|JCP News • Issue 17 • May 2009
Beautiful, Mysterious and Bizarre: M/M Urban Fantasy by Jordan Castillo Price
Am I afraid of ghosts?
Where did I get my ideas for Body Art, the new Partners in Crime story?
The answers to all these burning questions and more can be found at Reviews by Jessewave.
THANK YOU FOR SPREADING THE WORD
My Among the Living giveaway last month was a huge success, thanks in large part to the readers who went to their blogs and their Yahoo groups and spread the word. Dozens of readers came from LiveJournal in particular to check out JCP Books.
Thank you all for recommending me to your friends. I hooked many new readers last month and got tons of positive feedback from them. (They didn't seem too bummed when they came back for Criss Cross and all the rest. It was more of a "Yay, I found a new author!" vibe. Which was exactly what I'd been hoping for!)
Jordan on the Web
From Zero Hour
"Would you listen to this one?" The voice came from all around Ernest—a POD-mind voice, but nothing like L0U15E's. This one sounded like an old-time feed actor's, with subtle nuances of inflection that would have convinced Ernest it was an actual person speaking, if it weren't being broadcast over the POD audio. "Two questions at once—and handsome, too. He's a keeper."
It's officially spring. How do I know that (other than by looking at a calendar?) Because I'm being inundated by stupid little weed trees that are sprouting up everywhere. One of these monsters has overtaken the front of my home, and the landscapers want four figures to dig that, and a bunch of other unfortunate crap, out of there.
I'm thinking apartment living sounds nice right about now.
Also, early on every spring, it seems to me it would be awesome to clear out a few vegetable beds and maybe put in some nice early peas and lettuce, and maybe some basil, cilantro and tomatoes around June when it's warm enough. And then the same thing always happens. Spring rolls around and all I want to do is write.
I need a gardener, obviously. Because looking in disgust at the brown, leaf-logged patches of dirt covered in weed trees, dandelion and Creeping Charlie doesn't seem to be making many tomatoes come up!
(On another note, there's a baby bunny who started hanging out outside my office window this week. It's the size of a baked potato, OMG so cute!)
Here's hoping you lawn and garden are more cooperative than mine. Or that you at least get a baby bunneh now and then.
At long last, I'm thrilled to announce that Partners in Crime 4: The Art of Dying will be out by the end of the month in paperback.
I was looking at the printers' proofs this morning and lingering over Josh's story, and my story, and enjoying how we both came up with something having to do with art, set on an island, and then weaving in murder.
The plots and characters were totally different, and yet we also both painted worlds that felt strikingly real, anchored in locales where there were neighbors and traditions and whole communities that exist outside the little vacuum of the protagonists. It was as if you could book a vacation and expect to visit either of the places, Seal Island or Red Wing Island, and fully expect the dilapidated lighthouse, or the high-fenced survivalist's hideaway, to be there.
There's also a toughness shared by both of the heroes, Finn and Ray, that they each earned in the school of hard knocks. I think a propensity that Josh and I both share is that in the interest of delivering a page-turner, neither of us is afraid to kick a main character while he's down!
If you prefer your fiction via ebook, never fear. The electronic version of The Art of Dying will be out the first week of July at Aspen Mountain Press. Sinister paint brush cover by yours truly.
Live and In Person
I'll be at WisCon in a week or so. Stop by and see me! Do you live in the Midwest and you're not familiar with WisCon? It's the World's Leading Feminist Science Fiction Convention, held annually in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, about an hour from Milwaukee and three hours from Chicago. Here are the panels where I'll be appearing.
So You Want to Be Published? Are You Your Own Biggest Roadblock?
The Care and Feeding of Your Vampire
WisCon expects to have some tickets available at the door this year, so if you're looking for something to do on Memorial Day weekend, check it out!
Sweet Oblivion: Fluid Flows into May
The eighth chapter in the Morpheus/Oblivion series will be released a week early! Here's a taste:
I felt eyes on me, that prickle that's not quite hot or cold but maybe a little of both, and I glanced up and saw a dark-eyed kid with a Mohawk and a pierced eyebrow giving me bedroom eyes. A year ago, I would've made good on that invitation—'cos he was sweet on the outside, but better than that, I could tell just by looking at him that he was bitter on the inside—and that's the siren song that makes even the mustiest of dried-up vamps dash themselves to death on the rocky shore of wanting.
I'd paused mid-swoop, eye-locked with Prettyboy for a split second, with that cream cheese-covered pear wedge clutched between thumb and forefinger.
Michael stepped between the vamp bait and me, and I felt like my soul, which had been trying to float out through my eyes, had slammed back into me, and I was myself again. I don't think he'd noticed the current of Mesmerism that he'd just short-circuited. "What are you doing?" Michael said, genuinely curious—about the pear, not the Mohawk boy. I finished out the whorl of the line I'd been drawing, and then turned to face him.
He had a red plastic cup of beer in one hand, full to the brim, and a handful of chips in the other. Everything else was black. Black leather jacket. Black T-shirt, black jeans. Filmy black scarf. Raven black Clairol hair. Thick black eyeliner. And tragically pretty, with insides all red and raw as if his best gal-pal had just been sucked dry yesterday. I brought the frosting-covered pear wedge up to his face and painted a thin line of white across his lower lip. "Dipping," I told him. And I slid the pear into his mouth. His tongue grazed my finger as he took it.
Sweet Oblivion 3: Fluid will be available May 28 at Changeling Press
Zero Hour - Chapter 17
A VR helmet hung from the wall beside each chair, and the surfaces of the tables blinked with W3 feeds. The room had once provided a space for many persons to congregate, to link in and distract themselves while they bided their time until Reclaim. But many of the tables were now dark, as if their power supplies had burned out, or the feeds were mottled with dead pixels. One retiree watched a holographic 3-D feed that stuttered and jumped as if the lenses that projected it were no longer stable, and clusters of broken wire hung from many of the VR helmets.
A retired man looked up and met Ernest's gaze. He'd been broad-shouldered, once. Now, he was stooped and gray. He was thirty and thirty. Ernest wondered how old he was himself. He'd lost track of the passage of time, and L0U15E was no longer there to ask.
Only that single man watched him cross the room. No one challenged him, or even asked him who he was, or why he was bleeding. Ernest felt a great pang of sadness, though its source was difficult to discern. Perhaps it was that it could be him sitting there, ignorant and docile. But his sadness felt greater, even, than that. Perhaps his new knowledge was too difficult to bear.
Channeling Morpheus/Sweet Oblivion Stories:
Email me at jordan (at) psycop (dot) com
JCP News • Jordan Castillo Price • PO Box 153 • Barneveld, WI 53507