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Music Inspirations for Coming Home

April 9, 2012

MJ back, talking about my book Coming Home, out today from Dreamspinner Press! This post is about inspirations — and as those who know me will tell you, my biggest inspiration is music.

 One of the things I nearly always do when I’m writing a book is I make a playlist on my iPod. I listen to those songs in the car, when I’m doing laundry, thinking and forming characters and scenes in my mind. Sometimes the music plays a more concrete role, like a title or a character name, but sometimes it’s all in the atmosphere. Coming Home is a warm, sleepy, small town story, that takes place in spring and early summer. The music I chose kind of molded the scene and the feel of the story. I thought I’d share a couple of the songs with you:

This is Star Anna and the Laughing Dogs. They’re a Washington Band that I was listening to around the time that I was working on the finishing touches. I like the sleepy melancholy:

watch?v=qgiiyKHx8uY

Both of these songs were on the original playlist. I can’t hear them without thinking of Lex and Tally:)

What if You – Joshua Radin

watch?v=wWSi3p3t5ak

Matt Nathanson All We Are

 watch?v=j1ZWxbm_9s4

And here’s an excerpt to go with my inspirational music:) In this short scene Lex is starting to realize  how he feels about his employee:

His family thankfully dropped the subject of Tallis Carrington for the rest of the meal. Lex could tell it was on his mother’s mind, though. Her face showed it. He was grateful that she’d let it rest but knew that a shop visit wasn’t far off. If there was one thing his mother was, it was protective, and she had a very clear memory of Lex’s year as Tally’s number one victim. He shook his head a bit at that thought. No, he was never Tally’s victim.

Tally was a different person than the dick who’d ruled the school with his gang of apes in lettermen’s jackets. Tally was… real and hardworking and interested in learning new things. Lex couldn’t believe how much the new Tally had superimposed itself in his mind over the old snarling image that had been imprinted there. Now all Lex could see was the way he smiled or how he went out of his way to help as much as he could… oh Jesus. It’s too late.

Lex excused himself soon after dinner was over, claiming early mornings and breakfast rushes as he backed hastily toward the door before another well-meaning intervention could start. In the peace and quiet of his car he admitted what he’d been avoiding all week, especially during the tenseness of Friday night.

“I want him,” he muttered, testing out the words to see how they felt in his mouth. “I want my straight employee who also happens to be the same guy everyone in town hates. Except me.”

Oh, God.

Just a Taste

April 9, 2012

Hey again, this is MJ O’Shea back, talking about my book Coming Home. I wanted to share a little bit more about the book and add a couple of excerpts:)

This book is driven by two characters who had different but equally rough childhoods. One came from a loving but poor home, and was tortured at school, the other, a rich home not exactly filled with love — he spent most of his teens living a lie…and being cruel to others in a misguided ploy to fit in.

We have Tally, or Tallis Carrington, former rich boy who has fallen on hard times and desperately needs to find a job in the town where he used to be practically royalty and a big bully at the local high school

And we have Lex, who was nerdy and soft, tormented by Tally and his gang of friends. He’s come back as a successful business owner, handsome, confident, but still harboring a grudge at the boy who’d hurt him so much in the past.

When the tortured and the torturer meet again years later, sparks fly — although not necessarily the good kind. Tally is clueless, Lex is angry, and, well, you’ll see the results:

The coffee shop was in one of those turn-of-the-century brick buildings that seemed to line the streets of small towns all over Washington. From the outside, the place looked cheery and inviting, nestled among the renovated lofts at the far end of Old Main. A good sign, Tally hoped. The door was flanked by two potted Italian cypresses and inlaid with stained glass. There was a quaint hand-painted “open” sign dangling from a hook near the top. The hinges squeaked when Tally pushed it open, but even the squeak was oddly homey.

Inside the shop was even better. Warm and fragrant, the air drew him in and enveloped him. The walls had been painted spring green and decorated with framed black and white photographs of the surrounding beaches. Miles of old woodwork and wainscoting gleamed glossy white, and the floors were stained a warm cherry color. He longed to sink into one of the soft, cushy armchairs and close his eyes for about a week. But he couldn’t. He had work to do—and at that moment, his work was convincing one damn business in his wretched hometown that he wasn’t the big loser they all seemed to think he was.

Tally heard a shuffling sound coming from behind the high granite-topped counter.

“Hello?” he called tentatively. “I’m here to fill out an application.”

There was a small crash and a muffled “shit.”

Tally leaned over the counter to see what all the fuss was. There was a man kneeling on the floor trying to hold a halfway slit bag of coffee beans together while at the same time balancing a stack of white plates with his knee so they didn’t crash to the floor and break. Tally fought laughter as he leaned over to right the stack of plates.

“Thank you so much!” came a relieved voice… a relieved voice that made Tally’s heart pound in his chest, throbbing and trying to be noticed as if it were saying “pay attention to this one.” The rest of his body responded in that one short moment, hardening, quickening, coming to life. Tally gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. Really. Not the best time for that.

The man started to stand, turning slowly with the slit coffee bag still balanced on his thigh.

