NEMESIS Blog Tour - Interview with Starla Huchton

Earlier this year, I posted the cover reveal for Starla Huchton's wonderful New Adult science fiction romance, MAVEN, and this week I'm proud to announce the release of the second book in the Endure Series, NEMESIS. Here's a little about the book, plus an interview with the author and a GREAT giveaway.

In case you missed it, here's where you can find Book I of the Endure Series, MAVEN:

Maven (The Endure series, book 1)

By S.A. Huchton

Genre: New Adult Sci-Fi Romance

Available Now:Amazon | Goodreads |Barnes & Noble | Smashwords

Synopsis

How far would you go for love?

Since losing her parents at 14, young prodigy Dr. Lydia Ashley has focused on one thing: an appointment on the Deep Water Research Command Endure. Now 21, she’s about to realize that dream, but nothing is how she imagined it would be. Her transitional sponsor forgets her, her new lab is in complete chaos, and, as if that weren’t enough, she’s about to discover something so horrific it could potentially destroy all life on the planet.

Daniel Brewer, a noted playboy and genius in his own right, may be exactly what she needs… Or he may make everything worse.

Has she finally found a puzzle she can’t solve?

Nemesis (The Endure series, book 2)

by S. A. Huchton

Genre: Science Fiction Romance (New Adult)

Available Now:Goodreads

Book Description:

Tech genius Daniel Brewer isn't the only one with a romantic history. Already weighed down with the impossible problem of the Maven Initiative's plans for world domination and disaster, Dr. Lydia Ashley is finding it more and more difficult to keep things in balance. With an old flame reappearing and the schemes of a vindictive new rival thrown into the mix, her hopes for a life with Daniel may be on the brink of annihilation. 

When Lydia's past is brought to light, one big secret could destroy everything.

NEMESIS EXCERPT

At 1045, there was a quiet rapping at her door. Lydia turned to see Dr. Corvis standing there, smiling politely. It was like watching a shark circling for an attack.

"Do you need something, Dr. Corvis?" Lydia said.

"Dr. Miller and I have worked out a possible sequence of alterations for one of the bacteria. Care to take a look?" 

Sure she was walking into a trap, Lydia agreed anyway. One of the work stations had been arranged with four different devices: an electron microscope, a centrifuge, a chromosome splitter more compact than any she had seen before, and a rotating rack for petri dishes.

"Where did that come from?" She indicated the splitter. The display screen on the top showed a squirming object, pinned in place by the microlasers hovering above the sample tray. The controls hummed, waiting for their next command.

"My own personal stash," Nick said, coming up behind her. He was closer than she would've liked, but given the confines of the area there wasn't anything for it.

Lydia was stunned. "You own a chromosome splitter? How did you afford that?"

Nick shrugged. "It was a gift from Dr. DeBeauvoir."

"He's as generous as he is brilliant," Dr. Corvis gushed. 

"Uh huh." Lydia gave her a sidelong glance. "So what have you been working on?"

Dr. Corvis answered for him. "Dr. Miller had some amazing insights on how to achieve the necessary virulence while maintaining its water-borne nature."  

"You figured that out? That was the one thing I was dreading the most. I had hoped to find a workaround so I wouldn't mess with bacteria's environmental needs." What Lydia hadn't said was that she was terrified of creating some super bug that would become airborne and infect everyone on the station.

Nick moved over to the electron microscope and looked into the eyepiece, adjusting the focus. "If you take a look here, you can see the segment of the chromosome we're targeting."

He took a step back and she positioned herself in front of the device. "What am I looking at, exactly?"

Nick leaned against the table, closing the distance between them some. He was close enough that she caught the scent of sandalwood from the soap he'd used since she'd known him at Stanford. Focus, she reminded herself.

"These base pairs are responsible for virulence and environment adaptation. They're right beside one another so it can be difficult to separate them. You have to know exactly what you're doing or you could wind up with something really nasty."

Lydia looked up from the eyepiece and was startled to find his face less than a foot away from her own. 

"Good thing you're here to make sure we don't do that then, I guess." She sounded like an idiot. His proximity was flustering her.

"I was about to make the first cut with the splitter, but I wanted to show you one other thing first." Nick slid up to the microscope and she skittered away, as though he might burn her if they touched.

If he noticed, he didn't show it. He made another slight adjustment to the eyepiece. "Here." They traded places again. "This is the chromosome segment responsible for host selection. According to Anna, this was being altered to make it viable on multiple cellular types. What this basically means is that the cell wall degradation mechanism will be much more powerful and adapted to both rigid cells from plants and softer cells from animals. Really wicked stuff." 

He was calling her Anna already? Damn. That woman worked fast. She pushed it aside. Lydia focused on what was important: a bacterium that could attack both flora and fauna. Something that strong could be devastating. "So it feeds off of organic material then, but doesn't discriminate in regards to the source? The environmental impact that will have..." Lydia rubbed her forehead. "Not only on human life. Anything within the release area will be obliterated."

"It's designed to only work for a certain period of time, within a certain range, remember," Dr. Corvis offered. Was she really defending the Maven Initiative? "The nanotags will ensure self-destruction of any infected phytoplankton outside that."

Lydia gaped at her. "And so that makes it okay?"

She shrugged. "To them, it was acceptable."

Unbelievable. 

"Now I'll show you how to split the base pairs and graft the new ones," Nick said. Her spine went rigid as his hand touched the small of her back, ushering her towards the other piece of equipment. Fortunately, there wasn't far to go and the contact was brief.

Nick's hand grasped the controls, strong and steady. He talked her through the operation, explaining where the precise cuts needed to be made and directing the microlasers expertly.

"Did you do a lot of this with Dr. DeBeauvoir?" she asked.

"Not at first," he said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "But the last two years I was in the lab almost exclusively. I got a lot of practice with this thing. They were upgrading the equipment when I left so that's why I didn't feel guilty when they sent me away with this baby. We have spent many an hour together, Sheila and I."

She tried not to laugh, but couldn't help herself. "You named the splitter Sheila?"

"I thought about calling it Lydia, but that seemed inappropriate given the circumstances."

Her face burned as Dr. Corvis giggled. She actually giggled. Lydia was mortified, and Nick didn't so much as crack a smile. He couldn't be serious.

"There." He finished the cut and turned back to her. "Want to give it a try?"

Reining in her embarrassment, she nodded and stepped up to the controls. Nick loaded up another sample. He reached in front of her and punched in the autofocus on the sample camera. Another hit of sandalwood drifted up to her, scattering her thoughts. 

"You're looking for the eighteenth base pair," he said, directing her where to shift the sample plate. "Stop."

She had to remind herself to breathe. With the way her entire body was shaking, she would probably wind up creating a highly virulent super bacterium.

"Good, now lock in the sample position."

Lydia flipped a switch and six microlasers pinned the sample in place.

"This is the tricky part," Nick said. "You have to have the right touch."

Every nerve in her body electrified as Nick slid behind her and wrapped his hands around hers. If she wasn't seven shades of scarlet before, she absolutely was now. This was not happening. No way was this professional by any stretch of the imagination.

