It Was Always Love-Repost from 4-24-16

I wrote this post for the first time in 2016, shortly after Prince died. It’s still my story. I still feel every word. And I still miss him.

It was always love.

***********

I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.

My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.

My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I listened.

1979

Thank you for a funky time, call me  up...

On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.

1984

Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong

The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember  buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that fat short rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it.

The third time, as they say, was the charm.

1987

In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss

I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband and lived with my mother. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.

Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying.  Elevator dreams were worse.

I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and academic awards (evidence of my hyper-vigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.

Any time I was alone with my thoughts I thought about dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I really wanted to go, but not alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. He did.

October 1988

Do you want him, or do you want me?

We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off of him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him. But it was the truth.

The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.

1991

I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone

I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seenpictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did.  Miraculously, the first person I connected with became my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.

Present day

Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you

My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we've fallen from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again.

I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthdays, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of our milestones are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence. (We're still trying to figure out how to put the Shower Poster in the bathroom.)

My friends and I are asking questions of ourselves and each other. Where do we go from  here? Who will we be, if not Prince Fans? How will it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?

The only answer is that his music is a part of us. It's in our cells and are the songs in the background of everything. Our experiences with him and because of him live on.

• Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because we thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.

• Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.

• Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former club.

• Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I've attended.

• Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".

• Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.

• Meeting our pen pals. (LOVE YOU ALL)

• Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people we've ever met.

Never say the words "They're gone"

The world is off its axis. I already miss him. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I'm not ready to watch all of the tributes. I can't even listen to his songs without overwhelming sadness. But I'm ready, finally, to say a few things to him.

Dearest Prince,

I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched (saved) my life and for all of the people that are in it because of you. I'm thankful for your music which fuels my soul. 

There was no way you could have known, but it was always love. I've been blessed to have shared the planet with you.

I wish you heaven. 

House of the Rising Son #MFRWhooks

Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander's future is all set: finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry. Keeping the peace is his priority. Until he meets Cheyenne.

If secrets are kept, they can never be together. If their secrets are exposed, chaos will reign in both families.

Either way, life will never be the same.

House of the Rising Son is the first book in the LGBTQIA+ urban fantasy series Living After Midnight.  Warning: This book features quirky supernatural creatures, a Thanksgiving dinner that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus that will rock your world.

Hook:

Were-tigers were not the inconspicuous type. If they were in the club, those assholes would be right in front.

From center stage, Cheyenne looked through the dark hair hanging over his eyes. He searched the rock crowd for the hostile faces of his father’s henchmen. So far, so good. No Were-tigers in sight. Instead, he saw tears trickling down the cheeks of women, and men holding cold bottles of beer against their foreheads.

His band jammed in the background, each member a talented musician, but the fans watched only him. They screamed and begged him for a sign of favor—a glance, a smile. He bit his lower lip, concealing a satisfied grin. He could ask them for all their worldly possessions, and they wouldn’t hesitate to oblige. But he wanted nothing except their lust, which fed him, and that was already his.

“I know what you want.” He moved his hands across his body, pushing up his black T-shirt to reveal a glimpse of stomach—and the promise of more. He teased, “I said I know what you want!” The crowd roared.

Cheyenne let his desire seep into his green eyes. “But you can’t have it.” The room exploded with cheers and applause.

He brought his palms together in front of his chest and bowed his head in mock humility as he savored the sweet, creamy taste of his fans’ longing. He rewarded them with a carnal, hungry gaze, then picked up his white Stratocaster. Fuck being an incubus, he thought. I’m a rock star.

Get House of the Rising Son here:

https://books.apple.com/us/book/house-of-the-rising-son/id6445258059

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/house-of-the-rising-son-trevann-rogers/1122604899

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/house-of-the-rising-son-3

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XPZX3G5

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/trevann-rogers

Adriana Kraft's Ripening Passion (Series: Passion Series, Book Two)

Title: Ripening Passion

Series: Passion Series, Book Two

Can Max melt the Ice Queen? Should he even try?

