Guest Post: Lynn Townsend

My darling Lynn's first full-length novel, Roll, was released yesterday, and even if I wasn't her beta reader and editor, I couldn't be more proud or excited. This is really a fantastic, sweet book about two college-age boys, with brilliantly real characters (not just the main characters, but the entire amazing cast of supporting characters as well). So of course I jumped at the chance to host an "interview" with one of those characters.

Everyone, meet Vinyl Elvis Reyes, known to his friends as Vin:

Aren't you a little old to be an undergrad?

I'm not that far behind, really. I'll graduate when I'm twenty-five. But, if you want to know the truth, I had some... issues, when I was a kid. My mom died when I was really young and it traumatized me -- a bit. I was in a foster home for a while, and then my grandparents came and got me. I should have started school right then, but... Grams calls it catatonic. I didn't talk. I had nightmares all the time, so my sleep schedule was erratic. I went through periods where I didn't eat. Schoolwork was right out of the question. My grandparents decided to hold me back that year.

So, I was six before I started school at all. And I still wasn't talking. Kindergarten was fine, you know. Coloring and crafts. After a while, teachers stopped asking me questions because I'd just stare at them until I started crying, which kinda freaked them out a bit. My grandparents had enough money that no one really wanted to piss them off. So, I passed. And I went on to first grade, which was more of the same.

By that time, my grandparents had me in like six different kinds of therapy. Emotional. Speech. Learning disabilities. I was on a couple different drugs for a while -- people thought I was autistic. There wasn't anything wrong with my brain -- yeah, shut up -- and from my screaming at night, it's not like I couldn't speak. I just didn't. I had a therapist for a while who liked to pinch my upper arms; he figured I wouldn't tell anyone, and if I did, then Bam! Cured.

Obviously, eventually, I started talking -- shut up! -- but I was so far behind that I failed out of fifth grade. I had a teacher that year who wasn't scared of my grandparents money and insisted I actually do the work...

Sooo.... I'm behind. A bit.

Who's your role model? Why?

I don't really do the role model thing. You know, if you go digging deep enough, most people are kinda assholes underneath. But there are some people I admire. One of them is David Pritchard. My driver slash bodyguard slash flunky. First off, have you seen the man? Oh my my my, he is fine. Couple years back, we got into a rough one -- some idiot actually tried to mug me. Me? Seriously. I couldn't believe it myself.

But that guy, he can really rock and roll. There's something about men of action, you know. And it's not like it is in the movies. David moves fast, and he's not playing pretty. If he can gain an advantage by pulling someone around by their hair, he'll do that. Watched him break that mugger's nose by swinging him around by the pony-tail and introducing him to a telephone pole. Fight went out of him real quick.

David's an okay guy; it's not his fault my grandparents think I need looking after. I pay him extra to keep his distance. He only really insists when I'm alone. Thus, the need to cultivate rather a lot of friends to hang out with.

To be honest, I think he watches me a lot closer than I'm really comfortable with. He seems to show up really fast when I need a ride.

What's your greatest fear?

Being alone. Stupid, huh? With all the friends I have. But I don't have anybody else. My grandparents are old, my mom is dead, and no one knows what happened to my father. My grandfather had a brother, my Great Uncle Ethan, but he passed on about eight years ago or so. I never knew him particularly well anyway. My grandfather has business partners and my grandmother has all those ladies charities that she works with, but I never seemed to have all those uncles and cousins and siblings that everyone else seems to have. Grams gets upset about it sometimes, seems to think that I won't ever have any children and that the company will be taken over by a board of directors when I'm gone.

You have no idea how sad that makes me, worrying about the company.

I've heard you've always been "out of the closet." Tell us about that.

You know, when I was a kid, I used to watch this show, Sabrina the teenaged witch, because I had a huge crush on an actor named Nate Richert? He played Harvey Kinkle. I used to entertain all sorts of daydreams that Sabrina had accidentally cast a spell on him that made him straight, and then if I actually met him, the spell would break and he'd be my boyfriend.

Take that look off your face and try to tell me you didn't think the same thing about Seeley Booth in Bones...

To be honest, I think my grandparents were so relieved that I'd started talking and mostly acting normal that it never occurred to them to worry about it that I was gay. It wasn't like I came out of the closet. I was never in there. When I crushed on someone, I just said so. I didn't really learn discretion until later.

