First Excerpt up from The Redemption of Asphodel!

The second book in The Asphodel Cycle, The Redemption of Asphodel, will be available for pre-order on May 30 on Amazon, and will go on sale June 6. Check out my website and Amazon author's page for more details!

Chapter One (partial)

Two hours later, I joined the men in the library, freshly clad in a warm, loose woolen gown and with my damp hair hanging down my back. As I walked in, Mariol saluted me with his glass. “Today was beautifully done, Tamsen.”

“I don’t see what was so beautiful about it,” I said irritably. “I got stuck in the middle of this entire mess, which is precisely where I didn’t want to be.”

“I think that at this point, you need to be right in the middle of it,” Mariol corrected me. “You don’t need to be some center of activity away from the Court now. Let’s keep you as the mediator and above the messy politics. That will serve us better in the long run.”

I gave him a steady look. “Mariol, if I were away from the Court, the last thing I would be is a center of activity. I need to rest, as you well know, and this will not help matters much. We can’t afford for me to collapse, especially since we have no idea where Spesialle is or what he’s planning.”

“Is your health still that bad?” Mylan asked with a frown.

I sighed, toying with the glass of wine Anner had handed me. “Magic takes a great deal of strength. Even when doing normal magic, it takes days for a mage to recover from a huge output of power. The weakness caused by the greater magics is debilitating, which is why you don’t have people blasting their way magically through the kingdom. Do you follow me so far?”

After he nodded, I continued. “During the battle of Asphodel, I performed a magical act that should have killed me. The control of the weather is a power that is normally beyond mortal ability, except for me apparently. In order to accomplish something as immense as a cyclone, I had to borrow power from somewhere. In the attempt to control what I’d borrowed, I destroyed a great deal of my strength. To this day, I have not regained it entirely. The—” I paused, swallowing the repressed lump of sorrow in my throat. “The miscarriage I had took even more of my strength, and my little trek through the forest didn’t help my situation. Kaldarte thinks I will improve, and perhaps even reach my normal strength again, but only if I rest. Any time I use magic, or I am up and active for extended periods, it causes a setback that I think we can ill afford right now. Spesialle has taken the time to heal and recuperate. He will not remain dormant for long.”

Anner frowned, first at me then at Brial. “Why are you here then? You should have remained in Asphodel while we came here.”

“It is necessary,” I said simply.

“Don’t think I haven’t tried,” Brial said, a defensive gleam in his eyes as he met Anner’s frown. “If you think you’ll have better success in restraining her, my friend, by all means: be my guest.”

Once again, the latent tension between the two men hovered in the room as they stared at each other. Mylan’s sudden laugh broke the uneasy silence.

“If Kaldarte can’t control her, there is no way either one of you two could,” he pointed out. The wary tightness of his face, however, suggested that Anner’s private confrontation with my husband was not as discreet as once it was.

Mariol turned back to me. “I had no idea it was this bad, Tamsen. If the Seer is that concerned, then you are endangering yourself by even being here.”

I waved this away with a grimace. “I’ll be very careful, Mariol. We’ll just need to regulate the Council meetings. Our herald friend is coming by tomorrow with a list of legitimate claimants to the throne. If we have our mind set on only a few of the candidates, then perhaps we can lead the Council to consider only those men.”

“Perhaps we can find somewhere a bit less formal to convene the Council,” Brial suggested, his voice still cool. “If we are someplace warm and comfortable, then the strain will less affect my wife.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mariol approved, ignoring the worded gauntlet Brial had tossed to the floor. “Several of the larger drawing rooms might be appropriate. I will contact a friend of mine in the city as well. He is an herbalist and physician, and if he attends you in Council, Tamsen, it will be a simple matter to use your health as an excuse to dismiss it early.”

“We can’t do that,” I disagreed, shaking my head. “If any word of my illness reaches Spesialle’s ears, we can expect a visit from him in short order. I don’t know how he can get from one place to another magically, Mariol. Do you?”

“No,” the mage admitted, scratching his head with a frown. “It must have something to do with visualization, but I can’t grasp the idea behind it. I know Hyagrem is looking into it.”

“We don’t know who we can trust at Court, so no one must suspect I am this weak. With any luck, I can keep the meetings short. Call your physician if you like. Perhaps he has options for me that Kaldarte didn’t.”

“Brial will be there,” Mariol said. “He’ll know if you’ve had enough, and can get word to one of us so that we can make the suggestion. With all of us working together, we’ll be able to keep your secret.”

A servant announced dinner, and we followed Mariol into the familiar dining room. We had spent several enjoyable evenings lingering over the polished mahogany table in happier times. On this night, however, we ate the delicately seasoned shellfish and game birds the newly returned kitchen staff sent for our consumption without much conversation. Brial sat at my side, eating little and speaking less.

Inwardly, I sighed. The situation with Anner and Brial was reaching the point where I must address the issue. Obviously, I didn’t want them addressing anything in private with sharp objects, so it would be up to me to see that this crisis was resolved.

Just another thing to worry about.