Claire Johnson’s dedication to sex—the cornerstone of her career—led her to help found the Center for Sexuality and Sex Practices. Now in her fifties, she knows the Center must keep pace with the rapidly growing Baby Boomer market, so she agrees to go back on camera for a series on sex and aging. But work with her nemesis?

Former English Professor Max Wilson has championed the cause of the Center ever since his now deceased wife sought the Center’s help to rekindle the nearly extinguished sexual flames of their relationship. He loves working on camera and welcomes the challenge to perform with the svelte but icy temptress.

Sparks fly immediately on and off camera. The jury is out on whether either Max or Claire can transform those sparks into a fire of sexual desire for their viewers—let alone for each other.

EXCERPT

Max glanced up at her. “Do you always eat like a bird?

Claire didn’t crack a smile. She used her fork to separate another flake of her tuna niçoise. Deliberately, she snagged a small bite and lifted it to her mouth. She glanced around the early dinner crowd and chewed thoroughly, wondering briefly how many patrons were meeting for business and how many were meeting with other thoughts on their minds. She smiled at two women at a nearby table holding hands while sharing a flambeed flan.

Claire looked back at Max. “If you approve of this body as much as you claim, then you’d better appreciate how I eat. I’m not telling you what to eat.”

“I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I wasn’t putting you down. It’s just that I’ve never known anyone so disciplined about eating.”

“I enjoy my food. I just avoid sugars and saturated fats as much as possible.”

“You rarely eat dessert.”

“Perhaps I prefer a different sort of dessert.” She slid her bare foot up the inside of his leg.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK (BUY LINK)

https://books2read.com/u/4D82BP

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 Adriana Kraft is the pen name for a married pair of retired professors writing erotic romance and erotic romantic suspense together. We like to think we’ve broken the mold for staid, fusty academics, and we hope lots of former profs are enjoying life as much as we are.

Having lived in many states across the Midwest, we now make our home in southern Arizona, where we enjoy hiking, golf, and travel, especially to the many Arizona Native American historical sites.

Together we have published more than fifty romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. Whether readers open our romantic suspense or our erotic romance, they can expect characters they care about, hot sex scenes, and a compelling story.

AUTHOR LINKS

Blog: https://www.adrianakraft.com/blog

Newsletter: Get your free copy of Swingers Light Up Vegas for Newsletter signups:

https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/d1c82f5e-9b43-11ed-8c5e-b712215e57d9

Twitter https://twitter.com/AdrianaKraft

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/adriana.kraft.5

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/adrianakraft

GoodReads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1578571.Adriana_Kraft

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/kraftadriana/

MeWe https://mewe.com/i/adriana1kraft

Mastadon @AdrianaKraft@mastodon.otherworldsink.com 

Perseverance

Have you ever worked on something for so long you started to believe you’d never finish it? Or had a goal that seemed so out of reach you almost gave up?

I have. It’s been so hard. Suffice to say it was a huge challenge to be focused enough to be productive. And you know what happens—When you have less focus, the longer the task takes. The longer it takes, the less you want to keep going.

I wanted to quit. In fact, I almost walked away. Then I remembered my goal and why I wanted to accomplish it. I started again.

I made a reasonable timeline, and didn’t give up.

I finished. Oh. One more thing.

Ta daaaa!

Love is all we need…And books, of course.

In celebration of Pride Month, here is a selection of books, many with LGBT themes and/or protagonists. Let's let June 2023 be a reminder that we all deserve affirmation and the right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. Love, afterall, is love, isn't it?

The Business of Writing

I’ve been a writer for a long time. It started with journaling, then publishing and writing for a free, underground fanfic newsletter called Hot Chocolate. For me, writing has always been a necessary joy. Stories roll around in my head all the time and sometimes, they consume me. The result? House of the Rising Son, After Midnight, and the soon to be released, Waiting for the Son, and every short story I’ve ever written.

In looking to have House published, I discovered an unfortunate truth: Writing is a business.

