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Werewolf Wednesday…Naked Werewolf series by Molly Harper, The Werewolf of NYC by Edwin Vazquez, and Patrick Ryan Frank’s werewolf poetry

Oh, how I’ve missed Werewolf Wednesdays.

How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf by Molly Harper.

Blurb: Northern Exposure

Even in Grundy, Alaska, it’s unusual to find a naked guy with a bear trap clamped to his ankle on your porch. But when said guy turns into a wolf, recent southern transplant Mo Wenstein has no difficulty identifying the problem. Her surly neighbor Cooper Graham—who has been openly critical of Mo’s ability to adapt to life in Alaska—has trouble of his own. Werewolf trouble.

For Cooper, an Alpha in self-imposed exile from his dysfunctional pack, it’s love at first sniff when it comes to Mo. But Cooper has an even more pressing concern on his mind. Several people around Grundy have been the victims of wolf attacks, and since Cooper has no memory of what he gets up to while in werewolf form, he’s worried that he might be the violent canine in question.

If a wolf cries wolf, it makes sense to listen, yet Mo is convinced that Cooper is not the culprit. Except if he’s not responsible, then who is? And when a werewolf falls head over haunches in love with you, what are you supposed to do anyway? The rules of dating just got a whole lot more complicated. . . .

While the blurb is interesting enough, I guess, I’m not sure it would have fully caught my attention. However, the review over at Ivy Book Bindings makes it sound hilarious, charming, and exactly the sort of fun book I want to read RIGHT NOW.

And then, when checking out the author’s website, I see there is a second book, The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf, and according to its blurb on the author’s website, the alpha wolf is Maggie Graham. Female alpha? SOLD. I will report back as soon as I can get my hands on these and read them.

The Werewolf of NYC by Edwin Vazquez

First, Teresa Jusino wrote an excellent preview piece over at GirlGamer.com, and now a giveaway of some related goodies. Of the first issue, Teresa says: First, the comic. This shit is bananas, but in the best way. Set in the early 1980′s, The Werewolf of NYC tells the story of Albert Shaw, a severely lonely man who has to deal with the fact that if he doesn’t have complete control over himself, he turns into a werewolf and goes on killing sprees. Not being able to lose control makes having relationships, sexual or otherwise, very difficult. In fact, the first issue shows us what happens when a man has to repress his sexual desires for the benefit of living beings around him. You probably guessed it – it doesn’t turn out too well. Vazquez does a great job of capturing the seedy feel of early 1980′s Hell’s Kitchen, and his art looks like what seeing the world as a bloodthirsty werewolf must feel like. That’s the best thing about Vazquez’s art – it’s visceral.

That sounds badass, and even though I rarely buy comics by the issue right now, I am going to pick this one up.

Over at Austinist.com: Werewolves, Losing, and Being Understood: An Interview with Poet Patrick Ryan Frank.

Excerpt:

Also in the book you deal with not just people who are sympathetic, but also those who are a little less sympathetic, like the werewolf, for example. Do you feel that even the unsympathetic loser is in some way redeemable? Is there an innocent inside of every guilty person?

That’s interesting. I hadn’t really thought about it like that, but I guess I do. I do think that everyone has something sympathetic. Even the most seemingly unsympathetic person can be entered into, and the idea of sympathy as a form of empathy, as understanding, and I think it’s actually important for us to have empathy toward the most awful people because by understanding them we can understand the differences between them and everyone else. So, if I were to write a poem about a serial killer, it wouldn’t necessarily be to give sympathy toward the serial killer but to understand the route that a human being takes to get to that point. I guess that’s what I’m really interested in. Understanding on a both intellectual and emotional level and that’s what comes across as sympathy.

