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Sentinel Classics 101
 
Imagine you want an introduction to the broad scope and historical trends of slashy Sentinel fic. Be great if there was a class, you think. Like, "Intro to Sentinel Slash Literature 101." If there were such a class, the titles given below would constitute the 101 required reading list. And, at least for the purpose of this lame analogy, the Sentinel Recs list would be supplementary reading. In truth, there's really no substantive differences between stories in each section, but for this required reading list, I'm picking mostly older stories; the exceptions are significant stuff that I missed while making my other recs.

These classics are an "anthology" of some of the first stories that were archived, some utterly great stories, influential stories, hefty stories, fanon making stories, the oft-discussed, and those that have adapted the old standards. (Such as, "We're undercover. We have to pretend to be gay.") Some may be true classics in perfection, some not, but mostly these are the stories that stuck with me after I'd plunged headlong through my honeymoon phase and come out the other side. And this list still does not even try to represent all the hits of Sentinel fiction. Many of the writers have many more fabulous works in the archive, beyond what I've included here.

With these briefly recced stories you're getting a format deliberately created to offer a light dash of minty honesty. I gave some careful thought to making recs, given that I generally like to read a story fresh, without spoilers. I've decided to give brief excerpts, and a point-counterpoint explanation of why the story is recced. Some description might slip in but I'm avoiding summaries along the lines of "This is a story about how Jim journeys to Peru and learns a few things about love and jaguars." I am also not citing ratings, story types, or other notes. Right now these are all Sentinel recs, so if you don't want the direct route to the story page, most are searchable in the archive. When I don't link to the archive, I don't link at all, which is why you sometimes see plain-text URLs. Why do I do this? Basically because I'm too lazy to write people and ask permission to link to their pages. 

There may be relatively broad, mild spoilers in the recs, but no substantial ones that I can think of.

These are in no particular order, and don't always represent my traditional 'favorites' of the authors. Eclectic and idiosyncratic recs are what we have here. And mileage may vary, as they say. You may, as you read, recognize a theme of envy threading through these recs. Just bear in mind that seething envy is usually my highest form of flattery.

Yes, that's pretty sick.

Toy Story by Alanna -- So, it's been seven months since I made a rec. I've read some stories during that time, but I don't click my 852 Prospect bookmark five times a day like I used to, a habit which always gave me a headstart on story recs. Even so, Jim and Blair still push my buttons big time, and though it's weird--and perhaps kind of pointless--to start in once again reccing stories that everyone has already read, I say, what the hell. I think we're still roping in a fair number of newbies every year, and maybe they'll come here one day and find this page useful.

This story is exactly what it sounds like, and it has a fun straightforward style.

Eventually I get to the point and ask her the dildo vs. butt plug question. Basically what it comes down to is preference. Well, I'm sure as hell not going for the butt plug; a dildo it is. But choosing one? All I can say is, there is no way I'm putting some dolphin-shaped thing up my butt. And the Virgin Mary? Even aside from the whole Jewish thing, that's just...well, kind of funny, actually. But still a big no.

What might throw you off stride: I'm thinking, you know, the dildos and stuff. But I've never really liked sex toys in slash stories before, and I liked this. Talent makes anything possible. You can be a Broadway star! You can make silicone sexy! There's also the timing of the story--in terms of the series--which not everyone may credit, but it shouldn't throw you out of the story.

Truth, Death, and Donuts: Learning Curve II by Antimony Hayes -- I don't remember any more what I used to write up here before quoting from the story. I look back at earlier entries, and think, yeah, whatever. Just get to the point.

Jim put his arms around him. It was weird and good. Blair's arms came up and went around Jim's waist, tight. He made a sound, buried in Jim's shoulder, a raw, pained sound that broke Jim's heart. Jim held on, his arms wrapped awkwardly around Blair's shoulders. He didn't know where to put his hands, so he put them on his own arms and just stood there, his face against Blair's hair, breathing.

There was a moment when it was time to let go. Jim pulled back, slow, because he didn't want Blair to think he wasn't comfortable. His hands were a little unsteady, so he shoved them into his pockets and looked with great warmth and concern at a place just over Blair's shoulder.