So, what's your favorite band? Movie? Food?

Only if you don't make fun. I'm a big fan of James Blunt. He's got such a smooth voice, and it just... and Maroon 5. Have you seen Adam Levine's videos? That guy is trippy. I'm also a fan of a band called Rusted Root. One of my friends works at the campus radio station, she does some cool shows; she's a lot more musically educated than I am, but her show's on from 8 to 10 on Wednesdays. You should give it a listen.

Movies.... hmmm. I really like Stranger Than Fiction. Of course, anything with Emma Thompson in it tends to earn a watch-through from me, even that horrible thing where she plays a grouchy Mary Poppins... Nanny McFee or something like that.

Food? I'm easy. If it doesn't run away and I don't have to cook it, I'll eat what's put in front of me. Although I'll admit to a preference for anything that has barbeque sauce on it.

***

Roll is available now from Torquere Press, Amazon.Com, and other distributors, and will be available in print soon from Amazon.Com.

A farm boy from Tennessee, Beau Watkins spent high school living the dream: the cute girl, the popular, jock lifestyle, a loving family. As a freshman at an out-of-state college, he's determined to find out who he really is behind the Fake It 'Til You Make It attitude. He joins Rainbow Connection, the gay student alliance, hoping to find himself. Instead, he finds Vin Reyes. Raised by his grandparents and heir to a prosperous company, Vin has been out of the closet since he figured out what that meant. He has it all: fashionable clothing, fancy cars, huge houses, a real party lifestyle, and even a bodyguard. Most of all, he has a secret.

Uncomfortable with Vin's generosity, Beau fights his growing attraction for the president of Rainbow Connection, chasing instead a series of shallow affairs. Vin's never been denied anything that he wants, though, and now he wants Beau. But it's not until an old rival puts Beau in the hospital that Vin realizes that Beau means more to him than a simple love affair. Can the two of them bridge the gap between their worlds and roll with the all the punches life will throw at them?

Passivity

Most writers have been told that the passive voice is a big no-no.

It's not always wrong, mind. It's particularly useful in technical reports when the subject is actually unimportant to the narrative and there's a desire for brevity, e.g.: The software was installed on the server.

And it can occasionally be useful in fiction to convey a feeling of helplessness or inability, e.g.: His measurements were taken, material and color decided upon, and the order was placed.

But too much passive voice tends to grate at readers, even if they're not sure why they're getting annoyed. In particular, I get jumped out of the narrative when I run into passive voice, largely because of something Lynn told me a while back.

She said that she learned to recognize passive voice by tacking "...by zombies" onto the end of a clause -- if it forms a useable sentence, then it's passive.

For instance: "The comic book was read... by zombies" does.

That lesson lodged in my brain as amusing and useful, and now whenever I spot a passive statement, I automatically tack "...by zombies" onto the end of it. Which, given my usual editing material, leads to some pretty hysterical results.

Blankets were tugged around them... by zombies.

The hair was brushed from the back of his neck... by zombies.

His shirt was pushed over his head, his jeans and briefs tugged down... by zombies.

Warm kisses were pressed to his ass... by zombies.

His cock was squeezed in a firm, hot grip... by zombies.

I'm just saying, here, that if I'm your editor and you get a note from me in the margin pointing out that something is in the passive voice, I've mentally rewritten your scene to include some zombies.

So you might want to do something about that.

MarsCon!

I spent several hours writing up a recap of MarsCon for my personal blog (http://wherelizlives.blogspot.com/2014/01/marscon-2014-report.html) so if you want the general report, that's where to go. This'll be a quick review of the panels/activities for which I was an official guest, plus a little treat at the end. ;-)

But before I dive into that, a little announcement. Last week, Lynn and I submitted the collection of flashfic that we spent most of last year working on, and only a couple of hours later, it was accepted! It looks like Whetting the Appetite is going to be out sometime in March from JMS Books, and if we sell enough copies of the ebook, then it will be scheduled for print publication! Whoohoo!

Anyway, MarsCon:

The number of erotica/romance authors was fairly small this year, so most of us wound up on the same panels over and over together, but that was okay. Sadly, neither Helen Madden nor JM Snyder made it this year, but I got to sit with Kat Lively and Michael O'Brien (Shokolada) again, and my new authorial friend this year was Nobilis Reed, who was a bit at loose ends, not knowing too many people at the Con, so we sort of scooped him up on a few occasions.

