Miles and the Magic Flute

Release Date: May 27, 2014

Blurb:

When unemployed Miles Larson retreats to his friend’s Minnesota pawnshop to lick his wounds, he discovers that a few notes on a magical instrument reveal an erotic fairyland where the sorrows weighing on his heart don’t exist at all.
Yet fantasy comes with a price, and soon Miles must choose a path. He can surrender his soul to the dreamlord to sustain his pleasure… or he can defeat the faerie and save the mysterious beast-man who promises love. Miles would choose love over pleasure in a heartbeat—if only to seize it he didn’t first have to acknowledge the pain inside.   Is Miles strong enough to learn that sometimes to find happiness, we must face down our sorrows?

 

 

 

Buy Links:  Wilde City, Goodreads,

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HEIDI’S BIO

 

 

 

by Heidi:

Fair or Fae:

The Not-Always-So-Nice Mini-History of Faeries

 

“He is a fairy,” Miles began.

 

Katie looked up from her notebook, pen poised. “I assume you aren’t making some clever statement on his sexuality. You mean that he is fey? Faerie, with the ‘e’ and the ‘ie’ present? Drag-you-under-the-hill faerie, not sprinkle-pixie-dust fairy?”

 

 

As it is with many things, I have to blame my perception of faeries on Terry Pratchett.

 

I’d read plenty of fae-as-villains fiction before I read Lords and Ladies, but as usual Sir Terry found the way to make evil faeries resonate in my head like never before. It was the idea of the coldness, the self-centeredness that got me, how scary that could be. It made me wonder exactly why that was, how someone could seem so human and yet be so inhuman. Was it the longevity of their life? Was the self-centeredness part of who they were?

 

They seemed different from sociopaths—they didn’t take pleasure in pain, nor were they fascinated by it. They didn’t care enough for that. The selfishness seemed a crucial part of it, and yet I kept feeling like the answer was that something was missing in a faerie. And that was how Terris popped into my head: a cold, unfeeling faerie…who learns to feel.

 

My daughter on the other hand, loves fairies. She’s unsure about all this God stuff, finds it more than a little alarming, but fairies are a-okay. Several pagan and Wiccan friends have said they see fairies in our house, and Anna aches to learn to see them too. She leaves out dishes of sugar and watches our cats track their invisible forms across the room. I have plenty of woo under my belt, but I can’t say whether I believe we have invisible people-insects about or not. I don’t see them, I don’t feel them. I will admit, though, our cats sure seem to be watching something.

 

I’m not sure if the Lord of Dreams exists or not. I don’t know how to reconcile the ephemeral beings my daughter longs for with legends of cold-hearted beings who would wreck human life simply to get a better view of a sunset. Folklore is riddled with myth about them, and nothing is consistent. Are they demon? Angel? Innocent, sprite-like spirit? Or is that simply the front? Do they steal babies, or finish our chores? Are they the assholes who always seem to knock things out of my hand in the kitchen? Am I simply clumsy? Is that sugar in my daughter’s room doing anything but attracting ants?

 

I certainly don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I do know this: whether or not fairies exist, it’s pain that makes us human. Pain and loss teach us, change us, lead us into new places, both good and bad. Our humanity lies hand in hand with our experience of pain, both how we relate to it personally and how we handle pain in others.

 

Is pain what’s missing in Pratchett’s faeries? Is that were the arrogance comes from? Who knows. But speaking from my own waltzes with physical and mental pain, I absolutely know that’s where my humanity comes from.

 

Heidi & Wilde City press are  graciously offering a free e copy of her new release Miles and the Magic Flute

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