in his cock, balls, and taint forever.

Then Carter started muttering. "Let that naked kid--" thrust "--fucking touch your body--" pound "--while I'm right there like I"m not a thing--" fuck "--and not think it's gonna drive me fucking crazy!"

"Carter!" Stilinski screamed, that terrible balefire of come tearing through his body and spattering against the wall.

"John!"  Carter snarled, and then he grunted and screamed and bit John's shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise for days.

Stilinski collapsed against the wall, feeling spend spilling from his body, down his cheek, down the back of his thigh.  Carter collapsed on top of him, and together they panted until their breathing stilled and talking became a thing again.

"I can't believe you were jealous," John said when he could manage it.

"I can't believe that naked werewolf touched you when I was right there."

"He's got a boyfriend. OR a girlfriend. Or both," Stilinski laughed, body liquid and boneless. "I can't keep track. And he's a kid. And he's--"

"I don't care," Carter breathed in his ear. "I'd want you if I was twenty-three and perfect. I'd want you if I was him. I finally found you-- nobody else gets to touch you."

Stilinski hooted into the wall in disbelief. "You're the only idiot who wants to touch me. I can't believe you got through Quantico with those detecting skills. Jesus."

Carter growled and wrapped his arms around Stilinski's waist, undeterred. "I got through Quantico because I don't give up easy," he growled. "I don't give up at all."

"Awesome."  Stilinski leaned back against him, content for a moment, and not even freaking out about washing the come off the wall.  "But you know, there is something you could do to make sure every werewolf for miles knows you've staked your claim."

"Yeah?" Carter asked, some of his usual humor restored. "Enlighten me."

Stilinski started to chuckle, feeling the evil in his bones. "Let me wear your jogging shirt." Heh heh heh. "It's a smell thing. I swear."  He had no idea.

Carter knew it. "You just want my shirt."

John nodded and closed his eyes, safe and secure and joyful. "Yeah. I want your fuckin' shirt. Right now I need it to wipe off the jizz off the wall before Stiles or Derek walk in."

"Shit!" Carter muttered, but he pulled the shirt off, and they made it to the showers before anybody was the wiser.

*  *  *

Derek and Stiles were actually living in Eureka, but they still visited on Sunday mornings for breakfast.

This particular morning, Stiles brought bran muffins for the old people and doughnuts for him and Derek, unaware that Derek had snuck three eclairs in the box so the "old people" would continue to like him and let him molest Sheriff Stilinski's baby boy.

"Dad! Sheriff Carter!" Stiles called, and Derek heard them in the kitchen, probably calling a greeting over coffee, but he could smell something... something...

Mmm...

He wandered for a moment from Stiles's side and snuffled the air along this stretch of hall and... mmm... Jealousy sex... right here.  

He wanted to pant.

He wanted to rut. 

He really wanted to grab Stiles by the scruff of the neck and bend him over the couch.

But... *snuffle snuffle snuffle*  Yeah. Old people sex. Didn't bother him-- didn't bother most werewolves.

But Stiles, it would bother.

He'd have to keep this knowledge to himself.  But that was okay.  That morning, he'd have the extra eclair.

That evening, he'd have the boyfriend screaming over their own kitchen table.

Sunday mornings rocked. 

Reasons I'm a bad Mom

Squish: Mom, I lost a tooth!  Do you want to hear the story?

Me: Sure.

Squish: Chatter chatter chatter AND THERE WERE EPIC AMOUNTS OF BLOOD!

Me: That's AWESOME! That's a good tooth story.

Squish: Thanks-- is the tooth fairy going to come.

Me: Uhm, I think the tooth fairy needs to walk from the hallway to your bed for that to happen.

Squish: *suspiciously*  Why can't she fly?

Me: Because there's a ceiling fan, and she will get chopped in half. 

Squish: *not buying it for a minute*  Ooooh… That's a good one. Good thinking mom-- ceiling fan.

 (btw-- Squish is nine-- most kids lose all their teeth by seven. Tonight, when we were letting our kids watch the way-the-fuck age inappropriate Bones, they talked about how the parents were going to play the tooth fairy. At the end of the show, Squish gave me a SEE!!! sort of snort, and a "I knew you were bullshitting me" glare.  I tried-- that's all I got.)

