Saturday, January 18, 2020

The RWA Debacle: Don't stop writing over this

January 18, 2020

Well, I did it to myself. I was curious about the big bru-ha-ha at the Romance Writers of America. I used to be a member of the RWA way back in the day. When I got my first acceptance back in 2003, I thought it was the thing to do. I joined and it quickly soured for me. 

Back then, Yahoo groups were the Big Thing. I was writing science fiction I called Star Trek With Sex. I joined the RWA's Yahoo group. Wow. Talk about some snobs. There I was, the newbie, and I asked a simple question. Instead of an answer, I had multiple offers from multiple "sister" writers that the answer was found in their book. All I had to do was go buy their book. Wow. 

I knew right then and there I did not belong. 

In those days, the RWA talked about writers supporting writers. I didn't get it until after I paid my dues the support was only supposed to be financial, not professional. There is one well-known best selling author that to this day I will not buy her books. I won't even mention her name because I don't want to promote her in any way, shape, or form. Seventeen years and I'm still not over how nasty she was to me. I doubt I was the only one.

While I'm not surprised in the least that the RWA has imploded, I find I'm saddened by it. I'm sure there are writers who did find camaraderie within its ranks. I envy them. It's true that LGBTQ writers have been marginalized but it was my choice to write m/m romance. The RWA did, at one time, qualify romance as being between one woman and one man. It seems that to some, all love is not equal. Too bad for them. 

The best summary of what has transpired (that I've found) is located here. It lays out the timeline of events, but if you read between the lines, you see more. One of the questions that occurred to me is, has political correctness become censorship? A second thought was are we now supposed to write our stories to appease personalities who are not counted in our readership? 

Name after name after name is dropped. Organizations weigh in. Fault after fault after fault is exposed and what do we learn? Not much. Not the important things, anyway.

Ancient words warn of passing judgment because when we judge we condemn ourselves. A very, VERY well known and respected author has spoken on the situation.  Her response is here. We can barely speak aloud today lest we offend someone. This author ends her letter by apologizing for any offense she may have caused in her writing over the past decades. I'd love to be able to ask her if she's sorry for the times she has lived in, that being the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and now the new millennium. We write through the lens of an imperfect self living in imperfect times. Utopia is a dream, not reality. Should we whip ourselves for that? I think not. 

Whatever good the RWA may have done in the past has been tarnished beyond reclamation. There's not enough TarnX in the world to put the shine back on it. I wonder what the individual chapters will do. Will they be able to stick together to support each other? Will those members be forced to "pick a side?" If that happens, those groups may splinter beyond repair and who benefits from that? 

The big take away, for me, isn't that the RWA imploded, it's how long it took. Had this happened ten years ago, the names would have been different, but the end result is the same. People put in power or authority who make decisions for others invariably make decisions that benefit them first. 

For those who may be questioning whether or not to continue writing, this may be the tipping point that silences their voice. I think that would be a shame. 

KC Kendricks

Thursday, January 2, 2020

Back to writing, back to work

January 2, 2019

It was back to work at the day job today. My time off over the holidays settled a few things for me. I'm definitely ready to retire. My birthday is in about six months, and that may be the cut-off point. We'll see.

I think what has tipped me over to the "do it" side is, among other things, the current work-in-progress. I sat down one of my days off and banged out over one-thousand words. It was wonderful to discover I could still do it. I did a mock-up of the cover which I am afraid to post for fear of Internet pirates getting it. I've yet to officially purchase the stock so the mock-up has watermarks but when has such a thing stopped a thief? Never, that's when. 

Oh, what the heck. I'll risk just a bit of a tease with one of our hero's eyes. As I said, I have to go buy him to make the final cover. I use the watermarked copies to do mock-ups and decide on what I'm willing to purchase. It's not just about writing the story these days. Not like it was ten years ago.  

This story was one I dropped a few notes about onto a sheet along with about a chapter of prose and saved in an ideas folder. Our heroes are in the archeological field. Inside a tight-knit community, gossip travels fast. One of our guys is set-up to take a fall, and now, a few years later, he has the opportunity to redeem himself. Redemption is a theme I like to work. 