What might throw you off stride: There's not a Learning Curve III yet.

Waterfall by Betty Plotnick -- She's so damn predictable. Predictably good, I mean. I like that in a chick, even if she is a pseudonymous wench whose identity eludes me and makes me feel like Jack McGee seeking the mysterious man behind the Hulk.

Climbing up into the truck tired him out a little more than it really should have, but Blair didn't pay much attention. Staying in the hospital always made him lazy, like some primitive lizard-lobe of his brain started thinking, *People are bringing me stuff while I lay around on my back, so obviously there's no need to move around anymore -- cool.* Leaving the hospital was always high on the list of things Blair's ego enjoyed, but his id was often spoiled and pissy about it for days.

"We should go to the grocery store," he told Jim, who was still hovering behind him as though scared that Blair would fall out of the truck and need to be caught before he hit the ground. Just to make Jim look at him like he was crazy, Blair grinned and added "My lizard needs ice cream."

What might throw you off stride: Sudden curbs.

Paying the Rent by elaine -- I can't help it. It's a guilty pleasure. And since I read every line of this story, unlike some others that may be more accomplished in style, I feel it deserves a rec. The title really says it all. This is very definitely an AU, where reality has branched off, and the characters are younger.

"Twenty dollars? You've got to be kidding." He was tall, blond and very sure of his own superiority. "I'll give you ten."

Blair shrugged, his face implacable. Even if they bargained it down, johns who haggled over the price invariably wanted more than they'd paid for. "That's the price."

"It's outrageous." Now he was starting to get angry.

"It's about a tenth of what you paid for your shoes." Blair offered the observation almost indifferently. He wasn't going to give anyone a blow job for less than twenty dollars, and especially not someone wearing an Armani suit.

What might throw you off stride: The style is workmanlike, and there aren't any lines that achieve lift-off from the steady, level prose. But authorial restraint keeps this from sinking into a pit of cheesy melodrama, unlike some other stories I can think of but kindly won't name. Like, the whole child abuse thing is thrashed through, and there's some forced sex, but there's no gratuitous humiliation of the kind that makes you want to go take a shower. It has, you know, dignity. There's a certain type of recognizable authorial intrusion in how Blair ("the boy") is reinvented into a young, smooth-chested man-child, which is fortunately redeemed by such things as the discovery of secretive shaving.

Distant Journey, Unknown Lands by Martha and Lemon Drop -- coming soon

Why you should read this: -- ditto

What might throw you off stride: -- loose shoelaces

Coming Home by Calista Echo (Sentinel) -- There is nothing like 315k of epic hurt-comfort to restore one's faith in a fandom. This is a sequel to Stealing Home. I  really enjoyed this, even though I have not read "Stealing Home." I remember skimming it (another big dish--356k) and thinking it looked kinda interesting, but for whatever reason, I did not engage. The sequel, on the other hand, drove bang out of the gate right into the heart of my hurt-comfort kink, and I read it straight through in about two hours. Glory. I kinda think this is readable as a stand-alone. But, I could just be crazy and influenced by previous skimming.

An hour later Simon screeches to a halt in front of us. He gets out, slamming the door. "Jim!" I wince at the volume and tighten my grip on Blair. He doesn't stir.

Simon notices then that Blair's asleep and mouths, "Sorry."

"It's all right. Don't think much could wake him at this point." Simon helps me get Blair up and into the back seat and I get in next to him. It'll make it a little harder to fill Simon in but I'm not letting go at this point.

"What's wrong with him? For that matter, what's wrong with you? You look like hell."

"Well, I feel like hell, so the illustrations match the text."

What might throw you off stride: Some typos--but sprinkled through a huge story, and so not really that noticeable--and probably a few other things I could think of if it weren't one a.m. Um, okay, here's something: the story got a bit sketchier, a bit vaguer, toward the ending. The horse was a little tired as it crossed the finish line. But it was a lovely ride.