“Hey, not a problem. My name is—” Tally’s voice stuck in his throat, like he was some little kid with his first crush. The other guy’s name must have been gorgeous—sandy hair somewhere between brown and blond, a little shaggy and curling at the ends, big hazel eyes with long curly lashes and a mouth that Tally could have spent hours kissing. Tally wanted to drool. He stuck out his hand and tried to repeat himself. “My name is—”

After one look at Tally, the stranger’s beautiful face had gone from friendly to scathingly irritated in a matter of nanoseconds. “Yeah, I know who you are. I don’t really think I need the help after all.”

Not another one. Tally started to panic.

“Listen….” He paused, hoping for a name.

“Lex,” the man supplied grudgingly.

“Listen, Lex,” Tally repeated. “I know everyone in this town hates me. Obviously even people I’ve never met. But I really need a job, and you wouldn’t have had an ad in the paper if you didn’t need someone to help you. Couldn’t it maybe be possible that you might put aside whatever it is that you’ve been told about me and my father and just take a chance that maybe I’ll be a good employee?”

Lex cocked his head to the side, regarding Tally silently. Talk about nerve-wracking.

“Everything I know about you tells me you won’t.”

Tally backed away toward the door. “It was a long time ago,” he mumbled. “People change. Even me.” Or maybe people were never really what they seemed.

Lex gave him one more long pensive stare, completing Tally’s humiliation. Everyone who remembered him hated him, and it seemed that his reputation had spread to gorgeous strangers as well. He wanted to crawl back to his grandmother’s house and hide in his room to lick his wounds. Was I really that bad? He reached for the handle on the paned- glass door.

“You know what?” Lex’s voice surprised him. He froze. “Fine. I’ll give it a try. Not like I’ve had any other takers.” The last part was mumbled, but Tally heard it just the same. “I start early. Five on weekdays, six on Saturday and Sunday.”

“That’s okay,” Tally said quickly, ready to agree with nearly anything.

“Do you know how to make coffee?”

“No, but I worked in restaurants for years.” Please let that be enough.

“I’m not going to want to tell you how to do things twice.”

“I learn quickly.” Tally hated to feel hope welling in his chest, but it was there—faint yet insistent. As grudging as beautiful Lex seemed to be, there was finally someone willing to give him half a chance.

“Then I’ll see you in the morning. Five. Not even a minute late.”  …

I don’t think I’ll be spoiling things too much to say that soon Lex starts to notice that Tally might not be the jerk he used to be…and not only that, but Lex is actually very attracted to him. And so the fun begins:)

He was foaming a latte, the fourth pumpkin spice of the night, when he felt Tally’s presence behind him, close and warm and looming. Tally brushed up against him and reached around Lex’s shoulder to grab the big cinnamon shaker that was sitting on the counter right in front of Lex.

“Sorry,” he muttered quietly, right up against Lex’s ear. “Molly wants cinnamon sprinkled on her muffin.”

Shivers burst across Lex’s skin. “It’s okay,” he tried to mumble back. His voice came out in a squeak.

He felt the warmth of Tally’s breath on his neck, and when he inhaled he could smell him, spicy and sexy and lingering in the air. Tally hadn’t moved. The moment stretched, excruciating and hot. Lex felt every single one of his crashing heartbeats. Why doesn’t he move? He has to know what he’s doing to me! And then Tally did move, but closer, just a small little movement, the difference barely perceptible other than from the wash of warmth that Lex felt deep in his belly. There were fingers brushing lightly at his hip, a touch that could be interpreted in so many ways, and then he was gone—back to chatting with Molly Bates, the girl who always wanted cinnamon sprinkled on her chocolate muffin.

Lex clenched his jaw. Get a grip, Barry! But he couldn’t. His pulse thundered, turning his face red, making his groin throb painfully. He had to stare at the counter and do multiplication tables in his head for long moments before he could even consider turning to place the drink on the counter without making a public spectacle of himself.

“You okay, Lex?” There it was again—that light touch, on his shoulder this time, and Tally’s voice so concerned against his ear. Lex’s stomach quivered and clenched in on itself.

“Yeah, just hungry I guess,” he lied. “Got a little lightheaded.”

“You want me to make you a bagel with cream cheese? You probably need to get some carbs in you.”

No, I need you in me. Or maybe me in you. I don’t care as long as I can fill my mouth with your skin.

“Sure,” Lex answered weakly. He’d have to choke the bagel down. Bread wasn’t even close to what he wanted to swallow.

Moron. That’s Tallis Carrington. Tallis jerk-of-the-century Carrington. Straight, asshole… well, reformed asshole. Maybe. Point is, hands off!

In the self-lecture department, Lex knew he’d get an A for effort. It was the follow-through where he failed. Couldn’t seem to talk his body into listening… or his mind, for that matter. They both kept screaming “I want him!”

“Here, eat this, Lex. You’ll feel better.”

A toasted bagel with cream cheese was placed in front of him, accompanied by another hand on the shoulder. Lex stood at the counter, breathing slowly and trying to slow his racecar libido down before it crashed all over the place.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Lex was surprised by the sharpness of his voice. His lust and self-annoyance had come out of his mouth aimed at the undeserving Tally. He turned to apologize, but by the time he’d turned, Tally was on the other side of their space, taking an order from two giggly teenaged girls who made no secret of the fact that they were checking him out. Lex thought he might look a bit hurt, but he hid it with an open smile and flirtatious banter. The two girls ate it up, flipping their hair and applying lip gloss. Tally silently handed Lex the girls’ drink order, then turned to wipe off the counter.

