Friskbiskit

Guest Post: Getting Graphic with Zathyn Priest (plus, Book Giveaway!)

Please join me in welcoming Zathyn Priest to Friskbiskit. Z and I have known each other for a long time and I can't believe this is my first time having him here as a guest.

Zathyn's here today to talk about his new book, an illustrated novel called THE STATUE. He's giving away a copy, so please, leave a comment to be entered to win!

Welcome Zathyn!

I took an extended break away from writing after the release of Left of Centre and, for a while there, wasn’t sure whether or not I’d ever return to it. 

I rediscovered a passion for art, moving from traditional oil painting into 3D graphics. As a result, my desire to write started to return when I began creating digital images of characters. My interest in illustrating novels/novellas was born and I decided to take a leap of faith into graphic fiction.  When I thought about it, and remembered my favourite books as a kid were illustrated, it made sense to combine my artwork and writing together.  

The Statue ends my writing drought and I’m thrilled with the reactions I’ve received from people who have never before seen, or even heard of, graphic fiction. 

Half the fun of reading is to imagine characters and scenes inside your mind.  With graphic fiction a very big part of that process is taken from a reader. 

The Statue was challenging for me as many of the illustrations needed to be as emotional as the story.  As a writer/illustrator both mediums need to be as strong as the other.  Bad graphics will detract from a good story, and a bad story can’t be saved by good graphics.  The balance has to be even or the two aspects of the book will fail.  It’s double the work, double the frustrations, and double the feeling of satisfaction when I receive emails from readers who enjoyed the new experience.  

I had several works in progress, couldn’t focus on just one, and I wrote half of The Statue last year before shelving it.  I didn’t look at it again until one morning I woke up with an insatiable urge to re-read it.  Four days later it was finished.  Finally, I finished something!  The relief I felt at typing ‘the end’ at the end of a manuscript was a huge weight off my shoulders.  For so long people were asking me when I’d have a new book out and I honestly couldn’t give an answer to the question.

The inspiration for The Statue came to me a couple of Christmases ago when I was at the mall doing last minute shopping on Christmas Eve.  Shoppers and assistants were in bad moods and certainly weren’t displaying much holiday cheer. As I stood in the checkout line, feeling my temper fray, a beautiful young man walked in with his friend.  Everyone turned to stare at him.  His lively conversation was laced with lots of laughter and his pretty face sported a wide smile.  While people pointed and sniggered, or pointed and made loud derogatory comments, I stood spellbound by the interaction going on between this young man and his partner.  Everyone around me could only see crazy.  All I saw was adoration and love.  I couldn’t see crazy any more than anyone else could see this young man’s friend.  And I remember thinking to myself, ‘He’s the only person in this whole bloody place who’s enjoying himself.  Good luck to him for having someone in his life who can make him this happy.  It’s more than a lot of people have.’

I went home that night and thought about it some more.  Plainly the young man was schizophrenic and even more obvious was the attitudes of others in the store who assumed he should’ve been locked up in a nuthouse.  And, I thought, ‘I wonder how he’d cope if this man his adores was suddenly gone?  What would he do and how would he cope with his schizophrenia if the one positive aspect of it was stolen from him?’  The plot for The Statue was born.  It’s an emotional story of two couples trying to find their way back to each other under very different circumstances.  The Statue isn’t erotica, but definitely is romance with a twist.  The way I see it, love is only ever the reality of the two people who share it.  

 

THE STATUE is available here:

Buy Link: http://zathynpriest.com/authorwebsite/?page_id=119

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/165249

Please Note the Smashwords version is text only and does NOT come bundled with the graphic version.

 

THE STATUE: Blurb

Freelance journalist Tristan Church wants to expose Galloway Mental Hospital’s dirty secrets. Teaming up with broody photographer Mark promises other perks.  A ten year relationship with high school sweetheart Eli no longer offers Tristan the excitement he craves.  Mark made his intentions clear and Tristan is close to giving in to his advances.

One morning at ‘The Gallows’ leaves Tristan reeling.  He wasn’t prepared for the hell he witnessed and certainly wasn’t prepared to meet Zane.  Disarmed by Zane’s angelic manner, Tristan can’t believe anyone would stand him up.  He soon realises the tardy boyfriend only exists in Zane’s mind and the beautiful young man is not a visitor to The Gallows but a patient.

Eli walks out and Tristan’s life falls apart.  A decision to meet with Mark almost ends in tragedy and Tristan finds solace in Zane’s company.  Before long Zane’s delusions begin terrorising him again.  While Tristan fights to save his own sanity and get Eli back, he knows someone must fight for Zane’s right to love a man no one else can see.  A man who scares away violent hallucinations, takes away Zane’s fear, keeps him safe, and is trapped inside a stone statue. 

 

EXCERPT: The Statue

Walking around Galloway Hospital’s garden gave the illusion this place offered peace.  It took me a little over half an hour to find the Wisteria Corridor Zane spoke of.  Being the middle of spring the Corridor showed off with bunches of scented purple flowers cascading from above me and gnarled old stems, grown fat over time, twining around wooden posts.   The Corridor was longer than I’d imagined, leading from near the hospital’s main building toward a leafy garden of green lawns and colourful roses.  I followed the Corridor to near its end and saw the statue perched on top of a low, ivy covered wall.    

As strange as it might sound, I approached with a sense this statue had been expecting me.  I’d obsessed over it since Eli walked out.  Since I’d realised I’d wanted to keep Eli trapped.  The statue was larger than I’d expected.  I’m not sure why I imagined it to be smaller than life sized.   Even covered in grime and weathered with age, he was beautiful.  Crouched on his stone wall, he overlooked gardens with an expression of loss on his face.   I moved in closer, looking for a plaque or engraving to tell me about the artist and if the statue was a memorial.  

I’d made a promise to Zane.  After all the wrong choices I’d made recently, I had to do something right.  I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the statue’s hand.

“Zane wants me to tell you he loves you.”  Constriction in my throat strangled my words.  “He wants you to know he’ll never give up, Lucas.”

Before the emotion of the week caught up with me completely, I let go of the statue’s hand and turned to walk away.  In all my life I’d never felt as lonely as I did then.  I didn’t know where to go or who to turn to.   My feet took me along the Wisteria Corridor until I reached the end and the main building.  If I turned right, I’d head to the car park.  If I turned left, I’d walk into The Gallows.  I turned left.  

 

Next Tuesday: Get Graphic w/ Zathyn Priest and Win!

This coming Tuesday, June 29, Zathyn Priest is my guest, blogging about his new release, the illustrated novel, THE STATUE. Zathyn's running a giveaway, so be sure to leave a comment and you'll be entered to win your own copy!

Guest Post: Lynn Lorenz

I'm so pleased to have the talented and prolific Lynn Lorenz here today to talk about her new release, Charlie's Mission, which just came out from Amber Allure on Tuesday. Take it away Lynn!

Thanks Jessica, for letting my blog here. You're the best! 

Charlie's Mission is the eigth book in my Heart of New Orleans series set before, during and after Hurricane Katrina. For my hometown, the hurricane was a landmark event - one most of us living now will always refer to when speaking in terms of time about our beloved city. "It was before Katrina, dawlin'" is heard all the time in conversation. "After Katrina, it took us five months to move back. We stayed over by my cousin, Alcee, up north in Monroe. Lawd, I was glad to come home." (seriously, anything above Alexandria in Louisiana is "up north")
 
Despite being devastated, the city is returning. It may never be as it once was, but maybe that's all right. Maybe it'll be better. The people of N'awlins have always been survivors, people filled with of love of life, music, and great food. I try to capture that in all my little stories about the city and the gay men who live there.
 
In Breakfast At Tiffany's, I introduced Scott and Tony, two young men living on the street and in a shelter, and told how they came together, searching for the home they both lost and for someone to love and care about. In that story, a man named Charlie worked at the shelter, and had been looking out for Scott. There was a little tension between Charlie and Tony over Scott, but Tony won out and Charlie was left alone.
 
Now Charlie gets his story. We find out who Charlie is, what's happened in his life to get him to this point, and it isn't pretty. The theme of the AmberPax collection I wrote this for is Bad Boys - and Charlie might not be a true bad boy, but Devon sure is. Devon and Charlie connect on a basic level, but Charlie isn't sure Devon is the best thing he's seen or the worst. And if his decision to let Devon into his life might be the beginning of his life, or it's end.
 