But continuing on…

Squish: Yeah, losing the tooth was good. *her voice drops* But this morning Connor…

Now I have heard of Connor. He's a real charmer-- he beats her at foursquare by cheating, shouts mean things at her on the playground, and when she picks up his pencil after he drops it, he throws it away. I know he's probably some mother's son, but I hate the little turdwhacker and I hope he loses his adult teeth at the age of ten by running into a pole. Did we mention this post is about why I'm a bad mom?

And once again, continuing on…

Me: *dangerously*  What did Connor do?

Squish: He invented the Squish-touch.

Me: *stunned* Like the cheese-touch, in Diary of a Wimpy Kid? Where anyone who touches the cheese is stinky and shunned?

Squish: Yeah.

And she was so happy, and this hurts her so bad.

Me:  Well, the next time Connor talks about the "Squish touch" you tell him this for me. You tell him that he is a sad little person, and that he is going to die in his thirties after having accomplished nothing, and he will be bald and unpopular and nobody in his life will love him, and in the meantime, you will have gone to Europe and changed the planet. And in the meantime, you don't have to put up with his bullshit because you are a better person than he is and always will be.

Squish; Mom!  *she laughs* I can't remember all of that!

Me: Tell him he's bullshit. Use the word. And be sure to have the yard duty call me if you get in trouble.

Squish: *quiet* Thanks mom.

Me: You're my beautiful Squishy. This kid is a cockroach. Believe it.

And there you go. All the reasons I'm a bad mother.

Two things-- maybe three

Okay-- so thing one:

The kids had a dentist appointment today, and I felt really bad about that.

Seriously-- it was their day off--when the receptionist (whom I love) called me yesterday to remind me, the first thing I said was, "Oh my God-- I did that? I suck!"

Anyway-- I also wanted to work out, and I thought-- thought mind you, that I could go to the 12:30 class, get out at 1:30, hot tub until 1:40, shower, and be home by 2:05.  Which would have been a fantastic plan, but the hot tub was so warm and it was around fifty degrees outside, and by the time I padded across the freezing concrete, I was running about 10 minutes late.

And I'd forgotten to be specific about, "You guys need to be dressed with your teeth brushed by two o'clock so all I have to do is shoo you into the car!"

So, I ran into the house at 2:15, shouting, "You have three minutes to be dressed with your teeth brushed and get in the car!"

It took them four.

I was stunned.  But now that I know what they're capable of, I'm not taking any more excuses for an hour lead time!

We made it to the dentist office at 2:30 exactly. Go kids!

*  *  *

And the second thing…

So, I know it's not out yet-- I don't even have a buy link yet-- but Winter Ball is already getting some awesome attention from high places!

THIS review appeared last week in Publisher's Weekly,  and although I'd love to see them review something like Chase in Shadow, I think we can take it to mean this book is happy. It's sweet, and it won't rip your heart to ribbons, and in that case, it's a good thing. I mean, dudes-- for a Christmas story, the Amy Lane alternative to "sweet wish fulfillment" is something like, Mourning Heaven: The Prequel-- the First Christmas Without Michael which sounds like a Christmas laugh riot, right? So I think we can agree that for Amy Lane yellow, this review tells us all we need to know.

Except whether or not we really want to read it-- which this review happens to do!

 I have a screen shot of it-- appears in the January edition of RT Book Reviews

And I'm thrilled.  It's an awesome review-- and getting a Top Pick is a big deal!  Bells of Times Square was a Top Pick (I know it shows 4* there, but in the magazine listing it's listed as a 4 1/2 star books-- that's as high as they go!)

And the thing that I think thrills me most about this little book getting such big attention is that it's a little story, with small time heroes-- and it's a happy story, with lots of humor.  It's sweet, and it has a cat and guys who play rec league together and if I could manage to make them real and immediate and important, well then, I've done everything I've ever wanted to as a writer.

So I'm proud. And champing at the bit-- we don't even get a buy link until November 24th, and darn it! I want you all to read it now!

A Few Old Things Made New

Bound: Volume 1

Bound: Volume 1

by Amy Lane

Humans have the option of separation, divorce, and heartbreak. For Corinne Carol-Anne Kirkpatrick, sorceress and queen of the vampires, the choices are limited to love or death. Now that she is back at Green’s Hill and assuming her duties as leader, her life is, at best, complicated. Bracken and Nicky are competing for her affections, Green is away taking care of his people, and a new supernatural enemy is threatening the sanctity of all she has come to love. Throw in a family reunion gone bad, a supernatural psychiatrist, and a killer physics class, and Cory’s life isn’t just complex, it’s psychotic. 