“Hey, Tally. I’m sorry. It’s been a long week. I don’t want you to think I’m a big asshole, I’m just—”

“Really, don’t worry about it. I understand. No hard feelings.” Tally gave Lex a shy smile. “You better make those two girls their drinks before they eat me alive,” he whispered. “I think one of them tried to slip me her phone number.”

Lex returned the smile, glad that he could breathe again. “You should escape while you have the chance,” he whispered back. “I think I can take it from here if you want to get home.”

“You sure?” Did Tally look disappointed? No, more like you’re projecting your own shit onto him.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go get some rest. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”

Tally untied his apron and gave Lex another one of those killer shy smiles. “Night, Lex. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Okay, that’s it for this post! Hope you’re enjoying the excerpts so far. I’ll be back soon with some more:)

MJ

Hi There:)

April 9, 2012

Hi Everyone! It’s MJ O’Shea here, and I’m celebrating the release of my first full length Dreamspinner Press release Coming Home. It’s a contemporary romance set in the fictional town of Rock Bay, Washington about an ex bully and the guy he falls in love with:) You know what? Why don’t I start with the cover and the blurb?

Dead broke and newly homeless, Tallis Carrington is on the walk of shame to end all walks of shame. Back to Rock Bay, where he’d once ruled as high school aristocracy with his band of jocks, and tormented a freshman named James Barry. Until a scandal reduced his family’s name to little better than a curse word. He needs a job, and fast, so he can put the town in his rearview mirror once again. But the people of Rock Bay haven’t forgotten him, or the kid he used to be.

The only person in town willing to overlook his less than stellar reputation is Lex, the new coffee shop owner, who seems to despise Tally based on his reputation alone. Tally is desperate, so he takes the job, not understanding Lex’s hot and cold routine until he discovers that his gorgeous boss isn’t the newcomer he thought, but the very same kid he used to torture in school. Now he’ll pull out all the stops to prove he was never really the jerk everyone thought him to be. And if he can win Lex’s heart, the rest of the town should be a piece of coffee cake.

Since I’m new to the Dreamspinner blog, here’s a little bit about me too:)

M.J. O’Shea has been writing romance since algebra class in sixth grade (when most of her stories starred her and Leonardo DiCaprio). When she’s not writing, she loves listening to nearly all types of music, painting, reading great authors, and on those elusive sunny days in the Pacific Northwest, she loves driving on the freeway with her windows rolled down and her stereo on high.

You might have seen me around facebook…probably a little bit too much when I should be writing! That’s all for now. I’ll be back later to talk about the main characters and give you an excerpt:)

My Website

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“No Quarter” Day: Excerpt the First.

April 3, 2012

Here’s an excerpt from “No Quarter.” It’s a scene between the Archangel of Death, Samael, and Archangel Gabriel’s two adopted children, Mira and John. It provides some of the back history of the Archangels in the form of a story told by Samael.

Samael smiled at Mira as she joined John in sprawling on the floor of the living room. While some of the Heavenly Host might sneer at the prospect of spending time with Gabriel’s adopted human children, and consider it little more than babysitting and a demeaning trial and waste of time at that, Samael was entirely the opposite. Humans were made by God; Archangels were commanded to guide and protect them. To Samael, it was as simple as that.

Gabriel’s two children were also two humans that Samael was deeply fond of. Mira, with her long, wavy blonde hair and green eyes, was a delight; her laughter was infectious, and she had always, even from when she had been a small child, questioned him closely about the meaning of the stories he had told her. He had helped Gabriel teach her, helped raise her, comforted her in the night when she had woken from nightmares while Gabriel had been away on a mission. He had bonded with her almost from the moment Gabriel had handed her to him as a tiny two-year-old toddler, her eyes wide and glassy with tears, her lower lip wobbling as she tried not to weep as he took her into his arms. She had been so small then, so delicate, he had been half-afraid he would break her. But Gabriel trusted him, and Gabriel’s trust and confidence in him were not things that Samael intended to lose. When Mira had smiled a small, shy, hopeful smile at him that day, she had reached out with her tiny hands and claimed his heart. Samael was as devoted to Gabriel’s daughter as he was to his son, as he was to the rest of his kind.

John, Gabriel’s younger child, had come to Gabriel in tragic circumstances, and Samael remembered the day that he, Gabriel, and Remiel had found the infant, squalling helplessly upon a crude altar in the jungles of South America. He had felt rage unlike anything he had experienced for thousands of years as he had beheld the zealot who strove to sacrifice the child to the Son of God. Gabriel had lopped the head off the man wielding a knife above the baby’s sternum without a word and scooped the child up in his arms, as Samael turned and laid waste to the cultists who had rushed to defend the man who would sacrifice an infant.

That day was one of the days that Samael, Archangel of Death, would never forget, and he had seen many such days. John, once he had settled into life with Gabriel and Mira, had grown into a quiet, shy, intense child. His intensity had given him a gravitas that made him appear much older than he really was. He had eschewed the companionship of humans his own age, preferring to spend his time with animals, and at school he had spent his free time in the library or helping his biology teachers. He was as introverted as Mira was extroverted and had dark blond hair and hazel eyes.

