…wait, huh?!

And thus, we somehow managed to welcome a new pup into our household.

Even now, I’m still a little bit shocked by how fast it all happened. Who is this tiger-striped shadow that won’t leave my side?!

I’ve been spoiled these last few years by a wonderful, if very codependent, small dog, so the sudden arrival of a giant (not housebroken, over-excited, BIG appetite, uncouth) puppy has me a tad twitchy. No more so than Dixie, who’s no longer queen of the roost and has to *gasp!* compete for attention! Oh, the insanity!!!

Mommy save me!!

I’m laying on the floor tonight in protest!

…okay so the bed is safer than the ground. But I’m not cuddling, no way! …okay maybe a little.

All of my dogs have been rescues, but never quite in this way. Exuberance aside though, he’s a great dog – he found his way quickly into my heart. He likes to lay behind me in the office, content to stay close. The minute I stand up however, it’s PLAY TIME!!

Heh, the Dude’s a little jealous, Dingo likes me better.

Not that I’m gloating or anything.

I apologize for no snippet last weekend, it was a tough weekend in that I had no new material that was, well, all that interesting. But this week has been much better in the writing department, and I figured I’d (finally!) share a little bit from Castaway 3. Hope you enjoy it! (Facebookers, you’ve probably already read this bit.)

Excerpt:

He swallowed. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” he murmured, pushing back the hair that was plastered to my face.

I doubted it would ever be.

I’ve always written. My mother still has “books” I made from preschool about dinosaurs and horses and other fun stuff. Being able to make up stories, bring to life interesting characters and situations, was something I loved, something I wanted to do for a living. Several months ago, I was finally able to get that dream, quitting my day job to focus solely on my craft. I thought it would be smooth sailing from here on out, doing something I loved so much.

The last month has shown me otherwise.

Many of you have reached out wondering where I am, what I’m doing, what the status is on various projects. I skipped a Snippet Saturday this week with no explanation, which is unfair to you all. The truth is, whether you want to call it writer’s block or burnout or whatever other name applies, I’ve had a heck of a time writing ANYTHING for the last month.

There. I said it. I can’t write.

It’s a vicious cycle. My brain is shouting at me to write, that I can’t let the readers down or miss my commitments. When I freeze up, the guilt builds into this hard lump in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. Eventually, the very thought of writing ANYTHING, a blog post or tweet or Facebook reply, gives the same result. I mean, if I can write those, then why aren’t I writing something ELSE right? Like that story I have due out, oh, yesterday.

It’s debilitating, and has brought me to a complete standstill over the last month.

My writer friends call it burnout, and apparently it’s common among authors. At times, it almost feels like a panic attack: I think of opening the file on my computer and my chest tightens, breathing gets hard, and my hands shake. No joke, although I wish it was. A lot of folks have noticed the progress bar hasn’t moved much; initially this was because I goofed on a major plot hole and required some time/help to figure it out. The Dude was invaluable here (he gets that James Bond, action-movie kinda thing), but once I got that situated… *sigh*

So here’s me coming clean and apologizing to all of you waiting for the latest AHW installment. This month has been hectic and filled with other things, such as the Romantic Times Readers Convention (which I still need to write up), celebrating the Dude’s birthday (love you, Dorkface), and most recently a camping/riding trip of awesome. I’ve been trying to cram as much life as I can into a short space in order to get past this problem – do a bunch of stuff that is not writing so when I return its not as hard. Several friends have given me exercises to do that helped them punch through this wall and that’s what I’m going to start today.

But I wanted to say I’m so sorry for the delay and hate that I’ve let you guys down. :-/

For now, I give you yet another small snippet into their history.

*~*~*

If it had been a week earlier, Jeremiah would have been on maneuvers and could have had a valid reason to skip his father’s funeral.

Even from the grave, Rufus Hamilton still played the lives of his family like a symphony.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns.”

Jeremiah ignored his brother’ comment, keeping his position against the back wall as the current CEO entered the small office with his entourage. Lucas was dressed in an expensive suit befitting his title and seemed quite at home taking the chair nearest the desk. He studied Jeremiah before adding, “We missed you at father’s reception.”

It was difficult to get a rise out of someone who didn’t care. Jeremiah knew Lucas meant nothing by his comment. Both of Rufus Hamilton’s sons hated their father, even now after his death. Being the newly minted head of Hamilton Industries however meant that Lucas had to keep up certain appearances.

