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01 July 2012 @ 07:10 pm
I've been working on this piece for quite sometime and have self-published through createspace.

in print cover

SummaryLip and Nate’s lives have been intimately entwined since they were children, but living in Arcadia (the former United States) makes things difficult. Mental illness is heavily monitored and corrected, and being anything other than heteronormative is considered deviant, as well as an illness, and is also ‘fixed’. 
Between mental procedures, arranged marriages, and Nate’s own almost debilitating mental disorder, Lip desperately clings to his best friend as they both try to white knuckle it through existence.

Available in PRINT and as in ebook at Amazon.

You can find me at Goodreads.

Cover drawn by Jessica Burruss. 

Current Location: the lair
Current Mood: ecstaticecstatic
03 May 2012 @ 03:24 pm
Originally posted by theljstaff at Help Us Support Planned Parenthood

Join us in standing up for reproductive health and education. Planned Parenthood, the organization that delivers reproductive health care, sex education and information to millions of people worldwide, has come under fire in the U.S. lately, with many politicians on both state and federal level seeking to end funding (and in a few cases succeeding).

During the month of May, you can send a specially designed Planned Parenthood vgift to your friends to help support this cause. (And if you need someone to send it to, frank is always happy to receive gifts!) There are three variations ($1, $5 and $10) for you to choose from, but they'd all look good on your profile when your friends know that you stand by something so important.


Thank you all for your help in our support for Planned Parenthood. This promotion ends June 1, 2012; LiveJournal is not affiliated with Parent Parenthood. For more information about Planned Parenthood, please visit: http://www.plannedparenthood.org/

-The LiveJournal Team

(If you'd like to help spread the word that we're raising funds for Planned Parenthood, you can crosspost this entry in your own journal or community by using the repost button below!)
11 December 2011 @ 11:02 am
Which movie always makes you cry?

Oh my. It takes a lot for a movie or TV show to make me cry, the moment has to have the perfect amount of emotion and the right music. Not that I don't feel scenes, like when Jack dies in Titanic, that makes me sad, or the end of Brokeback Mountain, the opening sequence of Up. But I usually cry during The Green Mile, I always cry during the episode of ER when Mark Green dies, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Buffy finds her mother's dead body.
Current Mood: sicksick
06 November 2011 @ 11:50 am
Here's the opening to my NaNoWriMo entitled, Apocalypse Nowish about three people who are charged with averting an apocalypse that isn't really on schedule.

This is the purest of rough drafts since yes, it is NaNo, so keep that in mind.


Fentress Taylor lived to be 104 years old and still had her wits about her. She lived through two world wars, traveled the whole wide world, wore exotic clothes (bright colors, loud and attention seeking), she spoke three languages and wore long purple scarves that matched her eyes. Finney remembered that the most, the deep color of violet staring at her from behind thick black eyelashes. She smelled like the ocean and always held Finney close.

“Big things in store for you,” Aunt Fentress would tell, reading the fine lines on Finney’s little hand.”


“Don’t worry, you have some time.” She folded Finney’s hand and put it back in her lap. She rook off her reading glasses and went about her business.

“What’s gonna happen?”

“Don’t you worry,” she repeated and combed through Finney’s hair. “You’ll be just fine.”

Finney was only seven when Great Aunt Fentress Taylor died, but she remembers every moment, every gesture and story. She told lots of stories, kind of scary. About ghosts and monsters and how to keep them all away. “Always carry some salt with you,” Aunt Fentress would say while she taught Finney how to bake cupcakes. “And holy water. If you throw holy water in anything’s face and it’s bad, you’ll know.”

“Okay.” Finney just kept stirring the bowl.

She spent a lot of time at Great Aunt Fentress’ towards the end. And the stories got more elaborate and once (and only once) she showed Finney the Beretta Laramie pistol (which she carried with her in her purse until the day she died), with the pearl handle and her initials carved in. “I want you to have this one day,” Aunt Fentress said. But she wouldn’t let Finney touch it, just showed her the silver bullets. “And always make sure you have these. Regular bullets don’t usually work.”

Finney’s parents, William and Helen (especially Helen) didn’t like all that talk, but no one told Fentress Taylor what to do or what to say. Whatever she said went, and everyone listened.

Fentress Bray, however, is fifteen and pretty sure that she is going crazy and dying. Fifteen is a long way from 104.
Current Location: the lair
Current Mood: awakeawake
Current Music: Somebody Told Me - The Killers
31 October 2011 @ 07:41 pm
“I’m cold.”

“I know.”

Lando presses hid body into Gene’s, their helmets touching, hips fused, shoulders connected. He kicks at the dirt, their little foxhole shifting. He fidgets.

“Stop that,” Gene orders, knocking knees and adjusting the blanket that keeps moving.

“It’s cold,” he repeats. “There are trees and people exploding. I’m running low on supplies, we’re eating slop—”


But he keeps going. One hand gestures while the other keeps a grip on the blanket. “And if I have to dive out there in the snow to help another goddamn replacement…” his voice catches and he shakes and it’s not from the cold.

Gene removes his hand from the comfort of his pocket and takes a hold of Lando’s waving hand and laces their fingers. His skin is cold and blue, but he stops talking.

“I’m scared,” Lando whispers. He licks his lips and glances down. He’s never said anything about it, except that one time when Gene asked, when they were alone and safe in Paris.

“I know,” Gene says, tightening the grip. “I know. But you know, we’re still kickin’ and Chuck’s food ain’t that—”

“It’s terrible.”

Gene chuckles. “Yes. It is pretty awful.”

“I’d rather eat snow.”


