A third excerpt from new near-future SF novel DONATION

I wish those in the United States a good Memorial Day. The usual phrase is "Happy Memorial Day," but that feels a little odd to me for a day of remembering and honoring those who gave their lives in war. When my father was alive, I'd call him to say I was thinking of his two lost Army buddies, probably the closest male friends (aside from family) he had in his life. Now, I imagine that much to his surprise (he was a lifelong atheist), he meets them every Memorial Day for a picnic and tells them about his long and rewarding life. 

Which would make an amazing historical novel, though I don't know that I'll ever tackle it. For now, back to the latest book I did write.

A quick recap: unexpectedly pregnant and wholly unprepared to deal with that pregnancy, Toni Greene "donates" her unborn child, its adoptive parents to be chosen by the federal Bureau of Reproductive Safety. Now she has regrets, and comes to talk to her lawyer mother about whether there is anything she can do about them.

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Toni was too keyed up for cookies or cocoa. Mom did a double-take at her refusal. Then she got a twinkle in her eye, waved Toni to an armchair so comfy she would almost have to relax, and dug into the pantry for a bottle that proved to be sherry.

Toni had to laugh. “All right, but give me one of the small glasses!”

Mom chuckled and handed her a glass that would hold about four thimblefuls, pouring the sherry almost to its brim. Mom’s own glass was around twice the size, but she filled it only about halfway. She settled into the matching armchair, took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth, and swallowed it with a satisfied sigh before asking, “So what’s shaking the earth where you stand, this afternoon?”

Toni took a tiny sip of the sherry and put it down again. “This isn’t the answer to that question, but I thought you’d want to know that I went to see Andy.”

Mom did a subtle double-take and then beamed. “I’m so glad. The family hasn’t been the same with the Denim Twins hardly talking to each other.”

“Which was my fault.” Just another of her short-sighted, wrongheaded decisions.

Mom tilted her head and mock-frowned. “Hey, no beating up on my daughter! . . . So back to my question. What’s on your mind?”

Now that she was here, her idea seemed hopeless, pointless. She’d already been told as much. Mom looked at her and put aside her playful manner. “Honey, what is it? Just talk.” She smiled just a little. “Say whatever you practiced saying in the car, no matter how it sounds now that you’re here.”

Toni picked up her sherry and chugged it. “What if I wanted to get my baby back? Adopt it, or whatever else they’d call it?”

Mom sat back, nodding her head and body like a sage on a mountaintop. “I wondered whether that was it. Can you tell me how you came to the point of asking? What’s happened, or changed, since you made your original decision?”

Toni pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “Nothing has really happened, and nothing has really changed. Except me, I guess. I’ve changed. I keep dreaming about the baby. About still being pregnant, or about holding her — I have this feeling it’s a girl — after she’s born.” She laughed again, shakily this time. “I even dreamed about changing her diaper. And it was such a mess! It went everywhere. But when she was changed, I kissed her forehead.” She was crying now. “I kissed her. And then I woke up, and she was gone. Gone from inside me, gone from my life. And it hurt. It hurts.”

Mom sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’d hoped this wouldn’t happen. There’s no way to know, really, whether it will. It used to be worse, though, before the incubators. Some women would have those regrets after an abortion. You know how keen the loss is that you’re feeling. Imagine if it came with guilt, as well.”

Toni flinched. “But — it does. Not the guilt of having, having ended the baby. But the guilt of giving it up. Of giving up on it. Abandoning it to strangers.”

Mom gazed at her, searching her face. “Even loving strangers, presumably better prepared to care for a child? Not that I wouldn’t help, one way and another – and I imagine your father would too, once someone tells him what’s going on – but the Bureau doesn’t approve adoptive parents unless they’re in a significantly better position than you are. And those parents would give thanks every day for the gift you gave them.”

Toni gritted her teeth. “Now you’re making me feel guilty for feeling guilty! For having second thoughts. Thanks a bunch.” Though at least she’d stopped crying.

“I just want to know you’ve thought things through.” She didn’t add this time, but she might just as well have.

Toni slumped in her chair. “I don’t guess I have, not completely. But . . . I could manage. Somehow. I could get an actual job, something reliable. Even if it was a job I couldn’t do from home, or bring the baby to, I’d see her before and after work, every day. She’d still be my daughter.”

