Yes, you read that correctly. Sam Reid as The Vampire Lestat will perform at the Beacon Theatre in New York City on June 2nd. A screening of the premiere episode of AMC’s new season of Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Lestat will screen first. Tickets will be available to fans at no cost but will sell out fast, I’m sure.

I have finally broken free from all social media, and it feels…AMAZING.

My Instagram accounts (I had two) were permanently deleted yesterday after being scheduled for deletion for thirty days. I left Facebook over a year ago.

I remember my first invitation to be someone’s ‘Friend’ on this thing called Facebook, and wondering what on Earth they were inviting me to. I think my first child was an infant or a toddler, and our second child hadn’t come along yet.  But it felt good to be invited, so I joined up, never imagining what the platform would eventually become. 

In time, I started to use Facebook more for self-promotion of my writing business, but I always had a love-hate relationship with it. Sure, it was cool to ‘meet’ people and gather a large number of ‘friends’, but I recognized, even then, how much of a time sucker it was and that it wasn’t actually…real? You know, you could make a ‘Friend’ on Facebook, but were they actually your friend? Or were they also caught up in some misguided social experiment that existed in the ether of computer chips and laptop screens?

I get why social media took off in the way that it did. And I do understand what folks get out of it, having been involved for so long myself. My daughter is about to turn 22, so I’ve been on and off Facebook, and then on and off Instagram, for a long, long time. The first time I deleted my Facebook account was when I decided that having photos of my family (not a huge number, but they were there) on an account that now largely promoted my erotic books, made me uncomfortable. Having personal photos at all on such a widely used platform made me nervous. And going through my account to delete them individually was too monumental a task. So I deleted my account and started fresh with a commitment to avoid posting personal photos unless they were my own headshots. I deleted it again when I decided to rebrand myself as AE Lister (rather than Elizabeth Lister). 

I finally got rid of Facebook permanently a couple of years ago, deciding to focus on Instagram instead. I even created a second Instagram account to indulge my obsession with actor Sam Reid and his portrayal of Lestat de Lioncourt in AMC’s Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Lestat, and it was alot of fun. But curating those accounts took time out of my day and, more importantly, kept my attention focused on how many followers I had, how many likes a post had, how many shares etc.

More importantly, with the influx of generative artificial intelligence, I was becoming aware of the damage that Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman, and the other billionaire tech bros were doing, and had always done, to enrich their private coffers. 

I read the book Careless People, A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism, by Sarah Wynn-Williams, and fully realized what a disgusting, horrible person Mark Zuckerberg truly is. He literally makes my skin crawl. 

Seeing all of these creepy billionaire tech bros at Trump’s inauguration had a visceral effect on me, as well.

I had never really gotten into using Twitter very much, but as soon as Elon Musk took it over, I deleted my account. I didn’t want to be involved in anything connected with that person.

Perhaps, if Instagram wasn’t now a part of Meta, I might not have made the decision to leave. 

Instagram had a lot of positive content on it that I curated into my feed. I followed horse ranches and tourism accounts for places I wanted to visit. I followed actors that I liked and personalities that I found compelling. Much better than Facebook, for sure, because there was no assumption that any of these people/accounts were my ‘friends’.

Still, this content that I was seeing was distracting me from real life and the current moment. Also, my Instagram feed had become a slew of advertisements and sponsored content, which was what led me to break away from Facebook. I resented having to wonder if things I was seeing were AI generated or real, a task becoming more and more difficult. The questionable value these platforms had possibly provided to me and to my life, was deteriorating before my very eyes. 

But the deciding factor was the discovery of a deposition from a social media trial about underage users, where evidence was brought forward indicating that these companies weren’t simply negligent with regard to keeping young users off their platforms, hooking young users (and everyone) was intrinsic to their business model.

"Bobby Allyn:
Yes, so Zuckerberg took the witness stand.
And you could tell he was getting kind of testy. He often responded by saying things like, "I think you're mischaracterizing me," or "That's not what I said at all," or "I think you're taking this document out of context."
Zuckerberg was trying vociferously to demonstrate that the lawyers in the case were basically trying to lawyer him, right, to try to catch him in a gotcha moment.
But, meanwhile, what the plaintiff's lawyers were really focused on was trying to really illustrate that Zuckerberg himself was interested in recruiting and retaining children as young as 11 years old to Facebook and Instagram and keeping them on the platform for as long as possible with all of these very sticky features like likes and push notifications and beauty filters, was something that Zuckerberg himself ordered.”
 