And the werewolf poem? It’s inspired by married men who have sex with other men, and I think that, yes, it’s a despicable thing to be cheating on your spouse, but it’s also a craving that these men might not have much control over. Or they have control over their actions, but not the force behind it. There’s this Stanley Kunitz poem with two lines that have always stuck with me: “What makes the engine go? Desire, desire, desire.” And I think that desire is the great equalizing force between all people. It’s what makes the winners succeed and what makes the losers keep going even after they’ve lost.

That’s profoundly fascinating—I definitely didn’t see that inspiration for the werewolf poem. Do you expect people to get that from the poem just at face value, or is that the type of thing where they need to seek out the author’s opinion to be able to come up with that interpretation?

I think I secretly have a bit of a New Formalist in me in that I don’t want any poem to require a secondary source. I don’t want anyone to feel like they need to know what I think about or care about to like my poems. In fact I try very hard to pull myself out of poems whenever possible. My goal is always to write a poem—that even if it has a deeper valence or a sort of hidden agenda—I want the poem to work even if that’s never discovered. Personally I would think that the werewolf poem is more interesting if you think about it in the context of sexuality but I also hope that it’s an interesting poem even if you don’t. I don’t know if it succeeds or not because no poet is ever really sure of what his poems do. But I like to think that the poem opens itself up to whatever reading a person wants to bring to it. But that sounds so…

Post modern?

Yeah. I generally hate it when people say that because it sounds like you’re abnegating authority. It’s like “Oh, you can get whatever you want out of my poem, I don’t care,” when obviously I do. Like, ideally everyone would read that poem and think “oh, men who have sex with other men, interesting.” But if no one gets that they’re still like, “Oh werewolves, I’ve never read a werewolf poem before, neat” and also be pretty happy.

But I don’t want to be one of those poets that people feel like they need to decipher. That’s so tedious. I love Wallace Stevens but half the time I’m reading Wallace Stevens thinking “I am missing something here.” And then a hundred percent of the time I’m reading Pound I know I’m missing something. But I don’t always find those poets to be that enjoyable.

Accessibility is a really important thing for me. I want to write poems that anybody could like to read. My fantasy audience is always my mother, who, if she’s ever read any of my poems, has never really talked about them, but I like to think that she reads all of them and is thinking, “Oh, I see what he’s doing here, yeah, juxtaposition.” And even if she’s not thinking about what’s happening, she’s still thinking, “Oh, that’s sad, I feel sad now that I’ve read this poem, thank you.”

While I have read werewolf poems before, I’d like to read this one (and the rest of the collection). I’m pretty intrigued by both some of the things he’s saying here about abnegating authority AND about accessibility of writing, particularly poetry. I may have to come back to this with more thoughts. But for the moment, WEREWOLF POETRY!

Publications… “To the Sea, To the Sea” in LIKE A COMING WAVE

So, it’s been awhile. Two deaths in the family and a big move and a holiday season will do that, I guess. Rough few months, at the very least. I’ve missed out on a lot, but am excited to be back to blogging. Starting with today’s announcement regarding my latest release, which came out during my hiatus.

My story, “To the Sea, To the Sea”, is available now in LIKE A COMING WAVE from Circlet Press.

Blurb: The ocean is a vast playground of creatures real and imagined, rife with power and depth. In LIKE A COMING WAVE eight of fantasy’s best writers explore the erotic potential in the world of water. Mermaids and -men, selkies, Greek Gods, and even kraken cavort in these pages, featuring stories from Nisi Shawl, Julie Cox, Marie Carlson, Pepper Espinoza, and more, representing various sexualities and styles.

Table of Contents:
Breathing by Julie Cox
Extremiad by Nisi Shawl
Helios and Ceto by Pepper Espinoza
To the Sea,To the Sea by Marie Carlson
Wet Medium by Beryl Falls
A Requiem for Poseidon by S. C. Mitchell
Silk Skin by Elias A. St. James
How Much Water, How Much Air by M.E. Comstock

“To the Sea, To the Sea” brings together a mermaid whose song won’t lure any humans to the sea, and the kraken she must feed, who chooses her not for her voice but for the temptation of her body.

