Lou Sylvre's Blog - Posts Tagged "vasquez-and-james"

Climbing over the gunwale, Luki remarked, “Why did you call this a bucket? Looks like a perfectly good boat.”

“Look over the side, back there.” Sonny pointed.

“Melvern’s Bucket,” Luki read. “Oh.”

“So, anyway,” Sonny said. “Off we go to Mack’s Island.”

Luki had already sat down and started to do his routine weapons check. He tended not to be as heavily armed these days as he had been when they first met. But he still had his favorite handgun and two knives, and of course, a supply of ammunition and nylon handcuffs. He was taking stock now, making sure everything was where and how it was supposed to be, a job clearly requiring that a cigarette hang out of his mouth. He puffed at the damn thing without using his hands, which meant he had to keep his eye squinted like Charles Bronson in The Mechanic and his face scrunched up on one side—the side with the scar. Sonny hated that he looked damn sexy that way.

“It’s not fair,” he said.

“What’s not fair?”

That something can look sexy and kill you at the same time. He shook his head to dismiss Luki’s question, didn’t answer at all out loud.
Besides, there were other things he needed to have his mind on now. And he hadn’t forgotten that one reason Luki seemed lightly armed was because he, Sonny, still had his other gun. Sonny didn’t bring the subject up, but he was pretty sure Luki hadn’t forgotten either.
Sonny set the boat in motion, having a fair idea of the coordinates and a fair sense of direction. Not more than fair, out on the water, just like he only had a fair ability to drive the damn boat. Melvern had insisted he learn, but… well, it just wasn’t a car. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d lain across a hood wrenching on a car engine, but as far as activities go, cars had always been what he loved best—aside from weaving and dyes and that sort of thing. And now, aside from Luki. Everything to do with Luki. Including staring at Luki, watching him smoke his lungs dry and play with guns. Disgustingly, Sonny wanted to weave him like that.

“I hate being on the water,” Luki said.

“Yeah?” It didn’t surprise Sonny; he just didn’t know why.

“I’ve had not so good things happen around water, you know?”

“Like getting beat up and cut and generally gay-bashed?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And almost drowning while getting blown up in a river.”

Luki holstered his gun and adjusted the position of the leather accessory, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and looked up at Sonny.

Not smiling. “That too.”

Sonny sighed and stepped over to his lover, letting the Bucket drive itself for a moment. He stood in front of Luki, so close he had to part his legs to either side, which basically parked his sex in Luki’s face. He wished they had more time, but second best would have to do. He buried his hands in Luki’s curls, forcing him to look up. Then he bent low and eased into a kiss, a long, sweet, sucking and sliding one.

After a moment, he regretfully eased off, kissed Luki’s nose on the way by, and stepped back to the wheel. “Very nice,” Luki said, voice huskier than ever. “But there must be an explanation.”

“Now you’ve had something good happen to you on the water. I hope.”

Luki didn’t answer for a moment—which was okay. He absently patted the big red dog, which had been sticking close to Luki since they’d come on board and now leaned into Luki’s legs and stared with him at the gray planks that made up the deck. There was no way to know if either of them saw what they were staring at. After a moment, Luki looked up, chewing his lip, then he let it slip from between his teeth. “You love me, Sonny.”

Sonny nodded.

Luki said, “I love you back.”

I already posted about the group chat I'm looking forward to tomorrow at Coffeetime Romance—it's noon to 6 EST, 9-3 PST—and I'd love to see you there. (Scroll to the next blog entry for details.)

In other news, on Saturday, 12/31, I'll be around Goodreads for a "meet the author" chat at the Dreamspinner Press discussion board. The time is 1pm to 6pm eastern, 10am to 3 pm Pacific (but I might be there early).

I plan to share some excerpts from Delsyn's Blues (which will be released Monday) and who knows what else, answer questions, chat about whatever comes up, and hopefully learn an interesting thing or two from you. Please stop by to chat, visit, share, just generally get better acquainted, and have some fun.

