The need to write this post for Love Bytes has been a good kick-in-the-pants for me. Because I read what I wrote last month, including the excerpt, and I liked those words. Why did I need the kick? Because things in 2019 are not going according to plan. Sometimes they don’t; that’s life. But this time, when things fell through, I sort of fell with it. One thing changing doesn’t mean everything changes, but when my four-book deal for 2019 rapid release came to naught, it left me half-heartedly spinning my wheels, unable to get a fix on where to go from there.

Here’s what happened. Four books starring Jackie Vasquez and Brian Harrison were due to come out through a long-established small publisher, a couple months apart beginning Valentine’s Day. When it got to be the end of December and I’d heard nothing at all about edits or a cover, etc., as you might expect I began to worry. I corresponded with the publisher and they assured me things would go as planned, etc. A couple of weeks later, still nothing. An email conversation convinced me the publisher wasn’t going to be able to live up to their contractual obligation, so I pulled the stories and nullified the contract, with their apologetic agreement. I’m not naming the publisher here, because I truly have no desire to vilify them. The owner has been an online friend for many years, and this company helped my career get off the ground, being one of the first to publish my short stories (and incidentally the company who included the only poetry I’ve offered for publication in an anthology). Being a very small company, when personal life took it’s toll, it affected the company’s ability to function. I truly believe they can still handle smaller projects now, and I hope they recover fully and soon in every way. Meanwhile though, I’m left with books that need a purpose.

I thought about self-publishing; I thought about shopping the series around; I thought about quitting the writing gig altogether once my other contracted stories are done. I thought about that last option a lot, and it began to seem like a good idea. I could write and publish as a hobby, as I did in my younger days. No need to be so driven, I told myself. It’s not as if writing is making me rich. I can replace that income by doing more editing work, or hell, getting a job at the local dollar store. The “quit this crazy industry” option began to seem more and more attractive. On the other hand, every day that went by without writing (because how do you focus when you don’t know whether there’s a reason for it) I got a little more depressed and little less able to motivate myself for writing.

I don’t want to jump to conclusions and jinx myself, but I think that trend toward the deep blue blahs might be changing. What’s different? Well, nothing and everything, maybe. Having a family helps. Not just having people and critters who love me, but being responsible for and to them. Yes, that improves my mood, and because I manage well my responsibilities to the grandsons I’m raising and others, I keep from falling to rock bottom in the self-esteem department. Another thing. It’s February, and the sky shows some daylight by 7:00 AM, and it still has a bit of daylight left at 5:30. That may not seem like a great thing for someone who lives in a latitude where the days don’t get quite so short, but it is a nice thing here, and for me, with my need to turn toward the light, it’s huge. (I don’t think I could survive in those places where it stay’s dusk to night all winter and dusk to day all summer). And then, what little writing I have done is going well, and I keep popping out new ideas that have my fingers itching to start stories. And then today, I looked at the excerpt in my last Love Bytes post from the third book of the Jackie and Brian series, and I liked what I wrote. Not perfect, but pretty good. A book I’d want to read if I hadn’t written it. Sorry if that’s tooting my own horn, but if I didn’t like my writing, what would be the point of trying to sell it to anyone else, right?

So yes. I’m definitely going to return to these books. I have a new plan (one which I’d thought of before the deal fell through) to bring the series to an HEA close (a fabulous one, I think) at the end of book three, so no book four. That means the whole series is nearly written, and I’ve done a little research. I could self-publish, or there are some publishers looking for exactly this. I may cast out my line and see if I can catch a contract. I hope you’ll wish me luck in the endeavor, whichever direction I end up traveling.

To cap this, let me first mention I will not apologize for the presence of Luki Vasquez and Sonny James in these stories. They are wonderful characters, and as Jackie is Luki’s nephew and both he and Brian were originally introduced in the V&J series story, Finding Jackie, though they don’t have starring roles here, it would be senseless to try to leave them out as one publisher’s editor thought I should. Now, here are three excerpts, little tastes from each of the three books in the series. After this, I won’t be talking too much about these books (I’ve got other things going on!) until I know what their future will look like. Thanks, everybody for all the encouragement you give. As always, I love comments, so please feel free to share your thoughts.

From A Shot of J&B

Brian had stopped in Port Clifton for a couple of gifts for his hosts: a huge bouquet of red and white lilies accented with ferns, salal, and baby’s breath; a six-pack of Full Sail Amber Ale; a bottle of 2009 La Lagune, Haut-Médoc—a fine cabernet from France, the merchant said—and Batdorf and Bronson’s Sulawesi Toraja coffee, which the label promised to be earthy and sweet with hints of pineapple and black pepper. He hadn’t planned on so much, but he hadn’t been able to decide if Sonny would love the rich colors of the flowers more, or his favorite ale, or if Luki would get more pleasure out of the fine French wine or a special coffee. He knew it could be seen as an embarrassment of riches, so to speak, but he hoped his friends would understand.

