Long Overdue Recognition

I have more ideas than I can count for stories.  So many beautiful stories.  Filled with beautiful people.
 

It's my way of saying "thank you" to those people who have made an impact on my life.  It's the smallest way I know how to make them live forever.  They are in my mind, in my heart, then I put them on paper and they go live in someone else's mind and heart for a short time.

My hope is that those who read the stories will see within them what I was trying to say.  

I write romance novels.  I have no presupposition to think that I'll be changing the world any time soon.  

But that's not why I write.  

I'm writing the longest thank you letter to those who have already changed my world.  Whether is was something they said or did, or simply how they changed the radio station that one time without having to be asked, they gave me something.       

If you pick up one of my stories someday and you see the hint of yourself in my hero, that was deliberate.  Don't argue with me either, because you should already know I'm too stubborn to listen.  You might think that I'm romantisicing the facts, making you into a better person that you really are.  But I'm not.  If you don't want to remembered as a hero, then stop being so heroic.  Though, that might be impossible in your case.

I'm trying, as hard as I can, to showcase you.  All of you.  Those rare birds that came into my life during unfortunate circumstances and sang me a song.  I'm not great at displaying my affection broadly.  I'm also not great at putting my inner turmoil out on display for speculation and interpretation.  But I can write it down in my simple stories.  

Thank you for letting me see you.  For being the inspiration to my favorite characters.  For making me laugh on days when I really, really needed to laugh.  For showing me what lovely looks like.  For showing me what people are truly capable of when we just let them fly.

I saw everything.  I committed it to memory.  You were amazing.

     

 



 

Rope: Coming Loose

All I want is to listen to really hard and heavy rock and roll while I write. 

Really.  That's it.  

My frustration level has reached an all new high.  I'm terribly cranky right now. I guess when I get even just the littlest tiny bit pissed off I become a great big scary monster that ruins people.  And that's when I'm pulling my punches.

Imagine, for a small terrifying second, what I could accomplish if I truly wasn't trying to be a better person.

Found out two weeks ago that I'm an INTJ.  This realization has answered a lot of questions.  It's helped me put some things into perspective.  It's also made me incredibly thankful for the gift of my sister and my husband.  Because without them and their particular personalities, I would have been left on my own and who knows what kind of monster I would be today.

If you google INTJ and read the description, it's accurate to me by about 95%. I won't tell you which parts aren't true (spoilers).  Anyway, I guess my brain isn't broken after all.  There's nothing "wrong" with me.  So hear me while I shout this at my computer screan, "STOP TRYING TO FIX ME!!"

I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know. I like it that way.  I don't think it's imperative to be besties with every person I come into contact with.  I like knowing there are only a handful of people, chosen and vetted by myself, who know the dark duckling that I am.  Not to say I can't be friends with many people. I totally can and I totally am.  But they don't all get to see the soft squishy that resides behind the Death Glare.  
 
To get angry with me for holding a part of myself separate from the rest of the world just proves my theory that you can't be trusted with it anyway.  Don't take it personally, I'm not being cruel.  I'm being honest.  

True story: One time I had a roommate. I've actually had two, neither relationship ended well.  (Still sorry about that, most of it was my fault.)  Anyway, this roommate, we'll call her Tish, had been living with me for a few months.  She slept in one day and I cleaned the house.  I wasn't mad at her.  I was indifferent towards her, which some people perceive as mad (shrug).  She came out of her room and went to the bathroom, then went back to her room and shut the door. 
I kept doing my thing.  Her boyfriend showed up, I let him in, he went back to her room. I kept cleaning.  A few minutes later they left.  I think I was vacuuming at this point.  I shut the vacuum off and heard the water spigot on the outside of the house running.  I went to the window and looked outside to see Tish brushing her teeth.
Really.
I guess the Death Glare made her believe that if she used the bathroom for what it's supposed to be used for, I was going to kill her. 
Really.

I tell you this story because it still makes me laugh to this day.  I wasn't mad at her.  I was working.  She told everyone I was mad.  Which made me look like Mommy Dearest in training because who makes someone brush their teeth outside?  Really, what kind of messed crap is that? 