Update 4/4: I just heard that this was posted as gen elsewhere, which suggests that the ending was tacked on. Explains a lot. I suppose that the reverse could be true--it could have been chopped off to make it gen (think about that analogy a moment). Still, this kinda bugs me and makes me question whether I was in optimal reading mode at eleven o'clock at night--did I miss broader flaws? I don't know. I'm not going to change my rec, but it's something to think about.

Update 4/4: And with yet another update--I heard from the author after a list thread about this story and am feeling more sympathetic again. No, I'm not PMSing, thank you very much. Go away.

Lemon Tea by cmshaw (Sentinel) -- I was hunting through the archive tonight, looking for stuff I haven't read in a while or--rolling the dice--never read. I ended up lighting on cmshaw's stories. I have read them, but it's been a year or so. In some stories, like Silk, the writer does enough good things that I can enjoy re-reading it, but enough squicky things that I find it hard to rec--and does one right after the other, which just amazes me. Best example of this phenomenon in one small package is the sentence beginning: "Bracing Jim's hip with a splay-fingered grip...." Splay-fingered grip! That's fabulous! And it rhymes with "hip" and it's in iambic pentameter! That's excruciating! In the story as a whole there are passages where the blend of realism, characterization, and eroticism make the writing as good as cake batter. Then a scene or a phrase comes along and it's like--fly in the batter, spit it out!

Anyway, 'Lemon Tea.' This is an interesting writing exercise:

--You're serious. Simon really thinks we're sleeping together.

--That's what I said.

--And you told him point-blank that we were just friends --

--And he didn't believe me, yes.

--Well. I can see his side. Some days I even have trouble believing it.

--Yeah, I know what you mean.

--You too, huh?

--Well, some days.

--Maybe sometime we should try overlapping those days. See what happens.

Learning Curve by Antimony Hayes (Sentinel) --  It's so nice when you can use an apt quote from a story.

He was grading essays. It wasn't his favorite activity. Some of the undergrads didn't have a clue, and some of them were so good it made him twitchy. There was one girl in particular who did work he could barely match now. Where did people learn to write like that? She was brilliant, and it bothered him. Part of him hoped she'd stay in the program and use that amazing mind to enrich his field. The rest of him kind of hoped she'd go into nursing.

Yet.

Why you should read this: So many delightful moments that I should really quote more of them, but that would suck out all the fun of discovering them as you read the story itself. Or the story yourself. Or...something.

What might throw you off stride: A few questionable plot points, but focus on the pretty men and you can breeze right over them.

Umbrella Bones by Tangent (Sentinel) -- First posted story by this author. Holy cow.

And that damned umbrella had to be around somewhere. How could he miss it? It was neon blue and bright yellow, with purple stripes, and it hadn't cost Megan more than two dollars but she really really wanted it back. "Have you ever seen anything more beautiful, Sandy?" she'd asked dreamily as she twirled it. "I don't think I have, unless I count Rafe." That'd made Blair laugh for the first time in days, and he owed Megan and the umbrella for that.

So the search had become a crusade--he had to admit, mostly because Jim was home and he didn't really feel like being either fussed over or ignored. In his life these days it was one or the other, and all the extremes were driving him crazy. Move in, move out, don't need you, help me, ignore, coddle.

Die. Live.

What might throw you off stride: Tiny bubbles in your wine.

Update 3/29: Bare Bones, a sequel to 'Umbrella Bones,' is already up. It's a fuzzy cuddle:

Sometimes I wish I had Sentinel senses--usually when Jim looks like he's going to pass out because his dessert is perfect. Sometimes just on warm spring days when the sky is clear and he can see the water from the balcony, or hot summer days when he can smell ice cream from the truck that patrols our neighborhood in search of little teeth to rot.

I'd like to be able to see him as clearly as he sees me.

Changes by Jean Kluge. One of the classics of the fandom, now finally online at Jean's homepage, found here: http://www.squidge.org/~theabode/jean/.

"Someday," Jim promised, "we’ll go fishing again, camp in the wilderness."

Blair nodded at that, but apparently the excitement of an imminent camp-out in the backyard was far greater than that of some hazy future trip to parts unknown.

