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: Porter Gets Infravision

Image courtesy of voraorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Porter hissed at Tik as she scrambled out of her bedroll.

The half-orc warrior shook her head in confusion as the warlock hastily stuffed her items into her backpack. Those touched by magic were a strange lot. Powerful. The arching lighting between the immovable warlock and the closing bugbear was etched into her eyeballs from the afternoon battle. Who knew their little oxen driver had that up her sleeves?

Tik angled her body away from the banked campfire to continue watch on the raccoon family trundling through the thicket where the small caravan was hiding. The small snaps and rustling from the raccoons and Porter interfered with her ability to hear further afield. While her party managed to clear out the nearby goblin lair, other creatures with ill intent may be nearby.

Porter stepped over the halfling and sideslipped past the half-elf before joining Tik at her post. “I can’t believe no one else is up yet. The dwarven chants usually get me up long before now.”

“I just started my shift.” Tik injected to cut the verbose teenager off. They may be the same age, but the human had a very different life experience.

“What?” Porter stage-whispered. “But you don’t usually start until mid…”

Tik watched as the dark-skinned girl looked up, her curls flowing down her back as her face turned skyward.

“That isn’t the sun.”

“Nope.” Tik responded to the bizarre statement.

“The moon.”

“Yep.”

“And stars.”

“Yep.”

“Really?” Porter threw out her arms, whispering loudly to the heavens. “Now you give me this?!”

Tik watched as she stomped softly through the group of sleeping bodies to get her pack. Words muttered under-breath carried strangely around the heat currents of the fire. “Of all the … omnipotent asshole … roulette of the mind … is everything …”

When the only full human in the party had returned, Porter stood in front of Tik on the side away from the fire and took a cleansing breath in and out before smiling the fakest smile Tik had ever seen outside of a merchant. “I will be going into the woods a little ways. Don’t worry if you see any lightning or hear any maniacal laughter. There may even be a little screaming.”

Tik shrugged. “I am not to worry if you die. Got it.”

A genuine smile split Porter’s beautiful face. “Exactly! Oh, I do like you.”

Later the half-elf joined Tik watching the minor dancing lights beyond the thicket. “What is up?”

“Porter.”

“That girl has issues.”

Tik grunted, wiping the dew from her weapon.

“Did she get enough sleep?”

“Not after what she has been doing for the last three hours.”

“Hmmm.” The half-elf tilted her head sideways. “Maybe I should help her.”

“I wouldn’t interrupt.” Tik sheathed her blades before standing. She was looking forward to a final catnap before dawn. In the predawn light, she noticed the dwarf rolling his bedroll for his morning prayers. “Besides the shrieks stopped a little while ago; she is nearly done.”

Shift change completed, Tik was asleep before her elbows made contact with the dirt. She only woke when the slight breeze blowing on her back was blocked. Porter liked sleeping near the two women fighters; her unique scent of roses, sand, and soot traveled on what was left of the breeze. Tik’s mind noted the change as nonthreatening and fell back to dreamless sleep. Come dawn, they were going to storm a castle and everyone needed to be sharp.

(Words 586; first published 12/8/2019)

Yes, it is from a D&D campaign. My Warlock character got infravision between battles after needing it as the only non-infrared vision character of the party. This is what I pictured her reaction to be. This is an attempt to align game mechanics with storytelling.

Flash: Dorian and the Ice Queen

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Rating: Mature

That ass, damn girl. Dorian didn’t mind the cold or wait at all as the female bent over once again, rearranging the unlit lanterns just so in the snow. Maybe he shouldn’t be admiring her, or maybe because she was a supervillain, objectifying her isn’t as immoral as, say, Jameeka in Human Resources. Either way the Ice Queen had one of the finest asses in the state. Perfect heart shape.

He had been a little disappointed when he first arrived to find she wasn’t wearing the impractical catsuit and high heels costume. But the tight white skiing pants, turtleneck sweater, quilted jacket, and fur-lined cap made a fine substitute, at least according his libido. Especially when she bent over, and she had been bending over a lot in the last half an hour. A couple of steps in one direction in the snow in knee-high boots, adjusting something, sometimes burying something, sometimes removing debris, and then she would be moving again. She had said to arrive around midnight, more or less, but not to bother if he was later than one. And not to bother her if she was already there.

Guess she figured I would scope out the area. It’s not like they trusted each other – villain to hero. But that didn’t make the lust go away. She bent forward again and he bit his tongue to keep from moaning. He imagined grabbing that fine white Ice Queen ass, the soft moon-pale flesh slightly red on either cheek after his broad hands had warmed them up with a couple of smacks for being bad. The woman was always bad. Maybe even handcuffs, if he had them. Then she look over her shoulder, her ash-blonde hair in a failing braid like it is now, wisps and stray tresses framing her ice-blue eyes, and say…

 “I’m ready for you now.”

 Her voice soft and husky from effort.

 “Hey Revenger, alley-alley-alley-out.” The Ice Queen stood brushing the snow off her white leather gloves, clapping them. “You can come now.”

 Come, she said come…not…cum. Dorian shook his head to clear out the last of the fantasy. He nearly missed the snow falling from the gloves, hover in the moonlight, take on the sparkle of new snow, and fly in a dozen directions. Before he had dropped from the tree where he was hiding, every step, footprint, handprint, and symbol she had made was erased.

 So much for his theory, based on the lack of snow tracks when he had initially arrived, that she had flown in. He was positive she was a flyer, but no one had ever recorded it. The agency records were woefully blank on her abilities, as they are on any unregistered hero or uncaptured villain, some temperature control at the cold end of the spectrum, possible telekinesis abilities, and, unproven, magic. Magic itself being unproven. So far everyone had tested psychic, technological, or natural mutant.

 Her file was nearly as slim on suspected crimes. He had written most of the entries himself and none of them had enough evidence for a legal arrest warrant, let alone a court conviction. Plenty of photos thanks to her saving his bacon when King Khaos attacked the museum, but no real information. Street thugs were silent about her.

 (words 545; first published 8/18/19)

Flash: Bumping into Dorian

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I recognized him. Oh god, why did I have to bump into him? “I’m so sorry.” I dropped my eyes as he steadied me by holding my shoulders.

 

At six foot and a bit, he stood out even more for his perfect build, great abs, wide shoulders, tapered waist, strong legs, and great abs. Did I mention great abs? I was staring at them right now through the thin layer of cotton of his shirt. I could do my wash on those abs. My hand wash. All day. My hands all day on those abs. Wow, what a suit of Teflon armor will hide.

 

“It’s all right.” He smiled down. I felt the smile. Never thought the Revenger could smile, especially at me, the Ice Queen. “The museum is crowded today with the opening.”

 

I wanted to look up and smile back. Smile into those green eyes I glimpsed for just a second. Eyes normally hid by red goggles, at least any time our paths crossed before. A part of me really wanted to look back up into those eyes and drown in them.

 

Not good, not good, not good at all.

 

His hands slipped down a bit, just past the capped sleeves of my summer dress as he pushed me back a step, touching my flesh, before he dropped them all together. Electric shocks went through me and I caught a name, the name he thought of himself by. Just like my mother said would happen.

 

So not good.

 

Dorian. I really like the name. It suits him.

 

“Thanks.” I said, keeping my blue eyes firmly on his perfect, mouth-watering abs. Meeting his eyes right now would be beyond not good.

 

I still had bruises from our battle last week. Well, skirmish. Okay, he tossed me through a window to get at the Overbearer and I flew away like bat out of hell once I was outside the building. But, I had bruises, big purple, green, and yellow ones.

 

I, for one, am not build for hand-to-hand. At five foot flat footed, five-six in the ridiculous heels I wear with my barely there fur, crystals, and silver chain mail outfit, I don’t have a chance … physically … against someone like the Revenger. One of the reason I am not a costumed hero.

 

Magically, psychically, I can go toe-to-toe with the best. With a great deal of preparation.

 

I hide the psychic part. Just like the layer of skin-tight white silk covering every inch of me under the fur and simulated diamonds hides my skin from the casual brushes when my psych is at full throttle. I limit the magic to just cold and water magic. At least all overt magic. Most think I just have a ice machine tucked in somewhere; best speculation by the press was the boobs were fake, disguising the power pack. My twins aren’t fake. But I ain’t telling. I ain’t telling about the magic or mind reading either.

 

A girl has to keep her secrets.

 

Especially from a hero like the Revenger.

 

Secrets that should not come between soul mates.

 

Oh, this is so not good.

 

The abs moved away from my sight. I swallow hard before going back to pickpocketing my way through the crowd, getting this week’s spending cash. Once I had enough wallets tucked into my roaring twenties style clutch purse, beaded of course, which was much bigger on the inside thanks to a little dimensional folding, I debated cutting my losses rather than run into the Revenger again, Dorian again. He of the green eyes to drown in and the abs for my hand wash.

 

But I had actually come to the museum to see the new exhibit, ancient Russia glass. I love historic pieces, especially glass, which carried special magics I could tap into. Covering the week’s grocery and light bill was only a bonus.

 

Just one pass through the special exhibit hall. Who knows when I will have another chance.


(words 663; first published 4/9/14; republished new blog format 8/11/19)

Flash: Falling for Aspen

Photo by Sean Odell (Unsplash.com)

Rating: Mature

Dozens of golden maple leaves fell around Andy as Aspen leaped into his arms, kissing him after his proposal. He didn’t expect such as strong reaction to his invitation to shack up together. They had reached the point something needed to change, and he knew it. He didn’t want the change to be them breaking apart.

After several kisses, Aspen slid down his body until both her boots were back on the sidewalk. “Thank God, I thought you were going to ask to marry me.” She said leaning against his chest.

Andy winced, reaching his arms to hug her tight. “Don’t you want to marry me someday?”

“Good grief, no. Marriage never goes well in my family.”

The man held her tighter, thinking back on the two divorces Aspen’s mother had gone through since they started dating back in high school, from husbands four and five, and the family gatherings he had been dragged to during their ten years of dating (today being the anniversary) with the dozens of children brought by her sisters, aunts, cousins, grandmothers, and the original matriarch, her great-grandmother, none with a single father in common. Most of the married femlaes sporting visible bruises from their husbands.

“I’m not like anyone else.”

“Not now, Andy, but you would be,” Aspen smiled up at him, the happy escaping a little from her eyes, shading them with the sadness never far from her crystal blues in recent months, “But maybe we can beat the curse. Love without marriage. Just promise to never ask to marry me.”

“What if I ask?”

Color drained from Aspen’s face, like winter following autumn. “I would have to say yes.”

Blinking, his mind stuck at the thought, both ecstatic and deeply scared. Eventually, Andy asked, “Have to?” emphasizing the lack of choice.

“Part of the curse.”

“Okay. Maybe we should talk about the ‘curse’ before moving in together.” Andy dropped his hands down and took a step back.

In a very small voice, Aspen said, “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. I love you too much.” Her head tilted sideways looking up at him. “But maybe Glassy can, she hates your guts.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Douglas, or Glassy to her friends and family, was Aspen’s next older sister and had done everything in her power to break up Aspen and Andy, including sneaking into his bedroom one night naked and taking pictures before he was awake enough to realize which sister was in his arms as he came awake. He was fourteen and like most boys that age, not operating much higher than hormone function at the time. It was the first and only time he punched a woman.

“Yeah,” Aspen took his hand and they started walking again, enjoying the autumn colors. “You know, as much as I would love to live with you all the time, buy that house we just saw and settled down, it’s just a bad idea.”

“No, it’s not.” Andy squeezed her hand, “I want to have children with you, grow old with you, and not marry you if you don’t want to.”

“Me too.” Aspen leaned against his shoulder.

Sighing, Andy looked around to see where they were in town. They had meandered around for hours just talking, like they did whenever he picked up her from her mother’s house and they didn’t go out for food, or straight to his house for other activities. Today Aspen was on the rag and both of them had had a holiday function at lunch leaving them both really full even after work, so they walked.

“We are two blocks from Glassy’s house. Let’s get this over with.” Andy turned at the corner. Aspen hesitated, then squared her shoulders and followed.

Far too soon for the butterflies in his stomach, the two of them were knocking on the purple door interrupting a screaming fight. Glassy’s first husband, married right out of high school when she had gotten knocked up, had left her years ago. After suing for abandonment, she had bounced around between losers until she found the present gem she married during the summer. The jerk opened the door in the overly appropriate wife-beater shirt and sweatpants, the later trying to escape from his belly overhang. “What?!?”

Behind him, in the living room the very pregnant Glassy wiped at a bleeding cut on her lip.

Aspen sent her sister a look and Glassy shook her head, shrugging her shoulders like, “what can we do?”. Frowning, Aspen talked politely to a man who clearly had just hit her eight-month pregnant sister. “Hello Matthew, I was wondering if Andrew and I could talk with Douglas.”

“No.” And Matt tried to slam the door in their faces.

Andrew’s hand stopped the door, and Matt couldn’t move it an inch further. “I think you need to go for a walk and cool down.”

“Fuck you.”

“Either that, or I can give you fat lip to match your wife before I knock you into next week.”

“Andy…” Aspen cautioned.

“Glassy, call 911 if this fucker lays a hand on me.” Matt’s lips curled back in a challenge.

Andrew, nearly three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter than the older man, stared back. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “Glassy, I mean to marry … no, wait … live with your sister in sin in that house on South Water Way, fucking her nightly instead of when your mama approves, as soon as we can pool our money. She says you need to tell me something before I do that.” Andrew took a step closer, pushing the door wider, making Matt take a step back so both he and Aspen were in the house.

“Aspen?” Glassy sounded sadder than Andrew had ever heard the bitch sound.

“I’ve got to try Glassy.”

“You’ll just end up…”

“I know.”

“And he…”

“I know.” Aspen swallowed audibly. “But I got to try.”

“Matt, take that walk.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now.”

Andrew still staring into Matt’s eyes, saw them unfocus. The man dropped his hand from the door, stepped around Aspen and him, and walked outside in his socks. Blinking his dry eyes, not sure what to think, Andy watched as Matt walked down the gravel driveway and turned right like a automaton when reaching the sidewalk.

“Did that give you pause, puppy-boy?” Glassy growled, crossing the room to a box of tissues, snapping Andy’s attention back to the house. “Because there is more. Lots more.”

Andrew eyes assessed the room, seeing if the new data changed anything, lingering on Aspen. He kissed her on the lips, took her hand in his and went to the couch to sit down. He would likely need to sit down for the rest of this. Once both he and Aspen were sitting, he squeezed her hand with reassurance, kissed her one more time, before turning his full attention to Glassy, who glared at him with pure hate. “Shoot. What is the curse?”

“My God, Aspen, you told him about the curse?”

“Only that there was one. Tell him, please.”

“The curse great-grandma Wiggins dumped on us, her decedents, a fallout from a war with another coven, is as follows – near as we can tell, because it ain’t like the other coven wanted us to know how to untangle this mess. Because we tried. None of them are alive now, so the curse can’t be broke.”

“You killed them.” Andy started rubbing Aspen’s knuckles with his free hand.

“Nah, the rule of three did that. What you do to others returns three times to you. Stupid fuckers. They could have stopped this at any time, but they didn’t.” Glassy pressed the dotted red tissue to her lip another time and pulled it away to evaluate the results. Satisfied she had stopped bleeding, she wadded it up and tossed it on the breakfast bar between the kitchen and living room. “All this because great-grandma couldn’t keep her skirts down around other women’s husbands.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“’Unfortunate’, puppy-boy, it’s hell. It’s hell for me, going to be hell for Aspen, and will be hell for our daughters.”

“Daughters … okay, I’m an idiot. You guys only have daughters.”

“Five generations now and counting.” Glassy rubbed her belly. “My Flora has it, both our witchy ways and the curse. And this little one will too.”

“Aspen wanted me to know about the curse.”

“I’m getting to that. But I guess I should hurry up. Matt’s walk is just to cool him down. Being away from me and my curse should do that in minutes.” Glassy looked at Aspen instead of trying to kill Andrew with her dagger eyes. “Last chance before loverboy knows all.”

Aspen leaned against him, like she wanted to somehow be absorbed into him and his strength, and pressed her lips together.

“Right.” Disgusted didn’t even capture the expression on the pregnant woman’s face. “First, we get pregnant at the drop of a hat.”

“Um, Aspen and I have…”

“I know you have; we all know you have. The coven’s been casting spells for your dates to keep that at bay. But moving in together, she is going to be as big as a tree before you can say Abracadabra.”

Red flushed Andy’s face as he realized, if what was just said is true, Glassy and Aspen’s mom knew every time they had had sex, starting when they were sixteen.

“Second, we have to have a man.” Glassy snarled. “Not the ‘one day my prince will come’ longing so you got someone to open the pickle jar. No, we get physically sick going more than two months without someone between our legs once our mense starts. Fortunately spells can hold that back for several years so we ain’t got middle schoolers pushing out the babies. And by sick, we throw up at first and then it gets to the point we can’t eat. For about a month we can force food down, but eventually we starve to death. But if knocked up, no morning sickness, so there is that.”

“I guess that is a bright side.”

“Sure is Dudley-do-right. Fuck, no. If things are typical, your girlfriend is going to pop out four different girls from four different guys, while depending on spells to keep it down to only four. We use all our circle time on damn contraception spells.”

Now Glassy’s lips twisted into something plain mean and evil. Andy had thought she always looked that way, but this was another level different.

“Now to what the curse means to you, and I am going to love watching you fail like everyone before you have. You will fall in love. Can’t help it when you fuck us. Comes free with the curse package. You are a little different because you two started dating at twelve and didn’t concemate for a very long time. Longest couple on record, but you haven’t taken it to marriage level.

