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Sweet Fire release party – Sarah and Shannen Brady Part 1
January 3, 2015
Good Morning. It's finally here!!! (pause while I do a really silly happy dance…….. OK, I'm back. Sorry.) We're so stoked about the release of Sweet Fire. That's partly because it's our first Dreamspinner book and partly because we both just love these characters so much. I'm thrilled to finally get to share them.
Don't get confused if you hear me say "I" or "We" interchangeably. We are a mother/daughter team and we write paranormal romance, both m/m and m/f, together. I'm Sarah, the mom part of the team. Shannen will be chiming in off and on throughout the day and we'll try to make it clear who's talking. There will be lots of opportunities later today to fill you in on the details of how and why a family would do something so weird as to write steamy romance together but I want to get to the really good stuff first. Let's have a look at the book.
Love this beautiful Christy Caughie cover, yeah? That night scene is Riverfront Park in Spokane, Washington.
Between Homeland Security's Gifted Agenda and the bigotry of a fearful populace, having paranormal Gifts is a dangerous thing. Pyrokinetic Aaron Flores knows firsthand how difficult it can be to control his power. Still, he runs his bakery and never gives up on finding his Happily Ever After. When Aaron's cousin asks him to check on her former EMT partner, Aaron's chance has finally arrived. He's determined not to let anything stop him from catching (and keeping) his man.
Ramón Del Rio spent three days at the tender mercies of HOMSEC agents when his former partner was taken. He wants nothing to do with a Gifted guy, but Aaron is nothing if not persistent. He's a pastry chef after all, and the way to a man's heart really is through his stomach. The physical passion they share is the icing on the cake. Just when Ramón decides that having Gifts might not be a deal breaker, someone close to Aaron decides his fire needs to be put out—permanently. Ramón will have to face his fears to save them both.
Click here to check it out on the Dreamspinner site.
Die-hard Kindlers can get it on Amazon here.
"I hear we had company this afternoon."
Sophia's voice was amused, and Victoria hid her face behind her napkin with a giggle as Ramón glared at her. He was going to have to tread carefully here. There was no way he was going to discuss Alex's escape from Homeland Security in front of the girls. He held his sister's eyes for a long moment. Her sculpted eyebrows rose, but she nodded. He'd still have to fill her in, but it would wait until the girls weren't around. Too bad Victoria didn't share her mother's discretion.
"He was super cute, mama, with fancy hair, and he had sparkles on the pockets of his jeans, just like mine."
Sophia's eyebrows rose again. "Really? A cute gay guy comes to visit you, and you didn't even invite him in? That's not very good manners at all, brother."
Both girls laughed hysterically to hear Uncle Ramón getting "told" by Mama, and six-year-old Adelina's singing was gleeful.
"Un-cle's in trou-ble."
"That's enough of that, Adel. Eat your dinner." Ramón kept his voice calm. She was being rude, and singing at the table was against Sophia's rules, but it wasn't that much of an offense. Most of his aggravation was with himself and the flush of heat that ran through his body at the thought of this afternoon's visitor.
"We just had to talk about a few things, that's all. I don't imagine he'll be back." Too bad, though. It's a damn shame an ass that fine should turn out to be on a Gifted guy. Ramón turned his attention back to his food, but the girls weren't finished with him yet.
"I think he should come back and you should go out with him. You need a boyfriend."
Jesus, Victoria. Ramón choked and tried not to spray iced tea across the kitchen table while Sophia cracked up. He never made any secret of the fact that he was gay, but he didn't rub anyone's nose in it either. He certainly never brought men around the girls. Victoria eyed him smugly across the table, but Adelina only looked confused.
"Why would you need a boyfriend, Uncle Ramón, instead of a girlfriend?"
Oh, jeez. Here we go. Adel was so cute sitting there with her thick black curls, her mouth covered in enchilada sauce and her perfect eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. Ramón sucked in a breath, stalling for time while his mind raced in circles, trying to figure out just how much to say. Thank heaven, Sophia rescued him.
"Adelina, Uncle Ramón doesn't like women in that way. He'd rather have a boyfriend."
Now Victoria choked and snorted milk out of her nose. For a minute he was able to occupy himself mopping up and patting her on the back, but eventually he had to look at Adelina. Sophia's littlest sat there with her messy little mouth pursed thoughtfully for a long moment. Then her expression cleared.
"I don't blame you, Uncle Ramón. I'd rather have a boyfriend too. Tommy Adkins says he wants to be my boyfriend, and he gave me one of his cookies at snack time yesterday. Can I watch my princess movie now?"
That's it? That's all there is to it? Ramón shared an incredulous smile with his sister. Still grinning, Sophia shrugged and got up to start the movie. I guess that's all there is when you're six.
Too bad things got more complicated once you grew up. Ramón got up and started cleaning the table, and he couldn't help but think how long it had been since he'd had a boyfriend. Since his run-in with HOMSEC, he hadn't even been to his usual club for dancing or a quick hookup. The image of his hot visitor popped into his head in spite of his best efforts to keep it out. The guy smells like sugar and works in a bakery. I bet he'd give a good "cookie."
We'll be giving away some yummy goodies today. Come back and see us a little later for a chance to win and to get the recipe for Sweet Nothings' Sweet Shoppe's signature chocolate cream puffs (or How to Win Your Man – Lesson 1.) Yum!
Inspirational Quote About Music…Plus An Excerpt And Giveaway!
December 26, 2014
It all started with Peter Murphy.
Now, wait a hot second, Piper. You said it started with Doctor Who.
Just go with it.
Playing Hard To Forget all started with Peter Murphy.
I adore 80s music. I really do. But, like most people my age, my knowledge of 80s music came from two places: vague memories from early childhood and VH1's I Love the 80s. There were large gaps in my education of 80s New Wave. A few years ago I was driving around when an awesome sounding song came on my satellite radio. Indigo Eyes. I'd never heard it before but it immediately struck a chord with me (get it? Chord? Music? Ok moving on). I'd been struggling with the characterization of my two mains in Playing Hard To Forget. They weren't as easy to create as the characters around them. They needed a depth I hadn't found yet, but as soon as I heard Indigo Eyes, my Ethan had a new layer almost immediately. I ran home and downloaded the song and played it over and over as I story boarded Ethan's journey.
And about the same time I had my "Don't Forget Me" revelation, I was dragged by a dear friend into that terrible, awful 5th circle of hell conveniently located in every suburban mall in America: Hot Topic. It was there I heard the voice of the goddess Siouxsie Sioux singing a cover of Bob Dylan's This Wheel's On Fire. And suddenly everything became so clear. "If your memory serves you well." It was life-changing. Why the fates decided to pause the System of a Down long enough to play some good music that day, I'll never know.
The third song with a large hand in the plot comes to us from Canada (Now, if you know me well, you know Canada is important in our family. I birthed two French-Canadian children, made with my French-Canadian husband whose Canadian roots go back over 400 years. Our last name is Canadian, forged in the fires of a Tim Horton's hot oil fryer. He is part Scottish, but, for the most part, I've broken the Scottish bloodline. Go me). It's by an indie band called Folly and the Hunter–Moth in the Porchlight. The song is incredible. And it's Ethan and Liam…and Fiona, Ethan's sister. Hearing it for the first time was, like, boom, cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. I have to go home and write.
Other songs had a hand in the creation of Playing Hard To Forget. I'm posting the list here and a link to a YouTube playlist. If any song here appeals to you, I heartily encourage you to check out the band and support them by buying tons of their music.
Indigo Eyes–Peter Murphy
Wolves–Big Wreck
Dangerous–Big Data
No One Knows–Queens of the Stone Age
Club Foot–Kasabian
Rather Be–The Verve
The Passenger–Siouxsie and the Banshees
Never Let Me Down Again–Depeche Mode
High on a Riverbed–Toad the Wet Sprocket
The Sweetest Drop–Peter Murphy
Never Tear Us Apart–INXS
Born To Ruin–The Wildlife
Space and Time–The Verve
Sick, Sick, Sick–Queens of the Stone Age
Under the Milky Way–The Church
Skin on Skin–Queens of the Stone Age
Burn the Witch–Queens of the Stone Age
Hope–Toad the Wet Sprocket
This Wheel's on Fire–Siouxsie and the Banshees
Moth in the Porchlight–Folly and the Hunter
Here's the whole unofficial soundtrack in a YouTube playlist
And now it's time for an excerpt!
The distant snap of a twig from about ten yards back confirmed his suspicions, but he stayed on his own target and squeezed off the last shot of the round and it effectively left him unarmed. He stood and turned toward the sound, but the dense pine and oak did not afford him the best view. He bent back down to lock the safety and left the edge of the clearing to venture deeper into the forest.
He did not have to walk far before he heard it—the smooth, snarky tone and now familiar voice-over of his new and very explicit fantasies. "Looking for me?"
Ethan whipped around to find Liam leaning against a tree as if he owned the goddamned forest. He put on his best nonchalant face, which of course was going to fool absolutely no one.