Now, she may have been feeling guilty because she set one of my pans on fire when she was cooking a cheddar filled hotdog and then tried to bury the evidence.  I found it later.  And one thing that actually does piss me off is incompetency.  Still wouldn't have made her brush her teeth outside.

Why did I share this?  Because it makes sense now and it's even more hilarious than it used to be.  But also because the extroverts of the world keep trying to "help" me.  Please, for the love of Pete, stop.  I'm fine.  I don't need to be rescued or repaired.  Yes, I'm weird.  Yes, my personality probably freaks you out and makes you uncomfortable.  I appreciate that you are trying to include me.  But understand that I am just as happy sitting in the corner and watching everything 

as you are being the center of attention.

 

 Don't force me to be an extrovert.  If I end up getting too stressed out (see: forced extroversion), I become a nightmare.  And not the fun kind.  The kind where I'm moody and emotional and I HATE EVERYTHING.  When I tell you nicely to "back off."  That is not code for "try harder."  I don't speak in code.  I think about what I want to say and then I say it.  When you ignore the actual words that come out of my mouth, I lose any smidgen of respect I had for you at all.  


Side note:
And if you see me in a coffee shop with my back to the room and headphones in, that is not an invitation to join me.  I will make this face at you

until you leave.  

Don't misunderstand.  Occasionally there will be an activity that interests me and excites me and I will participate wholeheartedly.  Again, my participation needs to be left up to me.  But if you are boring or mean to people or a general dick, I probably won't want to spend time with you.  Because I have learned enough about people (don't knock the corner sitting, it's very revealing), to recognize the ones I want to spend time with.  Don't get bent about it, just find someone else to hang out with.  No one should be expected to mesh perfectly with everyone else.  I'm not a universal donor over here.  I don't fit well with all types.  I know that about myself and I'm okay with that.  Stop trying to force us to mix. I', Red Bull and you're milk.  I will make you curdle.  It'll be gross for all involved.  So stop forcing the issue.

I need new headphones.

And I need to write about these rock stars that I love.

If you've read this far, here's a bonus and rare reveal of feelings:
I write about musicians because I've known so many and I adore them.  Truly magnificent people who made my life bright and loud and made me feel like less of a freak when I was with them.  But maybe that's the nerd characteristic.  The little gene in human DNA that not everyone is blessed with.  If you are a nerd about something to the point of passionate obsession, I probably love you.

Am I a paradox?  Yeah, actually I am.  If you do your research you'll see that that's perfectly normal.  

Deepest Blues TEASER ( Full Prologue)

Final teaser before Deepest Blues releases in less than a week! Pre-Order Links here!

Prologue

Cologne, Germany

3 years ago

After all of that.

Everything.

The secrets kept.

The promises made.

All that he had done for her.

For them.

Mike pushed his thumb and index finger into his eye sockets and breathed against the pain. The physicality of the burn in his eyes was nothing compared to the soul pulverizing drum of his pulse roaring in his ears.

The darkness was smothering. Or maybe that was his own thankless breath that was killing him. His chest was heavy. Like someone had filled the empty spaces between his ribs with lead. It was dragging, pulling him forward. He hunched over his legs, letting go of his face and allowing his head to hang unseeingly towards the floor.

It was still too easy to breathe. He tried to squeeze the air from his lungs, wondering at the brown edges around his vision. Wondering if he could follow the pattern and figure out it's path.

He jolted from his position when he heard someone walking down the hall.

He stood slowly, listening for an indication of identity.

The suite he occupied was massive, plush, beautiful. He had gotten it for her. Just like the spray of blue cornflowers on the table by the entry. Gifts. Distractions. Things to fill the void that threatened to swallow them—him—whole. He'd known he was grasping, scraping desperately at the fabric of his sanity. Or what was left of it.

It didn't matter what gifts he threw at her, the words he promised, the images he pretended weren't there. None of it mattered.

Nothing was the same.

His heart stuttered briefly and he wondered if maybe it wouldn't restart. That would be okay, he decided. But then it continued beating and he moved his attention back to the sounds in the hallway.

