There's only one thing as good as seeing your name in print on the front of your first novella. Well, almost as good.
It's seeing the same thing on your second one. The proof that you're not just a one-hit wonder.
And to have two in one month – I'm over the moon.
My first book came out a couple weeks ago from Dreamspinner, and my second one is out tomorrow from Less Than Three.
"The Homecoming" has a long history. Its roots go back to when I was in junior high and used to draw maps of a far away world, Antana, and make up centuries of history about it (yeah, I was a weird and lonely kid).
In my twenties, I decided to write a story about a man from that world who returns home to Earth, only to find it inhabited by intelligent wolves. I finished maybe three or four scenes, and then put it up on a shelf and forgot about it.
Then last year I saw the call for submissions for the Lovely, Dark and Deep anthology:
"Wolves, fairies, ghosts, errant campers, and witches ... fiction is rife with tales of what happens when people dare to enter, or leave, the woods. A classic setting from the oldest fairytale to the newest thriller, the adventure and danger that comes from wandering around a forest, or a jungle, provides endless opportunity for new stories. Less Than Three Press is seeking tales of all that can happen in the woods when those who shouldn’t be there venture into them anyway…"
And I thought "wolves… I have something with wolves.
And viola. A month's work and I had fleshed out my new story – only it wasn't wolves any more but wolfmen. And so my spaceman-meets-wolfman story was born.
I sent it in, and waited by my email inbox, rubbing my hands in excitement. Surely I was in. I mean, it was good, right?
Then the bad news came in – they didn't think it was right for the anthology. But before I had a chance to get depressed, I saw that they were also asking for me to submit the story as a stand-alone novella.
I thought "hell yeah" and sent it off again. And three days later, it was sold.
Now I just gotta figure out how to do this whole "published novelist" thing a third time. Wish me luck. :)
Publisher: Less Than Three Press
Author: J. Scott Coatsworth
Cover Artist: London Burden
Release Date: 7/29
When his own world is destroyed, Aldiss and his crew barely manage to escape, leaving friends and lovers behind. What was meant to be an exploratory trip back to the home world turns into a mad dash for survival.
When they awaken from stasis on Earth, which was abandoned by humanity five centuries before, they must quickly learn about their new home. While exploring the region around the ship, Aldiss meets Hari, a shape-changer, whose people harbor secrets that might cost the crew their lives.
Hari reached the edge of the woods just in time to see Neru crouching to leap at the two-legs. Young fool.
He gathered himself and jumped after Neru, knocking him aside as his teeth reached for the two-legs' throat.
Neru turned and snarled at him, backing away toward the woods.
Hari stood firm, ears back, hackles raised, and drew the corners of his mouth back to reveal his teeth. Back off, Neru.
The whelp shook his head and grinned with the brashness of youth, until Hari leaped at him and nipped his ear. With a surprised yelp, Neru turned his head, deferring to Hari's strength. As you say, brother. There was a cockiness to Neru's look that unsettled him.
The other wolf backed up slowly then turned to disappear into the woods.
Hari caught a glimpse of Mavi watching from the shadows. The old wolf snarled, and slunk off after her son.
What do you seek, old mother? Hari wondered, watching Mavi's silver-tipped tail flicker into the darkness. It was clear where Neru's courage and cunning had come from.
Hari turned back toward the two-legs. He was holding a strange stick, not unlike the one that Hari's grandmother had shown him in the wolf dream.
But it was his face that caught Hari's eye. He knew that face. The two-legs' eyes were white-gray, and his jet-black hair was swept to the side.
Despite the danger, he shifted in the manner only a few of the clan are able to do in the cold. He grew quickly taller and less hairy but no less muscled, and stood naked before the two-legs.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Hari felt an immense attraction washing over him. He saw in his summer form that this two-legs was beautiful.
His own body responded to this… man… in an unexpected way, seeing and feeling things his winter form could not. Hari leaned forward and sniffed the stranger, drinking in his musk. It smelled enticing. Strangely familiar.
He sensed the two-legs stiffen, and to reassure, him, Hari licked the man's neck.
The two-legs was trembling now like a young whelp, so he tried something else. He took the stranger's face in his hands and kissed him.
The shaking slowed, and then the man was kissing him back. Hari was hungry for him, like a starving wolf at the end of a long, hard winter.
It is not the time for this, the keh whispered in his ear.
He broke contact and turned away, ashamed that he was betraying his Clan, and for lust. An emotion of his summer form.
"I'm sorry," he said to the two-legs, without looking back. "It won't happen again." Even he was not sure if he meant Neru's attack, or the kiss.
He shifted back into his winter form and loped off into the woods after his pack mates.
Scott has been writing since elementary school, when he and won a University of Arizona writing contest in 4th grade for his first sci fi story (with illustrations!). He finished his first novel in his mid twenties, but after seeing it rejected by ten publishers, he gave up on writing for a while.
Over the ensuing years, he came back to it periodically, but it never stuck. Then one day, he was complaining to Mark, his husband, early last year about how he had been derailed yet again by the death of a family member, and Mark said to him “the only one stopping you from writing is you.”