I know I'm supposed to get the contest winners announced tonight, but some of you may recall my method of chosing the winner involves either very small children (none available), or a cooperative cat (none available). I'm still hoping to get it done tonight, but one way or another you should know soon. Check back here if you don't hear from me by Saturday, as I'll post a list.

One thing I can do is post this link to a review of Delsyn's Blues by a Goodreads member, Lisa. The 4.25 stars are sweet, but the words she wrote left me feeling warm all over. Here's the link to Lisa's review. (Many thanks Lisa.)

Incidentally the photo is here for no reason except that I like it, and it was taken in the general area where Delsyn went into the woods, in Delsyn's Blues, and it's... that type of forest. Taken by Michael McKee, website here.

Keep the drumroll going for just a sec. First, I have to tell you I had one heck of a time with selecting winners at random because neither small children nor Boudreau the cat would help. You see him here checking his email and enjoying my coffee. Pah.

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Finally, I just put all the entries for contest 1 (involving Luki and Sonny's answers to interview questions) in the Xmas paw-stocking belonging to my daughter's cat George, the twin sister of my cat Boudreau.

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And I put all the entries for contest 2 in the paw belonging to Boudreau, then drew them myself.

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Mrs. C. Ellis, who entered on release day, over at the Dreamspinner Press Blog, won parts 1 and 2 of the first contest, and selects the set of both Vasquez and James ebooks. Nikyta won contest 2, and has an ebook version of Delsyn's Blues.

Congrats Mrs. C. Ellis and Nikyta, and thank you to everyone for playing! I like contests, so perhaps keep your eye peeled for other opportunities. Even if I start the contest (or whatever) elsewhere, I try to keep this blog updated.

...by Tom Webb, beautifully written in its own right. You can find it here on goodreads or head straight for his great blog A Bear on Books , and find it there.

I used to spend quite a bit of time at pow wows, and Grass Dancers were always my favorite. The men who danced in the Traditional category were quite serious and could be intimidating, and both the dances and the regalia they wore was quite varied. My stepson was a Fancy Dancer. Impressive, fast footwork, and very flashy.

But the Grass Dancers always seemed to me so very graceful and down to earth. The dance involves wide steps and pivots and avoiding having two feet on the ground, much of the time. Sonny James was a Grass Dancer, so I thought I'd post a pic here along with a short excerpt Delsyn's Blues.

Down below, I've added a photo of some young Fancy Dancers—like Delsyn tried to be despite his illness. You only see them from the back, their beautiful double bustles, and one of a Jingle Dress Dancer. Jingle Dress is my favorite among the women's pow wow dances, and when Sonny's mother was young, she danced that style.

Sonny’s dance amazed Luki, full of cross-steps, leaning sideways, long legs moving side to side in the midst of a pivot, almost never both feet on the ground on the same time. In the here and now, he looked to the other end of the couch where Sonny lounged in pajamas, scooping up huge tablespoonfuls of Rocky Road out of the carton and then licking it off like a creamy Popsicle.

Erotic, much?

“What is that,” Luki asked. “What you’re doing there?”

“What, this?” Sonny held out the half-eaten spoon of ice cream, a blank look accompanying the ice cream on his chin.

Luki smiled, couldn’t help it. “No, sweetie,” he laughed. “That might be fun to talk about some other time, but I meant what you’re doing on the TV.”

“Grass Dancing.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

Sonny flashed a smile, then looked more thoughtful, formulating his answer. “Well, you know, there’s lots of stories people tell about how it started. Most often, I think, people say that back in the day, the young men danced like this to knock the grass down and trample it so that the people would have a place to gather.” He put his spoon down and pried open the shortbread tin. “Or to get rid of snakes in the grass. Now it’s a dance style people do at powwows, but it helps if you remember that story, imagine yourself knocking down tall grass.”

“You’re good at it?”

“Was. Haven’t danced for a long time.”

“And Delsyn wanted to be like you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny laughed, “at least he thought he did. Later he discovered he was really a Fancy Dancer. Which was very hard on his knees and ankles, but I couldn’t talk him out of it.”