A soft feminine laugh rippled through him, and, like an undertow, he was pulled unwillingly to the door. The knob felt cold as he acknowledged the easy way it fit in his hand, the lack of resistance it gave him as he opened the door. Like it had conspired with the universe to bring him to this moment.

The hall opened up before him and his heart did the stutter again. Just as the door across the hall from him was falling closed on Ilsa's long porcelain legs, black skirt swishing just above her knee, her elegant figure hooked around the waist by a man's arm. Her elongated neck highlighted by the short and flirty cut of her iridescent blonde hair tilted to the side as her head rested on the shoulder of...

Of course.

They'd talked about this yesterday. At least, Mike was pretty sure it was yesterday. He'd lost track of time when it had all happened. And there wasn't a whole lot of talking. It was mostly Ilsa crying and explaining, Mike realizing too late what she was saying. Something about him being different. Or was it distant? He remembered thinking how odd that one moment, one breath—or lack thereof, could alter their lives so intensely.

Then she'd left.

He knew she wasn't coming back. Somewhere in his center, he just knew that it was well and truly over.

Hadn't it been over already, though? Hadn't he felt the distance for weeks, maybe even months? Hadn't he seen her talking and laughing with Sway? Laughing.

God, he loved her laugh. He was going to miss that.

The final moments, the death rattle of their love (in a very literal sense now) came suddenly but not unexpectedly. They'd been decaying for weeks. She'd finally put it to rest with her broken words falling from her chapped lips.

He must have stood in the hall for several minutes. He wasn't sure. But he knew he had to do something.

She was gone. And with his band mate—his brother—no less.

Mike wasn't capable of living with that. Not an overly morose person, this feeling of utter devastation and loss was foreign to him. Yes, he'd been broken up with before; yes, he'd experienced the pain of a relationship tearing apart like flesh ripping from bone. But something about this moment was different. Something darker and far more lethal was threatening to take over his mind.

His thoughts skittered to the obvious solution. Though Ilsa had claimed that his recreational substance use was what had pushed her into Sway's arms, he now saw them as his only outlet. His only source of control in this unfair and unpredictable world.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew it wasn't his friend. He knew the risk. But didn't all reward come with risk? He most definitely was acquainted with the reward. The bliss of darkness, of calm. Like crashing into a giant pillow and finding sleep.

He hadn't slept in a week. How could he? All he saw was the accusing eyes of the hospital staff. All he heard was the abundance of heartbeats in his own chest and the lack of them in another.

His door slammed shut on his right. He looked at it briefly, then slid his phone out of his pocket, texting his contact on the crew who would no doubt get him exactly what he needed.

He needed to think. He could figure out how to be okay with all of this if he could just find some time to think and plan. This would help. It always helped. Made him feel connected to the bigger picture when he was usually so wrapped up inside himself.

Besides, the show wasn't until tomorrow. He had plenty of time.

This would help.

That's all he wanted.

Just a little bit of help.

Deepest Blues TEASER

“Who was she?”

“What? Who was who?” Mike asked. Ilsa reared back, eyes wild, hands waving in front of her, palms out like she could not believe what he'd just said.

“The woman at the bar? How many times have you slept with her?”

Mike rolled his eyes and ran both hands through his hair. So she was on this again. Whatever. He turned to the living quarters of their suite and flopped onto the sofa. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away. Or at least shut up.

“Why won't you answer me?” she yelled at his back.

“Because you're crazy?” Mike asked sarcastically.

He probably shouldn't be pushing her buttons. But they had had this argument just hours ago.

“I can't believe you would say that to me,” she whispered just behind him.

Mike twisted on the couch to face her, one arm along the back. “Really, Ilsa? We just had this fight. I told you I don't know the woman! She was being nice, that's all.”

“You expect me to think that a beautiful woman who is all over you means nothing to you?” Ilsa's voice pitched higher.

Mike swore under his breath. “She asked me to sign a napkin. I'm famous, it happens!”

