Sunday Snippet: Follow Me

August 31, 2014

Season finale for Defiance… sooooo good. Seriously, I hope it gets renewed. Without giving away too many spoilers, I kind of loved where some of the characters ended up. I'm kind of on the fence about Amanda, but won't say more to avoid spilling anything.

The Walking Dead is almost ready to premiere and Sons of Anarchy rides next week. Makes waiting for Arrow's return in October worth it. Also looking forward to Sleepy Hollow and Gotham. Crossing my fingers FOX won't muck either of those shows up too much.

Enough TV for now. Tonight's post is from Follow Me, the first book in an epic space opera trilogy. Oddly enough, it's one of my longest, too. Clocks in at close to 100K. I'm working on the second draft at this point, but won't submit or publish until the third book is complete. It's sitting at the halfway mark.

Here's the tagline:

A 'will they' or 'won't they' wager spur Molly and Sloan to see how long they 'can' without getting caught.

And a sneaky peek…

Battlecruiser MacGregor—Corridor 9, Deck B

Drunk and stumbling… a ten-hour marathon Tripola game would get a person nothing but drunk and stumbling.

Especially when it included drinking the Chief's Brew… high octane, created-in-a-still alcohol made with loving care by the master chief of the flight deck, Keegan Douglas. His ass would shortly be in a sling if the hangover Lieutenant Molly Ryan figured she'd get actually kicked in.

She took another dodgy step forward and decided Keegan should be referred to as 'Evil Genius' instead of the usual title of 'Chief'. No one knew what he put into the moonshine he cooked up but she could practically picture him standing over the still, hair standing up all over the place, mad-scientist style, rubbing his hands together with maniacal glee. The thought alone kept a grin on Molly's face.

And there hadn't been much to smile about lately.

So raking it in at the card table had been some much needed fun. It felt good to kick back and enjoy… something. Difficult to do after the world had ended and the MacGregor became the flagship for the remnants of their scattered society. They'd lost so many… the former CAG, captain of the air guard, hadn't made it back from the initial battle. He bought it on the return to the ship, protecting the younger, less skilled pilots as they made combat landings in preparation for a hyper light jump that would allow them to flee from the terrible destruction of their world.

Molly regretted his loss. He'd trained her during flight school and because of her quizzical mind, encouraged her to certify as a flight instructor. She'd followed his advice and taught for a couple of years, putting newbies through their paces at the most prestigious flight academy on the planet. Losing him had been a blow to the fleet, but being on the run, protecting the civilians from their enemies, and just dealing with life as they knew it now… the grief got swept aside.

The marathon card game, played in his honor, had been a much needed distraction. A long, overdue break and a diversion, one that gave everyone a chance to catch their breath for a while. The new CAG, Sloan MacNeill, won some huge points for letting them get away with it.

Of course it helped he'd been a participant. Getting him drunk didn't hurt either. They were having a good time, bantering back and forth, and Molly realized she'd missed that. Hell, she'd missed him. She thanked whatever divine creator existed out there that Sloan had pulled a TDA, temporary duty assignment, to the MacGregor in time for his father's birthday celebration.

No one knew it would be the eve of all hell breaking loose. 

Having Sloan around became one of the only things keeping her sane. Molly didn't make friends easily; her childhood traveling from city to city with her dad precluded it. In fact, she kind of gathered acquaintances like she used to collect shoes, but Sloan was an exception. Even when he had a death grip on her because he couldn't walk in straight line at the moment.

Not that she did much better.

"Geez, Molls. I thought you knew the ship like the back of your hand?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Cool your ass, Sloan… I'm working on it." Right. Find a place to lay low. "Who the hell decided to put the pilot quarters on the opposite end of the ship from the rec room?" It shouldn't be so difficult to find a place to chill out until the ship stopped spinning. "We should have stopped drinking about four hands ago, Sloan." Molly slowed down, blinked a couple of times and tried not to laugh. They had to look ridiculous, staggering along the causeways.  

Sloan stumbled along behind her, all but tripping over his feet. "Seriously, Molls. Twirling lights… not good. Making me dizzy." He closed his eyes, which seemed to help, and let Molly guide him.

Molly chuckled. She was definitely the more experienced drinker. But they had overdone it and neither would last much longer in upright positions.

And the fact they won't remain upright for long leads to a very interesting development.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Close Quarters

April 13, 2014

Whew. It's been a long week filled with a few bumps and bruises. First up, one of my published titles, Boyfriend's Brother, is temporarily off the shelf. I'm hoping I found a new home for it, but I'm waiting for confirmation. I'll keep everyone posted when I know anything for certain.

TV fare ended up being light this week, but S.H.I.E.L.D. totally delivered an awesome episode. I won't discuss because seeing Captain America: Winter Soldier is a true bonus before getting into any details. J

Tonight's post is from Close Quarters, a sequel to Follow Me, which is going through another draft. Hopefully none of the plot threads will need major readjustments after I'm done.

Here's the tagline:

After trying to out maneuver their crew mates who bet on whether they'd ever hook up, Molly and Sloan discover an abiding love and embark on a committed relationship. Their biggest problem? Trying to figure out how to live in close quarters without making each other insane.

And a sneaky peek…

Molly grabbed up the latest forms that had been turned in by potential trainees. She had over one hundred to review, at last count, and she needed to weed through them within a week's time.

