Tag Archives: Novel

Canvas Blues – LXXXIII: Present

06 Wednesday Oct 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXIII: Present

“It wasn’t Casey’s Mustang. The cops found no evidence of blood or…anything. No evidence of it being cleaned. They went through both Casey’s mom’s house and dad’s and they were thorough. He’d been poor enough…”

Orion and Brendon lay against the bed, Brendon staring straight up at the ceiling and its dusty fan, Orion twisted onto his side, hand propping up his head. All attentive, likely stripping Brendon’s expressions into finely-tuned blocks of information to file away.

Brendon took another long breath before continuing. “He’d been poor enough that he didn’t have resources others did. Didn’t have the ability to hide what he’d done. But without any evidence of the crime, the case only had circumstantial evidence with Casey’s word against Dylan’s death.”

“And what was Casey’s word?”

“That a completely different car came driving up and crushed Dylan.”

“What kind of car?”

“That’s the thing.” Brendon turned his head toward Orion. “He claimed, at least to the police, that he didn’t know.”

“But you said Casey loved cars. Knew them.”

“Exactly,” whispered Brendon.

Orion dragged his gaze all over Brendon’s face, like he was searching for something more. Then he twisted and lay flat on the bed, the two of them staring up at the blank ceiling like answers might pop free from the white paint.

“You think it was the Le Mans,” stated Orion. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXXII: Yesteryears

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXII: Yesteryears

The cause of Dylan’s death was not revealed to Brendon; he was not kin nor friend, merely a witness who hadn’t witnessed anything. But he knew Dylan had been crushed. Slammed against the wall of the garage, shaking the foundations, the car then thrown in reverse to rev away with murder in its fender.

In the aftermath, Casey was a pariah in Castlebrock, blamed by proximity before due process took hold. Brendon’s parents forbid him from calling, at least until the situation resolved itself into some semblance of responsibility, citing many things as reason, some of them frail—such as “you need to focus on something positive”—some of them steeped in reality—such as “he’s a white boy; you’re not.”

That blue Mustang was confiscated as evidence based on Robbie and Brendon’s testimonies. Then was released from custody two months later. With no arrest.

Brendon overheard his parents talking one night, the rumor mill up and working overtime through the town.

“So they’re hunting for a different car? The one that hurt that boy?”

“Seems they can’t figure out what exactly happened.”

“But they know he was crushed.”

“Cross his torso, I’ve heard.”

Silence. Mom turning the water on to scrub out her teacup. The light chime of it hitting the counter as she set it down. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXXI: Yesteryears

22 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXI: Yesteryears

Fire hung in the air. The rubbery kind that tasted of oil and street-races and midnight hours.

Yet it was midday. The sun poured in brightly, flashing against the Mercedes and BMW in the garage. A smoke lingered in the air, just grey enough to be visible.

Brendon caught a flash of blue as the Mustang turned the corner down the street, taking Casey far, far away.

Robbie shouted. And shouted. But from a distance. From a distance that crawled further and further away. Into a dreamland. Into a state Brendon wasn’t sure existed, yet there he was, dwelling in it.

Crumbled against the wall, below where the bikes still hung, lay Dylan. A mass of maroon and limpness. A mess of limbs and brokenness. A lump of death, but Brendon didn’t know in that awful moment.

All he knew was Robbie shouting. All he knew was Casey running. All he knew was the phone in the Westerman’s house was black and cordless and its buttons slipped under his fingers as he pressed them and stuttered into the void so that help might come and fix a horrible mistake…that didn’t look much like a mistake.

~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter Coming September 29th

Canvas Blues – LXXIX: Yesteryears

08 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXIX: Yesteryears

The inside of Dylan’s house was a mausoleum of white and ivory granite and tile. Folded tables and oak cabinetry were staples of the décor, while old, knitted rag dolls stared down from the hall shelf. One of his parents must have been military because paraphernalia dotted the walls—giant photos of airplanes, spread eagle wings, a service award.

Though Robbie’s nose leaked blood between his fingers, he held his head back in a solid attempt to keep from splashing a mess across the floor before Brendon could help him to the bathroom. There, Brendon wet down a gray washcloth and helped to wash the blood away, smearing it so much that it painted Robbie’s freckles and poured into his mouth to line his teeth when he smiled grimly.

“What set him off?”

As if Casey was a bomb with a fuse that could be lit by just any passing stranger. A fuse shrinking over time, getting tired of flaring, traveling that same, well-worn path to an inevitable explosion.

But that was Casey’s Dad. Not Casey. Casey wasn’t a bomb; he didn’t have a fuse.