Who am I trying to kid? Settling back into a routine of working during the day and writing at night seems like a hassle. It has worked for me for many years but the world does turn. During the holidays, I found a different routine that suits me better at this stage of life. 

I'd get up around six, take care of Deuce, get coffee, and then read through the current WIP from the beginning. I could fix what needed fixed and have the story so far firmly in mind. When the spousal unit finally crawled out from between the covers, I spent some time with him. Maybe we ran errands or maybe we did nothing much. Around one o'clock or so, he was ready to read or watch television. I retreated to my sunroom office and worked until it seemed like it was time to contemplate dinner. Afterward, I had a choice of TV or going back to the computer. 

Talk about no stress. No wonder I could bang out a thousand words a day. Yep. This writing gig is what I'm supposed to be doing now. 

KC Kendricks

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Happy New Year 2020

January 1, 2020

It's quite a dilemma for us old-timers
A new decade and difficult rhymers
We well remember the old Y2K
The night Father Time held our computers at bay

We made it through then and 
we'll make it through now
We've not lived so long 
we're taking our bows
We say twenty-twenty like 
it's perfect eyesight
Even when we object 
with all of our might

It's happened again without 
our permission
We went to bed a teenager and woke
with something altogether different that's
going to drive us crazy before it's done with us.

So on we go with a laugh and a smile
Cheered to have traveled this many miles
And while it's true we may shed a few tears
We're still happy to welcome another New Year

KC Kendricks

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

2019 Retrospective and the BTK 1000th entry

December 31, 2019

Today marks my 1000th blog entry. It's strangely fitting it should be a year-end retrospective. It does feel to me that this year now ending is closing quite a few doors in my life. But as they say, I see new doors opening and the only decision is which one to step through first.

I'm not sure what to say about 2019. I started the year with some hope of achievements to come. I did achieve, just not what I'd anticipated. Looking back at the 2018 retrospective, it's difficult to acknowledge just how skewed this year now ending really was and how the events impacted my life.

The year started off with my partner recovering from serious neck surgery, my stepfather in an assisted living facility for respite care, and my mother under flu quarantine in a different total care facility. I'm not a caregiver by nature, but there we were.

With everyone in either rehab or a care facility, I had one week of quiet. I managed to re-release A Friendly Neighbor in January before the siege on my time began in earnest.

I began to worry about my writing partner, Chris Grover. We emailed back and forth every day for years - since 2008. We shared a special language, that of the published writer. Her health was slipping and she began to miss days. She was diagnosed with bronchitis around February, which I now know was not the problem. Eventually, in June, she was told she had lung cancer and died two weeks later. I still miss her emails. They were full of writing abbreviations such as HEA. The writer's language is like no other. I'm disturbed her books are still available when I know she left instructions they be taken down but I have no way to accomplish that for her.

I made some headway on Memphis, but not enough.

While my life partner improved after his neck surgery, my stepfather went into a serious decline. Home health care nurses and therapists visited my home three days a week for RC, but my stepfather refused such care. Jack died on May 13, 2019. RC had a third surgery on May 24. We screened in the patio and he spent afternoons relaxing outside in a bug-free space.

After my stepfather's death, it fell to me to handle his affairs. The house is up for sale and when it's sold, everything is done. My mother's final expenses are pre-paid and there will be few legal matters to settle when she passes. Strange how months and months of hard work and personal heartache can be summed up in one short paragraph.

I hit a major personal milestone this year. Retirement calls to me every day now. It's this little voice that whispers, "give it up...stay the lady of the manor the way you've always wanted..."  I gave in. I issued an ultimatum to my employer: I work a four-day week or I don't work. (Yes, I did it nicely.) I now work Tuesday - Friday and I love it! My yard hasn't looked this good in years, and my home office sparkles! This is proving to be the perfect way for me to ease into the "retirement" years. 