"Slowly... slowly... now cut."

Her thumbs pressed down on the buttons to fire the incision lasers, and she was careful not to jerk away as soon as it was done.

"Perfect," he said, leaning over her shoulder to smile at her.

Right on cue, a throat cleared and she jumped, pushing away from both the machine and Dr. Miller. 

Daniel was standing not ten feet away, looking none too happy about what he'd walked in on.

"We're dicing bacterial DNA," she blurted. "Dr. Miller was demonstrating how his equipment worked."

His eyebrow twitched and somewhere behind her, Dr. Corvis coughed to hide her laughter. Maybe her word choice had been a little questionable, but her brain was scrambled.

"Daniel Brewer, right?" Nick strode forward, hand extended. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Nick Miller."

Daniel was not impressed.

Lydia hurried forward, cutting Nick off before he got any closer and all but pushed Daniel toward the door. "Time for lunch? Great! I'm famished. Let's go."

She was pretty sure Dr. Harpy was still laughing when they left the lab. Apparently, she'd decided on a new plan of attack.

Print and ebook copies of MAVEN and NEMESIS

An Angkor Wat postcard signed by Daniel

Sandalwood Vanilla goat's milk soap handcrafted in small batches by Haldecraft

3 oz of Jasmine Dragon Phoenix Pearls (green tea) from Teavana

Stonewear infuser mug with lid

MAVEN and NEMESIS postcards with party mustaches!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

1.We've talked a bit about writing in general in the past, but tell me a little about your writing process. Do you have a routine?

LOL. Routine. That’s hilarious. I have three kids and a deployed husband. It’s all about grabbing whatever time I can.

My process itself varies from book to book. The first novel I wrote, The Dreamer’s Thread, was totally by the seat of my pants and I had very little idea what I was doing. The second was very, very different. Master of Myth is Steampunk and marks my first time doing any real research for my fiction (this isn’t out anywhere yet, so you won’t find it anywhere outside of the first 20 pages on my blog). Also with the second book was the introduction of a whole slew of passes from this thing called “beta readers”. While I did have a select few people read The Dreamer’s Thread, there wasn’t much in the way of editing done on it, and, unfortunately, that shows.

My process with the Endure series (Maven and now Nemesis as well), evolved significantly after discovering a new love for research and getting my facts right. I didn’t have to do too much of that for The Dreamer’s Thread, as it was a fantasy book, but the switch from SciFi really made a huge difference here. There was a lot of stopping and starting as I wrote Maven when I had to research things, or think about certain plot elements and how they corresponded to the science. I asked a lot of different people a lot of different questions and read a whole mess of really boring research papers just to get a sentence or two of the story. There’s no “waving the magic wand” in SciFi. In order to make it plausible, you gotta have your facts straight.

2.What was the biggest difference between writing the MAVEN/NEMESIS books and writing THE DREAMER’S THREAD?

I touched on this a little already, but one of the biggest differences was definitely the research involved. Another is the amount of time that it took me to write these books. The Dreamer’s Thread was spread out over a year between two National Novel Writing Months and sporadic plugging away in the months in between. Maven was very different. I spewed out the first 68,000 words in under six weeks, shelved it for a year when some stuff happened with other projects, then went back to it and finished it up in about a week. Maybe if I’d have known I was that close to the end I would have stuck with it, hmm? LOL. Anyway, immediately after finishing it, I jumped straight in to book two and cranked it out in under two months while beta readers did their passes and I sent out some queries. I barely stopped to take a breath before starting in on book 3, which will be out in November. That’s another difference here. The Dreamer’s Thread was a standalone, although it could have seen more books in that world had I wanted to go there. While the idea for Maven was originally a one-of, it became very clear to me about halfway in that in no way, shape, form, or fashion was this idea any smaller than two books. Somewhere into book 2, I realized it was four. That realization was a little overwhelming at the time, and I’m still wondering if maybe I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. Due to the complexity of the plot, I’m having to actually (*choke*) outline book 4 to make sure I tie up every loose end. Although, I’m not going to lie, there will definitely be the possibility for more books in this series, but probably not focused on this couple. They will get their Happily Ever After in the end. Well, mostly. Life happens and I don’t think fictional characters are immune to that. Anyway, SPOILERS. LOL

3.What was the most challenging aspect of writing Nemesis? Are your challenges for new books usually similar, or does each book present a new one?

Each book inevitably presents its own challenges. This one had everything to do with the science. I went in with a vague idea of what I wanted to do, but, you know how stories like to throw curveballs? Yep. Very much that. The more I explored some of the how’s of the Nemesis plot, the more confusing the why’s got. This made for a real challenge in book 3 where I explain in greater detail some of what’s gone on. Book 4 is going to be really difficult to wrap it all up. Thanks, book 2. *facepalm*

And we’re not even going to talk about the characters. I’m actually a little nervous about how some of the new additions are going to be received, and on top of the ending for Nemesis… I’m half expecting hate mail.

4.Coffee, Tea, or something stronger?

If it’s before 5 pm, coffee. My brain runs on caffeine. After that, I switch over to tea.

Some nights, however, call for something stronger. Pass the cherry vodka this way, please.

5.On your blog, you said you were new to writing in both romance and science fiction. What inspired you to tackle them both at once?

It wasn’t so much a conscious decision on my part. My stories define what they’re going to be without consulting me. I’d actually been hanging on to the idea of Lydia and Daniel’s story since high school, but it was only recently that I felt ready to write it. This was accompanied by a wave of WTF HAVE I DONE when I finished it, as I didn’t even have a clue that Science Fiction Romance was a thing until I started to research the market viability of the project. I’ve spoken out a lot on the battle trying to convince SF readers that the romance aspect isn’t a deterrent to the story, and, conversely, convincing Romance readers that the SF elements don’t detract from the relationship. Really, the two are so intertwined they’re impossible to separate, although that won’t be 100% obvious until the third book. It’s not an either/or situation. For this series, I absolutely, unquestionably had to have both.

6.What has the experience of being a science fiction author been like for you?

It’s… well, it’s really wild, actually. I never considered myself a huge science geek by any stretch until a few years ago. Fascinated by, yes, but not passionate about it to do anything with it. Due to the nature of the Endure series, and what I’ve exposed my non-SFR author friends to in the process, a few of them have started coming to me with questions about all of this stuff! Can I just say how crazy that is? Apparently, I have a knack for retaining weird facts and explaining complex topics in easy to understand ways. Sooooo not what I expected to come out of all this. When a friend calls me up on the phone and asks for some guidance regarding the relationship between space and time… oh yes. That’s very weird. Especially considering my books aren’t space related. LOL. But, because of some of the folks I’ve gotten to know, like Phil Plait and Pamela Gay, I get a constant stream of all kinds of amazing information. It’s incredibly cool that I can pass this on to others and that they consider me a resource of sorts for this stuff. I don’t consider myself anything close to an expert in much of anything, but I know enough to be dangerous. Or to put them on the right path for research, anyway. I think it’s pretty awesome I can talk about some of it with actual confidence in my words. Knowledge is so empowering!