I’m excited about this anthology, a theme I love, and in particular because I adore Nisi Shawl’s writing, and am so glad to be in an anthology with her. I hope you guys enjoy!

Publications… Full (Moon) Flash Fiction “Lone Wolf (Bound)” available free online

Full (Moon) Flash Fiction

May Milk (Super) Moon: “Moonlit”
June Strawberry Moon: “Great Wide Open”
July Thunder Moon: “Lone Wolf (Bound)”

Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting it up. One of the pups whimpered, but Dot couldn’t tell them apart. Couldn’t, didn’t want to, it all came out the same. They all looked like her brother in different ways, even the one that wasn’t actually related to him, sounded like him, smelled like him – she couldn’t take it.

“Shh.” The hay rustled as Trouble crouched next to them. The sharp scent of their fear faded, leaving that familiar-strange mix of family and not.

Patch was three weeks gone, his old lady said. Skittish under the last full moon, quiet where he was normally loud, talkative. Dot didn’t know him like that. He was the runt three litters after her, always silent and still.

Big shadows like bruises stained the skin beneath his old lady’s eyes. Manda, she was called, a human name for a wolf. “My parents liked to play pretend,” she said, and bared her teeth.

Patch gone, and their nearest neighbors, too, three of the four adults in the wolf pack. Five pups, four Patch and Manda’s, one their neighbors’, and Manda left to watch them. She slept fitfully in the corner of the barn, hugely pregnant, hands pressed against her belly even in her sleep. It rose like a full moon, third litter and maybe the last.

The breeze shifted, blowing into Dot’s face. She gulped it down, searching.

Behind her, a yip, cut off sharp, and she spun, crouching low, hands and feet against the boards she’d cleared of hay, ready for her shift. (Hay stuck to fresh-changed fur, made her itch, with no hands to scratch it free.)

Manda was awake, and on her feet, arms curled under the swell of her stomach, holding its weight, and her eyes were wide and dark, all the color bled out of them.

“They’re coming,” she growled, teeth sharp behind bloody lips. “They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming.” Her words rose into a howl by the end, high and thin, wolf crying for her pack, but only silence after.

Then, quiet at first, gaining volume and strength, Trouble raised her voice, head tilted so that her dark braids tumbled down her back, covering her bare brown skin. Around her, the pups lifted their heads, weak calls that made her jaw ache like claws on glass.

Too much like pack, and Dot was lone wolf nose to tail.

Thunder rolled, and with it the rain, gusts of it shaking the barn doors, covering their trail, the marks they’d left behind and their smell. From nothing to thunderstorm, and the snap of wind strong enough to knock over small wolves, nothing could track them through it.

“Shift,” Dot ordered, drawing herself in tight, muscles straining. The others turned toward her, watched her, and she shook her head, shifting back on instinct. She ran alone, no others to slow her down, but their hearts raced, and each breath pack pack pack. “We’re running.”

Running meant one more night safe and free.

Publications…Full (Moon) Flash Fiction “Great Wide Open” available free online

Full (Moon) Flash Fiction

May Milk (Super) Moon: Moonlit

June Strawberry Moon: Great Wide Open

The road unfurls like a river of black blood, slick and dark in the dusk. The sky stretches above it, above us, as big and wide as anything I’ve ever seen, more shades of blue than the ocean we left behind two weeks ago. Storm clouds rise like mountains, grey-black and heavy with water. Despite the threat of rain, the top’s down, and the wind whips around us, carrying the smell of wet, green things growing and, just at the edge of the rising storm, the scent of ozone.

Thunder rumbles. I press my feet into the dash, the cracked vinyl warm and rough against my toes, and tip back my head. We’ve been driving for months, and I thought I’d seen every version of the sky, but this opens up above us unending in its darkness, like I could start running now and never reach daylight again.