Over the summer, I revamped the cover for Kentucky 98 Proof, one of my favorite stories. Yes, the author is allowed to have favorites. I think it works better than previous versions. A Hard Habit to Break, The Right Brew, and Highway Nights all benefitted from my improving Photoshop skills.   Several other covers got a rework, as well. I tried to give one or two the mottled, abstract backgrounds that are so popular today, but swirlies just don't work for me. 

Having an extra day a week led to actual writing time. I finally finished Memphis and it went live in November. One new release in a calendar year is a far cry from the seven to nine books I'm capable of, as I've proved many times over. It was easier with a publisher. I wrote. They published. Now I do it all and that's just the way it is.

What's next? What will 2020 bring? After this year, I fear it's tempting fate to even ask. Looking back and being honest, every year has brought the unexpected. My writing career is, at this moment, not what I had anticipated. But I have this folder of ideas... of half-formed thoughts...of titles and names...of possibilities.  

I opened this golden folder after Memphis went live and lo and behold, there was Chapter One of an idea, something started so long ago I'd all but forgotten it. A quick read, a couple of tweaks, and that story has been launched to my desktop for the addition of serious prose. I'm excited about writing it - more excited than I've been in a year! Or maybe more excited than I've allowed myself to be in that time frame. 

To all my readers, to those of you who follow along here at Between the Keys - THANK YOU! 
I appreciate the continued support. 

May 2020 bring good health to all, enough wealth to reach our dreams, and family and friends to walk beside us along the way.

KC Kendricks

The 2018 Retrospective

The 2017 Retrospective

The 2016 Retrospective

The 2015 Retrospective

The 2014 Retrospective

The 2013 Retrospective

The 2012 Retrospective

Saturday, December 28, 2019


December 28, 2019

And so we come to the last few days of The Year of Our Lord Two-thousand Nineteen. I'm grateful for another five-day stretch at home. It's getting more and more difficult to remain in the workforce. I am so very blessed to be able to contemplate retiring well before sixty-five. 

To me, retirement represents a time of renewal. Being forced into the role of caregiver, my writing stalled. I'm not afraid to admit I resent that happened. Don't judge lest it happen to you. Anyway, time and space are realigning and I'm able to write. Writing is a major part of my retirement plan. 

I've also had the opportunity to reconnect with the spousal unit. His health is not robust, but he's pretty self-sufficient at the moment. It was just bad luck that both he and my stepfather needed care at the same time. After my stepfather's death, RC was able to provide a lot of support while I settled affairs. He can sort stacks of invoices, product manuals, old receipts, and old photos with the best of them. And he'll work on that crap for hours at a time, having excellent focus for that sort of work. I feel like we weathered a huge storm and have arrived at the other side intact. Spending quality time with the man, the dog, and the cat is a major part of my retirement plan. 

Losing contact and closeness with old friends seems to be pandemic these days. Everyone bemoans this shared experience. Many simply accept it as part of aging. I don't think I want to do that. Reconnecting with those I hold dear is a major part of my retirement plan. 

So there's a few of my thoughts as this old year comes to a close. It was certainly not my best year ever, but maybe not the absolute worst. I think 1983, when Dad died, holds that distinction. It grieves me a bit he never lived to be able to contemplate "retirement." He was only fifty-four and I know his early death is the main reason I so badly wish to leave the workforce now. People should have a long "retirement" the way my grandfather did. He had thirty years to live as he pleased, enjoying his garden and flower beds, his dogs, and all of nature surrounding him. 

Now it's time to work on the 2019 retrospective. It won't be full of the writing life, that's for sure. But as always, those ancient words from Ecclesiastes 3 ring true. This year now ending was the season, and the time, it was supposed to be for me. I accept. 

