Sunday, March 30, 2014

Chapter 1 of Misplaced Affection

Without further ado, here is the previously promised Chapter 1 of my Work In Progress: Misplaced Affection…

I reserve the right to alter it. LOL :p but for now I like the way this sounds….

Chapter 1

August 2010 – Junior Year

The first day of junior year and what did I notice? A really cute guy looking at me. Well, not really “looking” as much as trying not to appear as though he was looking. I’ve had plenty of experience in the “not-looking” department since I normally check out the crowd for anyone checking out the crowd same as me. Most of the time I catch sight of the shy guys surreptitiously checking out the cheerleaders. Rarely did I notice a guy checking out other guys, although it has happened, but I have yet to notice someone checking out me! Wow, it actually caused a zing in my gut.
I needed another art credit, so I chose Art II. I liked drawing and stuff, and I had gotten an A in Art I so I figured it would be an easy class. We had assigned seats, but thankfully not alphabetically. (Alphabetical seating charts had gotten old around seventh-grade.) The guy checking me out sat across from me; he kept glancing in my direction and then looking away. It was seriously cute. I think he thought I wouldn’t notice. And I guess, if I weren’t gay, I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. He was stealthy enough.
After class, he pretty much bolted and I was hard pressed to catch up. I tried, but he lost me in the crowed hallway. I sighed and headed to my next class knowing I had all semester to find a way to chat-up Keith Leppo. Keith… I liked that name.

Thankfully, it didn’t take all semester. By the very next class the teacher, Mrs. Moore, assigned an activity where the students paired up and played her version of Pictionary. Basically, she gave the questions to the class and each team had a chance to draw. Two students against two students and we kept score among ourselves. It was meant to be an icebreaker and for us to get to know the people at our table. And teachers who played games during class were pretty cool in my book.
Keith sat next to Grace and I sat next to Kelly so that meant Keith and I were on opposite sides. The teacher read the first question. “What was your first pet?” Keith drew one curved line and then another curved line underneath connected at one end, but crossing over the other.
“Fish,” I said.
He smirked as his eyes caught mine. I didn’t think he could get any cuter.
Next question. Mrs. Moore asked, “What is your favorite food?”
Kelly quickly drew squiggly line after squiggly line and added two circles to the mix and an oblong oval around the bottom. “Spaghetti,” Keith said.
The questions went back and forth like that for about twenty minutes. We had them all right. It was either because the questions were easy, or because we all drew well enough to depict the answers accurately. It didn’t matter because the goal was in the exercise itself and the four of us shared quite a few chuckles.
After class, I caught up to Keith in the hall. “Keith,” I called.
He turned and smiled at me as I stepped up next to him.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“Honors Algebra II.”
“Ah. I have that fourth mod. I have English now and that’s in the same direction, do you mind if I walk with you?”
He smiled and shook his head as he pivoted on his heels and started walking down the hall. I stepped in synch and we walked together to the opposite wing of the school. “How is it the teachers don’t give you crap about wearing a hat in school?” I was curious, because I thought it was school policy or part of the dress code to take hats off in school. So far he’d worn it for two classes and Mrs. Moore hadn’t made him remove it.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
When he didn’t add more to his statement, I thought he must be shyer than my first assessment or he didn’t want to talk about it. I kind of watched him out of the corner of my eyes as I walked, almost how he had watched me the first day of class, but was careful not to run into anything or I might look like an idiot. He had dark curly hair from what I could see sticking out from under his knit beanie. He wore glasses with black plastic frames—a very in style. I liked it.
Keith and I dressed oddly similar from his jeans and grey Converse (mine were brown), to his short-sleeved plaid button down and white T-shirt. Sort of hipsterish, if that was a thing. I wasn’t sure what the definition of “hipster” was, but maybe we could pass as hipsters. He was almost my height; I would guess five-nine, but his curly hair probably gave him an extra inch on me. I even noticed some dark fuzz over his lip, which did make me smirk if only because I was oddly fascinated by my urge to rub my thumb over it. (Also a new and different urge for me.)
When we got to the stairs, he said, “I guess I’ll see ya,” as he continued on up without waiting for my reply.
“Um, bye.” I limply waved.
Keith hadn’t looked back and I was disappointed.

We continued like this for the first week of school. Then, after Labor Day weekend, Keith lingered a couple times in the hall outside of class waiting for me to catch up so we could walk down the hall together. Although he remained quiet, I was happy about the change, and I even caught him glancing at me and smirking more and more. He was into me, and knowing it made me nervous inside like when I rode my very first rollercoaster. It was a feeling I wanted to experience every day.


