Category Archives: Tales from the Threshold

Two Free Short Stories and Soul Cages News

Book cover Soul Cages by Lynn KilmoreHello! I hope you are all well. I have some publishing news to relate this week.

The 2nd edition of Soul Cages under my new pen name of Lynn Kilmore got pushed up in the publishing queue, and both the e-book and print versions have now been released. The novel is being released not only to bookstores, but also to subscription services such as Scribd and Oyster. I’m told it’ll also be going out to Google Play in a few weeks. I’ll add the Google Play link once I know what it is.

Everything under the Lynn Kilmore pen name has been released to Oyster and Scribd, so you will be able to find them there as well as at bookstores. Also, I’ve been promised that print editions of Tales from the Threshold and Cubicles, Blood, and Magic will be released later this year.

Because the trade paperback  of Soul Cages got done weeks earlier than I expected, I get to announce something I’ve been looking forward to:

Parallels 2nd edition by Lynn Kilmore book coverParallels/Writer’s Flight (two short stories) are now available for free from various e-bookstores. If it isn’t priced to free at your favorite retailer, notify them of the free price at other e-bookstores and they should match it.

I hope you all have a joyous week.

Cheers, Lynn

Certain Short Stories Going Off Sale Very Soon

Quick double post this week. First up, publishing stuff.

Well, it’s turned out that various changes got pushed through during the 4th of July weekend. Second editions of A Maze of Cubicles and Tales from the Threshold will begin appearing in e-bookstores later this week. We hope to get JPEGs of the updated covers to post here soon.

Also, various short stories that will not be converted over to the Lynn Kilmore name are starting to get pulled down by some vendors now. I’m told it’ll take a few weeks for them to go off sale everywhere, but it has begun this month so that they will be no longer available by September 1st.

We’re going to try to get things updated here on the website so that most of the dead links for those short stories get removed. My apologies for any dead links you encounter.

Next up, a post about KC. Stay tuned, Lynn

The Lavender in Bloom with Honeybees and a Comment About Short Stories

It feels great to have the media files on this website working. The lavender is in full bloom here in New Mexico, so here’s a picture of lavender in the back yard.

Close up picture of lavender blossoms and a honeybeeThere are honeybees all over the lavender right now, so I took an up close photo of a honeybee. This second picture has the honeybee hidden in the photo.

In other news, it turns out the short stories Parallels and A Maze of Cubicles will be reissued in 2nd edition e-books under the Lynn Kilmore name, but all the other short stories and novelettes will not.  They will be taken off sale instead. However, the short story collection Tales from the Threshold will be made available as a Lynn Kilmore 2nd edition, and will have every short story and novelette published so far.

But if there’s a particular short story you want to buy on its own, you’ll need to do it before Fall 2014 (except for Parallels and A Maze of Cubicles). Writer’s Flight has already been taken off sale, but it’s still available to read in the Parallels short story e-book and in Tales from the Threshold.

I hope you all have a peaceful week.

Cheers, Lynn

My pen name is changing from L. M. May to Lynn Kilmore

Parallels 2nd edition by Lynn Kilmore book coverBack in 2007,  I picked out a pen name for my short stories and novels that I was going to submit to editors. I chose “L. M. May.”

I picked “L. M. May” at a time in my life when I had a lousy understanding of the publishing industry, and absolutely no understanding at all of my personality as a writer … and then I got published in a magazine under that name, and I felt I was permanently stuck with it.

Turns out I was wrong.

I just finished up two online classes through Skillshare with Seth Godin, and taking those classes of his challenged my all assumptions of what was possible. Also, a friend pointed out to me Dean Koontz’s blog post about killing off his pen name Owen West. Another friend pointed out that Katy Hudson changed her stage name to Katy Perry.

I finally realized that it wasn’t too late to change my pen name. I just had to be willing to go through the difficulties of doing so.

So I’m going ahead and changing  it to “Lynn Kilmore.” The behind-the-scenes aspects of changing the name will take years and years of work. The public work has the highest priority, so that stuff will change as quickly as possible.

There will be publishing headaches involved with the move of my ebooks and print editions to the new pen name. Everything published under “L. M. May” is going to be reissued in second editions under “Lynn Kilmore” over the next eight months.

However, one short story, Writer’s Flight, is being taken off sale permanently, instead of being revised, because it is included in the e-book of Parallels.

Unfortunately, the name change does mean two challenges going forward:

1) Links are going to break as the second editions come out. There will be temporary confusion as e-books are transitioned to the new name.

2) There have been delays in the print editions of two books, and the sequel to Cubicles is going to run late due to the changes being made in my name. However, all three books should be out in print before 2014 ends, and I’ll post when pre-orders become possible.

