Author Spotlight: Michael G. Williams

Amazon Cover

Around the time I wrote the Author Spotlight on Michael G. Williams back in 2017, my publisher asked me if I knew Mr. Williams and would be interested in editing a book by him. Seems the boss had picked up the series which I discussed in the blog post, plus would be publishing the last of the series. If I was available, he would assign it to me.

Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, OMG, OMG!!!! Squeal!

After I calmed down, I worded a reply – deleted that one as being way too fangirl – did another after I calmed down again. Finally I managed something along the lines of: “I have enjoyed his work and believe I can fit another book into my schedule.” Hit send on the email, then finger out and take a sip of tea. So professional. While quivering in excitement.

One book turned into two, then three, and now I am his go-to editor at Falstaff. (He does get some of his short work published elsewhere.)

My mantra when editing his work is “Don’t pull a J.K. Rowlings with Mr. Williams.” I want his work to be the best possible, which means he must get edited completely. Unlike Ms. Rowlings, whose books clearly had editing slack off as her editors changed into fans, I had to remain an editor. No matter how much of a fan I am.

And if I stay good, I get to see his work before anyone else!

That’s a big incentive to stay on the straight and narrow red editing line.

This year Falstaff Books put out three of his novels/novellas.

First one happened back in January 2019, A Fall in Autumn. In fact, it was Falstaff’s first publication of the year as well as the first book in a science fiction series about a detective. It’s amazing! The central conceit of the SF aspect is organic manipulation, not the typical military and spaceship story.

Second happened in June, Nobody Gets Out Alive, concluded the Withrow Chronicles. (I.touched.it. I.got.to.make.this.series.better.) The final cross-genre for the vampire series was War Chronicles. I had to dig deep to remember what I knew about the tropes of that genre, but I truly feel that the conclusion delivers on the promise of the series. Not an easy thing to do for a five-book opus.

Amazon Cover

Third, and last one, published this year, Through the Doors of Oblivion, the first of a new series in the Quincy Harker/Shadow Council universe. This is perhaps his best story yet, mixing in so many of his passions. Mr. Williams love of San Francisco bleeds through every page. In fact, most of my editing felt like: “Pull back. This scene doesn’t fit this story right now. I know you love it, but save it for later books.” This time the urban fantasy focuses on witches vs. a demon, with a lot of the City by the Bay history thrown in.

Each book published this year had a different focus, a different sub-genre, and yet his author’s voice dances throughout even as the series voice and character voices adjust. He is an amazing writer.

And I get to edit him! (squeal, hands clapping)

Read his stuff. Give him a reason to complete the next book of the Fall in Autumn and the Servant/Sovereign series. I can’t wait to see them.

You can follow him at: http://www.robustmcmanlypants.org/perishables/

Flash: Fallen Angel

Image by marcolm on FreeDigitalPhotos

“I’m so sorry.” The man hopped on one leg trying to get into his pants. “Sorry, so sorry. I… I’m sorry. Sorry.”

Sarif shyed her soulful, tear-filled eyes away from the man and his still excited prick, biting her abused bleeding lips. Hiding behind her blonde tresses, she turned her face into her shoulder, curling her legs to her body and gripping the angry red and purple bruises on her arms while holding the sheets to her breasts. Behind her, pure white wing spread wide, proclaiming her angelic heritage.

The man kept up his sobbing non-stop apologies, sticking his arms into the shirt and buttoning it up, missing several connections in his haste. He left one shoe behind when he slammed the door, running, trying to escape from his guilt. It chased him from the apartment and down the hall, into the rest of his life. Rage and self-hate grew daily as he never could forgive himself; anger at his unholy actions brought his fists up again and again, striking out at others in blame for his own failings, until his destroyed future crushed him.