She could really use an office.

Currently, her quarters served that function and talk about not being ideal. She liked to spread the applications out and make separate piles for those who had potential and those who didn't. Then she broke down the possible recruits into different levels and from there she would build her newest class and any future classes.

A damned huge undertaking. One she didn't know if sure she was up for.

Sloan had been a huge help with separating the good from the bad, part of the reason she had everything in their quarters for now. It probably drove him nuts because Sloan was nothing if not neat.

For herself, she functioned better in chaos, relying on her instincts to do the job. She opened the door to her quarters and saw Sloan standing in the middle of the living area, a bewildered look on his face. Uh oh. Not good.

She breezed through the door after deciding to take a humorous approach. "You lost?" She sat the latest stack of applications on the table and then cleared a space on the seating area. "Have a seat, Sloan." She stepped back and waited.

Sloan crossed over to the seating area and sat down.

He heaved a big sigh before speaking. "Molls. I know this is the biggest attempt to recruit that we've done since the world ended, but please… our quarters look like a paper bomb went off." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I hate being an ass about this, but gods, Molly, I'm afraid to walk through here for fear I'll move something important."

He stood up and sat right back down. He couldn't even pace around to work off his frustration.

He looked back at Molly, who hadn't responded verbally. She just raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.

So he did. "The bed? I can't even see the bed for all the paper on top of it." He closed his eyes before continuing. "Would it be possible to contain this stuff to a single room?" He opened his eyes again and waited for a comeback.

Sloan's bitching irritated her, but unfortunately, she could see his point. Didn't mean she had to like it, though. She had one week to get through a mountain of paperwork.

What was one more week? Really?

Apparently, too much.

Molly pasted a smile on her face. "Right. Single room coming up" She walked into the bedroom and gathered all the forms from the bed in a haphazard pile and then stalked back into the living space. "Happy?"

She tossed the papers by the pile she just came home with. Dammit. She didn't want to argue with him, but she really felt the pressure to get this finished.

Sloan shook his head. "You didn't have to do that." He got up and carefully stepped around the papers still on the floor. "Look, I know you have a system that works for you and spreading out helps the process."

He stopped in front of her and pulled her to him. "I've worked on this with you enough to get that." He stroked his hand over her hair. "Let me help you. There has to be a way we can keep the process going without wrecking our own space… at least until they assign an office to you." He leaned back to see how she was taking his suggestion.

Molly's face remained impassive while she mulled over Sloan's offer.

She hated giving up any kind of control but even she couldn't stand the mess they were living with right now.

What the hell?

He could help her go through everything and organize it a little better. Which meant they'd be putting in a long night. Molly grinned and looked up at Sloan.

Instead of answering, she stepped back and pulled him toward the newly cleaned off bed. If they were going to be up all night, at least they could start things off with some fun.

I actually had the best time writing that scene. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Questionable Vision

October 27, 2013

Greetings!

Gah! What a week in television. Agents of S.H.E.I.L.D got interesting, Sons of Anarchy kicked several plots up a notch, Arrow continues to WOW me, Haven had a kick ass episode and Walking Dead still amazes and creeps me out all at the same time. J I already miss Strike Back, but hopefully a new season will be announced, if it hasn't been already.

Shifting gears, tonight's post if from Questionable Vision, which oddly ties into the game changing theme of my TV shows this week. Park goes through an experience that has him questioning everything he believes.

Here's the tagline:

Park Danielson doesn't want to fight anymore. Stuck in a warzone, he has one burning question: Why bother sticking around? Darby Young has the answer: He's not allowed to leave.

Here's the sneaky peek…

Park Danielson drifted in space, ensconced in the eject seat from the cockpit of his plane. His vision filled with nothing but a raging battle, silent explosions, and bursts of light—quite a show, watching the death dance unfold and it begged a single question in Park's mind. What was it all for? At one time, he thought he knew… but the events of the past few days were proving him wrong. Or maybe he'd just been living a lie and could only now face the fact. His list of regrets had been safely stored away since the day of the attacks, but they occupied space in the forefront of his mind now.

 Not like he hadn't added a few mistakes recently—he had—but he'd looked at the end of the world as something of a clean slate. A way to hold on to the basic principals of duty, honor, and leadership, forging ahead, while leaving behind things like regrets, recriminations, and failures.

 Witnessing the wanton destruction going on around him made Park realize he couldn't completely excuse himself from anything. He could shove it all to a dark corner and ignore it, but nothing ever went away. It wasn't how things worked.

 With each new flash of battle, an internal war raged within him. As the violence escalated in every direction he could see, Park couldn't hold back the feeling of despair that had been eating at him for days. The disappointment and dissatisfaction closed in on him as he drifted silently in the vast nothingness of space.

 Why?

 The word echoed in his mind, drowning everything else out. Why were they fighting? Why was it okay to assassinate a military officer… on anyone? Why did he agree to follow the order to do so? And why did he think, for however brief a period, that he could make a difference after the attacks? That he could walk away from his old life and begin anew?

 He couldn't.