For the first time since we left my pack, I don’t feel lost, not even in this great wide open, just free.

A thin track runs off to the left, into the corn fields – the plants aren’t sky high yet but big enough for the cover we need – and we turn onto it, sliding the car between rows of genetically modified super plants, rah rah rah technology’ll save the world.

It smells off, wrong, and I wrinkle my nose against it.

Don’t matter how bad it stinks. Moon’s rising, we’ve got to stop. I have to shift.

One at a time, I press close, breathe in the scent of them: mouth, armpit, crotch. I suck the air in through my nose, again through my mouth and over my tongue, memorizing the smell I’d know even asleep and three quarters dead.

That’s the idea. Breathe them in as a human, slide my scent along their skin, and the wolf in me would let them alone once I changed.

Three months, we’d been on the road, circling and circling the USA, staying away from other wolves’ territories, and I hadn’t come close to hurting them, but each month, the possibility was there. It’d always be there, until my boys gave up their humanity in a slick wash of pain and teeth and blood.

I strip and leap from the car, one hand on the door frame pushing myself clear. Soon, I promise myself, already panting, soon,, and then the pull of the moon is on me. I’m alone when I start running, mud squishing between my toes, and as it rushes through me, I leap, into the corn, into the darkness, into the sadness of hunting alone.

They’ll wait in the car, tranq gun at hand just in case, music off, voices low. Sometimes I leave little gifts on the hood and then don’t they grumble, blood on the paint, and by the time the sun comes up, I’ll be curled up somewhere, thirsty and sore and dirty and alone.

But they’re always there when I come back, and I will never not return.

Publications…Full (Moon) Flash Fiction “Moonlit” available free online

Oh dear. Apparently last month’s new experiment was left a draft and not an actual post. That explains so much! So here is May’s Full (Moon) Flash Fiction, “Moonlit,” and in a moment, I will post the entry for June.

At this point, technical issues and time constraints have led to such a lengthy delay of “The Rise and Fall of Cassandra Jones” that I am a bit overwhelmed at trying to recreate what was lost and catch up. I am shelving it this year, and instead will be writing flash fiction. Or at least my take on flash fiction, which I have randomly decided will mean 500 words not counting the title for this project.

To kick off Full (Moon) Flash Fiction for May’s Milk Moon (Supermoon), I present:

“Moonlit”

I felt swollen, my skin stretched too taut, too thin. I would burst soon like an over-ripe piece of fruit. Not quite there, still safe to eat, but almost not, sweet and heavy on the tongue, one breath, maybe two, from the rot lurking just beyond the wash of juice. I licked my lips, tasted metal and dirt, and rolled over onto my back. The hot air sank into me, sweat springing up beneath my breasts, along the curve of my stomach and thighs. I pressed bare feet against dry grass and stared up into the creeping darkness. Sunset was seven minutes after the (super) moon rose. I shivered at the thought of sunlight and moonlight (sunlight reflected, refracted, twisted, broken into something new) kissing in the sky.

Anticipation, but a specific kind, sexual, sensual and warm. I stretched, languid, calling my lover to me. She crept across the edge of my (world) vision, (moon) woman reaching for me with pale fingers so gentle, so cold, and tugged me into the shadows underneath the old oak tree.

Her full mouth, slicked red, twisted into a smirk, and she crawled along me, lingering at the bone of my ankles, the dip of my knees, the long lines of flesh up the inside of my thighs. I canted my hips up at her, wanting, but she rested her hands on my stomach, digging her nails into my flesh, and leant forward, dark hair tumbling down across my breasts.

“Soon?” she asked, voice the quiet rustle of a soft wind through the cornfield. Any stronger, and it would drown out other noises, creeping through my senses and bringing the hair on the back of my neck up. (I ran through corn on four legs, on two, pushing aside the stalks, and at ten, at sixteen, at twenty-two, it chased me, wind-fast through the darkness.)