And around them, the city heals. Restaurants open and people struggle to return and rebuild neighborhoods either deserted or flooded. Men like Charlie and Devon struggle to find themselves a small piece of happiness, perhaps with each other. In Charlie's Mission, I hope readers will root for Charlie and Devon, just as they might root for the city to regain its former glory. Because no matter what, those of us who love New Orleans, know for all its faults, it was a glorious, luminous, fascintating city, and for some of us, like me, it will always be home.

Buy Link for Charlie's Mission: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/CharliesMission.html

Blurb: 

Charlie’s cut himself off from the pleasures of life. After all, he was a drug addict who killed his brother and doesn’t deserve them. He also believes he should have never gotten out of prison, but he did, and now every day he struggles to do penance for his crime, and working at a shelter for homeless men in Katrina-ravaged New Orleans is his way of doing it.

Devon is mysterious, dark, and dangerous. Especially to Charlie. Devon’s refusal to speak about what he does, his comings and goings at night, all lead Charlie to one conclusion—Devon’s a drug dealer. And for a recovering cocaine addict, a dealer is the last thing he needs in his life, because the need for the white powder is always there.

But so is the physical and emotional need Charlie feels for Devon. Charlie fights his attraction, but he know he’s in a losing battle. He’s always been a sucker for a bad ass, and to him, Devon looks to be the baddest of them all.

Can Charlie keep his internal pledge to pay for his crime, or will Devon destroy everything Charlie’s worked so hard to build? Or will giving in to Devon be the freedom Charlie’s secretly prayed for? 

Genres: Gay / Contemporary 
Heat Level: 3 
LenNovella (22k words) 

Click to read an excerpt from Charlie's Mission:

Guest Post and Contest: Damned with Andrea Speed

I met Andrea Speed on the Literary Nymphs m/m chat held over Easter weekend. I was really taken with the bold and imaginative premise of her Josh of the Damned books, and I'm pleased as punch that she's agreed to join us today for a guest post and a giveaway.

Blurb for the Josh of the Damned Triple Feature:

What most people call a hellish shift, Josh Caplan calls a normal evening. After all, he works nights at a convenience store beside the mouth of hell, selling snacks to zombies and lizard men.

Some monsters are odder—and more dangerous—than most. Like the rampaging, oversized mustache who skips the Pringles and eats the customers instead. Or Cthulhu’s half-brother Stan, who doesn't know how to take no for an answer . . . or where to put all those tentacles.

But killer facial hair and inept hentai beasts pale in comparison to the monster even other monsters fear. When hell’s big boss demands a sit-down with Josh, she reveals a destiny bigger than he’d ever imagined—or wanted. You'd think preventing the apocalypse would net Josh more than minimum wage and a hot vampire boyfriend, but it turns out saving the world can be a pretty thankless job. 

Josh of the Damned Triple Feature and the other Josh books are available from Riptide Publishing: 

http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/series/josh-damned

Don't miss the excerpt at the bottom of the post. And leave a comment to be entered to win a free copy of Andrea's first Josh book, Pretty Monsters.

Take it away, Andrea!

I love writing horror. I know I leave myself open to weird glances and intimations there’s something wrong with me (which I’ll gladly cop to), but that really kicks in when I admit I like to write humor as well. You’d think they were opposite ends of the spectrum, but I contend they go hand in hand, like chocolate and peanut butter, or chocolate and ice cream. Chocolate and almost anything, really. 

But horror/comedy is a little different from writing a straight horror or a straight comedy story. The two have to be balanced delicately, because too much horror can easily overwhelm any joke. Getting it just right can be hard, and my editor deserves a lot of credit. This does make me wonder, though – why isn’t there more horror/comedy, especially in the m/m genre? 

I’ll be the first to admit that horror/comedy may work at its best on screen, where you can throw in the slapstick and gross out comedy that seems so natural with this genre. (Evil Dead 2 and Dead/Alive both function as cases in point.) But horror/comedy in print works too. So why not more? Some is just not enough. I issue a challenge to all writers – more horror/comedy in the m/m genre! The time is now. Show me what you’ve got.

What do I have, though? I have my Josh of the Damned series, about a convenience store night clerk, Josh, who happens to have the shift from hell. No, really – there’s a portal to a hell dimension behind the store, only active at night. So he spends most of his shift selling burritos to zombies, chips to lizard guys, and chasing werewolves out of the parking lot, where they turn cars into chew toys.

The whole impetus for the idea was simply the idea that this kind of service industry job, where I have to serve people and be nice to them, would be my kind of hell. I’m a curmudgeonly, eccentric writer; I’m not valued for my people skills. But here is a man, a poor bastard, whose shift is even worse than the typical one. Or is it? Josh is a laid back kind of guy, which helps, and he quickly discovers the job isn’t all bad. After all, he catches the eye of a very hot vampire, so there are perks. But he deals with not only your typical monsters, but unusual ones, such as lovesick yetis, angry giant mustaches, and Cthulhu’s half brother Stan, just to name a few. Josh may long for a normal job, but I don’t see him getting one any time soon. And I hope we’re all glad for that, because I really don’t want to write about a typical clerk job. I can only stand so much horror.  

Excerpt from the Josh of the Damned Triple Feature:

What Josh didn’t know—what no one who wrote vampire stories seemed to know either—was that getting bitten by a vampire was exactly like sex. 

The bite itself didn’t feel like much because the fangs were so sharp. But once the teeth were in and sucking the blood out of you, a pleasurable wave of warmth washed over you, orgasmic and post-coital at the same time. Colin said it was something in vampire saliva, a kind of a drug that vampires themselves were immune to. Vampires really didn’t feed on fear or get turned on by it—or at least your average vampire didn’t, according to Colin—and this natural chemical guaranteed a pliable victim more than happy to let you kill them.

Of course, Josh didn’t want to die, which was why he’d put off letting Colin bite him until tonight. Yeah, Colin hadn’t ever tried to bite him without permission, which had earned him bit of trust, but still Josh couldn’t help being nervous. How could he have known Colin was being honest with him? He was a vampire, after all. Maybe all the myths weren’t true—and how could they be, as several of them were contradictory?—but Colin wasn’t exactly human anymore, and Josh seemed to have some kind of natural human bias. He’d thought the store was ridding him of that, but obviously not fast enough.

Josh was actually kind of disappointed when the drug effect started to fade, reminding him where he was: on the roof of the Quik-Mart, enjoying the warm night. The sky above was dark and only randomly speckled with faint stars, as there was too much light pollution to see more. Though the Quik-Mart was pretty alone here since the Nifty Lube across the street had shut down and the Waffle Shack had moved to a bigger location. The Quik-Mart was the only sign of civilization for about two miles in any direction. Maybe the hell portal was unconsciously driving everyone else away.

It had been a relatively warm night, but now the breeze had a cool bite that made him shudder, and seemed to make the high fade. Also, he was starting to feel the gravel under him, beneath the thin blanket.

Josh couldn’t remember if they had or hadn’t fucked. Right now, all he could remember was agreeing to let Colin bite him, and then everything had become wonderfully hazy. It was like riding on a wave of liquid ecstasy.

His eyes finally focused on Colin staring down at him. “Are you okay?” Colin asked.

“You never told me getting bitten was this awesome.”

“Yes I did. You just never believed me.”

“Well . . .” he didn’t know what to say that. So instead he worked on sitting up, which took him a moment, and even then Colin had to help him. Colin was shirtless, showing off his lean, muscular chest that had just a bit of  hair, and while he was pale, it was “computer programmer” pale, not “deep sea albino fish” pale or “high school Goth girl” pale, which was good. Josh wasn’t racist at all, but guys who were too white seemed a little icky.

Colin was buttoning up his jeans as Josh watched. He raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Are you back yet?”

“Yeah, course I am,” Josh said, looking down and noticing for the first time he was naked. Oh wow—had they really had sex? How could he have no memory of it? “I think being bitten by a vampire is the best drug I’ve ever had. You should market it.”

“And acknowledge we exist? No thanks. From what I understand, you humans have weird myths about us.”

Josh found his underwear and pulled it on by scooting around a bit. It was the best he could do right now, as he wasn’t sure he could stand just yet. You know, it wasn’t that he sometimes didn’t smoke pot with his roommate—although no one enjoyed smoking a bowl as much as Doug—but he had never been much for drugs, just because they always seemed to be hyped as more enjoyable than they actually were. But right now, he was pretty sure he was majorly fucked up, and holy shit, would he do it again in a heartbeat. “Like what? You drink blood.”