The two children also resembled Gabriel. Perhaps it was a mark of the Archangel who had raised them as his own that had somehow imprinted itself upon them, but there was a familial resemblance that sometimes made Samael do a double take. Gabriel had adopted children from all over the world over the many centuries of his life, and none of them had resembled him so closely physically as Mira and John.

Now, with Gabriel away training humans in specialized combat for Michael, Samael had taken it upon himself to spend the day with Gabriel’s children. The way they called him “Uncle” never failed to stir his Grace, the light of an angel’s soul, and he treasured every time they used the term with him. While he and Gabriel were not brothers, they were of the Archangel Brotherhood, and Mira and John’s love for him as their uncle was one of the most precious things in Samael’s life.

He toyed with a feather that had dropped from one of his wings, the black plume longer than any of those from a peacock’s tail. Angel wings were more than nine feet long at their fullest stretch, Archangel wings being longer still. Thus, their feathers were longer, finer, and stronger than those of birds.

“Is that from your wing, Uncle Sammy?” John regarded the feather in fascination.

“Yes.” Samael smiled, holding the feather out so they could see it more clearly. There was a deep, rich indigo sheen to the feather, more visible when direct sunlight shone on it. “From time to time, we lose feathers. It is a natural part of our biology.”

“Papa’s wings are like vulture’s wings, he said.” Mira was staring transfixed at the feather. “They’re all black and gray. Are yours like his too?”

“No, child, mine are just black. Save for this,” Samael indicated the sheen of indigo at the edge of the feather with his index finger. Against the darkness of his skin, the blackness of the feather seemed even more intense. “That is the color of my power.”

“Purple?” John looked confused. “Death’s purple?”

Samael laughed heartily at that. “No, dear one. Indigo. Death is shadows and light, death is everywhere, but death is not the end. Indigo is a mood and a color and a shadow. So it is with my power.”

“What about the other Archangels?”

“What about them, Mira?” Samael smiled fondly at her.

“What are their wings like? What color is their power?”

“Ah.” Samael sat back comfortably, idly turning the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “Michael’s power is gold, and his wings are russet, like those of an eagle owl. Gabriel, as you know, has black, white and gray mottled wings, like a vulture, and his power is silver. Raphael’s power and wings are both white, like a dove. Uriel’s wings are a dark gray, like a hawk, and his power is orange, like fire. Mine, as you can see with this feather, are black and my power is indigo. Metatron’s wings are mottled white and pale gray like a goose, and his power is pale blue. Tzadkiel’s wings are spotted and banded black on white, like a peregrine falcon, and his power is copper colored. Remiel’s wings are russet, tan, white and black, like those of a Mandarin duck, and his power is deep green. Haniel, Archangel of Love, has wings that are a soft gray, like the gray dove, and his power is red. And Raziel, our youngest Archangel, has dusky brown and white wings, like the swan goose, and his power is the color of bronze.”

Samael watched the two young people as they digested his words. Mira’s expression was thoughtful as she rested her chin in her hand, propped up on her elbow as she lay on her stomach. John, leaning back against the armchair in the corner of the living room with one of his legs stretched out, the other tucked beneath him, wore a slight frown on his handsome face.

“What troubles you, John?” Samael smiled. “I can see you are thinking hard.”

“Nothing really,” John admitted. “I just… they don’t say any of this stuff in the Bible or any of the other holy books.”

“No,” Samael agreed, “they do not.”

“Why?”

“Because there are things that humans are not meant to know. Consider how many wars have been fought because of religious disagreements. How many more would there be if such things were common knowledge?” Samael shrugged. “It is how things are. We are told that the information that exists about angelkind is enough for humanity to understand and no more and no less.”

“But you and Pops tell us stuff that isn’t in the Bible. Or stuff that’s hinted at,” John pointed out.

“True. We do. But you two are not about to declare war upon a nation, are you?”

John grinned. “No. That sounds like too much mingling with people for me.”

Mira laughed. “You’ll be the mystery man wherever we live, Mr. Solitary with his horses. I feel like I should buy you a cowboy hat or something,” she teased.

John shrugged. “Animals I get. People I don’t.” He was silent for a moment, and then, as Samael tilted his head to one side, John said, “But you’re not brothers, are you, I mean, not like we humans think of brothers, right?”

“No, we are not related in the way that humans define brothers or sisters.” Samael smiled a small smile. “We are of the choir of Archangels, which is best described as being akin to a religious order. You are both aware of there being many religious orders, such as the Brothers of the Christian Schools or the Christian Brotherhood of Ireland or the Little Sisters of the Assumption. The men and women who are part of these orders address each other as brother or sister; thus it is with us. We are, however, much, much older.”

Mira laughed at that. “You don’t look a day over forty, Uncle.”

“Thank you, dearest Mira.” Samael smiled warmly at her. “Does that description help you, John?”

“Yeah, yeah, it does.” John grinned. “I know angels are a totally different species to humans, but the way you describe the different choirs of angels as like different religious orders makes a lot of sense. I was sort of thinking it might be like different countries or something, but you’re all the same race, so that wouldn’t really work as an analogy.”