“I think I made a friend,” I told Jackson one day when we were hanging out at his house. I’d been sitting on his bedroom floor for twenty minutes doing my homework and thinking of a way to tell him about Keith. It’s not like Jackson was my only friend and making another one was unheard of—I had other friends—but Keith was the first friend whom I wanted to pursue more with and I didn’t know how to broach that with Jackson. Jackson didn’t know about me.
“Oh yeah?” Jack answered, sitting at his desk without bothering to look up.
“Yeah. He’s in my art class.”
“Yeah.” I tapped my pencil on my notebook. How to tell him. Hmm.
Jack had been my closest friend for years. My family had moved in next door to his before I was born. Jackson and my brother Nathan were the same age and we had always hung out as a group. (Although we never pretended to be the three musketeers.) Then, after my brother died, it was just me and Jackson. By default, and by luck, we gelled and had remained steadfast in each other’s lives.
Lately though, things had gotten somewhat strained because he had started college and I was still in high school. I hoped that the changes in our lives wouldn’t push us apart, as often happened to others. Jackson was two years older than me after all. He wasn’t always into the same things, but so far it hadn’t mattered. We had always made time for one another. I had watched him play football, he had come to some of my tennis matches, and every year we celebrated our birthdays together. Ironically, we were born on the same day so celebrating together started back when I was five and my mom and his mom thought it would be fun to rent a pavilion in Piney Run Park together. Together by fate as much as by our parents, I guess.
Jackson knew practically everything about me, except for the parts I feared would conflict with his religious beliefs. Jackson’s family had always been very religious, where mine was not. Especially after the accident. My dad had only attended church for my mother and brother’s funeral, but to my knowledge had never gone since. Part of him died. Part of me died. I believed in God because of my mother, but I knew I didn’t believe in the same God Jackson’s family often spoke about, so we had agreed years ago “to agree to disagree” and therefore church-talk never came up. Jackson respected me that way. I only wished his father and my father could come to the same intelligent understanding. So far, they hadn’t.
The biggest thing I never talk about, second to my personal beliefs in God, was sexuality. Jackson had no idea I was gay. I had always been afraid our relationship would change or worse, be destroyed if he knew. We had come close to ruining everything when we kissed once back in ninth grade, but that had been a black thundercloud of hurt, which I tried desperately to avoid repeating.
Now, I had to be careful how I worded myself in explaining Keith’s friendship. So far, we were just friends anyway. Even if I though Keith was adorable, and he certainly gave the flirtatious signs that he liked me back, we had only just met. Maybe one day, if he and I were seriously dating, then I could tell Jackson I’m gay. But now was not the time to give it away.
Now, I was simply making conversation and telling Jackson about my new friends. (Kelly and Grace would be included of course.) Only… Jackson wasn’t getting it. He was surfing porn, or whatever, and he couldn’t be bothered to turn his attention my way for a second. So, I added, “Yeah, Keith said he’s a porn star and had to lie about his age to get into the industry, but it was worth it because he gets a lot of pussy.”
Jack swiveled his chair around to look at me. “He what?” His eyes went wide and he blinked in shock.
“You’ll never change,” I lamented, shaking my head. “I said I made a new friend named Keith in art class. He’s pretty cool. He plays guitar and paints, and wants to be an architect. I think you’d like him.” I was trying to be congenial, but truth be told I didn’t think they had very much in common other than knowing me.
“So… he’s not a porn star?” Jack’s blank stare made me roll my eyes. He could be dense.
“No, idiot. He’s my new friend, since you’re in college meeting new people I figured I better do the same. We don’t get to see each other that much anymore. I need someone to talk to, ya know?”
Jack sighed and slumped back in his computer chair. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, man. This college crap is hard. I gotta memorize Latin names of trees stuff, but I like it. Except, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to drive home on weekends; I think I need to stay on campus and study. I want to get this two-year horticulture degree in two years, which means I need to do well and not screw around. Oh, and speaking of meeting new people, my roommate is pretty awesome. His name’s Greg. His father’s a police officer, so he’s not too keen on underage drinking. No making lame excuses for me not to go out and get hammered. Talk about convenient.”
“And you also can avoid the awkward talk involving your overly religious parents and their rules against drinking, sex, drugs, swearing, and staying out past curfew,” I pointed out.
“Exactly. I think he’s the perfect roommate if you ask me. Well, besides you.” He gestured to me, which I appreciated.
 “That’s nice. I bet my experience will be the exact opposite. I’ll probably get paired with a drug-addicted kleptomaniac who would hide all my underwear or something.” We both shared a chuckle.
“You do have the worse luck of anyone I know.” Jack gave me a grin and looked back at his computer.
“Born under a black cloud, I guess.”
Jack glanced at me. “Maybe, but here for a purpose. I stand by that.”
“Maybe one day that God you believe in will explain it to me. I’m not so sure sometimes. My dad is still hard to deal with. He drinks too much.”
Jackson’s expression grew serious, his mirth disappeared, and I knew what he was thinking. I hadn’t wanted to get into a deep conversation, but as soon as I brought up my dad, or other occasions when he brought up his parents, we both knew what was coming. It was an unspoken sign to drop our walls and spill.
Jackson got up from his chair and wandered over to his bed. He flopped on it, face up, like he always had when we shared our heart-to-hearts. His theory about sharing our souls was it would be easier to talk about deep, hard topics, if we didn’t have to look each other in the eyes. I thoroughly agreed. I got off my spot on the floor and followed.
Normally, I would lie on the far side of his twin bed, up against the wall, and he would lie on the nearest side along the edge. (My guess was that he didn’t want me accidentally falling off.) This time, he was on the inside and I was on the edge. It felt odd, like changing roles or something, but I liked the closeness of being up against the side of his warm body. His arm was cocked and folded under his head; my arms were resting at my sides with my fingers laced together over my stomach. It was tight, but had we always made it work.
After a moment of silence, Jack asked, “Does he still work over fifty hours a week?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I think it’s over sixty. All he does is work.” We were on his bed, staring at his ceiling; this was our time to open up.