"I thought it might be a bear." Immediate and total regret washed over him. Stupid answers were beneath him. He was twenty years old, damn it.
Liam moved like a cheetah, and he was inches away from Ethan in the span of a breath. "Now, now. Ethan. Ignoring the fact that I can hear your heart and smell your hormones, why would you go after a bear unarmed?"
"I—I wasn't looking for you, I…." Stammering was also beneath him. How could he let this guy—this wolf—do this to him?
Liam looked amused. "Come on, Ethan. You think I haven't seen you all week? Walking twice a day through the field where we met? Taking wild detours through the forests? You've been looking for me all week. And here I am. And you left your weapon behind. I'm flattered, Ethan, really."
"You've been following me?" His chest was tight, but it was not from embarrassment as much as it was anticipation.
"Yes." No lies. No stammering around the truth. Liam was unapologetic.
"All this week? Everywhere?" Ethan blushed at the thought of what Liam might have seen in that week.
Liam snorted. "Now, Ethan. I do have a life." He leaned in close to Ethan's ear, and Ethan silently blamed the heat coming off Liam reacting with his cold sweat for the long shiver.
"But I've followed you enough. Tell me, are you thinking of me when you're alone in your bedroom? God, I hope so, because that face you make when you come, I'd really like to see that face when you're under me. I'd like to make you come myself instead of watching you think of me from a distance." He backed up and blinked slowly, and watched Ethan for a reaction.
Ethan tried to shake the fog of confusion and arousal and opened his mouth to speak, but not before he heard Fiona in the distance yelling for him.
Liam rolled his eyes and sighed. "I guess that's my cue, isn't it, Ethan? Can't have daddy and little sister knowing about our little secret, can we?"
He turned to leave, but stopped short. "Still, it isn't fair leaving you this way." Liam smirked and raised an eyebrow as he surveyed Ethan. "No, you need something new to think about tonight."
And before Ethan knew what was happening, Liam's lips were on his. It was hot—literally and figuratively—and Liam's lips were soft and tasted of the same earthy tang Liam smelled of on the day they'd met. Ethan relaxed into it faster than he liked and he let Liam's tongue explore his own. He didn't need Liam to tell him his heart was racing. He could feel it kick against his rib cage, and it served to spur Liam on.
Liam's hands wrapped around the back of Ethan's neck and he lifted his jaw slightly so Liam could kiss his way down to a spot Ethan's shirt barely hid. Liam didn't bite hard enough to break the skin, but there was certainly going to be a mark, more so because Ethan jerked up into it and he did not even care about how weak it made him seem or the noise that escaped when he felt sharp teeth.
Liam came away smiling and admired his masterpiece: red and purple and, in a few minutes from then, in dire need of a quick explanation from Ethan if he couldn't find a way to cover it up. While Ethan adjusted his shirt as best he could, Liam disappeared beyond the tree line.
I know, right? I'm simply dying to find out what happens next!
Playing Hard To Forget–in Paperback or ebook on Dreamspinner or in ebook at Amazon.
You can find me on Facebook or on Twitter.
Music is such a gigantic part of my life. My next story with Dreamspinner, due out in March 2015, also has a soundtrack with similar revelatory moments behind each song. I was struggling with a plotline for a potential number three the other day when I heard Le Pyromane by Karkwa and my brain went crazy with ideas.
My favorite song ever–my favorite song always–is Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. I cannot imagine a more perfect song existing. What is your all-time, hands-down favorite song of all time? My favorite wins a paperback edition of Playing Hard To Forget!
#5: JD Ruskin's Finding Matt Blog Party: Thanks!
December 7, 2014
Thank you for joining me today as I fumbled through my first blog release party. I hope I've piqued your interest in Finding Matt. Once last time, here's the cover and blurb.
Blurb: When six-year-old Matt Wilson and his Shih Tzu, Pixie, step out of the Stanton Community Hospital and disappear, his desperate parents convince Jaron Greenberg, a local pet psychic, to aid the police in the search. Jaron specializes in finding lost kitties and fixing problem pooches. He isn't prepared for a case with so much at stake. And as soon as he starts, the abilities he's had since childhood begin changing and growing in unexpected ways.
Paulo Silva is a veteran detective new to the small town of Stanton. As the low man on the totem pole at Stanton PD, he isn't happy when the chief assigns him to babysit the pet psychic instead of actively working the missing child case. As Jaron uncovers clues, Paulo starts to wonder if he might be the real thing. Or maybe it's just his testosterone reacting to what he's sure is mutual attraction.
Length: Novel (230p.) | Genre: Other Paranormal, Mystery/Suspense
Dreamspinner: Buy as eBook | Buy as Paperback |Amazon |All Romance E-books
For those of you that have read When One Door Opens, be sure to visit my website next weekend. I will be posting a free Christmas short story featuring Caleb and Logan. It will not be work safe!
I will be giving away two e-books today. To enter, you need to ANSWER the question given on at least ONE of the five blog posts in order to get an entry. The more questions you answer, the better your chances of winning.
Each post has a question, just comment on the blog entries before 7:00 P.M. CST, and you could win a copy of When One Door Opens or my new release Finding Matt. Your choice of which one. If you're the winner, Dreamspinner Press will have your book placed on your bookshelf. You will need to e-mail me the email address you use in the DSP store.
Post #5 Question: Did I forget anything? Is there anything else you want to know about me or my novels?
Check back at 7:00 P.M. CST to see the winners of the giveaway.
How to Contact JD Ruskin
E-mail | Website | Facebook | Fan Page | Twitter | Google + | Goodreads
#4: JD Ruskin's Finding Matt Blog Party: Ripped From the Headlines
December 7, 2014
I'm an avid reader of newspaper and magazine articles. Both of my novels, When One Door Opens, and Finding Matt, were originally conceived after reading newspaper articles.
When One Door Opens focuses on Caleb Klass, a housebound agoraphobic. I read an article about a woman who died in a fire in Chicago because she refused to leave the building. The woman was agoraphobic. I remember being so shocked and saddened by this article. Imagine a fear so great that it can override your instinct for self-preservation. I'd never considered agoraphobia could be life threatening. The article also made me think about my own experiences with panic attacks. I've been fortunate enough to have only two in my life, but they left a strong impression. There is actually a reference to the original article hidden in the novel.
The inspiration for Finding Matt is based on a real life kidnapping case that happened in my small town. The details for the case are completely different, but reading the articles helped me to understand how a small town handles these types of cases. Unfortunately, the case that compelled Paulo to leave the ISP is actually based on a real case. Reality can sometimes be far more horrifying than fiction.
On a happier note, Jaron's Newfoundland dog, Bear, is based on a very sweet Newfie that meet.
In this excerpt from chapter 4, Paulo takes Jaron to the site of the kidnapping, a small park.
[Jaron] walked in a slanted line toward the road that separated the park from the hospital parking lot. After a couple of minutes, he stopped. Paulo didn't need to look around to know they were at the edge of the hospital parking lot's surveillance video. The very spot Matt disappeared. How the hell had Jaron found the location? His department hadn't sent the video to the media, opting to send screenshots of Matt exiting the hospital instead since his visibility was better. Jaron must have connections in the hospital. Could someone in security have talked to him? It was doubtful Jaron had seen the footage. Officers had arrived at the hospital thirty minutes after Matt left his father's side, and secured the footage immediately.
Paulo's line of thinking derailed when Jaron stumbled. Arms flailing, Jaron would have fallen if Paulo hadn't grabbed him.
"Are you all right?"
Jaron didn't answer right away. His eyes were focused on something in the distance. Up close, Paulo could see a ring of gold around Jaron's irises. The morning sun made his long, thick lashes look like white feathers.
Jaron blinked rapidly. "I'm okay… thanks."
Paulo unhooked his arms from around Jaron's waist and took a step back.
Jaron stepped on the road, causing Paulo to grab him again and yank him backward. A station wagon came within inches of clipping Jaron. "Jesus, watch where you're going!"
Jaron looked chagrined. "Sorry, I don't normally do this without Bear."
Paulo stared at him. "The dog is in charge of making sure you don't end up roadkill?"
Jaron patted him on the arm. "I'm sure you'll do just as good a job."
Paulo wasn't sure whether to be offended by the comparison or not. Since Jaron seemed to take better care of his dog than himself, Paulo settled on feeling flattered that Jaron was trusting him.
Length: Novel (230p.) | Genre: Other Paranormal, Mystery/Suspense
Dreamspinner: Buy as eBook | Buy as Paperback |Amazon |All Romance E-books
I will be giving away two e-books today. To enter, you need to ANSWER the question given on at least ONE of the five blog posts in order to get an entry. The more questions you answer, the better your chances of winning.
Each post has a question, just comment on the blog entries before 7:00 P.M. CST, and you could win a copy of When One Door Opens or my new release Finding Matt. Your choice of which one. If you're the winner, Dreamspinner Press will have your book placed on your bookshelf. You will need to e-mail me the email address you use in the DSP store.