“Quite so.” Samael nodded. “You are wise, John.”

John flushed. “Not really,” he demurred.

“Uncle, can you explain how angel society works?” Mira canted her head slightly to one side. “Papa tried to explain, but he totally confused me.”

Samael chuckled. “Angels are a species,” he explained. “As you know, we are divided into choirs—what humans would call races as well as religious orders, as I explained previously. Thus, I am of the choir of Archangels. Gabriel commands the choir of Seraphim, who are the warrior legions of Heaven. Michael is the Commander in Chief of all of us, but he is not a ruler; his title is Prince of Heaven, yes, but he does not rule over us. We are ultimately responsible to God Himself.

“The Archangels are ten in number,” he continued, “and there are so few of us compared to the other choirs because we are the most powerful, the strongest, the most feared weapons and tools of Heaven. Even those whom you would consider to be noncombatant: Raphael, the Healer; Remiel, the Merciful; Haniel, the voice of Love. All of us fight when we are commanded to do so, and all of us have a blade and armor. We are the first made, along with Lucifer himself. After us came the other choirs. The Seraphim, Ophanim, Thrones, Dominions, Cherubim and the like. They all answer to us and we to God. Does that explain the structure of society of angelkind?”

Mira nodded slowly. “I think so. It’s like a race that’s governed by a body of ten and you answer to God?”

“Quite so, beloved Mira,” Samael said with a warm smile. He regarded them both thoughtfully and changed the subject to one he thought more important. “How do you both feel about this proposed move of Gabriel’s?”

“Good.” Mira nodded. “No, really, I do. I mean, I like it here, but it’s been really uncomfortable for a few months now. I wish what happened to me hadn’t, but… I can’t say I’m going to miss this place.”

“Same here.” John leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. “Wherever family is and my horses, I’m good.”

“You are good people,” Samael said simply.

“So are you, Uncle.” Mira smiled at him. “Can you tell us a story?”

He chuckled at that. “I see, you flatter me in the hopes of tales of the past!”

“You tell good stories.” The smile broadened into a grin. “You tell us stuff that even the Apocrypha only hints at. It puts things into perspective. Wasn’t that what you said yesterday, John?” She turned to her brother.

“Yeah, I did.” John reached over to ruffle her hair, and she lightly smacked his knee in retaliation. “Ow, brat.”

“Oh hush, you, I didn’t hurt you.” Mira rolled her eyes theatrically, and John laughed. She turned back to Samael. “So, will you please tell us a story?”

“A story, then. What sort of a story?”

“From the early days,” John said instantly.

“On Earth,” Mira added.

“The early days on Earth.” Samael pondered it and smiled slightly. “As you wish.”

As Mira and John got comfortable on the floor, Samael began to speak.

“When the Earth was newly made, there were three races of beings. There were the angels, the demons, and the monsters. There were no humans then, not yet, for God had decided to send us down to ensure that His creation was safe and would be welcoming when humanity began to walk the Earth. The Earth was young and beautiful, and her seas were a rich, lustrous blue, her lands green and lush.

“The demons sought dominion, and they went forth, born as they were out of the first moments of Lucifer’s rage after his Fall. The Fallen Ones, angels who had followed him to Hell, remained at his side, and these newly made demons swarmed up out of their natural realm and onto the Earth.

“They strove at first to draw the monsters to their banner—they wheedled, they promised, they cajoled. And when their entreaties did not work, they used more foul means, but still the monsters remained firm and would not be drawn into their conflict. The monsters, what humanity calls such creatures as vampires, werewolves, shape shifters, djinn, faeries, dryads, naiads—all of these creatures and more—were born out of God’s regret, born out of His tears as Michael threw Lucifer down into Gehenna. They were—are—God’s children, even as we all are.

“One night, a werewolf by the name of Aiyah sought out Michael. She was weary and mortally wounded when she found him in council with the rest of us, but she survived long enough to tell us what the demons were doing. They were torturing the monsters, who sought only to survive and embrace the world made by God in peaceful existence, into doing their bidding. And by doing so, they were driving some of the clans of the monsters insane.

“She died in Michael’s arms, and he wept, for she was a valiant and steadfast friend to us all, and then he took up his blade, which shone with the golden light of his power. ‘Archangels,’ he said, ‘we must go forth and punish these iniquities so they know their place. They must not overrun this planet; they must not take control or break the balance that God wishes us to maintain’.

“We rose with him and we went out and we made war. Dreadful, terrible war, the first war outside of Heaven. This war was long and brutal, and it drew out those gifts we were made with when God first created us out of His thought. Gabriel, the General; Raphael, the Healer; Uriel, the Guardian; Michael, the Commander in Chief.

“It was sixty years into the war as you now measure time, and Gabriel went to Raziel and Uriel and commanded them to build a place of safety. For, he said, our forces were being injured, and we were not omniscient. Raphael and Remiel would need a secure place to practice their arts of healing and mercy, and the monsters who fought beside us and the Seraphim, Gabriel’s warrior angels, would need a place to rest in between battles. And so Raziel and Uriel went from the plain where battle raged and found a valley, a rich, beautiful valley, verdant and green with plant life, and there, too, were the first animals: unicorns and dragons, saber cats and mammoths. There was water—a crystal clear river that mankind later named the Euphrates, and there were flowers, wheat, fruit and vegetable plants and great, leafy trees stretching as far as the valley went.