Cory needs to get her act and her identity together, and soon, because the enemy she and her lovers are facing is a nightmare that doesn’t just kill people, it unmakes them. If she doesn’t figure out who she is and what her place is on Green’s Hill, it’s not just her life on the line. She knows from hard experience that the only thing worse than facing death is facing the death of someone she loves. 

Loving people is easy—living with them is what takes the real work, and it’s even harder if you’re bound.

*  *  *

 So, the third book of The Little Goddess series is being re-released-- Bound: Volume 1.  I love these covers-- and of course, seeing the books come out again, and seeing new people learn to love Green's Hill again, is making me very very happy.

I don't have much to say about this one-- I loved it. I think, if you've been reading the Little Goddess books from the first one, you'll see my storytelling skills take a big jump from Wounded to Bound. When I was re-editing the books, besides the world building glitches (some of which I simply could not fix, not without losing my compete sanity) I noticed that there were tiny details that got tied into the ending that surprised me. People have been telling me that I do this for years--but this was one of the first places where I did it and went, "Oooh… I think that'll be good."

And it was!

Anyway-- besides that, I do have one little anecdote, and it's something I share in the new volume, but that I sort of love a lot, because it's true.

I wrote Bound before I started the blog, which meant I wrote before I had Squish. Now I started the first incarnation of this blog about two months after she was born--but by then I was occupied with her growing and this particular story was not told:

I was in labor with Squish for three days-- I started on March 31st, 8 p.m, and she was born on April 3rd, 6 a.m. (April Fools! You're not having a baby today!)  My labor went in and out and in and out and in and out, and finally, at two in the morning, April 3rd, we'd already sent the other kids to my parents house, and Mate was sleeping as only the non-pregnant, non-in-labor, totally oblivious men can sleep at any given time ever.  (Three days. I was not a nice--nor a sane--person.)

Anyway, at two in the morning I got up, wandered fitfully into the dining room, and started writing. I wrote the sequence in the story where Bracken and Cory get into a fight and make up in the garden. (It's a funny sequence-- her clothes are frickin' EVERYWHERE!)  I got to that part about the clothes, and had a contraction that felt like it cracked the foundation of the house.

Well fuck.

It was three a.m.. I wrote two insane e-mails to co-workers who later gave me copious amounts of shit about this, btw. It's not like they were Mary, or Julianne or Elizabeth or any of the half-dozen people that I would now call at two a.m. and whine, "I'm in fucking labor why won't this kid pop out!" Anyway-- as I pressed send on the second e-mail, I had another, "The world will split in two from the force of your uterus" contraction.

I stood up, walked to the bedroom, and took my last shower for what would be the next couple of days. Mate said, "What? What are you doing?"

I said, "Getting ready for the hospital."

"Why-- are the contractions coming again?"

"Who cares-- I have had enough of this shit."

An hour later, after a doctor stuck his hand up my weehoo and found I was 9 1/2 centimeters dilated, he asked "So, what made you decide to come in?"

"I have had enough of this shit."

Squish was born at six a.m., give or take a minute or two, and she was ten pounds.  And that chapter of Bound would live in my memory forevermore as proof that you don't have to be sane or even coherent to write.

*  *  *

Also-- I've had a lot of books released on Audio-- too many to mention, although I tend to flail them on social media a lot!  Anyway-- if audio books are your thing, if you check out the links below, you can hit my name link and see what's out.

Candy Man

Bitter Taffy

Truth in the Dark

Under the Rushes

I bet my feet were twitching..

Sorry I missed last night, folks!

It's funny, how I keep thinking, "Oh, hey-- I've got sort of a light load-- I'll be able to accomplish so very much!"  

And then my world goes kersplodey and I remember when I used to think I was busy.  

Anyway-- yesterday was a lovely rainy Sunday, and you'd think I'd hang out and read and catch up on my Supernatural and finish the damned family of socks, right?

But I'd promised my husband a date night for weeks, and it was time to pony up, and my kids had a birthday party to go to, and on Sunday morning my stepmom called up and asked if I wanted to come over for dinner, and we owed our friend Wendy and her husband a movie and…

Okay, so the kids made the birthday party at Leatherby's-- but Mate had to drop them off while I got the present.  (I missed the after party, where there would be horror movies and gossip with my friend Berry Jello… *sigh*)  Afterwards we took the kids to my parents, met Wendy and Chris for dinner, saw SPECTRE, got the kids and came home.

