Author: Genevieve Dewey

#RandomGen Ramble: Irish men are hot because God loves me.

Oh bah, who cares it’s a spurious conclusion? Prove me wrong. ;P

Some of you know I’ve been gushing on Facebook and Pinterest over #HotFrancis, aka dirty Detective Francis Maguire, aka actor Kevin Ryan on BBC America’s show Copper. Don’t know who that is? Wuuuuut? *face palm*

Bahbam:

Now, I didn’t always think of him as #HotFrancis. In fact, on the first season, I merely registered his existence as Detective Corcoran’s good-looking, morally ambiguous partner who did a WAY better job of ‘keeping it real’ than Corky. I mean, for real, it’s like Detective Corcoran didn’t get the memo he’s a copper in New York City in 1865 where even the Nuns are corrupt, so this wide-eyed look of constant surprise every time the dirty gets done (which is, like, every two seconds) really was rubbing me the wrong way. But Corcoran’s super hot as well and I love me my cops v criminals stories. Especially one produced by Tom Fontana and Thomas Kelly. I mean, you are always guaranteed a gritty, character-based story with these men, instead of shallow, plot-point writing.

But anyway, as I was saying, now there’s this season and Francis just goes on a tailspin from garden variety corrupt cop (90% of the precinct) to joining one of the Irish Gangs (throw-a-rock-and-hit one) and bam, I’m like, lusting all over him. Like, drool buckets, peeps. Kid you not.

*Cue husband sighing in exasperation.*

I think I’ve mentioned no matter the show, my husband is always Team Law Enforcement. So he clings to his precious Corky like a life raft seeing as he’s at least trying to be a good Copper. (Again, while banging prostitutes, doing heroine, and asking The Donovan for favors from Tammany Hall…)

*Cue Gen snorting and rolling her eyes.*

So here’s the thing… I like morally conflicted Bad Boys. The righteously indignant like Corcoran don’t get me gooey nor do the unrepentantly bad like Donovan or Robert Morehouse’s father. I often like their characters for many reasons (I believe I mentioned above there is no such thing as a one-dimensional character in a Fontana show) but I just love the Bad Boy who fights with his conscience and loyalties against his more dominant, darker urges.

He became #HotFrancis for me the minute I realized I sooooo didn’t care he’s killed people, slept with Corky’s wife, and kept her from him, I still see the struggle in him. That scene where he’s yelling at Ellen if she would have chosen him he never would have left her? …. Gahhhhh, I was gone. Because Kevin Ryan made me actually believe Maguire meant it, for all his selfishness and grift.

*Cue husband shaking his head.*

Yeah, it’s not just because Kevin Ryan is a damn-fine looking Irishman, it’s because the character of Francis Maguire is hot.

That’s the power of good writing.

/ #RandomGen ramble over….

PS–Anyone else think Kevin Ryan would make a good Agent James Hoffman? Wonder if he can do a Chicago accent…

LOL

Poem: Introspection and Suffocation

An excerpt from Second of All (Downey #2) #ASMSG |

I posted this pic yesterday on Facebook. I’m super obsessed with it, it’s so very romantic and so VERY Mickey & Mary. I stumbled across it on a random Google search (it appears to be from http://www.daveandcharlotte.com/ Lifestyle Photographers). It makes me all kinds of #leSigh and reminds me of this scene…

