Thursday, March 22, 2012

Flash Fiction Friday

Welcome my friends to another Flash Fiction Friday where a group of creative crazies get together to write 100 words, no more, no less about a picture.

The calm after the storm...

“Emery, have I told you how much I love you?” I asked in a whisper as my lover gazed up at me. His silence was a bit unnerving. I had hoped we’d gotten past the argument. That he’d brought me to our favorite retreat spoke volumes, but now I wasn’t so sure. I felt awkward but Emery seemed content just to lie there and stare at me.
I could feel the heat from his body, smell the scent of his skin. Feel his hand warm on my neck. I leaned in and kissed him. To my relief, he kissed back.

Now that you have read my interpretation, please visit my friends for their imaginative take on this photo.

Muffy Wilson:
Sharita Lira as Rawiya:
Jp Archer:
Yvonne Nicolas:
Naomi Shaw:
Venus Cahill:
S. J. Maylee:
Bonni Sansom:
Lani Rhea:
Cyril J. Michael:
Lisa Worrall:
Sara York:
Michelle Chatton:
Sancre Darling:
Lee Brazil:

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Carah's Lucky 7

Well, this is new for me, however, I have been tagged, so here goes.
Here are the rules:
1. Go to page 77 (or 7th) of your current ms
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines - sentences or paragraphs - and post them as they're written. No cheating.
4. Tag 7 other authors. No cheating.
7th page 7 Sentences.

This is from my working manuscript for French for Love (Book 3 of Valley Love)

Richard had made that very clear when he’d dumped Jarred. Plus, Richard was Jarred’s only sexual encounter. And Richard had constantly complained about Jarred’s lack of experience, despite knowing Jarred was a virgin when he hooked up with him. Jarred, too embarrassed over his naivety, never said a word when he knew Richard was cheating on him…with women. “Mon timide l’un, s'il vous plait…please, tell me what upsets you.” D’Arcy said softly, his aqua eyes staring into Jarred’s brown ones. You won’t…I’m not…I have no experience. Only one boyfriend who didn’t like…who didn’t …love me.” Jarred managed to stutter out, his face going crimson at the admission.

IRM Addiction and Rambling Thoughts

Think I'm going to ramble a bit since I can't come up with anything of interest. As anyone who knows me, I don't drink except rarely in a social setting and only if I don't have to drive which isn't usually the case. I don't do drugs. About the only thing I am addicted to is nicotine...and FB, specifically IRM.

What is IRM you ask? Well, I can’t honestly tell you since it is a private group, but I can tell you this. It has to be the most talented, caring and awesome group of people I have ever been privileged to meet and get to know. These people come from all walks of life; all places world-wide, and yet, are brought together through mutual admiration, love and pure orneriness.

I am addicted to these people. From Kage’s humor, to Patricia’s snarkiness; from Dawn’s goodies, to Nanette’s caring. Laura and Lisa make me smile with their banter. Tom makes me tear up with his wonderful reviews and sweet personality. Sara is my rock, she has been more help to me than I could imagine or deserve. I would be lost without Sharita’s and Angel’s encouragement. I adore Brad’s bottomless movie expertise and spot-on opinions. And Lee, Lee’s wit is so refreshing. And I can’t even tell you how much I adore Amy, Havan and Karen.  I, obviously can’t list everyone, but you know who you are and know that you are thought highly of by me.

These people, they get me. They understand me. From being overly sensitive, to frustrated with writer’s block, to real life interfering with my stories. Many of my addictive people are writers, just like me. There isn’t a member of IRM that I don’t have at least one book from. And because of that, it only makes them dearer to me. And so much more to look up to and admire. That they are role models for me? They probably don’t want to hear that. Lol But they are.

Lately, IRM has been infused with tension. I will fully admit to being part of the cause. But, here’s the thing, it was handled and it is over and everyone is back to being their wonderful selves as if it never happened. Where the hell else would such drama happen and then be dropped in a mature fashion just hours later? Nowhere. That’s why I love these people. Drama happens. That’s life, but IRM members are caring and open and understanding. And opinionated, but that's part of being human. That is so cool. No grudges, no pettiness, no vindictiveness, no blackballing.

