Aaaaand.....she's back. (Someone alert the media.)

Not that I expect anyone to be hanging around, waiting for me to show up again after all these weeks, but what the hell? I'd started talking to the breakfast dishes, right there where they sat in the sink, all soapy and ready for the dishwasher. Might was well write it down and quit scaring the dogs.

I don't know what it is about the springtime that messes with my head. Makes me want to go to ground, as I mentioned in my previous post. For most folks, it's winter that spurs the hibernation urge, but for me the sight of peeking blossoms and baby leaves and the twitter of returning birdies makes me want to tuck myself up into myself and hide. Repressed childhood trauma? Horrific past life experience? A perverse need to be...perverse? Who the hell knows.

But it's the first day of summer, dammit, and SUMMER...well, SUMMER brings out an even DEEPER perversion. SUMMER, friends and neighbors, uncovers the profound streak of rednecked trailer trash buried deep within my soul. SUMMER makes me wanna drive a rustbucket Chevy 'round the streets of the village with Zeppelin and Skynyrd cranked loud on the stereo and an unfiltered Camel hanging off my lower lip.

It makes me want to take my spawn for ice cream at the local custard stand in cut-off shorts and grimy bare feet and a too-small tube-top, and pay for the cones in nickels and pennies, and let the little buggers run wild under the skeeter zappers, dodging between the parked cars like chipmunks with a death-wish.

Summer makes me wanna celebrate an occasion -- maybe a baby shower or an anniversary -- by ripping the underwires outta all my bras and using them to toast marshmallows over the open coals created by lighting an illegal bonfire in our back yard while blasting Black Sabbath on the boombox off the deck and getting drunk on Margaritas made with Patron and real lime juice.

Sadly, I will do none of these things. The best I can hope for is to listen to Skynyrd at a slightly-higher-than-reasonable volume when the spawn aren't riding in the nicely-maintained minivan. And I suppose I can pay for the cones with spare change. The kids behind the counter won't care. But the tube top is DEFINITELY OUT. There's just no need to go around inciting folks to violence.

I wonder what a pack of unfiltered Camels goes for these days...

In other news, I have these friends? Who've released books, or are ABOUT to release books? No shit, they're brilliant.

If you're into Arthurian fantasy, try Lancelot: Knight of the Heart. It's an original take on Lancelot, told from the first person point of view by a scholar in the field. It'll suck you in and hold you under 'til you drown in the salty goodness. No. Really.

If the creeptastic is more your cup of tea, try Advent -- the story of a man of God facing a crisis of faith while trying to outwit a serial killer who represents everything he stands against.

Finally, Adios To My Old Life will hit the shelves on July 4th, and the buzz is EXCELLENT. Young Adult fiction with that well-honed edge of reality and humor. Not to be missed.

As for myself, my Amber Quill Heatwave release, "Her Black Little Heart," is now available for sale.

Here's the blurb:

"Wicked."
"Unnatural."
"A murdering Jezebel."

When the village folk call her such cruel names, is it any wonder Leda Cavendish never ventures beyond the moors that surround Merrybourne Hall? It will take an exceptional man to sweeten the bitter resolve of the Widow Cavendish. Luckily, Dr. Adam Brewster is just such a man. An outcast himself, he understands what it is to rage against ignorance and hypocrisy. But Adam will need every tender trick he's ever learned to melt the resentment in Leda's black little heart.

***

Happy Summer Solstice to all those celebrating. It feels good to be back. :)