Of course, I knew selling was part of it. I didn’t know the first of that selling was selling the story to a publisher. Most people think that publishers do everything. They sure do a lot, but most publishers don’t help much with marketing. But for a writer, marketing is Job #: Planning, Promotion, Social Media, and more.1. I had a lot of learning to do. At this point, I spend 5-10 hours a week on one marketing activity or another. I’m getting pretty good at some of them. Still don’t like marketing much.

I’m currently planning the launch of my 3rd novel, Waiting for the Son. I’m also working on a new short story, plotting the next book in the Living After Midnight series, and plotting another series. It’s too early to say to much about it except that the working title is Six +1. Look for it in the next year!

Onward. I have a launch to organize.

Universal Letter Writing Week: January 8-14

Communicating is an interesting endeavor. There are a number of different media you can use: written, personally addressed; written to a general audience; face-to-face in person; video technology; audio technology; email; texts/instant message. I often teach about communication, explaining that each one of these mediums has benefits and challenges. Face to face communication is objectively the richest. Think of all the information that is conveyed through not only words, but tone of voice, cadence, inflection, facial expression, gestures, etc. Text is the worse, and maybe I’ll talk about that sometime. But for now, I want to talk about what I consider to be the next best medium—the handwritten letter.

I love writing letters. As an adult, I had a whole host of penpals around the world that I met through a fanclub. We wrote for many years. Some of them grew to be very close friends that I'm still in touch with. I have even met a handful. That was a cool experience, hanging with someone you haven’t met before, but knowing them intimately. One of them became my partner. 

I hardly get letters anymore. I miss it. Every letter feels like a gift. Think about it. Someone took the time to pick the right stationery or cards, the right pen. and then give you a little piece of themselves through their handwriting. Here’s a fun fact about me: If I never buy another piece of stationery and notecards, I am sure I have enough to last the rest of my lift—and share some, too. I think the end of letter writing caught me by surprise.

You might not want to acknowledge this, but email killed the handwritten letter--or at least critically injured it. Even my long-term penpals have opted for the immediate gratification of texts, the convenience of email, or worse-->social media. Consequently, letter writing is a lost art. And now they aren't teaching cursive? I could type a whole email about that. 

I hope we can one day return to the age of the letter. I think people will get tired of emails and texts. They don’t replace the personal connection that you’d get with a handwritten note. Here’s a challenge: If it’s been a while for you—or if you’ve never done it, write someone a letter. It can be brief or long, funny or serious. It doesn’t matter. Whoever you gift a letter to will appreciate it tremendously, and it will make them feel treasured.

You might be thinking that my vision of a return to letter writing is just a pipedream. Ah, well. At least we haven't stopped writing stories.

Take the challenge and let me know what happens!

Titles I Wish I Could Use

I often come up with titles that, once I give some thought, I realize I should probably not use them.

The original titles for two books in my Living After Midnight series are great examples.

Slippery in the Middle

Fruit on the Bottom

Okay, I may still use Slippery. I love that title! But I’m well aware of the problems with Fruit on the bottom.

Here are some of my other ideas in the recycle pile:

Cheese Squirting Out

Chicken Noodle Loop

Desire, Deceit, and Destruction

What’s the worst title you ever thought of? Or have ever seen on a book?

Welcome to Solange DewBerry, Guest Author!

It’s my pleasure to welcome Solange to Living After Midnight. We’re in the same writing/critique group, so I’ve read a great deal of her work and I am here to tell you—she rocks.

---

Thanks, Trevann, for the invitation to guest blog today.

So… I have a Fairy Godmother addiction and I’m not ashamed to admit it. There. I said it and I’m not taking it back.

In fact, I’m especially partial to well-meaning, slightly dotty, dear old things who misplace their magic wands in their lingerie drawers, and whose eyes sparkle every now and then when they’re on the verge of concocting the Perfect Romance for one of their charges and can’t quite contain their excitement (or their charms).