And now, because IRM is just the most awesome place to be, there are anthologies in the making. Let me explain. I will be in two anthologies that include some of the best m/m writers in the business. My name will be alongside theirs. Readers will see my story between the pages with authors that they follow and read with enthusiasm. That is a dream come true. And my dreams are few and far between.

Ok, I’ve rambled enough for today. I just needed to get this written down and maybe let a few people know how much they mean to me. And let those in the IRM group that I would not want to be anywhere else.

Monday, March 12, 2012

An introduction to Erik Wuttig from Misbehaving Models...

Today, as a Monday treat, I’ve convinced Erik Wuttig to be on my blog. International photographer, he has accepted the daunting task of photographing some of the top models in the world on Misbehaving Models, the #1 reality show in the last two seasons.
(As an inside bonus, Erik is fashioned after our own Dan Skinner)

Me: Welcome Erik, how is the project going?
Erik: It would be going a lot better if half the models had shown up. Three of them are late, and I don’t do late.
Me: Well, my understanding is the show doesn’t start for another few weeks.
Erik: I do not care. When I want my models available, I expect them to be available. There are no excuses. This might be a reality show, but my art, it waits for no one. Ich warte auf neimanden.
Me: Perhaps they weren’t told that they needed to be here so soon? And, please Erik, can we try to stay away from the German.
Erik: I said there are no excuses; however, Chandler has assured me they should be arriving today. I must get my hands on Hans. He is exquisite and I’ve not had the opportunity to capture his beauty with my camera.
Me: Chandler, Chandler Stemming, the producer? And I do believe you mean Hans Breckenridge. He is very…beautiful. And quite controversial if I remember.
Erik: Pshaw! Hans is a professional. That he can transform his beauty into either gender is something the general public could not possibly fathom. Niedrige leben!
Me: Erik, you ignored my first question, and I have no doubt that Hans is a professional, but don’t you think that’s giving the public less credit than they deserve?
Erik (blushing): I did not ignore your first question; I chose not to answer it. And, no, I will give credit where credit is due. These reality shows are just proof of what I speak of. They are, gah, unklug.
Me (a bit stunned at the blush): I do believe, Erik, that you are blushing over Chandler. And what exactly does unklug mean?
Erik: I am doing no such thing. Just because Chandler is a very handsome and arousing man, means nothing. He is, how do you say, im wandschrank, um, in the closet? He does not embrace his sexuality. So, nein, he does not make me blush. I, however, could easily make him blush. Unklug, it means..verruckt, dumm…idiotic!
Me: Well, I hope that you are at least looking forward to this project.
Erik: It is a project, no more, no less than I have always done. Just with cameras on me as well. Speaking of, where did you find that photo of me? I was not aware there were any to be had.
Me: That, my good man, was given to me by Chandler himself. I think he got it from a paparazzi. Do you mind?
Erik: No, of course not, though it is not a better one of me. I will provide you much better photos in the future. Did Chandler say why he had such a picture in his possession?
Me ( I could tell that Erik was very interested in my answer on Chandler): Honestly? He said it was from his…um…private collection.
Erik (looking bemused): The poor hilfloser mann. If only he would acknowledge his attraction to men. He would be so much happier. And I could show him many vergnugen.
Me: Too many German words Erik. Please, in English.
Erik (eyeing me): I think not Ms. G. You are a frau, it is not, you have not, you do not have the right…korper trennt, body parts, to understand what I have insinuated.
Me: Well, Erik, I may not have a cock, as you have so eloquently put it, but I can certainly imagine what would happen between you and Chandler. After all, I wrote it.
Erik: Gah! Sie dürfen es schreiben, aber ich erfahre es und Krämer wird sich zu meiner Verführung ergeben.
Me: English Mr. Wuttig. Not all my readers speak German.
Erik (looking annoyed): You may write it, but I experience it and Chandler will succumb to my seduction. Is that what you wanted to hear?
Me: That is fine and you, I’m sure, will have the man eating out of your hand in no time.
Erik (mumbling under his breath): I will have him eating something, ja!
Me (glancing at the door): Well, Erik, it appears your Hans has arrived and I know you are anxious to get him on camera, so I will leave you now.
Erik (absently with his eyes on Hans): Auf wiedersehen.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Flash Fiction Friday

Tranquil Tuesday...or not

Welcome my friends to another Flash Fiction Friday where a group of creative crazies get together to write 100 words, no more, no less about a picture.