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

KC Kendricks

Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Christmas 2019

December 25, 2019

Of Christmas snow, I would wish
for it to kiss the ground
Pristine and white falling down, 
to the earth forever bound

Silent night gives way to day, 
quiet stirrings under brightest rays
The fire warms, the cat sleeps on, 
wrapped in quiet, steeped in peace

The elder and the crone, as we have now become
Sip coffee and smile, hidden behind our walls
Tasks fulfilled, our legacy fading (as it should)
Indulgent to our past, memories notwithstanding

KC Kendricks

Saturday, December 21, 2019

Writing, cooking, creating - be intentional

December 21, 2019

Over the years I've tried my hand at a lot of crafty things. I don't think I'm alone in that. Lots of people feel the need to express some creativity. I sew, quilt, make candles, make simple jewelry, paint ceramics, and tried to recreate any number of things I've spotted at craft fairs. Pinterest is great for crafty ideas and I love to see what others have thought up. But there's one truth I've concluded: crafts are easy and writing is difficult. 

I love writing, but it's a different beast than spray painting patterns on pickle jars to use as summertime luminaries. One is of the hand and eye, and the other is of the mind and will. Writing is the hardest thing I've ever done. Pulling thoughts from the air and turning them into a cohesive work is as lonely and bitter as it is fulfilling. 

And then there is cooking and baking. Writing feeds the mind's need for creativity. Cooking fuels the mind's need for a body in which to operate, but cooking and baking is also a creative endeavor. The spousal unit discovered bread baking a while ago and has embraced it to the point of being annoying. Then again, the man comes up with some tasty surprises
Orange Rolls

This time of year, as we approach Christmas, I think a lot of people think about cooking. We do, and this year we're approaching it differently. We're not going to simply throw the leftovers in the freezer. We are going to be intentional about preparing main dishes and throwing them in the freezer.  It sounds like a good plan because it frees up more writing time each evening.

One of the continuing battles with myself is getting in the mood to write after I've cooked dinner and cleaned up the mess. I need time to unwind after working all day and then coming home to more work. (Poor, poor, pitiful me, right?)

So multi-tasking is out and being intentional is in. Being intentional is being more focused than depending on spontaneity to win the day. That may sound strange coming from a child of the seventies, but there it is. I'm intentionally baking orange rolls for breakfast and freezing two more portions for future breakfasts. Then I'm making lasagna and freezing three portions for three future dinners. There are chili and a host of other main dishes to follow this weekend.

I re-aligning my world yet again. Maybe this time it will work and the current work-in-progress will be my masterpiece. Or maybe I should just be happy that a wee bit of work today and tomorrow will net me thirty-one extra hours of writing time come January. Sounds good to me. 

KC Kendricks

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Finding the unexpected

December 17, 2019

Settling my stepfather's estate and subsequently cleaning out my mother's house has been a bittersweet experience. The parts of it that were trips down memory lane were good. The fact my stepfather was a hoarder, not so special. 

Finding some of my father's personal belongings hidden away in odd places set me back a bit. Why did my mother feel the need to hide them? They were in old boxes, beneath even older boxes, and I almost tossed them out without looking inside. After my mother remarried, she refused to talk about my father, stating she didn't want to "hurt Jack's feelings." 

What? Jack knew she was a widow. He knew she got me somehow and it wasn't through immaculate conception. Nope. Never understood that. 

I brought a lot of plastic bins to my house so I could sort the contents at my leisure. One of those bins contained a bag of old stamps. It was one of those "what the hell" moments when I examined the contents. My mother must have been saving these old stamps all her life. There are Horatio Alger, Jack London, International Peace Garden, Thomas Payne, Rachel Carson, Root of Democracy, Love of Liberty (a 1932 postmark), and many, many more.  I've no idea what to do with them, but I have no plans to discard the stamps. 

So now I have three non-writing projects to organize: old pictures, old coins, and old stamps. I'm not sure I'm actually going to have the time to retire. 

KC Kendricks

Sunday, December 15, 2019

The real July Heat surfaces

December 15, 2019

A few blog posts ago I mentioned I'd changed the title of the then current WIP from July Heat to Memphis. (Memphis is out now.) It's not that July Heat isn't a good title - it is. I just couldn't reconcile it with the story of Memphis. Now I know why.