“I’ve heard that hydrologists are in demand. I think his field is flooded with work and projects. In some ways, he’s probably lucky to have all the work. My dad comments all the time about people he knows getting laid off.”
His reasoning was kind, but I had lost my rose-colored glasses long ago. “Maybe, but it’s been six years since Mom and Nate died. I think he’s hiding,” I confessed. We hadn’t done this in a while, and the familiar vulnerability felt nice. “I think he’s denying that he misses her and buries himself in work on purpose. I think he’s scared to try again. I think he worries I’ll reject his choice of female companionship, so he doesn’t even try. I think he drinks because he’s lonely. I think he stopped talking to me about things beyond the weather and my grades because he’s worried about giving me the wrong advice. I think—”
“Have you told him?” Jackson interrupted.
I knew what he meant, but I asked anyway. “Which part?”
“All the parts.”
I closed my eyes. This was precisely why we spoke about stuff like this while staring at his ceiling. I felt my tears welling. I didn’t want to cry in front of Jackson. I knew I could cry, and he would understand, but I didn’t want him to see me cry. I squeezed my eyes shut until I felt the wave of emotion subside. “No,” I replied quietly. “I don’t know how.”
“I think you should,” Jackson whispered back. “I think the two of you avoid each other because neither of you have worked through the grief of the accident.”
I disagreed. “Sure we have.”
“No, you haven’t. When’s the last time you and your dad went to your mother’s grave together and laid flowers on it?”
I couldn’t answer.
After my silence went on for too long, Jack asked another question. “When’s the last time you and your dad talked to your brother’s grave and told him about all the cool things you’ve been up to these last six years?”
Again, I couldn’t say anything. I could only lie there and listen to him breathing. I think Jackson knew I needed some time to think so he didn’t move or comment for the longest time. “I’ve gone,” he finally whispered. “Not often, but a few times. I sat in the grass and asked Nate his opinions.”
“On what?”
Jackson spoke so quietly; even being this close I could hardly hear him. “My parents. Their beliefs. What he thought I should do that time my dad hit me.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how else to respond. I knew the fight he had had with his dad wasn’t something he enjoyed talking about. I swallowed and took a deep breath. What should I say? Then the bed shifted and he rolled over onto his side. He was breaking the “unspoken” rules and looking directly at my face, leaning his weight on his elbow. I tilted my face in his direction.
Jackson shifted the conversation back to me again. “I know losing half your family sucked big-time,” he said somberly, his eyes doing everything to reflect his honesty. “And I know that you know it felt like half my family disappeared too; Nate and Mrs. B meant a lot to me.”
I blinked and swallowed hard as I nodded. Holding back the tears was not going to be easy if he kept looking at me while he spoke.
Jack explained, “But I think it’s been long enough. For six years you’ve been hiding too, just like your dad minus the alcohol. I think it’s time you visited their graves and dealt with their loss. I hear talking to dead family members, as if they can hear you, is very therapeutic.”
I swallowed again licked my lips nervously. I wasn’t sure I liked how close he was, if made me uncomfortably anxious. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked quietly, trying to focus on the conversation and not the way his eyes held my gaze.
Jack shrugged casually. “I was listening to a group of college girls chatting in the cafeteria. One was a psych major.”
“Eavesdropping isn’t polite.”
He grinned. “They didn’t know.”
“And talking to ghosts helps?”
“Yeah. Some people talk to God about their dead relatives, others talk right to them like they can hear you.”
“Do you think they can hear?” I asked. I hadn’t attended church, but I held the belief that there was something beyond this life that I just didn’t understand. If dead relatives could still hear us, I think I’d feel better about it. I wanted to know my mom could hear me.
Jackson gave me a soft smile. “Yes, definitely. I think those who go before us can hear our prayers. I think God watches over our family, your family, and allows those we care about to feel our joy. I know we differ on our beliefs, but I really do think God has a great purpose for you and that’s why you didn’t die that night. You’re a fighter, Flynn.” Jackson looked at me very tenderly and gently ran the backs of his fingers down my arm. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I think it’s time you face your fears and visit your mom. If you want, I’ll go with you.”
“You will?” I was surprised when my voice didn’t crack. The look he gave me mirrored the one he’d had two years prior when he kissed me. Not a day went by when I hadn’t remembered that kiss, but I also remembered the way he treated me for weeks after our kiss and it was an experience I never wanted to repeat. He had been such an asshole. And then he licked his lips and my dick pulsed in response. Shit. I glanced away hoping he’d pick up on my discomfort. “I guess we could,” I added, speaking in the other direction. “Will you be home that weekend?”
I could feel my heart racing. His fingers still trailed up and down my arm and the sensation was waking up my groin. Not good.
“Huh? What? Um, yeah,” he replied, pulling his hand away and leaning away. “I think I’ll be home that weekend. Let me check.” Suddenly, he vaulted over my body and was in his computer chair before I could react. “Um, no, sorry. There’s a thing at school that day. How about on Sunday?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll work myself up for it.” I sat up and sung my legs over the side of the bed. I thought if I sat there quietly, he wouldn’t notice my erection. I also knew he wouldn’t question why I wasn’t going back to doing my homework so I could linger without it seeming odd.
While Jackson scanned his notebook as if homework was suddenly imperative, I tried willing-away my hard-on. I could have avoided moments like this if I simply explained I’m gay, but no! I liked torturing myself. He wouldn’t have looked at me that way if he’d known. He wouldn’t have touched me so tenderly if he’d known. But then… maybe he wouldn’t have felt comfortable lying next to me on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and talking like we’d done. Losing that closeness would hurt too much. No, Jackson was better off not knowing.
I slipped off the bed and sat on the floor next to my books. Jackson looked my way and commented, “So, you made a new friend?”
I grinned and nodded. “Yup.” Nice topic shift back to Keith, I thought.
“Good,” he said. “Friends are good.”
I picked up my pencil and went back to Algebra.
An hour later, his mother called us down for dinner. I actually missed these times with his family, now that he’d gone to college. I was extra glad he had come home for a visit because not only could I tell him about Keith, but I could also reconnect with my best friend. He was the only one in the world who could make me feel twenty-five emotions at once. And besides, I think he was right about avoiding my grief.