Friday night started with the "adult" version of Match Game, which was sort of like Cards Against Humanity, only without the actual cards to keep us in check. A sample: "The Blue Fairy is a dominatrix now. She told Pinocchio to stick his nose in ______ and lie."

We had some pretty raunchy fun with that, oh yes we did.

And when that was done, we had the "adult" version of Fairy Tale Rewrites. Each author chose a story, and then the audience provided some additional bits to work in. We wrote for about twenty minutes while the MC led the audience through a sexy MadLibs game (...I'm so mad at myself that I forgot to get a copy of that! but maybe Lynn kept hers?). Then we read our stories out loud to general amusement. They weren't judged, but I can tell you that I'm pretty sure Michael would've gotten first place, but I think I had a fair shot at second.

I'll post my story for you at the end of this post. (That's the treat.)

Saturday afternoon, I spent about an hour sitting in the signing room, which was mostly a wash, as the only book I sold was a pity sale to a friend, and I could've just as easily have sold that book while wandering the halls. Oh, well.

After that, I sat on a panel to discuss the Hunger Games (book and/or movie). That went very well, actually -- the other panelists were well-prepared and thoughtful and insightful, and the audience was lively and participatory (a couple of them maybe a little too participatory, as they had to be reined in to let the others get a word in edgewise once or twice).

That night was four hours of panels about erotica and romance and writing and publishing. The first couple were pretty simple -- talking about publishing and finding a home for your work; the second was a discussion of why erotic fairy tales are so popular. The third panel on the schedule was "Erotic Role-Play" and we decided that we didn't really want to get too deeply into bedroom roleplay, so instead we talked about introducing sexual situations in roleplaying games. And the last panel was supposed to be about masturbation, but from what I was told, the person who proposed that panel and offered to run it dropped out... so we just talked about whatever we felt like talking about, really, taking audience questions and moderating discussions. It was good. But boy, were we wiped by the end of it!

Sunday, I did another Fairy Tale Rewrites (this time PG); the results of that can be found on my personal blog report (link up at the top). Once again, not judged, though I think the solid winner would have been Danny Birt (and that once again, I'd have been a solid contender for second place).

I think this year went even better than last year, though, and I'm looking forward to next year already, so very much!

And in celebration, I have a coupon code that's good all the way through Friday this week -- enter "MarsCon2014" at checkout at torquerebooks.com or prizmbooks.com and get 20% off your entire purchase!

And now, for your patience... an erotic retelling of The Princess and the Frog.

I chose the fairy tale; the audience selected for me:

A person: a Frenchman
A sexy situation: accidental nudity
A location: Central Park
An object: butter

And keeping in mind that we only had 20 minutes to write (I've fixed typos here, but nothing else), the story:

Agnes sat by the pond in Central Park, weeping.

"Whah are you weeping, ma chere?" said a voice.

Agnes looked up and blinked away her tears, then rubbed at her eyes, not certain she had seen correctly. The man was wearing a ragged coat over a dirty striped shirt, and trousers rolled to his knees, soaking wet to mid-thigh. Despite his unkempt appearance, however, his face was strikingly handsome, with full lips and bright green eyes. A long pole stretched over his shoulder; at the end of it was a tightly-woven net containing a dozen or more frog carcasses.

"I... I dropped my golden ball in the pond," she responded. "I can't find it!"

The man's face lit up. "Ze ball!" he exclaimed. "I have found zis! One of mah frogs had swallowed eet!" But then he paused. "And what are joo giving moi, for your treasure?"

Agnes bit her lip. "Anything," she gasped. "Oh, anything!"

The Frenchman took Agnes' chin. "Anything?" he asked archly. Agnes trembled in his grasp as he leaned in for a kiss.

Startled by her own longing, Agnes stepped back -- and tripped over a branch, falling into the pond. As she fell, Agnes' summer dress, caught on the branch and tore, revealing what she wore underneath -- which is to say, nothing.

She wiped mud from her face and looked up at the Frenchman with wide eyes, lip trembling.

"Ah, ma chere," the Frenchman murmured. "Come, come with me, and we shall see you properly settled."

