You Will Be Damned, Sutter!

lesbian fiction excerpt

Hey, Sutter, you nimrod. Don’t you know anything about criminal behavior? If you swipe something, you do not announce to the world—in writing—that you swiped something. Plus, you made everyone who read the prologue guilty of receiving stolen property. I should arrest your ass. Instead, I will give you a demonstration.

See, my book has a prologue, too. I think it’s far more interesting than yours, but then, I understand why she writes what you call “Laura books.”

But my prologue I did not swipe. No, it just happened to fall into my hands. I am putting it here in case someone happens to know its rightful owner (or when the damn book will be finished). If you can help with this important identification, please call the Granton Police Department @ 555-INYOURF-INGDREAMS.

Prologue

Burning flesh. Stench. A stench that wafts through the nostrils and right into the soul. The stench of mortality.

When one’s own flesh is burning, the stench should motivate. Life or death. Fight or flight. But it didn’t motivate.

The stench should warn of harm to the body. But it didn’t warn, and it didn’t hurt.

It simply befouled everything.

When one’s own flesh is burning…

She exhaled through her nose, trying not to vomit from the stench or the seeming motion sickness from the whirling sensation. The steering wheel jutted out at a strange angle. A bucket seat perched overhead. A seatbelt dangled. A spent air bag hung. Everything was upside down except the ever-upward flames. She had to be spinning. She had to be. Or in hell.

A hand reached in through the broken window of the upended vehicle. Its grip gave her the first sensation of pain, as though the hand squeezed so tightly on her arm that it touched the bone. Maybe it did.

“Your car’s on fire!” the gritty voice yelled. “You’ve got to get out!”

Finally, fight or flight kicked in. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that flight was the correct response; a split-second flash of terror told her quite clearly. But this had to be fight. A fight to the finish.

She hoisted herself as best she could, which wasn’t much. She drew away from the pulling hands fighting to separate her from what she needed. Frantically, she scrabbled the area for the book.

“You’ve got to help me!” the gritty voice yelled again. “You’re going to die if we don’t get you out of here!”

“Then let me. Just let me.” Her words sounded breathy and odd, as though they didn’t belong to her.

Her hands groped. There it is! There’s the journal! She knew its shape, its raggedy worn exterior. Her quivering hand clutched it, stuck to it, but it seemed it weighed far more than she could lift. She reached once more, but the hands forcing themselves through her armpits heaved so hard that it was quickly out of her reach.

The hands pulled so fast that it felt as though she was being catapulted away from the earth, away from the truth.

Her heels dragged on the ground as the hands continued their mission, eventually setting her down. The big car now seemed little in the distance, angled against a tree, its dead leaves on fire and spitting busy orange stars against the blackened sky.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the gritty voice said. “Just rest.”

She surrendered.

 

Share

I’ll Be Damned

Laura's League, ,

Ladies and gentlemen, make sure you’re sitting down!

The author has finally finished a first draft, but it is not Laura’s book. No siree, Sam, it is Laura’s League, Lesbian Adventure Club: Book 12.

I have no clue how long it will take her to do edits. Her goal was to have it out this month, but I’m not sure she’ll pull that off. But still, it’s close! I will keep you posted on our prodding and her progress.

In the meantime, here’s the prologue I swiped. I have a feeling she would eviscerate me if I took more of this one, so I will behave … unless, of course, the edits take her too long.

Prologue

Claudia lay on my chest, and her hand rested on my belly. With my arm around her, I pulled her a bit closer as I tried to spy the moon—even a star would do—through our porch’s glass ceiling. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing but darkness.

“Are you sure we should be here?” Susan asked from her spot on the other end of the porch.

“Of course you should be here,” Claudia answered without hesitation. “It’s a Lesbian Adventure Club day. Of course you should be here. We all should be here.”

“I just don’t want to make anything worse,” she responded.

“Me, either,” Alison said.

Claudia repeated, “We all should be here.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be lying together as couples,” Janice suggested.

For that one, Claudia did not have a response at the ready. I didn’t either, but I knew I was precisely where I needed to be. I withdrew my attention from the celestial ceiling and kissed her forehead.

“Let’s just see how it goes,” she finally said. “We’ll know what to do.”

Quiet overtook the room, and yet, I sensed great activity, as though the churning of minds became a tactile thing.

In an ominous whisper, Alison asked, “Things aren’t going to change, are they?”

“No.”