Here are the Fancy Dancers. It's amazing when you see them in motion! They twirl at high speed, and do complicated steps, and at times even do flips and other acrobatics.



And here are a few young women in their jingle dresses. This style of dancing involves mostly a beautiful shuffle with a sway of the hips, so that the jingles move in unison and keep time with the drum. It seems subdued, but it takes an athlete to do it well.

Hands held tight together, they pushed through the doors, two tall, strong men—still standing—and walked into a pink rain of wind-blown cherry blossoms.

“Spring!” Sonny said, clearly surprised. —from Yes

I got the news yesterday that Dreamspinner Press has accepted this story, and I wanted to share. Yes: A Vasquez and James Novella is a different kind of story—not mystery, no guns, but raw human struggle and the power of love. We have a while to wait (July-August 2012), but this novella is dear to my authorly, human heart, and I truly hope it will touch yours.

This weekend, I'll post a brief excerpt, so please check back. (There just might be a chance to win something, as well...)

Yes is different. It isn't a mystery, and though there is a fight it isn't fought with guns. As is always the case when loving humans face impossible odds, Luki and Sonny both reveal their worst, and then have a chance to redeem that with their very best—if they can find the strength for it.

Here's the contest: Write a comment to this post or send me an email at lou(dot)sylvre(at)gmail(dot)com, at least a dozen words. Give the guys some advice on how to get through this. The advice I find the most compelling will be quoted and attributed to you in the book's front matter, and you win an ebook. (Sorry, I know this summer is a long time to wait, but it will get here eventually!)

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Here is an early excerpt from the pre-finalized manuscript:

Luki tried to make it look as though he met the doctor’s eyes, but really he looked out the fifth floor window to the Seattle city traffic. Downtown, lots of people in the street, though not as many as say, New York, or London, both places Luki had been. The opulence of the oncologist’s office held no power to impress Luki. He had means, and before he loved Sonny, this was the kind of place he chose to live and work.

Because it was cold, sterile, empty of connotations and implications.

He looked—surreptitiously, he hoped—from the window to Sonny, marveling at the way he looked beautiful in a new way in every setting. As if he wove himself into a scene the same way he wove shining ideas into his tapestries. Would he, Luki, be here listening to the doctor drone if it wasn’t for Sonny? Probably. But it would mean less.

He registered the doctor’s voice: “Now, I’m not going to mince words...”

That sounded ominous.

“That would be dishonest, and unfair to you.”

“Yes,” Luki answered, because it seemed something was called for. The doctor, who was not, Luki thought, cold or empty, continued to drone. That was the only word Luki could think of for it. Blah, blah, blah. He’d already seen two doctors, had a bevy of pictures taken of his interior—like real estate—and endured poking and prodding that would stir the dead. But he inwardly admitted his reaction—or lack of reaction—to the doctor’s words might be less because of the doctor’s boring manner, and more because he, Luki, didn’t want to hear a detailed description of the tumor in his lung.

Distracted, he gazed at the axial CT images, which made his lung look like an almost egg-shaped hole, and the tumor look like a yoke splatted in the middle of it. Mr. Vasquez, I’m afraid you have a fried egg in your lung. Luki didn’t realize he’d chuckled aloud, until Sonny clamped a hand on his shoulder, and he saw a shocked look on the doctor’s face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I was thinking about... something...”

“I’m not sure how much you heard of my explanation, Mr. Vasquez.”

“Just call me Luki, please. I heard it all, I think. Apical tumor, right side, squamous cell, advanced, etcetera.” The doctor and Sonny both looked shocked, and Luki felt shocked, too. He hadn’t realized that despite his efforts not to, he’d heard.

“Yes, well,” Doctor Zhvornak continued. “Good, so now this is the important part, Luki.” He slid his stool closer. “There are both positive signs in terms of what’s in store for you, and negative ones. Negative first: The location in the apex of the lung—”

Another shock, this one physical, coursed through Luki when the doctor tapped his chest to show him where the tumor was growing, rather than pointing to the images. If he was trying to secure all of Luki’s attention, it worked.