As he approached the door, he faced the more immediate problem of how to knock while juggling it all, but he needn’t have worried. Sonny must have seen him stumbling from his car, and he swung the door wide just as Brian arrived.

“Come in,” Sonny said, and calmly unburdened him, laying the presents carefully aside so he could wrap his long arms around Brian in an enthusiastic hug, which he obviously considered a proper greeting. He let go and backed away a step. “Good to see you!”

The wonderful thing about Sonny, Brian thought, was that he never would have said such a thing if he didn’t really mean it. Brian’s own smile grew, and he nodded. “You too,” he said. “I brought you flowers and beer.”

“Thank you!” Sonny laughed. “Such wisdom in one so young.”

“And coffee and wine for Luki,” Brian added, having no idea what else to say or why he was stating the obvious.

Luki strode up just then, apron clad, and chestnut curls—sprinkled now with silver, Brian noticed—in disarray. “Perfect,” he said. “What Sonny said—wisdom!”

Luki’s face seemed so familiar yet transformed somehow. He didn’t grin, but he smiled a little, and joy fairly danced in the pale eyes that most often used to seem so cold. Brian knew Luki had survived a nearly fatal bout with lung cancer—in remission less than a year—and he thought maybe that had given him some gift of contentment. But after Luki thanked him and gave him a quick hug, Brian saw his gaze settle on Sonny, and he recognized that the true source of Luki’s joy was his husband, and the love that had deepened through the years they’d spent together.

Distracted by the familiar wave of envy he always felt in the presence of this couple, wishing he could somehow express it, Brian missed much of what Sonny said as he followed them to the kitchen. He tried to marshal his attention back to the present, and caught Sonny saying he didn’t think he’d ever seen lilies so red. Brian nodded, and murmured agreement, but then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned toward the motion, and there he stood: Jackie Vasquez. All grown up, and apparently fresh from a shower. December sun poured through a window at his left, and it lit the red in his hair, making it smolder despite being darkened with damp. Brian hadn’t noticed before that Jackie’s gray eyes were like a warmer version of Luki’s blue, very pale, and similar in size and shape. Perhaps it was a trait traceable to Luki’s father—Jackie’s grandfather. But there the similarity stopped. While Luki’s pale eyes shone in contrast to his brown skin, Jackie’s somehow harmonized with his general pale, dark-haired, dark-freckled coloring—though the effect seemed to Brian no less singular.

After a few seconds, Brian realized that while he had been standing analyzing the evidence of a common gene pool between the two remarkable-looking men, Jackie had actually been speaking to him.

“Jackie,” Brian said, then thought to add, “Um, it’s good to see you again.”

From A Shot at Perfect

Once again, the light in Jackie’s eyes was way too bright, and his personal space had definitely been invaded. Strangers stood over him, he knew that because he didn’t recognize any of the voices—which sounded like nonsensical murmurs but with the volume turned up. He couldn’t identify the smells either. Antiseptic? Metallic? He struggled to find some details in the faces around him, but the brilliance blinded his eyes, and he couldn’t. Soon, he could tolerate the stabbing light no longer and he let his eyelids fall closed.
But where the hell am I?

The answer didn’t come up as he began mentally recounting his morning. He’d woke up early. And—he smiled inside—had a nice fifteen or twenty minutes with a very willing Brian before getting in the shower. Breakfast… gathered up some paperwork… steeled himself to see is therapist… took his bike downstairs….

A single voice finally broke through the babbling confusion, a female voice, almost but not quite strident, commanding respect while not demanding it. Jackie knew the voice belonged to Rona Germain—his uncle Luki Vasquez’s favorite lawyer—though he’d only met her briefly twice. She wasn’t the sort of woman a person forgot. And Jackie had liked her the moment they met. He was glad she was there, but no way could he figure out why she would be.

“…Mr. Harrison is my client,” she said. “He has all the paperwork not only to be allowed to see Mr. Vasquez regardless of his medical condition…”
Luki’s medical condition? Or, no… she means me!”

“…make any decisions needed while he is incapacitated. Now, if you wish, I can take this to a judge and get an order in the matter of minutes…”
I’m incapacitated? Medical decisions?

“…unnecessary delay will certainly be noted in the event of any future developments that might require legal action, such as any lawsuit brought by my client…”

Wait! I’m here! Jackie struggled to make himself heard, but it took some time for him to realize he hadn’t spoken—and he couldn’t with whatever was covering his face and invading his throat. Scared, he felt ready to lose his tenuous hold on both consciousness and reality. Something was beeping a steady rhythm, but the closer he got to panic, the faster it beeped. His senses remained thoroughly muddled, but after a moment he felt his heart thumping in time with the thing, and he realized the sound was only a reflection of what was happening inside him.