The "ideas" folder has yielded yet another tidbit, this time about the real July Heat. It all makes sense now. I do have a July Heat, a rich man/poor man idea seed. 

Isn't the subconscious mind amazing? 

I suppose with the year I've had, I can understand overlooking and/or not remembering a few things. It's a scary thing to me, forgetting anything. My mother has Alzheimer's Disease, and forgetting something - anything - sends me into a heart jarring panic. I remind myself we all forget *stuff* but it's not alway reassuring. 

It's obvious I have a lot of work to do. The current WIP has been titled The Quest. Now with the real July Heat also on the board, I need to get busy. I've got two books to write and two covers to create. I invite you to hang around and see how well I fare with four things on the board. 

On another note, Yahoo Groups are, for all intents and purposes, gone. If you haven't done so already, why not sign up to follow Between the Keys via email? On a desktop computer, look to the left for the box. On a phone... beats me how to do it. I can't find the box on my phone. Maybe you'll have better luck. The point being, here at the blog is where news of upcoming and new releases have always been posted first. It will continue to be my practice. 

And now I'd better get to work. Books don't write themselves.

KC Kendricks 

Wednesday, December 11, 2019

How'd I miss the Robert Plant podcasts?

December 11, 2019

So much for paying attention. Seriously. How in the world did I miss the many, many, many Robert Plant podcasts on YouTube? HOW??? I've been a Plant fan since our very first local FM radio station went live with him screaming, "We come from the land of the ice and snow..." From there it didn't take long for me to snatch up the first three Led Zeppelin albums (much to my parent's horror). When his first solo album came out, it went straight into the collection. There is a lot of Zep and Plant on my personal playlist on the jump drive in my car. (Kudos to the engineer who thought of a USB port in a car.)

I'll probably get into a boatload of trouble placing the podcast logo here, but there it is. As much as I, ahem, admired Plant's youthful swagger, there is a lot to be said for the lines of age and experience on his face today. They speak to me. I've lived in these same times, you know. Young men may be pretty things, but Robert the Elder is a force. It's those experiences he talks about in the podcasts, telling a well-crafted story.

The podcast I landed on first was about the song, "Like I've Never Been Gone," one of my personal favorites from the Pictures at Eleven album from way, way, way back in 1982. I thought I'd like to listen to some music while I work this morning, and I hit YouTube and typed in the song title. Perhaps it's a bit of irony at work. I'm at the day job and even after some time off, I feel like I've never been gone. 

I listened to that podcast and from there went straight to the one about The Battle of Evermore. Big Log followed as did Achilles Last Stand, and Carry Fire. (No, I didn't watch them in order and does that matter?) It's been interesting to hear about different musicians whose names I'd heard but didn't necessarily know much about their body of work. 

There are still at least six more I want to listen to, but perhaps I should slow down, pace myself. Once I've heard them, there's nothing new until a new one comes out. 

If you're a Plant and/or Zep fan, go give them a listen. Plant's voice will take you back to another time while keeping you firmly in the moment. They are well worth a few minutes of your time, time that will seem to pause even as the fifteen or so minutes of each podcast flies past before you know it.

KC Kendricks  

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Surprise snow

December 4, 2019

Being that it's the fourth of December, waking up to find snow on the ground should not be a surprise, but this morning it was. Deuce didn't seem to mind, though. He bounded outside when I opened the door and took off at a run up the hill. He'd spotted a buck, almost invisible against the hillside. 

Last evening, while The Curse of Oak Island was on television, I looked at my weather apps. I didn't see a thing about snow, hence my surprise. I joined the dog for our morning stroll and the wonderment of every snowfall seeped into my awareness. 

It also struck me it was a coincidence of epic proportions the current work-in-progress starts out with our ex-lovers getting snowed-in together - another epic coincidence, but hey. I'm writing fiction. Let's just run with it for now. 