Post #4 Question: What inspires you?
How to Contact JD Ruskin
E-mail | Website | Facebook | Fan Page | Twitter | Google + | Goodreads
#3: JD Ruskin's Finding Matt Blog Party: Somewhere, Illinois
December 7, 2014
My debut novel, When One Door Opens, takes place in Chicago, Illinois. I've lived within a couple of hours of Chicago nearly my whole life. But I wouldn't call myself an expert on the city. More like an enthusiastic suburbanite. My recent trip to Chicago was the inspiration for a Free Christmas short story with Caleb and Logan. The story will be posted on my website next weekend as a thank you to all the readers who took a chance on a newbie author. *coughs* It is definitely NWS.
Blurb: Logan Sellers's parole officer has issued three commandments: stay sober, stay employed, and stay out of trouble. At first Logan thought those three simple rules would be easy to follow. But that was before he accepted a side job assisting his boss's housebound agoraphobic nephew, Caleb.
Caleb is deceptively normal for a guy who hasn't left his apartment in three years, and his friendly, caring personality tugs on heartstrings Logan didn't know he had. But hitting on his boss's nephew is asking to be unemployed. Logan has enough problems with booze on every corner and a supervisor trying to jump into his bed. He doesn't need to work out how to free Caleb from the anxiety that keeps him in his apartment; he needs to keep his nose clean, attend his AA meetings, and make a fresh start—alone.
If only his heart would get with the program.
Length: Novel (210.) | Genre: Contemporary, 2014 EPIC's eBook Awards, Award-Winning Books
Dreamspinner: Buy as eBook | Buy as Paperback |Audiobook | Amazon |All Romance E-books
My new paranormal romance release Finding Matt also takes place in Illinois in the fiction town of Stanton. I've lived in small towns like Stanton since I graduated college, so I'm very familiar with small town life. Detective Paulo Silva has only recently moved to Stanton. He used to work with the Illinois State Police (ISP) in Springfield, IL. After a devastating case, he left ISP and came to The Stanton Police Department (SPD). Paulo also left behind his former friend/lover, Sergeant Devin Morris. Adjusting to the change hasn't been easy for Paulo.
Devin had mocked [Paulo] for picking a town with less than thirteen thousand residents, where he'd be the token minority in the police department. Even knowing the demographics, Paulo hadn't been prepared for an all-white police station. He'd tried to explain that he was Brazilian, not Hispanic, to the few baffled people who asked him. They'd seemed equally baffled by the fact that he spoke Portuguese, not Spanish.
Paulo shook his head. He didn't have time to ponder the disturbing lack of diversity and cultural awareness in Stanton. He rose and walked over to the printer station. After picking up the report, he headed for the chief's office.
The Matt Wilson missing child case requires that the SPD request help from Illinois State Police, bring Devin back into Paulo's life. When Paulo learns that he's been assigned the job of babysitting the psychic, he phones Devin.
Paulo had his phone out of his pocket before he exited the chief's office. Pulling up Devin's number, he hit the Send button. Devin picked up after only one ring, like he'd been expecting the call.
In lieu of a greeting, Paulo asked, "What is your problema, babaca?"
"Oh, he must be pissed if the Portuguese is slipping out."
Paulo could tell by his voice that Devin was smirking.
"I have ten active cases, Devin. I don't have time to babysit a psychic. Get one of your troopers to hold his hand."
"Get over yourself, Silva. Keeping the parents happy is important, especially in a case with this much media attention. Someone needs to be on babysitting duty and you're the low man on the totem pole at the SPD. You chose to hide in the land of pig shit and windmills. Now deal with it."
Paulo gritted his teeth. "I'm not hiding."
"The hell you're not. I'm one floor away, but you decided to bitch at me on the phone instead of in person." Devin sighed and his voice softened. "Eventually, everybody gets a case that gets to them, baby. But you work through it instead of running away from the job and the people who care about you."
"Maybe it was a mistake to transfer here, but staying in Springfield wasn't an option."
"You're wasted in this town and you know it. You should be thanking me for taking you away from investigating cow tippings and bootleg liquor." Devin snorted. "And from what I hear, you're the perfect man for this job."
"What are you talking about?"
"People in this town love to talk about their resident psychic. Especially since he's shacked up with Stephen Miller, the gay son of the former mayor." Devin could perform a soft interrogation better than anyone Paulo had ever seen. He used his bleached-blond hair, pretty-boy face, and toothpaste commercial smile to his full advantage, and people willingly spilled their guts. "Are you thinking Greenberg's involved? Because the chief is his alibi."
"Just because he didn't do the snatch, doesn't mean he isn't involved. Hell, this could be some publicity stunt."
Paulo wished that was the case, but his gut told him otherwise. "What's your read on the parents? Would they be involved in something like that?"
"Mr. Wilson is trying hard to stay positive, but he's tearing himself apart with guilt. If it's a stunt, no way does he know about it. Mrs. Wilson might be a possibility. She's a real cold fish, that one." Devin sighed. "Odds are Greenberg's either a con artist or a wackjob."
"I still don't understand what you want me to do. Do you want me to investigate Greenberg?"
"I need you to put on those ass-hugging jeans I know you've got stashed in your apartment, and take the guy around town to let him soak up his supposed psychic vibes. If people see Greenberg walking around with a uniform, word will spread quickly. If tongues are wagging about their newest detective hanging out with a gay man, then they won't be wondering if the police have resorted to hiring a psychic to save Matt Wilson."
"Are you seriously fucking asking me to pretend I'm on a date with this guy?"
"Who said anything about a date?" Devin said, feigning innocence. "Though I hear there's a great Chinese place on Main Street."
"Keep it up, babaca, and you will get your face-to-face meeting with me when I smash your teeth in."
Devin snickered. "I love you too, Silva," he said, before ending the call.
Sighing, Paulo pressed the End button on the phone.
FINDING MATT by JD Ruskin
Length: Novel (230p.) | Genre: Other Paranormal, Mystery/Suspense
Dreamspinner: Buy as eBook | Buy as Paperback |Amazon |All Romance E-books
I will be giving away two e-books today. To enter, you need to ANSWER the question given on at least ONE of the five blog posts in order to get an entry. The more questions you answer, the better your chances of winning.
Each post has a question, just comment on the blog entries before 7:00 P.M. CST, and you could win a copy of When One Door Opens or my new release Finding Matt. Your choice of which one. If you're the winner, Dreamspinner Press will have your book placed on your bookshelf. You will need to e-mail me the email address you use in the DSP store.
Post #3 Question: Have you read When One Door Opens? Are you interested in a follow up free short story?
How to Contact JD Ruskin
E-mail | Website | Facebook | Fan Page | Twitter | Google + | Goodreads
#2: JD Ruskin's Finding Matt Blog Party: Do You Believe In Psychics?
December 7, 2014
Finding Matt features a pet psychic named Jaron Greenberg. I've always been fascinated by the idea of horoscopes and psychics. When I looked at the sign characteristics for my sign, Pisces, I realized that I had all of the weaknesses and very few of the strengths. The Pisces is also known as having more an intuitive and psychic ability than any other sign. I haven't bought a lotto ticket yet, but I expect to win when I get around to doing it. Eventually. Did I mention Pisces can be really lazy?
I went to see a psychic once when I was in college for a tarot card reading. The part I remember most about the reading was when she asked about what I was studying to be for my day job. After I told her, she was silent for over a minute, staring at the cards and avoiding all eye contact. Then she said, "Um…that…might be…okay for you." Weakness attempt at reassurance ever. I did, in fact, go on to graduate and get a job. I sometimes wonder what she would've said if I told her I planned to write gay romance novels. What would the cards have told her?
My pet psychic, Jaron Greenburg, operates his business out of a walk in closet of his best friend's pet salon. He charges barely over minimum wage, because he'd rather be seen as a freak than a fraud. He's had this ability since childhood, but the Matt Wilson missing child case will force him to push his abilities beyond what he thinks he's capable. Jaron desperately wants to find Matt, but first he needs to convince skeptical Detective Paulo Silva that he can help.
In this scene from chapter 2, Paulo Silva learns about Jaron's history from Chief Tucker, who believes in Jaron's abilities.
"I've known Jaron his whole life. He was the first major case I caught as a detective. When he was four years old, his parents took him out to the forest preserve to experience the fall colors." Chief Tucker put finger quotes around the words "fall colors." With a shake of his head, he continued, "Jaron had been missing for two hours before they sobered up enough to contact the police."
Paulo had tracked down a group of liquored up teens in those woods his first week on the job. Miles of choking trees, sharp brambles, and snake holes. It was hard for an adult to navigate the twisting paths of thick foliage and tree roots, let alone a young child.