7.For THE DREAMER’S THREAD, you did a wonderful podcast version. Are you planning to release audio versions of this series?

At this time, no. I don’t have any plans for an audio version, and I know that’s disappointing to some people. There are a few reasons for this. One is because of the adult content in the stories and I’m a big chicken. Anyone that saw me at Balticon this year got to experience the eighty shades of red I turn reading certain, uh, scenes aloud. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I’m comfortable narrating this sort of material. Maybe someday, but not yet.

The second reason is that I’m finding my time is really limited these days. I have to pick and choose my projects very carefully and pour my energy into what I’m really passionate about. This is the downside to working in several creative areas. Between book covers, writing, and audiobook narration, coupled with the demands of being a temporary single parent, something had to give. Unfortunately, narration is something that’s had to fall by the wayside. Maybe when I have all three kids in school I can pick it up again, but with a three-year-old running circles around me and two preteens bringing the drama, yeah. I’m having to hit pause there.

Thank you for the wonderful questions! I hope people find my answers helpful and/or interesting!

ABOUT STARLA

Starla Huchton released her first novel, The Dreamer's Thread, as a full cast podcast production beginning in August 2009. Her first foray went on to become a double-nominee and finalist for the 2010 Parsec Awards.

Since her debut, Starla's voice has appeared in other podcasts including The Dunesteef Audio Fiction Magazine, The Drabblecast, and Erotica a la Carte. She is also a voice talent for Darkfire Productions, and narrates several of their projects, including The Emperor's Edge series, This Path We Share, and others.

Her writing has appeared in the Erotica a la Carte podcast, an episode of the Tales from the Archives podcast (the companion to Tee Morris and Philippa Balantine's Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences series), which garnered her a second finalist badge from the 2012 Parsec Awards, and a short story for The Gearheart (earning her a third Parsec finalist badge). Her second novel, a Steampunk adventure entitled Master of Myth, was the first place winner in the Fantasy/Science Fiction category of The Sandy Writing Contest held annually by the Crested Butte Writers Conference. Maven was her third completed novel and the first in a planned series of four, being released under the name S. A. Huchton. Nemesis is the second in the Endure series.

After completing her degree in Graphic Arts, Starla opened up shop as a freelance graphic designer focusing on creating beautiful book covers for independent authors and publishers. She currently lives in Virginia where she trains her three Minions and military husband.

Facebook - Twitter - Website

And remember to get your copies of MAVEN (Endure Series, Book I) and NEMESIS (Endure Series, Book II)

Anxious Artist - Anxiety Management and Productivity Panic

Because my mother knows me far too well, she came home today with a self-help workbook on managing anxiety. It has techniques in it to identify the types of anxiety you suffer and techniques to combat them. I'll be working through these over the next few weeks.

I had a number of people contact me on Facebook after my post, and being honest about my problem with anxiety seemed to comfort others who have felt that way, so I've decided to combat my own feelings of shame and embarrassment over the anxiety by writing about it. I've ignored the blog some lately, but I think the type of people who are artists and writers is a demographic that largely intersects with the type of people prone to anxiety and depression. If writing about it might help someone else feel less alone, less crazy, less like an aberration, then that's enough for me.

I know a lot of artists suffer from anxiety. I'm doing a lot right now artistically, and I'm going through a lot of shifts in my professional life that have affected me personally as well. I plan to post occasionally about these anxiety-management techniques as well as the techniques of establishing a new trigger for productivity (not unrelated).

About My Anxiety

According to the book, I have a lot of the symptoms for Generalized Anxiety Disorder, social anxiety, and panic attacks. I say that I have the symptoms because I have done some tests, but not been diagnosed by a psychiatrist or medical professional (my physician prescribed medication for panic attacks, but that doesn't really constitute a diagnosis in my mind). I will provide an update of formal diagnosis when I see a psychotherapist, but I have no projected date on when that will be. For now, managing the symptoms I'm facing will at least start to help.

The constant worries and feelings of dread an doom do cause days to be de-railed, contribute to debilitating insomnia, and send me to the Internet to make sure I'm not having heart attacks or haven't poisoned myself somehow. I can't even take medication without feeling worried it will conflict with something I've eaten or taken and cause me to go into shock and die. The idea of being anesthetized completely petrifies me. I often imagine catastrophes with little reason, or wonder if saying goodbye to someone who is leaving will be my last one.

Partly, that final one is true because it's happened before. When I watched my grandfather walk off to his car after my farewell party before heading to Japan, I thought, "what if this is the last time I see him?" It was. He died almost exactly a year later, and I hadn't seen him since. I wasn't able to go home and grieve, either, because I had planned to stay in Japan.

I had those fears, to some extent, before that instance. I always worried when Adryn was riding down on her motorcycle to see me. I remember getting her (drug-voiced) phone call after I left one day and, five minutes later, she wrecked her bike and broke her collarbone. I didn't get the call till hours later.

Now, those circumstances are never fun, and I think everyone dreads them. I guess I just didn't realize that the knot of doom in my stomach every time I said bye to someone or waited for someone who wasn't on time was not normal. Hell, sometimes I do it with myself. I'm driving and I think, "what would happen if I whipped the wheel sideways and the car went rolling? Would I die? Would I even notice? How would my parents feel..." It's not that I ever even WANT to do those things. Just the opposite--the thought scares me so much that I guess I conjure it. I guess that's not a normal person's response.

Art, Baby

I'm determined to become a professional author and narrator. To do that, I know I've for to have a schedule. I've got to be productive.

Which means that I've placed a lot of significance on doing those things. Which means slipping up with them is now tantamount to failure. Which makes doing them a source of stress.

Can you see how this is a problem?

I'm working on it. I'm trying to establish a routine, and trying to combat the situations that throw me off it. I'm trying to be gentle with myself about my slip-ups, but firm enough to get back on the schedule when I fail.

So the panic attack Friday derailed my work on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. It's Monday, and I'm feeling like I have enough energy to get myself reorganized. I'm behind, but not too far behind. I've got to finish revising chapter one of Mark of Flight, and I've got to write scene 3 of Song of the Heretic. Tomorrow, I need to start recording the next audiobook.

It may be that the work-schedule I've created is too heavy given the anxiety, and given the fact that I hope to start a part-time job slinging coffee at my local Starbucks later this month. Trial and error.

And I have to be okay with the error, and not let it send me into fits of psycho-flagellation (if that's even a word).

What techniques do you use to combat anxiety? What goals do you have? How can you plan to achieve them without letting them become a source of stress?

Scribe's Jedi Training

I believe artists are weird. I do not believe artists have to be crazy or unhealthy. I want to write for as long as possible, as many stories as I possibly can write, and write well, on my time here. So I think it's important to be healthy physically and mentally.

So I begin what I call my Jedi Training: my attempt to become physically and mentally improved, and to establish the habits it takes to be a professional author.