Jeremiah was free of such responsibities, and thanks his lucky stars every day for that freedom.

“It’s been a long time, brother,” Lucas mused, smoothing down the suit jacket absently. “I forget the last time we were all together.”

Jeremiah didn’t. He remembered with vivid clarity the last time he’d seen his father. Alive, at least. The Hamilton family patriarch had been livid when he’d discovered his youngest son had enlisted in the Army. Jeremiah had avoided any contact with his famiy for nearly two years, until he’d joined the Rangers. They’d required him to tie up loose ends which included wills and personal affairs.

Unfortunately, it also meant returning home, and having his last encounter with his father.

*”I have no use for you anymore. You’re already ruined.”*

How strange that some things stuck with you forever. Jeremiah couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about, and yet that phrase stayed with him. They were the final parting shot by the old man, and the last words Rufus ever said to Jeremiah. While he’d brushed off the words at the time, believing that they meant nothing, they stuck to Jeremiah’s soul like a brand. *You’re ruined.*

His lips thinned. A psychiatrist would probably have a field day with that one.

“So sorry I’m late. Oh, hello darlings.”

Jeremiah didn’t even bother to greet his mother as Georgia sashayed into the room. She was elegantly coifed in black chiffon with a veiled hat, making the grieving process look positively elegant. Despite her words, she ignored both her sons, and neither acknowledged her entrance. A few older members of Lucas’ entourage expressed their condolences; Georgia preened and pouted at the attention.

Beside her, Lucas lips compressed into a thin line. He looked bored, staring idly at his fingernails and picking lint from his pants. Jeremiah had grown up with the other man and could see the nervous tension emenating from his brother. Familial duty hadn’t brought him to this room any more than it brought Jeremiah. An empire was at stake: Rufus Hamilton had been worth billions, and that money had to go somewhere.

“Thank you everyone for coming.” The lawyer closed the doors to his office and returned to his desk, flipping out papers. “I’ll be brief and concise, and will answer any questions you may have after the reading is done.”

He held up a small manila envelope. “First, I would like to declare, as per my late client’s wishes, that I have three signed affidavits from psychiatric professionals proclaiming that Rufus Hamilton was indeed of sound mind when creating this will. Apparently, he feared it would be necessary.”

Jeremiah snorted as the lawyer began reading. Rufus never feared anything, he merely calculated all possibilities to maintain the outcome he wanted. The man had always been a master manipulator; it didn’t surprise Jeremiah that this continued beyond the grave.

“To my son Jeremiah…”

Jeremiah’s head snapped around at the sound of his name. He honestly hasn’t expected to hear his name called, given his father’s obvious contempt. The lawyer did a quick scan of the room and cleared his throat before continuing. “To my son Jeremiah Hamilton, I bequeath all shares and holdings of Hamilton Industries Corporation.”

A collective gasp came from around the room. The lawyer continued in the stunned silence that followed. “Pursuant to this, Jeremiah Hamilton must take over as action CEO immediately. If this condition is not met, then all holdings, institutions, and businesses are to be liquidated…”

At that point, Jeremiah tuned out. He stood there, stunned, as several people surrounded him. They were asking questions but nothing got through the fog surrounding Jeremiah’s mind.

“What about me?”

The strident tones of Georgia Hamilton had the lawyer looking through paperwork on his desk. “Ah,” he said, brandishing a sheet. “Apparently you had a signed prenuptial agreement which released any entitlement to future holdings…”

An outraged shriek filled the small room, but Georgia’s protests were drowned out by the myriad of statements from the men surrounding Jeremiah. Phrases like “Thousands of jobs lost” and “Billions of dollars at stake” were being tossed around. Jeremiah idly noted that the fancy suits clashed with his military BDU’s. That thought was almost amusing.

Almost.

As if a giant eraser had fallen into his life, Jeremiah watched helplessly as the future he’d planned was wiped away in an instant. For the first time in his life, he’d found a purpose; the military had given him the stability and family he’d always craved. The decision had already been made for him to re-enlist; he was to sign the paperwork immediately following his return from New York. What had been a way to rebel against his father, slip free of the chains, had blossomed into so much more.

That life he’d wanted for himself, gone in the blink of an eye.