“Two minutes.” The words grumbled in the back of my throat, and I coughed to clear them. “Little less.”

“No time.” She sank into me, nudging her thigh between my legs, pressing into the hot, wet pulse of my cunt, and my heartbeat was so loud in my ears, her chest silent. She was right, we didn’t have time for this, I couldn’t come so fast, but still I arched into her, grinding against her (bad dog, no humping, and my laugh bubbled up, spilling out with the ferocity of a howl). “I’ll be watching.”

In the distance, the pack I would join once I shifted. She couldn’t get close to me then, my girl, bruised fruit mouth and (stolen) blood on her breath. The smell of her all over me kept me wary of my family, waiting for me to come to them beneath the moon.

“Oh,” I said, “now”

She dropped a kiss to my hungry mouth, tongue across the spot I’d chewed rough (bloody), and she was gone, lost to the sky. My back arched, a howl clawing up my throat, the monster rising from within.

Werewolf Wednesday (I Recommend)… Review of Silver Moon by Catherine Lundoff (Lesbian werewolves for the win!)

(Edited to Add: Totally forgot to drop this link: “Supermoon” Coming this Saturday.)

Another Lesbian Werewolves for the Win! Werewolf Wednesday, and I cannot get enough of them.

The ebook version of Silver Moon by Catherine Lundoff is now available, print editions to come, and to celebrate this release, I have a review! (Keep an eye out in June for another celebration, where Catherine will visit the blog, and we’ll give away some prizes!) First, though, links to Silver Moon: Amazon | All Romance E-Books | Lethe Press.

Blurb: Becca Thornton, divorced, middle-aged, and barely out of the closet discovers that life can still hold some strange surprises, when she discovers that her body is changing; menopause turns her into a werewolf. Apparently she is not the only one, as a number of women in her town of Wolf’s Point seem to have had the same experience. As the newest member of the pack, Becca learns her nights are not spent only protecting the town and running through the woods howling at the moon. There are werewolf hunters in town and they’ve got Becca in their sights.

(NB: Above links are not affiliate links. Author provided an e-arc of the book for review. Also, I don’t believe there are spoilers, other than what you can get from various descriptions of the book.)

I was sold on the premise of Silver Moon from the start: women werewolves protecting their town? Characters of “a certain age” being awesome? Women kicking ass? Lesbians being heroes? Yes please, all of that and more. And I’m pleased to say that overall, I loved the story and hope to spend more time with these characters in the future. There aren’t enough supernatural stories about lesbians, or women who are werewolves, or older characters, and especially not about older lesbian werewolves who are completely awesome. I was giddy at discovering Silver Moon, and I’m still giddy after having such a good time while reading. The details of the werewolves are delightful (keeping a throat covered when laughing, because baring it says [potentially unintended] things, the smell of happiness, the sounds they can hear), and I love that this is a story about women and so many things they are and can be.

I do have my issues. There are uses of “crazy” and “insane” that I found pretty ableist, and a reference to a mental hospital that made me cringe. (Yes, I know this is language that is used in everyday life. Believe me, I know. I deal with it all the time.) Though there are quite a bit of racial diversity in the characters, particularly the werewolves, the story is so tightly focused on Becca and the things she’s discovering about herself that often the other characters get short shrift and the racial diversity falls to the background. (I’m hoping there will be additional books and the other characters will have more page time. I am particularly intrigued by Deputy Lizzie Blackhawk, who is smart and snarky and badass, and also, I think I’m in love.) The last twenty pages or so seemed rushed, especially compared to the slower build of the first half of the book. (Though now that I look at the actual page numbers, werewolf things start happening early in the book, and I can’t quite put my finger on why it felt like a slower build. I like slower builds, particularly in books about monsters.)