Two best friends, one huge secret, and a wedding that stands in the way.

Flynn Brewer has a secret, (two secrets)—he’s gay and he’s in love with the boy next door. Flynn’s known for years how he felt, but he’s kept his secret because he’s convinced that telling his best friend, Jack, could destroy their relationship. And then, when Flynn finally works up the nerve to tell him, Bronwyn and her sister enter the picture and mess up everything. Flynn couldn’t say the words now. Not when “I love you” sounds like a lame attempt at hiding his jealousy over Bronwyn. Besides… so cliché.

Jackson Mitchell was every girl’s heartthrob and every boy’s wet dream. Quarterback from high school turned horticulturalist, Jack had a personality that could sell anything, do anything, or be anything. Except, he couldn’t sell the truth—to himself. He’d been living a lie ever since his best friend Nate, Flynn’s brother, died ten years prior. And just when he thinks he’s ready to talk about it, and tell Flynn how he feels, he meets a girl and gets swept away.

 Years later, both friends stand ready at a wedding neither one wants to go through with. The best man, dying on the inside as the only man he’s ever loved commits himself in marriage—to a woman; and the groom, going through the motions of what is expected of him, even though, in his heart, he’d rather be saying “I do” to someone else. At this point, only God could intervene to avert disaster.

For those who missed the post of the PROLOGUE can click here

Rainbow Book Fair 2014 and my upcoming "events"

Howdy. Yesterday I attended the 6th Annual Rainbow Book Fair in New York City. I have been there before, but NOT as an author with actual "fans" and people who come up and say, "I really liked your book." That was surreal and thrilling. People recognized me, either from Facebook, or from my book covers and asked if I was Wade Kelly. OMG! What a rush. I swear I was on an adrenaline high most of the day!

I did a reading from JOCK. I read a shortened version of page 28-30. (Cole and Ellis' first kiss.) Lynn, my wonderful friend, recorded it, but we are having a delay in posting it because of the file size. (I'll post soon I hope.) It was very fun. I was nervous, but Lynn said I did well. I was super happy that My friend and fellow author Jeff Adams got to the fair in time to hear me read. He is such a dear man. It meant a lot to have these two wonderful people in the audience as I read, knowing they were there for me. I just adore my friends!

Anyway… I really had a great time at the fair. I met LOADS of people! I talked all day!!!! People were friendly and open to stop and talk. I did a drawing for a free audio book and a man named John won. (I emailed him directly.) I was chuffed to have 19 cards in my raffle for the audiobook :) On the raffle card there was an option to be kept up to date via e-mail, 13 of the 19 checked YES. Of the "yeses" 10 had never read my books. I find this a fun fact! I had people stop by and find me interesting enough to get e-mails and they had never read my books before! YAY!! So cool. I only hope I am not too boring and they don't "unsubscribe" too quickly.

Overall, I had a positive experience at the book fair and afterwards Jeff, Lynn, and I joined the NY author meet up group to have drinks at the Ivy on 8th ave. (Group included authors Damon Suede, Taylor Donovan, Kate McMurray, reviewer Monique Thompson, Madeline, Deb, Tina, and other people I can't remember the names of.) I had a delicious cosmo with my dinner. It was a noodle dish with chicken and a ginger sauce. oh my. We talked, laughed, cried a little (well, I did) and then called it a night. I am such the partier that I was in bed by nine! hahahaha.