 He couldn't change the mind of his father or the president. Hadn't even tried, really. And he agreed to follow orders because Darby asked and trusted him to have her back. Neither duty nor honor motivated him into saying yes. Loyalty did. Loyalty to Darby made him agree to do something not only illegal, but morally wrong. He couldn't claim to have never done anything that skirted the moral boundary… God, he had. But it left him with the sad knowledge that they truly fought for…

 Nothing.

 Park couldn't face it anymore… a future of never ending battles with the enemy while humanity slowly destroyed itself. Wouldn't it be better to let it all end? When he discovered the tear in his flight suit, the answer suddenly seemed very simple.

 Stop fighting. Let go. Concede the battle.

 He would die with regrets, about Darby, his father, every past mistake… but he wouldn't regret dying. The feeling of drowning in the macabre spectacle raging around him would soon fade and he'd finally find peace. Quiet for his soul. A place to rest.

 Park let everything go as he breathed his last breath… drifting toward that imagined haven. In his last moment, with the last beat of his heart, he truly accepted his readiness. When fate intervened and brought him back, the shock turned into something deeply profound.

 And he couldn't seem to come to grips with being alive. He felt all wrong—out of place and off kilter. And he didn't want to be there.

 When Darby said they should just be glad they both came back alive… he told her the truth.

 "That's just it, Darby. I didn't want to make it back alive."

~:~

Darby stopped breathing for a moment. "What do you mean… you didn't want to come back?" She couldn't have heard his words right.

The very concept of Park opting out hit her hard. They had so much left to do. So much left to explore. But first, they had to get the hell out of their own way.

Something neither she nor Park had been able to do. Yet. They always seemed to end up on opposite ends of the spectrum and had to build bridges to meet in the middle. If Park stopped meeting her halfway, her world might just crumble.

His gaze slid sideways. "It means what you think it does." He moved his eyes straight ahead again… to stare at the top of the bunk.

Darby got up. She needed to move, to think, to digest. "Wow." She paced back and forth. "I have no idea what to say to that." Her head couldn't process the idea of Park Danielson not being in her life anymore. By choice.

She whirled around. "Actually, I do. What. The hell. Park?" She paced again. "You're serious, aren't you?" She shook with reaction. Wanted to shake him for causing it.

God damn.

So, Park throws Darby for a loop and she doesn't like it one damn bit. :D

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Bucking Convention

October 20, 2013

Hello!

So… one of the things I love about The Walking Dead is how much it blows my mind and creeps me out in equal measure. LOL Seriously, the show has so many little nuances that always suck me in, and yet it tops itself weekly by grossing me out to the point of wanting to heave. :D

Let's see, what else? Strike Back season finale did NOT disappoint. I have one or two teeny quibbles, but I had a huge grin on my face with the final scene, so yeah, direct score for season three (or, well, four, if you count the way I do and consider the first series with Armitage and Lincoln as number one). I honestly hope there's another season to watch and enjoy.

Arrow also ranks right up there on my obsession list. I want to talk and write meta posts about how much I love it. I haven't been so obsessed with a show since the reboot of Battlestar Galactica. Sons of Anarchy comes close, but I sort of avoid the fandom circles for the show.

Anyway, tonight's post is from the follow up to last week's entry for Top Dog Pilots. Bucking Convention takes a look at Max and Maggie six months later.

Here's the tagline:

Max and Maggie survive Hell Week and start a relationship that works. Tragedy strikes Max's wingman and when Maggie shows up as the replacement, she discovers a very different Max. Not a good thing when he lives to fly.

And a sneaky peek…

Captain Maggie Harper blew out a deep breath, flipping the folder in her lap closed. She didn't want to read anymore details about the explosion that took the life of a fellow pilot. One she'd soon replace on the roster.

It sucked to step in when a comrade went down. Worse, when you were personally involved in the fallout.

And it didn't get any more personal for her.

She happened to be replacing Max Cutter's wingman.

Max.

Her heart tripped a little. It could have been Max's ship. The prayer of thanks she sent out might be rude, but so be it. Maggie wouldn't apologize for being happy or relieved Cutter didn't die in a freak accident.

They had a good thing going and she wanted to keep it that way.

Six months and no signs of slowing down.

Maggie smiled. Their interesting Hell Week interlude proved to be just the thing they needed to get through that particular bit of the insanity. But they'd stumbled a little afterwards. Danced around the idea of letting the sex remain a one time thing.

Okay, she danced around it. The fear of losing Max as a friend almost won out, regardless of the really great sex.

Almost.

Cutter convinced her otherwise, two weeks after completing the quals, on the night they both made captain.

When the pomp and ceremony ended, he grabbed her hand, led her outside, and practically ran back to his base apartment. He tugged her inside and immediately backed her up against the wall while kicking the door shut. She didn't have time to think or speak before his lips were on hers, creating a raging fire that she needed him to suppress.

That night clinched it for them, and so far, their relationship had been great.

Relationship.

Damn.

And it hit her again. She could've lost Max. And yeah, they were still new at the couple thing and trying to figure it all out… but it hurt to breathe when she thought about it.

If it hurt her to think about it, how did Cutter feel right now? Watching his wingman's ship explode? Maggie shuddered. Had to be the worst thing a pilot could witness… even though they all knew the risks.

Was she ready to deal with something like this?

Were they ready for it?

They'd be going from something quite casual—they each maintained their own place—to fairly domestic at warp speed.