And I turned on the computer and started to work, because hey-- edits, blog, NANO, doesn't go away, right?

And there I was, chipping away on edits/blog/NANO when Mate woke up.  He does this sometime-- his arm falls asleep and he wanders the house, dizzy and disoriented and trying to place what happened.  If I'm in bed with him, I can calm him down before he even gets out of bed. If I'm not, well, wandering, strange noises (he makes this Homer Simpson "Woo! Woo! Woo!" in his sleep that freaks me the fuck out!) ensue.

So he wandered, and I went to lay down with him.

And woke up two hours later still in my sweatshirt and bra still on thinking, "Qua da fuq?"

I went to bed for real-- after turning off the computer and making sure the doors were locked--only to be jerked out of a sound sleep two hours later, because someone had locked the cat in Squish's bedroom.

I woke up this morning with no NANO and no blog thinking, once again, "Qua da fuq?"

So no-- I don't know what happened. My usual discipline deserted me and I went to bed at 11:45. I got nothin'. 

But these nice pictures of the kids at Berry Jello's daughter's birthday party.  It really was a lot of fun!

 Also-- and I'll post this again tomorrow!

Bound: Volume 1, the Third Book of the Little Goddess series goes on sale tomorrow.  I love the new cover concept so much-- he's so very Green!  (Except his eyes-- it was hard to get across that they really DID need to be, uh, Green.)

Part two goes on sale in December :-)

And wait until you see the other covers!  EEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Fanfic Friday: Knotty-- Cartinski

Okay-- I'll be honest. I put out a vote for who wanted what fanfic, and the results were frighteningly even.  The choice was Stucky, SuperBat, and Cartinski, and let's just say… split. Like a trident. So, my deciding factor?

Has nothing to do with the vote.

I'm writing a category romance for Dreamspinner Press-- a Dreamspun Desire.  And the thing with these is it's all about the simmer, and when I get to the sex, well, it's got to be three flames at the hottest. No raw animal rutting for my sweet tamale boy and his gentleman caller, no-- it's all going to be washing languorously onto love's transcendent shore.

I really needed to write some serious fucking.  Which left me with SuperBat or Cartinski.  And since the last SuperBat left us in a place where I needed to actually plot in order to get to the sex, I'm going for the Cartinski.  If you may recall, John had just fled Beacon Hills because it was the full moon and he didn't want to see mad raw-dogging all over the backwoods.

So he fled to Carter's house--and to a man blissfully unaware of what most shapeshifter writers have to grapple with all the time.

It's sort of a knotty problem, actually… *runs screaming from all of the spit wads flung after that horrible pun*

*  *  *

Carter liked the way John handled his children.  He was kind to his oldest--the boy who wasn't his but whom he'd raised like a son for the last six years--and sweet and adorable with the little girls.  He asked them all earnest questions, and when he got answers way above his pay grade and IQ, he didn't even raise his eyebrows.

Well, Stiles had a job in Eureka-- odds were good he was used to being baffled by offspring by now.

But finally-- finally--the kids were in bed, and Carter had a chance to talk to the house.

"Sarah?" he asked cautiously, leading John into the bedroom.  "Sarah--are you here?"

"Yes, Jack," Sarah said, her voice warm and seductive.  John gave a little gasp of surprise.  "Is there someone with you tonight? Someone not Allison?"

"You know there is."  Carter kept his voice firm. "Sarah, this is John Stilinski--we're dating."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days," Sarah said primly.

"No, Sarah, the kids are calling it sex, and we'd like to have some-- but without the kids being able to hear us do it. Can you make sure that happens?"

There was a sullen silence. "But Sheriff, your relationship with Allison may not be completely severed. There is still hope. Nathan may possibly have changed after his time as nothing but anti-matter, and there is no guarantee that she'll be able to live with him--"

Carter groaned and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Sarah, what is Allison doing right now?"  He knew the damned house was tracking her across town-- because she'd given him updates on the night that Allison had decided to go back to Nathan.

"Allison's respiration is accelerated by thirty percent, her endorphins are high, and she appears to have blood flowing to several erogenous zones upon simulation… oh."

"Yeah, Sarah. My ex-wife is getting lucky. Any way I can get lucky too?"

