YES!!! Ze book is ready for consumption! :D Alas, alas, though, Amazon’s lagging on the link for the print book, so I’ll have to post a separate update on that. For now, at least, you can run to their competitor for your copy of the book. >:) I’ll also be posting the link to Indiebound at my Historical Fiction page once the link there goes live, and that usually takes a couple of weeks at least after the book’s release date.

Anyway, you can go to Barnes and Noble for the print book and the following e-bookstores for the e-book: All Romance, 1 Romance E-Books, and Rainbow E-Books. As with their print book link, Amazon still needs to update their Kindle book link, and I’ll give you all a heads up on that as well once it’s there.

Some promo extras behind the cut (story inspiration and excerpt):

Source of Inspiration: (I’m reposting the following from an advent guest post I made at Speak Its Name)

The Story-Weaver - Then there’s the song that started it all. Once in a rare while, I’ll listen to a piece of music and then get hit pretty hard with images of characters or scenes or a vague sense of a story’s emotions…

The most significant inspiration along these lines for me is a traditional Christmas carol: “In Dulci Jubilo.” When I listened to Chanticleer’s 1996 recording of the song, I felt one of those deeply emotional stirrings that came with random images of snow, a solitary old man in his workshop, and oddly, a glass ornament. What pervaded the moment, though, was the strong, strong feeling of melancholy due to loss. I’ve no idea why that association was made, but it happened, and I never questioned it. From there, I wrote a short story that was a Christmas folktale called “The Glass Minstrel,” which I eventually developed into a novel. And I’m pleased to say that all the images and all the feelings of sadness were retained, though everything coalesces into hope at the end.

Excerpt: (from Chapter 5)

His reflection stared back at him with a look of mild annoyance. As though trapped in the glass and guarded by the darkness and the snow outside, Schiffer’s silent, disapproving doppelganger seemed to berate him without uttering a sound. There was also a hollowness in the eyes that looked back at him, a faint ring of shadows that gave the stare a vaguely haunted look.

“No, no, no! See, now I can’t fix her ribbon!”

Schiffer turned to find Elsa bending down and scowling at something Louis was holding. Brother and sister seemed to be struggling with one of the toys they’d been playing with, and while it normally would have been easily dismissed, what Elsa just blurted out caught Schiffer’s attention.

Ribbon?

He stared at Louis’s back, which was turned to him. Was the boy…? Schiffer couldn’t finish the thought without feeling bile churn in his stomach.

“Louis!” he said as he hurried over to the two siblings. “What are you doing?”

His son paused and looked up, his expression questioning and comically baffled. If Schiffer weren’t so horrified, he’d have laughed at the look on the child’s face. A glance at Louis’s hands, however, only confirmed his fears.

“My boy,” Schiffer said in as steady and quiet a voice as he could manage, “dolls and ribbons are meant to be played by girls. You have several soldiers in your toy box. In fact, I think that half of them are new. Go and play with them instead, and leave Elsa alone.”

Louis’s wide-eyed look didn’t waver. “Papa, I was trying to fix Sophia’s dress, but… .”

“Only Elsa or Rosalinde can fix Sophia’s dress. Do you understand? There are—small things about girls’ dresses that boys just—just don’t know how to manage.”

Schiffer felt the warmth creep up his cheeks as the words and his firmness failed him. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and he could feel his wife’s eyes on him, watching and waiting as she always did during moments like this. What else was he expected to do? he wondered. He was the father. The master of the house.

He fought for his authority and allowed his sentence to fade with obvious uncertainty into silence, while clasping his hands behind him and assuming a rigid, straight-back stance. It had always worked in the past.

Louis sighed. “I’m bored with my soldiers,” he grumbled.

“Then go read a book or help decorate the tree.” *

“We’re finished, Papa,” Rosalinde chirped, her small figure still secure within her mother’s arms. To prove her point, the little girl pointed at the spot where she’d just hung her glass bird.

