The Fall of Ventaris

Dan and I are excited to announce the release of The Fall of Ventaris, the second in a series of novels set in the fog-shrouded City of Rodaas. The story brings back the redoubtable Duchess, fresh to the secret society known as the Grey and up to even more mischief. This book took a good bit longer to finish than we hoped, mostly because it's a longer and much more complicated story to tell, and to write. We're delighted with the results, and we hope you will be too.

The book is available in print or in electronic form, and you can find links to both at Peccable Productions. You'll also find free sample chapters, so you can try before you buy.

As with most things, The Fall of Ventaris is the work of many hands, and not just those that wrote it. First of all, we'd like to thank our test readers: Rosemary Auge, Mark Fabrizi, Daniel Linehan, Sean McGarry and Suzanne Onesti. These are the folks who catch all our errors and inconsistencies, and keep us from thinking we're just absolutely brilliant!

No less essential was the contribution of the amazing Amy Houser, with whom we were once again privileged to work. Amy "gets" our vision, and as always she brought it to life in a way we would never have considered. You seriously need to check out her Web site.

We'd also like to recognize the reviewers who were open-minded enough to give a couple of unknown indie authors a try. There are many, but I'd like to mention Beauty in Ruins, Bibliophila Please, Melody and Words, and Pauline's FantasyReviews. You were an essential part of getting out the word, and your kindness will not be forgotten. A special shout-out to Jane Wiedlin, who agreed to read and review our previous novel, The Duchess of the Shallows. I've spent decades appreciating her writing, and it was an honor to have her recognize ours.

Finally, we have to take time to thank the (literally) thousands of people who bought our first novel, whether as part of a story bundle or directly from us. You took a chance on a couple of indie authors who believe that readers are more adventurous than the publishing industry cares to think. Thanks for proving us right.

Enjoy!

I don't know I feel

I found out yesterday that my ENT, Ronald Kirschner, had passed away. It’s strange when someone like that dies, because no one – including me – knows how to react. I mean, you don’t know your doctor in the same way you know your sister or your best friend, right? I guess I lied, because although I did not know the appropriate reaction, I felt it anyway.

I came under his care back in 2003 when I was slowly losing the hearing in my right ear. It was a scary time, made even more frightening when he said surgery was the only sure way to clear it up, and even that might not restore the hearing loss but simply arrest it. Since my GP had strongly recommended Kirschner I agreed to the surgery, and now I am glad I did. Everything went swimmingly, and I felt as though the care I received was top-notch. Within six months my hearing had fully returned, which took the experience from great to amazing.

I saw Dr. Kirschner regularly over the ten years because, in addition to that hearing loss thing, I have a recurring earwax problem that he’d take care of. (Very pretty, right?) I always looked forward to the visits, because this guy had a really interesting life. I remember seeing on his office wall a black-and-white photo of him in a military uniform cutting a giant sheet cake with a sabre. I asked him about it and he told me that was taken when he was in the Navy and had received some award or another and there was a ceremony involving cake. Being who I am, I naturally asked if the cake had been good, and he screwed up his face in this hilarious expression of distaste and said, “No, it was terrible! But because the admiral was there I had to eat it.”

He had this amazing life I found out about in small increments, spread over years. In another visit I found out that Kirschner had tended patients far more noteworthy than I. As I found out, the President of the United States receives care from Navy doctors, and sure enough, one of them was Ronald Kirschner. He worked with both Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon, and he had great stories about both. Apparently, Nixon was nicer; Johnson refused to leave the White House for his appointments so Kirscher would have to have his entire office relocated to a basement room under the Oval Office for the brief time he’d see the Big Guy. “All that for ten minutes!” Kirschner told me, shaking his head.

Dr. Kirschner was a great traveler, and whenever he heard I was going someplace he’d offer tips on where to eat and what to do, and when I got back he’d ask what I thought. He was also delighted that I coauthored a book, and he’d ply me with questions about novel-writing, the publishing industry, etc. His interest was always genuine, and how many people you see a few times a year actually care about what you’re doing?

I really came to enjoy those chats, and now that they are over I feel as though there’s this little void in my life where they used to fit. I’m going to miss hearing about a life that’s now over but was fully lived. I don’t know if that’s an inappropriate response, but I feel the loss. And that’s enough for me.

Keep it steady

Obviously, everyone and his sister Sue has heard about the Boston bombing, and many if not most of them know more of the details than I. In these situations I tend to hold back from reading the news until the facts are known, and since, luckily, there's no one in Boston I need to check up on, holding back is working for me.

What I would like to do is take a moment to remind my fellow Americans of the lessons we learned since the last terrorist attack. Giving blood and donating money is good at any time, and especially now, but here's my list of things we should not do:

1. Invade a foreign nation.
2. Restructure national government.
3. Adopt any color-coded system of warning people of vague threats
4. Vote for (or against) any particular political party.
5. Blame the president.
6. Declare a War on anything.
7. Ban marathons.
8. Ban children from attending marathons.
9. Enact any law that goes by an acronym. (PATRIOT Act, I am looking in your direction.)
10. Change our way of life.