That’s my man. It’s Tuesday, his day off. His day to lounge in underwear, to tease me, to nap. He loves his day off, as do I. If I could only entice him from gazing out the window…and the hot neighbor across the way. I’ve caught him looking on more occasions than I like to admit. I haven’t the courage to ask about it. Does he still want me? Has he gotten bored?

My hands itch to show him my desire. My heart aches to show him my love. Why must he be glued to the window? I’m still here.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Angel Martinez has kindly agreed to be on my blog - Take a look!!

A little bit of mythical Irish history…

Finn, being a pooka, lives a bit outside the rest of the Irish fae hierarchy. It’s tough to say where pookas fit into the courts and complex family squabbles of the rest of Irish myth and legend. Finn would tell you that they don’t, that the pooka is the ultimate lover, the eternal outsider, and they like it that way.

Finn would be talking out his butt, as usual, but there is some truth in what he says.

The earliest Irish legends concern a series of invasions of the island. Anthropologists and folklore scholars have tried to use the archeological record and other bits and hints from old histories to pin down these mythical invasions and match them to real migrations to Ireland. Like many legends, there’s a kernel of actual in there somewhere, but for our purposes, it’s not terribly important whether these mythical groups were human or not.

Much of the original tales come to us through the filter of monks and other biblical scholars, so the original stories are obviously much changed to include details about the flood and the sons of Noah and such. The first three invasions of Ireland were human, the first led by, some sources tell us, the granddaughter of Noah. All three of these groups died out and then things get strange.

The Tuatha Dé Danann, the Children of Danu, were said to be the next invaders, although they seem to share their invasion time with another contemporary group, the Fomorians. At some points in history, the Tuatha are regarded as gods – tall, beautiful people who inhabited the island before the Gaels arrived. The Fomorians, on the other hand, while in some stories depicted as human, were often characterized as bestial and misshapen, and very much opposed to the Tuathan invasion. One of the crowning moments of Irish myth comes when Lugh of the Tuatha kills the dreaded Formorian king, Balor Bane-Eye, with his magic spear.

It’s all a little sketchy, though. These legendary people may represent early ethnic groups or they may have been something else.

If the fae lived anywhere in the world, surely it would have been in Ireland

Join us, Finn, Diego, and I, in our romp through what might have happened to some of these legendary figures in the newly re-released Endangered Fae series:

Available now at Silver Publishing and for you Kindle!

Finn wakes to a poisoned world, lost and starving, but a man comes to save him, a white light in the darkness. Can a centuries old pooka find what he needs with a heartbroken, modern man?

Coming this Saturday, 3/10/12 from Silver Publishing!

Canadian winters can be tedious. The cold, the snow, the hibernation... Finn has his reasons for wanting to escape the long sleep this year. Agonizing over the perfect gift for Diego has him turning mental circles, if he can only keep his eyes open long enough to make it work.

Coming 3/24/12 from Silver Publishing!

After defeating an evil wendigo, a man and his pooka lover deserve a little quiet, don't they? Unfortunately, Diego and Finn's hard-won peace is disturbed, their new life in Montana turned upside-down when Diego, in a jealous rage, unwittingly rips a hole in the impenetrable Veil to the Otherworld.

Need more Angel Martinez? Just want to drop her a line and some smart-aleck remarks? Angel can be found on:

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Promo post for Laurel Heights by Lisa Worrell

Today, I'm pleased to have Lisa Worrell on my blog promoting her new book released today by Silver Publishing, Laurel Heights. Enjoy!!

Detectives Scott Turner and Will Harrison are sent undercover after an apparent murder/suicide in Laurel Heights, an exclusive gay housing community. Will the two closeted officers be able to hide their attraction while each believing the other is straight? And is there a killer amongst them waiting to claim his next victim?

The gated housing development of Laurel Heights was quiet in the early hours.

The houses were dark and their occupants asleep.

Nobody heard the muffled shot that rang out into the still of the night.

A shot, quickly followed by another.

Shots that left two members of their exclusive community dead.

* * * *

"Where are you going? It's two in the morning."