I've always wanted to name my little slice of the planet. My mother always called her home Tranquility Hill. Not exactly fitting for my small estate. As Deuce and I meandered in and out the lane, at a snail's pace so he could sniff and do all his dog things, it struck me. Five Holly Manor. 

Five Holly Manor. There were no holly trees planted on the property. They sprouted and grew on their own, the seeds likely carried in by birds. Maybe just Holly Manor. I'll have to think about that. 

This was the best kind of snowfall. No lasting accumulations and no driving hazards. Just a nice dusting of white that highlighted the trees and made my dog happy. 

Some days, you can't ask for more. 

KC Kendricks

Monday, December 2, 2019

The ideas folder holds hidden gold

December 2, 2019

One of the first bits of advice that came my way when I was first published was to never delete anything I'd composed. It made sense even when a 256MB hard drive was considered the Great Thing to have. Maybe some authors don't have a problem deleting an idea that didn't work out, but I'm not among them. 

I jot down everything and save it in a folder. It's a little messy, but it's there. Having just published Memphis, I opened the folder and went browsing with an eye towards finding my next project. I think I scared myself. I found the beginnings of a story from 2008 that called to me. It took about half an hour to examine everything and update the first chapter. 

Why I stopped working on it is a bit of a mystery. The story immediately spoke to me and gave me a new title. Now having more experience, I see a slightly different course for the story, but the core of it is the same. 

It's too soon to share a lot of the details but not my excitement over beginning a new project. This year now ending has been a difficult one for me. My time and energy were needed elsewhere. Now is the time for me to get back in touch with the voices every writer hears. It's time to tell their stories. 

KC Kendricks

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Memphis - now available!

November 20, 2019

I'm pleased to announce Memphis is now available! 

The bookseller's link takes you to a page that lists all the third-party vendors where Memphis is up and available. 


Jake Soames is the quintessential everyman. He survived a wild youth and grew up strong. The only thing missing from his life is that one special guy to tilt his world. A man to walk beside him without playing head games with him.

With nowhere else to go, Memphis Wheeler knocked on the door of a former cellmate and found the refuge he’d been promised. His spirit is wounded, and he needs a place to rest and recover from years of physical abuse. He worries he’ll never be able to allow another man to touch him again. 

When Jake meets his buddy’s houseguest, he’s instantly drawn to the shy, retiring younger man. Memphis doesn’t say much and seems skittish around him, yet when Jake proposes they participate in a road rally, Memphis agrees to be his navigator. But there’s no timed course to traverse to reach the future Jake envisions with Memphis. It’ll take patience and understanding to help Memphis to move on from his past and say yes to more than an afternoon together. 


 “What is going on, Memphis?”

There wasn’t one fucking thing going on except that instead of panic, he felt a surge of annoyance at Jake for pushing at him. “Let. Go. Of. My. Hand.”

Jake released him. “Maybe you’ll let me hold your hand when they can’t chaperone, huh?”

He took a step back and finished ripping open the envelope. The man said to divide the money. He took fifty for himself and handed the envelope back to Jake. “And don’t argue with me about the split. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of. I think I’ve crossed a few too many of your boundaries for one afternoon.”

So he recognized that, did he? They were both still standing. Jake because his transgressions were minor and himself because…

He liked Jake.

Admitting that was a risk. The sky could fall or something equally nasty occur, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“Okay, Jake. Let me tell Logan I’ll be home later, and we can go get me a phone and you can buy me something non-alcoholic and fizzy.”

Jake side-stepped him and waved his arm. “Logan! I’ll have him home before midnight.”

Before Memphis could protest, Jake grasped his elbow and pulled him towards the car. Logan took two steps in his direction before Mick stopped him. Memphis waved and smiled, mouthing “it’s okay” at the guys.

He was going to have some explaining to do when Jake finally took him home.

Jake opened the car door for him, again. He flashed him a smile and dropped into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going for this phone,” Jake asked as he started the engine.

“Cheapest place in town, please. I need to start small until I actually get a job.” That was embarrassing to admit, but he didn’t have a choice. His small allowance from the government wouldn’t go far or continue for too many months.