Jim idly thought back to one of their fishing trips before, the water clear, Blair grinning at him with that damn fishing spear held aloft in triumph, the not-too-shabby catch in his other hand, raised proudly . . . Simon had joined them on that trip, and Jim wondered again if he should make overtures toward a reconciliation with his old friend. He was still angry, he acknowledged, standing to clear the table, still felt a sense of betrayal, still partially blamed Simon . . . but Simon was concerned, was worried about Blair, genuinely wanted to see him. Jim looked over at his friend, who was getting awkwardly to his feet to clear his own dishes from the table, and thought it might just make Simon realize what, ultimately, his dismissal of Jim’s suspicions had done to Blair, if he were confronted with the results. Let him see it, let him face his mistake, let him take his share of the guilt.

What might throw you off stride: It may not be everyone's cup of tea--in fact, though this is mostly well-loved, I've seen a few strong critiques. You either accept the premise or you don't. It's a story crafted on carefully chosen terms, with a deliberate pace and focus. But even when I have issues with the pacing, or wordiness, or the length of attention given to a scene or subject matter, I'm also aware that these things serve the author's purpose. The thing is, respect for the characters permeates the fabric of this story, and demands that a certain respect be paid to the story itself--sure, I could pick at it using beta-vision and maybe mention some specific things that are less than perfect. I've actually done that on list, but I don't want to do it again here. Just read it, you maroon.

Knoxville by Resonant (Sentinel) -- The author calls this: 'The "lost sequel" to Tender.' I've been meaning to rec this for quite a while, and found evidence of this intent in my inbox. Oh, blessed bloody inbox. Inbox of death. I raise my hands to shade my eyes, squint into the distance, but the trail of littered e-mails stretches back too far and I cannot see its point of origin...oh, shut up and on with the rec.

"It was back when you were traveling through the South, earning money for your bus tickets by working as a stripper ..."

Jim spat out a mouthful of coffee and looked at Blair balefully. Blair held up a hand.

"Oh, I know, I know what you're going to say, man, I've seen you dance, but I for one maintain that your apparent boogie deficiency is actually a diabolical cover to prevent people from connecting you with the notorious James 'Hips' Ellison --"

"Boogie deficiency?"

"Well, not compared to, say, Al Gore, but in the real world --"

"I don't know why I stick around to be insulted."

"I do." Blair walked behind Jim's chair, leaned over his shoulder, and gave him a long, wet, upside-down kiss. "That jog your memory a little?"

What might throw you off stride: You are walking along the street, reading a print-out of the story, and suddenly you catch sight of Richard Burgi signing autographs outside of your neighborhood Starbucks, not five feet from you. You trip, stumble over an abandoned latte, and land on your belly, fan-fiction flying from your feeble hands. Richard bends down and picks up a stray sheet and reads, "Sandburg, why do you want to imagine me outdoors naked?"

Aside from that possibility, you should have no issues with reading this lovely little story.

Call Him a Dog by Lanning Cook (Sentinel) -- I tried to find the perfect short excerpt for this, but given the point of view it was hard to find one that would be clearly meaningful without a slightly broader context; so this is a bit longer than the norm I strive for.

We spent the morning going over Ellison's open cases - not that there were that many. Hell, you could count 'em on one hand. I figured he'd be a little behind the eight ball what with his "partner" being gone for three weeks. I mean, the little geek was probably useless on the street, but eggheads are great at paperwork. But man, Ellison closes cases faster than I can whip my dick out, partner or no partner. A call came in just as we were finishing up - homicide down by the harbor - so we headed out.

We go down to the garage and get in his truck, which is this powder blue piece of crap Ford. You'd think a detective with his seniority could afford something hot, so I kind of kid him about it, to break the ice, you know? I mean, we'd spent the last two hours going over those cases and I don't think he said more than ten words the whole time.

"1969?" I say. "Hell, nothing made in 1969 is worth shit, Ellison."

Well, Ellison peels out of the garage like a bat out of hell. Doesn't even look at me. "Do me a favor, Corbin," he says after a minute, and he's holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. "Keep your opinions to yourself."