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The paperback goes into wide release in two days! In the meantime, though, you can buy either the paperback or the Kindle edition on Amazon. (And if you go to either link, you can see the cool cover KAM Design made for it.) I'll post one more excerpt on Release Day.

Second excerpt from near-future SF novel DONATION

 Here's another excerpt from my near-future SF novel Donation. This one is the beginning of Chapter 3.

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Poloma Clark relished days like this one. Whatever the demands on her, she almost always made time two or three times a month to put aside managerial duties and do the work that felt more important, helping distraught women and their future offspring and society all at the same time. She dropped her briefcase on the reception desk, smiled at the security guard, made sure the Open sign was illuminated, and went back to the desk to extract her tablet. One of her cousins, a software maven, had sent her a new puzzle program for her last birthday; she could work on it between arrivals, and perhaps get past the “expert” level. 

Almost immediately, a girl and an older woman — from the resemblance, probably her mother — came through the door and approached the desk, the girl tugging the mother along. Interesting family dynamic there. The girl bounced a little as she walked, full of energy, fit and muscular — probably active in sports, in pursuit of a championship or medal. The mother might have wanted the girl to keep the child, but realized there was no way to force the issue, not with social services and the courts ready to support the girl’s decision. Poloma greeted them, invited them to sit, reassured them, took down the necessary information, and summarized what would happen next.

As she had expected, the girl had no questions except “How long will it take?” and “Can I do whatever I want to afterwards?” The mother looked as if she had questions aplenty, but no hope of liking the answers. She opened her mouth a couple of times, once looking at Poloma and once at the girl, but closed it again, her face sagging further into sadness.

When she was sure no more questions were forthcoming, Poloma summoned a guide. The daughter looked the young man up and down, and followed him with that same spring in her step, already looking forward to the freedom she was about to regain. The mother trudged after.

There was a lull after the two of them vanished inside. Poloma opened her puzzle, racing her previous record. She was almost annoyed for a moment when the door slid open again, but she shook off the inappropriate feeling, paused the program, and turned toward the newcomer with a smile. Young, a few years out of the nest; medium to tall; short pink hair that used to be blonde, a light pink Poloma could not have attempted without bleaching her hair first; lean, if not so thin as Poloma. Boots so bulky they must be some kind of ironic statement. Loosely fitting clothes in various colors of faded denim — not Poloma’s style, but an aesthetically agreeable effect. And smart. Smart showed, in the eyes and even the posture. Overall, potentially simpatico. It would feel especially good to help someone like this, help her preserve and pursue what was probably an interesting life.

Poloma was already welcoming the woman while she sized her up. She was prepared for the woman’s first words to be a little different, original. She listened with a sense of pleasant anticipation.

“I’m not — I don’t need a tour.”

Was she a repeat client? Poloma would not let herself frown. There might have been some good reason for the woman not to accept an implant. Though two unplanned pregnancies, even without an implant, suggested carelessness. It would be a shame if this woman was careless.

“I was here nine days ago.”

She couldn’t possibly be pregnant again that soon. Not carelessness, then, good.

“I was wondering whether I could see it. The — baby.”

One of those. Not what Poloma had taken this shift for. But it would be a useful exercise, and would help her train receptionists in dealing with these awkward situations. And at least the woman cared. That smug teenager would never reappear with such a request. “I’m sorry. We’ve found that any further contact isn’t helpful in the donor’s adjustment process.”

The woman stood up straighter and lifted her head a little. She probably didn’t like the bland social-worker language. Understandable. If they ever got to know each other, maybe she could give Poloma some ideas on a less cookie-cutter response. But their getting to know each other was looking less likely.

Some reassurance was indicated. “I assure you the embryo —” A guess, but if the pregnancy had been far enough along for “fetus” to be accurate, the woman would probably show more signs of the pregnancy. “— is doing just fine, developing every bit as well as before the procedure.” With some reluctance — Poloma thought this policy ill-advised — she added, “And if you look at the literature we sent you, you’ll see that when the baby is delivered, you’ll receive a thank-you note from all of us here.” At least the actual date wouldn’t be included for donors to obsess over.

