Title: Strong Medicine
Author: J.K. Hogan
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Cover Artist: J.K. Hogan (KHD Graphics)
Release Date: 5/11/16
Heat Level: 3
Length: 97k words
Genre/Tags: Psychological, Dark, M/M Romance
J.K. Hogan Guest Post – My Writing Space
Since beginning my novel Strong Medicine, the landscape of my writing space has changed quite dramatically. I began this story in January of 2015, and wrote like a beast. I’d finished nearly half the story when, at the end of April, I found out I was pregnant with my second son. Anyone who knows anything at all about pregnancy can tell you that the first trimester is hell on wheels, and it’s even worse for me because I’m cursed with horrible “morning” sickness that lasts well into the second trimester. So I basically took about a four month break from writing. Pregnancy is also quite hard on your brain cells, so when I started working on Strong Medicine again, it was slow going. I did manage to finish it before my son Archer made his appearance.
Anyway, this post isn’t about pregnancy, it’s about the new normal. Authors are often asked about their writing setup and how they like to work. These days, all I can do is laugh helplessly at that thought—as if I have any control over my process anymore. 😉 I’m a stay-at-home/work-at-home mom of a 3 year old and a presently 4 month old. My life belongs to those little monsters right now! They’re cute so they can get away with it.
The point is, my writing space is wherever I am, whenever I can get a second without one of my boys climbing on me. This is a picture of my command center:
My wonderful Clarke & Mayfield laptop bag, and my iPhone. It contains everything I possibly need for my writing job and my graphic design job. (laptop, kindle, graphic tablet, any books I’m using for research, etc., etc.) Even though I have a decent dual monitor setup on a pretty powerful desktop upstairs in our bedroom, I rarely get to use it. My “office” has to be portable. And I do mean portable:
My life in a box.
I always keep all of my work things on Dropbox so I can access it on the move. That, paired with the Microsoft Word app, is how I do most of my writing since the baby came. It’s slow going, but at least it happens. Once kidlet #2 gets a little bigger, they can entertain each other and I might get to work at a desk again. Until then, stuff like this usually happens when I pull out the laptop:
In case it isn’t obvious, that happens to be a toddler sitting on my shoulders while I try to write. J I wouldn’t have it any other way though. I get to be at home with my babies and still do what I love. My husband is wonderful for supporting me in that. We just recently splurged on a brand new sectional recliner couch, in which the “elbow” piece is a table with charging stations, so I’m hoping against hope that it will help me be organized while I’m in our living room herding cats…err, children. (Funny story—we’re thinking this couch might actually be the first non-preowned piece of furniture we’ve ever bought in 10 ½ years of marriage, if we don’t include the kids’ stuff.)
So the moral of the story is this—everyone would love to have some cozy little nook stuffed with pillows, complete with an amazing view…
…if you want to write, you kinda have to do it wherever you are, whenever you can, however you can. As Stephen King said, “the work is always accomplished one word at a time.”
I hope you enjoy reading Strong Medicine. It was a labor of love, and a story that I’m extremely proud of. Thanks for having me!
Two men who meet in a psychiatric institution couldn’t possibly find happiness together—could they?
The world seemed to be telling disgraced former child star and singer Cameron Fox that he would never be happy again. A drunken car accident gets him sentenced to a work-release at Riverbend Behavioral Health Facility.
Reclusive, traumatized writer Jonah Radley has an entire graveyard of skeletons in his closet. Jonah regularly hospitalizes himself for psychotic episodes caused by a horrific childhood trauma, his biggest secret—one he refuses to speak about in therapy.
Jonah and Cameron form a bond inside the hospital, forged in mutual pain and hope for a better life. Once they leave the hospital, they must decide if they are brave enough to explore the intricacies of living with mental illness—and find a new normal together.
Jonah was feeling particularly lucid that day. He hadn’t seen any dead relatives, nothing had burned, and he actually felt like he was inside his own body, for once. He knew it wouldn’t last. It was a constant feeling of dancing on the edge of the cliff, just waiting for the one misstep that would send him plummeting into the void again.
He sat in the rocking chair, the one that had become known as ‘Jonah’s chair,’ and watched Harry the groundskeeper shovel snow off the patio next to the picture window. The scoliotic old man bent to sprinkle handfuls of rock salt over the pavers before moving on farther into the courtyard.
As usual, Jonah lost himself in the warmth of the blanket of sunlight, so much so that he was startled when he sensed a presence behind him. It was just a change in the air, a shift of the molecules, and then a new scent—sharp and heady, a mixture of cedar smoke and Old Spice. Jonah had smelled it before, yesterday. He didn’t need to see to know that the sparkly new probie was standing behind him.
And just like that, just picturing the man in his mind with his weird, shaggy blond hair, dark blue eyes, and boyish features, Jonah remembered. He’d been much younger then, the boy on the TV that his mother had sat him in front of when she couldn’t deal with his damning silence anymore. That boy, his sweet face, and even sweeter voice, had saved Jonah more times than he could count, just kept him hanging on for one more day.