All of that being said, I really loved the book. I loved Becca and her changes, physical, emotional, sexual. I loved the werewolf pack, all the women and the work they do to keep their town safe. I loved the worldbuilding, the rules for werewolves, and the juxtaposition of interesting things: supernatural and scientific, monster and human, hunter and hunted, predator and prey. About halfway through, the story grabbed me and I devoured the rest, deadlines be damned, in a glorious rush of action and intrigue and lies and truth. It is truly a supernatural adventure, decorated with bits of humor and romance and angst.

One of the things I like most about werewolves and werewolf stories is the metaphor of lycanthropy as mental illness, particularly my experience with bipolar disorder: the (sometimes) uncontrollable physical changes lining up with the (sometimes) uncontrollable mental changes, cycle for cycle. There are moments where the language, the description, so exactly captures what I think of when I think of werewolves, of that metaphor for mental illness, that it made me want to stand up and cheer, except that meant I’d have to stop reading, and so I didn’t. (“… she could feel that same wildness building in her … clawing its way to the surface inside her, racing beneath her skin and preparing to break through.”)

Silver Moon does not address this metaphor. What it does address is similar, though, and really made the story appealing to me: (sometimes) uncontrollable physical changes for (sometimes) uncontrollable physical changes. Lundoff’s werewolves aren’t a metaphor for mental illness, but for the way our bodies become different with age. (Literally and literally, for her werewolves; menopause brings the changes we recognize, but also changes Becca could never anticipate.)

Silver Moon isn’t just a story about lesbians, or women getting older, or werewolves being secret superheroes, or women being victimized. It isn’t a story where the women are monsters because, wink wink nudge nudge, all women are monstrous, am I right? (Can you tell I am exhausted by all of the stories where women are victims or villains and nothing in between?) At its heart, it is a story that either we can relate to now, or we will relate to later. It is the story of change, in good ways and bad. Sometimes – eventually, inevitably — our bodies change, our minds change, our lives change, without warning, and without our desire for it to occur. We get older. We deal with mental illness, or physical. We lose those we loved, we leave them, we say good-bye. We fight to keep our homes; we fight to create a place for ourselves in a new world after we’ve been rocked by things that happen to us, around us, we fight to keep those we love safe.

As readers, many of us search for ourselves in the stories we read, often to no avail if we aren’t straight, white, able bodied and minded, cisgendered, and/or male. In Lundoff’s werewolves, I found pieces of myself, my questions about what I am and what I have and what I will become; the push and pull of pack ties (family ties) with solitary natures and the need to seek adventures alone; and those shining moments of human and monster, separate and one, all wrapped up in a rollicking adventure that was simply fun. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, because it fits this story so well.

Lesbian werewolves for the win!

Werewolf Wednesday…Lesbian Werewolves for the Win! (Rachel Deering’s Anathema, GCLS Conference, and Catherine Lundoff’s Silver Moon)

Just under the wire for Werewolf Wednesday.

Rachel Deering has a Kickstarter to fund the artists for issues #2 through #6 for Anathema, a lesbian werewolf comic, and it ends April 30. Anathema’s Kickstarter page. I haven’t read the first issue, but the preview to the first issue looks awesome, and she’s almost fully funded. I’m looking forward to reading the entire story. Lesbian werewolves for the win!

Speaking of lesbian werewolves for the win, there’s a panel at this year’s Golden Crown Literary Society Conference (a lesbian literature conference) on “Lesbian Shapeshifters and Werecritters.” The conference is June 13-17 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and if you go, I’d love to see your notes on it. (I can’t, that’s right after this year’s wedding season extravaganza [not my wedding, weddings I am attending], and I can already tell I’ll be playing catch-up at work. However, I’m keeping this in mind when scheduling things for 2013.)

To round out today’s Werewolf Wednesday, until April 30, you can enter to win a copy of Silver Moon by Catherine Lundoff. If you follow me on Twitter, you may know I received an arc to read. I’ve finished it, and am working on the review to come (and hope to schedule some sort of book release event with Catherine, which reminds me, I need to email her), but in short, I really loved it and can’t wait to read more in this world.