Now he was getting mad. He hated getting mad. She just wouldn't stop. She never stopped. It was the same paranoid bullshit all the time. He stood up and stalked across the room to the front door, picking up his jacket off of the chair. He knew he should have cut her off earlier. She reached incredible levels of insanity when she'd partied too much. Why couldn't she partake in something more relaxing? Why did it always have to be vodka? And why did it always have to be explosive?

“Where are you going?” she shrieked.

“Can you hear yourself?” Mike shouted at her. “Why would I stay here when I'm getting screamed at?”

He slid his arms into the sleeves and turned his back to her. In those few seconds she ripped the lamp cord out of the wall and hurled it from the balcony. Mike heard the crash on the sidewalk below and he stared at her.

Her blue eyes challenged him to do something about it. He rushed to the open balcony door and looked at the shattered pieces below. People were looking up at them and he was certain he saw a camera flash. Perfect.

Spinning back around, he found her right behind him, a blank look on her face. He grabbed her by her arm and forced her back inside. She struggled and let out a loud yelp of exaggerated pain. Of course.

He closed the door behind him and then lost his temper.

“What the hell is the matter with you?! You could have killed someone!”

Ilsa's chin began to quiver and large tears formed in her eyes. “I just want you to notice me!” she yelled.

“How could I not?” Mike swung his arms out to the sides. “You make the biggest frickin' spectacle—Oh my God, stop crying!”

She covered her face with both hands and crumpled to the floor just as someone knocked on the door. Because that's what hotel staff did when a guest threw a lamp out the window. And they normally brought security.

“Are you happy now?” Mike yelled. She sobbed loudly at his feet. 

 

Phoning it in (this is what it looks like)

I know, I know, I know, I'm way behind on posting anything.  This week is the week of deadlines, so my brain is tied up at the moment.  It's so full of all the things I want o share with you.  I just don't have the time.  Tomorrow I'll be over at Ms J's and I'll have a little rant for you or something equally irritating.  
 
Today though, today, you get poetry.  Because it's what I have and it's what is kind of happening in book 5 (spoilers).
 
Without Your Permission
 
I would love you
 
at the beginning and end of your words
at the start and finish of your breaths
in between the awkward pauses
     and broken silences
and even the length of your sighs
 
     and lies
 
I would love you
 
without reason or shame
without remorse or guilt
without absence
     
     or calculation
 
I would
              love 
                      you

Mike has a butt, er, I mean cover. Mike has a COVER!!

The day has finally come.  Well, just about.  This is technically one day of many that haven't yet arrived.  But for all of you waiting for Mike's story, today is important because it's the official cover reveal.  Along with that comes the pre-order links!  (Hurray! Celebrate! Go Wild! Don't forget to order it!)

Now I can finally tell you about how this whole thing came about.  

If you read my last posting, you know that I went to PennedCon a couple weeks ago and got to meet the fantabulous Penny Reid.  (Be-Tee-Dubs: she's just as awesome in real life as on the internet and in her books.  Maybe even a little bit more.)  Anyway, I got deathly ill on the trip.  I had the head cold from hell.  For realz.  So by the time Monday rolled aorund I was stranded on my couch with hot tea and tissues.  Monday night I get a DM from Penny Reid.  I thought the fever had finally spiked to a crazy high and I was hallucinating.  I almost pooped my pants.  For whatever reason, she was reading my book. 

Okay, I have to stop the story here and explain something.  When I went to PennedCon, I went as a fan, not as an author (except for the Mark Coker workshops I went to and took notes).  I actually hate talking about myself, especially in front of people who I know are 85x cooler than me.  I didn't even bring business cards.  That's how good I am at self-promotion. I mean, I didn't lie about it, but I avoided talking about it as much as possible.  In fact, when I met Penny I had the explicit intention to make sure she did not figure out I was the same Heidi as from the internet.  There are lot's of Heidi's out there, I'm one of thousands. We don't all write books.  

Getting back to Penny's DM.  I was frozen for a long time.  Mostly because her message said she was enjoying it and that my covers needed to be better and she wanted to know if she could make me new ones.  I might be bad at self-promotion but I'm not a complete idiot.  So I said yes please!  She went on to say that my covers were "meh" and then she started sending me mock-ups at 1am.  My life got really weird after that.  When I say weird, I mean awesome.