Physical

I'm 5'3", 148lbs. Almost 29. Not super bad, but certainly not the 117 lbs tank I was while rowing in high school, or the 115 lbs walking and dancing machine I was in Japan.

Truth is, I came home from abroad three years ago and gained 20 lbs. Got a horrible job and gained 20 more. In the past three months, I've lost ten by working out and eating better and not being at that horrible job. But I have a long way to go, and I'm working on it now.

I have a gym I can go to, and I've been (inconsistently) doing workouts from Blogilates on YouTube. She's crazy and peppy and motivating.

Mental

Because talking about anxiety can be annoying or a downer for a lot of people (or at least, my social anxiety is telling me that if I talk about it too much people will think I'm weak, lazy, excuse-making, and enjoy the "easy attention" (trust me, I wish it were easy)) I have code-named my anxiety issues Darth Metus.

Metus means fear, dread, or anxiety in Latin. I will personify my anxiety as a Sith Lord sending his Force-lightning at the base of my skull. And I will train to beat him.

Jedi Training Schedule

• Limit caffeine intake to one cup of (caffeinated) coffee per day

• Get adequate rest

• Write something every day

• Move around, get out of the house, work out

• Morning pages (self-check in)

TRAIN WITH ME! What's your Jedi Training? What's your schedule and the small changes you will start out with to ease into training?

Super Freak: Moon-Swings, Modern Times, & the Panicking Artist

I've never hated the phrase YOLO. To be honest, it both inspires me and scares me to death.

You only live once. You only get one life to do what you want to do. It's not that you only get one chance--there are so many chances to succeed or fail--but a reminder that you have to make the most of them, because life isn't forever. Unless you think it is, I guess. Somehow, though, that doesn't comfort me. It doesn't make me feel better to imagine I'd have a chance in another life to succeed where I've failed here, because I wouldn't be the same person. I wouldn't know the same people. I probably wouldn't want the same things. I wouldn't tell the same stories--that's for sure.

I mean, what if--in another life--I wanted to write literary fiction?

Joking aside, I've talked about depression and fear on this blog before. I haven't tried to hide the fact that I have panic attacks and really horrible crash-and-burn mood-swings. I accidentally just typed moon-swings, which makes me smile a little bit, because it does sort of feel like I transform into a fuzzy ball of fangs and depression and "just-lock-me-in-a-panic-room-till-it's-over" misery. I wish it was timed to moon-phases so I could arm myself with chocolate, b vitamines, and tissues on a schedule (or at least blame it on my period), but unfortunately, that's not the case. TMI, I know, but my panic attacks usually happen in the week leading up to my period, so I've been able to blame the magnitude (if not the genesis) on that. Today was different (hormone timing isn't an excuse for this one).

The thing is, it's both terrifying and wonderful to be an artist right now. Terrifying, because our society is not structured to support artists. Our school systems are not structured to nurture artists. There is a pervading assumption that artists must be crazy in order to make anything meaningful, or brilliantly good or brilliantly bad in order to make a work of art noticeable enough to earn a living, or just really lucky to have been in the right place at the right time.

All those things are true to some degree: anyone who, given the fact that school, society, and the marketplace places such low value on art, still insists on pursuing art, is probably just a little bit nuts. I also think that anyone who willing jumps out of a plane or goes into a profession where they'll likely get shot at is nuts, it's just a kind of nuts that the larger part of society can put a value on. Adrenaline rush. Saving lives. But writing a mid-list novel? Painting a picture of a soup can? The value is hard to measure, so we call it crazy to sacrifice so much time and passion for it when we could be working at a call center to finance boats and Netflix subscriptions and parachutes with which to jump out of planes.

It's also very true that most of the limelight (and therefore most of the cash) go to the very good and the very bad, but that's not to say it's impossible for someone in between to make a career, especially right now. It ain't easy (see paragraph above). But it isn't impossible. There are people doing it. People have done it for thousands of years, in times which, I guess, were much harder than this. I believe there is a way for me to do it as well, and I've just got to figure out what that is, or carve a new possibility out of the slow-weathering rock of societal change.

And, of course, luck has a lot to do with it. But I believe you make your own luck. You have to keep your eyes open for luck to walk by, then open the door and invite luck inside. Luck isn't going to fall on your head or bust down the door.

It's exciting to be an artist right now, because distribution has never been easier. The internet opens doors for good and bad and frustrating, but artists have way more opportunities to put their work out there. The challenge remains on the other side of the screen.

I sound pretty optimistic right now, I'm sure. Part of it is a front, part of it is me trying to convince myself it's true so I don't feel like a madwoman being petted and pitied by family and friends for my inability to function as a contributing member of society. Some of it is true, though. I have a lot of faith in myself. I have a lot of faith in my passion, even if I don't have all the skills to back it up, I'm not afraid of doing the work.

After all, I quit my job because it was keeping me from doing the work. I'm working hard to improve my life, to make it the life I want and envision.

But it's not easy. Days like today make it even worse, because they bring all the insecurity and fear to the surface.

I was sitting with my parents and my brother, and my dad went out to mow the lawn. My mom was going to go out and get on the other mower before too long (it's a several-hour job with only one mower), but she and my brother and I started talking.

See, I'm hoping to move in the next two years. Possibly to Portland. My brother and sister-in-law and their bambino (on the way) are hoping to move to Iowa next year. My mom mentioned that if both of us end up out there, she and dad might sell the farm and move closer...but that wouldn't be until they were much older, or until there was only one of them.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. I don't like thinking about that. The thought scares the crap out of me partly because I'm not financially solvent and still sort of a failure as a human being (heh, more on that particular feeling later) and partly because, you know, they're my parents. I don't like to think about my life without them in it.

But we have the conversation and I'm trying to feel like an adult having a life-conversation with my family.

But the feeling of unease has already set in. Now, I'd like to point out that the unease was not caused by the conversation. Yeah, it's not a pleasant thing to talk about, but there's nothing inherently alarming about planning for the future. That ominous feeling, like a little pocket of doom sitting in the back of my head, is usually the first sign that conditions are favorable for the Panic. Often, I can distract myself at this point and avoid a meltdown, and I was hopeful my revision would be enough to pull my brain away from going full Shrieking-shack.

So I get in the car to head to Starbucks. I look out and mom and dad are performing the mower version of dueling banjos and I love the sight of it. Then my brain says, "this is not forever."

I make it halfway down the road before I freak the fuck out. The idea of losing my parents is terrible. Part of the freaking out is that dread, and the guilt of not spending more time with them, and the guilt that I am nearly thirty years old and they're still having to take care of me because I'm on and off my feet like a medieval noblewoman. And that was the start of the spiral.

I've been able to pull out of the spiral more and more easily lately. The last big panic attack I had was at Balticon, actually, and it was really embarrassing, but I couldn't have been with more understanding people*. This time I couldn't do it. I couldn't drag my brain away from the loop.