“Then Louis can read,” Schiffer replied, his words sharp in his ears. He glanced back down at his son, who’d just reclaimed Sophia. “Louis, the doll is Elsa’s. You’re not to play with it. Do you hear me?”

Elsa shrugged. “I don’t care, Papa. He’s not hurting Sophia, but I wish he knew how to tie ribbons properly.”

Schiffer bent down, grabbed hold of Louis’s hand and startled the boy, who yelped. He tore the doll from his son’s grip and flung it at Elsa, who managed to catch it before it struck her face. The girl pressed her rumpled doll tightly against her chest as she gaped at her father.

“Come here,” Schiffer barked, pulling Louis to his feet. “Let me show you where your toys are.”

“Andreas, please!” Henrietta cried.

“Your toy box is in your room, isn’t it, Louis?”

The child whimpered beside him as he fought to keep apace with his father. Twice Louis stumbled, but he quickly picked himself up and hurried along. He’d no choice, after all, for his father kept a firm hold on his wrist, and he didn’t slacken his pace.

“You’re hurting him!”

Schiffer marched toward the door. “Nonsense. A stumble never hurts a man. And you are a man, aren’t you, Louis? You will be soon enough. And men don’t waste their time on dolls’ dresses, do they?”

“No, Papa,” Louis sniffled beside him.

Schiffer was a few feet short of the door when he realized that it was open, and that Roderick was standing there, watching and blocking the way. A tense, thick silence fell on the room for a moment as father and son stared at each other. Roderick was pale—almost frighteningly so. The look he gave Schiffer was indescribable in its intense anger, but it stirred memories. Schiffer recognized it. Heinrich had flashed him the same furious, contemptuous look during their heated arguments a long time ago, right before he ran away with Bauer’s son.

It was Roderick who broke the silence as he walked toward Schiffer. Reaching down, he pulled Louis from their father’s hold—not a difficult thing to manage at that moment, for Schiffer had momentarily lost himself, and his grip had loosened.

“Come here, Louis,” Roderick said. His voice was hushed and tight, and not once did he take his eyes off his father. Taking Louis under the child’s arms, he lifted his brother up and held Louis against himself, throwing one last baleful look at Schiffer before turning around and walking toward the stairs.

Schiffer watched Roderick ascend, calming his sobbing brother with quiet words.

“Andreas,” Henrietta said, her voice soft and trembling. “I—I think you should lie down. I’ll have one of the servants bring you something to drink, unless you want me to call for the doctor.”

Schiffer didn’t bother to look at his wife. Still standing at the doorway, he forced his limbs to move, and his hands, blindly and automatically, moved up and down his jacket as though they were searching for something of which he wasn’t even aware.

“Yes, yes,” he finally said. “You’re right, Henrietta. I need to rest.”

His right hand dug inside a pocket, and his fingers closed around a small object. It was enough to startle him out of his shocked state, and he pulled his hand out to find Bauer’s little minstrel gently nestled in his palm. His stilled mind came alive again, and recent memories flooded it. He remembered taking it out of the box to examine it and then pocketing it while in the carriage. As he stared in some surprise at the smiling figure in his hand, he wondered what he was supposed to do with it. From some distant, untouched corner in his mind, he thought he could hear Heinrich chiding him.

You’ve always been so temperamental, Papa. Stop being so unreasonable.

“Rest,” Schiffer muttered, shaking his head and feeling very, very tired all of a sudden. “Rest.”

==

* Historical note: the reason behind the tree being present BEFORE Christmas Day (as well as being decorated by the children, not the parents) is explained in the scene before this one. I didn’t post it here because the excerpt would’ve been way too long.

YA fiction’s almost like a taboo thing for many adult readers, and this is a great article that touches on the appeal of YA fiction among those who enjoy it.

Y.A. may also pierce the jadedness and cynicism of our adult selves. “When you talk to people about the books that have meant a lot to them, it’s usually books they read when they were younger because the books have this wonder in everyday things that isn’t bogged down by excessively grown-up concerns or the need to be subtle or coy,” explained Jesse Sheidlower, an editor at large at the Oxford English Dictionary and member of Kidlit. “When you read these books as an adult, it tends to bring back the sense of newness and discovery that I tend not to get from adult fiction.” Read more

Thank you. This article made me think of this past weekend, when Andy and I went cycling over at Woodside. We met a 15-year-old boy who was out riding with his dad. The disparity between their behavior couldn’t be any more telling.