Seriously, lesbian werewolves for the win!

Publications…Review of Daughters of Artemis and Bonus Link

Well, Month of Thanksgiving ended up being very sporadic, but maybe next year I will be able to post daily. I still haven’t decided what I want to do to celebrate the December holidays; obviously from Month of the Werewolf and Month of Thanksgiving, daily posting is not going to work for me right now (the day job has been super hectic lately). Maybe I will try a couple stories instead.

But first, here is a fun review of Daughters of Artemis, which contains my story “The Fullness That Love Began.”

Over at Lamba Literary, Sinclair Sexsmith included Daughters of Artemis in Cliterotica Fall 2011: Storm Moon Press is a relatively new publisher, and one of their first anthologies is the lesbian werewolf collection Daughters of Artemis. The beastly nature of these stories surprised me, and when I got deep into the characters and plots I felt a connection to my own animal nature. Lesbian sex can certainly bring out the lusty, raw animal, and this collection pulled deeply on those tropes. Though we usually see werewolves as alpha males, there are plenty of alpha females out there and many have just as much command and demand.

And the Bonus. Despite the fact that I frequent Werewolves.com, I missed this post about upcoming werewolf books that includes Daughters of Artemis. It made me grin to see it.

Links…Bits and Pieces (Saturday Link Round Up)

If You’re a Bigot When You’re Angry, You’re a Bigot All the Time by Tami from What Tami Said, Guest Blogging at Transgriot

Tami addresses Kelly Osbourne’s nasty, transphobic comments during her recent breakup and how making an excuse for bigotry because of anger does not work.

Quote: When you believe that a group of people intrinsically have value equal to your own, you believe it all the time and deep in your heart. This belief is not contingent on your being in a good mood. The belief doesn’t go away when a marginalized person makes you angry or annoys you. If you have it in you to use epithets when hurt, then you have it in you all the time.

Beauty Myths: Terrible Things Await Women Who Use Men’s Razors, Gillette Says

Apparently, Gillette has a new ad campaign out trying to get women to buy razors and blades for “women’s razors,” not the ones for “men’s razors.” I don’t have cable television and haven’t for awhile now (I am well pleased with a mix of Hulu, Amazon on Demand, and Netflix on Demand, though I’m considering dropping the Netflix at some point), and I don’t read Cosmo and similar magazines (actually, I don’t really read any magazines anymore, and I don’t actually know when that changed. Huh), so I haven’t seen any of the ads, if they exist, but Jezebel addresses an article in Cosmo about it. One of the things that was said is that women mistakenly believe men’s razors are sharper than women’s razors. Jezebel talks about how women’s razors cost more than men’s razors, at least generally.

I prefer men’s razors to women’s, especially electric razors, because I have found they do work better. I have very thick, coarse hair, and when I decide to shave, the men’s razor handles the hair so much better. So I side-eye the claim that women’s razor blades are just the same as men’s, at least from my personal experience.

Kardashian in Trouble with Native American Group for ‘Indian Giver’ Comment at Colorlines

Quote: The phrase “Indian giving” is wrong and hurtful,” she added. “The cultural values of Native Americans are based on giving unconditionally and empowering those around them. Instead this cultural value is forgotten when negative stereotyping of Native people occurs.

Thandie Newton Takes ‘Vogue’ to Task for Lack of Black Women on Cover at Transgriot

Quote: I personally don’t read Vogue, because I am not interested in fashion, and I certainly would not support a magazine that cannot be arsed to have someone who looks like me appear on even a semi-regular schedule; however, I recognize what this lack of exposure is doing to young Black women. There is a reason why even today despite all the gains of the Black community, that Black children continue to prefer the White doll. Everywhere they look, everything that is constructed as good, pure and beautiful is White. From the television shows that they watch, to billboard and magazine covers they are shown, to be White is to be worthy of attention and adoration. No matter how hard a parent tries to invest a child with racial pride, they are fighting the institution of White supremacy, which is determined to enforce the exact opposite. We need Black women on the covers of magazines like Vogue, if our children are ever to see themselves as valuable. We need these covers to dispel the idea that Black women are just born unattractive. There is absolutely nothing neutral about erasure and until we address the fact that it essentially amounts to a value judgment based in racist ideals, we are going to continue to have a divided society in which some people are privileged over others, simply based in the Whiteness of their skin.