[WARNING! Spoilers for those who haven’t finished First, I Love You]

~~~~

Oh, the sweet, painful pleasure of anticipation!

Mary closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the foggy cool glass of the greenhouse. As she let out a weary breath she felt strong arms enclose around her and the comforting scratch of a beard against her neck seconds before warm lips pressed onto her collar bone. She leaned back against him and felt both comfort and bittersweet pain.

“Ohhh, I see,” Mary whispered. “This was all part of the dream. I wanted it to be that we would find you and I dreamed this. Finding the room, Kiki finding the answer, finding a way you could come to me… but I should have known…”

“Should have known what?” Michael’s gravelly voice purred in her ear and his whiskers tickled a shiver from her.

Mary tried to turn and look at him but his arms tightened around her.

“On the other hand… could it really be that simple?” she whispered again.

She could feel him chuckling.

“Mary girl, life is as simple as we let it be.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She wished with one part of her soul this weren’t real and with the other that it was, but wasn’t it just another goodbye either way?

“I don’t think I can do it,” Mary said, leaning her head into his. “I think you were right. You were right back in April and in the letter. I can’t leave them, if that’s why you’re back, to take me away with you now that you’ve got that money. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Did I ask that, Mary?” Michael asked, still chuckling. Mary frowned. That wasn’t the response she would have thought even a dream Michael would give. She tried again to turn around.

“Why won’t you let me turn around?”

“Safer that way. I have to go and have a chat with our son. When the Fed gets back, you can’t give a description.”

“I would lie.”

“And I’m done asking you to.”

Mary frowned some more.

“But you’ll ask Tommy to?”

“No.”

“But—”

Michael’s teeth lightly nipped her neck and she gasped. His hands dipped then moved up the length of her in a sort of reverse hug and caress.

“All in good time, Mary. Close your eyes,” Michael whispered in her ear.

Mary could feel him come around her while not breaking his embrace, then his lips were on hers and she sank into the contradictory sinful heaven of his kiss…

~~~~~

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part Two.

The following is a letter referenced in First, I Love You;

“Does he like to play Princesses?” Kiki asked. Daddy didn’t answer, just chuckled as he picked up his pen and wrote:

‘Dear Tommy, First, I love you. I hope you enjoyed the present I sent—’

“Daddy, guess what! I read the word love!” Kiki said, proud of herself.