But then he heard one of the few sounds in the world that could make a difference for him, bring him back once panic started to roll out—Brian’s voice. And he wasn’t talking over Jackie. He was talking to him.

From A Shot at Forever

Brian held Jackie’s eyes, steamed for a minute, followed the devil boy to where he’d sat down, and leaned down to kiss his mouth lightly on the unburnt half of his face. Heading back to the office with his coffee, he thought about the brief encounter. How had Jackie let that happen? He knew better than to let the sun bake him—and all on one side? What was that about? Brian supposed that if he’d been paying a little more attention, he’d know the answers.
But those questions didn’t get to the heart of the matter. The important mystery is what in the hell was wrong with him—with Brian himself. His reaction wasn’t wrong. Jackie’s transparent expressions made his need to be Dominated at any given moment crystal clear. But Brian knew what he’d said hadn’t been quite right either. He’d let his annoyance show, and he’d not given Jackie enough of himself.

The truth was, it wasn’t Jackie that had him irritated in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t even irritated. Maybe he’d let fear and frustration pile-up, and that had nothing to do with Jackie’s sunburn.

No, the fear was about Roscoe Lieb, or Grolier, or whatever the hell his name was, and the strange shit he’d twisted Espen Marshall into doing. Marshall—unfortunate gambling addict and former manager of VSI Los Angeles—hadn’t been a heartless criminal. A man who’d ruined his own life to take care of a young, disabled woman, no way would he have been involved with human trafficking. He’d almost sent himself up in flames in the end, and as Brian figured it, that was no accident and more due to guilt than fear of reprisal.
But that was Espen. Sort of a done deal, once he’d burned himself almost to death. According to Luki, who was had an eye on the situation, he still lay in the burn unit, living through the agony of procedure after procedure in an effort to keep him alive long enough to grow some usable skin. Brian could muster up some anger toward the man—after all, he was the one who embroiled VSI, and therefore him and Jackie, in the shitstorm.

But the story had a big, smart, heartless criminal mind at its core, a sociopath, and Espen couldn’t wear those trashy boots. That worthless individual remained at large, identity a mystery, at least to Brian.

Not that Brian had no interest in finding out. He’d been the one to hack the company’s computer to find and restore the almost-deleted files. He’d been the one to discover the small laptop and the little black book in the slicks Espen had stashed them away in. And he’d been the one to get the first inkling of what all the clues might mean.
It had taken Luki’s experience with criminals and Jackie’s forensic psychology to break it all out, though, and nail down the nature of the schemes Espen had been blackmailed into taking part in.

Smuggling. A word that still conjured in Brian’s mind images of pirates on tall ships. He’d read every story he could find about them when he was a child. He smiled, sitting at his desk in the VSI office more than two decades later. He still had a complete collection—all twenty books—of Sheila K. McCullagh’s Griffin Pirate Stories stashed in his parents’ basement in Oregon. Sipping at coffee long since gone cold, he let his mind wander back to the simple life of that boy. He wished with all his heart that the nasty criminals Espen had bound VSI-LA’s hands to was as insignificant as those make-believe high-seas bad guys.
But no. He shook his head and came back to reality.

High-end vehicles and human beings—to these smugglers it was all merchandise, Brian supposed. The only name Brian had aside from Espen was Roscoe Lieb, sometimes known as Grolier. The man was Espen’s relative, related also to the disabled girl Amarae, who Espen had desperately been trying to find the money to support. He clearly hadn’t cared about either one of them. A man like that would do anything for their own gain, Brian reasoned, and he was still out there, as unpredictable as a loaded gun. And VSI-LA sat square in the line of fire.

Brian had only been police for a short time, and for a whole shitload of reasons, he’d hated it. But he wished with all his heart he had a badge now. Because not only did he not have the requisite authority to go after the criminals, he’d been forbidden.
By the United States Department of State, no less.

About Lou Sylvre:
Lou Sylvre loves romance with all its ups and downs, and she likes to conjure it into books. The sweethearts on her pages are men who end up loving each other, and sometimes saving each other from unspeakable danger. It’s all pretty crazy and very sexy. As if you’d want to know more, she’ll happily tell you that she is a proudly bisexual woman, a mother, grandmother, lover of languages, and cat-herder. She works closely with lead cat and writing assistant, the (male) Queen of Budapest, Boudreau St. Clair. She is the author of the six well-loved books of the Vasquez and James Series and a holiday favorite, Falling Snow on Snow. She teamed up with Kiwi author Anne Barwell to write Sunset at Pencarrow, an adventurous tale of New Zealand romance.
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