"We didn't have a K9 unit back then, so I called Nathan Jefferson and asked if we could use his hunting dogs. He tells me they've run off and his son is out looking for them. I head out to the parking lot where volunteers are being mobilized, and I see two hounds that look like Nate's dogs, a poodle, and a chocolate lab running by. I wondered about it, but with only an hour of daylight left and weather expected to drop into the 20s, I needed to get moving and find that boy before he froze to death.
"I drove the five miles to the forest preserve quick as I could. The chief started handing out search assignments. Then I see those dogs again, standing together and looking anxious. The lab stepped forward and started barking, going quiet as I approached it. I swear to God that dog stared at me like he was Lassie and I was the dumb shit who hadn't figured out Timmy was in the well. So I trotted after the dogs, and just about the time I'd decided I'd lost my mind, the dogs raced ahead, barking their heads off. I caught up to them and found them circled around this white-haired child covered in dirt and scratches. He put his little hand on the lab's head and said, 'Thanks for coming.'"
Paulo felt a chill race down his spine.
"I found that boy three miles away in the opposite direction of where his parents said they had last seen him. We would've never found Jaron in time without those dogs. I think God gave that boy a gift, probably as compensation for his good-for-nothing parents." The chief shrugged. "There are plenty of other stories." He pulled out his wallet, slid out a business card, and handed it to Paulo. "If there is even a chance Jaron can help, it would be wrong not to act on it."
The business card featured a close up picture of a man in his midtwenties and an enormous dog that looked like an all-black Saint Bernard. Jaron Greenberg had a mop of white blond hair that many boys have, but few retain as they age. Greenberg must have Photoshop skills, because no one had eyes that blue. Looking at the man's face, Paulo could understand the impulse to believe in him. The thought of someone so beautiful swindling people out of their hard-earned money was unthinkable. But bad guys came in all shapes and sizes, and from the sound of things, Greenberg's parents were likely excellent teachers.
Length: Novel (230p.) | Genre: Other Paranormal, Mystery/Suspense
Dreamspinner: Buy as eBook | Buy as Paperback |Amazon |All Romance E-books
I will be giving away two e-books today. To enter, you need to ANSWER the question given on at least ONE of the five blog posts in order to get an entry. The more questions you answer, the better your chances of winning.
Each post has a question, just comment on the blog entries before 7:00 P.M. CST, and you could win a copy of When One Door Opens or my new release Finding Matt. Your choice of which one. If you're the winner, Dreamspinner Press will have your book placed on your bookshelf. You will need to tell me the email address you use in the DSP store.
Post #2 Question: Do you read your horoscope? If so, how well do you match your sign characteristics?
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Excerpt (NSFW) from Spaghetti Western #newrelease @emlynley
September 17, 2014
Spaghetti Western by EM Lynley
Cordon-Blue trained pastry chef Riley Emerson arrives in Aspen, Colorado for a summer season at the best restaurant in town, only to discover his jerk of a boyfriend has dumped him, leaving his heart and his summer plans in tatters. Doubting himself and longing for a change of pace, he takes a low-paying position as chef at a guest ranch, the Rocking Z. The scenery is gorgeous, but he expects that nature up close and personal can't hold a candle to his exciting Paris lifestyle.
When born-and-bred cattle rancher Colby Zane spots a newcomer letting himself be pawed at by a passel of horny cowboys at Aspen's Club Rawhide, he doesn't think twice before rushing in, throwing the guy over his shoulder, and rescuing him from the volatile situation. Sober, Riley Emerson turns out to be sweet and sexy, but not interested in more than a one-night stand with Colby. Initially disdainful of the guest ranch side of the business, Colby's over the moon when Riley late arrives as the new cook on his family's ranch.
But all's not well at the Rocking Z. Unsurmountable financial problems force them to rely on a cash infusion from an outside investor, Fitz Wellington. Only Fitz is hot for Colby, and he won't sign on the dotted line without some very personal incentives. The future of the ranch is at stake, and Colby's just desperate enough to go along, but saving the Z might mean losing Riley.
Let me set this scene up: Chef Riley and cowboy Colby have started a relationship on the ranch. Colby thinks Riley just wants to be friends with benefits, but Colby wants a real relationship. So Colby's trying to avoid spending time with Riley. Only today Colby has to drive Riley and the chuck wagon out to a remote spot on the ranch.
Twenty minutes later they passed the spot where they'd spent the night on their first date. First and last. Riley bit his lip and pretended his heart wasn't aching. He couldn't forget how sweet Colby had been that night, riding behind him on Granite, holding him close, and how they'd started out fucking, but ended up much more intimate and tender.
The spot was still on the horizon behind them when the wagon hit a rut and the whole thing shifted sending Riley into Colby's lap again. Worse, something inside shifted and crashed as the wagon righted itself.
"What the—?" Colby stopped the horses and hopped down. He hooked the reins on a prong. "You better get down here too."
Riley carefully climbed down, but tumbled the last step and landed at Colby's feet. Colby helped him up ungraciously.
"Something's busted in there." He unlatched the door and opened it cautiously. Nothing came flying out, but when Riley peered in he saw one cabinet had come undone and tubs of marinating meat had come free. An upper cabinet door had also popped open.
"I'll take care of it." Riley pushed Colby out of the way and climbed inside, bending so his head wouldn't hit the low ceiling. Luckily none of the tubs had opened up or broken or there would be a tidal wave of marinade sloshing around on the floor. Colby climbed in behind Riley and together they stowed the tubs of meat, hands and arms and legs bumping as they worked to secure everything in the cramped quarters.
Riley didn't know about Colby, but every time their hands came into contact, the temperature in the little wagon spiked. He couldn't breathe in the cramped, almost airless space. Colby was so close, not exactly smelling like he'd just showered, but arousing all the same. It was torture being so near him again and knowing the body snatchers had turned Colby into a bastard almost overnight.
There was one cabinet still open, and Riley stood up to reach it. He moved too quickly and overbalanced, flailing around for something to stop his fall and taking down a container of flour. It scattered like white rain, all over the counter, the floor, Riley, and Colby, making the smooth surface of the floor slippery. Riley went down again, knocking Colby on his back. He broke Riley's fall perfectly, and now they were face-to-face, Riley spread out over Colby.
Colby stared up and Riley reached for anything to help him get up. He thought Colby might punch him.
He never expected for Colby to put a hand behind his head and pull him down for a deep, hungry kiss.
Colby wasn't sure what came over him when he crushed Riley close and took that kiss he'd been fantasizing about practically since he'd seen Riley that afternoon, especially after he'd changed into shorts that showed off his shapely calves. Damn Riley and damn Marcus all to hell for breaking Colby's two days of staying away. One smile from Riley, the way his pretty blue eyes widened when he saw Colby, and Colby was doomed. He wondered how long he could keep up the bastard routine because it hurt like hell to see fear in Riley's eyes.
Colby almost lost it right then and there when Riley landed face down in his lap. It would have been so easy and so enjoyable to thread his fingers through Riley's soft hair and let him unzip Colby and—
Now, Riley lay sprawled on top of Colby, their mouths still pressed together, pouring passion and loneliness into a kiss as mind-blowing as the first one they'd shared up on the ridge not five minutes back on this same trail.
"Colby," Riley gasped the word as he sucked in air. "What…?"
"Later. Later." The last thing Colby wanted was to stop and talk—or think. He wanted Riley bad. Not for himself, but to apologize. "Right now, let me make it up to you." He rolled over so they were facing each other on their sides, still on the flour-covered floor of the old chuck wagon. He pushed Riley's shirt up and kissed his smooth, flat abs. Any doubts about whether Riley was into this flew out the window when Riley shuddered and moaned.
"Mmm. Yeah."
Colby unzipped Riley's shorts and boxers, then slid them down so he could get some of Riley's cock into his mouth. He liked the way Riley clutched at his hair and lay back, letting Colby do what he wanted. Using hands and mouth, Colby had Riley hard as a rock in no time. Colby's cock was painfully stiff too, had been practically since they'd both come in to the wagon. Ignoring his own desire, he did everything he knew Riley liked, flicking his tongue across the slit, sucking his balls one at a time, and gripping the shaft of his cock tight while taking him in deep so he pressed against the back of Colby's throat.
"Good, Colby. Slow down. Gonna come real soon."
"Okay," Colby said around Riley's huge dick, then he started humming, the way he learned from a guy he'd met at Rawhide, and rubbing the spot just behind Riley's balls.
It worked like magic and Riley made a sweet little whimper and shot his load down Colby's throat, leaving him choking and nearly gagging. He had to concentrate to keep breathing and not embarrass himself.
"God, that was quick and dirty. Really dirty." Riley wiped Colby's face and his hand came away with a fine dusting of flour. "You look good enough to eat. Get your pants down."
"We don't have time. You have the dinner."
"I wish I could just say forget the dinner and do something filthy to you. I missed you so much. What time is it?"
"Almost four thirty."
Riley frowned. "I can take care of you fast."