So, first conference where I went as an AUTHOR, done. CHECK!!

Next up… Rainbow Con in Tampa!

To kick this event off, Rainbow Con is having a "blog hop" like many do. On April 1st, I will be featured on Pants Off Reviews by Darien Moya. (I told him I loved his name.) So stop by there on Tuesday to see what I have to say about Rainbow Con!!!

I also started some of the edits on Names Can Never Hurt Me. I got the blurb edit. Small, but better than nothing. Dreamspinner is backed up with lots of book edits so they are behind on mine. Oh well. I guess they just have too many of your favorite authors writing books to keep up with. That is a good thing! Be patient. As soon as I have cover art and a date and editing news I will let you know!

Next, after I post my blogs and write a blog for Mr. Moya, I will be editing chapter 1 of Misplaced Affection and posting it. check back soon, or subscribe to the right in the box that looks like:


Wade :)

Info for "New Subscribers"


This is a post mainly for the new people I met at the Rainbow Book Fair who were kind enough to stop by my table, talk, and then fill out an entry for a drawing and check the box marked "YES" to subscribe to current news via e-mail. My main form of communication about "current news" is my blog. I don't do "group" e-mails and I am not even sure how. I found an app online that signs people up to get an e-mail notification when I post a blog. This is GOOD NEWS for people who are interested in what is going on in my life, in my writing, and with my books.

If you already check back often to look for posts and want notifications, simply look to the right and find the box that looks like this (on my blog page

I have tried this myself and it works. Normally I get a notification the day after I post a blog. AND at the end of the e-mail there is an option to "unsubscribe" if you decide it is not for you. I tend to blog twice a week on most weeks. There was a spell where I only blogged once every other week, but I hope that dry period is gone for now. I think my depression has moved on. I THINK I am feeling motivated again and that the creative juices are flowing. I HOPE!

For those who wanted to get e-mails, I am listing your email in this "Subscibers" box and you will get e-mails when I post a blog. I CAN NOT unsubscribe for you. You have to open the e-mail from "Wade Kelly <>" and scroll to the bottom and click "unsubscribe" just like any other e-mail that comes in on a regular basis. I had to unsubscribe from some places today. I opted to stop receiving e-mails from Kohl's, Travilocity,, and groupon to name a few. I always get too many e-mails and sometimes you need to unsubscribe and weed them out.

I do not know who follows me via e-mail. The app doesn't tell me. I do not know who "UNsubscribes", it doesn't tell me. As far as I know you are anonymous via e-mail. On the blog itself, if you "follow" my blog from your blog, then I think it shows up in my "followers" list. I only as 48 today. THANK YOU TO THOSE 48!!!!!

Anyway, That is how it all works. I am off to write a separate blog and talk about the rainbow book fair and my upcoming conferences and up coming release, etc.

Oh, and BTW, I am writing probably three blogs in a row so those who met me this weekend will get three notifications at the same time. THIS IS NOT NORMAL. It just so happens that I have separate things to blog and talk about so I am doing it in separate blog posts. Normally, it is 2 blogs a week.


Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Win a FREE audio book

Hello all you wonderful people! I am writing to let you know how excited I am about going to the New York Rainbow Book Fair this weekend! I have swag, BOOKS, and a giveaway! All you have to do is stop by my table at the fair and fill out an entry form. (It's short and easy.)

I will be drawing a winner at the end of the fair for a download code for My Roommate's a Jock? Well, Crap! I hope some of you can stop by and enter. :)

I do plan on doing another giveaway at Rainbow Con in Tampa, and one at RT in May. And possibly one more over the summer for free AUDIO download codes for My Roommate's a Jock? Well, Crap! Keep checking back. Thanks.

I will be posting more soon about my work in progress that readers have responded well to. I'm glad you think I'm not boring! Thank you.

*hugs to you all.


Saturday, March 22, 2014

excerpt from my WIP

Okay, I'm doing it. I'm giving you an excerpt of what I'm writing. This is my WORK IN PROGRESS. My question would be, does this make you want to read more, or are you bored already?

Title: Misplaced Affection.

Description / blurb:

Two best friends, one huge secret, and a wedding that stands in the way.

Flynn Brewer has a secret, (two secrets)—he’s gay and he’s in love with the boy next door. Flynn’s known for years how he felt, but he’s kept his secret because he’s convinced that telling his best friend, Jack, could destroy their relationship. And then, when Flynn finally works up the nerve to tell him, Bronwyn and her sister enter the picture and mess up everything. Flynn couldn’t say the words now. Not when “I love you” sounds like a lame attempt at hiding his jealousy over Bronwyn. Besides… so cliché.