“Very good, sweetheart, very good,” he seemed to choke out the words like something was stuck in his throat. Then he kissed her head and continued to write.

~~~

Dear Tommy,

First, I love you. I hope you enjoyed the present I sent–I’m not sure what a boy your age is ‘in to’ these days but I gathered from your Transformer PJs that you might like those. If you already have this car, let me know, and I will get you one you don’t. And, of course, Happy Birthday! Turning ten is a pretty big deal, it’s not every day a young man busts into the double digits! Do you remember how much you liked playing cars in the living room? We must have lost a few dozen Matchbox cars down that large vent. When you were just a wee tyke you refused to walk over it and you would stand there, stubborn as a mule, until your mother would lift you over. If I was there you would insist I do it because I always remembered to make the airplane sounds. Mothers sometimes don’t understand the importance of these things. Speaking of your mother, I am not sure if she told you that you have a little sister, she’s 5 1/2 and about to attend Kindergarten. Her name is Katherine but we call her Kiki. I’ve included a picture, she’s eager to meet you. You’ll have to indulge her if she asks you to play Princesses, little girls are sometimes pushy like that. But I promise to take you out for an extra large ice cream afterward! And never fear, you also have a brand new brother, he was born just this last May and his name is Giovanni, but we call him Joe. He reminds me a lot of you as a baby. You were always such a good baby, hardly ever cried. Kiki cried all the time but is now quiet as a bug in a rug. And it seems like you will be the only one of my children to have the Downey green eyes. Ah well, who can predict these things?

I’m sure this is a lot to take in, so I will end my letter here and say once again that I love you and I miss you. I don’t know what it is your mother may have told you, but I want you to know you can call me whenever you like, or write if you are so inclined. I meant what I said last week that I will always be here for you no matter what, day or night, whatever you need. And you don’t need to worry, I will not make you move, I gave you my word. You can ask your mother, I always keep my promises.

Your loving father,

Mickey.

PS–I’ve also included my business card which has my personal lines written on the back. You may call any of the numbers, everyone has instructions to put your call through to me at once.

Over the edge…

Not exactly a poem for this Monday’s Featured Poem, but a very poetic freestyle prose.

Speak of the Devil! #YoungAdult author Danielle DeVor @sammyig stops by for a chat. #ASMSG |

TAIL OF THE DEVIL by Danielle DeVor

If Mathias thought being homeless sucked, being a vampire is worse. The vampires who transformed him believe he is the reincarnation of an ancient king. They expect him to quit swearing, use a napkin, and play by their weird, ancient rules. Screw that.

But after the reigning queen assaults Mathias, he has visions of a past life in which he was that king. Turns out the current queen killed him then, and wants to kill him again. He’d better grow up fast, because if he doesn’t his second life may be shorter than his first.

Excerpt:

You know you’ve been on the streets too long when the sound of an old man peeing in an alley reminds you of falling rain. Mathias stood, stretched his back, and walked out of the alley to escape the stench. He beat his hands against his jeans to knock away some of the grime, but it didn’t help much. Then, he scratched his head and ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair.

“Don’t think. Just move.” Mathias raised his head and looked past the tops of the buildings toward the sky. The sun was bright, a little too bright, but then it always seemed that way.

The early morning mist still crept its way around the feet of the buildings. It was a weightless sludge that looked like it was drifting from the river, but Mathias had never been too sure if that was where the mist was really coming from. It showed the city for what it really was: old, dirty, and worn. He felt old. Older than he was, older than he should be, and the way things were going, he’d be dead before long anyway. If he was lucky, he’d make it another year, but the way things were going, it didn’t seem likely.

His stomach growled. “Fuck.” He patted his hands against his pockets, hoping to hear the jingle of change, but the only sound was the slight rustle of fabric against fabric. “Great, just fucking great.” Mathias grabbed his bag and ran out into the early morning throng.

Dawn in New York was like nowhere else on Earth. It was the one time of day when the city felt a little calm. In a few hours, that calm would disappear- replaced by a din that seemed as if it could swallow the earth if it chose to do so.

Mathias ran down the street, narrowly avoiding a wad of fresh gum on the sidewalk. When he could smell the salt in the air, he knew he didn’t have much farther to go. The docks stretched for miles. He walked past the fishmongers that were busy loading the day’s catch into crates. The smell made his stomach growl.

Standing a ways from the crew stood a man in a plaid shirt holding a clipboard.

Thank God. “Hey Mac!” Mathias yelled.

Mac was generally a decent guy. Kind of grumpy, but tall, and big. He wore an old red plaid shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had seen better days. He kind of looked like a lumberjack, just not as strong.

“Whaddya want, kid?”

“You got any work for me today?”

Mathias watched Mac rub his chin with ink stained fingers. “Not today, kid. Sorry.” He turned toward Mathias. “The order was light.”