Will pulled his T-shirt back on and raked his fingers through his blond hair. "Early start tomorrow," he said picking up his wallet and his cell. Checking he'd not received any messages while he was otherwise engaged he shoved them both into his pocket, and sat on the edge of the bed to slip his feet into his boots. Will closed his eyes at the feel of soft lips feathering across the nape of his neck, warm breath lifting the strands of his short hair where it sat against his skin, and sighed. He hated this part, the leaving. Especially when the sex had been good, which it had. Ignoring the insistent pulling of impatient fingers at his shirt, he laced his boots and stood up.

"Do you want my number?"

"Sure," Will replied, taking out his cell. He moved his fingers over the pad and pretended to put the number recited to him into his contacts. He wasn't sure why they were going through this charade. The man staring up at him wasn't fooled by Will's actions, yet he continued to reel off the numbers. Pushing his cell back into his pocket, Will leaned down, ran a quick hand through curly blond hair, and kissed the offered lips. He pulled back before it could become anything more and crossed the room. Pausing in the doorway he raised a hand, scrabbling desperately for the guy's name and failing, so throwing a lame goodbye over his shoulder instead. At least he had the decency to blush slightly when the cold reply followed him out into the hall.

"It's Jack, asshole."

* * * *

Scott threw his head back, lost on a sea of sensation as he pounded relentlessly into the willing body beneath him. "Fuck, yes," he cried out when the heat around him tightened and he lost it. His orgasm pulsed through him and he thrust mindlessly, chasing the last of his pleasure. When his breathing had calmed enough to move, he grabbed the end of the condom and pulled out then turned to flush it down the toilet beside them. Club bathrooms were never exactly the easiest places to have sex in, but eyes across a crowded room and all that. Tucking himself back into his pants, Scott gasped as hands grabbed his face and turned him around into a searing kiss.

"My place?" The gray eyes gazing into his were hopeful.

Scott shook his head, his lips curving into a regretful smile. "I'm sorry, I have an early meeting," he replied, softening the dismissal with a kiss. "But I had fun; maybe we can do it again some time."

"Ah, so you're one of those guys who gets his rocks off and then isn't interested, huh?" The other man's tone was angry, as he glared up at Scott.

Scott's eyes hardened and he pulled himself up to his full height of almost six feet before unlocking the door of the stall. "I'm never interested in some twink who'll let me fuck him before I've even asked his name." Ignoring the stunned look on the other man's face, Scott walked out into the crowded bathroom, and kicked the stall door closed behind him. After quickly washing his hands, he ran his fingers through his short, black, sweat-dampened hair, and then made his way back out into the club.

Surrounded by a sea of writhing bodies, Scott looked at the illuminated hands of his watch and yawned when he saw that it was two in the morning. Lowering his head to avoid anyone mistaking a glance for a come on, he began to push his way through the throng toward the exit. Even though the guy in the bathroom had thought he was being blown off, he really did have an early start tomorrow. Outside in the cold New York air, he hailed the first cab he saw and clambered into the back.

Buy link:

    Silver Publishing Laurel Heights (eBook) [9781920502478] - Detectives Scott Turner and Will Harrison are sent undercover after an apparent murder/suicide in Laurel Heights, an exclusive gay housing community. Will the two closeted officers be able to hide their attraction while each believing the ot...

  • Thursday, March 1, 2012

    Lee Brazil's take on Reviews...

