Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is happy to host Katey Hawthorne here today talking about the re-release of her wonderful series Superpowered Love.  Welcome, Katey!

 

 

Superpowered Love: Reloaded

Authors rarely get the chance to re-release their very first baby, but I did. A few months back, Less Than Three Press brought my unfinished Superpowered Love series back to life—and once the eight books already finished are out in the world, the series will polish off with three more.

I’ve read comics since I was a little kid, spending my allowance on random issues of The Amazing Spider-Man even through the worst of the Clone Saga. (If you don’t know, be glad.) As I grew older, I started making up my own stories about the superheroes I knew and loved—X-Men, Fantastic Four, Batman and Robin—but they weren’t so much about epic fights over Gotham City as they were weird day-to-day slices of life. Who do they love? What are their quirks? When they get downtime, what do they do to unwind? Can they unwind, and if not, what would it take to get them there?

Not so much the epic battle between good and evil we’ve come to know and love, but something more personal. Something for people like me, who are queer and longing for stories they can relate to on every level, not just via a desire to be on the side of the angels. (Or the Avengers.)

Geeky ass superpowered romance, ahoy. My blog was called “Superpowered Love”, and somehow it became the overarching title for the series via readers. Which might be the coolest thing ever.

Now, eight years later and hopefully a little wiser, I finally get to polish up my first work and make it shine like I wanted—and bring it to a fitting end. Superpowered Love 3: Nobody’s Hero is out today everywhere, and there’s more to come asap:

4: Losing Better on January 20

5: Re-Entry Burn on February 21

6: In Distress on March 20

7: The Playhouse on April 17

8: The Takedown on May 22

So if this little detour into the personal lives of superpowered folks sounds up your alley, follow along on this Reloaded blog tour for excerpts, soundtracks, fun facts, and of course the giveaway! To whet your whistle, check out this exclusive bit from Nobody’s Hero!

Excerpt – When your Mom walks in on a Saturday morning to find a cute boy in your shower, and then leaves without you telling her who he is… said boyfriend gets a little upset.:

[I asked,] “Oh, so if it was your mom, you would’ve just said, ‘Yeah, meet my new boyfriend’?”

“That’s exactly what I would’ve said,” [he replied.]

“And she would’ve been okay with that?”

“Jamie, my mother is the most amazing human being I know. But whether she loves it or hates it doesn’t alter a fact.”

I ran a hand through my hair, pulling on it. All my clever explanations, my smooth excuses deserted me. I just stared at him and wished so, so hard that I could tell him the truth. “She’s not ready to hear it so bluntly. I’m having lunch with her. I’ll talk to her about it then, I swear.”

“Right. She’s not ready.” Then he paused, mouth slightly open, as if having an epiphany.

I had a sick, sinking feeling he had.

Confirmed when he said, “Jesus. Does she even know you’re queer?”

I closed my eyes. “Kellan.”

He took an audible deep breath, and when I opened my eyes again, his hands were spread wide in front of him, chest rising and falling with controlled slowness. He said, in a tight, frightening voice, “Okay. You know what? It’s none of my business. Nothing about you is any of my fucking business.”

I pushed off the door and took a step nearer, reaching out for him. “No, it is. You’re right. Just, you don’t understand.”

“I noticed.” He stormed past me and reached for the doorknob.

“Please, don’t just walk away. Let me explain.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll say something I can’t take back.” He looked over his shoulder, biting his lip, but his eyes still burned hot and dark. “Megan will have to be your shortstop today. Tell everyone I’m sorry.”

“Kellan—” But before I got any farther, he was out the door. He closed it in my face—gently, but it still amped me hard. The charge started in that place deep in my middle, the source of it, and jumped from wire to wire until it raced all through me, begging to get free.

I turned around, let little lightning bolts arc across my hands, jumping from finger to finger. The visible, tangible expression of all my frustration, everything I held inside, everything I wanted to scream from the fucking rooftops.

I shoved one hand forward, sending a bright blue arc from my fingertips, right into the nearest poster frame on my wall. The plastic sizzled; the paper curled in sudden frenzied electrical flames.

I put it out before it set off the alarm and emptied the whole fucking building. Feeling like exactly what I was: a giant fucking five-year-old. Lonely, frustrated, and pathetic.

Shit. And this is why I can’t have nice things.

Or nice boys.