“Best friend” is an interesting, complex concept. It seems to have a variety of 
meanings, depending on who you're asking and the context.. To make it even more complicated, our understanding of “best friend” changes with each stage of development—at least in my observation. When you’re five, your best friend is the kid you see most often. When you’re a teenaged girl, it’s the person you giggle with. And when you’re middle-aged, it’s the person who simply understands you the most—and loves you despite yourself.
As a teen, my best friend and I shared a love of The Rolling Stones. We didn’t have access to concerts, but we spent time together listening to albums, hunting down the latest magazines with even the tiniest snippet of information and pictures. Oh, the pictures. The cooler and sexier the better. Mic Jaggar did not disappoint.
Our love of music didn’t end with Mic and the gang. We also got into the local music scene, going to clubs headlined by acts from across the region. We spent every free minute together. I thought we would always be friends, but it wasn’t meant to be. As time went on our interests changed. We saw less and less of each other. In tenth grade boys entered the picture, and we drifted apart for good. That relationship marked the last “best friend” in my life for many, many years.
When I met my current best friend, it was for a similar reason--lust, I mean, love of a popular rock star. The one and only Prince. She and I started as pen-pals, and met for the first time at one of his concerts in 1993. Although we lived 900 miles apart we kept writing. We also managed to visit frequently and attend dozens of his concerts together.
About twelve years ago, life took an interesting turn and brought me to New England. She’d recently moved here too. Distance isn't an issue anymore. We’re able to share a wider variety of interests. We've tried ski lodges, Niagara Falls, comic cons, shows like Supernaturalists, Cirque du Soleil, and I've even dragged her to WWE wrestling matches. We try new things, and encourage each other to be braver than we would be alone.
Besides our common interests, she is my confidant. She’s gives me a kick in the ass when the pity parties go on too long, and she is a safe shoulder to cry on. When I need help because my back is hurting, or because I again bought something that I can’t assemble alone (or given my tendency to put things together backwards or inside out, shouldn’t), she’s right there. I don’t even have to ask. She accepts me for who I am, with all my quirks and flaws that other people have tried to change.
Because she knows me so well, she understands it wouldn’t work anyway.
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My name is Trevann Rogers and I have comma issues.
There I said it. My challenges can be summed up in one word. Commas. Moreover, I'm an afficionado of the Shatner Comma as well as the Oxford comma.
I suppose it could be called a total lack of willpower. Or maybe it is incredible focus. Whatever you call it, I have it: A tendency to binge watch television programs.
Both my partner and I are writers. We understand the craziness that happens when a deadline approaches, or writer's block moves in and settles down to stay awhile. We are lucky that we rarely have the same problem at the same time. We tend to be very supportive of each other's writing process.
As council leader, Tanen must uphold the laws. When he takes on a solo mission to track down a traitor, things don’t go as planned. Mortally wounded, he seeks shelter from the sun’s killing rays in the closest structure he can find—a ramshackle shed on human territory. Rescued by a kind-hearted woman, she nurses him back to health. The disarray in her home grates on his nerves, but not as much as his desire for the forbidden human female.
Love, Passion and Power: Part 1
Born and raised on the West Coast of Canada and married to her high school sweetheart, with a spirited toddler and a fluffy dog. Whitley spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn't end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes and it's not quite wine o'clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
Please join me in welcoming DW Adler to the Living After Midnight blog. He's sharing a recipe with us!
Genre: Paranormal LGBTQS romance/erotica
Canada. After receiving a degree in psychology and an almost-minor in Irish Studies, he learned how to fix computers. He now sweats profusely in Florida where he does IT support for a living when he's not writing.
Don counts such authors as Anne Rice, JRR Tolkien, and Edgar Allan Poe, as well as a love for Irish/Celtic myth and folklore as his influences. He loves to read sci-fi, fantasy, post-apocalyptic, and anything having to do with vampires.
Other than sipping tea and writing, Don dabbles in computer animation and graphic design, is a doting father to his little girl, and a loving husband. He is constantly plotting how to get back home to Nova Scotia and flees there whenever the sight of snow becomes a necessity.
No, he will not fix your computer.
After Midnight
My uncle used to make this cobbler all the time when he wanted to offer us a treat. A confirmed bachelor, he wanted something quick and easy.
Blurb --- "Marketing Exec’s Widow”
Letting go and rebuilding a life comes at a price.
Bio
Holidays Bite
About J. Rose Allister