Jackson Mitchell was every girl’s heartthrob and every boy’s wet dream. Quarterback from high school turned horticulturalist, Jack had a personality that could sell anything, do anything, or be anything. Except, he couldn’t sell the truth—to himself. He’d been living a lie ever since his best friend Nate, Flynn’s brother, died ten years prior. And just when he thinks he’s ready to talk about it, and tell Flynn how he feels, he meets a girl and gets swept away.

 Years later, both friends stand ready at a wedding neither one wants to go through with. The best man, dying on the inside as the only man he’s ever loved commits himself in marriage—to a woman; and the groom, going through the motions of what is expected of him, even though, in his heart, he’d rather be saying “I do” to someone else. At this point, only God could intervene to avert disaster.



April 2014

She loves him. I could see it in her eyes—that deep sense of longing—as she peered over her shoulder toward the ushers, family members, and friends who gathered to prepare for the day’s festivities. As workers from the cottage set chairs in rows on the grass and hung strings of white lights in the trees, “Ophelia”, as Jack called her because she looked like she had stepped out of a painting by that title, wandered farther away picking flowers and occasionally wiping the tip of her nose. Why had I noticed? Why would I care? Because I felt the same disconnect as she wore in her expression. Only, my reaction wasn’t to pick flowers it was to sit on a folding chair on the edge of the activity and sulk.
It was no surprise to me that Amelia is in love with Jackson Mitchell; after all, he has the kind of smile that lights up a room and personality enough to power a city. Jack is vivacious and charismatic and able to draw people in with a glance. Everyone loves Jack, so I couldn’t blame her for falling hard. The only trouble I foresaw rested on her assigned position as Maid of Honor. How would the sweet “Ophelia” handle walking down the aisle on “Prince Hamlet’s” wedding day only to step to the left, and allow room for his bride to join him at the altar? I didn’t know.
I could imagine how hard this was for her. I had been there at the restaurant last July, expecting wings and an exchange of college stories, when out of the blue our annual birthday dinner turned into an engagement party. I certainly hadn’t expected it. I distinctly remembered Amelia’s squeal of delight because it pierced my ears and caused me to promptly cup them, but her high-pitched cry and enthusiastic joy had been immediately followed by vain attempts to hide her tears. I had had my own issues that day, my own internal debates and misgivings, but I would never forget the look in Amelia’s eyes as she caught me watching her. Her joy had been as bittersweet as mine.
Luckily, Bronwyn mistook her sister’s sadness and jealousy for happiness and hugged her until she smiled again. Poor girl. She should have said something. I should have said something. But the words got stuck in my throat as I watched the happy couple, Jackson and Bronwyn, hugging and toasting. Bronwyn asked her sister to stand beside her at the alter two second before Jackson turned his charm my way. Keith kicked me under the table as I helplessly agreed to be his best man. I had never been able to refuse Jackson any request in the past, so it stood to reason that I wouldn’t have been able to change the course of history now. Of course I accepted.
Acceptance—fuck—look where it got us nine months later; an outdoor wedding straight out of a Shakespearian play complete with strolling minstrels, flutes, mandolins, Victorian gowns, puffy shirts, and poet hats. Stupid hats, they messed up my hair. I didn’t want to be here. My only solace was that Amelia was as unhappy as I was.
As I watched her stroll along the opposite edge of the wooded garden, picking flowers and sampling wild raspberries, I thought to myself how beautiful she was. Her luminescent auburn locks tumbled down her back, tendrils lifting in the slight breeze, and beckoning those around her, including me, to touch, caress and become lost in the alluring tresses. She had tucked flowers in her flowing mane as a weaver might include jewels among his threads, which made her even more stunning. She looked remarkable in her billowing white gown, and I knew without asking that she longed for Jack to notice. But he wouldn’t. Jack’s eyes were set on the fiery redhead who waited beyond the willow tree for the minstrels to start their strumming.
Our “Ophelia” would never garner “Hamlet’s” attention as she did in the Shakespearian play, which was why she chose to pick flowers instead of attending to her sister, the bride-to-be, Bronwyn Pierce. Amelia gathered her skirts and created a basket in her arms and filled it as she went with red poppies, white daisies, and blue cornflowers. Oh, to be so carefree and peaceful at a time like this. She looked so serene, but on the inside I knew she was falling apart. Amelia was a casualty of war in a sense, mourning the loss of her heart with the impending words “I do”. So as she stepped barefoot through the grass weeping in silence and collecting flowers like a child, I watched and shed my own tears, mirroring her sorrow, empathizing with her pain, and dying inside because the same woeful revelation suffocated me—I was in love with Jackson as well.
Fuck! The revelation hit me like a truck on a highway. Keith had been right all along.
I curled forward over my legs and cradled my face in my hands. What a mess. Less than two hours to go before this stupid wedding and I realize I’m in love with the groom, Amelia’s in love with the groom, and the poor bride is obliviously readying for, possibly, the world’s most clichéd wedding, and the worst part, if it could get any worse, was the unsettled notion I had that Jackson was actually gay.
What was I supposed to do with that?
I sat back and scanned the scene again after rubbing the weariness from my eyes cheeks. Most people seemed joyous. My dad was talking and laughing with Jackson’s aunt—one good by-product of this event. But those of our core group, seemed to feel the tension. Kelly and Grace weren’t laughing; they were texting. Keith, my ex, was sitting on the opposite side of the chaired area near them but not with them, arms folded, scowl firmly affixed to his face. I wasn’t even sure why he’d come today except that maybe Grace had threatened him.
Tom and Greg were most likely with Jackson, my best friend, where I should be since I was supposed to be his best man. But how could I look Jack in the face after what had happened after the bachelor party last night?
Oh God. “I’m probably going to hell,” I whispered, thinking about what we had done. As a tear forced its way from the corner of my eye I thought out loud, “How did things get so fucked up?”