Luckily, I got to Starbucks parking lot and parked in the back before I totally lost my shit. It was that awful, vocal sort of crying that feels at once appropriate and completely ridiculous. Luckily, there were cars on either side so no one saw my "furry little problem", as James and Sirius might say. I tried to call a friend, but it went to voicemail, and I decided I probably didn't want to talk to anyone in particular anyway. But I felt adrift, completely. And embarrassed. Too embarrassed to put the burden of dealing with my emotional werewolf on any one person.

So I posted it on Facebook.

I don't know what brought it on exactly, but I am freaking the hell out in a Starbucks parking lot. It's been months since I have been so unable to control the panic. I feel like I have no future at all and am utterly useless as a human being. I suck at contributing to society or to my family or to my friends. I'm just a resource suck with no security and no ability to let other people get close to me. Is this just what late 20s feels like? I'm ashamed of my inability to work a normal job, find someone to share life with, and be freaking content. Why do I suck at everything except these worlds and stories no one is even interested in? I'm almost 30 and what the fuck have I done with my life? I'm so scared of the future. When I'm my grandmother's age, who will be there? Will I even make it? What will I have done? I'm a third of the way there and I've got so little to show for it right now. I've got no way to measure because I don't have any way to quantify the failures and successes o my life against the conventional. Ugh. I will probably end up deleting this post but at the moment I feel so unconnected. I don't want to reach out to anyone in particular because I'm so embarrassed of my own inability to control these episodes of extreme panic and depression and low self-worth.

Maybe that makes me an attention whore. I don't really mind if people think that, because I am trying to get a response. I'm trying to feel like I'm not crazy. I (and the people I care about) know I'm not manufacturing a panic attack in order to get the attention, which I think is where the girls-sobbing-in-bathrooms stigma of Facebook meltdowns comes from in the first place. Sure, just the fact that I'm talking about the panic attack at all is going to convince some people I'm faking it (and invite others to start in on the "just be happy you're not me"s, which is both disrespectful and unhelpful) because a lot of people believe that people who actually suffer from depression or panic are rightfully ashamed enough to keep it on the down low.

Yes. My panic attack was horrible and a totally disproportionate reaction to the legitimate worries it brought to the surface--that's part of the frustration. Yeah, the worries are real, but they're not this constant, debilitating fear shackling me.

Panic attacks are like Dementors. They swoop down on you and bring all your worst fears to the surface all at once, forcing you to live through them all in one potent moment. You feel cold. You feel crazy. You feel like your life is over and you'll never be happy again.

And then it ebbs and you're exhausted, embarrassed, and in desperate need of chocolate and a hug (but also not to be coddled and touched at all because that's also embarrassing). You're a little afraid to be alone, and a little afraid to go outside, in case they come back.

Learning to head them off is kind of like learning the patronus charm, and then learning to actually cast it when you feel the dementor head your way. I'm working on it. I know a lot of my readers are too.

I've never been sure what form my patronus would take. I should try to figure that out, give me a touchstone to sanity when I have these moments.

What's your patronus? Have you had panic attacks? What do you think about being an artist right now?

*Balticon 2013: Shout out to Veronica, who caught it early on and helped push it back a while, and to Bryan, Doc, Nobilis, Ben, and Sammy, who were there when it broke respected my request to ignore the tears so I could calm down, because I hate crying in public.

Changing the Trigger

Lee Min-ho is working diligently. WHY AREN'T YOU?

This week, I did a guest post on the Magical Words blog where I talked about different ways to get Hands On Keyboard -- Words On Page (HOKWOP). One of the tips/techniques I mentioned was establishing a trigger.

This is not trigger in the sense of topics, images, or events that trigger a resurgence of emotions from a traumatic experience. This is trigger in the sense that productivity gurus use it. Here's an excerpt from that blog post, Eight Ways to HOKWOP.

A trigger, in the lingo of productivity gurus, is an action you take that impels you to work. Some writers sharpen pencils, others open a blank page, others do yoga. Part of establishing a habit is establishing a trigger for that habit. 

At the moment, when I sit down at my computer to write, my habit is to click on Google Chrome. This begins a series of events that leads to a low-productivity morning, until guilt eventually drags me away from the internet and shoves me lead-footed onto the page. I’m currently in the process of breaking that habit and establishing a routine that includes a new trigger, which will get me writing. 

First, I have to break the old habit of surfing the net in the mornings. My trigger for that is the automatic desire to open Google Chrome when I open my computer. It’s muscle memory at this point–I hardly notice I’m doing it until it’s done. While I’m breaking this habit, I’m trying to establish a new one, which is opening the document for my work-in-progress. 

To remind myself of that trigger, I’ve established a schedule where I wake up, do morning pages, go for a walk, eat breakfast, do some yoga, and sit down to write. I recognize that everyone doesn’t have the luxury of such an open morning. I’m getting up at 6:30 to do this, and I start writing at 9:00 – I have alarms set for each. When I was in college, or working, my trigger was often sitting down at a coffee shop, taking a sip, taking a deep breath, and opening my notebook. 

Figure out the triggers for your negative habits, then find or establish a positive trigger.

So. I'm working on this. As I mentioned above, I've got a schedule. Have I been keeping to that schedule? Uhhh, no. Not really. But I'm trying to. I've always had trouble falling asleep, so I'm trying to make myself work out in the evenings to tire me out. I'm forcing myself to work out by restricting my podcast-listening time to workouts-only. No workout? No podcast.

I'm also not doing yoga in the mornings yet, because I haven't been waking up early enough to do my morning pages before my walk, so I do them after. It's currently 10:05 and I'm planning to go to bed as soon as I finish this post. I've set my alarm, which is across the room, for 6:30. Hopefully, I will get up out of bed and not just go right back to sleep, as is my wont.

I'm still sitting down at 9:00 to work. Problem is, it's also release week for my book, so I'm wanting to check my stats. Hnng. So I've made an exception. Also, I've been finishing up my most recent audiobook, HAVEN: A STRANGER MAGIC, by D.C. Akers. ACX is giving me hell with the uploading, so I'm still spending a good amount of time getting all that done.

Which means I'm still not on the schedule I'd hoped to be on at this time. Now, honestly, all of the above are excuses, and it's not like I have any issue writing when I sit down to write. It's that I have other things that are more URGENT, if less IMPORTANT.

...and that has just sparked a memory.

Image from wikipedia article

A few months ago, Skrybbi was telling me about a time-management system she learned about at a seminar. I just looked it up and discovered it's the late Stephen Covey's four-quadrant matrix for importance and urgency, from his book First Thing's First (which I must now try not to impulse-buy).

Quadrant 1: Things that are both important and urgent. In other words, GRANDPA'S ON FIRE.

Quadrant 2: Things that are important, but not urgent. No one will die if I don't finish Song of the Heretic by mid-December, but it's important to me (and my career) that I keep producing new writing.

Quadrant 3: It's urgent, but not important. Most emails and text messages and chats on Facebook.

Quadrant 4: It's neither urgent nor important. Tumblr, Pinterest, TV shows, etc. Of course, some of these things can be considered important in terms of providing a dialog (I am an English major, after all. I see significance in communication through art.)