    "Prolonged, indiscriminate reviewing of books is a quite exceptionally thankless, irritating and exhausting job. It not only involves praising trash but constantly inventing reactions towards books about which one has no spontaneous feeling whatever.”
    -author, George Orwell
    Hi, *sips coffee* I’m Lee Brazil, and I write m/m romance for Breathless Press and Story Orgy.  And...even though I know I probably shouldn't, I'm going to take this blog post and I’m going to respond to a reviewer. *gasp* Looks furtively around...shhhh...please don't panic. I'm not insane, or high on caffeine. I want to go on record now as saying I do not think responding to a reviewer is a bad thing. Nor is it a good thing.  The quality of the response makes a difference.
    I write some books.  I like them. My publisher likes them. My mom doesn't like them.  *shrugs* Neither did she like my excursion to a Billy Idol concert with five other teens when I was sixteen. Our relationship survived her disappointment at my sneaking out of the house, and it will survive my disappointment in her lack of appreciation for my writing.  She says they're too graphic...I think she's referring to the erotic content.  That's fine with me, she's certainly entitled to her opinion.
    Anyway, I’m fortunate enough that some people have read my books. Guess what? Some of these people don't like my books.*sips coffee* Now, this is not where I fly off the handle and address the readers who don't like my books. Believe it or not, I'm okay with readers not liking my books. Why? Because they actually took the time to read my book.
    And that right there is pretty cool, you know?
    So the reader writes up a review and posts it on Good reads, or Amazon, or wherever. And in the review they proceed to tell people what they didn't like about my book. Sometimes, they also tell things they did like about the book. I had a reviewer last month who hated my characters- both of them- so much she'd have given the book a one star – except...she liked the writing style. Awww...that bad review made me so damn happy, I'm getting all warm and fuzzy thinking about it a month later. The reader didn't like my book, but she liked my writing enough to point it out. How awesome is that?
    So, yes, I read all my reviews. I don't respond to all of them. That's just me. Well, not really, because sometimes Good Reads hides them from me, so in some respects, it isn't just me, it's Good Reads, too.  I do respond to some, especially the ones that touch me in some way.
    Some people say that writing is a solitary pursuit, or that reviews are for readers. For me, writing is an interactive process.  Readers approach me all the time. I encourage it. I want to know what they thought, good or bad.
    I could blame it on my years of teaching. I've given plenty of negative feedback to inexperienced writers.  I didn't expect students in my writing classes to burst into tears, rant and call me an asshole when I critiqued their papers.  That doesn't mean that some of them didn't do that.  Most, however, even as teens, knew enough not to behave badly in the classroom. They probably did plenty of name calling and ranting behind my back, out of the limelight. Their friends probably nodded and patted their backs and agreed enthusiastically that I was clueless. Didn't bother me then, doesn't bother me now.
    However, neither did I expect that I would just write some stuff on their papers and they would take it back to their desks and that would be the end of it. For some of them, it was. For others, we had conversations.  Back and forths about what they liked that I didn't, what might work, how the paper was generated, where it was going.
    In my opinion, your published review of my work is just like that critique- we could dialogue about it, or we could brush it off. Your choice. But I do have something to say about it.
    Thank you for taking the time to review my work. I really appreciate the time and effort that goes into reading and writing a review. God knows I don't review every book I read, and half the time the review comes out in some garbled Lee shorthand- "It was good" ,  or worse, "J".

    Loving Eden
    Lee Brazil

    m/m contemporary
    from Breathless Press


    Eden St. Cyr wants to let the boy who's crushing on him down easy. Drew Harris wants to protect his son from what he considers a disastrous relationship. Neither of them counted on being attracted to the other.

    Eden St. Cyr has wandering feet.  He shuffles around the country from place to place and college to college, changing majors and lovers at whim. When Bailey Harris starts following him home, mooning around and showing signs of affection, Eden hatches a plan to let the kid down lightly before he leaves for the next semester, the next college, and the next lover.

    Drew Harris is stunned at the changes in his son.  His responsible dependable, cheerful boy has become a moody despondent, irresponsible teenager. Drew knows exactly who to blame, too.  When Eden doesn’t' return his phone calls, he's forced to be a little more devious in his plans to get the bad influence out of his son's life.

    An unexpected attraction derails both men from their plans, but when Bailey walks in at the least appropriate time, can things be put right?

    200 Word Excerpt:

    Eden stepped up to the doorway inadvertently brushing against that hard muscled body as he did so. Heat seared through his thin T-shirt and gooseflesh prickled his arms. He bit his lip to keep the moan inside, just nodding his head, too afraid that his arousal would show to speak. He ducked his head and made to move into the room, when a hard warm hand closed around his upper arm. He found himself turned to face Bailey's dad, and looked up into puzzled blue eyes.
    "We'll talk later, yes?" The man asserted. Eden was trapped in the depths of those deep blue eyes and unable to utter a response. A big, calloused hand came up to cup Eden's jaw, thumb rubbing gently over the two-day growth of beard he hadn't bothered to shave. Shaking his head, Drew began to speak again but then his head tilted slightly to the side and his lips came down. Eden caught his breath in surprise. Surely Bailey's dad wasn't going to kiss him?
    But he was. Warm dry lips pressed to his own briefly, sliding a little to the side, nipping lightly at his own lower lip. The gentle kiss swept right across his mouth in a brief warm touch that left him craving more. It had barely begun before Drew pulled away.