~ PBS News, Ali Rogin, Jackson Hudgins

Here’s an article about the landmark verdict in the case.

I realized that we had all been hooked. The platforms are deliberately addictive. And I should have understood that a business created from a socially stunted man's idea of rating female classmates at college in terms of attractiveness likely did not have any kind of moral underpinning. The introduction and proliferation of Meta’s latest product - Smart Glasses - also enraged me, as more and more evidence is showing that a large number of men are using the hidden recording feature in nefarious and predatory ways. Who could have predicted it?

So I decided that was it, and I had to disconnect from anything connected to Mark Zuckerberg, and reclaim my life from the time-suck and delusion of so-called ’social’ media.

What I have noticed: 

• I am calmer and more focused. 
• I am reading actual books (not ebooks) again. I still read some ebooks, but I make sure I always have a paperback or hardcover book on hand to indulge in the visceral experience of reading language on a printed page. I forgot how much I loved that. I’m actually​ reading literature again, which is a big time investment but one more meaningful to me than scrolling on my phone. I may write in the romance genre, but I have a love for literary masterpieces that I’ve put by the wayside for much too long.
• ​I’m letting myself feel bored, without immediately trying to find something to do that involves my laptop or my phone. 
• ​I am feeling the urge to go places again, and not to be satisfied with a homebound existence with the illusion of social activity and involvement.

I’m at the point in my life and my writing ‘career’ that if it so happens that I lose out on self promo from not being active on social media, then so be it. I have a decent sized email list, a website, and this blog for posting content. I know I will miss out on lots of opportunities by not being in the thick of things on socials, but I’m at the point where 'missing out' is more of an attraction than a deterrent.

Because what I don’t want to miss out on, is my life and the people in it.

I am about to turn 57 years old this June, and I don’t want to live out my remaining years in a blur of likes and shares and meaningless engagement. I want to be fully focused on whatever amount of living I have left to me, and on the people I truly care for.

​I’d rather lose myself in a good book than in the endless scroll of social media.

Only a few more days to take advantage of this multi-author giveaway!

​I DIDN’T KNOW THIS WAS RELEASED UNTIL TODAY!

I used to have an Instagram fan account for Lestat, and I saw everything as it came out. So I’m out of the loop a bit. But I googled it today and they have released Sam Reid’s/Lestat’s cover of Billy Idol’s Dancing with Myself on Spotify and the official trailer FINALLY.

And now I’m even more excited for June 7th if that’s possible. The trailer is fantastic and I am so looking forward to my favourite book in The Vampire Chronicles coming to life onscreen.

FYI I have a dedicated page on my website with lots of AMC Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat content. I am a tad obsessed.

So my husband and I headed West early Saturday morning for the Islands and Ink Book Fair at the Gananoque Curling Club. We missed a turn off so arrived later than planned but still with half an hour to set up my table. I had decided on a minimal display this time, as I went full bore at the last two conventions I attended - with fancy little blackboards and stacks of books on my table.

I’m quite happy with how it all looked and I made quite a few sales, so I’m thrilled.

I had decided to discount my prices as well, and to have a deal for buying more than one book. In fact, I bundled my backlist series’ together for $25 for a 3 book series, and $30 for a 4 book series. I’m going to keep doing this, as it makes it a lot easier to offload subsequent books in a series. I also had my individual backlist books at $10 each. My two latest releases, A Flash of Golden Fire and A Hellish Thing, were $20 each or both for $30 and everyone chose the duo. I’ll be keeping this price listing at Can*Con in October. Although I won’t have a sales table in the vendor room, I will have books and bundles on site for the asking.

It’s so difficult for an inaugural event in terms of attendance, and we were all hoping for a more substantial turnout. But the people who did come to my table were lovely and enthusiastic, and I had a great time.

Thanks so much to Mary Holmes and her amazing team for a wonderful event! 