“Yeah, but I don’t burst into flames in daylight, and why the fuck would any sane being sleep in a coffin? That’s just messed up.”

Josh considered what he’d said as the words sank in slowly, like his brain was suddenly molasses. “I thought you said you didn’t like sunlight.”

“I don’t, but that’s just ‘cause I burn easy.”

“I thought you just said—”

“I mean sunburn, Josh, not catch fire.”

“Whatever you say, undead boy.” Josh finally spotted his pants in a crumbled up ball about ten feet away. Never had ten feet seemed so far. “Um, so when do I come down?”

Colin had finished with his jeans, and now seemed to be looking for his boots. So much for the “vampires could see in the dark” myth. “Good question. I’m not really sure, time runs different here. I didn’t take that much, though.”

“You better not’ve. That was the deal.” Josh rubbed his neck, searching for puncture marks. Colin had said that the same thing in their saliva that functioned as a drug could also speed healing, so most victims’ bites healed up right away. Given the right circumstances, vampires could feed on people with them being none the wiser. Now that Josh had experienced it for himself, he could only imagine that would work if the person bitten was drunk, high, or asleep. Or the vampire was having sex with them. They’d think they’d had the best high, sleep, or sex of their life. Or all three at once. Josh felt like all of those things had just happened to him.

“Bothered by the yeti lately?” Colin asked, presumably trying to be conversational. Was there anything weirder than post-coital small talk? Or maybe it was just him.

“It’s come around once or twice. Don’t worry, I haven’t accepted any gifts.” He didn’t tell Colin, but he was sort of flattered by the attention, and the yeti actually seemed kind of sweet in an oversized, insanely-powerful-monster sort of way. Like Frankenstein, but fuzzy.

There was a scuffling noise down below, and Colin looked over the edge of the building. After a moment, he slapped the wall and yelled, “Get!”

Josh didn’t even need to ask, although he did anyway. “Are the werewolves back again?”

Colin sighed loudly, shaking his head at whatever he was looking down at, which was probably a werewolf peeing on a car. “Yeah. What pests.” Glaring down, he shouted, “Go home, you fleabags! Don’t you have some hikers to maul?”

It had been a bad werewolf night. It wasn’t true they came out during full moons; they seemed to come out whenever the hell they wanted, and they were tremendous pains in the ass. They were basically big, ugly dogs. Oh sure, they could probably wolf you if they bit you, but for the most part they just chased cars and peed everywhere, although sometimes when they caught a car they tore it to pieces. Wasn’t as bad as tearing people to pieces, Josh supposed.

They liked to hang around the cars they damaged—many of which were so trashed they got abandoned in the parking lot, making the Quik-Mart look busier than it actually was.

But they rarely if ever came into the store. They just prowled the parking lot, digging through the dumpster and using bumpers as chew toys. Even the zombies seemed to dislike them, and the zombies didn’t dislike—or react to— much of anything. Colin once said werewolves were the sewer rats of the supernatural world, and while Josh thought maybe that was some kind of vampire vanity, he was beginning to see his point. He would love to arrive at the Quik-Mart one day and not find the outside ice machine reeking like a flophouse mattress. And don’t even get him started on the piles of werewolf poop! Not only did they stink like really bad dog turds, they were also twice the size, and often had recognizable chunks of things in them—bumper hitches and rocks and Taco Bell wrappers, and occasionally a finger. He wanted to leash and muzzle the lot of them, but he wasn’t brave enough to try.

Annoyance seemed to take the edge off the haze, so Josh was able to crawl over to his pants and retrieve them. He wasn’t quite ready to stand up, though, so he had to squirm into them. “There’s no, like, werewolf repellant?”

“Not that I know of,” Colin replied. “They don’t like silver, but they’re so stupid they all but have to lick it to even determine what it is. If you were to be honest, you’d call them weredogs, not wolves, but I don’t make up the labels.”

“So if they bite you, you become a werewolf?”

Colin looked back at him with a shrug. “I have no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a venereal disease.

Thank you Andrea! And I want to mention, Andrea also has books available from Dreamspinner Press:

 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/advanced_search_result.php?keywords=andrea+speed&osCsid=41dti78kesen279nbb2dk5i493&x=51&y=8

 

 

Tomorrow: Andrea Speed on the Horror of it All, Plus a Contest!

Join me tomorrow when m/m comedy-horror author Andrea Speed guest blogs. We've got an excerpt from Andrea's new release, Josh of the Damned Triple Feature, and, she's giving away copy of the first book in the series, Pretty Monsters. Leave a comment and be entered to win!

Guest Post with Johnny Miles, Part 2: An Interlude with the Rosas

 

 

 

 

 

 Eep! I forgot to post the excerpt from The Rosas of Spanish Harlem that Johnny Miles so thoughtfully provided. Here it is, and it's a steamy one, so remember, by clicking the link below, you are affirming that you are eighteen years of age or older.

Guest Post: Deep and Dark with Johnny Miles' Bad Boys

I'm so pleased to be hosting the one and only Johnny Miles here today. We're celebrating the release of Johnny's book, The Rosas of Spanish Harlem, with a thoughtful and moving essay from him about the allure and danger of bad boys.

First, a bit about Johnny's book:

Blurb: 

It’s summer of 1977 and sex is on Tracy McCarthy’s mind. He’s now 18 and hell-bent on losing his virginity when he spots Angel on the beach. After discovering restroom sex — and meeting the handsome Latino Angel Rosa again — Angel invites Tracy up to Spanish Harlem for more.

When Tracy makes the long trek by subway up to Spanish Harlem, he’s exposed to a vibrantly different way of living; one filled with spicy foods, rhythmic music, and sexually-charged men. Along the way, however, the waif-like, cross-dressing young man also discovers that on the path to finding what he seeks, dark and disturbing dangers lurk — in the minds of men, walking the streets, and in the hallways of Spanish Harlem tenements.

Growing up always contains surprises but will Tracy like the ones he finds on the way?

The Rosas of Spanish Harlem is available now from Loose Id:

http://www.loose-id.com/The-Rosas-of-Spanish-Harlem.aspx

 

Deep and Dark

An Essay by Johnny Miles

Once upon a time, in high school, I had a crush on a bad boy. His name was Danny. He was a Puerto Rican from the Bronx with an incredibly thick head of jet black hair that he wore in a shag, layered cut. He was perfectly formed: from his caramel colored skin, to his smooth chest — yes, I saw him naked from behind in the locker room once — and his amazingly round, perfectly plump, hairless ass. His legs, which were hairy, were solid pillars of muscled flesh. If ever a boy had been granted the gift of a man’s body, it was surely this beautiful creature with his innocent smile. To me, he was like the Greek statues of naked men I’d see in the art history books.

Danny was also deep, dark, and mysterious, and I was his from the moment his eyes looked into mine and he tossed me that odd, quirky yet knowing smile. Come to think of it, that was probably only because of the way I drooled, stuttered, or suddenly became clumsy whenever he drew near.

We shared a few classes together and he was friendly to me but that was pretty much the extent of it. No matter how hard I tried to please him or fit into his circle of friends, I couldn’t get close enough. Since I couldn’t have him, I at least wanted to be in his presence and bask in his glow! Yes, I knew one girl was rumored to have had an abortion. Yes, I knew for a fact another girl transferred schools because of him. Yes, I knew countless other girls had been left with broken hearts. But you see, in my heart I knew Danny was mine. Why else would he smile at me the way he did? Why else would he clap me on the shoulder and squeeze real hard -- making me swoon…yes, swoon! -- as he put on the puppy dog eyes and told me some tale of woe as to why he couldn’t be in class, and could I please, please, pretty please with cream and sugar on top, let him copy my class notes?

Who could say no to that kind of charm?

I wanted him to do to me whatever it was he was doing with them, no matter how much it hurt, no matter what he put me through.

Once, as I was coming out a classroom, I saw Danny walking down the hallway towards me. I still remember as if it were yesterday. He walked as if in slow motion, like he didn’t have another class to get to. My breath caught as he grinned from ear to ear. But as he approached, I noticed a girl under each arm. They carried his books -- as well as their own -- giggling like hyenas, as if Danny had just told the most amusing story.

His gaze caught mine as they walked by and he winked. He actually winked!

At night, I’d dream of him and place my pillows alongside my body, pretending Danny was lying next to me. We’d have long, wonderfully witty conversations in my head and one night, while the group Exile sang “I Wanna Kiss You All Over” on the radio, I just knew it was our song and I cried on the faux Danny pillow chest.