He helped her from the mud and muck and tucked her arm through his, leading her through the park to a secluded spot covered with cardboard. He lit a fire in a small grate and helped Agnes remove her soaked dress. While she warmed herself, he tossed the frogs into a pot to cook. "Will you dine with me?"

Agnes could not help but grimace. "No, thank you."

"Ah, ma chere," the Frenchman chided, "you must not turn up your nose. In France, we know that enough garlic and butter makes *anysing* delicious." Agnes did not want to be rude to her host, so she tried a bite -- and was soon devouring the delectable frog legs, melted butter running down her chin and over her breasts.

The Frenchman smiled as they finished their feast. "Will you come and lay upon my pillow?" he asked, gesturing to a nest of blankets.

Agnes hesitated again, but before she could refuse, the Frenchman took her hand and led her to the nest. The blankets were amazingly soft, and Agnes forgot all as the Frenchman dipped his head to lick the butter from her breasts. Agnes gasped softly, and forgot all her protests.

The Frenchman roused her to climax once, twice, thrice, before sinking into her to sate his own desires. She fell asleep in his arms.

She woke to the sight of the sun, a golden ball rising to reveal her Frenchman wearing a fancy suit and Gucci loafers that could never have stepped in mud. Behind him was not a cardboard hovel, but a magnificent brownstone. "Joo have freed me," he exclaimed. "I thought I would be trapped as a frog-gigger forever, but for joo! Marry me, ma chere, and joo shall never want for whatever baubles -- or butter -- you desire."

Grammar an' Gunk

One quick reminder: MarsCon is this weekend -- if you're planning to come, please find a minute to look me up and say hi! (My schedule is at http://everyworldneedslove.blogspot.com/2014/01/happy-new-year-are-we-ready-for-marscon.html if you need it; more info at http://www.marscon.net/).

Let's talk about the use of family words today!

By "family words", I mean exactly what it sounds like: words such as "mom" and "father" and "grandmother" and "cousin".

Paricularly, let's talk about capitalization. I see a lot of these, both of which are wrong:

• Bob waved to his Mom across the room.
•  I handed mom a napkin.

Here's a rule of thumb: Substitute the word "cat" (or "dog", if you prefer) into the sentence for the relative with no other adjustments. If the sentence is grammatically correct (though possibly silly), then the family word should not be capitalized.If it reads awkwardly, then you're using the family word as a name and it should be capitalized. Like so:

• Bob waved to his cat from across the room. That seems perfectly reasonable, and therefore, the correct sentence is: Bob waved to his mom from across the room.
• I handed cat a napkin. Not only is that silly, but "I handed cat" just doesn't sound right, unless "Cat" is the cat's name. In which case, this is being used as a name and it should be "I handed Mom a napkin."

An exception: If the family name is prepended to a proper name and they're used together as a set (e.g., "Uncle Dave",  "Grandma Jean", or "Cousin George") then you always capitalize the family name.

• Bob waved to his Uncle Dave from across the room.
• I handed Cousin George a napkin.

Got it? Leave your questions and special cases and nitpicks in the comments!

Ugly History

It's a joke I see pretty often, in various incarnations: Friends help you clean up after a party.  Real friends help you clean up after a murder. Best friends promise to clean up your browser history after you die.

And boy, am I going to need that.

So far today, I have researched:

• Scotch (the drink)
• Billy Joel
• Bösendorfer pianos
• Straightjackets

Which is a weird little list, but not all that terrible, I suppose. But then earlier this week, I was researching butt plugs, dildos, and cock cages.

I don't even have a boyfriend.

As might be assumed from the fact that about two weeks ago, I spent a half-hour or so trying to ascertain a reasonable, ball-park rate for a rent boy who makes housecalls. (Fact-checking that story also led me into some research on the gay porn industry and -- bizarrely -- custom-built refrigerators.)

Also in December: breeds of roses, recipes for red velvet cake, and military tour/leave policies.

I suppose it could be worse.

I could be editing murder mysteries.

Happy New Year! Are We Ready for MarsCon?

Holy crap, have I really not blogged since mid-November?

The end of the year just destroys me, it really does.

I hope you all had a great holiday season, then, whatever that entails for you! (For me, it includes my birthday, Thanksgiving, my son's birthday, and Christmas, most of which include multiple gatherings and events. This is why I have not blogged since mid-November!)