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

The voices are silent


Anyone who truly knows me knows that I am a fairly emotional person. In fact, I often tell my son I am the most emotional woman he will ever meet and his father snickers, nods, and agrees, "Yes, that's true." I was made this way. I am an emotional roller coaster much like the books I write. Happy, sad, angry, hurt, bitchy, and everywhere in between. I feel a lot, and I normally think a lot. I'm always thinking, often out loud, and it translates over into my writing. But lately, everything has been silent.

Some might say that having silence in your head is a good thing. Not me. I'm used to "the voices" talking, and the story-lines brewing. For a long time now, I've had nothing. Emptiness. I've been doing okay because I am not sleeping until noon and going back to bed by 2. I am keeping up with my family quite well.

My son and I have come to terms on some miscommunications and talked it all out. I THINK we are back on track and I am feeling much better about all that. My moods are often linked to how he and I are getting along. At the moment, things are swell. I have a clean house and happy children, husband is fed, and all the clothes are washed. Life on the domestic end is good. But at the other end of the spectrum, my writer life is quiet, and disheartening.

I need to write. Often it feels like I need to write like I need to breath. I haven't even had ideas for blog posts. I don't know what to talk about. I have virtually nothing going on writing-wise. I am supposed to starts edits soon for NCNHM (or NAMES, or Names Can Never Hurt Me) with the Dreamspinner editorial staff. Hopefully that will kick-start some creativity. IDK. I also hope to get a cover for that one as well so I can promote it with some swag at the couple conventions I am attending soon.

The Rainbow Book Fair is coming up. I am scheduled to read for 4 minutes March 29th. That should be fun. I need to pick a SHORT passage as 4 minutes goes fast!

I am scheduled to do a guest BLOG post for Pants Off Reviews for Rainbow Con. My post is April 1st. I have to think of something to talk about. Rainbow con will be fun. I am going down either tuesday or wednesday of that week.

On Thursday I am scheduled for a Q&A session 5:30-6pm in salon A with Beau Schemery, Jeff Adams, Stephen del mar, and Viktor Alexander. So far I have only met Jeff so I will be meeting new people :D (I like meeting people)

On Friday I am scheduled for an Author signing and reading in salon C @ 2:00. This should be fun. I am not sure how long I am supposed to read for. I'd LIKE to read from Names Can Never Hurt Me, but idk. I think promo might be too far in advance since I don't have a release date yet.

On Saturday I will be on a PANEL discussing "Handling Criticism"in salon B at 5:00pm. Hosted by the wonderful Shira Anthony, I will be talking along side Jordan L. Hawk, Kassa, Sasha L. Miller, and Susan Lee. HAHAHA. I will have to think about what to say about that one! Oh gosh!

And rounding it out on SUNDAY, I will be talking on a panel with Angel Martinez, Cari Z, Rory Ni Coileain. Sui Lynn, with host David Berger,  discussing "Religion and Genre Fiction" in Salon A. That should be interesting. Although, be warned, if "attacked" I cry! Don't make me cry, please.

I will talk about the RT convention in May later on. And of course GRL in October!! Talk about GRL is all over and people are so excited, except that for many of you, I will see you anyway in April!! :D

So……. As for me and HOW you can help me…. People often ask me "How can I pray for you?" (I know lots of religious people.) I often say, "Pray for my words." Why? Because I can see that what I write matters. I get e-mails and comments and reviews from readers telling me how much my book (or books) meant to them. I WANT to make a difference one reader at a time and that only happens if my words come out right. I want them to make sense and I want my words to make an impact. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself and maybe that is why things are silent in my head. Well, PRAY the words start flowing. Se,, I don't want to write just any old thing. I want good stories, meaningful stories. I want deep characters with strong emotional impact whether the readers laughs or cries. I want to make a difference in someone's life. Is that so wrong to aspire to? I hope not. It is what I want more than fame and fortune. (Heaven knows I don't have either of those.)

Recently I got a wonderful e-mail from a man named Max. He said he read JOCK 3-4 times and loved it. Thank you Max. I'm glad you enjoyed my writing. I want to deliver more good stories.