Would the woman give up and go home? No, she wouldn’t. If anything, she would probe further. Yes, there she went: “Do adoptive parents get to visit, before the baby is, is . . .”

“Once applicants for adoption go through an extensive process and are approved, they’re allowed to visit before the delivery, most often once a week. The incubators are mobile and can be taken to visiting rooms, so the parents can talk to the fetus more freely. A microphone system lets their voices pass through to the fetus much as a biological mother’s and even other family members’ voices would if the fetus were still in utero.”

Poloma’s fondness for detail had led her into a misstep. The woman winced at the words “biological mother,” or the reference to hearing a mother’s voice, or both. Poloma softened her tone. “I’m sorry. What I was going to say is that only approved adoptive parents have visiting privileges. It’s better not to raise anyone’s hopes prematurely. Or to confuse the fetus with extraneous voices.”

The woman flinched again at “extraneous.” Poloma’s sure touch with clients had somehow gone missing this morning. What else could go wrong?

“What if I, if I wanted to adopt my own baby?”

To think she had felt an initial interest in, even kinship with, this troublesome client! Poloma’s disappointment had a sharp edge almost like betrayal. “Such an application would not be considered.”

Not that she actually knew as much.

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Donation is now available for preorder at Barnes & Noble and various other retailers. The price is going up (though only by one dollar) a couple of days after the June 1st release -- so this would be a good time to lock the current price in.

One more excerpt (at least) still to come!

. . . and I'll post a cover image One More Time. 😊

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Donation, my new near-future novel

 Here's the promised excerpt -- well, first excerpt -- from my new novel Donation, officially to be released on June 1st but already available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback editions.

You can see what leads up to this point in the Amazon preview, which includes the Prologue and the beginning of Chapter 1 (almost to where this excerpt picks up).

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Whatever she had expected, this wasn’t it. Toni started to relax as she stepped through the doors and smelled something almost like fresh air. The light had the quality of sunlight; the walls were painted in light pastel colors. The small waiting room just inside the door had flowering plants, or maybe very good artificial ones, in the window sills. And the young male receptionist had blue hair. She might try that color when she got tired of pink.

She had thought they would take her right away to wherever the procedure would be performed, but instead the receptionist called over another young man to give her a tour. Not that the facility was all that large, as it turned out: a short wide corridor with large abstract photographs, streaks and blobs of fuzzy colored light; a larger waiting room with upholstered armchairs, and tablets for anyone who hadn’t brought one; more of the roomy and well-lighted corridors; and finally, up an elevator to a large room full of incubators. They were smooth cylinders with rounded edges, more than twice as long as a typical full-grown baby, and about two-thirds as high as they were long. She’d expected metal, but they looked more like plastic, their colors like the colors of the walls except a little richer. Each one had a couple of hoses attached, and a control panel with lights twinkling like overactive fireflies. Toni bit her lip and asked, “What if the power goes out?”

“Each incubator has a fully charged backup battery that can last for days, and we have three generators, all inspected weekly. Nothing’s going to happen to these little darlings. They’re safer than any of us, or any child a woman is carrying around. And by the way, we don’t just leave them sitting in one position all the time. The inner chamber is programmed to reproduce all sorts of movements a fetus would experience . . . otherwise.”

Toni had never thought about the details of reproducing a uterine environment. Was it comforting or chilling to think of a machine mimicking the movements she would have made, carrying the developing fetus through the day, lying down with it at night? Both, maybe.

Her guide opened the door to the room so she could hear the music playing inside. “Classical guitar right now, but we play all sorts of instrumental music, and some choral, and some pop. Nothing jangly or loud — we alternate soothing and upbeat.” He closed the door again and turned toward her. “Ready to get this done?”

There must be something else to see first. “What about the delivery rooms, and wherever the parents — the adoptive parents — get the babies?”

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t part of the tour. I’ll take you to the procedure room, then, shall I?”

She bit her trembling lower lip and nodded.

It smelled different here, more like what she had expected — almost aggressively clean.