Colby shook his head. He didn't want it to be like that. Riley deserved more. "Later. Tonight. Can I come by after the dinner's over?" Colby helped Riley get his pants back up. "I owe you an apology and an explanation. A lot's been happening and—"
"Yes. That's fine. Come over later and tell me everything." Riley kissed the top of Colby's head, so forgiving Colby felt like even more of a cad. A quick blowjob was no way to make up for the kind of dick-headed behavior he'd been guilty of the past few days. It wasn't Riley's fault that Colby was a coward and would rather run from a wonderful guy than get his feelings hurt.
"Let's clean up in here and get over to North Point."
"Maybe it was North Paddock after all."
Colby messed Riley's hair up, sending clouds of flour floating around them. "You."
"You sure you can't stay for the dinner?"
Colby had forgotten he'd done everything to avoid the chuck wagon dinner and Riley. "Well—"
"Cause I have a nice piece of meat with your name on it." Riley winked.
"How could I turn that down?"
"You better not or you'll owe me more than a quickie in a chuck wagon."
"I already do."
"Damned right. And I'm going to make sure you pay up."
Colby knew he had a dumb grin on his face. Why did Riley make him so happy one minute and so freaking scared the next?
* * * *
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EM Lynley writes gay erotic romance. She loves books where the hero gets the guy and the loving is 11 on a scale of 10. A Rainbow Award winner and EPIC finalist, EM has worked in high finance, high tech, and in the wine industry, though she'd rather be writing hot, romantic man-on-man action. She spent 10 years as an economist and financial analyst, including a year as a White House Staff Economist, but only because all the intern positions were filled. Tired of boring herself and others with dry business reports and articles, her creative muse is back and naughtier than ever. She has lived and worked in London, Tokyo and Washington, D.C., but the San Francisco Bay Area is home for now.
She is the author of Sex, Lies & Wedding Bells, the Precious Gems series from Dreamspinner Press, and the Rewriting History series starring a sexy jewel thief, among others.
Visit her online Website – Blog – Facebook – Twitter – Newsletter
Finally Home Release Party: Excerpt
August 29, 2014
As I mentioned earlier, Finally Home is the sequel to my short story, Krung Thep, City of Angels, where we first met novice backpacker Marco and culinary travel writer Chris in Bangkok, Thailand. Not to spoil too much, but Finally Home picks up shortly after the story left off, with Marco and Chris enjoying their last dinner together in Thailand before they part ways, possibly forever. Here, have a peek:
Bangkok, Thailand
July 2011
Marco's mouth was on fire.
Scratch that. His entire body was on fire, a searing burn radiating from his mouth all the way down to his toes. Buds of sweat bloomed over his already sticky skin, and the lazy fan mounted above the table did nothing to cool him. He stuck his tongue in his glass of beer, hoping the remains of the ice cubes floating inside would soothe it, but the fizz just seemed to aggravate the burn. A tormented whimper escaped Marco's lips.
Across the scarred Formica table, Chris's normally tanned face had gone red beneath his shaggy blond hair. However, his shoulders quaked with barely contained laughter rather than pain, his ice blue eyes filled with a mix of compassion and mirth.
"Thith isn'th funneh!" Marco cried. It was hard for him to make himself clear with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, which made Chris laugh all the harder.
"Yes it is!" Chris wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I warned you, the waitress warned you, but you didn't listen!"
Marco scowled at Chris through watering eyes. The dish had seemed harmless enough on the menu, just some glass noodles tossed with prawns and minced pork. He hadn't counted on the strength of the chili-lime dressing dousing it, though. Marco had figured that by now, after two weeks in Thailand, his spice tolerance would have increased enough to graduate from the farang level of spicy to that of the locals. How wrong he'd been.
Chris passed a small plate of cucumber slices toward him. "These should help."
As Marco crammed two into his mouth, Chris motioned to the waitress. All he had to do was point at the sweating, panting Marco and she nodded in understanding. What seemed like an agonizing amount of time later, she plopped a small plastic bottle of milk on the table. Marco was in too much pain to care how foolish he looked, and he wrenched off the lid in one pull. As the milk bathed his tongue, the burn subsided to a dull, throbbing ache.
"Better?" Chris asked, his blue eyes twinkling with humor.
Marco simply scowled at his travel companion over another slug of the sweetened milk. Embarrassment kicked in as the pain subsided. It would have been one thing if Chris were just some random travel buddy he'd met at a youth hostel, another green twentysomething out seeing the world for the first time. But Christopher J. Springer was a noted culinary travel writer, who made his living sampling what the world's food carts and hole-in-the-wall joints had to offer. Marco had watched Chris sample chili-studded soups and grilled crickets with equal amounts of gusto. Marco couldn't even handle a plate of noodles.
"Hey." Chris's voice grew suddenly tender, drawing Marco's gaze away from the offending dish. "It's okay. We all get burned sometimes."
Chris reached out a hand and placed it over Marco's with a squeeze. Marco's heart skipped a beat, the solid warmth of Chris's calloused fingers soothing away some of his shame. That was the other, more important reason Marco had been so eager to show Chris he'd absorbed some of his adventurous spirit: Chris was the first real lover that Marco had ever had.
Chris had appeared out of the blue three days after Marco had arrived in Bangkok, materializing like some khaki-clad guardian angel to guide Marco through the convoluted streets, sois and canals of the city. It had only taken them a day to fall into bed together, though it had taken a bit longer to figure out that they made a good traveling pair. Now, after ten days of trekking side by side across Thailand, Marco was having a hard time imagining what life was going to be like once he boarded his plane back to Los Angeles tomorrow.
"Really, it's okay!" Chris said. "You don't have to look so sad, Marco. We'll order something else."
Marco tried to shake off his melancholy and offered Chris a weak smile. "Can we get that one dish—'the catfish exploded'?" He remembered the crispy-sweet seafood salad he'd fallen in love with during their two days in the beach town of Hua Hin. Best of all, it was flavorful, yet barely spicy.
"Yam pla dook foo?" The Thai syllables rolled off Chris's tongue with enviable ease. "If they have it."
Chris gave Marco a smile that spread a different type of heat through him. As Chris waved down the server to order, Marco couldn't help but study him, struck again by how he'd managed to attract such an intensely good-looking traveling companion. Chris's physique was wiry and toned from years of constant travel, not too built, not too thin. He had a smile that stood out like pearls against sand on his lean, tanned face, which time had only begun to line. Marco's gaze drifted from Chris's face, down the long column of his throat, to the wide triangle of bare flesh peeking out from his unbuttoned collar.
As Marco watched, Chris's fingers fluttered unconsciously against the spot, quick as a hummingbird, before falling back to the table. Marco felt a pang, as he always did when he saw Chris's tic. When Marco first met Chris, that spot had been decorated by a worn silver St. Christopher's medal, a talisman of protection that had been with him on all his travels. Now it hung around Marco's neck, a testament to the bond they had forged in such a short time. Marco wondered if he should return it to Chris before he left, seeing as it had been so precious to Chris, but part of him didn't want to let it go. After tomorrow, it would be all he would have to remember Chris by.
While they waited for their dish, Marco pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the offending noodles. Within a minute, he'd posted the picture to his Facebook account, the caption reading: "I think I just ate noodles made out of the sun." When he finished, he noticed Chris watching him with equal parts bemusement and disdain.
"You know your phone bill is going to be huge when you get back home," Chris said.
"Maybe, but it's worth it. I'll have a record of my day-to-day trip."
"A travel journal would work just as well. Cheaper, too."
"Nowhere near as fun," Marco scoffed. His phone made a cheerful bleep. His older sister, Angela, had already commented, most likely from her office computer, seeing as it was around 11:00 a.m. back home in Culver City.
"You kids and your constant need to share everything," Chris griped cheerfully. He leaned back in his seat, gnawing on a piece of cucumber. "Back in my day, we used postcards and e-mails to keep in touch."
"Okay, Grandpa," Marco snorted. "You're only nine years older than me!"
"Might as well be twenty, the way things are speeding up these days."
Chris's tone was light, but there was a new crease across his brow. This wasn't the first time their age difference had come up, though the gap didn't bother Marco in the slightest. In fact, he liked that Chris was older, even if it meant having arguments like this again and again.
"You know, for a travel writer, you're an awful Luddite," Marco said.
Chris shrugged. "I have my laptop—"
"That thing is older than I am!"
"And I have my camera. You can't tell me that little phone takes better pictures than my Nikon D3."
"No," Marco conceded, "but at least I can upload them to the web right away."
"See, I don't need that." Chris took a sip of his beer. "Why bother putting things online for free when you can find a magazine or a website to pay you for it?"
"Because sometimes it's not about the money."
Marco was getting exasperated. They'd had this argument almost every day. If only Chris would understand how using social media could expose him to new readers and boost sales of his photography books and travel guides. Sometimes Marco thought Chris deliberately didn't want recognition, despite his awards and high-profile articles. At least Chris had finally taken Marco up on his offer to let him help by recording video footage of Chris's street-food encounters. It wasn't high quality, but Marco figured it would help give Chris reference materials, if nothing else.