We were silent when we reached our rooms. I curled up in a chair with a book on Court procedure while Brial honed the edge of his sword. The repetitive shrill of the whetstone running along the blade set my teeth on edge and banged against my throbbing temples with every scrape of the sword.

“Brial,” I said finally. “Put that sword down and let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what, cariad?”

“We need to discuss this situation you have with Anner.”

Brial set the sword and whetstone on the floor. “I would say he has a situation with me,” he replied as the shutters dropped down over his face.

I winced, but plowed forward anyway. “Anner has been a good friend to us, beloved. We should be past these petty distractions.”

“I do not require the criticisms of another man on how I protect my wife,” he said haughtily, and for the first time anger snapped into his eyes. “Nor do I need that same wife to lecture me on how to behave.”

“I’m not trying to tell you how to act,” I said as my own temper began to stir. “I am concerned for you both. Anner has a problem, yes, and I will address that with him if I must. But your response to him today only encouraged him to continue his foolishness.”

“That is not my concern.”

“Maybe not, but it is mine!”

He snatched up his sword, ramming it into the sheath at his side. As we glared at each other, he strode to the door.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

He did not turn back to me, only hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Then, he squared his shoulders and stalked from the room.

Damn him! In all the years I had heard about the Elves and then lived among them, I had never heard of such a foul-tempered Elf. I threw a warm mantle over my nightdress and slammed my feet into slippers.

When Brial was in a temper, there was no telling what he would do. He could either be saddling his horse or searching the library for a book. I would have to go find him.

As I stepped out into the hall, I didn’t hear any shouting or sword fighting. That was encouraging. I closed our door and sped down the dimly lit hall. My slippers made no sound on the marble floors as I hurried in search of my irate husband. As I slipped down the huge, central staircase, I heard the others in the study. The doors were ajar, and I crept to them.

“You’re acting like an ass,” Mylan’s firm voice floated out to me. “They are married. Brial is our friend, Anner. You’re treating him like he’s beaten her.”

“If he were as protective of her health as he is his own pride, she would not be here right now,” Anner growled. I rolled my eyes.

“If she were not here,” Mariol pointed out quietly, “we would not have the advantages that we do. Tamsen knows her importance in the scheme of things, and if you think that husband of hers isn’t kept involved in the decision making processes, you are a fool. Brial Ka’breona has the unenviable chore of guarding his wife, and acquits himself admirably. He is the only one who can manage her with any form of success. All he has to do is suggest an outrageous restriction upon her, and then when she protests—usually at the top of her voice –he lets her suggest a compromise. Then he agrees and places her exactly where he wanted her in the first place. No one else, save possibly Kaldarte or Hyagrem, exercises that kind of control over our young lady from Asphodel.”

My mouth dropped open. All of the arguments and struggles we had over my participation in events flashed through my head. All of the “you leave at sunsets” and the “I forbid its” were nothing but opening gambits in a game I did not even know he was playing?

“If she is so ill, she should be at home under the Seer’s care,” Anner said stubbornly.

“Anner, my friend,” Glaucon interrupted, a definite chill in his voice. “You need to get past this. She doesn’t love you.  She is married to an Elflord, and among the Elves that is permanent. You can never have her, Anner. You need to move on.”

Glaucon’s blunt comment fell into the room with a crash, and Mylan added. ”I have followed you through many things, mate, but I will not follow you on this. You are jeopardizing everything we have worked for a year to build with this ridiculous attitude of yours. It’s time, Anner. Give it up.”

I hurried away. I didn’t want to hear any more. As I sped through the drawing room, I saw Wilden. He jerked his head at the music room door, and disappeared into the darkened corridor. I stopped to catch my breath, and went to stand in the door.

Brial sat with a small harp nestled upon his lap. His long, slender fingers were brushing over the strings, checking the tone of the instrument as he turned the tiny wooden knobs that tuned it.

“I didn’t know you could play,” I observed.

He didn’t look up, which meant he had heard me coming. One of the worst things about being married to an Elven scout was the difficulty in surprising them.

“I learned when I was very young,” he replied after a moment. “My mother taught me. As I grew older, I put it aside when I began to study warfare.”

I drifted through the door. As I hovered there, uncertain of what to do next, Brial looked up at me with a wry smile. “Go ahead and sit; I won’t shout at you.”

I lowered myself into a chair as he bent his head back to the little harp. Finally, he seemed satisfied, and began to play a sweet, haunting little melody that drifted through the room.

“What is this song?” I asked. “I think I’ve heard it before.”

“Oh, you have,” he assured me. “You heard it at our vialigatis.”

“That’s right,” I agreed, remembering the harps playing as the Ka’breona maidens tucked their blossoms into my hair. “What is it called?”

“It is our traditional song of courting,” he replied, unleashing those black eyes at me. “We play it to the women we love, and at the formalization of our unions, as a reminder of the early days in any lifebond where the magic and the power mingle in the growing surety that this particular woman is the one. It is, at once, a declaration and a question.”

“I see.” I relaxed in my seat. He turned his attention back to the harp.

“You thought I was leaving?”

“I thought it a possibility.”

“I will never leave you,” he replied, his voice deep and low.

We were silent for a few minutes more, caught up in the spell of the music and the new strangeness between us. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and cry. I knew I had wounded him in some way.