Off to the side, Lucas sat alone in the same seat, staring straight ahead. The men who had only moments before stood around him had abandoned the man in favor of the new scion, flocking to Jeremiah and all talking at once. Between their questions and wheedling tones, combined with his mother’s shrill protestations as to her own lack of inheritance, Jeremiah found it difficult to even think. Lucas’ face was partially turned away, so Jeremiah couldn’t make out his expression, but there was a stillness there that he’d never associated with his normally frenetic brother. Finally, unnoticed by everyone in the room except Jeremiah, Lucas stood and quietly left the room.

Well played, father, Jeremiah thought bitterly, watching as the last vestiges of his dream flowed away. Well played…

I’ve been debating what to post for this week’s snippet. I love this part but worried it was a spoiler, or that I was giving away too much by posting the whole bit. Then I thought: well heck, that’s PERFECT for a snippet right?!

*~*~*

“My brother doesn’t deserve you.”

Lucas had completely ditched the British accent and false joviality. He sounded angry, and I glanced at him briefly. In my heart, I didn’t believe his words. Beneath the fake beard I saw the bruising and puffiness from his fight with Jeremiah. It hurt me to know I’d been the cause of more pain, and I looked back down at my hands.

“I’m sorry I caused this.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t was your fault. I made all the decisions that brought me here.” I lifted one shoulder in a tired shrug. The sadness was creeping back, making me long for the numbness I’d felt before.

“No.” My response seemed to fire him up because he squirmed in his seat before looking at me again. His eyes darkened as he leaned into me. “You deserve so much better than this, better than anything our fucked up family can give you.”

“Oh Lucas.” The self-recrimination in his words touched off something inside me. I brought my hands up to his face and turned his head so we were eye to eye. I stroked the bruised sliver of exposed skin on his cheek, the false beard prickly against my thumb. “Somebody once told me we all have choices, even if they aren’t good ones. You’re worth so much more than this life you lead right now.”

The muscles beneath my palm clenched, and the sudden yearning in his eyes nearly undid me. “Let me stay with you,” he rasped, covering my hand with his own. “I’m a better man around you. I need…”

He trailed off as I shook my head sadly. “You’re already a better man, Lucas.” But I was done with the Hamilton family. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that, not now, but it was the truth. There was too much pain and history now to ever allow for a normal life if I chose to stay with either brother.

A woman’s voice echoed over the PA system, announcing my boarding for my flight. His fingers dug into the back of my hands as if to hold me in place, prevent me from leaving, then finally then slid down my arms and to his lap. I leaned forward and kiss his cheek. “I can’t be your absolution,” I whispered against his skin, wishing that there were some way to change that.

*~*~*

Behind me, I heard my name called again and cringed away, desperate for escape. Then I was pulled away from the doorway by Lucas as he stepped in front of me. “You son of a bitch.”

At the same time he said that, I heard the solid smack of flesh and bone meeting, and around Lucas’ lean frame saw Jeremiah stagger back. My hands flew to my mouth in shock as Lucas advanced on his brother. “Anya wasn’t enough for you,” the gunrunner snarled, delivering another blow to the side of Jeremiah’s head. “You had to ruin another…”

Jeremiah surged up to his feet, and Lucas flipped backwards, landing hard on his back against the tile entryway. The large man stood facing me, but all his attention was on his brother. “You’ve taken everything from me,” Jeremiah said in a low, tight voice, aiming a kick at his brother.

“I’ve taken everything?” Lucas absorbed the blow and grabbed his brother’s lower leg, twisting and pulling sideways. “You ruined my life, you ruin everything you touch! You’re no better than Rufus.” The blows he delivered to Jeremiah’s face before being shoved away accentuated Lucas’ words.

Both men scrabbled at one another as I stood in the hallway, watching in horror. I couldn’t move, rooted to the spot, as the two men grappled. Jeremiah managed to put his brother into a choke hold from behind, but Lucas, still on his knees, brought his larger brother over and sideways. The small entryway table rattled as Jeremiah hit it, sending the decorative glass plates falling sideways to shatter on the tile.

Gasping, I backpedaled into the hallway as the two men surged out of the room. They were locked together, slamming against the far wall and falling sideways to the floor. From beside me I heard a woman cry out in surprise, but I was too riveted by the scene to look. The brothers were muttering, low enough that I could only make out brief curses.

I thought Jeremiah would be able to take his brother down easily, but Lucas held his own and put up a hell of a fight. All the rage and pain from their shared pasts seemed focused in this one struggle. The two men grappled at one another as they rolled around on the ground, throwing punches and the occasional knee. They fought like little boys, not grown men; training was thrown out the window, all that was left was the anger.