She'd find out soon. The Pathos was within comm range, docking would be underway in less than three hours. She'd be face to face with Cutter again. And she'd give the relationship with him her all—because she was pretty sure she loved the guy. Maybe she'd suck at it and maybe she wouldn't.

Either way, Max would understand. No one knew her better.

She liked it that way.

And if her stomach clenched up a little? Had to be expected, right? New relationship. New orders. New CO.

New living arrangement.

But she'd handle all that like she always did.

Jump in with both feet and hit the ground running.

I have so much love for this couple. And they have one more story which I'll feature a little bit of next time.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Surviving the Trap

Hi!

So…. Walking Dead is back!! Arrow premiered!! The Tomorrow People is pretty awesome. Strike Back is one episode away from the finale and ripped my heart out Friday. And Sons of Anarchy is batshit crazy, which I totally love.

TV is good right now, people. So very good. Oddly, when I've got great stuff to engage my mind, I tend to write more prolifically. This is not a bad thing. LOL

This week's post is from the opening book to the Top Dog Pilots, Surviving the Trap. I'm hoping for a release in the next month or two. YAY!

Here's the tagline:

Take one week of extreme training, add in two top guns, and stir together with a healthy dose of unresolved sexual tension. The outcome is two pilots pushed to their limits and they need to find a way to get through their hellish experience and possibly into each other's arms.

And a sneaky peek…

While he waited for the deck crew to haul his plane to the hangar, he tried to remember the last time he'd been this tired. Closing his eyes, he smiled when the memory hit him. It had been when Maggie "Magpie" Harper dragged him on a cross-country trek to…where? He couldn't recall at the moment, but it had been the best and worst three days he'd ever experienced. The best because Maggie reminded Max of a firecracker waiting to explode, all bundled up in a highly attractive package. She always proved entertaining as hell. The worst because once she had her mind set on something, absolutely no one stopped her. They either went along for the ride or got mowed down, and Max refused to be left behind.

He'd learned that valuable lesson while they were still at the academy, during the first week no less. He quickly discovered tagging along with Maggie usually kept her out of trouble. She had a talent for leaping smack in the middle of something before scoping out all the details. If fact, they'd met when she'd jumped into the fray to cover his back.

He'd been celebrating with some mates. They'd made it through the first week of flight training. Max stayed behind to finish his beer after his fellow cadets had taken their leave. He didn't know how it happened, but a group of rowdy off-worlders decided he'd be their entertainment for the evening. Not one to back down from a fight but not wanting to be expelled for brawling, Max attempted to talk his way out of the situation.

Apparently, his efforts were more amusing than effective. Before he could extract himself, four guys had him cornered and worse yet, they called over a couple of friends. Max had just decided to screw the odds and go for the biggest of the bunch when it happened.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning in time to see a lone figure leap onto a table and use it to launch themselves at two of the burly men. To his surprise, they managed to take out both in one go but the landing couldn't be considered pretty. His rescuer crashed into the wall and bounced backwards to drop and hit the floor hard. Jumping up—holy hell, it was a woman—she said nothing when she put her back to his and edged him toward to exit. They left the stunned and disappointed group behind, making their way out of the bar with minimal fuss.

Standing outside in the cold air, he turned toward his mystery woman. "Thanks." Probably not an adequate response considering she'd just saved his ass, and didn't even know his name.

Shrugging, she accepted the gratitude. "Anytime." Then she winked at him before heading down the sidewalk.

Intrigued, Max quickly caught up with her. "Wait… why'd you jump in? You don't know me." A gross error he intended to rectify.

His new friend paused at the corner of an intersection and grinned. "You're military, right? Fleet Academy?" She cocked her head sideways, awaiting his answer.

Max stopped next to her, jerking in surprised acknowledgment. "Yeah… what gave it away?" Damn. She was good.

The woman laughed. "The hair. Every time." With casual grace, she propped herself against a lamp pole. "I grew up on military bases. Standard issue cuts haven't changed much over twenty years. And, I've spent the last week in a regulation ponytail myself." Scooping her hair back, she held it at her nape.

It didn't take away from her looks. The light from the lamp allowed Max to drink in the sight of her. Tall and lithe, she had long, blonde hair curling around her shoulders. Her eyes were her best feature though. They sparkled with humor and just a touch of wickedness. Max pretty much fell in love with her on the spot. And she was fleet, too. That meant he'd be seeing her around.

Sticking his hand out, he properly introduced himself. "Max Cutter. First year."

She stood and shook it, giving him a wide smile. "Maggie Harper. Same."

From that moment on, they had each other's backs. They'd ended up in the same flight class and became fast friends, hanging out, getting to know each other, and challenging the rest of the plebes to follow their lead while they crashed through the rigorous training, taking turns in the top two spots. His immediate infatuation tempered itself when he quickly realized Maggie didn't 'do' relationships. Nor did she sleep with people she considered friends, and she regarded him as the best one she had. Sometimes life kicked him in the face that way.

At least she acknowledged the sexual tension pinging back and forth under the surface between them. Her honesty about it pretty much became the only reason he'd been willing to suck it up and settle into a true friendship with her. He didn't have any regrets.

After hearing about some of her past experiences, he realized Maggie saw herself as a complex woman with what she considered enough baggage to fill an entire spaceport. While he didn't agree, he wouldn't be able to change her mind either. And he didn't lack for female companions. Pilot groupies were abundant in every port of call.