But once the main part of the transition is over, there’ll be some really fun stuff happening. I learned a huge amount in Seth Godin’s classes, and there’s been a lot of writing I’ve been holding back from being published as my unhappiness with my pen name grew worse.

I honestly feel as if I’ve been let out of a cage. You have no idea how standoffish and stifling I’ve found it these past seven years to be called “L.M.” instead of a read first name like “Lynn.”

Cheers, Lynn

For Reference. All E-Books published under “L. M. May”…

2 Novels: Soul Cages; Cubicles, Blood, and Magic.

1 Collection: Tales from the Threshold.

3 Novelettes: The Enchantment of Coyotes; Green Grow the Rushes; Shade Town.

5 Short Stories: Parallels; Writer’s Flight (will not be reissued under new name); Just One Date; King of All He Surveyed; A Maze of Cubicles.

All but Writer’s Flight will be transitioned to the new pen name.

Soul Cages – Part One. Dreams in the Desert. 21.

We’re approaching the end of Part One of  Soul Cages (PG-13). Just a few more chapters, and then it’s on to Part Two.

Soul Cages

 Lynn Kilmore

Second edition copyright © 2014 by Lynn Kilmore

Published by Osuna Publishing

This story is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and locales are either drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, and locales is entirely coincidental.

Part One. Dreams in the Desert

21

I spent the morning helping Henry unpack his boxes and hanging up his white boards (one used for his daily schedule, the other for his monthly calendar). But the overstimulation of the last few days had taken its toll on him. Henry began to repetitively flick his legs, arms, and face after lunch.

“Hey,” I said, “do you need a deep pressure session?”

Henry ran for the white couch and got the seat cushions pulled off before I caught up with him. He flopped onto the carpet and lay on his stomach.

I piled the cushions on his back and legs. He preferred that I start with his back, so I placed both hands on the cushion, which rose and fell with Henry’s breathing, and pushed down as hard as I could.

Henry gave a happy sigh.

Then the blasted doorbell rang. I let Mom answer the door since I had no keys to unlock it. I was relieved to hear only John’s voice in answer to Mom’s greeting as I kept up the pressure on Henry’s back.

John’s toolbox rattled as he said, “I’ll start with the main bathroom faucets you told me about. Then I’ll look over the irrigation system.” He caught sight of Henry and me in the living room, and paused, bemused.

“Marian is helping Henry to calm down,” Mom said.

John put down his toolbox and came into the living room. He had fresh grass stains on his jeans and T-shirt. “Can I help?”

I leaned forward to whisper in Henry’s ear, “Is it okay if John pushes the leg cushion?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“Go ahead and push down on the cushion on his legs,” I told John. “Henry will say ‘more’ or ‘less’ if he needs you to push harder or relax.”

On his first attempt, John pressed gingerly on the cushion, and Henry said “More.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You can’t hurt him with that cushion.”

John studied how much weight I was putting on mine, and adjusted his arms accordingly.

Henry gave a pleased grunt.

“Now you’ve got it,” I said.

“How long do you apply pressure?” John asked.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” Mom interjected. “Marian’s got it under control.”

“No, it’s all right,” John said to Mom. “Like I said, I want to understand Asperger’s better.”

Mom fiddled with her keys. I could tell Mom was embarrassed about John seeing Henry like this.

I said, “I usually do this for ten to fifteen minutes per cushion. Feel free to get up whenever you’ve had enough.”

But John stayed the entire time, asking questions. I ended up giving a rather detailed lecture about the nervous system difficulties of kids with autism. At some point Mom wandered off to unpack boxes in the kitchen.

Once done, Henry followed John to the main bathroom to watch him work on the faucets and clogged sinks.

I went back to work on Henry’s boxes. But I could hear bangs and clangs from the main bathroom, and the muffled rise and fall of Henry’s voice asking questions.

Then I overheard Mom go into the main bedroom and scold Henry for bothering John. Which shut Henry up. But the clatter of tools and hammering went on. I was impressed that Henry didn’t come running into his bedroom with his hands over his ears. The lure of a toolbox had proved to be strong enough to overcome Henry’s noise sensitivity.

I’d gotten to unpacking Henry’s CDs of animal recordings— whales, frogs, and wolves were his favorites—when the racket stopped.

Henry said in the hall, “Here’s my dead bug collection.” He dragged John by the hand into his bedroom.

John caught sight of Sydney’s closet, and paled.

“Henry, let me get the collection for you.” I rushed for the shoebox on top of his short bookcase. “You can take it out to the backyard where the light is better.” I put the box in Henry’s free hand, and he whirled around and tried to drag John out of the room.