“Other than you?” asked Brendon, admittedly annoyed because of course there was something to see in Casey. There was everything to see. And Robbie’ question over what Brendon saw in Casey hadn’t been one that deserved an answer.

Robbie shrugged and leaned further forward over the sink, letting fat, blood-tinged drops dribble out against the porcelain. “I’d been talking to you. Not him.”

“I know.”

“I meant it too.” Robbie turned his head sideways to look at Brendon. “Why are you with him?” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXVIII: Yesteryears

01 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVIII: Yesteryears

Dylan’s garage—with its nice gym equipment, with its fancy bikes on their fancy hooks on the wall, with its expensive cars that didn’t even include the one his parents were driving that wasn’t there at the moment—had this open, hollow feel to it despite the four of them taking up so much space, filling the air with intensity and riled hormones.

In the driveway, the Mustang glared them down with sun-reflecting headlights splotchy from dirt roads far from here. The gentle warmth of an autumn breeze coasted down the street ruffling HOA-controlled lawns with a hoity-toity attitude. Like the breeze had stepped up on the social ladder when it soured over Ol’ North Main.

“Your friend,” said Dylan, with an eye roll at the word “friend” as he turned to Robbie, “thinks he can just barge into my house. But, man, I don’t want lice. Mom would kill me.” But he smiled as he said it, reminding Brendon of when Dylan had pestered Donna Pierceman with idiotic questions during art class, as if art was beneath him, a useless endeavor when one could be a lawyer, a doctor, an upstanding member of society rather than playing finger-paints.

“Lice,” snapped Casey. “I’ll give you lice.” And he stepped forward, fist pulled back, but slow-like. As if Casey were thinking about punching Dylan rather than having already decided to do it.

Brendon grabbed his arm. “He’s just being a dick, trying to rile you up.”

Dylan laughed, a giggle almost, a lilting up and down sound that rankled along Brendon’s spine in a pitter-patter of condescension and classism. Robbie had hopped the steps by now, had approached with concern Ving across his forehead. He gave Dylan a light punch in the arm, one of those hey-stop-it, but hey-you’re-kind-of-right sorts of jabs.

“No one thinks you have lice, Case,” said Robbie. “But what are you doing here?”

“No one invited you,” added Dylan.

“That’s damn obvious,” said Casey. “Can’t invite the folks from the wrong end of Castlebrock, can you? Or is it just those you can use?”

Brendon rocked back, putting space between him and Casey. Use. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and now, with it chilling in the air between the four of them, he wondered, casting Robbie a glance as the idea of it percolated insidiously, round and round, without any real logical sense to its confines. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXVI: Yesteryears

18 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVI: Yesteryears

Robbie wasn’t at his house, his mother giving an apologetic moue while glancing at Casey’s Mustang with a hint of disapproval. Might have been disapproval for the roaring it’d done going up the hill or might have been the fact it looked cheap in comparison to the metallic expensives sitting in the garages of this opulent zone of Castlebrock.

“He went up to Dylan’s house,” she said.

“Dylan Westerman?” asked Casey, his jaw stiffening.

“Yes. I’m not sure if they’re still there though.”

Casey spun away before Mrs. Frey could finish and was hopping down the concrete steps and crossing through the grass and mulch and gardenias while Brendon rushed a “Thank you.”

Inside the Mustang, Brendon picked the Le Mans painting back up to hold in his lap. The back seat sat laden with grocery bags bursting at the seams with Casey’s clothes. His book bag, so full it bloated, lay haphazardly on top of the mountain. But Brendon’s painting had been in the front passenger seat in a place of honor, the Le Mans not weighed down by reality, by hatred of a father to be left behind.

They pulled into Dylan’s canted driveway, the hedges trimmed to boxes, the mulch a gleaming red, the three-car garage door sitting open with both Dylan’s Audi and Robbie’s BMW in the far spots while the bay right in front of them stood starkly empty but for a few gym machines and mats.

“Robbie!” Casey shouted even before he closed the car door, before the slam rattled the Mustang, made it vibrate the painting as Brendon balanced it on the seat. “Robbie fucking Frey!”

“The whole neighborhood will hear you,” warned Brendon, trotting behind, his stomach doing flips.

“Let them,” Casey all but snarled and in that moment Brendon was just happy it wasn’t directed toward him. Continue reading →

Shatter by Glass Republished :)

23 Wednesday Jun 2021

Posted by in Fantasy, M/M, Publication

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I’m pleased to announce that I have finally gotten my act together and republished the first in my original Loose Id novels. Murder in Color will follow in 2022.

The DaSunder Chronicles are murder mysteries featuring different characters in each book. Each can be read as a standalone in terms of the murder mystery, though they are written in chronological order.