Pulled from his reverie by a deck hand popping the canopy of his plane, Max shook his head. Regardless of the lack of sleep, he really needed to stop zoning out and pay attention. Handing off his helmet, he climbed out of the cockpit and nodded wearily at the crewman before stumbling down the steps to the deck. Swaying on his feet, he headed for the ready room. If he were lucky, he'd be able to catch a brief nap before the next launch in—he checked his watch—about an hour.

I'm so excited for this one. Previously released, I've done a bit of an overhaul on the manuscript and it's ready to go. The second book is complete and the third is just about finished. And the entire series has been so much fun!!

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Promise to Keep

Hello!

All right, people, I have dire thinky thoughts about two of my favorite shows, Strike Back and Sons of Anarchy, which I won't share here, but suffice to say, it's not looking good for a few characters. EEK!

Thank goodness, Arrow returns in two weeks and I can get my superhero fix again soon. Whew.

Tonight's post is from Promise to Keep and has something of a darker tone than I usually write. It's not quite a HEA, but it does have a star-crossed, moment in time, don't waste an opportunity flavor. I'm truly hoping it'll turn out exactly the way I want and eventually get published. :D

Here's the tagline:

Two elite marines try to forge a relationship during a time of war. But when a worse than usual dangerous situation ups the ante, a promise is made and must be kept, regardless of the personal toll. After all, the marine motto is anytime, anyplace, always ready.

And a sneaky peek…

Daniel Makepeace cracked a grin. On the run in a war torn galaxy, two people who'd normally never meet under most circumstances—being assigned to different divisions—could end up working together to keep order among the survivors. Mutual rank, of all things, brought them into each other's orbit to help hold the remnants of a battered military together. Respect, admiration, and a shared love of the absurd might be a strange way to start a relationship, but more bizarre things had happened. Daniel could write an entire series of novels about some of the more interesting occurrences he'd lived through during his time in the marine corp. Hell, he could write a second series on the last three years alone.

And he knew exactly where he'd start if he ever put pen to paper. The night he shared his first drink with gunnery sergeant, Jillian Mathison. A woman who had no equal. They hadn't known each other that well back then, but she'd done a fellow soldier a solid and kept him from going bug ass insane.

An out of commission marine oughtta be a dead one. The motto of his branch of the military: anytime, anyplace, always ready. Ready at a moment's notice to do the grunt work, haul officers out of danger, protect and keep the peace. A marine could pretty much do it all.

Daniel had grown up knowing he'd enlist—not much a guy with his upbringing could do. But he had no idea he'd make selection to the marine unit. The military had rigidly high standards for the process. Physical stamina, an aptitude for combat, and the ability to follow orders to the letter ranked high on the qualification scale.

But the number one thing the recommendation tribunal held out for had nothing to do with brute force. They looked for applicants with a keen intellect who could keep it in check for the chain of command, but use their smarts when in a tricky situation. And what else did marines do, but dive headfirst into insane drama?

Out of the seventy-five candidates he got lumped in with, only a dozen made the cut. Twelve people. They'd formed a tight bond and stood together to face whatever the enemy threw their way. Regular military, even the elite pilots, command officers and the admiralty just didn't get it. They weren't supposed to, not really. But Jillian did. She'd gone through the same trial by fire to earn her rank. Even though he didn't know her well, she already had an 'in' of being a marine.

Jillian Mathison hailed from a different ship, the Perseus, but her team worked exactly like his. She held the same rank, played the same role, used the same techniques. Would figure she'd have the best inkling to what made him tick.

When his R&R got cut short by a bullet to the thigh, she knew exactly what he needed.

And she'd saved the day.

He marked that as the beginning of a wonderful friendship. One he'd never allow himself to forget…

As if he ever could.

And so it begins… the story of Daniel and Jillian. :D The manuscript is coming together nicely. Here's hoping the sages keep cooperating. :D :D

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Need

Hi,

I'm going to bore everyone with all my Strike Back talk, but holy hell, the hits keep coming. Poor Scott can't catch a break. I do have one wild hair theory of what I want for him at the end of the show's run, but I'll keep mum so I don't jinx it. :D

Tonight's post is from a manuscript that's a bit of a departure for me. It's got an omniscient narrator. I'm not completely sure it's going to work, but I love the flow so far. Need dives into how two people end up gravitating toward each other, almost in an inevitable way, because their need outweighs standard operating procedure, frat regs, and just about everything else. Very fun to write. :D

Here's the tagline:

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson, two top notch pilots, have the strangest courtship in the galaxy—one they swear doesn't even exist. But when the need to be together hits them, they inevitably find themselves in the same place at the same time, with a little help from their crewmates.

And the sneaky peek…

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson had the strangest courtship in the galaxy.

Sometimes the need to see each other hit them at exactly the same time. Sparks usually flew and they weren't the only two who noticed. The entire crew could pinpoint the exact moment it happened. And they had front row seats to the bizarre mating dance Circe and Oz would swear never actually took place.

Oh, but it did.

A top notch pilot, Circe could be out flying CAP, chattering away with the other pilots. She'd tease and lob insults and take her fair share of ribbing. Never one to dish out more than she could take, Circe usually kept the conversation going between the squad for the whole patrol.