As my favorite Fairy Godmother has said countless times, ‘please allow me to introduce myself.’ I write as Solange DewBerry, and I’ve been at this for more than fifteen years. I first dreamed of writing romantic fiction when I was a tweenie and read my first bodice ripper. Literally, they ripped bodices back in those early days of romance writing. Now I know better, given that most corsets at the time were made from buckram and whalebone, and whoever deigned to do the ripping would end up with bloody hands. But I ramble on, a bit like my Fairy Godmother.

As an adult, I started writing straight up contemporary romance, but quickly grew bored retelling the same old story dressed up in new clothes. I needed something new. Not westerns, not regency, not medieval or the myriad of romantic genres. I’ve never been one for shifter drama, and for a while it seemed as if everyone was writing about vampires. Nope, not for me. Then there was urban fantasy. I like to read it but not write it. Aliens looking for human women to fill their harems, nuh-uh. Demons—well, not exactly my thing, but more on that in a moment. Evil pixies… maybe someday. Then one day, it was as if a magical being whispered in my ear: ‘what about us Fairy Godmothers, Dear Girl, don’t we deserve our turn?’ And thus Mrs. Florence Electra McGillicuddy, Order of Cinderella, Level 6, Emeritus, was, for lack of a better term, born.

To best describe her, I’d say Mrs. McG (as she likes to be called) is a cross between Mrs. Doubtfire, Aunt Bea, and Flora, Fauna and Merryweather, with maybe a bit of Amelia Peabody thrown in. She wears floral frocks with lace collars, half-moon glasses, and sensible shoes with sup hose. And when she goes calling, be it next door or to the next state, she always wears a hat with a bit of netting, and white gloves. She prides herself on her PHEAs—her Particularly Happily Ever Afters.

To her dismay, Mrs. McG, was after several hundred years and many thousand successfully executed romances, summarily retired from FaGoMA, the Fairy Godmother Guild, for being rather too radical and rambunctious for the normally staid association. As a consolation prize, they gifted her an old Queen Anne Mansion, hoping to keep her tucked out of the way and out of trouble. But retirement can’t keep the Old Girl Down, and she is now Proprietress of One-Nineteen Chestnut Street, a home for Deserving Young Women of Reduced Means (when speaking she tends to Emphasize some words more than others)…a renegade to the end. Which of course means she can now concentrate on creating PHEAs for her boarders, whether they want her to or not, and without the pesky oversight of The Guild.

I’ve published several short stories featuring Mrs. McG over the past three years and have perhaps a half dozen full-length manuscripts of her matchmaking tales which I hope to introduce to the world. The first of these is now available on Amazon: Dream a Little Dream of Me at One-Nineteen Chestnut Street (for Kindle. Here is the paperback link).

Dream a Little Dream Of Me.

This is the story of Poppy Jones, an orphan without family, struggling to make it in the big city. She’s a photographer who is searching for an elusive fountain in one of the city’s many parks. Poppy isn’t sure it’s real or if she might have once dreamt it. Poppy knows nothing about her own history. Her foster mother always had promised to tell her, but died before she revealed Poppy’s secret. Now, her foster mother left Poppy the worn-out house that sheltered innumerable children over the years. Poppy is cleaning it out to sell it but comes across more than one hidden surprise as she does.

Enter Hank Klein. Hank is a gymnast who competed in the Olympics and won Silver. He’s come back to the city, where his ailing mother lives. She’s asked him to look into a twenty-year old mystery: one of her students was murdered, and her toddler daughter went missing. Hank is trying to puzzle his way through that, and to put together a future for himself, when he quite literally runs into Poppy and breaks her camera lens. Not only that, but he swears Poppy is the woman who has been showing up in his dreams. He is immediately taken with her.

Romance, a few laughs, a couple of charms, and some sexy times ensue. The good times end when the Demon shows up and ruins everything. He not only demands Poppy turn the old house over to him, but he wants Poppy as well, and hints at a few peculiarities in Poppy’s family tree. Not only that, but Mrs. McG discovers Poppy is protected with layer upon layer of tattered but very powerful protective charms. The question becomes, are they protecting Poppy, or protecting the world from her?

