Dead Man and the Army of Frogs

The newest installment in the Dead Man series is now available on Amazon, Smashwords, and All Romance eBooks. Branes & Noble and print are coming soon.

Self-publishing has its challenges but it gets easier the more you do it. You also learn a few tricks along the way. For example, if you want Smashwords to accept your epub file for upload, you have to compile the epub in Scrivener then convert it from epub to epub in Calibre. Nuts but it works.

Whenever I'm uploading my books I get frustrated by the available categories. Dead Man and the Army of Frogs is a contemporary gay paranormal romance mystery. Probably more mystery than romance. It could possibly be also categorized as urban fantasy. One thing it isn't is gay fiction. Yet I'm forced to pic gay fiction as one of my categories at almost all vendors' sites for the gay part to register at all.

Amazon allows you to pick two categories only. So I chose gay fiction and paranormal romance. However, now that it's live it listed under nine categories, including gay romance. I'm convince that the Amazon goblins pick the additional categories based on the tags you supply. (Ironically, the tags don't appear on the book page anymore.)

All Romance eBooks is the only retailer I know that lets you pick gay romance as a category. If they can do it why can't the others?

Anyway, enough of my yakking. Enjoy this excerpt from Dead Man and the Army of Frogs:

"What in the name of Hecate are you wearing?" Bran's tone teetered between bafflement and alarm.

Denton had anticipated Bran's reaction, and secretly reveled in being able to surprise his generally unflappable boyfriend. He had promised to buy them a pair of kilts months ago but he knew Bran hadn't taken him seriously. Taking two steps into the living room he twirled around in a totally non-girly way. "It's called a utility kilt." He swiveled his hips to show off the side of the garment. "See, it even has pockets for storing stuff. You know, keys, wallet, a bag of graveyard dust. Whatever you got. Practical, eh?"

Technically, his kilt had gone well beyond mere utility with its steampunk-inspired design of straps, buckles, and other embellishments, but Denton had always liked extras. He'd wanted the kilt the moment he laid eyes on it at the online store.

Bran stared at the tan fabric first, then at Denton's bare legs showing between the hem and the orange socks puddling around his ankles. "It looks like a skirt to me."

Denton eagerly clarified the situation. "Nah, it only would be a skirt if I wore underpants."

With a pained expression Bran closed his eyes and kept them shut for several seconds—possibly counting to ten. When he opened them again they brimmed with resignation. "You're going to freeze your balls off."

"We're driving, aren't we?"

"Yes, but—"

"My balls will be fine." Denton did a quick shimmy with his hips. The swoosh of the thick cotton against his skin was anything but unpleasant. "You should try this; it feels so…liberating."

Bran's jaws set in a stubborn line. "I'm not going to a dinner at your friend's place wearing a skirt."

"Kilt. And Joy's your friend too now. Anyway, I meant around the house. Instead of those baggy jeans. The kilt I bought for you is tasteful and black, just how you like your clothing, but still functional with a pocket on one side for your eyes of newt or whatnot." He closed the few steps separating them till they were toe-to-toe. He wrapped his arms around Bran's waist. "It would be much more comfortable for your tail." Denton wasn't talking euphemistically. Bran had a perfectly formed, hairless, and surprising agile tail. Apparently, stuff like this happened when you had a demon for a father. Denton slipped a hand down to Bran's backside, over the spot where ordinary people had the beginning of their coccyx and pressed his finger at the root of Bran's bonus appendage. "Just think about it," Denton said quickly to cut off possible protest.

Bran sighed. "Fine, I'll think about it."

Denton grinned. "Good, because I have a pornucopia of fantasies of you in a kilt."

Sunday Snippet

I've just finished the first draft of a trio of short stories about Denton Mills, a young man with fondness for body piercings, colorful socks, and an unfortunate connection to dead people. So now I'm editing, editing, and editing some more. So far this is what the first paragraph looks like:

Dying sucked hairy monkey balls. Even when you weren't the one doing it. Denton hated running into the final moments of strangers. Unfortunately, he couldn't always help it. This particular street corner had been safe a week before. The oversized man now clutching his chest must have died sometime since last Tuesday. Heart attack. Denton felt an echo of panic sweep through him and had to grab onto a lamppost to keep from tumbling onto the pavement too. He barely had 135 pounds for his 5' 9" frame, yet he could clearly feel the mass of flesh weighing him down, squeezing the life out of him. At least it was over fast. The man stopped breathing and his presence faded away, both from the street and Denton's mind. He shook himself and took a few deep breaths before getting on his way. As he hurried down the street, he took a mental note to avoid that corner for a few months at least--till the trace of fresh death had had a chance to dissipate.

I'm sure it'll change.

Sunday Snippet

From a WIP:

The man opening the door radiated a presence more intense than a triple chocolate fudge cake. Seeing him up close, Denton decided B. Maurell couldn't be called traditionally handsome--all his features were too strongly drawn for it--yet the whole package together had Denton engrossed. Sharp cheekbones and a prominent nose contrasted with sensuously full lips. The heavy dark eyebrows and shoulder-length, lightly wavy hair lent him a saturnine air, but his eyes made the biggest impression on Denton. They were as dark as the deepest trenches of the ocean where the sun doesn't penetrate, and strange creatures dwell. They also seemed to accuse Denton of unspeakable crimes. Catnapping to begin with.

Eager to prove his innocence, Denton held Murry in front of him. "I have your cat. He must have jumped from your balcony to my fire escape. I found him sitting on my feet when I woke up."

Murry dangled between them like a furry peace offering for a couple of beats, before his owner reached out and took him. Those eyes focused on the cat for a moment, then back on Denton. "You fed him."

For absolutely no reason a shiver run through Denton, but he heroically ignored it. "It seemed like a polite thing to do, and it's daytime. I didn't let him get wet."

B. Maurell either hadn't seen Gremlins or had no sense of humor. "He's on a diet." The warm baritone of his voice undermined the gruffness of the words.

"What kind? If it's Atkins, all's fine--I only gave him tuna, no carbs." Denton meant it as a joke, and grinned like an idiot to bring the point home, but he only received a stony silence in exchange. Tough crowd.