I can't recall if I'd posted it here before, but I'm going to be a guest at MarsCon again this year.

Back in late October or early November, the organizer sent around a list of panels and things and asked people to let them know what they were interested in doing.

Last week, they sent me my schedule. Apparently, when I'd marked stuff as "I'd be willing to do this," they'd taken it all as, "I really want to do this!" because I'm booked for nine hours of panels and contests and events across all three days! Plus an optional, additional hour if I want to sit in on the book signing.

So are you coming to MarsCon? Because if you are, chances are good that you'll be seeing me! And just to make sure you can find me if you're looking for me, here's my schedule:

Friday (17 Jan):
10-11 PM - Adult Guest Match
We play TV’s old Match Game but with a MarsCon genre twist. Our guests will fill in the blanks, you try to guess what they will say. Match the most guests and take away a MarsBucks prize. This is an adults-only event, so expect raunchy fun.

11 PM - 12:30 AM - Erotic Fairy-Tale Rewrites
The host will give our writers prompts, the audience will give each some naughty element to include, and then keyboards will clatter and pens will fly as the writers race to create the best erotic fairy tales.

Saturday (18 Jan):
2-3 PM - Author Signing (maybe, if I can squeeze it in!)
Get books signed by the MarsCon Guests of Honor and other participating writing guests.

3-4 PM - Hunger Games Roundtable
Did the second movie Catch Fire or fizzle? What’s the best thing about the Hunger Games trilogy? Join other fans for a roundtable discussion of The Hunger Games books and films.(Note: This is my only event that's not adults-only!)

Genre erotica publishing block (no descriptions given, but the titles should be pretty self-explanatory):
8-9 PM - Publishing Erotica: Finding and Accessing Markets for Your Work
9-10 PM - Fairy Tail: The Popularity and Practice of Writing Fairy Tale Erotica
10-11 PM - Role Playing Games for the Bedroom
11 PM - 12AM - Hands Solo: The Erotic Possibilities of Self Pleasure

Sunday (19 Jan):
12-1:30 PM - Twice Upon a Time: Fairy Tale Re-Writes Game
The host will gather improvisational prompts from the audience and then our writers are off, building improvisational fairy tales based on your favorites but with new characters, settings, and events thrown in at every step along the way.

As you can see, I'm going to be insanely busy, but to be honest, they all sound like so much fun that I couldn't bring myself to ask the organizer to drop me from anything! (Though if you'd like to drop in to that four-hour block on Saturday night to bring me snacks or water, I'd probably be very grateful!)

Guest V. L. Locey - Love of the Hunter

We have a guest post today, from the fantastic and lovely V. L. Locey! I first encountered her as the author of the hysterical Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse series (the first installment of which is in He Loves Me For My Brainsss) but she also has some amazing books out focusing on mythology, and she's here today to tell us a little about her latest!

~ ~ ~

Ever since I was a young girl I was fascinated with mythology. There was something magical and special about the legends of Heracles, Achilles, Perseus, and Odysseus. I would spend hours reading books about the Greek pantheon. I cannot recall how many times I have watched the first Clash of the Titans movie. More times than a grown woman should, that's for sure. I am a huge fan of Edith Hamilton, and use her novels as some writers use a dictionary or a thesaurus. It always struck me as sad that some people couldn't enjoy mythology as I did, but given how it's presented in classrooms from elementary school through college, it's no wonder so many hate Greek mythology.

I've tried, through my writing, to bring the gods to life. I've gone in and blown the dust bunnies off Zeus' marble nose and ran my Swiffer over Hera's peacock feather fan. With Love of the Hunter, my M/M mythological romance, I've taken things a step further and have rewritten one of the classic Greek legends. In this book you will see how Apollo, the most Greek of all the gods, meets and falls in love with Orion, the famed archer. This new adult romance is a dramatic one, make no mistake. There is a reason they call these tales Greek tragedies. Love of the Hunter is filled with pain and suffering, but the sadness is tempered with a love so deep it was immortalized in the heavens forever.

Here's a small sample from Love of the Hunter:

***

"You are a shameful man!" Orion glowers then gives me another shove. I fling out an arm to block him lest he strike out again. The man is strong, and his punches rock me soundly. "What possesses you to speak to your sister – your twin – in such a reprehensible manner?"