He finished the song with a last, tinkling spray of notes and lifted his head to stare at me. We regarded each other as the room fell back into silence.

“I have,” he began quietly, “changed many of the ways I was brought up to be since I fell in love with you. I have forced my mistrust of humans from me and learned to befriend the men that gathered around you. I have learned to bite my tongue at your ways, none of which, I might add, would be tolerated in an Elf of your age and station. I have given up convincing you to be more aware of your safety, and instead have focused my efforts into guarding you without your knowledge. Everything that I thought I was I have given up in love for you save for one vital thing: I will not endure any interference from another in the decisions I make regarding you. I don’t care who it is, this one, last thing I will not concede. Even you, cariad, tread a careful line with me in this matter. You are my wife and I think it important that we agree on things. There will come a time, however, that I will override you and you will obey me if I see fit.”

His eyes flashed into the glittering black glare of his anger. “Anner de Ceolliune, in particular, must come to respect this. Friend or no, I will not remain silent if this happens again. I know, cariad, that you will not understand this. I repeat it now only as a warning. I no longer have the patience for it.”

“Brial, I—”

“Do not question my ability to look out for your best interests again, Tamsen. I apologize for my behavior earlier; I misplaced my anger. You need to realize that I mean what I say, and I will not change my mind.”

Time To Talk A Little Volunteer Magic

Anyone who's followed my blog for the past few years is very much aware that I am a passionate college football fan. One of those annoying ones who will watch any game, any time during the season and will re-watch particular favorites on the DVR the other nine months of the year. And anyone who knows me on any level is very well aware that my LOVE is reserved for only one team and that's the Tennessee Volunteers. I come by it naturally--Tennessee born and bred with practically every member of my family sporting orange and white. And when I was a wild child, doing theater up and down the eastern seaboard, I perfected my love of the Vols through two things--understanding the game of football in a way few women back then did, and bartending at a sports bar in Florida, where for one week every fall I was the most unpopular girl with the busiest bar in the Florida Keys. 

No matter how long I tended bar or where, I have never worn any colors but my own school's.Every bar owner who interviewed me for a job, I told two things. First, I will double your Saturday day shift business from August to April. (Like college hoops too--who doesn't?) And second, I will never wear any gear other than Volunteers gear. The last bar owner was skeptical, seeing as Ohio State is only a few minutes away. But after the first two weeks of football season, he bought in--just like all the others did.

Unfortunately, being a Vols fan hasn't been easy, especially over the last decade. After a series of epic and abysmal hiring decisions by the University of Tennessee AD, the Vols' two biggest rivalries have unprecedented losing streaks. We've lost nine in a row to Alabama, and eleven in a row to the Florida Gators. Not because those teams are always so vastly superior, in my opinion, but because of the miasma of depression and failure that seeped like Legionnaire's disease into the sanctum sanctorum known as Neyland Stadium. 

But suddenly things are different up on the Hill.

Any real football fan who isn't blinded by mindless team bias knows that Butch Jones has been building a monster on Rocky Top. And while some Vols fans and the sports media were hyping Tennessee last summer, I went on record with Ryan McGee at ESPN during a substitute gig hosting Paul Finebaum`that I thought the Vols would go 9-4, but a couple of lucky breaks could take them to 11-2.

Sometimes it sucks to be right.

But I also told Ryan that THIS year would be the Volunteers' coming out party. And man--it sure is starting to look that way. Seventeen starters return from a team that last year was too inexperienced to make certain those couple of balls bounced their way. That includes probably the strongest overall backfield in the SEC, a veteran defensive unit that's chomping at the bit under new Defensive Coordinator Bob Shoop, and the top special teams unit in the country in 2015. The schedule is favorable with both Florida and Alabama coming to Neyland, a major out of conference matchup with Virginia Tech slated for the 'neutral site' of Bristol Motor Speedway, just up the road from Knoxville. and the SEC East currently in coaching flux.

In the words of Rod Gilmore as Evan Berry sliced up Northwestern with a 100-yard interception return for a touchdown with 8 seconds to go in the Outback Bowl a few months ago: "2016 is going to be a good one for the Vols if it keeps rolling like this!"



Why thank you--yes it is rolling...rolling...rolling, and I don't mean the Tide.

I have a lot of friends. Many--okay, most--of them are football freaks like me. The cornerstone of our friendship is based on and around football. But there's a catch. While we all love our respective teams, we try to keep the fangurl blindness out of it. Do we backslid into 'my team is better than yours'? Of course we do. But we don't lose our minds over a little 'Alabama sucks' or "Vols choke again'. We can discuss each other's teams and players knowledgably and without prejudice. And I gotta tell you something--

The rest of the SEC is starting to take notice.