Waiting, waiting, just in case he returned, Sarif held the pose, not moving, thinking on her short time with her rescuer. Just two days ago, the man had discovered her bruised, broken body from the side of the road after another one of the unending clashes with her opposites in the Battle. Caring and eager to help, he bathed her wounds while his eyes stared at her glowing soft wings. Her diety-blessed healing, restoring her within hours, astounded him further. Since he first lifted her up out of the muddy trench, the man never left her side, rapidly falling in love. Being human, sexual frustration slunk behind like a jackal, waiting for moments of weakness. Possession flared his emotions, one log upon another in the bonfire of his unhealthy desires: his angel, his love, his rescue, his female. Until the only thought remained, the coveting of heaven’s own, a single concept, — “his”.

Finally assured man wouldn’t be returning, Sarif started laughing. Full body shakes took her, slipping the sheet down perky, eternally-young breasts to pool around slim girl hips. Never had she had a man succumb to her temptations so quickly. A new benchmark for her to break. Why humans thought her kind were wrinkled, red, horned, and ugly, she would never understand. They were fallen angels; no one had taken their wings.

(Words: 409; First published 10/27/2019)

Flash: Crawling

Digital art from freedigitalphotos.net

Crawling. Zebedee hated crawling. Winged angels should fly, and if they couldn’t do that, if they had legs, they should at least be walking.

His wings brushed the unseen roof again. It kept getting lower and lower. Something had to be an illusion. Either the endless white Lucia transported him to or the ever-shrinking box. Which sense was lying to him, touch or sight?

Neither the rough and splintered distressed wood floor of the club nor the thick silk plush hand-knotted antique Persian carpet underneath the pretend throne where Lucia reigned from were revealed to his ultra-sensitive fingertips. Only endless nothing. White above, white below. A nothingness unlike anything he had experienced before. The only thing he felt was the roof lowering onto the thousands of feathers capable of gauging air pressure, wind, and dozens of other datum needed when flying. The only feedback letting him know he still existed somewhere. Claustrophobia swallowed half his reason.

A whisper.

He heard a whisper.

A clink, laughter, mocking laughter.

Had he been transported at all?

Was he crawling around Lucia’s nightclub with her mob watching? He, Zebedaios, avenging angel? On hands and knees before that rabble?

Only he wasn’t an avenging angel anymore, but a protecting one.

Avenging angels only needed sight, to see miles in a dive, and touch for flying. All other senses were neglected for these two all important ones. But when Zeb had been assigned to Earth … to Dawn … he had been remade. Something Lucia, in her Fallen state, had not experienced.

She may be able to manipulate senses she understood, but the other three senses gifted to him for his new responsibility may be beyond her magicks.

And the demon-witch would not pass on the chance to torment Dawn while demeaning Zebedee. Dawn would be here, somewhere, if here was a place covered by an illusion. Dawn, the human he was tuned to. He should be able to hear her. Smell her. … taste her … no, not that … that thought leads to the Fall.

Hear. Ignore the white, the crushing non-roof. Only concentrate on hearing, however foreign that might be. Ears used to only hearing the rush of winds or the screams of battle search for … a muffled grunt, anger, … very angry. Dawn’s eyes would be sparkling.

That way. Who was near her? A scuffle with weight to it. Baal. Then Phil would be to the right.

Positive he was no more naked, defenseless, than he was in a No-Place, Zeb took the leap of faith normally reserved for humans and jumped forward to where his charge was.

The spell shattered around him and people scattered as he crashed through sycophants toward Lucia’s throne where Dawn was prisoner.

He had given up many things when he volunteered as a Guardian, but his Sword of Vengeance was not one of them. And, unfortunately on many levels, neither was his pride.

And they had made him crawl!

(words 492; published 4/3/2014; republished new blog format 5/5/2019)

Flash: Burdened Reflections

Photo by Antoine Da cunha on Unsplash

Art cropped by Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Heather pulled into the daycare parking lot shaking from exhaustion. Two co-workers had quit in the early morning because of the insulting and vulgar rudeness of the pre-Christmas crowd, leaving the rest of the store to take up the slack. Lunch never happened. Getting off at her normal time had required her to demand the ability to leave, or payment to cover the daycare penalties if she showed up late.