Mathias’ shoulders slumped a bit. “Dammit, man. I could really use a job.” He shifted his weight to the other foot.

Mac nodded. “Tell ya what. Jimmy the Fish is supposed to be getting a big order sometime this week. Maybe he can help ya.”

Mathias nodded. “Okay man, thanks.”

Mac shook his head.

Mathias walked further along the docks. Go work for Jimmy the Fish. Yeah, right. Man’d sell his toenails if he thought he’d get anything for ‘em. It wasn’t like he had a choice. When you were well-fed, you had choices. When you weren’t…

Just before he reached Jimmy’s place, he ducked behind a crate. Dammit. He hoped they hadn’t seen him, or heard him for that matter. What he did know was that a black Mercedes and a man in an Armani suit holding a gun was bad news. Shit! His heart throbbed in his chest. Too close. Too fucking close. He knew trouble when it glared him in the face.

“Where’s my money, Jimmy?” Mathias heard a man say.

Oh, shit. Mathias tried to breathe, but it wasn’t easy.

“Tony, I’m sorry. I tried. I really did, but sales just ain’t been good lately,” Jimmy said.

Mathias could hear the fear dripping from Jimmy’s voice.

“So what you gonna do about it?” Tony asked.

Mathias could hear Jimmy begin to whimper. “I swear. I’ll… I’ll have it tomorrow.”

Mathias heard a couple of thumps followed by a howl.

“Yeah, you’ll swear all right, Jimmy. Nobody stiffs Mr. Plague. Nobody!”

Pop! Pop! Pop! A car door slammed. Then, with the squeal of tires and a rush of wind, he was gone.

Mathias couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Suppressing a shudder, he distracted himself, randomly picking at a dirty hole in the knee of his jeans.

Come on. You can do this. He raised himself up on his knees and peeked around the crate. “Fuck.” Blood was on the ground like a dark pool. He scuttled back and tried to calm himself. Sweat formed on his upper lip. “Goddammit. I can’t move. Not now.”

He had no idea if there had been only one man, or if they were sending a so-called cleanup crew. All he knew was that he was witness to something he didn’t need to be a witness of, and that put him in a very bad position. The only thing he could do was wait and see if and when it would be safe to get away.

He raised the bottom of his filthy t-shirt and wiped the sweat from his lip. His legs began to cramp. He looked up at the sky. Where the clouds had been earlier, there was nothing but blue sky. “Why is it always this damn hot in August?” He mumbled as he stretched his legs.

The glaring sun beat down on the back of his neck. He didn’t think it could get any hotter, but he also really didn’t want to wait around to find out.

Somehow his stomach didn’t get the message about being quiet because it let loose a growl that was so loud, Mathias was sure that someone had heard it. And yet, nothing happened.

Interview with Danielle DeVor:

Gen: What is a one line synopsis for your book?

Danielle: Not quite one line, but one sentence.

Fifteen-year-old Mathias Drvar, homeless-teen-turned-vampire, must fight for his right to stay alive when the reigning queen demands a duel because she considers him a threat to her rule.

Gen: Why did you choose to write about vampires?

Danielle: I’ve always been obsessed with vampires. I started studying them when I was three by making my father read to me a book I’d found called Meet the Vampire, by Georgess McHargue.

Gen: Do you have plans to expand Tail of the Devil into a series?

Danielle: Right now, TotD is a duology. I may write more of Mathias in the future, but he will no longer be a teen, so it will no longer be a Young Adult story.

Gen: Which character is your favorite to write and why?

Danielle: Nossy is really a lot of fun. He does these wacky things just because he likes to irritate the other characters.

Gen: If you had to pick an ice cream flavor to describe your favorite character what would that be and why?

Danielle: Pomegranate. He’s obsessed with them.

Gen: You have another book coming out this fall, Sorrow’s Point. Can you tell us a bit about it?

Danielle: It’s about a defrocked priest who ends up doing an exorcism on a six-year-old girl.

Gen: Can you share a bit about what you are working on next?

Danielle: Right now, I’m in the middle of writing the second Tail of the Devil book. After that, I will be writing the third book in the Sorrow’s Point series.

Gen: Now some personal questions, What was your favorite part of living in Baton Rouge? Did it infuse your writing any?

Danielle: I liked being able to head down to New Orleans about every weekend. It’s only about an hour away from Baton Rouge. When I was down there, Anne Rice had already sold her house in the garden district, but I got engrossed in studying how the voudou religion works. There is some of that knowledge in Sorrow’s Point.

Gen: What is the biggest time drain in your life that takes you away from writing?

Danielle: Life in general. It is always kind of crazy at my house. I can be writing, and then there will be some sort of catastrophe that has to be fixed NOW! And then, of course, by the time I can get back to writing, my concentration is blown. 🙂

Gen: What is your favorite genre to read, or do you have one?

Danielle: It’s a toss-up between horror and fantasy. I also like murder mysteries.

Gen: Recently I visited Lucy Pireel’s website and she ended the interview with this: just blather on about whatever. I thought that was fantastic so I’m doing it here. Go on and tell us whatever you want in this space, a rant, a self-promo, blathering nonsense, whatever:

Danielle: I love MMA- Mixed Martial Arts. So far, I’ve only gotten to go to one UFC fight. My favorite fighters are Eddie Alvarez, Jason “Mayhem” Miller, and Chuck Liddell. There’s something about two fighters going head to head using various techniques to take down their opponent. (It’s no longer a men’s only sport. Rhonda Rousey is an amazing athlete, and currently the UFC women’s champ.)

I have written a YA Thriller about a boy learning MMA who encounters a serial killer. So, I’m actually putting my fight knowledge to use. 🙂

Gen: Danielle, thank you so much for visiting my blog and telling us a bit about your books!

That’s it for today everyone!

Please check out Danielle’s links:

Danielle DeVor spent her early years fantasizing about vampires and watching “Salem’s Lot” way too many times. After living briefly in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, she moved back to her hometown to write. When not writing and reading about weird things, you will find her hanging out at the nearest coffee shop, enjoying a mocha frappuccino.

Social Media Links:

Twitter: @sammyig

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/danielledevorauthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/DanielleDeVor

Blog: http://danielledevor.wordpress.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part 1.

I thought I might occasionally share with you some of the letters Mickey Downey wrote to his loved ones. The title of the first book in The Downey Trilogy, “First, I Love You”, comes from the letters Mickey wrote to Tommy as a child. Mickey’s letters (not just the ones to Tommy) are a recurring theme in the trilogy, although the reader rarely gets to see one. I hope you will enjoy getting to read one!

The following is a letter referenced in Second of All; “It was a particularly good one, one Tommy had read several times (though he would go to his grave before he would admit that to anyone).In it, his father dispensed with the usual ‘here’s what your sister and brother are up to’ and spent the letter reminiscing about living with Tommy and Mary in Brooklyn.”

Dear Tommy,

First, I love you and I hope you are well!

A little birdie told me your hockey team didn’t make it to the finals. I am sorry to hear this and I know it is not from any lack on your part. You are quite talented, I am sure. Defeats are a part of life’s lessons for us I am afraid. Sadly they only get harsher as life moves on. But it is how you handle these disappointments that makes the mettle of a man. But I have no worries there, even as a young child you always brushed off disappointments with only a minimal fuss. A trait you get from your mother, no doubt, as it couldn’t have been easy raising you alone but she never complained. Even in the end shortly before she left, for as many arguments as we had she still was as loving and patient as ever. Every day I was able to spend with you, she always had a smile on her face and no matter the struggles she had, she could always find a way to spin a positive out of it. I remember one time when you were only about 2 years old, she had been ill all week with the Flu and had lost her waitressing job from the missed work. I brought her roses and the rent for the remainder of the year expecting to have to comfort her. But you know what she did? She smiled wide, handed you to me, and said, ‘I’m only sad I can’t smell these roses.’ I fed you dinner (spaghetti-os were your favorite) and I even got to give you your bath, something your mother usually did herself as I apparently made too much of a mess playing battleship with you. It was my habit each night I got to spend with you to rock you to sleep telling you stories your great grandfather, Seamus O’Malley, had passed on to me. Now, there is a man whose veins run with pure steel–he never met a disappointment he couldn’t turn into a blessing! He is a full 45 years older than I, yet he can still run circles around me in a spirited argument and still carves every day. If I possess even half of his vigor at his age I will truly be blessed. Anyway, this story was one of your favorites, or I should say, sent you to sleep the fastest, which in retrospect might be saying the opposite. You’ll have to tell me which case it is upon hearing it at an older age:

Finnegan had been a hard working man, if the work you were speaking about was finding ways to do the least amount of work to gain the most. One of his favorite things to do was trick people in to buying his tales of magical healing wells. Now back then people had heard of Brigid’s Well but few knew where to find it. Finnegan would spin a yarn about how he had thrice been cured by it himself and he knew the secret path to get there. They would pay him in food and shelter and other such comforts to show them where the well existed. But wily Finnegan would lead them around in circles until they were good and dizzy then leave them off at the nearest spring he could find. By the time they discovered the water was just ordinary water, he would be long gone. One night he was sleeping in a barn and a Wee One appeared before him.

“Finnegan,” she said. “It just so happens there is such a well in Kildare as to make a sick man healed. Would you like to know how to find it?”

“Oh, yes, very much,” Finnegan replied, thanking his good fortune, but suspicious of it just the same. “What is it you would want in exchange?”

“You must agree never to trick others again. And, I must warn you, you can only drink the water if you truly seek healing.”

“Of course,” Finnegan agreed, while crossing his finger behind him.