"Social media is about being connected," Marco continued, "sharing your experiences."
"Who would I want to stay connected to?" Chris rolled his eyes in irritation. "The marketing manager pretending to be Anthony Bourdain on his Facebook? My roommate from college? Anyone I want to stay connected with, I do, on my own terms. I don't need a face-twit-blog-whatever."
"What about me?" It came out before Marco could stop himself. "After tomorrow how are you going to stay connected to me?"
Finally Marco had asked the question they'd both been avoiding. Marco knew he'd been a rare exception to Chris's usual rule of not mixing business and pleasure, a lover who had become a travel companion and assistant. The color drained from Chris's face, and his cool gaze slipped away from Marco to study his half-empty beer glass. For a long moment, the only sounds at their table were the clink of melting ice in their metal bucket and the whir of the cheap plastic fan above.
"All right," Chris said slowly, "I'll set up a Facebook account."
"Really?" Marco's eyes went wide. "You serious?"
"Maybe you're right." It seemed like it physically pained Chris to admit it, which made Marco smile. "It wouldn't kill me."
A little side note, if I may, the picture at the top of the page is a meal very similar to the one Chris and Marco shared. The "catfish exploded" dish is on the upper left, and beside it are the "noodles made out of the sun."
How about you? Have you ever had a dish so spicy it made you cry?
Finally Home
When novice backpacker Marco and seasoned travel writer Chris parted ways in Bangkok, they thought it was the end of their summer romance. Three months later, though, a change of assignment reunites Chris and Marco, and the pair embarks on an adventure greater than ten days trekking through Thailand—forming a real relationship amid family drama, coming out fears, career woes, and personal demons.
Now available from Dreamspinner Press in eBook and Paperback!
Finally Home Blog Tour and Giveaway
Join me on my blog tour (August 29-September 12) and enter to win an autographed book bundle of Finally Home and Two Tickets to Paradise!
The post with the steamy excerpt!
August 11, 2014
Here it is, my last post before announcing the winners of today's giveaways!
Thank you for visiting the release party for my first full-length novel, The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds! I'm so glad you stopped by, and hope you had a little fun.
Speaking of fun and sex (we weren't talking about sex? Well, why the hell not?) Strange Birds is an erotic romance so naturally sex figures prominently in the growth of both men. They come into the story with their own ideas of what sex is, and what it should be. Those ideas don't always mesh, because that would just be too easy.
Besides, sex is different for everyone (I'm guessing here, since I haven't actually had sex with everyone). What it's like, and what it includes, both depend on a lot of variables. Not the least of which is who your partner is and what they bring to the table (or the sofa or the backseat of the car or…). Sex for same-sex partners is different than it is for opposite-sex partners too—not only in the most obvious ways.
It's pretty obvious that same-sex partners don't go into it with the idea that sex is about procreation. It's about pleasure, about showing your partner how you feel about them, about the connection. So, very often, it's not about penetration either. I'm not going to knock it in general, but penetration doesn't have to be the culmination of every sex scene—or every relationship, for that matter. Most of the opposite-sex romance novels I've read seemed to be saying that it is, that penetrative sex is the ultimate goal two people should have (along with marriage, but that's a whole post unto itself).
What's the point of this, you ask? I enjoy same-sex romance because you never really know how it'll end. Sure, if it's marked romance you expect someone to be in love with someone else by the end and for those feelings to be returned, but it seems to me this is the only hard and fast rule. The mysteries of how they'll get there and what they'd do along the way are the fun parts. The journey can look wildly different for every couple.
Okay, I'll stop rambling and make with the steamy excerpt now.
I'll be back by 7 p.m. Pacific Time to announce the winners.
In the meantime, tell me about your expectations when you read male-male romances. Do you like a lot of sex, or just a little? Wild or vanilla? The sky's the limit, and every post is an entry for my giveaways.
No fair saying "it depends on the story" either–everyone has a favorite thing and I want to hear 'em! In this, as in all the truly fun things in life, there are no wrong answers.
All the excerpts today have been from Phil's POV, but Lee has a voice in this book too. Here's a little from him. The context for the excerpt is a little spoilery, so I hope I'm not too horrible if I don't share it.
Lee moaned when Phil knelt on the floor in front of him, and again when he leaned against him and kissed him slowly, deeply, circling Lee's tongue with his like a preview of coming attractions.
Lee didn't have to wait long, after that kiss, Phil moved faster with every passing moment. He pulled at Lee's shirt, and as soon as it was off, tossed it behind him without a glance, and dove forward to kiss a path down his abs. Phil's hands shook as he slid the elastic waistband of Lee's sweats down, and by the time his dick was free, both panted loudly in the otherwise silent room.
Phil sucked gently on the head until Lee raised his hips. After a long teasing moment, he opened his lips and let Lee fuck his mouth. A few strokes like that and Phil lowered his head, just a little, every time Lee pushed up. Lee fought the urge to bury both hands in Phil's hair. He wanted to tangle his fingers, feel Phil's head banging from both sides, but settled for watching as his hair bounced up and floated down.
Whoa, it's getting long—it hardly even curls anymore.
Lee grunted with the effort to keep from grabbing Phil's hair as he sped the pace. Almost like he'd been listening to a Tool song but then Metallica came on the radio. Lee smiled and pulled his good leg up over the arm of the little chair. More leverage meant more friction and—oh shit—and then Phil wrapped a hand around the inside of Lee's hip. He gripped the crease where leg and ass met, massaging until Phil's thumb found his hole. For a moment, that felt much longer than it could've been, time stopped, just like the hummingbird wings in Phil's pictures. The moment ended when Phil gripped harder and traced a circle with his hot thumb, ripping a hoarse scream from Lee's throat as he came.
"Oh shit," Lee panted, his head lolled to the side, his ass hanging off the chair. He opened his eyes and saw the ottoman about four feet away, his casted foot barely hanging on to the corner.
Phil kissed Lee's deflating prick and then turned away. He lifted his cast and slid the ottoman under Lee's leg.
"Oh man, I think you should pay me now."
"What?" All the happy disappeared from Phil's face and his body got very still.
"You need to feel this good too."
Lee leaned forward and rested a hand on Phil's shoulder. When he didn't look any less happy, Lee drew his palm down across his chest. He scooted a little more upright and then slipped his hand around Phil's hip, drawing him closer. Phil shook his head but didn't really seem to be saying no. After a careful moment spent watching Phil's face for any sign he was going too far, Lee pushed his fingertips past the waistband of his jeans. Phil shivered, and he took that as a sign and opened the snap.
"Come up here?"
Phil turned his face up to Lee, panting through his beautiful swollen lips. When Lee slipped both hands under his arms and pulled, he didn't resist. Lee kissed those luscious lips as he arranged Phil across his lap, and didn't stop while he opened his pants. He was about to pull them off, but at the last minute just brought them down enough to get at Phil's burning erection.
"Oh shit, you're so hot."
Lee grabbed a big handful of Phil's ass and lifted until he could lick the glistening tip of his cock. When Phil moaned in response, Lee closed his lips over the head. He was tempted to move to the bed so he could watch Phil's face—his gorgeous face—while he came, but didn't want to stop sucking his dick to do it.
As though getting off had erased the tough workday, Lee lifted Phil in a faster and faster rhythm until he got close.
Much more fun than free weights.
Thanks again for hanging out with us today—hope you enjoyed the excerpts! I'll be back in a couple of hours for the drawing. If the train is on time, I'll be back before then to answer any questions and enjoy the party from the comfort of my PC instead of my phone.
Buy The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5271
And Now an Excerpt…
July 30, 2014
And Karenna Colcroft continues her blog takeover. Since it's the release day for my contemporary novel Love Like Vampires, you guys probably want to see an excerpt, huh? There's one posted on my website, but I'll save you a bit of trouble. (Though if you want to go over to my site, you could sign up for my monthly newsletter and get a free PDF short story. The story is hetero romance, though.)
This is from the beginning of the book, and I think gives a pretty good sense of Shane McCarthy and Thaniel Robichaud, my main characters. If you like it, you can get your copy of the book in ebook or print from Dreamspinner Press.
The roar of adrenaline and rush of the crowd. Or something. High from excitement and fame, Shane didn't even care whether he had it right. He and his band, Love Like Vampires, had just finished opening for Jareth frigging East, one of the biggest names in the business.
A small-time band from Maine had played the show of a fucking lifetime. How could he care about something as menial as a cliché?
And the audience had loved every second of it. They had screamed. They had danced. A couple of cuties in the front row had even tried to grab Thaniel, the lead singer, when he leaned toward them during the band's ballad "Your Love Staked My Heart."
It wasn't an unusual response, but they weren't at their usual little club. They were at TD frigging Garden in Boston. Opening for Jareth East. If Shane repeated that to himself enough, maybe he would be convinced this wasn't all a wonderful dream.