Admittedly, most of these are somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but I really mean #10. Terrorists, domestic or foreign, attempt by their actions to spread fear and disrupt our way of life, so let's not give them what they want. Let's keep having marathons, sending kids to school, getting on planes, and all of the other things we love to do.

Obviously, it's scary to think that there are people running around looking to harm others, but never forget that a) those people were there before April 15; and b) they are relatively rare, as are these kinds of attacks. That doesn't mean we can't and shouldn't take sensible precautions, but "sensible" does not mean "any and all." It means we do what can reasonably do to keep ourselves safe, and then we get on with life. When confronted with terrible events like bombings, getting on with life is the best most of us can do.

I say, OK

If you haven't heard, there's a new study out from the National Institute for Mathematical and Biological Synthesis (NIMBioS) - how's that for an acronym? - about the genetic component to homosexuality. Check it out. I don't know if further research will bear this out, but it's brought up something I've long kept in the back of my mind.

Obviously, American society has come a long way in terms of acceptance of homosexuality; hell, even I can remember when things were very different. Thirty years ago I would never have imagined that gay characters would be all over television, and if you'd said that nine states would have legalized same sex marriage I would have backed slowly away, avoiding sudden movements. However, I think this (laudable) march towards acceptance has brought along some oversimplification about just what homosexuality is.

I've heard many times, and in many ways, assertions that gay men and women are just like our straight counterparts, except in whom we love. We gays sometimes adopt this mantra ourselves, saying, "My homosexuality is just a small part of who I am." Well, I don't know about anyone else, but my sexual orientation is pretty fundamental to me, affecting my worldview, shaping my opinions and guiding my interactions with both men and women. That "small part" winds its way through nearly every aspect of my personality, which makes it pretty damn large.

Don't get me wrong; I understand and appreciate the reluctance to define gay men merely as feminized men or gay women as just masculine women. That reluctance, in my view, arises from an enlightened perspective that people are complicated and should not be viewed according to simplistic formula. However, it's possible to look so hard for nuance that one misses the basics. No one thinks, for example, that heterosexual men are just like heterosexual women; why would we then insist that heterosexual men are just like homosexual men? I am often puzzled by the behavior of my straight counterparts, and always have been. We have different approaches to conflict resolution (you rarely see a fist-fight in a gay bar) and romantic relationships, and we just interact differently with the world. I'm not just a straight guy who likes men.

And that's why this study pulled my attention. I suppose some are uncomfortable with the idea that gay people might be the result of "feminization of some traits in sons, such as sexual preference, and similarly a partial masculinization of daughters", but not me. If it turns out I am a feminized man...well, I know lots of women. I like them. They're neat. It's no shame to be like a woman. (Although I'll admit I'm not sorry to miss out on the menstruation thing.) Neither should any woman be insulted to have masculine traits. The world is a much more interesting place for having so many different kinds of people, and if these differences sometimes make it difficult for us to connect as human beings...well, we learn much more in the trying. But we're not the same, and that is just fine with me.

The Frog and the Fool

For some reason I still don't understand, in my early twenties I went through this poetry phase. This is so hard for me to understand because reading poetry generally did nothing for me, and still doesn't. But I digress.

I wrote all kinds of stuff, from the silly to serious, and this morning as I was chopping up a vegetable (Die carrot! Die!), one of those poems came inexplicably to mind. I searched my hard drive and found it, and now I bring it to you. See if it makes you want to eviscerate something orange and healthy.

The Frog and the Fool

I walked under a blue, blue sky

And turned along a path, then I

Came up upon a toadstool patch

And there I found a frog, with match.

He scratched the stick along his rump

Took out his pipe, began to pump,

Said “What you doin’, all nosin’ round here

With your big head, your big face, your big nose and ears?”

Responded I, “I seek advice

About how I should live my life.

I am confused and do not know

Which way the world’s supposed to go.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted out

Disgust that burbled through his snout

(which wasn’t much of a snout, in truth;

He more like burbled through his tooth)

He burped again and laughed aloud

“Come down to earth from that there cloud!

There ain’t no wonder to be found

I know, because I been around.

It’s snot and filth that turns the world.”

He hacked a green one, which he hurled

Too near my foot to suit my needs,

Then cleared his throat, “Just practice greed.”

“Greed?” Said I. “Did I stutter?” said he

“You could do worse.”  I said, “Not me.

Greed’s a goal that’s much too mean

I want love, success, and to leave the world green - ”

Then stepped prudently back, in case he chose

To spit again and illustrate my prose.

He went once more as if to hack,

Then shot me a look that took me aback

“There’s nothin’ noble that can’t be got

By watchin’ pennies in the pot.

Keep close yer cash, ‘cause happiness

May not be for sale, but it’s sure up for rent.”

The days have passed, the years flown by

But well I remember his froggy eye

I planted his words with the seeds that I’ve sown

I couldn’t buy happiness, but I now lease to own.