Covey postulates that we most often ignore Quadrant 2, but in order to lead more productive and fulfilling lives, we have to do more of it. That's sort of why I quit my job in March. No time for Quadrant 2.

So Here's What I've Been Doing (wrong)

Most of the stuff I've been up to in the past few days is in Quadrant 1, 3, or 4. Not because I've necessarily been ignoring Quadrant 2--just the opposite, I'm scheduling and planning for it and writing this blog post right now. The problem is, I've overestimated my abilities with audio editing and got to the point where IT'S ALL ON FIRE. ALL OF IT. I MUST FINISH ALL THE THINGS.

Luckily, I've enlisted help to get it under control and am looking forward to the slave-driver of guilt not keeping me constantly scuttling, head-bowed, to garage band or screaming at the server that doesn't want me to upload files.

I will probably end up drawing my own version of this quadrant and hanging it next to my desk as a reminder to ask myself what quadrant a particular topic falls into.

Reading and writing blog-posts is something that I actually consider to be part of my vocation. Part of being a writer, especially a writer with independently-published work, is staying in contact with my audience (I still can't quite make the word "fans" work in my brain. It feels too pretentious). That's part of why I got back to it, and now I'm glad I did--it's reminded me of something I think will be helpful in changing my trigger.

SO. Tomorrow morning, I pledge to you: I will get up at 6:30 for my morning pages. I will go on my walk with mom at 7:00. I will be in my chair with the laptop open and scrivener opened to Song of the Heretic. At 9:00, I will write.

I may check my sales on my phone during my walk, but other than that, I will not be looking at them until I've written at least 1000 words.

Do you have a trigger for writing? Do you have a negative trigger? Do you have a plan to break it? How? Have you broken bad habits and established good ones? How did you do it?

EAN RELEASE DAY and Contest Winners!

A few weeks ago, I posted the first chapter of EXORCISING AARON NGUYEN online and offered a free copy to two commenters. Today's the day!

It's my brother's wedding reception!

Haha, and it's RELEASE DAY for EAN! In honor of new family, I had my new sister-in-law randomly pick the names from a pool and it has been decided: the winners are....

Congratulations! Keep an eye on your inboxes for your free copy.

Even if you didn't win this time, there are a number of opportunities to win a free copy during my blog tour. Check out the tour schedule!

If you'd rather not wait, you can get a copy of the novella for $2.99 at Amazon & Smashwords.

Quick Fic Friday - Selene

Photo by llorias of flickr (her stuff is fantastic!)

Here's a quick fic sample - something I wrote because I was inspired. A story opening! Be sure to share yours on your blog and leave it in the comments.

Adryn and I came up with a new set of characters the other day. The story is one for the back-burner (or possibly something to be serialized).

This is probably one of the better openings I've written, and I did it by studying openings of a few YA books I like. I'm rather excited it worked out so well. Let me know what you think!

***

The morning before Kevin found me, I woke up face down beneath a rosebush with a pair of pruning shears in my hand. My first thought after the where-the-hell-am-I’s had been answered was whether Mark could get back any of the money he'd spent on my therapy, since the psychiatrist had declared me “over” both the brainwashing of my mother’s insanity and, by the power of puberty, my somnambulant ways. He probably couldn’t. I had a feeling this relapse was less indicative of my therapist’s failure to exorcise the crazy and more a sign of post-exam week stress.

That was it. The weird tingle between my shoulder blades was nothing. It was just the muscles in my back, tense from too long bent over a textbook, trying to wrap my brain around physics the way that thorny vine of numbness now twined around my spine. I always got the tingle before one of my nocturnal jaunts. It was how my body responded to stress—by tensing up, cutting off circulation. And by getting up at 4 a.m. and staggering out into the back garden to take it out on the rosebush my adopted mother had planted. Woops.

Several small rips marred the cuff of my pajamas where thorns had snagged it, and it had been those sharp stabs that brought me back to consciousness. I stared in resignation at the constellation of red spots blossoming on the light green polyester. Blood stains were hard to get out.

It was still dark morning, and dew-soaked dirt pressed against my stomach and breasts, setting a spreading stain of moisture creeping up the front of my clothes. Another set of birthday pajamas, sacrificed to whatever sadistic sandman giggled above my bed at night. It was my own fault, really; I should have known by now that nice pajamas weren’t compatible with my lifestyle.

The rich scents of earth and flowers filled my nose, cut by the sharp, sweet perfume of the corn field beyond our picket fence. Yes, a picket fence. This is the midwest. We're like that.

I groaned and sucked in my bottom lip, pushing up onto my hands and easing my head and shoulders from the spiked grasp of the rosebush. I shoved myself back onto my knees and sat up to assess the damage. My straight black hair had escaped its bun in clumps and my hands and knees were streaked with dirt. I looked around, noting that my brain had, for some reason, spared my clematis and morning glories. My hydrangeas were safe, my pear tree looked perky, and the herb garden was lush and sparkling with dew. The one thing in the back garden that wasn’t mine—Janie’s 40^th anniversary rosebush—was the one thing my subconscious had seen fit to destroy. Damn, my subconscious was a bitch.

The dreams are back. The thought rolled across my mind like a sudden, chill breeze, and I shivered. No. I was wet and mud-covered, wearing dew-damp polyester in the wee hours of a chilly Michigan morning. That’s why I was shivering. In June.

I chafed my arms and climbed to my feet. Shit. I’d begun to hope my transition to the dormitories would be relatively free of awkward explanations. Not so much, I guess, considering I was zombie-crawling through the mud in my back yard a week from high school graduation. What was I going to say when I woke up in an iced-over dorm parking lot in nothing but panties and a big tee shirt? How was I going to get back in the building at 4 a.m. with no key card and no cell phone? It was bound to happen.

“A lot of kids sleepwalk,” Jamie had said when she and Mark agreed to take me in for those first few weeks. The social worker—I think her name was Kelly—had been standing behind me. She’d put both hands on my shoulders and leaned forward, pitching her voice low, as if the adult-like seriousness of her tone would render the words incomprehensible to my nine-year-old ears.

“Not like Selene.”

Adults had always done that around me—saying things I understood in that “adult” voice, acting like I couldn’t understand them because I just wasn’t supposed to. That tone meant I should conveniently forget English and let the adults have their private conversation about me, in front of me, without listening. I did understand it, though, and I was angry at the social worker for treating me like some abused animal with bad habits that might just be too much trouble to train out.

“Not like Selene.” The words stuck with me, cutting me off from any sense that I was normal, echoing in the back of my head every time I made a friend or started to have fun with regular kids. I was different. I was damaged. I was dangerous.

Fed up, I’d rolled my eyes, thrust out both hands, and said it. “She means when I sleepwalk, I do magic.”

I still remember the look on their faces, the nervous laughter from the social worker and the sad, understanding smile from Jamie. I’d known they told her about mom, and what mom had taught us, and what we didn’t know any better than to believe.