What might throw you off stride: Deliciously foul language, and you have to suspend your disbelief at a significant point in the story. But this is Lanning Cook, man, and for crying out loud you'd better not give this a miss.

Unified Fields by Antimony Hayes (Sentinel) -- A short little story (8k) described as "The happy beer-fuck story."

Jim smelled like motor oil and sweat and the really bad curry we hadn't eaten that was still spread out over the coffee table. He hadn't showered, and I was pathetically glad. The combination of sports and beer and affection and bad food and our first night off since the Reagan era had turned my insides to mush. I pushed my head back into Jim's arm and he tightened it around me and the mush turned to vapor, lighter than air. I had a second of guilt like lightning to the gut over getting off on Jim's innocent little show of friendly warmth - and then figured, fuck it. What he didn't know wasn't gonna hurt him.

What might throw you off stride: If you can buy the theory that a couple of guys would cuddle even before they caught a clue, then you'll be good to go. Otherwise, you may balk.

What we want and what we get by DcSunset (Sentinel) -- First posted story by a new author.

Well I hadn't reckoned on this... These feelings I have for him. It seems to get stronger the more I try to ignore it. And I'm sure he hasn't even noticed. He had plenty to say about his own feelings before I moved out, he admits that I'm his best friend, and he's ever had a few 'Weird' dreams that involved me. He did elaborate on his definition of weird, but I'm not going to go into that right now as it just makes me feel worse, and he didn't seem please to be having them. Suffice to say he surprised himself, as I'm not his usual type. Who am I kidding; I am SO not his type. Until recently I thought I was the wrong sex and then there's the little matter of us both being 'married', not a major complication for him but really not good for me. I'm told that when I want something, I'm not very discrete about it. That worries me more than anything else. Is he hinting that he's caught me looking? I don't think he'd be so subtle about it if he had, he'd just come right out and ask; at least I hope he would. Maybe not, he was plenty subtle about liking guys. I lived with him for years and didn't have a clue.

What might throw you off stride: Then there are the not-so-fresh parts, where the gods of fanon preside. But one can get past that. More critically, this cries out for a savvy beta and careful editing to clean up the wacky punctuation and capitalization, the homophones, the comma splices, and a number of other easily avoidable glitches that are strewn throughout the story. There's also the EIG factor--on the EIG ten-point scale this is an implausible seven. (Yes, I used a real formula to get that number. <g>) The story also doesn't keep the effectiveness of its format (multiple first-person narration) all the way through--it's very uneven. Even so, this may be for you, as it was for me, the kind of story that you can read with attention despite its writerly flaws. It will be interesting to see what happens with the next story or two from this author.

Possibility Number One by Lenore (Sentinel) -- Lenore is revisiting Sentinel and this should make you happy. The author's notes (which you should read, for once) suggest the, er, possibility that there may be sixty-four more vignettes like this to come. So, while I may not rec all of the next sixty-four, you should go hunt them out. Assuming she's not just teasing us.

It was really not the day to call him a caveman.

Jim could see the kid realize that, a moment too late, right before his back connected with the wall and Jim got in his face, a move he'd perfected out on the street. The kid swallowed hard and looked scared, a typical reaction. Jim was really quite good at his job.

He took in a breath to yell, and that's when it hit him, a jolt, like electricity, like awareness. He reeled with a sudden sense of claustrophobia, far too conscious of the kid's physical presence. He could feel everything--his nervous breathing, the blood thrumming through his body, the mass of muscle and bone, his heat through the layers of their clothing. It wasn't the way these things were supposed to go.

What might throw you off stride: It's short. It inevitably gives you that "I'm just warming up" feel, and then it's over. It ends on a question and leaves you hanging. What did I say? Tease.

Footnotes by Destina Fortunato (Sentinel) -- You'll recognize this nifty prize if you bought the zine "Thinker, Tyler, Soldier, Spy." Nice to see this online, where you can adjust the font.