But every once in a while, she'd go dead air silent for a few beats.

It happened to be one of those moments.

Oz would be deep into work on the comm deck, plotting courses, running coordinates and monitoring engineers and the deck crew. He'd be in the thick of his duties and stop, mid conversation with the landing station officer or keying in data, and go silent, like he'd heard something no one else did.

He'd get up, grab a headset and enter the discussion with the CAP. He could do that. As CAG, no one questioned his actions. It never took long for Circe to get back in the game and start trading barbs with her immediate superior.  

The over the air banter would take on a sharp-witted edge and everyone else would go quiet until end of shift, letting Circe and Oz carry out their weird brand of foreplay. Once the CAP landed, Circe met Oz or vice versa. Oddly, no words necessary, they'd exchange a look or a glance and fall into step beside each other then disappear. Or with a weird, silent communication make plans to meet without uttering a sound. The crew got used to the crazy interplay. They also knew not to go anywhere near Oz or Circe until both had laid-back smiles on their faces.

The two didn't start out so much in sync. In fact, Circe and Oz began their journey on opposite ends of the galaxy. Oz grew up on the central planet in their solar system. Commerce, education, and culture abounded in the primo location. A wide cross-section of every world shared the wealth of their knowledge and experience. Oz soaked it up and developed an appreciation for diplomacy.

Circe didn't leave her home world until a recruiter visited and offered her a chance. Street smart, she lacked discipline, but showed an aptitude for strategic planning. Razor sharp instincts kept her safe on the rough and tumble streets where gang law often trumped everything else.

She spoke her mind with fearless confidence and didn't suffer fools at all. She had some adjustment issues when she entered the military, used to living fast and free, coming and going as she pleased. But she quickly learned her natural ability to fly would buy lots of wiggle room. She also figured out how to walk the very fine line between skirting regulations and insubordination.

Their differences made things very interesting when Circe met Oz under less than stellar circumstances. She transferred in from a battle frigate, the Cyllene, and arrived during last dog watch. She discovered her tradition of entering the landing bay in an inverted position did not go over well with the CAG of the Titan.

Oz ordered her—from his bird out on CAP—to remain with her ship on the hangar deck until his shift finished…in two hours.

When he finally landed and the crew towed his plane to the hangar, he found Circe sitting on the wing of her ship, enjoying a meal from the galley. He completed his post-flight checklist in cold silence, giving the crew ample time to feel his wrath. Their always solid efficiency increased to superior levels and everyone gave him wide berth when he strode, slowly and with great purpose, to Circe's location.

Circe finished chewing her mouthful of food and washed it down with a long swallow of water. She slid off the wing, grabbed hold of the ladder and swung down to calmly wait for the CAG.

Everyone held their breath when Circe and Oz stood toe to toe for several long moments, taking each other's measure. No one knew what to expect when the CAG's gaze met the pilot's and sparks literally flew.

Circe gave Oz a cocky salute. "Lt. Circe Nash, callsign Trickster, reporting for duty." She waited a beat then added. "Sir."

Oz worked his jaw, silently clenching his teeth. "Wanna tell me why you disobeyed a direct order?" He completely skipped SOP and didn't offer the formal acceptance of her arrival.

Circe gave him an innocent gaze. "How do you figure I did that? I'm with my bird on the hangar deck…exactly as ordered." A slow smirk spread across her lips. "You didn't say anything about rations." She dragged the sleeve of her flight suit up and checked her watch. "And I hadn't anything to eat for ten hours."

Oz cocked his head to the side, silently regarding his new pilot. "You're gonna push the rules to the limit, aren't you?"

Circe's lips quirked and her eyes lit up. "That's what they're there for…Sir."

The deck crew waited for an explosion. The CAG's callsign of Wrath had been well-earned. He had a short fuse sometimes, and Circe all but lit the wick with her cheeky response.

The blast never came.

Instead, the CAG calmly responded. "I can see things will be a whole lot livelier with you around." He looked up, glancing at everyone on the deck. "They'll also be a lot cleaner." He shifted his gaze back to Circe. "You get to begin your tenure here with a week of detailing work on the planes." He turned and started for his office.

Circe grinned and called out. "Think I'm gonna like it here, Sir." When Oz angled his head around, she snapped off a crisp and precise salute, respect for the CAG clearly defined in her posture.

Oz snorted and shook his head. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant. We'll see."

Seriously, Circe and Oz's relationship has been so much fun to write through the narrator's eyes. I hope I can keep the flow going and finish it up soon.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Mia's Choice

July 28, 2013

Hello!

It's been a great writing week…for organizational stuff. LOL I've spent almost every day working on taglines, plotting story ideas, adding to characterization charts, and fixing small details in several thisclosetobeing finished manuscripts.

I feel so productive!!

Tonight's post is from one of those almost there stories. Mia's Choice is stretching into a something close to a novel, but I think it'll remain a novella. Especially after I get through the final round and ruthlessly edit unnecessary stuff. J

Here's the tagline:

Mia Sinclair finally got her doctorate and embarks on a work trade assignment to a new space station. But when she runs smack into Hal Manning, and her past, she has to face her demons, which isn't easy because she promised she'd never be under any man's control again.