“She draws on things,” the social worker corrected, pulling my shoulders back agains her as a reminder that I was supposed to be temporarily deaf. “Sometimes she hurts herself or breaks things or talks about her dreams like they’re real.”

“They are real, though! They always happen.”

“Hush, Selene. The grown-ups are talking.”

“Ask Kevin, he’ll tell you!”

Another knowing look.

Kevin was, of course, my brother. He was three years older than me, too old—by the standards of People Who Apparently Know—to fully recover from the teachings of my parents’ cult, or the trauma of what had happened with mom. We’d moved around a lot with our parents, before dad died and mom got worse, and Kevin had always been my best friend, my supporter, my collaborator. He was the one that saved me from mom.

They’d promised to do their best to keep us together, but that was bullshit. It didn’t take a month for them to send me to a “temporary” home with Jamie and Mark and ship my brother off to the first, worst foster home for kids with no hope of assimilating into the real world. They’d promised I could see him on holidays, but that was bullshit too. After I went home with Jamie and Mark, I never left, and I never saw my brother again, except in dreams. Then, one night when I was 12, I saw him die.

By then, I’d come to accept that my vivid nightmares were reactions to the fantasies my parents had put in my head—inventions of a mind poisoned by fear, sickness, and torture. My brother was not dead. He certainly hadn’t drowned tangled up in fishing nets, dragged down by some monstrous construct. My dream had been another reaction. A few months before, I’d gotten the news that he’d run away from his 6^th foster home. They’d said they were looking, but I don’t think the system tried that hard to find him. The drowning bit, naturally, was a lingering fear of my own. Of course I’d project it onto my worry over my missing brother.

Sometimes I still saw that image, though, the stark silhouette of his body, his floating limbs trapped by nets that etched out mosaic bits of ocean, the whole scene illuminated in lambent flashes of green.

If he was dead, it hadn’t happened like that. And it didn’t really matter anyway: he was good as dead, lost to me forever, gone. The story of my life had turned past chapters with him in it.

At least, I thought it had.

Blog Tour Schedule

My first ebook novella, EXORCISING AARON NGUYEN, comes out at the end of this week. To put it mildly, I'm nervous. Like, really nervous, y'all. I'm not even going to list the things I'm worried about, because 1) I don't want to think about them in detail, and 2) you can probably guess what they are. 

Instead, here's something I'm really excited about: THE EXORCISING AARON NGUYEN VIRTUAL BLOG TOUR! Woohoo!

So, I teamed up with Roxanne of Bewitching Book Tours and she put together this tour (just check out my awesome banners!), supplemented by the tour stops I gathered on my own. There are giveaways, guest blogs, interviews, and reviews, so be sure to take a look. I'll be giving away some pretty sweet stuff (jewelry, bookmarks, free books, mp3s), so make sure to check out all the giveaways. :)

TOUR SCHEDULE

Want to be on this list? Sign up here

WEEK I

August 26

Spotlight

Roxanne’s Realm

www.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com

August 27th

Guest Blog

Magical Words Blog

www.magicalwords.net

Promotional Stop/ Interview

If My Thought-Dreams Could Be Seen

www.timdodgestories.com

Promotional Stop

Loves All Things Books

http://lovesallthingsbooks.blogspot.com

Guest blog

Rose & Beps Blog

http://rosebeps.blogspot.it/

August 28

Interview

The Creatively Green Write at Home Mom

www.creativelygreen.blogspot.com

August 29

Guest blog

Fang-tastic Books

www.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com

August 30

Interview

Pembroke Sinclair  

pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com

Guest Blog

The Waking Dreams Blog

http://wakingdreamsblog.blogspot.com

Review/Interview

The Treward Pen

http://sarahandtheblog.blogspot.com

Giveaway/Promotional Stop

The Daily Harrell

http://jessie-harrell.blogspot.com

WEEK II

September 2

Spotlight

Lisa’s World of Books

www.lisasworldofbooks.net

Review/Giveaway

Scott's Thoughts

http://www.scottroche.com/thoughts/

September 3

Guest blog

Reading In Twilight

http://readingintwilight.blogspot.com

September 4

Spotlight and review

Faerie Tale Books

www.faerietalebooks.org

September 5

Spotlight and Review

The Writerly Exploits of Mara Valderran

http://maravalderran.blogspot.com

Review

Swimming Cat Studios

Http://swimmingcatstudios.com

September 6

Spotlight

Dalene’s Book Reviews

http://dalenesbookreviews.blogspot.com/

September 9

Spotlight

Let’s Start Saving Now 

www.letsstartsavingnow.com

Spotlight

Book Worm & More

http://bookwormandmore.blogspot.com/

COVER REVEAL: Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales from the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

It's time for a cover reveal!

This is more than just a cover reveal for me. This is the cover reveal of the anthology that holds my first published short story. Sit tight. We're going into...

The Department of Backstory

I met Tee Morris and Pip Ballantine through podcasting, and for various reasons, they're some of the coolest people ever.

Last year at Dragon*Con, they invited me to write a story for the companion podcast to their Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences series, which, if you haven't read it, is like a London-based steampunk version of the X-Files. The podcast, called Tales from the Archives, featured the cases of different ministry agents as told by authors from around the podcasting and writing circles.

I squeed. I came up with two characters and figured out what a steampunk Bakumatsu Japan would look like. Then I started writing. It was one of those fugue states where you hear birds chirping outside, then look up to find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your underwear, legs burned from the bottom of your overheated laptop, and for some reason you still have shoes on. I mean, you know that feel, right? That could just be me. Nevermind.

I turned in my story, which is titled The Incident of the Clockwork Mikoshi, simultaneously terrified and excited because, well, it was a long short story, almost 8k, and I wasn't sure it was short enough to be included. By the time Tee got back to me, I was sure it was too long and the steampunk tribute to the Shinsengumi, Shinto pantheon, and mobile suits had been overkill.

Then they offered me a spot in the anthology, pending a few revisions and the success of the kickstarter. And I was like, 'anthology means, like, published and stuff. Which means they liked it. They like-liked it.' And then I was like:

Ministry Protocol Cover Reveal!

The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences novels are a multi-award winning steampunk series, which tells the story of the government agency committed to keeping citizens safe from the strange, the unusual, and the bizarre.  

In a very successful Kickstarter in July, the Ministry Initiative was funded, allowing the creation of both a roleplaying game and a brand new anthology. 

Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales from the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences is a collection of short stories that will take readers across the Empire and all over the world, revealing new facets of familiar characters and introducing new agents, allies, and enemies from the Ministry’s colourful history. 

The authors of this globe-spanning anthology include Delilah S. Dawson, Leanna Renee Hieber, Alex White, Jared Axelrod, Tiffany Trent, Peter Woodworth, Jack Mangan, JR Blackwell, Dan Rabarts, Lauren Harris, Karina Cooper, and Glenn Freund from The League of S.T.E.A.M. 

And one of the Ministry’s creators, Tee Morris, presents the origin story of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences itself.  

Look for the ebook coming in August, with signed print editions to follow.  