Don't believe me? If you've never met LSU Dad, you should. His videos are both insightful and hilarious. And this is what HE thinks:

Sports media makes fun of Butch Jones and his cliches, and I have to admit--I got a little tired of "brick by brick" and "analytics" and some of his other favorite sayings too. But it's funny--this year, Butch Jones doesn't seem to be as hung up on those cliches. It's like he used them to mask what was really going on behind the scenes, and now he knows that...well...he doesn't have to. Because he can't. Offseason moves so far have been huge. Keeping Alvin Kamara, Cam Sutton, and my hometown, same high school (Northeast Eagles in Clarksville!) favorite Jalen Maybin-Reeves was a HUGE win for UT--bigger than signing some of the new recruits, frankly. Hiring Bob Shoop was another massive power play.

But here's why things are different on the Hill.

Today is UT's graduation. We are literally sixteen weeks away from opening kickoff. Sixteen weeks and seven hours from now, the college football season will begin. I've been a Vols fan for longer than I will admit--birth, most likely--and I have to tell you: it's been painful to root for UT the past ten years or so. Literally PAINFUL. Even the past couple of years, when our way-too-young team started to close in on the season, the doubts would begin--not only for the fans, but the players. And why not? Eleven losses in a row to Florida. Nine losses in a row to Alabama. These teams are arguably our biggest rivals. And as those circled dates drew closer on the calendar every year, the same feeling began to churn in all our guts.

Dread.

But not this year.

This year, when Florida players started mouthing off--looking at you Jalen Tabor--no one was scared. No one was angry. Everyone was like--knock yourself out, pal. Jalen Hurd, our running back, summed it up best.

6'0. 190. Just talkin' for attention. Not going to end well buddy. 

Considering that he's a 6'4", 240 lb running back who delivers hits like this--

--perhaps Jalen Tabor should reconsider poking the beast with a pointy stick. Especially when that beast has fifty pounds on you and runs 19.1 MPH on an elevated treadmill and 23.1 mph on a flat one. I'm no physicist, but I'd be willing to bet that the Jalen vs Jalen collision will favor the big guy in smokey grays. 

Yes, I said smokey grays--and probably a Checker Neyland triumph as well. 

Senior captain Jalen Reeves-Maybin (again--MY hometown and high school)in his response to the Tabor brou-ha-ha displayed something else I really like. 

Reeves-Maybin said he prefers to let his play do the talking.“We’re not gonna feed into that,” Kamara said. “We’re not too thirsty for attention.”
“Just play the game,” Reeves-Maybin said. “Play the game. Let it speak (for itself). You don’t see great players out there saying stuff like that. Just play.”

As for Alabama, my friends who root for the Tide are a little uneasy about the Third Saturday in October--which this year actually IS on the Third Saturday in October. October 15th, in fact--the day before my milestone *mumblemumble* birthday. A group of Finebaum callers are renting a cabin in the Smokies for that weekend and all going to the game. I'm looking forward to meeting them in person as they've all become such dear friends of mine. And nothing would be a better birthday present than driving back to Gatlinburg in a car with five Alabama fans who just watched the Tide get beat in Neyland Stadium.

I'd be able to cross one thing off my bucket list. Happy birthday to me.

The great thing about college football is that you never know what's going to happen. Regardless, though, I'm starting to see a quiet confidence creeping up Rocky Top. Silly fans--the kind who always think their team is going to go undefeated--don't count. But the knowledgeable fans, the sports media, the coaching staff, and the players--they do. While the returning veterans, the favorable schedule, and the feeling that everything is in place cannot be discounted, the main difference I see between the Vols of 2016 and the Vols of the past decade is in the mindset.of the players. Not just the seniors, but the new guys as well. Ever hear of Jonathon Kongbo? 

You will. 

 Is Tennessee's struggle back to the top of the heap over at last? I don't know. Maybe. Sure is starting to feel like it. The important differential is, I think, that the players don't believe UT is back. They KNOW Tennessee is back. The traditions are back. The power is back. The joy is back. The confidence is back. And it's infectious.

I'm not going to predict a record for the season, or wins over the Vols' biggest rivals. I'm not going to predict All-Americans or Heismans or playoff spots. After all, we are talking about the SEC--anything can happen. But it's foolish for anyone to deny after watching the progress UT has made over the past three years that Butch Jones wasn't kidding when he said he was rebuilding the whole program. The Vols just posted their highest collective GPA in the history of the program. Players are matriculating. And some of our guys, like Josh Dobbs, find ways to make a difference in both small ways and big. All of these things are WINS. The Vols are just better all-around, both on the field and off. They're committed to their path--and that kind of commitment doesn't just show up one day out of the blue. Commitment comes with confidence.

Confidence leads to wins. And if the Vols are winning in the classroom, winning on graduation day, winning in the realm of life, then they have learned how to win on the field as well.

It's good to see Rocky Top with its swag back.

So I'm planning to go to several games--the Battle of Bristol, the Florida game (where I fully expect to see smoky grays and Neyland checkered), and Alabama. Planning to drop off some orange roses on the General's grave, and tailgate with all the Volunteers I know and love online. Probably will bring some gator fritters in September and wear my gator boots. In October I'll dig out 'the' sweatshirt--the one I've only worn to the Third Saturday in October games I've attended since I bought the shirt in 1999--'the' sweatshirt is undefeated in three games in Knoxville and two in Tuscaloosa. I may chuck a couple of things at Lane Kiffin if I get close enough. And I'll be certain to be there with signs that will show up on TV if either Gameday or SEC Nation does their pre-game show at Neyland on those days. But for now, Team 120 has inspired me to deliver a line I haven't delivered since Phillip Fulmer was the coach.