The Wee One told him the well’s location and Finnegan began searching for it, out of curiosity and avarice. But every time he would get near where the well was supposed to be, he would find he was right back where he had started. But he would always begin again thinking this would be the time he would find it. He began to waste away from obsession and lack of food. One day as he was resting on a low wall along came a fair maiden. She gave him some warm bread and he told her of his quest. He figured he had been tricked by the Wee One just as he had tricked others because even now, when he was truly sick, he still could not find the water.

“You poor dear,” the girl said. “I’m afraid Morrigan left out the most important part. You must truly want to get well to find the water in the first place.”

“What foolishness is this?” Finnegan asked. “Of course I want to get well!” And he did, for she was quite beautiful and he could see himself raising goats and children with her as a good and honest man.

“Then drink,” Brigid said and waved her hand. Behind her apace was a small circle of stones with a bucket suspended atop. He drank the cool, mossy water and suddenly felt no desire to wander anymore.

He settled down and made a good life with her. But one day his past came to haunt him as these things tend to do. One of the people he had tricked in the past came seeking justice. When Finnegan offered to let him drink from their well, the man thought he was being tricked yet again and absconded with Finnegan’s bride. Enraged, Finnegan armed himself and his children and swore vengeance upon the man and all who would aid him, vowing he would not stop until he was reunited with his fair love. But he did not know Brigid had sacrificed herself rather than be used by his enemies. So, endlessly he searched, killing all those who dared try and stop him. After each battle, those who would come to claim the bodies of their kin would swear Brigid’s ghost would wander about the dead, crying for their souls, and singing: ‘Until we meet again, my love, until we meet again’.

Then one day, wearied unto his soul from his searching, Finnegan laid down his weapons and gathered his children and grandchildren near and said, ‘enough’ and breathed his last breath, thus finally being reunited with his eternal bride. But his children did not weep, for there is nothing so perfect as a thing with no ending and no beginning, such as a family of souls intertwined.

My dear boy, I think of this story often when I think of you and your mother, not just because it reminds me of when we were together, but because it gives me comfort knowing that eventually, we will be a family again.

Your loving father,

Mickey.

An Artist’s Eyes (Feature Poem of the Week)

It’s #PoetryMonday! Enjoy this poem from Original Clyde Aidoo AND while you are over there, please hit that follow this blog button! He is brand new to the blogging world (took a good bit to drag him this far into the social media network) and I can’t think of any better followers for him than my own. 🙂
Have a great Monday everyone–yes, in as much as that’s possible.

Listen to me blather on You to the Tube | #ASMSG #BYNR |

Some of you ( most of you?) know that I have a YouTube Channel. It’s the Official Genevieve Dewey YouTube Channel, you know, in case I get outrageously famous someday. Anyway, in addition to the Music Playlists I have created for the Downey Trilogy I have done two author readings. Today I uploaded the Radio Interview I did on KLIN last Thursday for those of you who missed it. (Yes, I babble in person just as much as I babble when I blog, haha!) If you guys want YouTube to notify you when I upload new things (like readings/interviews/book trailers/additional music videos on the playlists) then hit that “Subscribe” button! I sure would appreciate it! 🙂 You know what else would be cool? If you’d leave a comment or two over there from time to time on what you liked, want more of, etc…

A wee bit of #RandomGen on a fine Thursday…

I was thinking… periodically I come across blog posts, or articles or whatever that talk about research put into fictional books. It’s true there are some great fiction novels that practically exude “author researched the heck outta this” and then there are others that exude “aw, come on, that would never happen”. My own personal style? I’m somewhere in between. As some of you know I love, luuuurve, love things having to do with American gangsters–usually old school gangsters of the Luciano and Capone sort. I also love the rich history of the FBI and other crime-fighting branches of the US Government. I also love the history of Chicago and the history of Nebraska (which have quite a long history of being connected). My family’s from Chicago, I’ve heard tons of interesting stories. I tried to throw some shout-outs, if you will, to those histories in my Downey series. BUT, I’m telling a story, a fictional story. I took some liberties. Quite a few liberties, as only the purists will know. *wink* I think that’s our right as authors, in essence to say, “Yeah, but what IF it were to happen this way?”

What was my point?

I have no real point (ha!) except to say I deeply enjoy when people discover/recognize my nods to history and real people but, yes, I did, on purpose, flirt with the “that would never happen”. That’s the point to telling a yarn…

Speaking of #RandomGen… did you know Al Capone’s older brother Vincenzo–“Jimmy”–lived in Homer, Nebraska? Yeah, for realsies. Went by the name of Richard Hart. And–get this–he was the town Marshall for a while.

I know, right?

Sometimes the truth really is stranger than fiction.

HAVE A FANTASTIC THURSDAY!

*smooches*

Gen

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TAIL OF THE DEVIL by Danielle DeVor

Excerpt:

Interview with Danielle DeVor:

Social Media Links:

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