And a sneaky peek…

Hal Manning sat behind his desk and heaved a sigh. Dealing with a mix of military and civilian crew gave him the worst headache. He wondered, not for the first time, whose bright idea it had been to combine the two and send them out into deep space to construct a new outpost.

Probably someone with a pay grade much higher than his.

He pulled out the log reports and sifted through the pile of complaints. Could the commandos do their drills somewhere else? Could the science geeks conduct experiments that made the ship reek of indescribable aromas in the hold instead of on the same level as living quarters? And could they both just stay out of each other's way?

Maybe he should lock everyone in the cargo hold and let them duke it out.

Better yet, barricade him in and let the inmates run the asylum.

Yeah, wouldn't happen.

Hal worked steadily for the next hour on the logs, writing orders, confirming information and filing memos. The name on the last report caught his attention.

Mia Sinclair.

Check that. Doctor Mia Sinclair. The woman took every opportunity to remind him and his crew of the fact. She had zero appreciation for the common use of last names as a greeting or acknowledgement of presence.

So very different from the girl he used to know.

When she boarded the Queen Amalie he'd been stunned stupid. Sinclair happened to be her married name so it hadn't pinged for him on the manifest.

Hal sat back and let the memories roll through his mind. They'd grown up together. Dated. Fallen in love. They'd had a chance once…a long time ago. But Mia cut it short. Carved him out of her life and sent him packing.

Okay, not entirely true. More like she'd boxed up and checked out.

He'd known her as Mia Furlough. Way back when they'd been wet behind the ears and barely out of primary school. She'd been vibrant, lively, and fun. He'd fallen for her completely and without reservation.

Thought it had been the same for her. But he'd been so very wrong. She didn't come close to being the person he'd thought she'd been. Not after her grandfather died.

Mia went from free spirit to gilded bird in a matter of weeks. She cut herself off from everyone, stopped hanging out with the kids after classes and refused to see Hal or return his phone calls.

A couple of months later, she disappeared. Moved away. Didn't come back. He finally heard she'd left for a position in the prestigious Academy of Science on Mars. Her father pulled some strings to get her in. Or so Hal had been told.

The hometown connection kept him sporadically up to date on Mia. She'd graduated with her degree later than expected due to her marriage to a top scientist. She'd cared for both ailing parents until their deaths three years ago. The nasty divorce that followed apparently set the social and scientific communities on their ears.

He'd been bowled over when she boarded his vessel as the science liaison, newly assigned to Space Station Alpha.

Hal shook his head, clearing the memories, and leafed through Mia's report. About halfway through, he sat up straight in his chair and re-read the last two paragraphs. The ship had what wrong with its water supply? Three weeks into their journey and a major cock up like this?

A bunch of scientific terms he'd probably need a translator for muddied up the page. The part he didn't need a degree to read simply stated one of the reserve water containment tanks had been contaminated and could not be used. How in the hell had that happened?

Could she be wrong?

Hal doubted it. Doctor Sinclair had meticulous down to an art form. She filed her reports on time. Showed up for the daily briefings precisely five minutes before they started and from what scuttlebutt he heard about her, ran a tight ship in the lab.

He sighed. He'd have to talk to her about the contamination. He considered the subject too important for him to delegate. The fact he found himself avoiding her whenever possible didn't sit well with him anyway.

Combing his hair back from his face, he rose, gathered the report and exited quarters.

Might as well get the good doctor in for a visit and get it over with. He was pretty sure he knew where she'd be. Holed up in her quarters or working in the lab. She rarely went anywhere else. He'd find a junior officer and have them escort Mia down from the lab deck.

Wouldn't she just love that?

Heh. Nope. Mia is not going to be thrilled she has to meet Hal in his quarters, but she'll deal. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Shyler: Finding Home

Greetings! Another great weather day after dipping back down into cooler temps again. The week is looking good for mildness in our dreary, cold, bleh spring so far. YAY!

Tonight's post is from a current release, Shyler: Finding Home. Here's hoping it'll help me finish up the follow up novella for the Furlough 99 anthology with Ellipses Press. Maybe revisiting Shyler and Marsh will help me get Spider's groove back. :D

To that end, I'll be featuring a snippet of Shyler's interaction with Spider. Seriously, I LOVED writing their dialog. So much fun. :D

Here's the tagline:

Inspector Shyler Lumen and entrepreneur Marshton Gray don't have much in common. A manhunt for a brilliantly mad chemist brings them together and sparks fly. Shyler and Marsh can fight the wave of change…or grab hold and go along for the ride.

And here's the sneaky peek…

Shyler stood in Spider's domain, getting a good peek at what made him tick. Loads of techno-geek equipment lined every wall in ordered chaos. His actual workspace, strewn with keyboards, monitors, touch pads, files and three headsets reminded her of the desk in her tiny office. Shyler had no doubt he knew exactly where to find whatever someone asked for. She could do the same. Her CI called the top of her work unit a monstrous disaster. She referred to it as an organized mess. He stopped demanding she clean it up. Whenever she did, it took her weeks to find anything. Amazing how a missing tox screen or autopsy report could stall an arrest.

Spider entered, whistling an off key show tune and stopped short when he caught sight of her. "You're letting Mr. Moneybags interrogate his brother?" He shuffled around, and cleared off one of the chairs. "Wow. The sex must've been super hot." He pulled out a chair and plopped down in front of the monitor wired into the makeshift interrogation room.