The truth is that Danny only approached or was super friendly to me when he needed something. He was never mean, mind you. He was never a horrible person. He never called me names; at least, not to my face. But if all the girls I heard speak of him were to be believed, Danny was nothing short of a dick. The walking embodiment of a heavenly angel with the soul of a demon.

Bad boys come in all sizes, shapes, and colors. The bad boy phenomenon is not restricted to race, culture or ethnic background, though it seems I’ve met more than my share with Latin men.

The bad boy thing also has nothing to do with their finances, although I’ve known a few guys with money who thought they were the second coming as well as complete assholes.

Sometimes you can just tell who they are. You can smell out a bad boy in a crowd. They stand a certain way, they have a certain look. They might have a sneer or an air about them. They can come off as being deep and dark.

And other times, like with Danny, bad boys are sweet and innocent looking. Well-mannered. They’re seemingly unaware of their own danger or the path you’re willing to take, just so you can have the tiniest piece of them.

But we all know where that path leads. Being possessed and consumed by them.

Judging from my personal experience, bad boys were usually wild in bed. They knew how to work it and were always in trouble. They had little, if any, regard for regular convention, gave no thought to the needs of another, and had a devil-may-care attitude that made my blood boil.

Sex was almost always about them. About their needs, their pleasure. It was never about mine. And yet there were a few times where I was too weak to say no. I went back to experience the joy and rapture of having their attention. Of being used. Then morning came or they’d fall asleep and I’d slink back home, usually crying, and reeking of sweat, sex, and shame.

It took many years before I could exorcise the majority of my demons. I’m still working on some of them but, for the most part, the more harmful ones have been laid to rest, among them the desire to be possessed and used by a manboy. For me, I think it was the self-esteem — as broken as a bird’s wing — that kept me from flying away from the rotten stink of self-absorption. Now that I’m older and, hopefully, a bit more self-assured I’m not as prone to the wiles of a bad boy. I’m less vulnerable. But I’ll make this confession to you. Every once in a while I’ll see one bop along and think, “Woof! There goes trouble.” Or, more than likely, “I’d love to break that one!”

The craving and longing will always be there. Now at least, I can recognize it for what it is. Of course, I’m no expert but I do believe that those of us with obsessive tendencies, with addictive behaviors, experience some sort of chemical reaction in the brain and body,  much like the sensations we feel when confronted with a craving.

In a way, the bad boy in my latest release, “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” was modeled after Danny. Angel Rosa is a beautiful, sexy Puerto Rican who lives in Spanish Harlem. He’s perfectly formed, dangerously charismatic, and oozes sex appeal. He’s definitely straight and loves girls but he also knows the score. He’s been around the block and will take head from a guy if the opportunity presents itself, and it does. In the shape of Tracy McCarthy, an 18-year-old crossdressing caucasian virgin boy who’s set his sights on Angel after a chance encounter at the beach.

Tracy seeks out Angel in a trip to Spanish Harlem, hoping to fulfill his fantasy of being taken and thus finally being rid of his virginity. Tracy also meets Angel’s brother, William; a man he never expected and soon desires even more than Angel.

But Tracy also meets Robinson Rosa, the father, and a man who is as richly disturbing as he is arousing. Tracy winds up walking down a very dangerous path that he might not be able to handle.

“The Rosas of Spanish Harlem” is one of the darkest and grittiest stories I’ve ever written. It’s definitely not a “safe, pretty” story. It explores some very deep and disturbing sexual fantasies. One many of us have but might not be willing to talk about. But I’d like to think the story also offers glimmers of hope throughout.

In looking back, and thinking about the story, I’m still possessed by Angel much the way I was possessed by Danny. And it makes me wonder if, perhaps, like Angel, maybe Danny was a victim of his own looks, his own desires. I wonder if Danny, like Angel, was simply dealing with demons of his own and was nothing more than a tortured soul.

 

Great post, Johnny. I found your insights about bad boys -- and our responses to them -- moving.