PRAY FOR MY WORDS, PEOPLE.  May they flow freely and say something meaningful to at least one person on the planet. :D

That is all,



Thursday, March 6, 2014

A Feeling of Failure

There was a time when I blogged twice a week, but somehow those days drifted by and now I am lucky if I remember to blog once a week. I'm trying. I could blame the weather and that certainly has something to do with it, but it's me. It's a certain amount of depression associated with a feeling of failure. I've failed. I've failed as a person, an author, and lately… as a mom.

Might be a shock to some of you who haven't read my bio, but I am a mother of three. Yes, I'm a girl and I have blogged plenty about that. Check out>> Wade Kelly: I'm Just a Girl… A Girl Named Wade. In short, I've posted that I've met people named Hunter, Devon, Logan, Shannon, Taylor, Dana, and a Kelly in BOTH genders. And recently I've met a Shawn and a Michael. So, yeah, WADE… Not so hard to think of me as a girl when every other girl is taking what used to be traditionally considered "boys" names. It's been a year since I "came out" about why I chose the pen-name Wade Kelly. If you are reading this and didn't know. Sorry. No offense intended. Many places (like goodreads) have my gender listed and I have my picture on Facebook. Eventually, when I don't fear the people in my past so much, I will begin listing a picture of myself in my bio. It IS, however, on the GRL website. That was my first step this year to putting myself fully out there.

It is a scary place, very exposing. I've taken a lot of shit over the past couple years and in the process I became fractured and scattered like pieces of a mirror reflecting my soul in all directions. 2013 was like a cleansing year. It was a year to pick up those pieces of ME and glue them back together with real friendships and true love and acceptance. It was the nicest year I've had in a long while. I have found real friends and it is freeing to finally feel like myself almost all the time. The goal for 2014 is to bring my "shards" closer still and be more of ME, and me without apology. It is a difficult thing when you've hidden who you are to open the door to hurt, but I have to try. It is freeing when you don't have to pretend or second guess everything. *Side note: something I would want to tell Matt and Brad and Sam. haha. JUST BE YOURSELF. ALL THE TIME! But I do know how hard that is in some small sense because I've been there. Being yourself in a world that may not accept you is terrifying.

Anyway…. Back to feeling like a failure.

My son is adopted. And though I want to feel close to him, as any mother would her child (hopefully), There is that part that will never be close because I missed out on way too many years of his development. There is a void, and the relationship came that way from the start. Now, he's 17 almost 18, and has a girlfriend, and is "happy" whenever he is with her. He's pulled away and spends his time there. I've met her once in 6 weeks and I feel lost and dejected. MUCH of this has to do with me. I WANT my little boy to love his mother and shower me with affection, but he's not a little boy. And all his affection goes HER way. I don't know how to talk to him. I don't know how to mother him. I don't know how to set boundaries or pull the boundaries back when they are too tight. I don't know what I should expect from him or how to explain my expectations. He's a boy. I'm a woman. I'm a woman who just wants to feel like he loves me no matter where he is or whom he's with and I don't feel that. He doesn't share. He doesn't talk. He doesn't interact much when he's home. He shuts himself away in his room and says "We are never home anyway." (referring to the fact that I am always driving some kid somewhere all the time.) How do I let go? How do I let my baby bird jump from the nest at 17 and hope he doesn't forget that I love him? He forgets so many other things.

I don't know how to be what I need to be and so I feel like a failure.

And then I am supposed to be a writer. Writers WRITE, don't they? I can't even do that. I have no creativity. I have three books hovering around 38-44k and yet they sit. THREE half written books. You would think that would be a good thing because that is three that are close to being done. I should be excited and finish them off. But I don't know how. I feel inadequate. I feel BORING. I read things I wrote and think surely no one will find this interesting. Although, I do have to say that last night I was reading the ending I wrote for Misplaced Affection and I really liked it. I didn't want to change it. I hope my ending isn't off-putting to the masses because I like what I did.

I guess this goes back to fear. I fear basically EVERYTHING. I'm afraid of being hated. I'm afraid of being forgotten. I'm afraid my son will replace me with this girl and never need me again. I'm afraid I won't be able to finish another novel. I'm afraid that my up coming release in July will be a bust. I'm afraid and terribly sad for Eric and Tj. I'm afraid that my new tattoo is going to just peel or fall off my finger because it doesn't look like a tattoo as much as it look like a chalk drawing. I'm afraid I am loosing the ability to find time for myself again.

There used to be a time when I spent ALL my energy taking care of everyone else, and I forgot ME. And then it swung the other direction and I was watching out for my own needs and forgot everyone else. Now, I'm exhausted all the time. I go go go, but hardly ever sit and do what I love. WRITE. Partly because I feel like there isn't anything in there worth writing. And partly because I spend all my time taking care of everyone else. (Although I bet they would not see it that way.)

So, yeah, I've been quiet. I've run out of interesting things to say because I am consumed with thoughts of inadequacy. Do I measure up? Am I a failure? These are real questions and feelings I have at the moment which inhibit me from embracing all the good things in life I already have. So there you have it. ME. Me and the mess that is in my head right now. So pray for me that the right words would flow because right now, every one I type is a struggle.