“Together, Raziel and Uriel built a wall, a great, high wall, one hundred and forty feet high and sixty foot thick surrounding this beautiful valley. They created a gate out of Celestial steel and covered the stones of the wall with their power, protecting and reinforcing it. And then, within the boundaries of the wall, they built a city, a city the likes of which no human has seen since they were evicted from it by the command of God.

“Eden, Raziel named it, with its spiraling towers that almost touched the sky, its broad promenades and buildings with many windows to let in the light and air. Eden, which in the old language of angelkind means sanctuary. And Uriel left the city to gather up the wounded and Raphael and Remiel, who were caring for them all, and bring everyone there so that the injured might recover and heal.

“And Michael and Gabriel came with them, and Michael wept tears that became glass as soon as they touched the sand of the desert that lay for miles outside the borders of Eden, glass that was stronger than any glass that has been created since. Such glass can still be found in places in the Sahara and the Gobi. His tears were of relief and of joy, for he knew that God’s plan was truly working as it should be and progressing as it had been foretold, for Eden had been a concept that he had long discussed with God before there was such a thing as Time.”

“This is better than any movie,” Mira said softly as Samael paused to take a breath.

“No kidding,” John agreed.

The two of them fell silent as Samael took up the story once more. “God looked down on the workings of Raziel and Uriel and the destruction and carnage caused by the war fought by our kind, and He decided to end it. The demons were banished again to Hell, bound there by spells and sigils and wards that some foolish beings have tried to use to their own ends, raising demons for their own selfish purposes. He blessed those of the monsters who had fought with us and gave them lands and places wherein they could prosper. And then He blessed Eden and called it the Cradle of Civilization.

“There was a great, blinding light then, and we all shielded our eyes against it, for even though our true forms are bright light and energy, the light of God is brighter still. When it faded, we saw there in the city of Eden, you. Humans. God’s voice was heard then as He issued us our first commandment in that place.

“‘Thou, my beloved children, angels and Archangels, will guide, nurture, and protect these humans. Thou wilt serve them as thou serve Me, for such is My will, and the rewards shall be great.’

“There was great rejoicing, and Michael sent those of the Host who were not Archangel back to Heaven, leaving the ten Archangels of God to walk the Earth and serve. And the rewards were great and continue to be great, yes, even after the expulsion from Eden. For that, too, was a necessity, and it was intended to be a blessing in the long run and not a curse.”

Samael fell silent then and watched Mira and John who were gazing at him with expressions of open awe on their faces.

“Wow,” John said finally. “I’ve never heard that story before.”

“It has not been told since Adam was the Prince of the Garden,” Samael said reflectively. “He was a modest soul and his wife also.”

“Who told it?” Mira asked.

“Tzadkiel sometimes, Metatron other times.” Samael’s voice was soft. “Uriel, Michael, Gabriel, and I patrolled the walls of the city and kept guard. Raziel wrote a guide for Adam, a book of secrets and mysteries. Raphael made sure there was no unhealed sickness or injuries, Haniel arranged marriages.”

“Where did the Grigori come into it, then?” John asked.

“Long after those warm, peaceful days.” Samael sighed sadly. “They came, they watched as they were commanded. And then Ishtahar was born. When she was sixteen, she was made to be high priestess of Semjaza, for she was born at a certain time when the stars and moon were in a certain place in the sky, and so it was her destiny.”

“The one they call the Mother of Nephilim?” Mira’s eyes had grown large. “Because wasn’t Lilith the first wife of Adam and she went off and had giants as children?”

“Quite so, beloved Mira. The stories and histories gloss over the pain that Ishtahar endured in her role as high priestess and unwilling wife to an angel, but Semjaza was smitten with her, and he had to have her.” Samael shook his head sadly. “He was always selfish. He broke the laws of God—angels must not marry humans or breed with them—and so he was punished by Gabriel and locked into the constellation of Aquila. The other Grigori who believed as Semjaza did were thrown down into Hell and imprisoned there by Michael. It was just. Ishtahar was a quiet, shy, beautiful girl, she was intelligent and kind and compassionate, and she did not deserve the agonies he forced upon her.”

“Ishtahar… wait, isn’t she Uncle Remi’s girlfriend?” John frowned in confusion. “If the Grigori were punished, then how can they be together?”

Samael chuckled. “We—angelkind—are barren. We cannot procreate. We cannot breed, God saw to that after the Grigori were punished. We can, however, love, and so we do. We do not marry for that is not our way—that is a human ritual. We have our own rituals for lasting relationships. Generally, we do not take long-term partners that are human. It is… painful to do so. We live forever and humans do not, and the death of loved ones who are mortal is painful. Ishtahar, for her part, was punished with immortality, made to wander the world forever and made barren. Harsh, perhaps, but she has turned what was seen as a punishment into a blessing and done much with her extended life. She and Remiel are well suited to each other, and he adores her. God approved the match—neither can have children now and both are immortal. She is no longer truly human by virtue of her immortality.”

Mira’s face screwed up in thought as she turned that around in her head. “It sounds complicated,” she said finally.