See you in Atlanta..And if UT quarterback and senior captain Josh Dobbs is right, see you in Tampa too.

Because THEY believe, they've made a believer out of me.

Let's Talk About Asshats Part Deux

Here's a question for you--why is it that the trolls who populate the internet rarely seem to have an idea of how the internet works? What's up with that? 

I mean--intelligent people see social media, websites, and blogs as a medium for their views, pastimes, hobbies, and thoughts, right? That's certainly why I use the internet and probably you as well. So how in the world does an asshat not realize that how they use the internet reflects upon their own behavior and mentality? 

Let's try a hypothetical situation and see if we can decipher this quandry. Let's say, for example, that a blogger writes a post a month or so back about the behavior of asshats. (for further reference, you might want to hypothetically check out my earlier post about asshats) And that one of the asshats I referred to in that post suddenly calls the nationally televised show he's been abusing non-stop on social media, and launches a five-minute diatribe about that same blogger.

During the course of this tirade of asshattery, the asshat says the following, "I see what she says on the Twitter even though I have her blocked and the blog post she wrote about me." 

Does the asshat not realize he's just given the blogger's post a sudden explosion of hits as callers who hate his asshat ass click on the very-conveniently posted link to that particular blog post? And does the asshat not realize that by confessing that he follows the blogger's Twitter feed despite having her blocked is a confession that he has a sockpuppet account? And that he is admitting to the world that he's so obsessed with the blogger he calls a "witch", "that damn woman", "a idiot", et cetera that he is literally cyber-stalking her?

Let's take that a step further. 

It takes a serious asshat to go on a misogynistic rant on a national TV show and not comprehend what he is revealing about himself. That's asshattery that's off the charts on the asshat scale. The asshat couldn't have been more clear about his bigotry if he'd said, "By the way, I hate ALL women but especially that damn woman who dares to laugh at me, shred my ego, use me as an example of asshattery, and refuses to be intimidated by my bigotry. Why? Because I'm an asshat." 

Here's the deal--asshat who allegedly has 'blocked' me and yet continues to follow my every word online. That's just hilarious. Every insult you throw at me is music to my ears. There's nothing but laughter in my heart when you run around and prove to the world what an idiot you really are--a bona fide nutcase who proclaims his asshattery like it's a campaign slogan. And what makes it even funnier is that I KNOW you are reading this blog post, and I KNOW you know it's about you. 

Being an asshat must be tough. So many genetic disadvantages to overcome. 

Prejudice, Hate Speech, the First Amendment, and Online Interactions

Author's note--there are offensive words in this post, but they are used for a reason. In order to demonstrate the points regarding hate speech, the First Amendment, and the climate of our current society, the use of offensive terms is, in my opinion, necessary. If you are a bigot or a member of the Westboro Baptist Church, you might want to stop reading now. If you're neither, then continue.

This isn't the first blog post I've written today.

My latest satire piece on asshats comes out tomorrow afternoon. But I was involved in a couple of incidents today that have me questioning some of the tenets I've always supported unequivocally for my entire life--and that leads me to consider the dichotomy between freedom of speech and what it defends--hate speech. This evening, an online acquaintance of mine made an anti-gay comment that pretty much led me to see red--and when I challenged him regarding his comment, he replied that he had freedom of speech and could say anything he wanted to.

And that's true. To a point.

This is a tough issue. Let me get some things out of the way immediately. 

First off, I am so absolutely flabbergasted that prejudice and bigotry is so deeply rooted in our society that it continues to this day. I was a little kid when forced busing began in American schools. I grew up in the first generation after 'separate but equal' was bounced as the norm. I grew up in the first generation of kids who were taught in desegregated schools. I have never experienced or felt that there was any difference between the races. As I grew into adulthood, that lack of prejudice expanded to include other so-called minority groups--women, the LGBT community, religious groups. I'll be honest--I could give a rat's ass about classifying people as superior/inferior based upon any prejudice at all. 

So the hatred still thriving in our society for any group just boggles my mind. 

Second--let's clear up my opinion on freedom of speech. The government has absolutely no right to restrict the freedom of speech for its citizens. This is something I will never budge on. If I want to say that I think the US government is full of bantha poodoo, they cannot impose penalties on me for saying it. Nor can they restrict any of the people who subscribe to discriminatory beliefs--and I think that's a great thing and absolutely support it.

But let's get something else out of the way too. The First Amendment of the Constitution reads as follows:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances..

Freedom of speech means the GOVERNMENT cannot restrict what we say. The GOVERNMENT cannot censor what we write. The GOVERNMENT cannot prevent us from gathering in protest or assembly. The GOVERNMENT cannot be held above the citizenry's right to petition them to address injustices in our country. The First Amendment is about the laws of our country. Period. End of discussion.