As Love Like Vampires left the stage to let Jareth's crew set up, Shane felt like his feet barely touched the floor. His heart raced and he was panting for air. He was so soaked with sweat his hair dripped, but none of it mattered.
The show had been fucking amazing. Every note, every lyric, every beat had been perfect. Not a single mistake. Other than Bryan, their drummer, they'd all been nervous as fuck before the show. Thaniel had almost had a goddamn panic attack sitting out in the van, and Shane had had to score him some weed from one of Jareth's roadies so the singer could calm down.
Then again, stage fright for Thaniel wasn't unusual either. Once Thaniel walked onstage he loved it, but every single time they had a show, he freaked out beforehand. Only the guys in the band knew, and only Shane realized how bad Thaniel's panic truly was. He kept the secret, along with never letting on to Thaniel how much he admired him for pushing past the stage fright and putting on damn good shows.
In the end, the nerves hadn't mattered. They'd played their best show ever. And watching Thaniel work the stage and the audience was even better. Shane could have stared at the singer all night. Half the people who'd watched probably wished Thaniel would drag them into bed, and Shane definitely counted himself in that group.
Even in the postshow haze, he had to roll his eyes at his fucking ridiculous crush. He'd had a thing for Thaniel for years. It was never going to happen. By now, he should have gotten reality through his head. They were friends and Thaniel was straight. End of story.
Backstage, Thaniel grabbed Shane in a bear hug that would have been a hell of a lot more pleasant without the sweat soaking both of them. "Holy fuck, man, that was amazing!" Thaniel jumped up and down, still holding Shane.
"Hell yeah." Shane grinned and pulled away. The sweat was bad enough. The fact that excitement, adrenaline, and being held against Thaniel's wiry body made him hard was worse. He just hoped Thaniel wouldn't notice.
"They motherfucking loved us! Yes!" The keyboard player, Jace, tried a chest bump with Thaniel. Thaniel stepped back and Jace almost fell flat on his face. Shane stifled a laugh. The kid always got way too hyper after shows, and sometimes before and during them. And often during rehearsals. There were times Shane wanted to clobber him, but the band kept Jace around because he was a damn good musician.
They were all damn good. That was why Jareth East had personally invited them to play.
"Cool it, Jace." Todd set his bass guitar on their equipment cart and frowned at the younger guy. "Professional, remember?"
"Fuck professional," Jace muttered. "Famous people celebrate too. We were awesome, you guys. What am I supposed to do, a fucking golf clap?"


text:
Tonight, starting at 7 PM, my free masterclass.
"The Drawing Room"
56 Willoughby St. #3
btw Jay and Lawrence St. in downtown Brooklyn. Almost every subway train gets extremely close: Borough Hall for 4/5, Hoyt St for 2/3, Jay St for A/C/F…the very closest stop is Lawrence on R.
Mostly for pianists; others welcome too.
(Last night my apartment building was on fire. A big drag, but everyone is fine. Also my libraries of crime fiction and jazz records survived untouched, so DTM marches onward unscathed!)
Selma is wonderful! Highly recommended. I saw it yesterday at BAM with a packed house. So, so good. Kudos to my man Jason Moran for the score; however the real relevation for this viewer was David Oyelowo as Dr. King. Tom Wilkinson as LBJ was terrific too. When Oyelowo and Wilkinson were onscreen together it was simply electric. Now I need to catch up with the other work of director Ava DuVernay.
Recent reading includes two books especially relevant to MLK day:
Carl Van Vechten was multi-talented and prolific novelist, partier, photographer, and critic. He turns up everywhere when considering New York City in the 20's and 30's. Emily Bernard has focused on the most controversial part of his legacy in Carl Van Vechten and the Harlem Renaissance: A Portrait in Black and White.
The blurb from Elizabeth Alexander on the back of the book couldn't be better:
An intrepid scholar, Bernard dives right into the waters of racial misunderstanding, political incorrectness, and unfettered love that drove Van Vechten's career. This is a passionate, dead-serious exploration of and meditation on nothing less than negrophilia and its cultural yield.
I knew Bernard previously thanks to her superb essay "Teaching the N-Word," where she mentions frequently using Van Vechten's 1926 novel Nigger Heaven in class. In A Portrait in Black and White Bernard has the opportunity to unpack Nigger Heaven and its perennially provocative title in detail. It is simply a fascinating analysis.
Besides Van Vechten, I learned a lot more about James Weldon Johnson, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, and many other major figures of the Renaissance. I can fake my way through a discussion of black jazz of this era but I still have a lot of homework to do about fiction, poetry, and the visual arts. Thanks to Bernard I'm more intrigued than ever.
Read Bernard's post on her relationship to Van Vechten and the genesis of this book at Yale Press.
Ed Berger does jazz history a special service by getting to know his heroes while working on biographies that end up being unusually definitive. I was impressed by Berger's big book on Benny Carter; now we have Softly, with Feeling: Joe Wilder and the Breaking of Barriers in American Music. Berger showed a final copy to the trumpet player shortly he died last year.
Wilder was a superb musician, someone of whom the phrase "could play anything" almost sells the matter short. Interestingly, in the book Wilder himself says that he was a more natural classical musician first, that playing jazz was more of an acquired study.
This is rare admission to make. Herbie Hancock told me the same thing in conversation once, but I didn't really believe him, as Hancock has done so much with so many forms of black dance music in a manner that seems as natural as breathing. In Wilder's case, this claim scans as more likely, at least in sense that his hard-to-find classical recital on Golden Crest is simple and perfect, not to mention that he spent his whole life in the studios, on society gigs, in Broadway pits, and even doing the occasional orchestral performance. (Apparently the exposed trumpet part in Petrushka was a Wilder specialty.)
It is easy to regret that there is not enough Wilder in free-wheeling jazz blowing sessions. Berger highlights the 1956 quartet date with Hank Jones, Wendell Marshall and Kenny Clarke Wilder 'n Wilder, especially a long and groovy "Cherokee" with impeccable taste, charming melodic invention, and sovereign chops.
But Berger also makes it crystal clear that playing jazz was just part of Wilder's story. Breaking of Barriers in American Music lives up to its title as Wilder helps integrate the Armed Forces, Broadway, staff orchestras, and symphonic orchestras. I was especially impressed with Berger's research in the long chapter "A Dream Realized: Return to Classical Music (1964-1974)," much of which concerns Wilder only indirectly.
Read Berger's 2001 profile of Wilder in JazzTimes.
Blacks in classical music is a troubled topic, then and now. Last week on Twitter, saxophonist and composer Steve Lehman (who generously posted his interview with Jackie McLean on DTM) referenced a worthy essay by George Lewis, "Improvised Music after 1950: Afrological and Eurological Perspectives."
Lewis, a brilliant man, is really on to something.
In developing a hermeneutics of improvisative music, the study of two major American postwar real-time traditions is key. These traditions are exemplified by the two towering figures of 1950s American experimental musics--Charlie "Bird" Parker and John Cage. The work of these two crucially important music-makers has had important implications not only within their respective traditions but intertraditionally as well. The compositions of both artists are widely influential, but I would submit that it is their real-time work that has had the widest impact upon world musical culture. The musics made by these two artists, and by their successors, may be seen as exemplifying two very different conceptions of real-time music-making. These differences encompass not only music but areas once thought of as "extra-musical," including race and ethnicity, class, and social and political philosophy.
Lewis than goes on to bash Cage for not appreciating jazz. This lovely bit is really the heart of the matter:
John Cage's critique of jazz-well presented in his 1966 interview with the jazz critic Michael Zwerin-is of relatively little value as music criticism but may serve us well here as a textbook example of the power relationships that Fiske has recognized. In response to Zwerin's query about his thoughts on jazz, Cage replies, "I don't think about jazz, but I love to talk, so by all means, come on up" (Zwerin 1991,161).
To this African-American observer, situated in the 1990s, the interview should perhaps have ended there. From a 1960s perspective, however, we are in the presence of power, as two white males prepare to discuss "the trouble with black people" without, in the declining days of American high media apartheid, having to worry about a response. Even on a subject to which he freely admitted his lack of attention, Cage's opinion was apparently deemed sufficiently authoritative, by the structures of media power that decide such things, for the interview to continue and, finally, to be published and reprinted.
I have two problems with Lewis's essay. The first is the same that I have with his essential book A Power Stronger than Itself: The A.A.C.M. and American Experimental Music: a strange lack of discussion about rhythm. To me, all the true virtuosos of jazz (or Afrological or BAM or anything else you prefer to call it) are virtuosos of rhythm almost before they are virtuosos of anything else. At the very least, when separating jazz and classical players at an audition where they have to play both musics, inevitably the jazz cats will be able to play the notes of whatever classical piece (as long as it's not too hard) but the classical cats won't be able to play any uncomplicated jazz with the right kind of beat.