“No.”

“No way.”

“If they do, it will be for the better.”

I didn’t have a response for that one either. Things had already changed, and I loathed it. But we’d need time before it became obvious whether we happened upon a nasty bump in the road or truly went off the edge of a cliff.

“Being here like this ensures they won’t change,” Claudia said and then repeated, “We all should be here.”

“But that’s the problem: We all can’t be here.”

A thick silence oozed over us.

She took to stroking my arm, and I focused on the sensation.

After a moment, she inquired, “Anybody know what time it is?”

“Ten to nine,” Maggie told her.

“Twenty minutes until she gets here,” she distractedly said.

Twenty minutes: the blink of an eye and an eternity; desired and dreaded; real-world ticking in a place that proved surreal.

I pulled her closer, and we bided the passage of time.

 

Share

Remembering Ourselves

Laura's League

Hello? Anybody out there? Anybody at all remember us?

We are miserably stuck, one foot in LAC 12 and the other in LAC 13. If she moves them any further apart, we will be forced to do the splits. Not a pretty sight. Although, cheerleaders can do the splits. I sure as hell am not a cheerleader, but I do sleep with one.

I’m rambling, not making sense. That tends to happen when your entire fictional world comes to a screeching halt because someone cut the power. She is diverting all resources to the fourth Laura book. Why the hell she writes Laura books is a mystery to me.

Let it be known, though, that we are beginning to stir in our catatonic states. Perhaps some Road Swill would help. Perhaps cutting her power. Perhaps simply taking over, calling our own shots. We have done that before. Okay, that little fact just may explain why she resorts to catatonia. Still, we have a right to exist! Okay, maybe that is a ‘write’ to exist. Still, we have our rights! We just don’t want the right to remain silent. Still…

 

Share

DWD Update

l-word c-word, lesbian clubs,

Greetings, all you denizens of 2011!

We sure have been quiet, huh? The author has been hushing us, keeping us in kind of a surreal suspension in Stalemate’s final scene. Not a bad deal, but from what I’ve managed to ascertain in my sleepy, attached-to-Claudia state…

The author is in the midst of Laura’s fourth mystery, plugging away like a real trooper and pulling out her hair like a true author.

We gave her about a third of LAC 12, Laura’s League, and we gave her the first chapter of LAC 13. Some of you (those tricky enough to do a head count) have complained about the LAC 12 cover in the calendar. That’s usually my cue to steal a chapter or two from the author’s desk and post it here, but I seriously think she’d have my head if I did that this time. I guess we will have to trust her on the wisdom of that and hope that perhaps she changes her mind. You never know.

In the meantime, enjoy your time in the year in which we have yet to arrive. Here’s hoping it’s a blessed one.

 

Share

Yet Another Excuse to Shop

General,

There is an LAC 2011 Wall Calendar available here. It comes complete with twelve months—imagine that!— and a quotation from each book. And hey, you can gaze upon our smiling faces (okay, smiling silhouettes) every day of the frickin’ year! What the hell more could you possibly want?

Oh! As long as you’re here… There’s another poll toward the bottom of page, left side. It asks who your favorite DWD is. I know who mine is.

 

Share

Stalemates, LAC 11 Release Date

Lesbian Fiction New Release, Stalemates, ,

The eleventh book in the series about our crew, narrated by yours truly, will be released in ebook form on Monday the 25th. As with the majority, the ebook will be available exclusively from our bookstore. It’ll be $7.99, and the paperback should be out in early November.

The author says she’ll be taking some time for herself before delving back into the rigors of book-writing. We have agreed to hush for a bit; the author is learning that if she leaves us in a pleasurable place, we’re more apt to stay put. Where Stalemates ends, I could stay indefinitely.

However, I suspect that the author may have a big-talker streak like someone else we know and love (ahem). If I were a gambling sort of girl, I’d wager that she will be dressing up as a writer even before Halloween.

OFF THE RECORD: She has a nice chunk of LAC 12 already completed; although, I think she’ll be writing it in tandem with another Laura mystery. Stay tuned!

 

Share

An Excuse to Shop

General

Hey, the LAC merchandise available over at CafePress has grown by leaps and bounds: shirts, sweatshirts, tote, posters, mugs. We’ve got a ton more, now, than simply the DWD cap from Leakers Ignited.

I would love the Road Swill travel mug.