Guest Post: Horsing Around with Evey Brett

Please join me in welcoming Evey Brett, who's here today to celebrate the release of her novel, Capriole, and talk about some her favorite activities, like practicing yoga with horses. Capriole is available now from Loose Id: http://www.loose-id.com/Capriole.aspx Blurb: After fleeing a brutal mental hospital in Barcelona, Felipe Camarena is trying to forge a new life as a psychology student in San Diego. Trouble is, he has a knack of knowing things he shouldn’t about people, and the all-too-real demons from his past are coming back to haunt him. Professor Lukas von Rainer is a Warden—someone who hunts incubi and tames their sexually ravenous and dangerous offspring. As a fellow Sensitive, Lukas is the only one who can help when Felipe is severely injured by an incubus. He takes Felipe to his ranch in hopes that his Lipizzan horses will help him recover, but Felipe refuses to face his past and attempts to seduce Lukas instead. Lukas fends him off, surprised to find himself falling for the young man he’s vowed to aid. For years, he’s believed a physically satisfying and truly loving relationship is impossible because of his abilities, but is it? He may not get the chance to find out. Even as he and the horses work their magic to heal Felipe, the incubus tracking them means to kill him and anyone who gets in its way. Here's a cool video Evey made about the real stars of her novel.   Suffice to say, I couldn’t have written this book without the horses. Even though the book is paranormal, there’s more truth to it than one might think. My hero Lukas is what’s called a Sensitive—able to know about a person without being told. He’s also a talented energy worker and because of his unique relationship with his Lipizzan horses he’s able to offer Felipe a kind of support and help no human would be able to provide.   Out here near Tucson, humans interact with a herd of nine Lipizzan horses in a unique way we like to call White Horse Yoga. It’s run by a local yoga teacher and we do exercises in the midst of the herd (though not on the ground, of course.) The session ends up being an experience for mental, physical and spiritual well-being. Whether you believe in it or not, horses are very sensitive energetically, and these Lipizzans have been known to point out where a human is sore and how they might be able to adjust themselves to feel better. Sometimes all that’s needed is a few quiet moments to simply be. By the end of the class, most people are a little dazed and reluctant to leave. The horses enjoy the interaction so much they’d rather keep the humans around for a while, especially if they can convince the humans to give them a treat.   For more information (as well as the occasional update from the herd) visit http://www.whitehorseyoga.wordpress.com   And if you’re wondering what a capriole is—it’s there on the cover. A capriole is one of the famous “Airs above the ground.” “A jump in place where the stallion leaps into the air, tucking his forelegs under himself, and kicking out with his hind legs at the height of elevation.” The description says “stallion,” but trust me, Lipizzan mares can do it too.   Here's an excerpt from Capriole: The rest of the day, Lukas wondered if he’d pushed the kid too far. Felipe didn’t emerge from his room except to use the facilities. More than once, Lukas lingered outside the bedroom door, torn between trying to get the kid to talk and leaving him alone. If it were anyone else, Lukas would have at least been able to sense his emotional state, but Felipe retreated behind his icy wall. Other than Lorelei, I’ve never met someone so frustrating.   He almost laughed, as he recalled Michael saying the same thing numerous times. The Chief Warden was his friend, father figure, mentor, and the one man Lukas couldn’t ask for assistance. Lukas was on his own this time, and deep down he knew Michael wanted him to learn a harsh lesson about taking on more than he could handle.   As he took a dinner tray to Felipe, he wondered for a moment if Michael was right. Felipe was damaged, but Lukas also had his attraction to contend with. Lukas wanted him, not because he wanted to be Felipe’s hero and fix him, but because he admired the kid’s strength and intelligence along with his handsome face. Felipe was a survivor, like Rafael, as well as being a fellow Sensitive. He’d be a hell of a Warden one day. The best ones had always seen the worst of mankind.   Balancing the tray on one hand, he knocked with the other. “Ramon? Are you hungry?”   No answer.   “I’ll leave the tray outside your door, then. I’m going to feed the horses now. Why don’t you come with me?”   This time the handle turned. Felipe didn’t meet his gaze, but he took the tray with a mumbled, “Thank you,” and shut the door.   Lukas set a palm against the flat wood. “Ramon? I’m sorry if I scared you. Come with me. It’s nice outside. You don’t have to touch the horses if you don’t want to.”   No response. Lukas sighed, put on his old pair of boots, and went to throw hay. Grady thrust his head over the fence, ears pricked in anticipation. When Lukas went closer, Grady nudged his chest. “Sorry, boy. I couldn’t get him to come out.” Lukas scratched around his ears.   Then he had an idea. He grabbed Grady’s halter and led him out of the arena and toward the house, straight past Felipe’s window. They paused, and Lukas tapped the glass. The curtains parted. For a few seconds, a deep longing crossed Felipe’s face. Grady nosed the window before the curtains swiftly dropped back into place.   “It’s all right,” Lukas told the gelding as he led him back to the arena. “He’ll come see you soon. If I wasn’t afraid you’d step through the floor, I’d take you into his room.”   He tossed hay and grain in the feed bins and let the herd into their stalls. Later he’d come back out and feed them a smaller ration for a snack, but he was exhausted mentally and emotionally from dealing with Felipe and looked forward to a nap before he did so.   He retreated to his room…and found someone already there. Felipe was curled on top of the comforter, deliciously, utterly naked.   With no blankets handy, Lukas grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dropped it over Felipe’s waist. “Go back to your own room.”   The towel fell to the side as Felipe sat up. His posture—a wanton tilt of the head and the unselfconscious way he maneuvered his hips to keep his groin exposed­­—was utterly at odds with his complete lack of emotion. “Isn’t this why you brought me here? So we can be alone?”   “Felipe…” The name slipped out as Lukas took in the handsome, nude body, selfishly wishing he could take advantage of the kid’s offer. It would be wrong, terribly so. He’d be no better than Felipe’s pimp of a brother.   His eyes narrowed. “How did you find out my name?”   Shit. Lukas fought to come up with a reasonable answer. “I heard it while you were ill. I didn’t use it because I was hoping you would trust me enough to tell me.”   “It doesn’t matter whether I do or not, does it? You don’t want me.” Disappointment tinged his voice. His gaze landed on Lukas’s groin, which showed no sign of excitement. “Is it because you’d rather be with a woman?”   “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I’m attracted to both sexes. Besides, I’m a Warden, which means I have a great deal of control over my physical responses.” And it was taking quite a bit of effort to ensure that control.   “I’m not a virgin. I mean…” His voice went flat. “When I worked the streets in Barcelona , I took both men and women.”   “And you were on heroin to endure it.”   “I’ve been clean for three years. And with you…” He met Lukas’s gaze. “I wouldn’t need to be on anything.”   Lukas froze as Felipe stood and placed a hand suggestively against his chest. Progress? In a way—although the kid’s introduction to sex hadn’t set him up for successful relationships.   “I know what you need,” Felipe said. He tangled his fingers in Lukas’s hair, readying him for a kiss. He dropped his hand to Lukas’s waistband and swiftly undid the buttons on his fly.   “Felipe…” Lukas wanted him. More, he longed to take Felipe to bed and show him what love truly meant and what healthy sex was. “I can’t.”   Without letting go, Felipe tucked his head against Lukas’s shoulder. Felipe’s muscles were strong and supple, his body perfect despite the healing cuts. No scars. It moved erotically beneath Lukas’s hands, doing everything a man could want, yet Felipe might as well not have been there. His eyes were vacant, his smile devoid of true pleasure. Many men would have been fooled, but not a Sensitive like Lukas. The kid had walled off the most vulnerable part of himself for protection.   Yet Lukas could sense those trapped emotions welling up and threatening to burst. A simple, insignificant moment could trigger an entire collapse, one that might leave the kid’s mind irreparably broken. If Lukas could find a means of chipping away at the kid’s walls, he might have a chance, but sex was far too intense of a place to begin.   When Felipe cupped Lukas’s cock through his underwear, Lukas grabbed his wrist. “Enough. Go back to bed.”   Felipe’s eyes widened as if he’d been struck. “If you don’t want me, then why am I here?”   Because you’re broken, Lukas wanted to say. Because Padre Rafael left you in my care and I’ve taken a vow to aid those the incubus has affected. Because I want you so badly I can’t stand it. Instead he placed a brief, chaste kiss atop Felipe’s forehead. “I want you to be well and whole. Padre Rafael trusted me with his secrets. I need you to trust me too. Will you?”   His icy exterior cracked just enough for Lukas to get an idea of his physical desire along with the fear and confusion accompanying his body’s need. “You want me. I know you do.”   Lukas took a deep breath, two, before he answered. “I won’t lie. Yes, I want you, but I will not invite you into my bed until you can accept me as a lover and not because you feel obligated to offer yourself. I didn’t bring you here to be my rent boy. Understand?”   Relief flickered in his eyes, though he spoke in the same flat tone as before. “Yo comprende.”   “Good. Now go to bed.” He gave Lukas a view of his lovely smooth buttocks on his way out. Lukas leaned on the nightstand, taking in deep breaths to calm himself. He wanted Felipe as he’d wanted no one else before, yet he couldn’t tell if it was desire or pity. Felipe had been deeply scarred; Rafael had done what he could to heal that hurt, and Lukas wanted to continue that process to the best of his abilities. If Felipe did decide to become a Warden, the training included sex, but that lesson wouldn’t come for some time. Lukas tried to shoo away his disappointment along with his improper thoughts and failed. He’d become a lousy Warden, too infatuated to control himself.   Going to bed was a mistake. Felipe’s scent lingered on the comforter and pillow. Lukas twisted under the sheets, racked with guilt about lusting after the man he couldn’t have and betraying the woman he didn’t love.   Thank you Evey!   Evey Brett's website is: http://www.eveybrett.wordpress.com And you can follow her on Twitter at: @eveybrett

Guest Post: Belinda McBride Takes Friskbiskit to School

Please welcome award-winning author Belinda McBride, who's here today with an insightful post about the art and craft of writing. And please don't miss the excerpt from her recent release, When I Fall, at the bottom of the post.

Writing Right: When Craft Becomes Art

In college, I was initially an English major before switching to history. In my Sophmore poetry class, the professor was an elderly scholar, and to the horror of many students, he insisted that we learn and adhere to classical forms. While we were itching to break loose and write rambling, stream of consciousness masterpieces, he insisted we limit ourselves to the form of the week. I learned rondeaus, triolets, ballad forms, and the dreaded sonnets. At one point, I wrote a lovely triolet titled “Lady of Shalott.” Unfortunately, it was graded down for my grammar.

“But it works!” I argued.

“Yet it’s incorrect,” The professor replied.

In the end, the professor won. I changed the grammar and reluctantly accepted my A- for the week.

At the end of the semester, our best work went to press for the class anthology. And there was my poem, written the way I’d initially composed it. When I asked the prof about if he’d made a mistake, this is what he said:

“You must know the rules before you can break the rules. You were right; the original version works best. But now you know why it works.”

On occasion, I run across the debate about whether an author is an artist or a technician. There seems to be a division…either an author is a wonderful storyteller or a sound technical writer, but rarely both. 

Here’s the thing…as an author, our craft is writing. Just because I can visualize a wonderful image doesn’t mean I have the training to be a painter. The same applies to writing. Yes, it takes talent and artistry to write a story, but more than that, it takes discipline and skill…which are both traits we can learn. 

When we write, we are manipulating words to serve various purposes. We are creating images, developing characters and playing with the emotions of the reader. And yes, much of this can be done via your innate gift with storytelling. However, as writers we have a toolbox. The major tool we use is our knowledge of language. I’m not saying you have to be perfect. After many years in college, I never mastered my commas! What I’m saying is that every writer should understand basic grammar, punctuation and composition. You should continually expand your vocabulary and also learn to cut what doesn’t work. Some of what we love best simply doesn’t work.

Further, learn about the elements of writing within your genre. I write romance. Sometimes its erotic, sometimes its LGBTQ. But it is still romance and I’m bound to the conventions of that genre. That doesn’t mean I won’t push the limits and write out of the box on occasion, but I still know the rules. 

Proper composition doesn’t mean boring writing. In narrative, you can play with meter and rhythm and alliteration. In dialog, your characters can certainly reflect reality and their distinct personalities. So go ahead…have fun. Just take the time to learn the rules…then you can go stomp on them!

Awesome advice, Belinda!

And here's an excerpt from When I Fall:

Blurb:

Sometimes revenge is a kinder fate than justice. – Helios Dayspring

As king, Helios Dayspring is desperate to secure the future of his people and their new homeworld. His memories are slowly returning, bringing with them danger and betrayal. 

As the king’s consort, Griffin Hawke wrestles with growing isolation from his lover. As Helios’ secrets begin to come to light, he finds that he barely recognizes his lover anymore. Griffin is also haunted by his own secrets, as nightmares bring torture and death to his sleep. 