“You turned Anya against me, now you take Lucy…”

“Anya never betrayed you, you stupid son of a bitch.”

There was a pause in the struggling that Lucas took advantage off. He delivered several blows to Jeremiah before a fist sent the gunrunner tumbling sideways. Jeremiah rolled to his knees. “You’re lying.”

Lucas wiped the blood from his torn lip. “Sure, I approached her to spy for me, but she turned me down flat. So I got my information from elsewhere, toyed with your plans, and what did you do?” He lashed out, kicking his brother in the ribs. “Threw her out, did everything you could to discredit and wreck her life. I picked up the pieces because what happened was also my fault, but I’ll be goddamned if I let you do it again!” He spat blood on the floor between them. “Father would be so proud of you.”

It also doesn’t help that “Castaway 3″ is giving me conniptions. I did something for this part that I don’t usually do: outlined the crap out of it so that I wouldn’t get stuck. And yet, guess where I am now? You guessed it – despite knowing the exact progression of every scene, I canNOT make myself write this. It’s frustrating; the spirit is willing, but it’s as though I have a mental block preventing me from doing this part. Normally I’m a total pantser, the kind of writer who figures things out as I go. I think my deviation from that is part of my problem, but it’s too late now. Writing every story is a different experience, and while part 3 is just one more part of the same book, my brain and fingers refuse to cooperate. Couple this with the feeling that I’m letting people down (especially after THAT cliffhanger), and I’ve been a little down lately.

Next week is the Romantic Times Convention in Kansas City, MO. I’ve spent the last week or so getting ready, but I’d really hoped to have C3 done by the time I left. That doesn’t look like it’ll be the case, so I’ll be working during the convention as well. That doesn’t mean I’m not excited to go however!! I’m curious, are any of you going to be attending? This will be the first RT con I’ve attended (second romance con technically, but the first time I’m actually participating as an author) and I’m excited and NERVOUS!!! It may not always seem like this, but I’m a total introvert – crowds make me a wee bit frazzled, and as I’m going to be in the signing and meetup areas interacting with readers, I’m a silly combination of EEK and SQUEE and OMGFREAKINGOUT!

I’ll definitely post all about it as the time comes. Should be a lot of fun, I had a blast last year at RWA in Anaheim and look forward to meeting anybody! Look for a wild-eyed redhead who looks ready to bolt, and come say hi!

*~*~*

“Where is she?”

I fell back a step as Jeremiah’s voice boomed from the entrance to the suite. Amyrah threw me a panicked look then said something to the guards beside her, who raced toward the sound of scuffling. I stood, frozen, as the sounds grew closer.

“Dammit, I know you’re in here. Lucy!”

My chest constricted at his voice, but I stood rooted to the spot. From across the hallway, I saw the familiar figure of Jeremiah appear, then suddenly several other figures appeared around him. A “Look out!” died on my lips as he quietly and efficiently took them down, and I knew the moment he spotted me because he sprinted the length of the corridor.

More figures appeared from openings on either side of the hall, and Amyrah tugged me back into her large bedroom. Before the door could close however, it was jammed open by a large arm, then Jeremiah pulled himself into the room. He dragged the two men attached to him into the open area and managed to fling one away by sheer brute force but was taken down as more guards streamed through the doorway.

No. I didn’t want this. Why was he even here? “Please, please don’t hurt him,” I moaned, moving forward, but Amyrah grabbed my wrist and held me back. Two men held each arm in an iron grip, and as Jeremiah lifted his head to look at me, I saw my own pain and anguish reflected in his eyes. Then another bodyguard moved forward, a small black object in his hand, and I realized what was about to happen.

“Don’t hurt him!” Wrenching my arm out of Amyrah’s hold, I launched myself at the guard holding the taser. Grabbing his arm, I spun him around and away from Jeremiah.

Then, like someone flipped a switch, every muscle in my body went rigid. My fingers dug into the other man’s arm as my body bowed back. A silent scream formed across my lips but nothing would come out but a guttural exhale as my spasming diaphragm pushed the last of the air from my lungs. Aftershocks continued throughout my body, my muscles no longer under any voluntary control. It felt like an eternity but lasted barely a second; the horrible jolt flipped off and I collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

From somewhere nearby I heard a roaring noise. At first I thought it was just an aftereffect of the taser until I heard a man’s pained cry, but I couldn’t do anything but stare at the wall in front of me. Then hands pulled at me, lifting me off the ground and back around so that I was staring up into Jeremiah’s face.