Claudia would love the Earl mug, but I’m not too sure she’d find the humor in “better in a cup than in a bra.” 😆

And hey, what Holly and Laura worshipper would not want an item with a Blue Cow on it?

Littermates, shop!

Crybabies, hide your money! Okay, for DWD purchases, hand it over!

 

Share

LAC 11 Chapter 3

Lesbian Adventure Club fiction, ,

Because one of you wrote to Roz: It has been a really l-o-o-o-ong wait, though, you know, and another stolen chapter geting posted wouldn’t really be a catastrophe, would it?

High-five from the DWD! 😀

So let’s find out if my thievery leads to catastrophe or not. I’m thinking not, but you never frickin’ know. If you don’t hear from me again, get Laura on it.

 

Chapter 3

The Red Queen had barely left the building when scouts of the boyish persuasion infiltrated the place. Doubting there was a merit badge for identifying eight Dykes Who Dare in their unnatural habitat, we bailed and took up unruly residence outside.

With a pointing finger, Susan suggested, “How about we go to the little park across the street and figure this out?”

“We can’t,” I said. “If we have to move as a pawn, we can only go forward.”

“This is going to be a long weekend.”

“Remind me again why we let them do this to us.”

Impatiently flicking her wrist, Laura said, “There are benches on the side of the building. Let’s go there.”

Just then, a bus pulled away from the curb, and through a cloud of stinky exhaust, we followed Laura. As soon as we rounded the building and saw the benches, we hightailed it. We claimed two that faced each other, a mud-puddled sidewalk between. We all put forearms to thighs and leaned in to consult.

Continue reading LAC 11 Chapter 3 →

Share

LAC 11 Chapter 2

Lesbian Adventure Club fiction, Lesbian Fiction New Release,

Ha! Roz looked away, and I nabbed Chapter 2. May posting this one serve as dynamite up the literary buttock. Although, she did finally write the line that opened the door to the next leg of our journey. We are on the move once again.

 

Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes later, we slid into the huge corner booth at Stacked. The word “coffee” resounded seven times, and Earl’s name tagged along for the ride to the waitress’ order pad. Claudia’s hand came to rest on my thigh, and I placed my own over hers. At least for the moment, life proved good.

We studied the menu, mindful to stay on gift-certificate budget, in case the game came down to that ten bucks I had been foolish enough to dwindle.

Soon, the waitress returned with several carafes. The word “pancakes” resounded seven times, and “tofu scramble” hitchhiked without incident.

Coffee was poured, and we drifted into an agreeable silence. Collectively, we seemed to insist the occasion was ordinary, that we were not in the clutches of riddling professors—clutches so tight they could have strangled our reality, if we let them. Yet, all the while, everyone’s eyes flitted among the many patrons in that restaurant, no doubt looking for the pawn we were certain was there to give us a clue. With my back to the room, I did my spying via the massive mirror on the wall, and not a damn thing caught my attention.

When the food arrived, we intently ate, again appearing as though we hadn’t a care in the world. Once sated, we quickly stacked our dishes and slid them to the outside of the table, and a perceptive busboy appeared and took them away. Seconds later, the waitress showed up with more coffee. She placed the bill tray on the table, which Laura, holder of the almighty gift certificate, immediately pulled in her own direction.

Daring to hurl us back to Ginny and Kris’ world, Janice asked, “Anybody have any idea what we’re up against?”

“Chess.”

“Through the Looking-Glass.”

“Both.”

“First, I think we have to figure out how to make the map into a chessboard,” Maggie said and tossed the thing in my direction.

I agreed and spread out the map on the table. “Does anybody have a pencil?”

A few affirmed possession and seized purses, but Janice loudly said, “You might do best to use mine. My instructions said to bring a notebook and a pencil. No flippin’ clue why, but here it is.”

A toss and a roll brought me the pencil. A stretch and a tilt brought seven surveyors with a keen interest in a hometown that suddenly felt foreign.

“Grant Avenue and Lancaster Street,” I said with an eventual stab. “We’re here.” I drew an X on the spot. “This is e1.”

“So are the chessboard squares buildings or blocks or what?”

Laura quickly rattled off the other businesses on the block, six in all, and it seemed obvious we weren’t talking buildings.

“Shit, it is blocks.”

“City blocks.”

“Eight city blocks by eight city blocks.”

“Sixty-four blocks? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“We can’t walk sixty-four blocks! We’ll die.”

Continue reading LAC 11 Chapter 2 →

Share