The backup at the registers had been bad enough the tightwads running the outlet debated the costs until she shut off her light and walked away from the waiting customers.

Prying her fingers from the staring wheel, Heather shouldered her handbag before leaving the car, feeling a little naked without extra weight of the diaper bag she had left when she dropped off the children. She glanced around at the four other cars, recognizing all the them, as she quickly crossed the graveled lot, shivering in the cold. The daycare wasn’t the best, but it was willing to take in the twins and the government covered all costs so she could work. She didn’t know how she would have made ends meet without welfare assistance.

It wasn’t like her ex would be paying child support. After he dumped her once the baby bump showed, he disappeared without a trace. Phone number, facebook, twitter, old address – nothing worked. She had been so stupidly enthralled she hadn’t notice she never met any of his friends and he hadn’t bother meeting any of hers. No one existed anywhere with the name Jevil Horne, and she had looked in ways not available to most people. It was like he wasn’t on the planet anymore. She couldn’t even find where he got his inks, and they had been elaborate.

Heat embraced her through her windbreaker once the door closed behind her. The tight entryway required her to step out of the path of an exiting parent, toddler on his hip. The father nodded in passing, looking as harried as she felt. They overlapped each day during pickup and dropoff. One day she should ask his name.

She needed a new group of friends since her old ones dumped her. Babies didn’t mix with the half she used to club with, and the rest, well, they had good reason for distancing themselves even if it hurt. Getting involved with other parents might be the answer, because she sure as sunspots wasn’t going to stick around at the General Outlet after the holidays. They already treated her as a second-class citizen since she gave birth.

Breezing by the always unmanned receptionist desk at the understaffed, cut-rate daycare, Heather made her way back to the nursery area.

“Hey, Mrs. Forester, running a little late today?” asked the extremely overweight woman rocking one of the babies in the crib area, greed gleaming in her eyes.

“Only twelve minutes, which, since I usually run twenty minutes early, means I am still ontime.” Heather snapped going to the crib where they double-bunked her twins. “And it’s Miss,” she muttered under her breath, knowing no amount of correction worked with the caregiver. Heather picked up the pink and blue striped bag hanging off the side of the crib, automatically counting diapers and bottles. She hadn’t got to pump today, missing lunch, but she had enough at home for tomorrow.

“They ate just fine and needed three changes today, plus one change of clothes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gula.” Heather pulled out her customer service smile for the hag, then lifted first one and then the other of her twins from the crib. She should complain about the daycare putting them in the same crib, but she did the same at home. At two months, there was plenty of room. Thinking into the New Year, and what her growing babies would need, required sleep she seriously lacked. Decision would be made later.

Juggling the two mostly awake children, Heather exited the building and loaded them in her blue Honda, carefully checking all the straps and kissing first her son and then her daughter on their foreheads, saying “I love you.”

Her parents, and her several sets of step-parents, never said it enough to her. If she remember right, and since she had wrote it in her diary because it had been unusual even then, the last time was her eleventh birthday. When she left home, she swore she was never going back.

If that means raising two children on her own, so mote it be.

It would be nice to hear the words from someone again. Not even her coven-mates said those magical words. Only things like “We support each other before the gods.” and “Blessed be.”

Tucking her blonde curls behind her ears, Heather climbed into the car and started shutting her door. The coven had been relieved to have a reason to kick her out; they always been scared about how quickly she learned and mastered new magics. Magic soaked into her like sunlight into a tan, it didn’t matter the form – fire or water, nature or –

The door wouldn’t close.

Heather looked up to find her ex, Jevil, grasping the top.

“Hello sexy.”