"What is said between her and I is not your concern!" I yell in his face then stalk past him, my shoulder meeting his. Orion grunts. I do not, although the contact pained me badly. My cape snaps around my ankles as I enter my bedchamber. My lover follows me. The wolves leave in the face of my anger. The door slams shut. I rip my cape from my shoulders and throw it to the corner. Turning, I come nose to nose with Orion. Undaunted and brazen my lover is. That is why he stood and fought Helios instead of begging forgiveness.

"What is said between you and her is my concern for it centers on me!" he shouts, his green eyes alive with his ire.

"So you defend this sick attraction she has for you? Why?" I demand to know. "Are you fucking her? Is that why?"

I let him hit me. I see the huge fist coming, and I allow it. The crunch of my nose breaking is liberating. Golden ichor gushes from my nostrils. I fall back into the wall, my arms getting caught in the thick teal drapery that hangs from the posts of the bed. I grasp a post for balance. My tongue darts out to catch a bit of the godly blood flowing down over my lips and chin.

I find Orion staring at me as if horrified.

"Apollo," he pants, his meaty fist dangling by his thigh.

"Nay," I cough, swallow, and then grab the curtain up to run it under my nose. The flow will stop in a moment; I am a god after all. "You did well. There are times that I require a sound punch to the face."

"I will not hear you speak of Artemis so." Orion steps closer. I hold the drapery tightly to my face, my eyes watery as I peek over the bloody material covering my nose and mouth. "She has been a veritable blessing during the long hours that you are gone. She tends my back, brings me well-cooked game, sings and laughs with me. She tells me stories and washes my hair."

"She loves you, Orion." I raise the drapery back to my nose.

He stares at me dully. He blinks at me as if I had just said something incomprehensible. "Nay," he says, his eyes leaping from me to his feet then to me again. He shakes his head.

"Aye," I mumble into the material over my face.

"Nay, she is naught but a sister to me," he says.

I drop the teal silk. A small trickle is all that remains of the bloody nose. "That is how you see her. It is not how see looks upon you," I tell him gently. I fear a feather landing on him would send him to the floor.

He drops to the end of the bed. The thick mattress compresses under his massive body. I sit down beside him. We both stare at our feet. I sniffle occasionally.

"Orion, she has loved you for quite some time. Do you not recall her saying she had watched you before meeting you? I know her -- she is smitten."

"But she knows I am your lover," he mutters. I sit straighter and glance over at him.

"Yes, she does." I reach over to take the hands hanging like dead fish over his knees in mine. "And that I cannot abide. You are mine. I will not share you with anyone. I will not allow her infatuation with you to grow. I should have been firmer about it before this, but I worried about leaving you here sickly and alone."

"You do not need worry for me," he says, bristling at the jab at his masculinity. I squeeze his hands.

"Orion, you are still pale. Even if you were returned to robust health, I would worry when you were gone from my side," I tell him, lifting his hands to my lips. I kiss each scarred knuckle. His jade eyes rise from his feet to meet mine. "Look upon our hands," I say, rolling his over then showing him mine. "I have no scars upon me. You do." I press my lips against a raised white welt that runs across the back of his right hand. "You are only half god. Your blood is not gold, it is red. Death will come for you and take you from me. This is unavoidable. So I worry. I will worry each time I cannot place my sight upon you. It is not a slur against your manhood or virility, it is simply the knowledge that I cannot die and you can. I would postpone your demise as long as I possibly can."

"Your tongue is gilded and golden, Apollo," he smiles weakly. "How does a man talk a man who just hit him in the face from his anger? How do you make me long for nothing aside from being in your arms?"

"I am the god of poetry and rhyme, my love," I counter seeing his gaze shift from my mouth to my amber eyes. I nod.

He leans in to capture my mouth. We fall back onto the bed, our mouths moving over each other’s slowly. We lay side by side, kissing, exploring, touching and cupping, stroking and teasing. We strip each other slowly, kissing each exposure of flesh.

***

You can pick up your copy of Love of the Hunter at the Torquere Press website: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=83&products_id=4070

Yours in love and laughter,
V.L. Locey


I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/VL-Locey/124405447678452
Twitter- https://twitter.com/vllocey
Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5807700.V_L_Locey
My blog- http://thoughtsfromayodelinggoatherder.blogspot.com/