Their breaths come out in little white puffs. Lando still shakes and Gene tries to make their bodies even closer. He wants to melt into Lando, make them warm and whole.

Lando licks his lips again, which is kind of dumb because the cold will just make them chapped again, make them crack and bleed. He shifts his body into an awkward pose. His back lower, his feet crossed. He keeps moving until his head is pressed to Gene’s shoulder. Gene takes their hands under the blanket. “Get some sleep,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Just try.”

Lando needs the sleep. Because when the mortars start falling and hitting the trees, someone’s going to yell medic and Lando will snap to attention and lunge himself out of the hole without a second thought. Gene shifts himself too and keeps the blanket secure. He listens to the sound of Lando’s shaking breath and twigs snapping in the distance.
Current Mood: anxiousanxious
23 October 2011 @ 02:30 pm
Gene is slowly pulled from his sleep by the sound of running water. He checks the window for a down pour of rain, but notices the light coming from the bathroom. The tub. He grins to himself and ruffles his hair before getting out of bed and silently striding to the doorway.

Lan doesn't notice; he’s immersed in the water, steam rising from his skin. He leans back, eyes closed and lets out a contented sigh, then shuts off the spigot with his foot. “It’s rude to stare,” he says.

Gene chuckles and comes in. “Move up.”



“Because you are going to try to seduce me and I want to relax.” He doesn’t even open his eyes.

“I won’t. Promise.”

He huffs and moves. “Fine.” Lan is smaller than Gene, but not by much. Some how they both fit; the tub is long and deep. He’s comfortable, leaned back with Lan pressed against him.

Lan's head falls back onto Gene's shoulder. Right now, it’s like there’s nothing else going on in the world. There’s no war, there’s no army. They’re safe inside these walls, in this hotel, uniforms strune all over the room. The beds, the floor. Their boots sitting side-by-side at the door.

Gene presses his mouth to Lan’s temple, rakes his nails down Lan’s arm, coming across a rough patch. Pink and stretched out, a burn. “What’s this?”

He still doesn’t open his eyes. “Gabriel. He was not too thrilled to have another sibling.”

“What a jerk.” And Gene remembers that Gabriel is dead. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No. He kind of was sometimes. He got better though.” Lan situates himself a bit better. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Gene says with his lips still at Lan’s temple, tasting his damp hair.

There’s silence for a while and Gene fears a bombing. Or bullets flying through the window. “Lan?”


“Are you ever scared out there?”

“All the time.”

Lan grabs his left hand and laces their fingers. Gene leans his head back against the lip of the tub and stares at the ceiling.
Current Mood: coldcold
14 October 2011 @ 11:03 am
Summary: After the death of his wife, Jude Langley slips into a deep depression. In order to help, his sister buys him a brand-new Android Series Companion 3. 

This isn't edited yet, but I"m just posting the first section to see what you think.


part one.Collapse )
Current Location: the lair
Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Current Music: Glee
09 October 2011 @ 12:58 pm
Dear Supernatural,

What are you doing to me, and why are you doing it?

Current Location: the lair
Current Mood: restlessrestless
Current Music: Wild Child - Enya
29 September 2011 @ 08:07 pm
Jessie: It's official. You are calling your period shark week from now on.



Me: Shark week is something wonderful and spectacular that only comes around once a year. Your period comes once a month the rest of your life and sucks
Current Mood: amusedamused
05 August 2011 @ 10:01 pm
word: synthesis

Old country music plays from the jukebox. Scout gets up from the table with two quarters to go change the song. She complained about the sound of ripped piano wires and yodeling inbreds before he searched his coat pocket.

He orders their food while she’s up; two Monday night specials, extra onions for her, no lettuce for him. He orders two beers, but when she gets back she says all she wants is water.

“You sure?” he asks taking a sip of the bottle in front him.

She looks at it like it’s going to sting her or something. “Yeah.” She pushes it towards him and drinks her water.

He’s almost done with his dinner while she’s only munched on a few French fries, ripped a part the bun, but she’s downed three glasses of water. The look in her eyes far off, like her answers are in the bottom of her cup, between the ice cubes. Her thumb nail bleeds and she doesn’t seem to notice anymore.

“Hey,” he says, touching her hand. She finally looks at him, tilting her head. She licks her lips. “Are you okay?”

She sort of smiles, one of those half-smiles that people normally put on for show. “Yeah. I’m just tired. Thinking about where to go for my next article.” She hasn’t written a piece for the magazine in almost a month.

He knows that she’s lying; you don’t spend four years with someone and not know their lie-face. He thinks she’s still mad at him because of the hunt. Exorcised an angry spirit that had a lot of fun tussling him about the tiny house, throwing his body against the wall, flinging pots towards his head and chest. He taunted it ruthlessly while she read out the incantation. She thinks he’s too reckless.

The cheesy country starts up again as Cam is on his third beer. “Jesus,” she mutters and sticks out her hand for more quarters.

“These are my last two.” He digs deep in his pockets.

“Whatever.” She snatches them and walks away. He watches her intently, through the smoke and dim lights. The curve of her ass, the peeks of her tattoo over the line of her jeans as she bends a bit at the jukebox. Flowers and leaves dancing from one hip to the other.

He orders a shot of whiskey to make the throb in his shoulder stop. She asks the waitress for a box and another glass of water.

“You wanna head outta here?” he asks.

She shrugs. “Like to, before that awful music starts again.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh please.” Stands and takes the box, then leans over him, her breasts in his face as she reaches into his coat pocket. He grips her hips and she kisses his forehead before pulling back, dangling the car keys on her thumb. “Come on, tiger.”
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