While the boy was open, talkative, and inquisitive in that wide-eyed way that’s the mark of youth, his father didn’t seem keen on talking to anyone but his son, and he barely gave anyone a passing glance. He was so closed off toward everyone else that it was pretty clear that there was this line that you shouldn’t cross and that you just need to move along and not bother him. Now the father could simply be naturally shy, but all the same…

That moment was a sharp reminder to me on why I love writing about teenagers so much.

So recent developments — too complicated to go into detail here — pretty much convinced me to step back and reassess what I’m doing. That is, think about what I write, how I approach story ideas that come down hard and fast on me, where I go to submit my manuscripts, and where I go to promote new releases.

An ongoing email conversation with an online friend also gave me pause, so much so that I’m taking a momentary break from writing out-and-out YA fiction in favor of material that straddles two markets. Recent experiences I’ve had, especially in promoting my books, pretty much turned me off the idea of pursuing the usual avenues as well as to take a break from my usual work. I’ll be going after other opportunities for marketing as well as other publishers for the novel I’m currently working on. A writer at one of the mailing lists I’m a member of kindly shared links to review blogs outside my usual go-to list. I’ll give them a shot and see if they’ll take on my recent release.

Wollstone isn’t dead, but it’s currently put on hold for that reason. I’ve been distracted a lot by ongoing difficulties I have on a variety of levels, and I think I should step away from the LGBT YA market for the time being and re-energize myself through a completely different work of fiction. I’ll keep you updated on my progress there the way I usually update you guys. :)

In addition, I’ve also been seriously considering writing a new series that takes place in a shop that’s very much like where I work. I’ve talked about this in an older post, and it’s been getting more and more difficult to ignore inspiration whenever I’m at work, even though I’m only there twice a week. What I’d like to do with that series is going to be light but realistic. No fantasy elements, no weird stuff happening, and you really can’t go wrong, when you’re working in the art industry, dealing with customers who run the gamut in terms of experience and knowledge of art, as well as co-workers who’re college graduates and cynical, struggling artists of all stripes.

I’ve got a guest blog posted at The Naughty Book Kitties, the same YA blog that just reviewed The Twilight Gods. My focus is genre LGBT YA fiction. It’s kind of weird quoting myself, so I’ll just send you over to Brent and Emily’s blog: Genre LGBT Fiction: Why Not?

More genre fiction for LGBT teens? Yeah, baby!

I included some videos of anime titles that have been some of my biggest inspiration to date, so you’ll get an idea of what drives me. My biggest hope is to see more historical, fantasy, sci-fi, and horror books published with LGBT teens taking center stage as the main characters being published side-by-side with classic problem novels and enjoying equal attention.

And a loud shout-out to Brent for the review and the guest blog! :) Thank you!

Since I write fiction for LGBT teens, I’m always excited when I see reviews posted by teen readers. The Twilight Gods, especially, make me wonder how the younger set would take to it, seeing as how it’s a bit of a strange novel.

The characters are genuine. That’s something I always look for in a novel. If the characters aren’t, then I most likely hate it. Hayden’s character’s are so genuine, in fact, that I can imagine them in present day. I can imagine what a conversation with them may be like. That’s a great thing. I felt so bad for Norris–his siblings got all the attention from their parents. Though this is a historical, Hayden makes sure her readers can connect to the characters. And the love part is just so cute. Read more

Brent is this young gentleman. :) I also have a guest blog scheduled with him, so I’ll post a heads up over here when it goes live.

His review, along with this one from a 13-year-old reader for Flamingnet, make up my still-tiny teen review list, and I hope to find others. I’ll also be revamping my pages, adding snippets of reviews and linking them back to their sources.

I hope to get that done this week.