"No sound will leave the room, Sheriff, but if the children are alarmed or need you, I will allow you the option of answering."

"Thank you, Sarah. So, unless it's an emergency--"

"I shall pretend I'm not here."

"Perfect."

Carter usually stood and looked up at the ceiling when he was talking to the house, so he finished up and turned to see how John took his relationship with the sentience that watched over his family.

John was under the blankets, fully clothed, with the covers over his head.

"Uh… John? Stilinski? You okay?"

"The house will see me naked," he said, like this was something Jack hadn't thought of at least a thousand times over the last ten years.

"Yes, but she doesn't judge," he said kindly. "And I will get to see you naked too, so there's that."  He liked John naked. John Stilinski took care of himself-- he was a little stocky in the chest and a little knobby in the knees, but mostly, he was serviceable muscle.  Carter liked that in a male lover-- just like he enjoyed a smile and a sense of play and the ability to switch hit.

"Nobody is ever going to see me naked ever again," John said, like he'd just decided. He remembered to kick off his boots though, before hauling his knees to his chest under the comforter, so Carter took heart.

Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and kicked off his shoes.  "Let me in," he demanded, pulling the edge of the blanket up.  "C'mon, let me play in the blanket fort-- it's cold out here!"

"Sheriff, it's 78 degrees inside the house-- if you would like me to heat it up--"

"Not now, Sarah, you're missing the point."

"I shall refrain from speaking, sir."

"Now you understand."

"That house sees us!" John mumbled, sounding a little hysterical. "There are werewolves fucking all over Beacon Hills and a house is going to see me naked!"

"Well, she's getting a load of me naked, so could you let me in the blanket fort?" Carter begged, and he reckoned John did love him because he held the blanket open just long enough for Carter to dive in.  "Thank you," he mumbled as John closed the blanket over the other side of his hips and made sure they were both tucked in like mummies.

"I need to lose ten pounds," John said seriously.  "And work out more. Lots more. LIke two hours a day. "

"Hon," Carter said, stroking his cheek in the close space of the blanket fort, "you're fine."

"Carter, the house is going to see that I'm fat! Can't you hear her? She's going to say, 'But Sheriff, your current partner is far less desirable than your last one. Can you not see that he has at least ten pounds more body fat and is closer to a heart attack than Allison so you should probably not ever have sex with him again!"

Carter buried his face against John's stubbled neck and giggled.  "Seriously?  You're going to let a house tell you not to get laid?"

"Sheriff Carter, your current partner can't get an erection right now, perhaps you'd like me to play some mood music. Does Sheriff Stilinski enjoy smooth jazz?"  John's voice cracked at the end of a rusty impression of Sarah's measured tones, and Jack pushed himself up on John's chest and started unbuttoning his official uniform shirt.

"Would smooth jazz work?" he asked sliding the shirt off John's shoulder.

John rolled under the fort and helped him out a little.  "I hate smooth jazz. Who can get laid listening to the saxophone?"

"Well then, there will be no smooth jazz played here tonight," Carter soothed.  He started working on John's belt, and was relieved when John grudgingly lifted his hips to let his khakis be pushed down to the bottom of the bed.

"Small mercies," John grumbled.  Carter slithered back up under the blanket fort and then rolled right on top of John, knowing that John Stilinski could take his weight--and anything else dished out to him.

"John Stilinski?" Carter said, undulating his hips so their bodies could get familiar and hard.

"What, Jack Carter?"

"I'm glad you're here tonight."

"I wish we were in Beacon Hills," John said honestly. "But we wouldn't be having sex there either. There is literally a wolf howling and fucking on every street corner."

Carter laughed--not because he didn't believe him, but because it was a funny thing to be afraid of. "Well then-- who says we're not having sex here?" he asked.

John glared at him--but he also brought his hands to Jack's hips and held him tight so they could buck up against each other.  "I think we have to be nak--"

Ah, Carter had been dying to kiss him again, since that first one outside in the car. John opened for him, warm and male and a little bitter--the pizza had been burnt.  Carter plundered anyway, and lost himself in the hardness of John's hands against his ass, the strength of John's chest, and the no-bullshit way he accepted the reality of two male bodies mashed together.

Carter was getting hard--but so was John--and Carter rolled off of him in order to scoot down and shuck his boxers down past his knees.

"Guess what?" he asked playfully, peering at John under the blanket.

