Omg. My mail loves me this week. Contributors copies arrived in all their glory for:
Yum, yum, yum. All these glorious, tasty books arriving…
which makes me think I’m going to have to set up a Stuff Your… ahem… Stocking giveaway I think. Yes, I believe I’m feeling a bit of Santa-like generosity coming upon me.
Especially when you couple it with this gorgeous, sexy, stimulating and hot-hot-hot collection, Playing with Fire, edited by Alison Tyler (I just love the cover…it’s so unique and sexy and mysterious). And best of all, I just found out that it includes my bondage and campfire story White Light, White Heat. It’s a retelling — sort of — of the chained lady/Casseopia myth. Here’s a little taste of the tale:
Night is falling. In the rising dark, I am free. For now. The bonfire lights my way to him, a grounded star trail a thousand hours long. I travel with the speed of light on winged sandals until I am there, in front of him. Fierce and free in my summer dress. In the wind, my hair makes whips around my head. It makes untamable snakes with pretty patterns.
He notices. We’ve noticed each other all day, with the kind of noticing that happens in the eyes and the mouth and the body. The kind of noticing that is only noticed by the people doing it. Or so we’d like to believe. Now, we drift toward each other around the bonfire, pretending this is not a pre-destined course. Pretending this orbit does not end in collision.
From here, with the bonfire so close, with him so close, I look back and can barely see the light that shines from the window of my cabin. Inside that cabin, there is a man sleeping. I won’t think about him. Instead, I’ll look into the face of this other man, the one who stands in front of me now, holding out a cigarette.
I don’t smoke, but I take the cigarette from his fingers. He has blue eyes, the kind of blue that I’ll see in the crash of waves a hundred years from now and that will knock me to my knees. I know this, like I know what sadness is coming on the blue dawn. What pain.
It doesn’t matter now. In the dark, the blue dawn is a thousand hours away. First, there is this bonfire, big as a horse, a house, a barn, burning down the sky. In the middle of nowhere, lake on one side, forest on the other, the fire is the only thing bright enough to scare away the stars. As it grows, more stars blink out. The tiny Dolphin has already disappeared in the dark sea of sky. Part of the Eagle’s wing has folded from sight. From her black bedspread, the chained lady—Andromeda—watches still, her bright stars glittery as eyes.
Despite her stare, I take his cigarette. I take it and slide it into my mouth to taste the spongy paper that is supposed to filter, to protect me from something. The smoke. The heat. Myself.