Upon my exit, Dinesh held out his hand. “Breakfast, then?”
I put my hand in his. “Aye, that’d be grand.”
As we went down the steps and along the passage to the galley, we heard some strange, yet familiar, phrases.“Take it from behind! What a trollop!” was spoken in a woman’s voice with a French accent.
Dinesh and I exchanged world-weary glances as we walked.
“The captain’s cock is a truncheon!” The words were spoken in an almost exact mimic of my own voice.
Captain Martin stopped walking, his expression going from one of merry ease to extremely cross in a matter of a moment.
I loosed my hand and kept going, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. But the captain stepped forward, grabbed the neck of my jacket and jerked me to a stop.
“I told you not to teach her that,” he seethed, his eyes lit with an angry flame that was not the one I liked to see there.
I took a breath. We’d been through this already.
“You did not say: Do not teach the bird to say that my cock is a truncheon. You didn’t.”
“Simon Bartholomew White. Are you honestly going to be that dense?” Some of the anger had flown, because he knew I was right.
“Maybe.”
He waited, holding tight to my jacket, probably thinking of ways to make me sorry.
I protested, lifting my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But it’s true! Your cock is a truncheon. I’ve said that since I first saw it. Felt it. Got ploughed by it!”
“That may be so, but I don’t need her saying those words. In your bloody voice. All the fucking time.”
“I’ll talk to Domingo.”
“What on earth is he going to do about the situation? He barely has control over that bloody bird!”
I frowned. “How dare you speak of Esmaralda that way? She is Domingo’s dear pet and companion, and I—”“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I need coffee,” he said, letting go of my jacket and shoving me forward. “Get me some, and perhaps I shall forgive you.”
I stumbled into the galley, followed by a vexed Captain Martin, and sure enough, Domingo’s small black and yellow mynah bird—the notorious-by-now Esmaralda—greeted us from her perch on the pot rack.
“What a trollop!” she said in the woman’s voice, and then, in mine, said, “The captain’s cock is a truncheon!”“Domingo!” I yelled as I didn’t see him nearby.
“For fuck’s sake,” the captain sighed, eyeing the bird with particular enmity.
A young fellow came out of the back rooms, gathering his long black hair with a red ribbon, an untied chartreuse robe floating around him as he moved towards us. He was wearing a colourful pair of cropped trousers, a linen shirt embroidered with daisies, and a rolled blue scarf as a belt. And red velvet bedroom slippers of which I was profoundly envious as they looked much more comfortable than the scuffed and stained, second-hand deck shoes the captain made me wear.
The pair of slippers were one of the few things, along with the robe and the bird, Domingo had been able to bring when we’d escaped the Turnkey tavern and Cayonne. But I didn’t like to think about Cayonne.
“Esmaralda! Must you keep on? Shush now. Here’s a caraway seed.”
The bird took the offering from Domingo’s delicate fingers, and eyed the small pile of seeds he placed near her.
“I am so sorry, Captain Martin. Simon. For the life of me, I cannot get her to stop saying that.”
Domingo glanced at me and barely maintained his serious, apologetic expression.
“Is there coffee, Domingo?” Captain Martin asked. “I smell a brew, I believe.”
“Yes, of course. There’s a fresh pot on the hob,” he said, gesturing towards the iron stove in the centre of the room.
I strode past him, grabbed a stoneware mug from the cupboard that latched when the door was closed, in case of rough seas, filled the vessel with hot coffee from the steaming pot, then carried the mug to the captain, offering the hot drink with a cheerful smile.
He scowled as he took it, eyeing Esmaralda, who munched happily on her seed, which she held in one little claw as she bent to peck at it with her tiny beak. Remarkable that such a diminutive creature could make so much of a ruckus and create such enmity in the captain, who was otherwise quite a relaxed and confident man. With a cock the size of his, he should be proud. I didn’t honestly know why Esmaralda’s frequent proclamations upset him so much.
After he’d taken a sip or two of his coffee, his fierce expression relaxed. Domingo and I had filled mugs for ourselves and joined him at the table.
“Have a seat, Dinesh,” Domingo said. “I’ll bring you some food in a moment.”
“Thank you, yes, that would be wonderful.” Captain Martin, whose goodwill had returned with the black coffee coursing through his veins, took a seat on the bench next to me, even offering Domingo a kindly smile. “How are you?”
“Well…” Domingo said, his face lighting up at Dinesh’s question. “Despite being at the crew’s beck and call all day, slinging potatoes, and chopping vegetables, I’m doing rather well. You?”
Dinesh rolled his eyes. “At least I didn’t assign you to the upper decks. You don’t have to be up in the weather or climbing the rigging.”
“Yes, that’s mighty kind of you,” Domingo murmured with mock gratitude. “Because God knows that’s the kind of work my previous life prepared me for.”
Dinesh grinned and shrugged. He took another sip of coffee. “You never know.”
“Well… I might be good at the job. But I wouldn’t be able to maintain my absolutely ravishing sense of style, now, would I?”
Dinesh inclined his head. “I suppose that’s true.” His gaze drifted over Domingo’s clothing, at least what he could see above the edge of the table across from us. “And what a tragic loss that would be.” His tone was sardonic, but he smiled.