“—tends to suggest a less favorable prognosis. And the tumor is advanced, adhering slightly—from what we can see—to the chest wall, here. Understand so far?”

“Yes.”

“More positive: Despite the location of your tumor, you have no signs of Pancoast syndrome—which shows up when a nerve is sheathed in tumor. Though the tumor is large and adherent to the chest wall, I don’t believe it truly invades the tissue there significantly. And, believe it or not, it is favorable to you that this tumor is in your right lung, not your left. Very favorable, we found no evidence for metastases. Do you know what that word means?”

“Yes.”

“We can fight this aggressively if you want. It will most likely involve chemo, radiation, surgery, chemo, and radiation again. Then, either immediately or six months later depending on the signs, another round of chemotherapy. That last round is insurance if we’ve been successful. If we’ve not met with success, if the cancer is still active, then that last round will most likely be palliative. That means—”

“We know what it means!”

“Let him say it, Sonny.”

“Palliative means it’s offered to reduce pain and discomfort in the dying process, and it may possibly lengthen your life by months or maybe a year. I’ve outlined for you the most aggressive treatment, Mr. Vasquez—”

“Luki.”

“Luki, then. I have twenty years of experience treating cancers, and I can tell you yours is far from the least favorable scenario. This treatment regimen is my recommendation—leaving no medical stone unturned, so to speak. You will find the process painful, debilitating, and long. You may never recover your full strength. You will certainly lose part of your lung. You’ll have a new scar. During the process you’ll almost certainly lose your hair.”

Luki had no difficulty maintaining his cool exterior until those last three words. Lose. Your. Hair. His heart began to pound at the thought of grieving his carefully tended chestnut curls, which he considered a mitigating factor, making up in part for his frightening visage with it’s long, livid scar. When he tried to swallow, he coughed. Thankfully it passed without becoming a fit. Sonny sat behind him and to one side, and now he lifted a hand to those curls as if to protect them.

“Statistics mean little in cancer treatment, Luki, but I like to be completely frank. Considering all the information we’ve gathered, the odds are one in three that you’ll survive for the next five years, if we fight with every weapon we have. Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes!” The word fairly burst from Sonny’s lips.

“Mr. James—”

“Call me Sonny.”

“I appreciate, Sonny, that you are invested in Luki’s welfare. Obviously, the two of you care deeply for each other. That, if you can make it last through hell and high water, is in fact another strong point in your favor, Luki. But Sonny, it has to be his choice. You can’t make it for him.”
Luki stood up. “Let’s go, Sonny. Doctor Zhvornak—”

“Doctor Z, please. We’ll get to know each other well, if you opt for treatment, and besides,” he smiled, “everyone massacres my last name.”

Luki laughed—which a few years ago would have been a miracle in itself—but Sonny looked horrified. “Luki, what do you mean, let’s go? We can’t just go. You have to—”

Luki gave Sonny a long, not too friendly stare, then looked over his shoulder at the doctor. “I’ll be in touch. It won’t be long. Thanks for your honesty.” Luki turned to walk out, but Sonny continued to stand in place, his dark skin visibly blanched. Luki raised his brows, “Sonny?” It was more an order than a question.

Sonny followed, but his stiff footfalls proclaimed his shock and anger.

Congratulations, Cristina C. You've won the Valentine's Blog Hop prize! I'll send an email from lou(dot)sylvre(at)gmail(dot)com to the address listed for your comment here, so we can arrange to get your ebook to you.

Thanks again to everyone who played, and I hope Valentine's was sweet fun this year for all of you!

Clear back on March 2nd, Critter Nymph, of Literary Nymphs, reviewed Delsyn's Blues and gave it the maximum, 5 nymphs. I don't know why I didn't see it before but now that I have, I want to share!
Here's the last line:

"The mystery will hold your attention till the last page and keep you reading late into the night."

To read the rest of what Critter Nymph had to say, here's the link to the review on Literary Nymphs Reviews Only.