“These things are often thought to be so,” Samael agreed. “Yet they are actually very simple. However, it is the simple things that are complex because of their simplicity.”

Mira blinked several times. “What? You totally lost me, Uncle!”

John laughed. “He lost me around Albuquerque, Mir. About all I got out of that was that angels don’t marry or have natural-born kids and Ishtahar’s immortal and no longer human.”

“That is correct.” Samael smiled a small smile. “In sum, that is correct.”

“You couldn’t just say that?” Mira asked.

“I could, but then it would have less impact, would it not?”

“Are you sure you weren’t a school teacher as well as an Archangel?” Mira teased, and Samael laughed loudly.

“No, dear child, not I. I am feared because I am Death. It is you and your brother, and your father, who welcome me most, who do not fear me. And so, I tell you these things so that you understand and appreciate what it is we all do.”

Mira got to her feet and moved to the sofa, sitting beside Samael and hugging him. It was an awkward hug, but Samael didn’t appreciate it any less as he hugged her in return.

“So angels don’t marry,” John mused, “then what do you do when you’re in lasting relationships, as you put it?”

“We bond.”

“Bond?”

“Yes.”

“And that means…?”

Samael smiled. “That is a story for another day. You two need rest, for the hour is growing late. I will tell Gabriel that you are both excited for the move to Deep Bay.”

“Fine.” John sighed with great exaggeration as he got to his feet. “But you should rest too, Uncle Sammy, okay?”

“Okay,” Samael said with a grin. “I will.”

“Good.” John gave him a quick hug and left the room.

Mira stretched up to kiss Samael’s cheek. “Thank you for telling us the story,” she said softly. “It was amazing.”

As she stood up, Samael held out the feather to her. “Here, child. For you.”

Wide-eyed, Mira took it. “Really?”

“Really.” Samael smiled. “Take it as my gift to you and sleep well.”

Mira’s fingers closed around the feather, and she nodded hard. “Thank you,” she said. “Good night, Uncle Sammy.”

“Good night, child.”

Samael sat back as she left the room, turning off the lamps with a thought, and reflected on the wonders of humanity as he waited for Gabriel to return home.

Written in the Stars release day – farewell

April 2, 2012

Thank you to everyone for all the interaction regarding the horoscopes.  I’ll check back tomorrow to reply to any comments I’ve missed, but it’s cold and gloomy and dark, and a hot bath is calling to me.

I totally spaced on the contest, so I’ll have one during Saturday’s Meet the Author gig – sorry about that.  I promise to be less scatterbrained then – after all, Mercury goes direct on Wednesday.  *g*

-Alix

Written in the Stars release day – recipe

April 2, 2012

And we have a winner for the recipe choice (I might be posting a few of the others at my blog this month, just because I can’t resist sharing good food).

Here’s how to make Bailey and John’s favorite burgers, which they get to indulge in at the bar by Spark’s office.

Hamburgers of Decadence

Ground beef – see notes below
1-ounce fresh mozzarella per burger
Potato buns
Mayonnaise
Salt, pepper
Napkins

Each patty should be about 1/3rd of a pound of 5-51/2 ounces or raw ground beef. Chuck/sirloin is a good mix – don’t be afraid to get the one with a bit of fat. Less fat means dry burgers, so go at least 80 percent.

Slice the cheese into thick rounds, about 2 inches in diameter. Let the beef start coming to room temperature.

Form the patties around a slice of the cheese. Shape them so they are about the same size as the the bun, as they will shrink during cooking. Make sure the cheese is covered entirely, just a little bomb of gooey goodness on the inside. (If you don’t like mozzarella, any softish cheese will do. If you use a hard cheese like cheddar, grate it first so it will melt thoroughly, then wodge into a ball.)

Heat a cast iron skillet on the stove for at least 2-3 minutes before you put the patties on it. (No grease! But you can rub the skillet once with an oiled bit of paper towel if you need to, before it gets hot.) Cook approx 4 minutes over medium-high heat on each side, flipping only once, for medium-rare burgers.

While the burgers are cooking, lightly toast/warm the buns in the oven, just until they get a tiny bit firm but not actually toasted (i.e., not dried out). Let the buns cool for a minute, then spread both sides with mayonnaise. (No ketchup! Trust me and try it like this at least once, with nothing masking the glorious flavors of the beef and cheese.)

Slide the patty immediately onto the bun, top with a pinch of coarse salt and a grind or two of black pepper. Eat and moan. Yes, it will be messy. Juices will drip down your forearms. You will feel like the finest of carnivores, belly full, senses delighted, and wishing you had room for a second…

Written in the Stars release day – excerpt

April 2, 2012

Since the conversation in response to the horoscopes has indicated some interest in Bailey’s approach to writing them – complete with brow-beating and hair-pulling (his own, as well as John’s) – I thought this would be a good little tidbit to share…

(For more context, check out the first chapter, on the DSP website: here.)

****

SOME weeks Bailey did all of the math, rather than just running the numbers through the horoscope program he’d written, just to see. He couldn’t find any causation, despite the patterns. It was aggravating, like being a psychic who didn’t believe in the paranormal, despite every prediction coming true. The accuracy of his astrology predictions simply defied any rational understanding of the world; therefore, there must something he was overlooking that would explain it.