When Helios and Griffin undertake a dangerous journey on behalf of their people, everything they fought for could be lost. Surrounded by enemies and allies, seductive aliens and dangerous operatives, Helios and Griffin find themselves tested to their physical and moral limits. Not knowing who to trust, they can only turn to each other. 

Will you be there to catch me when I fall?

Buy Link: http://www.loose-id.com/When-I-Fall.aspx

Excerpt:

Still on my knees, I pulled out and turned away, angry and afraid at my reaction. Helios did not move from where I left him. I rolled wearily to the soft pillows, my back to him. As my straining heart began to slow, the final rays of sunset slipped way, anchoring us in darkness.

“The dreams started about a month ago. One of the kilij forms…it played over and over in my mind. In my dream, the form translated to words. Poetry. Verses that I am forbidden to say out loud.” He stirred, and I sensed that he was cleaning himself. “From the time I was a child, there was no question of my ever inheriting. Nor would Deirdre…or Markus.”

I knew the traditions of inheritance within the royal family. While the crown didn’t necessarily go to the oldest child, it stayed in the immediate family. Alexander was Helios’s firstborn, but if he felt it was necessary, he could name Deirdre his heir -- or even one of my daughters once he formally adopted them. He and Markus had been distant spares in the game of king making. Only catastrophe could have landed one of them on the throne.

“Though I would never become king, I was trained for royal service. As a tiny child, I learned my first kilij form. That was my induction into the temple.”

“So even when we were in the army together, you knew? You knew they’d call you back to serve the temple?” I could hear the harsh pain in my voice. That wasn’t the question that burned inside me. Helios knew what I was really asking.

“It is the way of our culture for young soldiers to take lovers from within the ranks. We fight bravely when we fight to impress our lover.” He paused, and I could imagine the gentle smile on his face. “But we both knew when we came to adulthood, we’d be expected to end our relationship and marry. That was our duty. Both the king and the temple expected me to marry strategically.”

“Your wife ran from you because it was discovered she was spying on us. In reality…”

“My marriage to Cloris was politics. Not espionage. I did not take advantage of her. You are correct; I was a handler. I had a string of operatives who reported to me. Ironically I was chosen for that role because of my memory. Handlers must remember everything and leave no evidence. The war shattered those networks, and my enslavement left many men and women cut off from our people. They are so anonymous that even with our coded records, we are only beginning to resume contact with some of them.”

He rolled to his side and looked at me soberly. “What I am learning frightens and humbles me, Griffin.”

I sat up and shook my head. “The temple schools… We always laughed at them because the failure rate was so astronomical. Students left the school, joking about the priests and novices. They went back to their lives…”

“And then some vanished. They went to Talis as traders. Some went to space, taking jobs on other planets. They became merchants and craftsmen. They never stayed.”

“Oh shit.” I dropped my head to my hands. “The dropouts…they were your corps of operatives.” The memory of a significant number of temple dropouts seared my mind.

“I am not at liberty to reveal their identities, Griffin, but you are now a general, and as such, are part of the governing structure. The information the temple harvests is shared with the army and the royal advisors.”

“Not the council?”

He hesitated. “No. Not the council. That is no longer their role.”

At some point in the past year, the council had lost their king’s trust. He was actively keeping intelligence from them. What else was Helios keeping from me?

Overwhelmed, I flopped back to the cushions. With my arms crossed behind my head, I looked up into the sky and saw the first stars of the evening flaring to life. Night birds began to sing, and the perfume of flowers tickled my nose. It lacked the lush gardens and forests of Arash, but Neo Domus had magic of its own. In the distance, I heard thunder roll across the sky. The mountains would have rain tonight. In the winter, snow would frost those peaks, perhaps even reach down to our city. The planet was rough, young, and dangerous. I wondered if our skies would remain safe. I rested an arm over my eyes, blocking not only the sky from my view, but my lover as well. My mind raced, one thought skittering off another, until I dropped my arm and once again looked up at the sky.

Helios rose and straddled my hips. His hair trailed down either side of his body, and as he moved, it brushed my skin. He leaned forward and framed my face with his hands.

“Oh, my beautiful man.” His voice was a heartbroken sigh in the night air.

Normally I’d have laughed that off. Tonight, the mood was too heavy. Helios studied my face while brushing his hands into my hair. They were hard and calloused now, so different from the soft delicacy they’d had just a year ago. He loved me; it was there in his expressive eyes, mingling with the growing knowledge that all was not well between the two of us. I’d always loved Helios, even when we butted heads and jockeyed for dominance. But I’d fallen in love with the man who’d been Pasha, the slave and whore. Now it seemed yet another version of Helios was emerging. It was a version of the man I’d forced him to become when I brought him home.

Helios tilted his head and feathered his lips over mine. He nuzzled gently, then explored the planes of my cheek, kissing along the seam of the scar that snaked out from under my eye patch. His kisses were chaste, and his love was healing. The tight hold of anger slipped away, and I reached up and pulled him down to lie atop my body.

He slid down and rested his head over my heart. We lay under Neo Domus’s golden moons, clothed only in warm breezes and the silk of his hair. 

Mmm. "Clothed only in warm breezes and the silk of his hair." That's lovely Belinda. Thank you so much for visiting!

Belinda McBride lives in far northern California with her family and an unruly pack of Siberian Huskies. You can find out more about her writing by visiting her website:
http://www.belindamcbride.com 
Or her blog:
http://www.belindam.blogspot.com

 

Guest Post: Tara Lain Starts a Fire!

It's Valentines Day and I've got a special treat in store. Please join me in welcoming the best-selling, award-winning Tara Lain back to the Biskit! It's always a delight to have Tara visit, she brings such magnificent friends with her. Today she'll be talking about her new bestseller, Fire Balls, and sharing some three-alarm hotties with us while she's at it.

Take it away Tara!

Hi Jessica and all my friends at Friskbiskit. Happy Valentine’s Day! It is so good to be back here.

I gotta tell you I have learned a lot since I saw you last and one thing I know for sure is that women LOVE firefighters. I asked my readers to complete the sentence “I am looking forward to the release of Tara Lain’s new book, Fire Balls, because…”And what were their answers? My grand prose?  Nope. Nine out of ten said hot firefighters!

What is it do you think? The fact that they have to be so physically fit for the job? The idea that they are risking their lives somehow for us (think Last of the Mohicans, “Just stay alive. I will find you!”)? The fact that they all group together in one big homoerotic bundle?

Well, in honor of Valentine’s Day I have supplied some pictures of firefighters for Jessica to scatter through this post as she sees fit. The pictures have no significance beyond sheer yumminess. Enjoy while I tell you about my new release, Fire Balls. 

In Fire Balls, Rodney, a tiny, flamboyant artist who happens to also be a black belt in karate, has a passion for a hunky firefighter. But you know I love the unexpected, so my firefighter, Hunter, is not the stereotype. He loves to read poetry and secretly yearns to be a teacher. But he’s plenty alpha enough for Rod. Problem is, Rod thinks Hunter could never want him so, when his friend Jerry develops an unexpected crush on the fire guy, Rod helps Jerry woo him--while breaking his own heart. None of these pictures are quite as gorgeous as Hunter but still mighty pretty. Enjoy!

Would you like to win a copy of Fire Balls? Enter my contest. I’m having a drawing this coming Friday. Leave a comment here with your email and you’ll be entered in that drawing. Go over to my Contest Blog and leave another comment with your email and you will be entered Again. And there are more chances to Win. Go to my Web Site and look under events. It’s all there.  First leave your comment here. And don’t forget your email.  And thank you to Jessica for hosting me and to you for coming to say hi.  :  )

Excerpt: Fire Balls by Tara Lain  -- MM Contemporary

Available from Etopia Press at: Amazon 

Rodney Mansfield is tiny, flamboyant and, oh yeah, a black belt in karate. He is also one of southern California’s greatest artists. Too bad the work of art he really wants is firefighter, Hunter Fallon. But the gorgeous “straight gay” guy could never want the Runtback of Notre Dame, so when Rodney’s handsome, surfer friend, Jerry, develops an unexpected passion for the beautiful firefighter, Rodney breaks his own heart by helping Jerry land his man. And then Rod makes it worse by embarrassing Hunter when he protects him from a firehouse bully. Hunter hates gay guys like Rodney – doesn’t he? Then why can’t he get the powerful pipsqueak’s face out of his mind… and cock out of his ass? And why does he risk his job and his life to rescue Rod from a burning building? Isn’t it time for him to admit he’s not an alpha male after all and that he is the property of the artist?