But John resisted, his gaze fixated on the closet. The raw pain on his face made me look away.

Henry tugged harder at John’s hand.

John snapped out of his thoughts. “It’s okay. There’s enough light for you to show me the collection here.”

I watched him struggle to listen to Henry as my brother pointed out the various dead insects and spiders he’d gathered.

When it became clear Henry was stuck in a monologue, I said to him, “Henry, how about you take your box outside and add those dead spiders we found near the apple tree?”

Henry raced out of the room. I made to follow, but John reached out toward me and said, “Stay, please.”

We both stared at the closet.

“There’s something I need to do,” John said. “If you would warn me if you hear your mother.”

I moved over to the bedroom door and listened. “Mom’s in the kitchen,” I whispered.

John walked over to the closet door slowly, as if he moved underwater, and gently grasped it to pull it all the way open. He took a sharp breath when the scent of roses hit him, and then flicked on the closet light.

The grimy interior was just as depressing as I remembered it. John stepped inside, kneeled, made the sign of the cross, and bowed his head.

He began to pray, too softly for me to hear.

My ears strained to place Mom’s movements. A faint sound of ripping cardboard; Mom tearing open a box.

John finished his prayer, made the sign of the cross upon the floor, and then stood up and proceeded to say the Lord’s Prayer while making the sign of the cross on the walls, closet door, and into the air.

Then he came out, flicking off the light. He said, sorrow in his voice, “I’ve done what I can.”

I was unable to hide my confusion.

He touched the cross around his neck. “Some say the souls of suicides are lost or damned.”

I thought of Sydney and shivered. “What does your father believe?”

“He believes they’re damned.”

“And you?”

“I’m pinning my hopes on grace.”

“You were praying for her soul, weren’t you? Praying she finds her way if she’s lost.”

John nodded.

Henry’s room felt too dark and damp. I needed sunlight. “Let’s take a break and join Henry in the backyard.”

I headed for the kitchen, John following. Mom was busy putting fine china in high cabinets where Henry couldn’t reach.

Mom caught sight of John. “How’s the faucets?”

“Fixed,” John said. “I’m going to look at the back irrigation system.”

I hurried into the backyard.

“I’ll bring out lemonade in a few minutes,” Mom called after us.

Henry sat in the house’s shadow watching anthills. The bright sunlight was welcome after Syd—no, Henry’s—room, but the gusts of dirt-filled wind were annoying.

John moved past me, and kneeled next to a plastic cover in the ground. “Stay back. May be black widows.” He flipped the cover up and over, and studied the interior. “All clear.”

Henry and I peered over John’s shoulder into the moist graveled pit in which the line valves for the irrigation system were laid.

Henry said, “Found two dead wolf spiders, and one dead daddy longlegs to put in my collection. I want any dead black widows.”

No,” John and I said in unison.

Henry groaned “Jinkies” in protest, and went back to watching anthills.

Mom came out, handed around plastic cups of lemonade, took a look at the valves, and then retreated back into the house complaining of the dust and heat.

John said in an undertone, “I’m going to check the irrigation sprinklers before I flip this system on. Come with me.”

His tone hinted that I wouldn’t like what he had to tell me. Something about Matthew or his parents, no doubt. “Okay.”

He went around the side of the house to the apple tree—out of earshot of Mom if the kitchen window was open. He studied the ground, and nudged a broken irrigation head near the tree. “Cracked,” he said to himself. “The ‘official’ reason I’ve been sent over here is that your parents need help getting this place fixed up.”

I tugged a leaf off the tree and crumpled it in my fist. “What’s the other reason?”

“Your mom told my parents about you demanding to go to a different church, and about the screaming match in the street between you and Matt.” John looked impressed. “That must have been some fight, because Matt swears he never wants to speak to you again. My mom’s given up on you two going out. I was supposed to help.”

“Yeah, I got to watch you stomp your brother’s toes and kick his heel.”

“Glad it’s over.” He shook his head. “My new commission is to change your mind about Youth Group and First Beginnings. But I think you should go where you want.”

“What happens if you fail in changing my mind?”

“That’s not your problem.”

“My feelings aren’t your responsibility!”

“They’ve now made it so. I’ll cope.” He pulled out a screwdriver to poke around the cracked irrigation head.

John acted like it was no big deal, but I sensed he was under intense pressure to get me in line. Anger simmered in me but I couldn’t think of an immediate solution. If I confronted Pastor Andervender, he’d figure out John was talking about things he was supposed to keep quiet.

There’s time, I told myself. I don’t have to have an answer now. Dad’s commitment to First Beginnings is weakening, and soon Mom’s will as well. I just need to be patient.

************** End of Part One. 21. *****************

Have a great week! L.M.