I thought today I’d post about something different. Cemeteries :)

Yes, I know that it’s not Samhain or anything, but I’ve always loved cemeteries and graveyards and it ties in to some volunteer work I’ve been doing.

I know some people think graveyards are creepy but I enjoy walking through them and greeting those still there. What were their lives like? What were their stories? Does anyone remember them? Does anyone visit them?

Many cultures have traditions that your are only truly dead when no one speaks your name anymore. When no one knows you existed. The Ancient Egyptians defaced the tombs and sarcophagi of those they hated to give them permanent death. Personally, I have no desire to be buried, I’m happy with my own plans but I still love cemeteries of those that chose to do differently.

I use some of these traditions in both my magic and my writing. I have a few shorts started that have graveyards and their ambiance in them but to me cemeteries are a place of inspiration. My Muse thrives on the wonder at the stories of all these people around me, it somehow feeds my creative side and I’ve been known to go sit in some of the old ones nearby and talk to the dead for a while. It’s soothing and comforting, even.

So what becomes of these old cemeteries when no one visits them anymore?

Right now Mr. Maura is deep into his family’s genealogy and it has given me a chance to do some volunteer work that fits in with my love of cemeteries. There are several projects out there to transcribe and photograph all cemeteries so that people can find the information online and so that the information isn’t lost to natural disaster, defacement, or just the effects of time.

I volunteered to photograph two small local cemeteries to me. One is well maintained and I know its state but the whole family trouped out with me on Saturday to see if the old cemetery near our last house was in as sad a shape as we remembered. This is a Swedish cemetery from 1893 and it’s pretty much destroyed. There is one stone left with a name engraved on it, the other six stones used to have plaques on their tops but only adhesive remains – they were defaced at some point. Now there is nothing to tell you who is there.

I feel like I need to find records for them, to give them back their names and their stories. I’m not sure it’s possible but I’m going to try. It’s a small way to pay a little back to those who came before.

What about you – do you like cemeteries or not? Do you visit them when you travel, like I do?

No release date yet because it’s just in edits but I think the cover gods have been very kind – and so has Les Byerley, who designed this cover!

This is my first book for Ellora’s Cave! Click on the image to see a larger version.

Great news, today I was able to FINALLY write “the end” on Bittersweet. It’s now off to the test readers who I PRAY will like it. This one really busted my butt and I’ve got no distance with which to judge how good (or not) it is.

I’ll be chewing on my nails while I wait to hear back. I am happy to be able to at least say DONE.

Here’s a second sneak peek at the coming soon (DAMMIT) m/m story, Bittersweet. It will be out soon in ebook from from Aspen Mountain Press and as part of the print anthology, Hot Comfort, from ManLove Romance Press.

Hope you enjoy it.

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Aha! A parking spot right on the street in Freemont. That was rarer than three dry Spring days in row. David pulled his little Mazda into the open space with a sigh of relief. Chris said she’d promised to be there to pick up the naughty chocolates at six and it was already a little after that. He’d rushed out of the office as fast as he could after getting her frantic phone call but being waylaid by a co-worker along the way had cut things very close to the designated pick up time.

He hopped out of the car, taking advantage of a brief gap in the street traffic and raced over to the ominously quiet-looking shop. A glance at the hours listed on the glass door showed that they closed at four p.m. on Sundays. The lights were still on but no one seemed to be inside.

“Dammit!” How was he supposed to pick up something at six when the shop closed at four?

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