Staring unblinking out the window, Jonah breathed deep of that fragrance and addressed the spectral memory of Kyle Chase. “I know you,” he whispered.
The air stilled as the movement behind him ceased, as if the other man had turned to stone.
“I loved you once.”
Footsteps. Soft, padding, staccato beats of leather against linoleum, until Jonah was face to face with his boyhood crush. Well, more like face to chest, since Jonah was seated and Kyle was looming over him. He wasn’t Kyle, of course, not really. Though Jonah strained, digging through layers of memory, he couldn’t extract the boy—man’s real name.
“Excuse me?” Not-Kyle asked, bushy eyebrows raised toward his hairline.
Jonah tried for a rueful smile, and he could practically hear his skin cracking with the effort. “Sorry, probie. It’s well known around here that I don’t make any sense. What I meant was ‘I used to watch your show.’”
“Oh. I, uh… really?”
Jonah half coughed, half grunted, because it was as close as he ever got to a laugh. “That surprises you?”
“Yes—No! I just sometimes forget that the people who used to watch my show are all grown-up now. Most of the time, I still feel like a kid, so it kind of catches me off guard.” He ran a hand through that mop of messy hair—bleached blond like he was still playing a Cali surfer boy on TV—then squatted down so that he was on Jonah’s level.
“I think you’d be the first one to call me a grown-up. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that. Besides, I’m not as old as I look.”
“Yeah? How old?”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what hard living and insanity will do to you,” Jonah explained without a hint of malice.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry, that came out wrong… You don’t look bad. It’s the opposite, really. You look… yeah, anyway, you’re right, you do just look older than twenty-three. Not in a bad way.”
“Easy there. It’s really okay. I’m pretty hard to insult. Most of the things you could think of to say about me would be true anyway.” Jonah wiped his sweaty palms on his sweatpants and reached on out to him. “Jonah Radley.”
“Cameron Fox.” Cameron took his hand, shook it, lingered just a second longer than was proper.
“I have to admit, I was wrangling for an introduction because I couldn’t remember your real name. I figure you probably wouldn’t want me calling you Kyle.”
Cameron’s laugh was soft, cozy, like a splash of honey in some warm Earl Grey. “No, I guess not. It’s nice to meet you, Jonah Radley. Radley, that’s an unusual name.”
“Indeed it is. Not as unusual as you’d think, but yes… I did have to deal with the well-read students in school calling me ‘Boo’ all the time. But this is rural Appalachia, so it wasn’t always a problem if you get my drift.”
Jonah could see it took Cameron a moment to get the reference, but when he did, he chuckled again. “So what made you decide to join the wonderful world of psychiatric care?” Jonah asked.
Something flashed in Cameron’s eyes, a cloud, a moment of indecision, before he answered. “I got arrested.”
“Ah, you’re one of Rohan’s boys.” Jonah kept his voice neutral, careful not to seem like he was judging, because people in glass houses and all that… “A probie in every sense of the word.”
Cameron lowered his head, studied the ugly, weathered linoleum. “Unfortunately.”
“Hey, we all have pasts. At least you have a future.”
That blond head snapped up, and Cameron gaped at him. “So do you, Jonah.”
Jonah shook his head sadly, then caught sight of a pair of dark, yawning eye sockets peering through the window. One of the dead girls, of course, just when he was starting to feel human again.
He didn’t make eye contact when he spoke to Cameron. “You should go now,” he whispered.
“Go!” Jonah shouted it, his voice tinged with desperation. He never cared before, but he didn’t want this man to see him disappear, to see him float. His eyes welled up, something that hadn’t ever happened at Riverbend before, and he felt ashamed. “Please.”
“Probie!” Rohan’s rich tenor rang out across the buzzing air, slicing the tension between them. Cameron tensed, and his feet seemed to obey Rohan before the rest of him caught up. He cast one more sad, sidelong look at Jonah before he was led away.
Once he was alone, Jonah began to shake. Shivering violently though he was burning up inside, Jonah felt tears sear flaming rivulets down his cheeks. He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until they ached, and eventually the tears stopped. Then there was nothing left but smoke.
Meet the Author
J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, magic happened. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them. J.K. is hoping to one day have a little something for everyone, so she’s branched out from m/f paranormal romance and added m/m contemporary romance. Who knows what’s next?
J.K. resides in North Carolina, where she was born and raised. A true southern girl at heart, she lives in the country with her husband and two sons, a cat, and two champion agility dogs. If she isn’t on the agility field, J.K. can often be found chasing waterfalls in the mountains with her husband, or down in front at a blues concert. In addition to writing, she enjoys training and competing in dog sports, spending time with her large southern family, camping, boating and, of course, reading! For more information, please visit www.jkhogan.com.
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