***Chapter Break

Heather’s breast tingled at the voice, trained after nearly a year under his kinky appetites, but her mind pulled the rest of her deeper in the car. He looked dangerously delicious, silhouetted against the gray, winter sky. His black curls hung around his shoulders ready to swing forward and cut off the world has he hovered above her, building anticipation before he slammed into her the first time, every time. His large hand pulled the door completely open, and he filled the space with his wickedly well-muscled body. She remember digging her hands into the hallows and stroking the planes of his sinfully perfect build. All she could think about is how much she wanted to kiss him, have him work his way down her body until she screamed for release.

Then someone tried to open the car door into the back seat. She always locked them after loading the children.

“What?” She snapped her head around to find two men, even larger than Jevil, if that was possible, trying to get in the car. The back of her car. Where her babies were.

“The door’s locked,” one of them reported, his voice satin and melted chocolate late at night, stirring hormones buried beneath the changes to her body required during nursing.

When Jevil reached to the button on her door to unlock the car, she called the winter wind and shoved him back, his unseasonably thin shirt covered in a light layer of ice.

He smiled, his eyes darkening beyond black, like they did when he applied nipple clamps or taught her a new incantation. “Don’t be that way babe.” He wiped the crusty frost from his front and strode toward the car again. “We just want the brats. It’s not like they are anything but a burden.”

burden. burden.

The day weighed down on her. Lack of food made her shake. Every screaming, demanding customer. The looks the daycare workers gave her. The abandonment of her friends. And all for what?

Her son made a sound, a half-cry for attention.

“Don’t you dare!” she spat, slamming the door. The Honda turned over instantly without her touching the key, and she peeled out, spraying gravel, hearing a slight thud when one of the men with Jevil didn’t move out of her way quickly enough.

She saw him leap impossibly high in the air, and for a second, a split second, that if she didn’t have the Sight, her mind would have brush aside for a more comfortable version of reality. Behind the suddenly naked man stretched two large wings. Black, shimmering with midnight purple and sunless silver scales, and perfectly matching the horns growing out of his head. One hand gave her a single taloned finger in her rear-view mirror, as he landed back on the ground, pulling the illusion back into place.

“Oh goddess, oh goddess.” Heather kept looking at her side mirror all the way home, though nothing seemed to be following her.

The rental was small, but affordable, at least on the salary she had before she got fired because of missing days from morning sickness. The hard scrabble since then from one minimum wage to job to another destroyed her anemic savings long before the babies were born. Government assistance workers had helped arrange partial payment until some real section 8 housing opened up, but she had to make up the difference. She hadn’t made her portion of this month’s payment; she didn’t think her landlord would kick her out until after Christmas. Her luck said today might be the day.

Well, good luck with that. No one would get anywhere near the house today. Pulling into the garage, she raised the wards her coven had put in place back when they used to meet here and locked the house up tighter than a fortress. When Jevil had dumped her, she had rescinded his welcome and cleaned the house of all traces of his existence. The first pass had been mostly to find something to cast a tracking spell because she wanted to give the jerk a piece of her mind, but the bastard hadn’t left even a hair behind. No way he could get inside now.

She breathed deeply instead of hyperventilating, and turned off the car, this time with the key.

“So, Apollo and Diana, how did you like meeting your daddy?”

The twins started crying after being silent the entire wild ride home.

(Words 1610; first published 1/27/2019)

Flash: Reversed Reflections

Image courtesy of Ben Schonewille at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The men were still following her, she was sure of it.

Heather adjusted her mirrors after pulling into the rest stop. She watched as the black Tahoe continued down the highway, positive that when she passed the next gas station it would be pulling in behind her again. But for the moment, she was off their radar.

Leaning  back, she took a moment to breathe and center herself, then adjusted the mirrors for real. Cars with intent to follow would have a red haze around them going forward. At least until nightfall, when her sun and nature-based magic failed. That’s when they will attack again, her gut said.