The nurse who came in and gave her a gown — cloth, not paper, with crude flower shapes on it — also told her to take off her phone patch, for no obvious reason. If it could withstand wood dust, saw vibrations, and sweat, it should be close enough to indestructible. But maybe it interfered with the equipment somehow. She peeled off the patch and felt even more naked. She pulled the gown over her head.

The nurse might have thought she needed reassurance, or she might make the same speech to everyone who came in. “You came here in plenty of time — the incision will be quite small. And it shouldn’t hurt a bit. Later on, you will have some soreness, but we’ll provide you with medication for it. We won’t even have to put you out. We just spray your back, there —” She pointed near Toni’s spine. “— and you’ll start to feel very relaxed and comfortable.” She pointed next to a monitor nearby. “You can watch, but most of our visitors choose to watch the ceiling instead. The controller’s right there.” The ceiling had a large screen, currently showing a series of nature photos. Some included animals, but none, Toni noticed, showed puppies or kittens or cubs.

“You already know that today’s services are free, right? And if you want one of the latest birth control implants, that’s free as well.”

Toni ground her teeth before she answered, “The shot I got doesn’t always work — I found that out. These implants are more foolproof?”

“Just about 100 percent. And if you get the shot also, I don’t know of anyone who’s conceived after both. And you can get the implant removed any time — though you’d have to pay a doctor for that — and get medicine to counteract the shot for good measure.”

And that was apparently all there was to it. The nurse handed her a tablet. “You’ll need to put your thumbprint at the bottom of the screen before the doctor gets started. The technicalities, you know.” She slid out the door, leaving Toni to make her way through the stilted and confusing language. She would be giving up any “parental rights,” whatever those were. That made sense. She was giving up being a parent — letting someone else, better able to do the job, raise her baby.

Her baby, except that by the time it was a baby, it would no longer be hers.

Maybe this was why they had people change into gowns. So they wouldn’t yield to any last-minute urge to run out the door.

The nurse came back in, one hand out to receive the tablet, a hypno-spray in the other. No going back now.

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I'll finish up with another image of the terrific cover from KAM Design.

At least one more excerpt to come!

New Near-Future Novel!

Yes, I write picture books, and love collaborating with illustrators.  And yes, I write  historical romance -- in fact, I've finally gotten back to work on my latest Cowbird Creek book, What Wakes the Heart. But it took me a while to do that, because I was getting another near-future SF novel ready to publish. And here it is!

Kelly Martin of KAM Design, who does my Cowbird Creek covers, turns out to do a mean SF cover.

Here's the description.

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Whose children are they?

Who decides?

In the near future, abortion is a thing of the past -- but the development of artificial wombs provides an alternative. The federal government controls this technology, and the fetuses consigned to these special incubators.

Young and unprepared for motherhood, Toni Green panics and agrees to "donate" her unborn child for adoption, the fortunate parents to be selected by the Bureau of Reproductive Safety. But the decision doesn't sit well with her, and as her regrets grow, she consults her mother, a high-powered lawyer, about her options. And thus begins a journey for her, her mother, the chosen adoptive parents -- and Poloma Clark, an administrator at the Bureau whose policies and practices Toni is challenging.

Poloma, initially tasked with helping the Bureau prepare for trial, finds herself confronted with evidence that the Bureau is exceeding its mandate. If the purpose of this mission creep is to protect vulnerable children, how can she help but join in? But the more she learns, the more her assumptions face challenges that force her to make possibly life-altering decisions.

This novel, like Wyle's previous near-future stories, includes a substantial number of courtroom scenes -- and a memorable judge.

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The Kindle edition and paperback edition are available now on Amazon, with the paperback coming out elsewhere on June 1st.

I'll post an excerpt soon -- maybe on the "official" June 1st release day, maybe sooner if I get impatient.

I'm likely to put the Kindle edition in Kindle Unlimited, at which point I won't be able to distribute actual ebook copies for review (as opposed to, say, PDFs of the paperback edition). So if you think you might want to review it, hit me up now for a free e-copy! (Best would be to email me at kawyle@att.net.)

Release Day for WIND, OCEAN, GRASS! with one more look inside

 It's release day for my new picture book!