But here's the part the people who are screaming "Freedom of speech!" in regards to their prejudicial beliefs miss--the First Amendment doesn't say a damn thing about interpersonal interactions. Any fool has the right to say what the hell they want in any forum in the US. No one can be stopped by the government from making whatever misogynistic, racist, ageist, homophobic crap statements they want to make. Sure--you can be a bigot; that's your right. The government won't stop or challenge you. 

But I sure as hell will, and I have the right to do so. 

Hate groups like the Westboro Baptist Church cite the First Amendment every time they protest a soldier's funeral with signs that read GOD HATE FAGS. A 2011 article in the New York Times by Adam Liptak breaks down the SCOTUS ruling on Westboro that upholds their right to act like homophobic dimwits and mock a family's grief.

“Speech is powerful,” Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. wrote for the majority. “It can stir people to action, move them to tears of both joy and sorrow, and — as it did here — inflict great pain.”

But under the First Amendment, he went on, “we cannot react to that pain by punishing the speaker.” Instead, the national commitment to free speech, he said, requires protection of “even hurtful speech on public issues to ensure that we do not stifle public debate.”

 And here's where the crux of the situation truly lies. I have no problem with the bigots at Westboro saying what they do with their pathetic little signs reflecting their pathetic little minds.Our Constitution guarantees they have the right to do so, and I'm cool with that because the same Constitution guarantees my right to stand a reasonable distance away from them so I can point, laugh, and express my opinion for their mindless zealotry that reflects absolutely nothing about the religion and Bible they purport to represent. But let's be for real here. Nowhere in the Bible does it say "Homosexuality is a sin and you will burn for it." Not even Leviticus does that--since it equates homosexuality with other assorted sins like eating pork, women wearing cosmetics, and men having long hair. The Ten Commandments don't mention homosexuality. And obviously, Westboro bigots and their ilk prefer to forget Biblical tenets like "Do to others as you would have them do to you." (Luke 6:31) or "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." (John 8:7) Don't believe me? Check this out.

(I am not a religious person, but it always amazes me that I know more about the Bible than a lot of people who spend all day thumping one. My opinions on THAT issue may come out in a later post.)

But bigotry and ignorance aside, I find myself wondering--is there a solution to hate speech that will not violate the First Amendment? On the face of it, the answer is--no, there isn't. We cannot preserve the freedom of speech and still somehow limit hate speech. After all, to someone absolutely convinced that homosexuality is a sin, my contrary opinion could be considered hate speech. Words like bigot, homophobe, and idiot aren't exactly terms of endearment. Although I will emphatically state that these terms are nowhere near as full of hatred as faggot or kike and so forth. That's why I am using these words--even the ones that represent hatred and outdated societal prejudices. Some of these regularly employed terms are so ugly that I can't bring myself to even type them--like the n-bomb or the c-word. (I'll try, but it may prove impossible)

There are a lot of people that do not share my squeamishness.

But what about on an interpersonal level? Like say, for example, online?

A bigot has the right to be a bigot and to say any bigoted thing he wants on social media.

And we have the right to call the bigot a bigot and point out their bigotry on social media.

This is an exchange of freedoms that, for some strange reason, a few bigots feel is somehow unfair. See, whenever someone starts waving the First Amendment around as a defense for their hate speech, they don't connect the fact that people who disagree with them have that same freedom. Somehow their freedom of speech is preferred over mine, for example. They know that freedom of speech is the reason that they can get away with what they say, but they don't know enough about the First Amendment to understand that it's geared toward protecting the citizenry from the government, not each other. And then they get surprised when their accusations or even civil suit alleging libel or slander are thrown out.

This blog is a good example. My right to blog about this is protected under the First Amendment. This is my medium; my platform. But when someone posts a blistering and rude comment--and someone will, and my bet is that they'll be from Kansas--they'll call it censorship when I do not give permission for their comment to be posted on this blog. They aren't smart enough to have read the Terms of Service, which gives the blogger(me) the right to screen comments before they are posted. So even though I am not the government or the representative of the government, they think that somehow their First Amendment rights have been violated.

But what does hate speech actually do for those who regurgitate it? The Westboro Baptist Church offended a lot of people with their protests at military funerals, exploiting the First Amendment in order to push their agenda. The soldier or the soldier's family most likely has nothing to do with the gay culture in our country. The Westboro protesters want to push their agenda in the most public way possible. They're click bait vultures, striving to get their agenda on television--and that's why they chose to protest at military funerals. Guaranteed free publicity. But their crusade has resulted in something uite different. As Reverend Jeff Hood said in a 2015 article in the Huffington Post:

With the ability to see what hate looks like in the flesh, I am convinced that Westboro has helped many Christians change their mind on human sexuality and gender orientation. On some level, I am thankful that God can use the lunatics among us to bring about God’s will.

But there's something else that spewers of hate speech should be aware of--there is an exclusion legally from First Amendment protection for specific interpersonal situations. And one of those exclusions can apply specifically to hate speech. Ever hear the phrase "Those are fighting words"?

Since the 1942 case of Chapinsky vs. New Hampshire,speech addressed to a person in a public place that could lead to a immediate retaliation or a breach of the peace is not protected under the First Amendment.