 

“So what the hell is a poet doing in the fire department?”

“There’s a lot of poetry in fire.”

“Sure, darling, if you’re staring at a fireplace with a glass of wine!”

Hunter laughed, which seemed to drain a little of the tension. “I became a firefighter for my dad. Kind of living his dream because he wasn’t able to. He’s confined to a wheelchair.”

Interesting. “That’s great for him, but what’s your dream?”

“Making him happy, I guess. Not disappointing him.”

The boy was cracked. Rod put his hands on his hips. “Shit, darling, you can’t live someone else’s dream.”

The words hung in the air. 

“I’ve got to try.” Hunter’s words were barely audible.

Rodney dropped his brush in the turp. Somebody had to get through to the man. He took a step forward. “Tell me what you would do if you didn’t have to think about anyone but yourself.”

Hunter shook his head slowly.

He took another step. “Tell me, dammit.” 

The blue eyes looked startled. “I’d teach. I’d teach literature, maybe in college.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard.”

“Doesn’t change anything.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. Declaration is a big step in the battle. If you can say it out loud, you can manifest it.” He took another step. “Do you know what my father wanted me to be?”

“What?”

“A lawyer. A fucking lawyer, probably so I could keep the bastard out of jail when he cheated his customers. He wanted to pay for me to go to fucking Stanford Law.”

“Wow. You turned him down?”

“Do I look like a lawyer to you?” He struck his favorite pose à la Marilyn Monroe. “I worked my ass off to put myself through art school. I waited tables and painted pictures of people’s pets to make extra money. I even appeared in a drag show one time.” 

“No shit?”

“You should hear me sing 'Let Me Entertain You.' But my point is, it’s your life and you have to live it. You probably don’t get another chance and even if you do, you won’t be conscious of it, so this is it, darling. Get on with it.”

“Yeah, but my dad is different.”

“I’m sure he is, and I’m happy for you.” He moved closer. “And you know what my father mostly wanted me to be?”

“What? I mean you’re a great artist, he must have seen that and wanted that.”

“No, you know what he wanted me to be so much he would have given every dime he had to make it so?”

Hunter shook his head, eyes wide.

“He wanted me to be not gay.”

Hunter stared. “My dad too.”

Shit. Rod was now at the platform’s edge. “So that’s it. You make up to your dad for being gay by putting on this damned hero fireman act when you want to read your books in the sunshine and teach a few kids about immortality. Right?”

Hunter shook his head.

“I said right?” Rod was beside Hunter now. Within reach. “Say I’m right.” He climbed up the platform’s step. “Your dad doesn’t want you to be gay, so you don’t want to be gay. But there’s not one fucking thing you can do about it so you compromise the whole rest of your life trying to make up for the way God made you. Say I’m right.”

Hunter dropped down onto one elbow. “You’re right.”

“Louder. I can’t hear you.”

“You’re right, dammit.” 

His knee hit the daybed and in a fast two count his body pressed down onto Hunter’s, his hands grabbing the other man’s head. Holy shit, what was he doing? Mouth to mouth got a whole new meaning. Jesus, he was starving and Hunter Fallon was the only food. 

Forcing Hunter’s lips open, Rod’s tongue pressed deep, deeper, and he licked the inside of the sweetest mouth he had ever known. Hunter’s tense body gradually relaxed against Rod’s, then began to writhe. Oh shit, Hunter’s hips pressed hard against Rodney, who couldn’t miss the steel of that hot cock. 

 

More About Tara:

Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with EROM in 2009 and, through perseverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote published in January of 2011. Then she capped off the year by being voted Best Author of 2011 in the LRC Awards and had her Genetic Attraction Series named runner-up for Best Series of 2011! A very good year. After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas, she says on her tombstone it will read, “Yes”.

E-mail:                   [email protected]

Website:              http://www.taralain.com

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Guest Post: Jan Irving in Ravenna

I'm a big Jan Irving fan, so it's a particular pleasure to welcome her back to Friskbiskit for a guest post. Jan's going to take to us today about her new release, and the travel she did to research it. Take it away Jan!

Cowboy in Ravenna: Foreman Trinity March has always taken care of the boss's son, impulsive, passionate Chace Davidson. He knew Chace was his mate the moment he taught him to ride but he figures he's not good enough for Chace.

Chace aches for Trin but when he runs off to Italy to lose his embarrassing virginity Trin follows, just like always, under orders from Chace's father to 'straighten' Chace out. Good luck, since now that Shadow shifter Trin knows how much Chace aches for a lover, he just might take what he has always wanted.  

Cowboy in Ravenna is available here: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1538

 

My second choice of career if I hadn't been a writer would have been archeologist. When I arrived in Ravenna, Italy still dazed from the long travel time, I felt like I woke up only as I knelt and studied the mosaic flooring in a villa from the first century called the House of Carpets. 

Months after my experience in Italy, I wanted to write it into one of my stories. It came alive for me in a whole new way when I travelled back with artistic Chace Davidson and ranch foreman Trinity March, who feels out of his element as a hick American. Chace sits in the same place where I sat in the House of Carpets and sketches the flooring…until Trinity March takes Chace's face in his palms, looks into his eyes and gives him his first kiss.

Trinity and Chace may stay in the same room where I stayed, but the strange and erotic encounter they have there is definitely their own. When they visit Italy, it's the Italy of shapeshifters, the Italy of being devoted to someone.

I read recently that to travel is to experience something slightly dangerous, because you are off your common ground. You don't know the places, the people, the routine. In this way, everything is enhanced. I tried to put those moments of intensity into my latest Uncommon Cowboys story.

 

Excerpt from A Cowboy in Ravenna:

Ravenna reminded Trin of a university town with its long avenues of campus-like buildings, some constructed out of dusty, mud-coloured brick. “That’s an early Roman church.” Chace pointed as they walked. “See the dome?”

It wasn’t very impressive from the outside, kind of lumpy with a single squat tower but it did look old, Trin guessed. “We’re going carpet shopping?” he asked, rubbing his stiff neck. 

“Carpet shopping?” Chace grinned. “Like I’d take you shopping. You hate that. If you’d use your BlackBerry properly, you could read my email with all the travel stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“You still don’t know how.” Chace sighed. “You and technology, I swear.”

“I don’t like new stuff.”

“Then you should like what we’re going to see now.” They hopped over slick tiles that led to the massive door of the church Chace had pointed out. Trin thought there were a lot of churches in Italy. In White Deer, Montana, there were only two.

“The carpets are in here?” When they entered, he automatically removed his cowboy hat, wishing he hadn’t brought it since it probably made him look even more like an American hick, but it was a part of him, soft and broken in, and Chace thought it might be good when the weather got hot. Not that that was a problem today. It was still raining.

He looked around, seeing a typical sanctuary with flickering candles and shadowy spaces. 

“Follow me,” Chace said softly.

He still didn’t see any carpets, but followed Chace through the church and then down some stairs. He smelt earth and old burials, his wolf senses not liking this place. 

“Oh my God,” Chace whispered.

Trin’s eyes widened as he saw what had transfixed Chace—the undulating geometric carpets of mosaics, knots and chevrons in tiny blue-grey, sand, yellow and brown squares. He realised it was a floor plan for a large building as he walked behind Chace, just as fascinated by his young human’s reaction as he was by the musky remains of a villa.

“I can’t believe I was on that plane trying to get some sleep and now I’m here,” Chace said. He knelt on the wooden walkway. “Trin, it’s like this is who I really am. Not what my father wants me to be. Not how I’m lacking.”

“Just a damned minute,” Trin growled, kneeling beside Chace so he could see Trin was deadly serious. “You’re not lacking anything because law school isn’t for you and you don’t want to run the ranch. Hell, you can just hire a good foreman.”

“I have a good foreman.” Chace held his gaze. “I think Dad’s still pissed off since Mom left me the land. When I’m twenty-one it all goes to me and there is no way I can make that up to him, unless I sign it over like he wants.”

“No, Chace. It’s your father who needs to find his own life.”

Chace looked startled. “I never thought of it that way before.”

Trin pulled out a drawing pad and a pencil from his bag, handing them to Chace.

Chace raised a brow. “You brought that for me?”

“I can only draw stick cowboys and cattle, remember? I bet you want to capture this floor. I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive. Thanks for showing it to me, Chace.”