His frequent rants at the bar after work with John were now met with beer and hand-waving literary references. Last time John had said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Bailey, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Bailey had snorted at him. “Nonsense. If I can’t understand it, it’s because it doesn’t exist. I will figure this out. I am a genius, not superstitious New Ager, remember? Nor some ignorant playwright barely out of the Dark Ages.”

So today was one of those days. He was caught up on the factchecking for all of his coworkers, had written the next two scathing reviews of his colleagues’ mistakes at CERN and at the proposed Neutrino Factory, where they were about to repeat the same mistakes in a brand-new location. His office-slash-lab at home was feeling small and cramped, and his string theory project was going nowhere. Now it was Monday and Bailey was scribbling algorithms on the whiteboard next to his desk, filling it with as many variables as he could, guzzling coffee and calculating the angle of entrance of various astronomical bodies into certain areas of the sky. Also mentally composing an epic rant at whomever (the Greeks?) had looked at six stars and suddenly seen a crab. Apparently the wine in ancient Greece had been fairly strong.

“How’s it going?” John asked, taking a marker out of Bailey’s hand and replacing it with a muffin.

Bailey obligingly crammed about a third of it into his mouth and chewed, realizing some of his irritability and shakes might be the result of a gallon of coffee on an empty stomach. “Romance is rocky for Aquarius this week.”

“Sucks to be them.” John shrugged.

Bailey made a face. “I’m an Aquarius. But then, I don’t believe in this crap.” He scowled at his equations as if the numbers were taunting him, personally.

“Lauren wants to talk to you.”

“And you’re her errand boy?” John shrugged again, and Bailey was momentarily distracted by the strange expressiveness of John’s body language. His shoulders and eyebrows could communicate everything from mild disinterest to a full assessment of the cost/benefits of a proposed plan of action, in detail.

“She pointed out that you didn’t seem to have eaten anything, and you growled at Simpson when she tried to get some coffee earlier. So I thought I’d let you have my muffin,” John said with a suggestive brow wiggle, as if Bailey wouldn’t have gotten the innuendo.

“Hm, thanks,” he said, then turned and stalked over to Lauren’s desk, John trailing behind him like a puppy. “What?” he asked her.

Lauren grinned. “Your Tuesday date wants to move it up to tonight. I told him you weren’t busy and that was fine.”

“What? It’s a Monday. You can’t have a date on Monday night.”  He looked at John for confirmation and got a shrug and nod combination in response. “See? No, that’s weird. Monday nights are for whining about a new workweek and drinking too much beer, watching stupid sports, and trying to catch up on the sleep you missed over the weekend from social events and whatnot.”

“You had social events and ‘whatnot’ over the weekend? So much that you didn’t get enough sleep? Sure, pull the other one, McMillan,” Lauren said, snorting.

Bailey scowled at her. He’d been up until dawn on Sunday, but she didn’t need to know he had been watching a Doctor Who marathon with his cat. “Fine,” he huffed. “But I can already tell this one isn’t going to go very well.”

Written in the Stars release day – Welcome & Horoscopes

April 2, 2012

Good morning everyone!  (Yes, it’s still morning on the West coast.)  I’m Alix Bekins and today I’m here blogging about my wacky story, “Written in the Stars.”

More info about the book is here at the website.

I’ll be posting some excerpts, a recipe (poll is still open here – my characters eat a lot, and I’m an indecisive Libra), etc.

More interactively, Bailey (my main character) is going to be sharing his first and very petulant attempts at writing horoscopes.  A bit of background – Bailey is a genius physicist who now works for a science magazine, which has recently decided to include a monthly horoscope page to increase readership.  He totally disapproves of this, thinks astrology is a crime against science, and is only doing it because his boss (and good friend), John, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Here’s what you do – tell me your sign in a comment below, and I’ll post Bailey’s prediction for your month, as well as John’s editorial comments/corrections/please to take this more seriously.

Drop on by and play!

Experimental Repeatability

March 14, 2012

Experimental Repeatability by Elinor Gray

Luke is in love with his best friend, Eric, and always has been. When he and Eric get drunk on the last night of exam week and Eric suggests he sleep over rather than walk home, Luke takes him up on it even though he’s convinced Eric doesn’t return his feelings. But when their tipsy pillow-talk turns steamy, Eric is horny and Luke just can’t resist. The next morning Luke is mortified, certain he’s ruined their friendship, but Eric isn’t about to let him get away without facing the consequences.

Buy in eBook
Genre: contemporary
Length: Short story

Stroke! by M.J. O’Shea

February 29, 2012

Stroke! by M.J. O’Shea

For Owen Peters, rowing is life–college classes are just an afterthought. So when Elijah Lukas, a hotshot sophomore, tries to take Owen’s rightful place on the varsity boat, he’s threatened, enraged, and needs a place to let off steam. The only person Owen can turn to is his online friend Davis, who he was randomly matched with on a game nearly a year before.
Davis is friendly, nonthreatening, and best of all he’s on the other side of the country and far removed from the politics of the crew team. Soon, though, Owen starts to feel more for his flirtatious online pal than simple friendship. Between the battle on the water and an impossible new crush, Owen is starting to wonder how he’ll make it through the school year.

Buy in eBook
Genre: Contemporary
Length: Short story