Allowing the broadest scope to the language and purpose of the Fourteenth Amendment, it is well understood that the right of free speech is not absolute at all times and under all circumstances. There are certain well defined and narrowly limited classes of speech, the prevention and punishment of which have never been thought to raise any Constitutional problem. These include the lewd and obscene, the profane, the libelous, and the insulting or "fighting" words -- those which, by their very utterance, inflict injury or tend to incite an immediate breach of the peace. It has been well observed that such utterances are no essential part of any exposition of ideas, and are of such slight social value as a step to truth that any benefit that may be derived from them is clearly outweighed by the social interest in order and morality. 

What does this mean?

This means that if someone comes up to another person in a public place and calls them a name that is likely to get them stomped all over the room, they cannot claim that their words are protected by the First Amendment. It's inciting violence--a breach of the peace--and in our society today, we all know a plethora of words and phrases that will get our faces punched. That's why Westboro Baptist Church "protesters" always walk a very fine line. Their signs don't say "God hates you, faggot" because that's likely to get them punched into a pool of blood and the First Amendment rights would not be upheld by a judge. Their signs say "God hates fags"--a non-specific anti-gay slur that is not directed at a single person. That way, they can push their agenda of hatred and still claim protection under freedom of speech.

Sound nitpicky?

That's because it is. Trust me--there are lawyers in the Westboro Baptist Church or the KKK or the American Nazi Party or any other hate group who know exactly how far they can go. These are organizations pushing an agenda, and they operate under very specific guidelines to protect themselves legally.

But I have to wonder--and maybe some time soon this will come before the Supreme Court--what about individuals? What about the internet? Does social media fall under the definition of 'public place' as defined by Chapinsky vs. new Hampshire? Do 'fighting words' on Twitter or Facebook fall under First Amendment protections? Or, do they constitute a potential breach of the peace and are therefore excepted from free speech parameters?

I'm not a constitutional scholar, so I have no idea. But I have a feeling, that one faggot'or the n-word or 'maybe even bigot is going to inspire some fool to get in their car, drive to the insulting party's house, and administer their own brand of rough justice. That's already happened in fact, as in this UK case. But I haven't yet heard of such a case in the US that includes a challenge based upon the First Amendment and the 'fighting words' outlined in Chapinsky.

I'd be willing to bet, though, that one is coming.

So think carefully about what you say in a public forum--whether online, broadcasting, or in the mall parking lot. There's a very good chance that the First Amendment is not only going to keep you from getting the crap kicked out of you if you drop the n-bomb, but it's also not going to grant you the right to make such a comment in the first place.

And let's be honest. Anyone who spews hatred like that? Not many people are going to weep when they get what's coming to them.

America has a long history of struggles with itself on issues of bigotry and hatred. God knows we've suffered for it in the past, and unfortunately we are still suffering for it today. We can no more stamp out prejudice than I can go out into my backyard here in a few weeks and stomp out all the 17-year cicadas that are about to destroy my flower beds. One of the bizarre and amazing uirks of our society is that although we struggle to maintain our identity as the land of the free and home of the brave, we permit those people who fight against the equality of all Americans to have their voice and protect their right to use that voice to express their beliefs. That's an amazing thing. But the core issue in my opinion isn't freedom of speech, but the seeds of prejudice that should have already been rooted out. So it seems appropriate to end this post with a remark by the Great Emancipator that, unfortunately, shows how little we've really grown and how much further we have to go.

“As a nation, we began by declaring that 'all men are created equal.' We now practically read it 'all men are created equal, except negroes.' When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read 'all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics.' When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty – to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.” ― Abraham Lincoln, Lincoln Letters

Kind of depressing, isn't it? How little we've changed?

And how far we have yet to go.

The Reckoning of Asphodel Release Day!

It's been ten years since my first book was published, but it doesn't matter. Even sixteen books later, release days are important. And scary. And fun...in a scary way. Because this is a reissue of a book that was rather successful it's a little more nerve-racking than most. Obviously, I couldn't change the voice of the original book even though my writing has matured since then. But I could--and did--go through it with a far more experienced red pencil and addressed some of the issues that should have been picked up on in its first incarnation. 

So this book is tighter, technically improved, and--since it's an author's cut--includes some scenes cut from the original version. 

Did I mention that it's free? 

Head on over to Amazon before May 7, and you can download a copy for free. After the promotion ends, the original sale price of $3.99 will go into effect. 

And four bucks isn't a lot to pay for six hundred pages of fantasy. 

As I write this, Asphodel has just cracked the top 100 sales list for epic fantasy, and is poised to do the same in sword and sorcery as well. 

Book release day is a good day. 

New Cover Art ; New Book-=-The Asphodel Cycle 2: The Redemption of Asphodel

Cover art makes me happy. Well done covers help your readers to visualize the characters in your story. I've been fortunate. Over the past six years or so, I've worked exclusively with cover artist and web diva Kelly Shorten, over at KMD Designs. She was one of my partners at Musa Publishing and is responsible for all those gorgeous Penumbra covers. Now she's an independent designer, and I am SO glad to be working with her again. You've already seen the gorgeous art for The Reckoning of Asphodel--now check out the even MORE gorgeous art for The Redemption of Asphodel!