Shyler contained the urge to head thwap Spider and shot back. "Really? You're going to go there?" She waved her arm in a wide arc. "The guy who uses casino babes and porn goddesses as art wants to be a smart ass about my sex life?" She yanked a second chair out and sat down beside him.

Spider shrugged. "You're breaking your own rules. Can't blame me for assuming a great lay is behind that." He adjusted the camera angle, pulling the view back for a wide shot of the entire room.

Shyler didn't have a defense so she changed the subject. "Whatever. How about some sound to go with the picture." She took the headset Spider handed over and ignored the smirk on his face.

Ahhh. I think this will be a huge help in getting back into Spider's head and helping him deal with Hailey Webb—a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get…with Spider's help. :D

Maybe I'll have a post about them in the very near future. :D

Click to buy

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Finding Calm

March 31, 2013

Happy Easter to those who celebrate. And I hope yours is warmer than mine. Can't really complain, though. At least the temp broke fifty degrees today. LOL

Had a good dinner of ham, au gratin potatoes, cheddar biscuits, and green beans. Now letting my food settle before attempting to watch the Walking Dead finale tonight. J

Today's post is from Finding Calm, a story about Sunny's journey to find some calm in her life. And not to create her own brand of chaos.

Here's the tagline:

Hank and Sunny have danced around finding happiness together so many times. Sunny botches it and learns a hard lesson at the hands of a crazed kidnapper. She finally wants to meet Hank on equal footing but the timing never seems right. Surely her cosmic bad luck has to take an upswing sooner or later.

And here's the sneaky peek…

Sunny Gage sat, her eyes darting around the last transpo off the planet, trying to take everything in. She noted the people on the flight, most of whom she hadn't seen in months. Not since she'd been taken by Connor Rathburn and lived a nightmare. They pretty much looked like she felt…on the outside. Nobody could feel what she did under the surface. And they shouldn't. She wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy.

And she had a few of those.

Reality kicked in and now that she didn't have to live in fight or flight mode against Connor, her hands shook and her body trembled. Hell of a time to start feeling wobbly. Months. She'd spent months with the man—no, thing—artificial intelligent being, her emotions running the gamut. But the last two weeks, she'd amazed herself by portraying a quiet, rational woman. One who'd accepted her fate and would play nice.

Right before she jabbed the meat fork in Connor's jugular. Or where the vein should have been, if he'd been human. Didn't matter. She'd hit key circuitry and ended his bizarre version of playing house with her.

And even though she’d had time to catch her breath…everything still seemed a little dreamlike and fuzzy and she wondered if the last few hours actually happened. Her mind ran the gamut of events leading up to the escape…

Connor dead. Again.

The nightmare of waking up to find a new model in his place…over.

Bern II…a bust.

But her little girl? Safe.

Sunny hugged the child perched on her lap closer. The poor kid had witnessed Sunny's display of quiet madness. Freaked out until she realized Connor didn't bleed. That he proved to be different. Didn't mean Celia wouldn't need buttloads of therapy to get over the sight of her mother killing the thing she called father.

Her rescue and escape had to be too good to be true.

Had to be.

She shook her head. No, all true. She couldn't be dreaming because Josh stood off to the side…staring at her like she’d disappear if he blinked. She wished she felt the same, but six months in the hands of the enemy beat her down. Made her angry.

Where the hell had Josh been? Other prisoners achieved freedom through a barter system. Information, goods, sex. All used to buy loved ones back. But not Josh. He had to know, probably on a level buried deep, her heart didn't belong to him. She'd married him to save herself…from herself. And to save Hank from her.

She held a large part back, didn't let the marriage become too real. Maybe she felt the effects of that now. It added to the surreal feeling she couldn't quite shake. Like she might still be back on that stupid planet and hadn't truly escaped the nightmare. But the full load of people in the transpo all looked real…ragged and worn…but real. Headed for home and almost afraid to believe it, Sunny closed her eyes. Home. Her real home. Could she really go back?

Celia convinced her. Soft blond curls tickled under her nose from the head lying on her shoulder. The little hand that reached for and grabbed onto her finger sold it. Celia would need stability. And time to understand they were finally free.

No more being held captive.

No more fighting to stay sane.

No more obsessive Connor models trying to convince her of a ‘special’ destiny.

Gods it felt good.

What didn't feel very good? Sunny had to face Hank…really face him…and his tone during their last conversation, when he'd blown the door to her pristine prison, indicated she shouldn’t expect a warm reception. She fought back the nervous roiling in her stomach, happy to see they were next in line to land. Everything else aside…good to be home. And…Sunny would be cool, calm and collected when she docked aboard the ship…

Right. Who the hell did she wanna kid? She’d never truly be any of those.

But she’d try hard now.

For Celia.

The poor kid already had the misfortune of having a bad mix of DNA. Sunny had to make sure Celia didn't pay the price for it. Her own childhood, full of abuse, made her that much more determined Celia never suffered for who her parents were. Anyone…anyone who tried to make her feel less than human would have to get through Sunny first.

She wished she'd had someone to do the same for her.

Except someone had…

Hank Moreno.

And she'd spit in his face for the effort.

Poor Sunny. She'll have a long road ahead of her to find the peaceful calm zen she wants.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye