Another November Book: And Missed Anniversary

 I should really put publishing anniversary dates in my planner so I can keep up with it all. I missed a whole bunch in the last month. 

I discovered this particular missed anniversary while posting to my November set books social media mini-blitz.

Soo... Happy 10th Anniversary to the book that killed my career. At least on paper. 

Out of the Blues

November destination wedding. Brother of bride meets half brother of groom. A little forced proximity spiciness. A whole lot of family drama. 

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Happy 14th In From the Cold

 Technically one day late but since it didn't publish until the 12th, today is the official 14th anniversary of my debut self-published book In From the Cold.

I'd forgotten.

I usually do.

It's been a very long time since I've thought about that book and those characters. Sometimes I can't remember their names. Long Long time. 

No, I'm not going to write a book about the making of this book. Because I honestly can't remember much about the inspiration or why I wrote what I wrote. I remember the bullshit with Cobblestone Press and the horrible editing that removed whole paragraphs and just left it that way. And the two weeks it was published and the fight to get my rights back that started before it was published. 

That, I remember. The butchering of that book and the bullshit that followed. But, with pressure from other authors and some from the original cover artist, they cut their losses and I got my rights back, with the request that I wait six months to republish. Contractually, I didn't have to honor that request, but I did. And I had it edited again, from my original, and a new cover from the original artist. I think this book has had more new covers than any book I have. Other than Behind Iron Lace that is. But yeah, I think this one wins that award.

Anyway, happy official 14th anniversary to me for the launch of my self-publishing foray, and to In From the Cold finally seeing the light of day. 

And to answer the question that will be asked. No. I have no plans to write the final story. It ended on a HFN and I'm leaving it at that. Though, I really should have the cover altered to change that word.

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The Dream: 15 years Later

 More like twenty-five years later but for the sake of this post, let's just say fifteen.

Okay, long story short, I started writing my first book when my third child was still in diapers. I finished it when she was still in diapers. She was a late potty trainer. The child just turned 30. I never published that book. I mean, it was terrible. It's still here, buried. But I still have it. It's not on the computer. I hand typed that thing. 

Skip a few years and I finally did sell my first two books to Ellora's Cave. But again, not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about Ellora's Cave waving their right of first refusal by pretty much telling me they were no longer interested in publishing me (but they sure as hell weren't parting with those first two books) therefore allowing me to take my two finished books to other places.

And since I was starting over, I changed my pen name. 

And fifteen years ago round about now Mercy Celeste was born.

Okay, not born, but definitely conceived.

Fifteen years ago this month I wrote my second story as Mercy. Wicked Game. But, again we'll talk about that in a year.

On January 24th, my first book as Mercy was published. Double Coverage. I'd written it specifically for Ellora's Cave, making it as dirty as I could. Two guys, one girl. But I did not have the guts, yet, to finish that story the way it should have ended. I kept it straight. No touchy with the guys. And I regretted that. And I would change that. But again, a story for later.

Over the last fifteen years I wrote and published thirty-four works. From very short story to very long novel. Some I regret, most I'm proud of. I published a one more book in that time, that I'd written pre-Mercy but it very quickly was pulled and never thought to dust it off and try again under a different pen name. I wrote another short under just Mercy that also went away, mostly because it was pulled from every site, even smashwords, it was that taboo. So I wiped it out completely.

I should amend the time-frame a bit, since I haven't written or published a damn thing in three years.

I did all of that in twelve years.

But this post isn't about the books I've written and when I've written them. It's about the last fifteen years of chasing the dream I've had since 9th grade, circa 1983 or so. When I read The Outsiders for the first time. Just before the movie came out. And I found out the author was sixteen when she wrote it... and that's when I knew. Exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to write...

I suddenly have a very early U2 song in my head, Stories for Boys... 

I didn't know fifteen years ago when I was writing Wicked Game that I wanted to write gay romance. I knew that I wrote female characters that were much more like me than other women... yes, it's the not like other girls trope that people hate. But I'm not like other girls. I'm not like a girl at all. Or a woman. I'm not interested in writing rom coms with bubble headed girls tripping over their feet for some guy while being an astronaut by age 23... I wasn't interested in pink and bows and doggies in bags. 

Why yes I do sound like a bitch. And so did my female characters. I wrote girls/women like me. 

And I still wasn't comfortable writing them. 

So, it took a long conversation with a writing friend to figure out what I wanted to do. Which, incidentally, coincided with the rise in popularity of a certain genre. And with a little inspiration, off I went.

Did I know what I was doing? Not exactly. Did I make mistakes? Absolutely. 

And I'm not talking about mistakes in writing. I'm talking about mistakes in choosing where to publish. 

Still not counting the first two books with Ellora's Cave which was a whole shit-show of it's own. I published my first nine books with four different publishers. One of those books was republished with the fourth publisher after the mess at Silver.

Only three of those books made it through without having trauma attached to them.

I wish I hadn't needed a publisher to launch me into the business back then. I wish I'd had a better experience with more than one publisher at least. I wish...

I wish so much. 

I wish I could have landed an agent. I wish I could have...

If Wishes Were Horses... I know I know. Wish in one hand and spit in the other... YES, GAWD, I KNOW!

I was in Target today.

I know, the boycott, I know. I only buy petfood and some food and cleaning things there. It's not like I have many options for those, you'd think there would be more options in a city this size, but alas.

Anyway, I was in Target today, tooling around looking at the Christmas stuff, when I followed my youngest down the book aisle.

And all the romance covers. 

SO MANY ROMANCE COVERS.

From people I actually know, or knew would be better, from on line groups and in person groups.

And I hate every one of them.

I mean, I don't hate them. I just... wanted to have that. I've been chasing that since 1999 and I'm just about as close to that today as I was back then.

As in, I have no idea what I'm doing, but unlike then, I stopped trying.

SIGHS!

Yeah.

My fault. I know. I killed it. 

So, here I am, in the month of NaNoWriMo fifteen years later thinking about the book I wrote in that one month and the one I'd just sold to Liquid Silver that would become the first Mercy book. And in December fifteen years ago I would write The 51st Thursday, the immediately start In from the Cold then Behind Iron Lace. And all of those books would come out in 2011... and I have to wonder what I could have done differently. Or if I should just be grateful for what I got that would lead me to self-publish and for that oh-so-very-brief-time to believe I'd managed to make that dream real and walk away.

Fifteen years and I'm right back where I started. Nowhere.

How do I fix this? How do I carry-on? What's the path?

The cold hard truth is, even now, after the success of several MM writers, in mainstream, there are still no gay romance books in Target. I stopped looking at Barnes and Noble, because deep south and all. And with Amazon doing what they're doing (I believe my books are suppressed but that's just me being paranoid) is there anyplace for Mercy now?

Fifteen years. 

I can't believe it's been this long. I wish is was longer. 

So many wishes.

But one damn thing I can say, I had a dream, and I achieved that dream, even if it was more a nightmare on the business side of it, I did it. I've written forty books in twenty-five years. How many people can say they've done that?

And I'll leave it at that.

I had thought I'd come in here and write about the great plan to celebrate Double Coverage on January 24th next year. To celebrate fifteen years of Mercy. But, I don't think I will. I'd rather not and walk away with what's left of my delusional dignity intact. And I never was one for planning parties anyway.

So that's it. I guess. 

Just thoughts on a random Thursday.

Will chat with you again, when the urge to opine hits again.

Peace,

Mercy

Let's Talk Turkey!

 I mean, not THAT turkey. It's still not Halloween yet, and I don't like the turkey holiday, or turkey. But, anyway, let's talk books and writing and what I'd like to do in the coming months.

First, let me say this once more, I have no plans to write any sequels to any current books, anytime soon. 

Why? You are asking, because I can hear you asking why why why when when when insert either series in here... 

Well, because the writing/publishing business is harsh. And the reality is, the second book in the one series and every single book post the third one in the other series failed to make enough money to support the continuation of those series. 

And the second, lesser important reason, I burnt out on those characters and never want to write them ever again, but that could always change.

I'm mean. I'm rude. I know. I've been told. Many times.

That doesn't change the hard fact that none of the sequels earned money. I can't track pirate sites or sharing. I can only track official sales and page read invoices. And I did. Religiously. Three of the four Scrimmage books haven't even crossed the thousand units paid mark after years. Diva did okay, it's around two thousand units paid after nine years. I made back what I spent on it. That's about it. But the thing is nine hundred million people have read it, it seems. I don't know if the other three sequels, one direct, made the pirate site rounds as no one has asked about them. But, that just tells me more about the interest in that series. All I can do is take my hard data and come to the conclusion that there is no interest and go from there.

Am I being a bitch when I say, if you got my books for free from a site that I did not approve the use of, then you stole my book. Therefore, you do not have the right to bitch me out because I stopped writing.

If you procured my book through official means, whether buying or KU or Kobo Plus, then you are not the problem, and thank you for your support. I wish there were more of you. I really do.

As an independent, self-publishing, writer, I pay for everything out of my pocket. I pay for the covers. I pay for editing. I pay for certain formatting. I pay for promotion. I spend months writing, more months rewriting, months editing. Long months. Tons of hours. To put out the best book I can. Now, we don't always catch all of the editing mistakes. Or I choose to ignore editing advice to fit my voice. And yes, there have been mistakes. But, guess what, you'll find that is an industry wide thing. Including "real" published books. Words are hard. Things slip past. It happens. Move on.

The point is, I've written several books in the past few years that never earned a damned thing. I took it hard. Every single book released since 2016 failed. I've pushed them. I've begged. I've done everything I know to do, but they still remained unwanted. 

So, that's where we are, two days before the 2026 fiscal book year begins. Ten years of little to no interest in anything new I write. So, I stopped. If there was a message being sent, I received it. Mercy is unwanted. Except those damn sequels that still don't sell well on official sites.

Yes, I'm kinda bitter about it. 

The industry changed in those ten years. I couldn't keep up with it. I had personal tragedies to deal with first. Today, nine years ago, my mother died, leaving me a mess to clean up, financially, and every other way imaginable. My brother and sister made probate hell. It took three years to settle her "estate". The mental anguish of dealing with people you once loved after the death of a parent damn near destroyed me. And still, all these years later, I'm unhealed. Everything I tried to write in the first years after was horrible, angry, dark, so dark, I feared for my sanity. When you already write dark fiction and you fall into an abyss... I thought I'd never return if I followed through with any of those stories. Sometimes I still wonder if I'd return if I followed those two series to their conclusions, but that's not the point.

The point is, ten years. It's been ten long years of trying to drag myself back to even a tiny percent of what I had at the beginning of 2015. Of struggling to push stories no one wants. Of wondering what I did wrong. Of trying to keep up with the industry. 

And I have to wonder if this is it.

I've talked about ending this in the past. Of putting Mercy out of my misery. Of finally getting the message and moving on. 

I am so very bitter that it just died, seemingly, over night. After Out of the Blues, and the horrible reviews and backhanded compliments of a book that sold a fuck ton... then nothing. Like a switch flipped off. 

I just don't know what to say or do. 

Sometimes, someone, somewhere, finds Beyond Complicated and I make a little money. I'll maybe make four hundred dollars this month because someone somewhere started up some interest earlier this month but that's died off now. 

The twin book still sells a couple books a month despite the price, and that I don't have direct links to it anywhere. 

But that's about it. The twisted books. 

But I can't write that anymore. Soo... 

Here I am on the precipice, once again, of what to do, versus what I want to do.

What I want to do is write, to carry on like I mean to carry on. What I can't do, is pay for even a book cover now. Much less three rounds of edits. Or promotion. I can't do promotion to save my life now.

I've played with the idea of a jumpstarter campaign to pay for new covers and formatting to put the older books in paperback. Or even audio. But I don't follow through because I don't think I have enough interested parties to help fund anything. Or, I don't want to find out that I don't have the support I need. Either way... 

Here we are. Cold, hard, truths. For you, and for me.

I want to continue. I can't afford to continue. And... that's about the best I can say.

I'd like to start with Under a Crescent Moon. I'd like a new cover. I'd like to take it to print. Moon is blocked from Kindle Unlimited. There's nothing I can do about that. I've considered changing the title, but don't want to risk it. I'd like to see more sales, to maybe tell me there's interest in a sequel. Because once that book left KU it died. 

I'd like to pay for discreet covers for the main four books in the scrimmage series and both the Cold and Lace series. I like the e-covers for all of my series books and now that they all match each other I don't want to change them. But I would like to put out paperbacks that look good and match the current covers. 

I've considered changing my strictly straight books to a new pen name and updating and refreshing them. It's not a priority. Just a thought. I'd like to write more straight stories. Again, not a priority.

I need to refresh the covers for Beyond Complicated and Shift in Time. I want to put them in paperback but that's not a large priority. I've never had much interest in print books when I had them out.

I'd like to start with my shorter stories and do some audio. The problem is, I won't ever go back to Audible, and I can't afford to pay for production out of pocket. And audio is expensive. Very expensive. And, even if I could afford to pay for production, I don't know where to host it. 

I feel like, if I can somehow handle the financial aspects, I can focus on something new for 2026. But, that's a me problem. And I don't know how to fix that problem without feeling like I'm begging.

So, I don't ask for help. I just hope something happens and word of mouth starts somewhere that all of my books are sitting trapped in KU for two more months and it costs nothing to try out the newer books. And hope for the best.

I'm not going to post links. If you've read this and would like to help me fund a refresh of Under a Crescent Moon to start, my Ko-Fi and Venmo links are in my linktree found under the ABOUT tab in the menu bar. the last four digits of my phone number if Venmo asks is 3340. Or maybe visit the store tab and pick up a book you might be missing from your library.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for hanging around, and for everything. 

Peace,

Mercy

Happy Halloween... well Almost Halloween

 Happy Halloween eve eve eve... or something like that.

Is it just me or has this been the longest shortest month in the history of long short months?

It feels like it was just August and now we're in the final week of October. It also feels like October has been here for three months.

I know I have time concept problems but this is a bit much.

Time for me is odd. I know exactly what time it is at any given moment, roughly, give or take ten minutes. I don't know why I know. I just know. I've always just known. But I have no concept of days passing. Like, for instance, I can do something on a day, and then two weeks have passed and I think I did that just the day before. Like, no, that was yesterday. No that was Sunday. Yeah, three weeks ago.

I can't explain it. 

It's why I forget to blog.

It's why I forget to do so many things. Return that email, or that text, or that phone call, which I'd rather be shot before I call someone back... but you get the drift.

I have intentions. My intentions are good. I just forget what fucking day those intentions were made on and think it was the day before.

I'd like to say it's procrastination, because if it is, I'm a master of procrastination. It's not. I know when I deliberately put things off. I know when things are due. I just can't be assed to do those things in a sane timeline. Deliberate procrastination is completely different. 

So, anyway, it's now the end of Spooky Season, and we barely put up any decorations. Honestly, there are many houses without anything outside this year. I think everyone is like me. It doesn't feel like Halloween. It's been hot. It doesn't feel like fall. The world has gone to shit. I'm not paying 25 bucks for a small bag of candy. I can't open the door for the kids because the idiot dogs are idiots.

SIGHS!

My entire TikTok timeline last night was Christmas. But somehow Yule took over and that's what I'd like to do now. I don't have small children. I've never much cared for the concept of Christmas and Santa, I participated in that because we live in the bible belt and I didn't want my kids to feel left out. As I've gotten older I find myself viewing this part of the year more through the pagan gaze. Don't get me wrong, I'm not into any kind of organized religion not even Wicca. But, I feel the strong need to make simmer pots and a besom.

Did I ever tell you about my Great-Grandmother Mayola? No? She died when I was 7 or 8 but I remember her well. She lived in a little salt box house in Altha, Florida. They had tons of land and kept two chicken coops. One for the fancy chickens with feather bloomers, that's what she called them, her bloomer chickens. They laid little blue eggs. There was a half circle drive and the house was hidden from view of the highway by a line of date palms. Those trees smelled like the devil when the dates rotted. Anyway, her house was surrounded by an ornate metal fence and inside that fence, her yard, all the way around, was nothing but flowers. Just flowers, no grass, no beds for the flowers. Just flowers. She had two concrete flamingos by her front steps. Inside she kept tiny little brooms made from stick bundles beside her doors. I remember being fascinated by those little brooms. I remember people having fits when I decided I needed to ride one of them... 

Sometimes, I look back on my childhood and think it might have been a fever dream. I remember my Great-Grandfather, he died when I was 3. My first real memories that I can attach a time to was his funeral. He was buried in the front yard. Mayola joined him four years later. Then my great-aunt Eula, then my mother, Marion, then my grandmother Eola. I had no other grandfathers. Well, I did, but considering I never met him, and that Eola delighted in telling me how he'd molested her daughters, I'm happy for never knowing him.

I grew up in a world of women, most of them batshit crazy, my grandmother and great-aunt owned corporate farms that they ran by themselves. But I go back to my great-grandmother and her little salt box house in the middle of a hundred acres of crops and her yard of flowers and her besom brooms and wonder...

I think that's where I am in life. I'm trying to make sense of my childhood while moving into the final half of my life and how simple everything should be, but isn't. How I still live by what I learned then, good and bad, mostly bad. How I wish I hadn't had to protect my own children from the bad, because the bad was so very bad. I regret that my youngest never knew a single grandparent, not really. 

Double Sighs. I don't know where I meant to go with this... I'm just kinda feeling down. October does that to me now. My relationship with my mother was not good. It was abusive. She was raped by her father for most of her childhood and never had help in dealing with that. I understand why my mother was the way she was, but I can't forgive her for taking it out on us. And now, nine years after her death and that there was never any kind of closure... 

Anyway... I guess that's the update for the end of Spooky month. It's now SAD month and it's kinda hard to move past it. I think I'll find Practical Magic and put it on to watch tonight. I'm feeling like I should openly say, I think my great-grandmother was a witch of some sort and embrace that. I'm not a garden witch, not with my black thumbs, but I still remember her recipes. Even though she died nearly fifty years ago. So maybe that's what I am. The only great grand child who knew her, or remembers her. Maybe that's what I've needed to say all along. It's also why I didn't bury my mother in front of her house on Halloween. 

Anyway, whatever, y'all... and we whatevered.

If I get my ADHD under control, I'll talk to you on the first. I don't know what my plans are for the future, but I know if I stay like this I'll be homeless by Christmas. Er... Yule.

Peace,

Mercy

October... with Dread!

 October is finally here. My favorite month. Any day now it will start to feel like fall. Right now it feels hot, dry, and crispy. Not crisp. Crispy. It's too dry. Everything looks and smells dead. Usually, by now, we have the inside fall and Halloween decorations up. We really don't do outside stuff. I tried when the kids were little, but honestly, we don't really go out front that much so it's just not something we do. I would like to do something on the front porch this year. I just can't find the motivation. 

Honestly, I feel like there's no real point. I mean, my youngest still lives at home, and loves Halloween. But even they don't seem to have the spirit this year. 

And, I can't ever shake the feeling that October is now the month of death. My father-in-law died in October 2015, my mother in 2016, my grandmother in 2017, then the husband's older brother came down with what now seems to be Covid in October of 2019, but didn't pass until November. 

Let's just say it's been six Octobers but I can't seem to trust it anymore.

But... you really wanted to read about my macabre fears didn't you?

Meh. 

It's everything. It's damned hard to find some kind of holiday spirit, even for spooky month, when we are living in horrifying times. 

Yes, politics. I am decidedly left leaning. Always have been. I have trans children. Not one, but two, and one non-gendered child. And even if I didn't, I've always believed live and let live. As in it's not my business what other people do. And mind your own house before casting aspersions on mine. That kind of shit. I'm atheist too. Goddamn bleeding heart liberal... as if that's something to be ashamed of. I'd be more ashamed to not be one. horrible selfish bigot assholes.

So basically... life sucks and we're living some kind of twisted hunger games scenario and covid is sweeping through the college dorms like wildfire and I haven't felt well all week... and.............

ANYWAY!

I would like a trip to someplace cool with crisp clean air and orange and red leaves and sweaters because I am so ready to wear sweaters and be comfortable again.

If I had the money I'd get on the newly restored Amtrack service from Mobile to New Orleans and take the City of New Orleans to Chicago, then maybe something over to New York then down the eastern seaboard to Jacksonville, then rent a car and drive back home, stopping at my hometown on the way back. That's what I would do. Youngest has a friend in Detroit they want to go see. I've never been north of Chattanooga to the east. It would be nice. Maybe next year, if the world settles down, take the bucket list trip to Ireland, on an ocean liner. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Anyone got the winning lotto numbers? Better yet anyone want to make the drive over to Florida to pick up some tickets? 

SIGHS!

Yeah... maybe one day.

For now, here's hoping October is kind and I'll talk to you again later.

Peace,

Mercy