Feast your eyes on the cover art from the Ministry renaissance man, Alex White, and spread the word about the anthology by entering the giveaway.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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You like? Did you enter the giveaway? GO ENTER ^

Givaway & Preview of Exorcising Aaron Nguyen

Hey folks! Sorry about the spotty blogging schedule - I'm working hard to get audiobooks out of the studio and words on the page, as well as brainstorming and writing guest blogs for the EXORCISING AARON NGUYEN blog tour next month. So, I figure, why not give y'all a sneak peak of the book?

Also, two random commenters will receive a coupon for a free copy of the novella on its release day, August 24th!

Cover has been touched up and is ready to go! Woohoo!

Chapter One

What's a Little Murder Between Friends?

Exactly one week after Aaron Nguyen’s body appeared on the soccer field with his head smashed in, I found my best friend, Hiroki Satou, leafing through an exorcism manual behind the chapel. The 9 a.m. sun punched the silhouette of our school’s new steeple into the brick courtyard, as if to remind students in the shadow of that looming crucifix that Jesus was always watching, even if the teachers usually weren’t. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke cut through the air, which was already dense with the grass and magnolia perfume of a late North Carolina summer.

As usual, Hiroki was smoking, posed in a languid slump against the brick wall. The manual, though—he usually didn’t bring that sort of thing out of his room. I slid into the shade next to him, and he shook the book at me without looking up.

"Ghosts are bad enough," he said around his cigarette, careless of ash falling on the lapel of his school blazer. "Asian ghosts are fucking terrifying."

I rolled my eyes. Hiroki had spoken English of some variety since he was a kid, but he’d only been in the states for six years. There were a few things he still didn't get right all the time—prepositions, articles, idioms like "you can't have your cake and eat it too" (which, if I thought too hard about it, didn't make any goddamn sense to me either)—but I took personal pride in the fact that, by the end of sophomore year, he'd perfected the vast and varied usage of the word "fuck". Sure, he'd done all the memorizing and mistake-making, but I wiped a lot of spit off our desks teaching him how to pronounce the "f".

He flipped the page in a book filled with low-res “paranormal” crime scene photographs, and blew a stream of smoke away from me. The brick courtyard separating us from the soccer field still trailed the remains of last week’s flimsy caution tape, like morbid party streamers no one had bothered to take down. Half the nuns clustered at the edge of the grass, clutching their rosaries and shaking their heads. Sister Joseph Ann wept quietly into her wrinkled hands. I glanced past them to the field, waving away smoke that drifted toward me despite Hiroki’s efforts.

School activities had been cancelled for the past week, allowing the students extra time to deal with the trauma of a murder no one understood. There’d been lots of loud crying by people who’d never spoken to Aaron, and I guess I couldn’t blame them. Maybe they were distressed at the thought of murder so close, or maybe they saw it as an opportunity to get attention. Personally, I wanted to blog about it, but it seemed disrespectful to report hearsay and my blog wasn’t a gossip rag, no matter what people said - I never report anything I can’t back up. To be honest, I didn’t feel qualified to talk about murder.

Aaron’s ghost showing up, though, was a twist I might have an inside scoop on. Hiroki was saddled with the unfortunate talent of spectral sight, which made him something of an expert on ghosts. Just before morning Mass, he’d spotted Aaron’s spirit sulking translucently at the top of the stairwell to the science lab and alerted one of the nuns.

“Did you talk to the police already?” I asked.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “An officer came by, but I haven’t talked to Aaron’s spirit. I just saw him. I don’t have anything they can use to look for evidence.” He tapped his heel against the brick, avoiding my gaze. Though the ghost hadn’t caused any trouble beyond a couple floating beakers and a spontaneously-lit bunsen burner, Hiroki was jumpy, and his unease made me nervous. He wasn’t usually afraid of them.

"So what's Aaron Nguyen's vengeful spirit going to do?” I asked. “Strangle students with computer cables? Program a continuous loop of Justin Beiber into the PA system?"

Hiroki smirked, glancing up. I tried not to notice the cutwork pattern of light stealing through the courtyard trees and lighting his irises to eerie amber. I'd given up on him in sophomore year, when I realized personality would never matter as much as the fact that I was three inches taller and about seventy pounds heavier. But he was too goddamn pretty for his own good sometimes.

I'd been in love with him since sixth grade, when he'd transferred from his school in Arashiyama, Japan to Millroad Catholic Academy—a grades 6-10 boarding school built in bumfuck middle-of-nowhere North Carolina. It was like one of those schools you read about in old British novels, except there was no lake for Clandestine Rowboats of Boy-on-Boy Snuggling (unfortunately) and the field across from our winding front drive sported twenty seven rusting cars and a deer stand.

He flipped a few more pages in the book and leaned away from the chapel’s brick wall, peering around my shoulder at the be-habited faculty. “They’re going to drench the place in holy water, say some Our Fathers, and expect Aaron to pack up and go like a good little Catholic ghost.”

I raised my eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s how exorcisms work. Omnis immunde spiritus and all that shit.”

“Yeah, well, I can tell you one thing—a Catholic exorcism isn’t going to work on a Buddhist ghost.”

I wasn’t surprised to hear Aaron had been Buddhist. A number of kids at our school weren’t Catholic, including Hiroki and me, but we attended because it was the only school around with a decent college acceptance rate. Parents who wanted their kids to go to university bought uniforms, made checks out to Jesus, and packed their bewildered kids off to Mass.

“I didn’t realize it mattered what religion the ghost was. Is. Whatever.”

“It does if it’s the kind of ghost that can be exorcised.”

Hiroki avoided my gaze as he took another long drag of his cigarette and watched the nuns file somberly back into the school for assembly. There was something in that statement he didn’t want me dwelling on.

He exhaled smoke through his nose in a long sigh. “We might as well poke around.” He shoved the book into his messenger bag and slung it around behind him.

“What does that mean?” I asked, glancing at the door to the chapel. The cool stone interior beckoned me, promising a nap-length assembly followed by an iced vanilla latte, and I really didn’t want to play the Watson to his Sherlock unless he was willing to reenact some pretty specific fanfiction. “I am not going to the morgue to touch his body.”

“Ew,” Hiroki said, a little skipping-shudder in his step. “No. I mean his murder. I’m not going near a dead body—gross.”

I guess there was Seeing Dead People, and there was seeing dead people. I wasn’t in a hurry to do either.

“How are you planning to just ‘poke around’ his murder case? The police are all up in here twice a day.”

“No idea yet. I’ll have a plan by lunchtime.”

I power walked after him. “You know I’m all for investigative journalism,” I said, “but don’t you think snooping through crime scenes and threatening possible witnesses is sort of a bad idea?”

He shrugged, reaching for the door to the chapel and heaving it open. A gust of cool air reached out, snagging us both. “Probably.” He stepped into the relative darkness of the hallway and glanced back at me. “When has that ever stopped you?”

*****

So what do y'all think? Love, hate, ambivalence, apathy? Let me know in the comments! Make sure to include your email or twitter handle so I can contact the winners. :)