Please join Poppy and Hank, along with Mrs. McG doing her well-meaning best to find romance for her favorite border, but it seems all her well-established charms are going haywire around ‘The Dear Girl.’

And if you love it, please leave me a fabulous review on Amazon.

Here are other titles by Solange, all available on Amazon. Mrs. McG makes a guest appearance in a few of them:

The Conrad Brothers:

You’re the One for Me: Berry Samuels, writing romance novels under the nom de plume Solange DewBerry, meets Maurice ‘Moe’ Conrad, contractor and all around great guy. Berry has this peculiar ability to bring her written characters into the world, including her first published hero and heroine, rancher Brad and fashion model Trista, as well as Privateer Captain Conrad and the sultry Svetlana. Unfortunately, Trista takes a liking to Moe instead of her love interest. Moe hasn’t a clue what to do when this gorgeous, larger than life blond goes after him. Berry brings the whole crew to life to get things straightened out.

Waitress in a Doughnut Shop: Jenny Ellsworth works in a coffeeshop. It’s the only life she’s ever wanted and things are great, except for one thing. Or perhaps two. The man she loves from afar: architect Joey Conrad. Joey can’t seem to say no, or break up with his annoying girlfriend until one foggy day. And then Jenny’s childhood best friend, Karma, comes to town. Or does she? Jenny can’t remember her at all. Everyone who knows about Berry’s secret ability swears Karma is one of her characters, but she swears that’s not so. There’s a mystery here even writer Berry can’t figure out, but she’s determined that Joey and Jenny will get their Happily Ever After.

Meetings in Moonlight: Ana is an ethereal beauty in Berry’s romance novel-in-progress. The writing isn’t going well. For some reason, all the words Berry write somehow get changed overnight, and not for the better. Middle brother Pete Conrad read the drafts and doesn’t care that Ana’s not real. He’s in love with her, and will do anything to be with her, including jumping into Berry’s computer so they can be together. After all, Ana’s love interest is a total bore and all wrong for her. Berry’s abilities to bring her characters into the world don’t include actually making them human. Will Berry spend the rest of her life writing scenes for the two of them? How in the world can true love prevail?

First We Kiss: Rhea Hansen-Chalmbers is tiptoeing through life and her work in her mother’s law practice, trying to maintain emotional neutrality. It’s imperative she do so, for terrible things happen when the applecart is upset—like knives flying through the air, or every dish in her cupboard dancing a conga-line before smashing themselves on the floor. Or hurting those she loves. Woodworker Paul Conrad, recovering from a car crash, has loved Rhea from afar, not knowing why she suddenly dropped him as a friend all those years ago. He’s about to find out. He’s asked Berry to stay out of the way of his romance but she can’t seem to help herself. When Paul discovers Rhea’s secret, will he run, or will he stay?

No One Else Will Do: Priya Kumar is doing her best to run the family Laundromat/bar, trying to stay out of sight of the man who loves her, lest he discover her secret. He wouldn’t be the first man to run when he learns she can read minds, and she doesn’t think she could bear to have it happen again. There’s also the fact her younger brother is determined to undermine the family business. Contractor and musician Sammy Conrad, youngest of the Conrad brothers, has loved Priya from afar from the first time he brought his lucky red drawers into her establishment. Is he brave enough to love her and save her from her fate?

The Soundtrack of My Writing

Everything I write evokes a mood, and that mood requires songs. There are also certain songs that elicit a feeling about a character, or perfectly describe the relationship the characters have with each other.

Sometimes, I listen to music when i write. At other times, my writing compels me to listen to music. For instance, if I’m stuck, I’ll listen to a song that I think represents what my character is going through and gain inspiration.