You won’t want to miss this one!

​Multiple authors have provided free kinky reads to entice you onto their email lists. Not a bad deal if you’re looking for FREE sizzling spring/summer reads.

“Simon Bartholomew White.” A faint whisper of my name. “Simon White, Sorcerer of the Black Depths, Summoner of Storms and Lightning.”

The creature had soulless eyes and sea-green hair. It swirled in currents deep beneath the waves, drifting in and out of focus. An eerie, melodic voice rose like a surge of desire, and caught me up in a net of seduction, resonant and enchanting.
​
The thing beckoned me with an inky tentacle and a ghastly smile, then opened its eel-like mouth impossibly wide. A slick indigo gullet ringed with pointed white teeth, the void of its maw expanded until the wide mouth covered first the creature’s entire face, and then its head. The inviting song became one piercing note, paralyzing me so I couldn’t move as the monster lunged.

I surged to a sitting position, blinking in the moonlight, sweating and shaking.

“Holy hell and brimstone,” I panted, breathless with the fright of the dream creature, my eyes wide, my fingers clutching the sheet. The strangely compelling song echoed in my head.

The Arrow rocked peacefully. The captain snored next to me. The man could sleep through a barrage of cannon fire, once he’d gone down for the night. Perhaps why there was always someone on duty outside his door. His quarters were mine now, the bed too. The entire ragtag crew knew we belonged to each other.

Since our new destination had been decided upon, I’d struggled with bizarre and unsettling dreams. Dinesh thought they were the result of the conflicting feelings I’d been experiencing about the times I’d used my magic to save him and the crew, whilst destroying our enemies. Particularly because, in facilitating our early morning escape from Tortuga, I’d decimated the town. So my magic hadn’t merely affected the men trying to destroy us, but scores of innocents as well. He was likely correct, but the creature in my dreams loomed so vivid and real and disturbing, I couldn’t help but wonder if the frightening figment had some connection to the magical realm.

I knew this ability came to me from my mother, but she had died—been killed—before she could explain the bewitchment to me. The first time the conjuring had passed through me in an uncontrolled way had been after her death, when I’d dispatched my father—her murderer—in a fiery blaze that had burned me down one side and left a terrible scar. My mother’s friend, Carago, had taken me in, protected me, and parented me until his death two years ago, when I’d struck out for Port Royal in the hopes of gaining employment. I’d been lucky enough to stumble upon Captain Martin and his crew in a tavern when I was at my lowest point and barely had anything left to live for. He’d taken pity on me, and I’d been brought aboard the Arrow, where I’d found lust and love and a bizarre sort of family.My scar had faded and disappeared in a matter of hours following one of my spell castings, or whatever it was that I did to summon the powers of wind and lightning to my bidding. Neither the captain nor I understood how, or why.

Guilt was a strange thing. At times I felt fine, and then something would remind me of what I’d done and a sort of grey shroud would descend over me for a few hours or occasionally a number of days. But the captain’s care and interest would normally bring me out of my melancholy and if not that, my friends Domingo and Squid would cheer me. Or sometimes, I only needed to sit by myself for a while, staring out to sea and remembering that the entire crew, and Captain Martin himself, had blood on their hands. I wasn’t the only murderer on this ship.

However, because Captain Martin had a preference for diplomacy over bloodshed, I hadn’t actually seen a violent skirmish and dreaded when I might be witness to such an event. I also wondered how my magic might be able to intervene without destroying us all. I still wasn’t convinced the Arrow’s crew would be spared the violence of my powers. What was the criteria for any particular man to escape the wrath of my magic? So far, the entire crew had been spared each time. The issue was that I didn’t know how much power I wielded, or how I wielded it.

I did not think I would be so hyped for this space mission, but I happened upon the launch when I was bored and found it quite exciting and very nostalgic. As a kid we’d watch all the rocket and space shuttle launches, sometimes in school, and it was pretty freaking cool.

Now, as an adult, it just boggles my mind how they can do this sort of thing, and calculate so precisely how to make everything go exactly to plan. I watched the re-entry and splashdown to make sure they did make it back okay, because, again, I was expecting something to go wrong, merely because I couldn’t imagine that everything would possibly work as it was supposed to. 

But it did, and they are safely back home. I’m not sure how practical this kind of space exploration is, considering all the stuff going on on the planet itself, but I did find it gave me some sense of optimism and encouragement that in some things, humanity might actually know what it is doing.

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