‘A Year Straight: Confessions of a Boy-Crazy Lesbian Beauty Queen’ Will Piss You Off at AfterEllen

Quote: The second problem: Bisexuality is not once mentioned. The idea of either being a lesbian or being straight is the perpetuation of a terrible stereotype. Elena doesn’t even consider the fact that her attraction to men could mean she’s interested in exploring her sexual fluidity instead of a quarter-life crisis indicating she’s meant to be with a guy. In fact, the whole reason she starts dating guys is because she felt a connection with her yoga instructor. And when she shares her crush with a coworker and gets a Brazilian wax, she decides to keep trying to date men because she didn’t want to let all that go to waste.

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Publications…DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS release day; Contest Winner

Purchase “The Fullness That Love Began” in DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS today.

The contest winner from my pre-publication DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS contest is Eliza Reeve! Eliza, obviously I have your contact info and I know you pre-ordered DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS, but let me know your bookstore preference and I’ll get that gift card to you.

Yesterday, August 26, was release day for DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS from Storm Moon Press, which contains my short story “The Fullness That Love Began.” DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS is available as an ebook or print (though there’s a bit of a delay on the print version due to printing issues), and is an anthology about strong werewolf women and the women who love them.

“The Fullness That Love Began” is a special story for me and has had a twisty path to publication, and I am so glad it is now available.

Blurb: Werewolf lore has long been dominated by tales of the strong alpha male, but what of the strong alpha females? The Storm Moon Press anthology Daughters of Artemis explores this mostly neglected aspect of the werewolf mythos, with an erotic twist.

Bounty hunter Toni McGowan has faced supernatural beasts that would send most running, but her latest assignment may be the toughest yet—playing babysitter to a New Ager wannabe. Jade Nicols, though, has a few secrets of her own, the darkest of which may just get them both killed.

Luna Rivers isn’t the most graceful of people at the best of times, and being stalked by shadowy figures and prowling wolves hardly qualifies. But after being rescued by the beautiful and sensual Syrene, Luna learns that there is more to herself than she’d ever suspected. She’s a werewolf, too, and in a whole new world of danger.

Andrea—Andy to most—is a pack leader in the forests of Washington state. Poaching in a nearby pack’s territory throws suspicion on Andy’s leadership. In order to find the truth, Andy and her mate Fiona find themselves forced into an uneasy alliance with Rafael, the other pack’s alpha.

Susan Runningwind is forty-five, but already strong enough to have earned a seat among her pack’s elders. Jesse Westfield is a documentary filmmaker investigating the so-called “Werewolves of South Dakota”. But when Jesse begins to get too close to the truth, Susan must make a choice between her pack’s welfare, and the growing attraction she feels to the younger woman.

Sasha is the first female in the kingdom of the shapeshifting House of Wood to be granted leadership of her own pack. The transition is hardly smooth, however, and Sasha winds up at odds with Aneira, her mate. Failure to maintain control of her pack would mean demotion and shame, but doing what she knows she must could drive Aneira away forever.

When werewolf Katya captures blind weretiger Yun alone in the wilderness, she sees only an opportunity to finally end the raging conflict between their two peoples. Yun remains loyal to the tigers, though, and as time passes, Katya finds herself less and less inclined to force the information from her. But when the fight comes to them, both will see their loyalties tested in the crucible of battle.

Purchase “The Fullness That Love Began” in DAUGHTERS OF ARTEMIS today.