Okay, let's be for real here. 

It's freaking amazing, right? 

You may be wanting to know more about this book, so here's the blurb: 

The battle of Asphodel and its aftermath has taken a toll upon Tamsen Ka’antira de Asphodel. Her Elven husband, Brial, is overprotective—and very aware that their greatest friend, Anner, is still in love with his wife. Still dangerously weak, Tamsen must help determine which noble is best suited to sit upon Ansienne’s alabaster throne—whether Brial likes it or not.

Unfortunately, the Duke de Spesialle isn’t done with Tamsen yet. The dream that once tortured her keeps changing, and despite Brial’s precautions, she must confront Spesialle again. But the Virgin Huntress has plans for Tamsen, and sends her on a journey to answer just one question: “What gift can buy the redemption of the Elves?”

But when Tamsen finally confronts the answer to the goddess’s question, she may discover that the one thing she must sacrifice to save her people is the one thing she is not strong enough to give.

The Asphodel Cycle 2: The Redemption of Asphodel will be released on June 6!

All that being said, next Tuesday, May 3, is the release of the first Asphodel novel The Reckoning of Asphodel. Stay tuned for buy links and--

Wait a second. I neglected to mention that for the first WEEK, The Reckoning of Asphodel will be offered for free. As in totally free. So take advantage of it--and if you do, a review on Amazon or Smashwords or wherever you purchase your copy would be greatly appreciated. 

Let me know what you think about my cover art or anything else Asphodel--I look forward to hearing from you!

A New Excerpt From The Reckoning of Asphodel

This is the second excerpt from my upcoming novel The Reckoning of Asphodel, which will be released on May 3, 2016. For more information about Asphodel, check out my website, Goodreads page, or my Amazon page. 

Tamsen de Asphodel watched as her parents were killed—murdered by her sorcerer uncle. Raised by her Elven kin, Tamsen knows her destiny is to avenge them both.

 

Unfortunately, Tamsen’s destiny is complicated. She is the sole heir to her human father’s estate, but she is also the last remaining heir to the Elven throne. The Elves, especially the Scout Brial, are suspicious of her human ties and her magical power. Her magic is unique—neither human nor Elven, dangerous, and difficult to control. And when she and Brial fall in love, it is a relationship the Elves will not accept.

 

But when her uncle moves to destroy the Elves, war explodes across both kingdoms. Only Tamsen, with Brial at her side, can bring human and Elf together to fight against him. In the reckoning that is coming, she will need both sides of her conflicted nature…and the aid of a goddess.

****

Within an hour, it was impossible to see further than twenty feet. I had taken the lead, but Brial was close behind. I had pulled my cloak so far forward, however, that I didn’t see the men charging at us from the sides of the road. 

“Get down!” Brial shouted hoarsely. 

As I turned to see what was going on, someone jerked me out of the saddle. I landed on my back with the breath knocked from me. A large man hovered into my line of sight. He grinned, three blackened, broken teeth hanging precariously from his upper jaw. I lay there, trying to gasp air back into my lungs as he leered at me. 

“Gots us a purty gel here boys!” he roared, bending down and picking me up by the front of my cloak. I felt the fabric rip under his dirty fingers and a cold realization surged through me. My breath came back into my chest with a whoosh and I gulped in fresh air. 

Then my eyes narrowed. 

“I am giving you one chance to back away from me,” I said, my voice still a bit breathless. He laughed, throwing back his head, and the teeth teetered in his gums. Behind me, I heard steel on steel. Brial was fighting. The man swept me against him with one blow of his meaty arm. Try as I might, I couldn’t free myself. As I closed my eyes and reached for the magic, I felt his ugly face nuzzle into my hair. 

Two things happened next. As gorge rose in my throat at the man’s touch, an electric charge zipped out from me, blasting the ruffian back with an oath. Then a sword point thrust through the front of his beefy chest. I watched, stunned, as the outlaw slid down the cold steel edge, falling almost in slow motion to puddle at my feet. 

My mind flashed back. Blood on the snow. 

Flakes swirling in a howling wind, while the ground stained red with blood. The sickly sweet smells of cooked meat. The flash of a sword against a slender throat— 

Are you all right, Tamsen?” Brial was shaking me, his face white. 

I pulled back to the present, my gaze meeting his then sliding past him. There were two other bodies lying in the churned snow, already stained by a sluggish crimson flow. 

Brial swore. “You don’t have time to be faint now. I only drove the others away! They’ll be back, Tamsen.” He worked quickly, wiping the sword on the outlaw’s jerkin and driving it into its sheath. Turning, he whistled, and the horses trotted up. “Can you stay on?” 

“I’m fine, Brial.” I forced out the words from between numb lips. “Let’s just ride.” 

We turned our horses and fled into the teeth of the storm. It was only after we galloped away that I wondered: had I killed the man, or had Brial? I looked down at my hands in a daze. Surely, the shock I had released was only enough to stun the outlaw. 

The smell of roasted meat hung in my nostrils until several miles lay between the newly dead men and us. It took us two hours at a dismayingly slow pace to reach the next village.