Since then, Scott has gone back to writing in a big way, finishing more than a dozen short stories – some new, some that he had started years before – and seeing his first sale. He’s embarking on a new trilogy, and also runs the Queer Sci Fi (http://www.queerscifi.com) site, a support group for writers of gay sci fi, fantasy, and supernatural fiction.
Ask me about Sherlock, Star Wars, Rodeo, Battlebots, X-Files, Highlander, Sherlock, Mythbusters, British Invasion music, Ninja Warrior, Bullriding, Sherlock, esoteric horror and fantasy novels, miniatures, puzzles, Sherlock. I can squeal like a little girl.
I can spend hours discussing social theory in romance, radical feminism, and linguistics. Also, I’m a freak for myths and legends. A FREAK.
On the other hand, I don’t play video games, I’m not the biggest Dr. Who fan (in fact, I sort of wanted to kill the 10th doctor). I only like the original Star Trek and TNG, none of the others, and I hated Stargate. I have a very specific set of Buffy episodes I can watch without my head exploding (ask me how I feel about the whole 200 year old vampire seduces a 16 year old and the writers make HER the fucking bad guy arc). I lasted exactly 5 minutes in the Supernatural show, 2 episodes of Teen Wolf, and I think that Harry Potter was great for 8 year olds, but a poor substitute for Roald Dahl.
So, I have the weird geekiness.
What do you fly the freak flag for?
Much love, y’all.
7. Shadow Man by Cody Macfayden — I have to admit by the end I was furious and screaming. This could have been exceptional. It was not.
8. The Relaxation and Stress Reduction Workbook by Martha Davis — nothing I didn’t know, but I needed the reminder.
9. Writing the Cozy Mystery by Nancy Cohen — very interesting. This one’s a keeper.
10. Writing Mystery and Crime by Marg McAllister — for a beginning writer more than an experienced one, I think.
11. The Year of Pleasures by Elizabeth Berg — beautifully written, a lovely, warm read that’s like a hug. Gave me a lot to talk about with J.
12. Fermented Vegetables by Kirsten Shockey — cookbook, not the best read, but decent recipes
13. Borderline by TA Chase — loved it. Think the wife will love it, too.
14. In Cuba I Was a German Shepherd by Ana Menendez — a fabulous collection of short stories set in Cuba.
15. Poe by J. Lincoln Fenn — clever as hell, not scary, but viciously clever.
16. The Magpie Lord by KJ Charles — quite adored this one. Clever and utterly charming.
17. Wolf’s Desire by Ambrielle Kirk — Uh. Not my thing. At all. Whoa.
18. Controlling Parker by Sean Michael — KINKY
19. Dark Carnival: An Anthology of Horror, Edited by Jolene Haley, Kristen Jett and Jessi Shakarian — nothing happened. Ever.
20. Blue Collar by Sean Michael — adorable, sexy and sweet
21. Guarding January by Sean Michael — I love the depth of characters in this one
22. The Biker's Pup by Sean Michael -- you know whose story I want next, right?
23. Voices from the Moon by Andre Dubus -- I just want to write 1/200000th as well
24. Fearie Tales edited by Stephen Jones -- incredibly satisfying collection
25. Spirit Rider by Cotton Smith -- I got bored. :P
26. The Witch and the Gentleman by JR Rain
27. Super Structure by James Scott Bell
28. The Cowboy’s Pride and Joy by Laureen Child
29. The Year of Reading Dangerously by Andy Miller
So, I read early. As in incredibly, vastly, hugely early. I also read voraciously. Both my parents are readers and I never knew a world where books weren’t important, wonderful, magical things.
Mother would take me to the library once a week and check out an entire shelf at a time. By the time I was six or so, I’d read the entire children’s section and Mother started me on the non-fiction section, which was amazing. I learned about World War II, antique dolls, airplanes, the Beatles, large cats, gardening, wound care — anything was fair game as long as it was a book.
Once I finished my books for the week, though, I started on Moma’s books.
Mother loves horror novels. John Saul, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Richard Matheson, Peter Straub, Whitley Strieber, Peter Benchley, James Herbert, Robin Cook — you name it, she read them and I snuck them.
The problem (besides the nightmares which I couldn’t go to her with because she told me not to read her books — instead of waking her up I used to crawl underneath the headboard of their waterbed and sleep because THAT’S not creepy O.o) was that I would come up with words I couldn’t possibly understand and bring them to her.
“Moma, what does exsanguinate mean?"
“Moma, what does vernacular mean?"
“Moma, what does immolation mean?
“Moma, what does moue mean?"
“Moma, how do you say p-e-c-u-l-i-a-r?"
“Moma, what is masturbation?"
I remember that last one, mostly because of the look on Mother’s face — she wasn’t horrified, exactly, more utterly confused. I still remember her answer, clear as day.
“Well, baby, it means to touch yourself on your privates. Where did you read that word?"
I brought her the book (for once I wasn’t sneaking it) that I’d pulled from my 2nd grade teacher’s library. Hell House by Matheson. “It’s in here. This book is good!"
She looked, sighed, and said, “Can I trade you that book for “Little Women”, just for today?"
“But Moma! It’s scary!"
She just looked at me in that, I will smother you in your sleep if you don’t just give in child way, so I agreed and I can only imagine the discussion the teacher had with her.
Still love that book...