George Lewis can swing on his trombone. I've heard him do it! So I don't know why he avoids the words "rhythm" or "swing" in his eight paragraphs about Bird and bebop. With all due respect, surely the Langston Hughes origin story about bebop, that it comes from
...The police beating Negroes' heads . . . that old club says, 'BOP! BOP! . . . BE-BOP! . . . That's where Be-Bop came from, beaten right out of some Negro's head into them horns.
is simply less accurate than that those accents come from ancient, exceedingly complex and intellectual Afro-Cuban drums.
But maybe Lewis is acting like some of his elders, not telling the truth about how the music gets made to protect the secrets from getting out. (I understand that discretionary attitude, although of course I wage postmodern warfare on it weekly from my outpost here at DTM.)
The other thing that bothers me about Lewis's essay is the general conceit of comparing Charlie Parker to John Cage. I respect Cage, of course, but the idea of putting him next to Bird is simply ridiculous. Bird is so much greater. Cage isn't even fit to shine Bird's shoes.
Still, it's good -- especially on MLK day -- to have Lewis remind me that this opinion may not be so obvious in all circles, even in spheres usually considered to be moderately informed about music.
On a lighter note, my wife Sarah Deming dug up the retro local access madness of Star and Buc Wild, the "Universal Playerhaters," which she called "the best TV show ever."
Six parts from 1999 are on YouTube. It's totally genius. My man is quiet Buc Wild, who says little (he's usually eating) yet somehow complements every moment perfectly. Big ups also to the tasty set. Part 4 is a good entry point, although all the clip contain comedy gold. (NSFW?)
Many people know David King is a very funny man. Indeed, the (great) group Happy Apple has a cult following partly due to Dave's extended and profoundly hilarious commentary on the mic. He has never been the MC for The Bad Plus, I think because Dave knows that he would end up taking over the entire gig.
Musical instruction videos tend to be pretty boring. Drum instruction videos can be especially terrible: 98% of the time they are fusionistas riffing about chops in an inane and unmusical manner.
At long last, Dave is offering his own take on this genre: Rational Funk. There are six videos so far on his You Tube channel. Hard to chose amongst such riches, but episode two's exploration of the one-handed snare roll is really quite touching.
Of course much of what Dave is up to here is biting satire, but don't worry, the drumming is still authentically awesome. When he makes fun of people studying Cuban music ("be sure to get Miami Sound Machine and Buena Vista Social Club") check out what he actually plays with the conga. (I've actually never even seen him with a conga before, I wonder where he got it? Dave King definitely does not own a conga.)
After he becomes an international sensation with his pedagogy, I hope Dave will still have time to play with me and Reid...
A new friend is classical pianist Yegor Shevtsov. Yegor just gave me his excellent CD ...avec un frisson: Late Piano Works of Debussy & Boulez. It's a really lovely listen. For me, I was most excited to learn of Boulez's Incises, a work that exists in several versions. At ten minutes, the 2001 piano piece is a perfect blast of charismatic modernism.
The performance on CD is even better, with repeated notes that are even more deadly, but those curious about this major addition to the repertoire can whet their appetite with this well-produced YouTube of Yegor playing Incises in concert.
Congratulations to Jazz at the Bistro for a wonderful upgrade and remodeling job. It was always fun to play here, now the experience is deluxe. The Harold & Dorothy Steward Center for Jazz in Grand Center joins SF Jazz and JALC as a multi-fold dedicated space for jazz.
This reminds me to tell St. Louis fans to visit Dean Minderman's blog for local news and updates.
In New York, of course, Winter Jazz Fest is going on. I'd be there if I could, although I'd be torn, because the newish supergroup Heads of State (Gary Bartz, Larry Willis, Buster Williams, and Al Foster) is uptown at Smoke. Rumor has it that they are going into the studio very soon...
Johnny Gandelsman is also playing the complete unaccompanied Bach violin works at Bargemusic tonight and tomorrow afternoon. Jeremy Eichler reviewed Johnny's Boston gig earlier this week.
At any rate, New Yorkers have no excuse for staying home tonight! Always go out.
Kyle Gann transcribes Ives. A very important post.
On Twitter, there was a bit of amusing back and forth about the bootleg of John Coltrane and Joe Henderson playing "Sweet Georgia Brown" in 1958. It's regrettably hard to hear, but I find it intriguing that this tempo would even be on the table for these musicians at a jam session. It's a window into how the jazz greats of the era practiced: "As fast as possible" was really important.
Photographer John Rogers sent me a YouTube playlist of not just jazz but all sorts of interesting American music.
TBP is not so busy for the first few months of 2015, so I'm having two free masterclasses on consecutive Wednesdays:
January 14 and 21
from 7-10 PM
"The Drawing Room"
56 Willoughby St. #3
btw Jay and Lawrence St. in downtown Brooklyn. Almost every subway train gets extremely close: Borough Hall for 4/5, Hoyt St for 2/3, Jay St for A/C/F…the very closest stop is Lawrence on R.
Mostly for pianists; others welcome too.
On Tuesday January 13 there is an impressive free memorial gathering for Charlie Haden at Town Hall produced by Ruth Cameron. H'mm, I'll be there of course but (although I'm listed) I am not playing - not that that galaxy of greats needs my help!
A week later, on January 20, there's another major gala, this one in the name of saxophone great Michael Brecker and benefiting Cancer Research at Columbia University Medical Center and the work of Azra Raza, MD & Siddhartha Mukherjee, MD. DPhil. Notable stars will include James Taylor, Paul Simon, Bobby McFerrin, Randy Brecker, and Dianne Reeves. More details and tickets here.
A few TBP hits, copied from website:
23 Northampton, MA -- Iron Horse
24 Boston, MA -- Berklee Performance Center - Science Fiction with Tim Berne, Ron Miles, and Sam Newsome
27 Quito, ECU -- Fundacion Teatro Nacional Sucre
25 Holland, MI -- Knickerbocker Theatre
27 Knoxville, TN -- Big Ears Festival, Great Hall
The first week of March the Tootie Heath - Iverson - Ben Street trio plays the Village Vanguard. There will also be a new album, Philadelphia Beat.
One day left for Vision Fest to reach its mark. Vision Fest is a crucial showcase for many of the music's most radical and freewheeling improvisors.
Another recommended tax write-off is Dance Heginbotham's Campaign to Sustain. I've known John for years, he's brilliant. This coming summer we will premiere the dance and piano collaboration Easy Win together. (More on that later.)
I'm also donating to Wikipedia and IMSLP just because I use their free services so much.
"Five Awkward Conversations with Paul Motian" by Vinnie Sperrazza. This utterly marvelous piece really gives a sense of what it was like to interact with Paul. Sincere kudos to Sperrazza, his whole blog is great.
Kevin Sun has become one of the more active and interesting jazz bloggers. I'm pleased about his DTM references in this Bud Powell transcription and commentary.
Hank Shteamer on the new (!) Ornette Coleman album.
RIP Joseph Sargent. The Taking of Pelham 123 remains one of the great grungy '70's NYC movies, with a memorable "12-tone funk" score by David Shire. A perfect film for a slow holiday afternoon...
I've seen a few "best of 2014" crime fiction lists. Perfidia by James Ellroy is usually there, but I must disagree, I quit after 200 pages. Ellroy is now a parody of himself. Of course there's still some genius in anything that Ellroy writes, but overall I find the work hopelessly out of balance. The reveal of Dudley Smith's daughter was a new low.
A book not on any lists is Storm Front by John Sandford. Probably Sandford is too popular for critical acclaim, but here is one working-class crime novelist who just keeps bettering his game. In Storm Front he is starting to get on the turf of Donald Westlake and Ross Thomas. (I'm serious.) The characters are human, the one-liners are hilarious, and there is not one violent death.
I never thought I'd say this, but James Ellroy should take some lessons from John Sandford.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Book 20: Glimpses of Death
From Usagi Yojimbo Wiki
Book 20: Glimpses of Death reprints Vol. 3 issues 76-82 and the short story Cooking Lesson which was originally published in the Drawing the Line benefit book. It is published by Dark Horse Comics.
The introduction for this volume was written by Frederik L. Schodt.
- ISBN-10: 1-59307-631-2 (s/n)
- ISBN-10: 1-59307-549-9 (tpb)
- ISBN-10: 1-41776-241-1 (Sagebrush)


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Taco-Man: The Game Master (Episode One)
Press Start to Play (July 14th, 2008) - Taco-Man is warped to Video Game Land in order to help stop an evil lawyer bent on revenge. Taco-Man reviews Killer Instinct for the Nintendo 64.
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Narrator Voice by Jeffrey Wisenbaugh
Rated 5 / 5 stars
oh and salomaya turok two isnt out yet: its just turok: dinosaur hunter and turok
Thanks! There was a Turok 2 on the N64.
Rated 4.5 / 5 stars
finally a good vg review
a video game review show thats actually funny. kudos.
Rated 5 / 5 stars
great but why pic on fulgore
good job but fulgore was actually one of the better characters on the game it was that black ass so to speak u were talking about thats hard 2 use i rarely could do anything with his black ass


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