Now my entire series has had the kind of makeover where I half-expected Ty Pennington to holler at me to move a bus when it was time for the cover reveal.  (I may have yelled it out loud in my living room.  When I was alone.) I love these covers.  They're so pretty.  Penny did not have to do what she did.  But I am forever grateful.

Now onto the reveal:

   

Mike Osborn woke up in a hospital in Germany three years ago. He was breathing. They had saved him.

Double Blind Study has been through every rock and roll cliché ever contrived. When their drummer nearly dies from a drug overdose, everything changes. Life is important again. Living is important again.

No one knows that better than Mike. So why does he feel like even though he's breathing and he's happy, his heart isn't beating the way it should be? Maybe it never did.

When Mike meets Clarke Matthews for the first time, he knows he should stay away from her. He knows too much about her and what she's been through. But for the first time, his heart has found another with a rhythm that matches his own. Every beat explodes a beam of light to illuminate his darkness.

Mike's been living life raw, unplugged. He's close to a reckoning. When it all comes apart, and he's faced with every mistake he's ever made, will the darkness win out? Or will the steady drum of a healthy pulse finally pull him into the light for good?

October 28

Pre-Order:

Amazon, B & N, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords 

  

PennedCon2014 : Truck Stops, Wasp Spray, and Room Keys

I haven't written a blog in a long time.  I suppose I've been busy or something.  Some changes are coming.  Which is funny for me to think about because I'm deep in the rough of Harrison's book and Harrison is not a fan of change. He doesn't like it.  Even when it's inevitable and necessary.  Because change can be painful.  And messy.  But the results can be truly amazing.

Released Tectonic into the wild last month.  People seem to be okay with it so far.  Deepest Blues is nearly ready for it's own debut.  I'm looking forward to that one.  I have many projects on the wait list and making more in my head.  I have no idea when I'll get them all finished.  I'll never be able to say I'm bored ever again, ha!

Went to PennedCon last weekend.  It was probably the greatest trip ever of all time.  My companions were fantastic and the new friends I made are stellar.  I also realized that drivers in Iowa are complete dicks. 

This trip was huge for me because I have a fairly severe phobia of transportation. Any kind, really.  I didn't get my driver's license until I was 18.  Driving in downtown traffic makes me break out into a sweat.  I panic and get unbelievably lost.  Which increases the panicking.  It's not limited to driving.  Coupled with my social anxiety it's a wonder I ever leave the house.

I really hate to be controlled, especially by my own issues.  I force myself to do incredibly difficult things so as not to hold myself back from having an adventure.  My sister and I drove all the way to St. Louis.  Just us.  With only two (small) panic attacks, we made it no problem.  I even drove all around St. Louis the morning we left looking for coffee and had no issues at all.  It was a big deal for me.  Huge, in fact.

So this is my update.  I'm skimming over quite a bit of it.  Like the part about Kellcie being totally kickass and Penny Reid making me laugh so hard a little bit of pee came out.  And how Angie is even prettier in person, and Bria's hair is amazing and she's very clever which means I could stare at her and listen to her all day long.  Or about the books I bought based solely on the fact that a man was holding a gun and a soft pretzel.  Or how I'm officially on the Jamie Fraser train (why, oh why has it taken me so long?!). But I only have a minute to get this down.  Then I'm off to finish Harrison's story.

I see a lot of authors talk about their work space.  The writer's cave, Bria has a tree house, Laura disappears into her mind palace.  I thought that I should name my work space.  But I couldn't come up with anything sufficient.  See, when I'm writing it's a lot like standing on a tiny lip jutting out of a sheer cliff face.  I'm holding on by my fingertips for dear life as the wind tries to tear me from my small slat of safety.  And yet, I can't help but notice that the color of the sunset is completely different from up here.  I love it.  So I suppose I have a writing cliff.  Well then.

Also, you can catch me once a week over at another blog where I'll post something completely boring every Friday. msjblogandreviews.com I will leave you with this picture that we'll call a teaser for Harrison's book ;)