“Most men ask, being in love and all, to get married pronto. For our part of the curse package, once we’ve had sex, we can’t say no to spiraling the relationship down the drain. Want a marriage – ‘oh, yes, my sweetheart’ – pops our of our mouths before we can stop it.”

Hearing the sweet girlish voice come out of Glassy’s mouth was disconcerting.

“Want a baby, ‘oh, do me now’.”

And that, Andrew could spend his entire life without hearing again.

“I need your life’s savings. We can’t fucking say no.”

“We can.” Aspen interjected.

“Not really. If it makes our men happy, we will do it. Tie me up, tie me down. Spank me. Whatever you want, dear.” Glassy slammed her fist against the wall behind the chair she leaned against. “But each time we give in, that love turns to hate. The worm of the curse eats it up. The men lose respect, of themselves and us. And, here is the killer of the curse, you will get angry enough to hit us. And once done, the second time is easier. Most men run after hitting a pregnant woman; and if they don’t, the coven removes them to protect the baby.”

“Why is Matt still around?” Andy growled.

“Because I want him to be. He is an ass, but I love him. Plus he hits like a girl, so mom hasn’t taken matters into her own hands yet. Once Fauna is born, though, he will leave. That is the final bit of the curse. The man can’t love his child. He can feel the baby’s powers developing and it drives him away. Longest man to last was Great-Aunt Maple’s Benny; the man was as sensitive as a brick. Took him until the baby’s first words to bolt, nearly eleven months. And he only had hit her three or four times before he left. The curse barely affected him.”

“Did men hang around before your line were cursed?”

“Not often.” Aspen answered from his shoulder. “Witchy ways are gender polarized, pushing males away and drawing in females.”

“Why haven’t you told me you’re a witch before now?”

Glassy interrupted before Aspen spoke again. “That would be the gag spell we put on the kids so they don’t spell the beans. Kids talk, and a lot of witches got burned because of their children had diarrhea of the mouth, so we do a preemptive strike. After that, habit takes over. Because Aspen liked you so much, puppy-boy, we kept the spell up and would have renewed it last full moon if she hadn’t made herself conveniently absent. As an adult, she had to be present for the casting.” Glassy turned her death glare on her sister.

Aspen stuck her tongue out in return, before saying to Andy, “I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you. So what does witchy ways entail?”

“Well, you two can take that part of the conversation elsewhere, because I see Matt limping up the driveway.” Glassy shoulders slumped as she looked out the window, the weight of the world returning. “I need to help him.”

“Glassy … Douglas.” Andrew stood, not sure what to say next.

“It’s too late for us.” Glassy waddled over to the door. “Too late for you too, but maybe you can pull a Benny and surprise us. You’ve been doing that for a long time already, Dudley.”

“His name is Andrew, sis.”

“Whatever.” Glassy said as she opened the door and took her husband in her arms when he came in, confused and apologetic for slapping her earlier.

Andy and Aspen closed the door behind them. Standing on the stoop for a moment, watching the leaves scatter in the wind across the still green lawn, Andy blinked against the brightness of the setting sun.

“She tried to charm me when I was fourteen, didn’t she?”

Aspen looked up, clearly surprised at the observation. “Doubleganger shapeshift, fairly easy since we are related and she had access to everything I owned, followed by a lust spell, likely from hair she pulled off my clothes. If you had done what she was trying to do, you would have loved her instead of me.”

“I shouldn’t have been able to fight it.” Andy frown at their joined hands as they stepped away. At the corner, they turned towards Aspen’s home.

“We added you to the list in the grimoire of those who tossed it off. Since we started keeping track in the 1500s, only four men and seventeen women have thrown off that spell. That includes you. Before you, no one under the age of thirty. Most over the age of sixty, the rest deathly ill. We figure being lust enhancing, you need a libido for it to work.”

“So, a no. I really shouldn’t have been able to fight it. Not then, not now.”

“Nope. But you did because you loved me.”

They walked back, the twilight changing everything around them to secrets and mysteries. A block from Aspen’s mom house, Andy stopped, drawing her close again, pulling their joined hands up between them, “I love you.”

He kissed her knuckles one by one, staring at her blue eyes hiding behind her glasses.

“Live with me, be my love. We will all pleasures prove.” Andy dropped on one knee among golden fall leaves covering the sidewalk and pulled her down onto his leg. “With curses banished, singular and always by true love’s constant kiss.” He puckered his lips to her in invitation.

“I love you.” Aspen grasped his ears, aiming her lips for his.

(Words 2755; first published 6/30/2019)