Tape 1: March 24, 1996

Okay, here we go. Blair Sandburg, dissertation project documentation, tape one. Whoa. It sounds so strange to hear that.

I found a living, breathing subject for my dissertation. I never thought I'd actually find one with all five senses enhanced. Looks like the subject is the genuine article, though it's still too early to say. I need to develop some controlled experiments, some parameters for working with him. There's so much to do that I don't even know where to start.

Which is as it should be.

What might throw you off stride: Interesting story format, but a bit fragmentary and distancing; and it's a challenge to capture and sustain consistent voice for 100k. There were some times when Blair "spoken" felt more like Blair "written." Still a very worthwhile read, however.

Exposure by Donna Jones (Sentinel) -- Post TSbyBS story. Inadvertently rated G in the archive, but not rated G. Slightly more spoilers than usual below, but still generalized.

Yesterday had felt odd, being home again with Blair, because it wasn't really Blair. It looked like Blair, smelled like him, but it didn't sound like him. His voice had a different timbre, lacked resonance, sounded flat and dull. Jim hadn't been able to bring himself to find out if he felt or tasted different. And it irritated the hell out of him, while at the same time made him want to pound the hell out of whoever he finally decided he could blame for all of this.

However, right now irritation was elbowing concern right out of the starting gate.

"Hey, Jim," Blair started to say. He put his hand on Jim's shoulder, and rubbed it softly, turning it into a caress. He moved closer. "Where did you put-"

Jim jerked away, out of his reach. "Shit, Sandburg," he hissed. "What the hell are you doing?" He glanced quickly around to see if anyone had noticed.

Startled, Blair yanked his hand away. "Sorry, man. I wasn't thinking."

"No kidding." Jim frowned in anger. "You haven't been doing much of that lately, have you?"

You should also read this because it has kickass verbal fights--bang bang bang--and tension, and anger sex. It's all too rare to see sex motivated by some other dynamic, fueled by anything except the softer emotions. So good to see it here. And despite what the author says, the ending rocks. Because you know Jim's 'gift' won't really tie things up in a neat little bow--not given the characterization established here. Heh.

What might throw you off stride: All the stuff I mentioned above, you wuss.

On the Wall by Kass (Sentinel) -- Author notes in her author notes that this is the Jewish!Blair story she always wanted to write.

Balancing a glass of juice on the pile of books, he settled into the couch. When Jim came downstairs he was midway through "I and Thou."

"Have I ever told you that pages turning sounds like vast blocks of granite being dragged over each other?"

Blair looked up and grinned. The tough guy thing was such a fucking act: it was like Jim felt the need to pretend to be a dick, despite the fact that there wasn't an ounce of convincing rancor in his tone.

Plus, there was plenty to grin at. Jesus: bare-chested Jim Ellison with his hair rumpled from sleep. Blair said a silent shehecheyanu. Unrequited room-mate lust was imperfect, as life situations went, but at least he had the eyes to see and the wits to appreciate the fucking spectacular specimen of manhood which was, at that very moment, trying (and failing) to glare at him.

What might throw you off stride: Small monkeys biting your ankles. I'm not saying there are any in the story. I'm just saying...they would.

The Mountie Who Fell to Earth by Josephine Darcy (Sentinel) -- One of the stories from the Sentinel 'Slash Virtual Season.' A Due South crossover. You don't have to read the other SVS stories; this can be read as a stand-alone.

"Sorry about this," Ray sighed.

"Hey, man I don't mind," Blair assured him, guessing the cop was uncomfortable with the closeness.

"No, I mean the whole kidnapping-dragged-off-into-the-middle-of-nowhere thing. Probably not an everyday occurrence in the life of an anthropologist," Ray explained.

Blair grinned wryly. "You'd be surprised. Besides, it's not your fault."

"I shoulda shot 'em," Ray grumbled.

"You'd be dead if you had," Blair reminded him.

"Maybe," Ray agreed grudgingly. "But I bet I wouldn't be cold. Hey, is it just me, or are those moose starin' at me funny?"