The Kindle edition of Wind, Ocean, Grass is now available from Amazon, along with the paperback. And the paperback and hardcover editions are or soon will be available from multiple online retailers. (If it's listed as "out of stock," "backordered," or some such, it may be due to the re-approval process I described in my last post, still at that awkward phase between the original versions selling out and the new ones arriving. Or it may be just the usual order process combined with the omnipresent supply chain delays. If the vendor still lists it as on pre-order, that may have to do with what time today the distributor deigns to change that status.) 

Here, then, are two more of the illustrated spreads featuring illustrator Tomasz Mikutel's breathtaking paintings (and my words).

The following retailers are among those carrying the book.

Amazon

Bookshop (hardcover only, so far)

Books-A-Million (hardcover link)

Powell's Books (both hardcover and paperback, though the book cover doesn't show in the listing)

Barnes & Noble will have it when (I'm guessing) the corrected cover is approved.

Also, your local bookstore should be able to order it. (For reasons having to do with pricing and wholesaler discounts, they may be more eager to order the paperback, but still willing to order the hardcover.) And I'd love to have you ask them, as a few such requests may induce them to carry the book regularly.

Happy reading and art enjoyment, everyone!

More of the art from WIND, OCEAN, GRASS, and -- what I meant about collector's items

 Here are two more of the illustrated spreads (with words) from my new picture book Wind, Ocean, Grass, to be "released" tomorrow and already available in paperback from Amazon.

And there's so much more! (To be precise, forty more spreads than I've posted here so far.)

Now, about that "collector's item" hint.

After various angst-inducing episodes, I finally had the paperback and hardcover editions finished, uploaded, and approved. So I ordered some author copies . . . and didn't actually proofread the back cover for another few days, at which point I discovered to my horror that there was a typo in the text. It wasn't the sort of typo that leaps out at you, necessarily, but it was there. (I'm not identifying it, for a reason I'll get to it a minute.)

I was able to generate a new back cover pretty quickly -- quickly enough that the paperback edition could still come out on Amazon without delay. However, the hardcover edition, and the paperback edition distributed elsewhere, have a considerably longer maze to get through. In the meantime, copies with the typo have already been distributed to various retailers. Not until the corrected version makes it through the approval process will the distributor even start sending it out. I'm hoping this happens within the next couple of days, but have no guarantees. (It may, for example, be stalled over the weekend.)

So . . . if you buy the hardcover anywhere, or the paperback anywhere but Amazon, you just may be one of the lucky few to obtain the original version, typo included. Presto, a future collector's item! -- potentially, at least.

As for the typo itself: if you buy a copy (again, other than the paperback available from Amazon) before the corrected version completely replaces the original, you can entertain yourself looking for it. Call it a treasure hunt.

Tomorrow, I'll celebrate Release Day by posting more of the illustrated spreads. And once you get hold of the book itself, I promise all the cryptic bits of text you've seen here will make sense.

I Can Call a Picture Book Gorgeous Even If I'm the Author, Because I'm Not the Illustrator

 (Actually, I'm all in favor of people owning their achievements. Theoretically. In practice, I'm . . . getting better at it.)

My latest picture book, Wind, Ocean, Grass, has a release date of Sunday, May 15th, but the paperback is already available on Amazon. And it is gorgeous! Tomasz Mikutel, the illustrator, is a painter, exhibiting in galleries. He calls his style "classic and traditional" but also "loose." I call it -- or at least, the wonderful work in this book -- impressionist, or something close to it.

Here are a couple of the double-page spreads (with text included). See what I mean?

I'll post more tomorrow and on Release Day.

So what is the book about? Well, here's the description I've been using on Amazon and elsewhere.

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This unique picture book has neither human nor animal characters, but instead features the wind speaking to the grass, explaining how long grasses are both like and unlike the waves of the ocean. Through lyrical prose and breathtaking impressionist-style paintings, the reader follows the wind’s journey over sea and land: the many moods of the ocean, the different seasons of the grassy field. We see glimpses of the birds that live off the bounty of the ocean, and the birds and flowers that live among the grasses.

Through this nature metaphor, the story, without becoming didactic, teaches children about seeing commonality and celebrating differences.

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There are some complications about which versions will be available outside Amazon when. I'll explain next time. Hint: collector's items!