Jake put the car in gear and headed toward Centerville. “I think I know where to go.”

In only a few minutes they arrived at a shopping center with a big box store on the north end located on the outskirts of town. An hour later, Memphis had a basic phone and a cheap monthly plan. He pushed buttons as Jake guided him back to the Camaro. It didn’t have many frills, but it would do.

He leaned against the car as Jake fished his keys out of his pocket. “Thanks, Jake. Tell me your number and you can be my first contact and call.”

Jake unlocked the car door and straightened. He put his hands on Memphis’s shoulders and closed the distance between them. His focus on his new toy, Memphis realized his intention a split-second too late. He licked his lips to speak but never got the words out as Jake’s lips touched his.

Everything inside him froze. Blinding white panic welled up inside him but bled away as Jake’s soft lips moved over his. He inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of the man beneath his soft musky cologne. Jake’s heat reached him a moment before his arms drew him into a loose embrace. He did the only thing he could do. 

* * *
Memphis is available at iTunes, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Rakuten kobo.

I hope you enjoy Memphis.

KC Kendricks

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Memphis - coming soon!

November 12, 2019

It's a writer's prerogative to change her mind. Right? Of course, it is. Is it also a writer's prerogative to flip-flop on the title of the work-in-progress? I'd have to say yes since I just did it. 

July Heat is now "Memphis." If the truth be told, it was Memphis first and then I second-guessed myself and made it July Heat. 

And this, dear readers, is why it has taken me forever to wrap up the story. I knew in my heart it had the wrong title and there was only one way to fix it. Yet I hesitated. 

One is never too old or too experienced to make a course correction. 

Now I can finally say and mean it, Memphis is coming soon!


Jake Soames is the quintessential everyman. He survived a wild youth and grew up strong. The only thing missing from his life is that one special guy to tilt his world. A man to walk beside him without playing head games with him.

With nowhere else to go, Memphis Wheeler knocked on the door of a former cellmate and found the refuge he’d been promised. His spirit is wounded, and he needs a place to rest and recover from years of physical abuse. He worries he’ll never be able to allow another man to touch him again.

When Jake meets his buddy’s houseguest, he’s instantly drawn to the shy, retiring younger man. Memphis doesn’t say much and seems skittish around him, yet when Jake proposes they participate in a road rally, Memphis agrees to be his navigator. But there’s no timed course to traverse to reach the future Jake envisions with Memphis. It’ll take patience and understanding to help Memphis to move on from his past and say yes to more than an afternoon together. 

KC Kendricks

Sunday, November 3, 2019

A touch of frost

November 3, 2019

Yesterday was a fine fall day. It started off chilly - it is November, after all. As I walked outside with Deuce before daybreak, I noted frost had kissed my car. It glistened in the light cast by the floods. I wondered if the frost had reached the ground and as the sun came up, I got the answer. The meadow was white. 

It's not uncommon for the meadow to show frost when our yard does not. Having so many trees makes the difference. It's never enough to save the annuals in the pots. The flowers froze and now I need to make time to pull them and store the pots for winter. 

The day also brought our Cousin's Lunch. We take time out once a quarter to get together for lunch at a restaurant. It's a nice time-out for me. I enjoy getting to talk with everyone when we're not also busy working on a project. 

"Spring forward, fall back" was the mantra. Here on the east coast, we moved the clocks back an hour. I wish they'd stop doing that. I've begun to think it's unhealthy to mess with people's internal rhythms. My brain woke me at what is now four a.m. and demanded caffeine. Is this a good thing? It's a long time until I see daylight. 

Daylight or not (not in this case) I've got a few things to do. The current work-in-progress, July Heat, is languishing. I'm not sure what is going on with me that I can't concentrate on it. I think my life has had a bit too much upheaval in the past two years and it's caught up to me. Whatever it is, I need to get over myself and get on with it. I don't want that touch of frost to linger inside me. 

KC Kendricks