What might throw you off stride: There's not just plot; there's a lot of plot. That is, some scenes strike me as the kind of obligatory stuff you might fast-forward through if you were watching actual canon. But of course, (a) it's a damnable struggle to make any cop plot fresh and engaging these days, and (b) that's why they call this the virtual season.

Thicket by Martha (Sentinel) -- We had dreamed of this moment, we had whispered of it. Ye, we had looked up into the cold glittering stars and prayed that the shackles of smarm would someday be loosened and our slashy boys freed from bondage. And when that historical night came you could hear my cries echoing across the hills and dales of fandom: "Martha wrote slash!"

Of course, others just said: "Cool. New story."

Jim took my dissertation out of my notebook, he thought. The fact of it still flabbergasted him. James Death-Before-Dishonor Ellison sneaking around like a kid stealing his dad's Playboy. What had gotten into him? It didn't fit anything Blair thought he knew about the man. If he'd been so bound and determined to read it, Blair would have expected him to simply take the damned thing, fending Blair off with longer arms and superior strength if he had to. God knew, he'd watched Jim set off on those roads to hell more than once, and when he did, it was usually with all flags flying. Covert ops or not, Jim didn't sneak.

What might throw you off stride: Let's be frank here: there's nothing so horrible as being deeply entrenched in your winter slump and waking up one day to find that the Second Coming has come and everyone is hallelujahing with joy. "Why couldn't I have written that?! That should be me whose praises they sing!" you think with resentment as you roll over and snuffle, before burrowing deeper into your blankets and going back to sleep.

Cuts Deep, Demolition Woman, Penalty Box, and White Elephant by Betty Plotnick (Sentinel) -- A few are loosely related. More notable for being four swift dunks from a new writer who suddenly appeared like a sizzling flash of lightning on the court. Rather than excerpt from all four, I'll just quote at length from the now classic omelette box scene.

He looked amused. He tried to hide it, but he couldn't. Didn't even have a chance. "All right, all right! Sheesh, you make a man a frittata and you get nothing but abuse."

That took a little of the wind out of Jim's sails. "Frittata? I thought you were making omelettes."

"No, it's a frittata, man. Italian. Eggs, mushrooms, peppers, zucchini, parmesan cheese "

"So...like an omelette."

"Well, but it's all baked here together, as opposed to an omelette, where you, as you well know, you being a Grand-Slam, hearty-breakfast type of guy, the egg gets flipped over to fold up the cheese and vegetables."

"So, other than being not flipped over, it's exactly like an omelette."

"It's related to an omelette, it's in the omelette family, it shares many characteristics of your basic omelette, but the key thing here, Jim, is that it is a frittata. Traditional. Italian. Frittata."

"Mutant Italian omelette. Gotcha."

"Jesus, Ellison, it's a frittata! What is so wrong with having something new for breakfast that you have to rationalize the experience away with this incessant need to label and pigeonhole everything in case it might make you confront something you weren't already anticipating? I'm not even done cooking it yet, and you've already stuck it in this...this omelette box, and now no matter what it is I serve you, you're going to be thinking 'excellent mutant omelette' or 'sucky omelette wannabe,' but you still won't have really eaten the freaking frittata, not in any meaningful kind of way!"

What might throw you off stride: The crippling, crushing realization that you are not Betty Plotnick.

Brokenhearted by Veronica (Sentinel) -- A romance.

The sun was long gone and the only illumination came from the white Christmas lights strung through the trees. It was still fairly warm and there was just enough of a breeze to cause tiny ripples in the lake. I was looking away from the little break in the bushes that served as the entrance, staring out at the water, when Sandburg joined me.

He stopped about ten feet away. I heard him swallow and closed my eyes as everything about him began filling my senses. With another twinge of jealousy I recognized he carried a little bit of his date's perfume with him. Shaking it off, I turned to face him.

What might throw you off stride: Soft-core Jim. I usually like to see a bit more edge and awkwardness in his character. Blair didn't have to bite very hard through the outer shell before this Jim melted liquescently in his mouth. So to speak. But as I said...romance. And, er, song lyrics. "Used sparingly," to quote the author. But still.