“I guess I could try some of the night magic.” Heather suggested to the two rear-facing seats shown in her inside rear-view mirror. The twins neither approved or disapproved the suggestion.

Not that she would do the night magic her ex-boyfriend taught her. Her demon lover. She hadn’t known how true that appellation had been when Jevil had introduced himself at the club. She thought he had just been a bragging asshole, and she always liked bad boys.

Having a guy gyrate behind her while she was dancing, and somehow whisper in her ear , “I’ll be your demon lover tonight,” made her panties melt five beers in to the night. She hadn’t questioned the magic required to perform a whisper while dancing to ear-shattering club music after sunset.

When she started showing, Jevil had flicked her aside like the butt from a used smoke, and she thought that was that. Lesson learned, sun and darkness don’t mix. Until yesterday when he had shown up at the daycare with two other men who could have passed for his brothers, wanting the kids. The twins had already been strapped in, so she floored her sedan, making one of the men leap out of the way and she had seen wings behind him for a moment before the illusion reformed. Real, honest-to-badness, bat-like wings shimmering like oil in the dim winter sun.

She had spent the night at her house, her haven, behind wards made by her coven before they had cut her from the circle, while the trio battered and pounded the magical walls denying entrance. It was the night before winter solstice, so nearly fifteen hours of her tossing what little magic she had under moonless skies. Every stone and plant in her house was drained or dead by the time the sun rose. The house would not survive another night.

Not that it mattered, because they had tossed gasoline against the side they had breached close enough to touch the physical siding, and then added a match.

Heather barely managed to get the kids into the garage and strapped into their seat in the Honda Civic before flames roared through their living quarters. She pulled out from the flames and smoke while dawn broke the horizon, which she used to power a nuclear blast of Light, capital L intended, to clear her path. She had been driving ever since, exhaustion held off only by magic. She wouldn’t make it through the night.

Stumbling out of the car, she opened the driver-side rear door. Carefully unbuckling her daughter, she took the baby over to a picnic table. Looking around, to see who was about to get an eyeful and finding no one, she kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the sod. After that she lifted her shirt and unsnapped the nursing bra pad protecting an aching breast. The child latched on as soon as the nipple was in range.

“I know, I know. I am so sorry to have missed your morning feeding. You’ve been so good, Diana.” She had been feeding Apollo when she had smelled the gas; he had not been happy about the interruption, but settled immediately after the car started moving. Both of them had been eerily quiet as she drove in a panic to nowhere. Her coven had removed her when she had shown up with a reverse witch streak, the black lock damning against her blonde hair. Dabbling with Jevil, using sex magic at night and other seductive tricks, left its mark on her body, life, and soul.

“I should have known better.” Heather talked using the rise and fall babies love to hear. “You will know better, won’t you? You are going to be my smart little girl.” The baby sucked steady, leeching liquid from her body she hadn’t replaced since yesterday’s, goddess help her, breakfast. She had worked through lunch at her retail job since two of the staff quit. Well, management must be having a field day with her being a no-show today. She drew more energy from the soil to push back the low-blood-sugar headache and dehydration migraine. The brownish grass turned black as she killed it for her survival, removing every particle of light the living mass had stored for the winter.

The clear blue eyes of the very young stared up at Heather, studying her intently, until, finally, Diana slowed her sucking. Unlatching the nipple, Heather tucked everything back in and slipped on her shoes, not worrying about the mud clinging to her toes, before carrying the drowsy baby to the car. Laying the two-month old back into the seat, Heather started buckling the child in. Kissing her lightly on the forehead, she promised, “I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you and your brother.”

Heather quaked as she considered her words. Everything in her power. She had to do it. Closing the door, she walked around to the other side where Apollo patiently waited for her with his black eyes. As she unbuckled him for the afternoon feeding, Heather commented, “Well, I guess your daddy is going to find out how well he taught me the Empty Magics.”

(Word 975; First published 1/20/2019)