"I'm hard," John muttered, knotting his fingers in Jack's hair.

"And naked," Jack said, lowering his head and slurping, hard, and the pre-cum leaking from John's cock.

John bucked, sensitive, probably, surprised into sudden arousal and easily ramped higher.  Or maybe--the little slut-- Jack's big male lover sort of secretly got off on knowing they were being watched, and was just afraid of knowing that about himself.

Which made him even more dear.

Carter lowered his head and raised it, sucking hard and squeezing at the base and teasing the slit with his tongue, gratified when John groaned.  Oh yeah-- one of the best things about John--when he was ramped, he was greedy and unashamed about it. When John bent his knees and spread his thighs, begging to have all his parts played with, Carter took that for what it was. He dribbled spit on the two fingers wrapped around John's cock and then shoved them none-to-subtly where the sun doesn't shine, and was thrilled when John came.

Judging from John's shocked cry, he was thrilled too--and maybe over his knowledge that the house could hear them too.

Carter swallowed, slimy and sweet, and continued to suck, until John was hard again, but oversensitive.

"John?" he said clearly, still stroking John off.

"Yeah?" Oh good-- he sounded loopy and relaxed and still aroused. Perfect. 

"I'm going to throw the covers back and grab the lube from the drawer, okay?"

"Lube?" he asked, still sounding a little  out of it.

"Yeah," Carter said, practically purring. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight, okay?"

"The house…"  John muttered, but Carter thrust his fingers into John's orifice again, and he forgot what he was going to say as he arched his hips off the bed and beat feebly at the mattress.

Carter was already in the open air and reaching for the lube. "The house can't have you," he said, meaning it.  Just a little bit of lube, there we go, right along Carter's shaft.

He shifted on the bed, kneeling between John's knees, and thrust in.  John threw his head back about the pillows and screamed-- loudly--in pleasure, and Carter didn't monitor his own voice as he thrust forward and grunted from his gut.

Ah, Gods, yes. Loud sex--it was almost more of a turn on than sex with the lights on, because he and John spent so much time trying not to disturb the werewolf with hyper hearing who often was having sex in the same house.

Carter took a lot of joy in pounding into John Stilinski's ass, throwing his hips forward, letting his orgasm build at the base of his spine.  When John finally gave another whimper and scratched at Carter's shoulders, Carter's climax hit him like a storm.

His cry of pleasure cracked through the room like thunder.

The comedown was awesome too, and Carter pulled the blanket up over both of them in deference to John's returning sensibility that the house was watching.

"Hey," Carter said, sliding until they were chest to chest, the blanket pulled over their shoulders.  "What's knotting?"

John actually stopped looking wildly around the dimly lit room. "Knotting?"

"Yeah-- you said the werewolves were knotting when you drove up.  What does that mean?"

John dug deeper into the bed and stopped looking around the room completely. "Nothing," he muttered. "Not a damn thing. Are you ready to go yet? I'm ready to go again. Who's gonna top? I say you. You're good at topping--"

Carter stopped him with a kiss, one that was designed to rev them just a little bit more.  "Okay," he mumbled. "I got it. You'll tell me some other time."

John hummed and kissed him harder. "Yeah, fine," he said. "Maybe I'll top this time."

*  *  *

"Ouch," Stiles said.

"I'm sorry," Derek muttered, burying a mortified face into the back of Stiles's neck.

"Ouch."

"I don't know what to say-- it'll take twenty minutes to go down."

"Ouch."

"Stiles, I wanted you to top--"

"I was wrong. Jesus, Derek, can't you think of anything that will make it go down quicker?"

"No-- I've tried everything. Sports scores, saggy butts, kittens--"

"Well look at it!" Stiles begged. "Isn't it going down a little."

Derek didn't even try to look at it. He just groaned into Stiles's back some more. "Baby, looking at it gets me hot again!"

"Oh God. Derek, what's going to happen if my dad gets home and we're still stuck here?"

Oh… oh God. Derek's sweaty embarrassment turned to sweaty panic just that fast.

"Oh no," he whispered.

"Oh yes!" Stiles crowed, slithering out form under Derek as quickly as he could now that the swelling at the base of Derek's cock had gone down.

"Oh thank God," Derek murmured, rolling to his side. He glared at Stiles. "Next time," he threatened.

"Yeah," Stiles said, nodding fervently. "I hear you. Next full moon, I top!"