The playlist for my upcoming release, Waiting on the Son, is a little bit of all of those things. Waiting for the Sun, a song by The Doors, speaks to the feeling of being on the precipice of something wonderful. Drive by Incubus talks about the fear of taking charge of one’s life—an ongoing glitch in Cheyenne’s psyche. Stay Alive is Zander’s plea to Cheyenne as he embarks on his quest.

I invite you to check out the Waiting on the Son playlist. Let me know what you think!

Combining Imagination with Mythology

Writing is hard.

But it’s a bit easier, in my opinion, when you write about what you like. I like music. I like fantasy creatures. Sure, there is a special place in my heart for sexy vampires, confident Weres, witches and wizards. As a teen, I fell in love with so many of them and immersed myself in their stories. But as I grew up, I wanted more.

Writing is a way of creating the world as I want it to be. All of my stories are connected to Unakite City. In this fictional urban setting, creatures live side by side with humans, “among them but unknown to them”, as one of my characters bellows (repeatedly). There are the usual urban fantasy cast of characters, but also less common creatures. The star, Cheyenne, is an incubus. His best friend is a huldra and his accountant is a dragon. And now there is Malik.

Malik is a character who is introduced in Waiting on the Son, the soon-to-be-released, long awaited sequel to House of the Rising Son. He is based on the caladrius that appears in Roman mythology. According to the legend, this small bird is often referred to as a harbinger of either hopelessness or hope. The caladrius can sense if you are going to live or die. He also has the power to heal you. For this reason, they often served royalty.

Malik was initially formed on one of my trips to the casino. (Don’t get it twisted. I mostly play the nickel slot machines and listen to the live music. But I digress.) I was sitting in the corridor between buildings eating a strawberry ice cream cone, when I noticed an interesting man. He was wearing a t-shirt and khaki green pants and moving from one person to another. Naturally, he came over to me and we immediately began a conversation about books. Every few minutes, he would politely excuse himself and scurry to another unsuspecting person. Then he’d come back to continue our conversation. I thought, What a cool guy.

My interaction with this fascinating man became the bones of the character. To build around these bones, I added the basics of the the legend and then using my creativity and knowledge of the story, Malik became his own bird. For example, he isn’t small. Most of the time he appears as human, but he can take the form of a bird at will. He can heal, but at a cost. He’s also a scout and can find just about anything you need.

Sometime soon I’ll talk about the huldra. This mythological creature turned into one of the most beloved characters, according to my readers. I won’t give away everything, of course. I want you to read the book and fall in love with Chey and the gang.

Layers of Diversity

A diverse group of women and men.

Today, there is a focus on diversity. That’s a good thing! Interestingly, it is almost always the same aspects: gender, sexual orientation, gender expression, race, age, ethnicity, religion. These are also, not coincidentally, protected classes (meaning protected by laws, at least some of the time).

What isn’t often discussed, however, are all of the other layers of diversity worth recognizing. For example:

• Wealth or income level. The amount of money you have affects how you view the world and your experiences in it.

• Education.There are those of us with Doctorates and those without high school diplomas and every step in between.

• Skin tone. Having a lighter or darker pigment, depending on the culture, can affect how you are treated.

• Beauty. Yes, beauty standards vary. But if you exceed or don’t meet the standard, it can affect how people view you.

• Geography. Urban/rural. North/south. East/west. You know what people think. People in the south are slow. City folks are rude. West coasters are laid back potheads.

• Weight/body type. All kinds of assumptions are made about people who are overweight—Lazy. Stupid. Jolly.

On the one hand, it is a research-based fact that when you have a diverse environment, people are happier and more creative, and decision-making is high quality.

In my books, you’ll find characters along many layers of diversity. My characters are older and younger, rich and poor, straight, gay, and transgender, chubby and not. There are attorneys, musicians, drag performers, and corporate bigwigs. And of course, a myriad of races, including the supernatural kind: Vampires, Weres, Incubi, Huldra, Caladrius, Dragons, Wizards and more. All of this makes for, as one reader noted, Memorable characters, humor, compassion, and adventure.

That’s the kind of world I want to live in. The one that diversity can create.