This was my very first novel published, so it’s got a special place in my heart for kicking me on the path I’m on.

SHATTER BY GLASS

DaSunder Chronicles #1

Where dragons fly on wings of sand…

When Detective Brettoni Rhodes is called to a murder scene outside the desert city of DaSunder, he doesn’t expect the victim to be one of two sand conjurers who had fled years ago after an accident they’d caused. His past doesn’t stop there, for Luca Baino, the second man who had fled DaSunder and Brett’s old flame, suddenly appears looking to rekindle their relationship.

But all evidence in this investigation steadily points to another conjurer, one who can turn sand into glass. And the suspect pool with that capability is light, with Luca at the very top.

Every step of the way, Brett finds more and more reason to suspect Luca of murdering his own friend, his rekindled interest in Brett mere manipulation. With conjured creatures attacking DaSunder and the governor demanding a quick, brutal end to the bloodshed and chaos, there is little time to discover the truth. For the harsh laws of DaSunder hang low and ominous over the investigation, demanding retribution, and no one, including Brett, wants to be caught in that trap.

As the body count rises and the evidence mounts, Brett isn’t sure he can save Luca from the executioner’s axe. Or whether he should even try.

Thank you to everyone who has read any of my stories, whether my free short stories here on my blog or my longer novels. I appreciate every single read. Every single person.

The beautiful things people say about my writing, how much they enjoy my fantasy worlds, how much they like my characters, they keep me going and keep me writing.

This is my passion project, which I’m sure shows, and I’m so thankful for the kindness I’ve been shown on everything I write.

<3 Emmi

Coffee & Conversation: What was your last attempt to try something entirely new in your writing?

24 Monday May 2021

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What was your last attempt to try something entirely new in your writing?

Last year, wanting to try something I’m not skilled at, I decided to try writing a story in objective voice. Objective voice is essentially when you’re not allowed to see the world through any character eyes and instead are forced to view the story solely from an outside perspective. Basically, it’s like watching the events happen, but being unable to hop into anyone’s mind to get clarification on what they were thinking or feeling.

It’s HARD. OMG.

All the emotion a person feels, all the thoughts they have…GONE.

All you have is what they do, what they say. You’re basically trying to be as objective as possible in even the description of the setting. It felt like I was just saying “He went there. He did this.” over and over again. I kept wanting to sink into the character and give them a voice, an opportunity to say what they felt.

It was so awful.

I hated it.

I…don’t know if I’ll try it again. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXIX: Yesteryears

19 Wednesday May 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXIX: Yesteryears

The ski trip—which logically should have been called a snowboarding trip—flew past in a flurry of snowdrifts and Valentine decorations. Brendon didn’t even think Casey noticed Robbie missing that Friday in February, too busy finding temporarily abandoned construction zones to park at during dark hours. For the first time in his life looking to stand still rather than go roaring off down the road—at least in a literal sense, because figuratively, Casey was always ready to go.

They spent those first few months in a mess of stained clothing and sweaty skin. The scent of that backseat turning from a mix of cheap strawberry air freshener, motor oil and cigarettes, to musk and pheromones and french onion dip and tacos because they’d get hungry between and find themselves at the grocery store at eleven or a drive-through for fourth meal.

The pictures under Brendon’s mattress grew lonely. The furrows on Casey’s brow smoothed out.

They did everything and then did everything again in different positions. They drank too much on race sidelines and dodged heavy drugs by virtue of being too caught up in one another to care about the baggies being passed hand-to-hand. Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: Do you finish everything you start?

17 Monday May 2021

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Do you finish everything you start?

My half a million WIPS say no :P

Okay, in all seriousness, the answer is yes, if we’re talking projects I’ve truly started. However, projects tend to fall into one of three categories:

1) The I-started-but-can’t-figure-out-what-to-do-with-it

This is the category of stories where I’ve jotted a beginning, maybe even got a few pages in, or, in one horrible rare case, I’d gotten chapters in, and realized I have no idea what’s going on. Or I realize that the story is fundamentally broken. Or I realize that the character makes no sense. Mostly though I realize that I was just writing to write and that there isn’t really a story here.

These ones feel more like writing exercises. I’m stretching my brain, I’m doing a little character creation or description or jotting down part of a dream I had. I like doing this sometimes with dialogue between two characters because of the fun it is to play people off one another.

A lot of these get lost amidst the world of notebooks. But often enough, some of these jotted creations will find new life later when I’m flipping through old notebooks and see something that gets my gears going.

2) The I-started-and-immediately-finished

These are the ones I wish happened every time. Continue reading →