Chace might have looked a little washed out from all the travel, but his eyes were happier than Trin had ever seen them as he opened the pad and began to sketch. 

Despite wanting Chace’s happiness more than anything, seeing him like this wrenched something in Trin’s chest. Would Chace be content to return to White Deer after coming to Italy? 

“It’s hard not to break the rules here,” Chace said, pencil making soft shushing sounds across paper, abstracted smile tugging his lips. 

Trin wanted Chace so much when he was so fully himself, so into what he was doing. Trin translated that into wondering if Chace would make love with the same kind of focus. Trin had to escape this small space, get some air, or he might do something he’d regret. 

“What rules?” he asked.

“This one.” Chace’s warm lips brushed his. 

Life shot through Trin. His chest heaved as he stared at Chace.

Chace was breathing hard too. “I’m sorry! I needed to do that, just once.” He covered his face. “God, I’m sorry.”

Trin noticed that the only other couple touring the site were just leaving, so they’d probably missed Chace kissing him. He opened his mouth to tell Chace he was impulsive, but instead he took in Chace’s slumped posture.

He didn’t like it.

“If you’re going to kiss a man, kiss him right,” he said.

“Trin,” Chace whispered. “I don’t know how. I’ve never…” 

“I know you haven’t.” And his dick loved the idea of Chace’s virgin state. 

He cupped Chace’s cheeks in his big hands and leaned his forehead against the younger man’s, breathing in his scent, taking the time to appreciate how Chace’s skin felt smooth under work-worn finger tips. 

“I can’t be your boyfriend,” Trin told Chace, told himself.

Chace’s gaze dropped. “I know.”

Trin swallowed. His hands were shaking. “But I can give you a few pointers, I guess. Lesson one is you don’t need to sneak a kiss from a man you like. If he’s got any backbone and he likes you back, he’ll want you to kiss him.”

Chace’s skin heated, and a blush spread down his neck and upper chest. Trin wanted to rip off Chace’s T-shirt and kiss that tell of his arousal.

“Start off slow. Take the time to appreciate who you’re holding in your arms.” Trin nuzzled Chace’s neck, whiskers rasping against Chace’s softer skin. Chace had always bemoaned the fact he barely had to shave, but Trin thought it was sexy. Hell, everything about Chace was sexy.

“Trin…” Trembling in Trin’s arms, Chace’s breath was a hot tattoo. However slow and gentle Trin wanted to take it, Chace was wild.

“Easy.” He kissed Chace’s forehead and the corner of his mouth. Trin opened Chace’s mouth with a firm hand on his jaw, sliding his tongue in confidently. Chace curled his fists in Trin’s T-shirt as he rubbed himself against him. He sucked Trin’s tongue as if desperate for penetration.

 

Wow. That is so tender, and hot!

Jan Irving has worked in all kinds of creative fields, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing was always her passion. She feels you can’t fully understand characters until you follow their journey through a story world. Many kinds of worlds interest her, fantasy, historical, science fiction and suspense—but all have one thing in common, people finding a way to live together—in the most emotional and erotic fashion possible, of course!  Find out more about Jan's work here: www.janirvingwrites.com

Guest Post: Heidi Belleau and Violetta Vane

It's my pleasure to welcome authors Heidi Belleau and Violetta Vane to the blog today. They're here to share with us some of the prison slang they learned while researching The Saturnalia Effect, their new release from Storm Moon Press. It's an M/M seasonal contemporary with fantasy elements.

Heidi and Violetta are giving away a free ebook copy of The Saturnalia Effect to one lucky Friskbiskit commenter. Just leave a comment here with your email and your favourite slang word (prison or otherwise) to be entered! They’ll pick a winner on boxing day as a belated Christmas present!

Here's a blurb and a buy link:

Troy Khoury is serving a life sentence in Westgate prison for a robbery gone wrong. He just wants to keep his head down and do his time, but he runs afoul of an old-timer named Franchetti. Franchetti offers Troy a simple choice: kill fellow inmate Daniel Amato by Christmas in exchange for protection, or be tortured and raped to death by Franchetti's heavy, Pliers. Troy's no killer, though, and Daniel is as gentle and calm as can be. But a prison is a small place, and time is running out. Troy must decide how much he's willing to sacrifice before the choice is taken from him.

Buy link: http://stormmoonpress.com/books/The-Saturnalia-Effect.aspx.

Violetta and Heidi want you to know that purchasing directly from Storm Moon Press gets you the free erotic bonus short “Pretty Things,” starring Troy and Daniel, that you won’t find anywhere else. I'll add that buying direct from the publisher also means more of your money goes to the authors.

Oh, and don't miss the excerpt from The Saturnalia Effect at the bottom of the post.

So, Heidi and Violetta, what did you learn while researching prison life and how did you incorporate it into the book?

One of the most important aspects of capturing an individual character’s essence is giving them an authentic, distinct voice. Now I’m not referring to painstakingly writing out a person’s accent phonetically (although if your name’s Diana Gabaldon, you can get away with that sort of thing), but to issues of dialect and word usage. So many things influence the language we use: who raised us and where, our ethnicity, our country of origin, the people we spend time with, our level of education, whether we’re rural or urban, what time period or generation we come from, etc. A college-educated middle-aged WASP living in upstate New York is going to have a completely different voice compared to an immigrant from Hong Kong freshly arrived in Toronto, or a working class Londoner trying to make his way in the 1940s. If you don’t have distinct character voices, your writing can feel flat to your general audience and alienating or even insulting to the people you’re trying to represent. 

There is a rich wealth of dialects and vocabularies a writer can draw on to make their dialogue dynamic. And since we love to represent multicultural relationships in our stories, we’re constantly finding new ways to bring character voices to life, and learning new corners of language in the process. For The Saturnalia Effect, set in New York’s fictional Westgate Correctional Facility, we got to try our hands at prison slang. Here are a few words you might find useful to know as you’re following the story of Troy’s first maximum security Christmas:

Fish/New Fish: This one’s basic, but vital. A “fish” refers to an inmate who’s new to the prison system. It’s a term that doesn’t just mean newly arrived, but implies that the person in question doesn’t even understand the basics of prison life or culture. He or she doesn’t know the lingo, the unwritten rules, the hierarchies, where to sit, who to avoid, etc. Not surprisingly, a lack of knowledge makes for an easy target. Troy Khoury, the main character of “The Saturnalia Effect”, is a fish. Although he makes an earnest effort at staying out of trouble, his naivete means that trouble often finds him.

CO: Short for “Correctional Officer”, AKA a prison guard. Not surprisingly, more seasoned prisoners have a whole slew of unflattering terms: “screw” is one such commonly heard but out-of-fashion term. In “The Saturnalia Effect”, different COs are known by their reputations. Kowalsky seems to be the nicest of the bunch, for a guard at least, while Johnson is a well-known asshole who abuses his power. Winters is neither nice nor cruel, but he’s got a reputation for paying favors, so inmates try to stay on his good side.

Segregation/Solitary/The Hole: Segregation is a form of punishment where prisoners who’ve broken rules have further privileges removed to the point that they are put in “solitary confinement”: complete isolation without entertainment or human company for days on end. These cells are sometimes referred to by convicts as “the hole”. The hole can be used to penalize prisoners, but can also be used to protect the person segregated from other prisoners or themselves (in the case of suicide watches). In Federal prison, these cells are referred to as “Special Housing Units”. Troy and the man he’s supposed to kill, Daniel Amato, both do time in solitary. 

Lockdown: A term for when all prisoners are confined to their cells; all visits are cancelled and all communication is cut off. Prison officials will often declare a lockdown when gang violence seems about to explode, or if a riot looks imminent. It’s a major hardship for most prisoners, although some, like Troy, welcome being isolated and cut off from other, more violent inmates.

Cellie: A cellmate. One of the most important prison relationships, for obvious reasons. Most cells in US prisons are small and overcrowded, and sometimes cells designed for only one inmate end up housing two or even three. Daniel, who’s serving a life sentence and has a fair amount of prison clout, has a cell of his own, although he still has to share it with a cellie. Troy has no such luck. He sleeps in a dormitory. Prison overcrowding is often bad enough that even maximum-security inmates can be housed in dormitories.

Punk: In prison, as in the real-world, rape isn’t just about sex, but about power (to support a great organization dedicated to stopping prison rape in both male and female prisons, please visit Just Detention International; its initiatives are also transgender-inclusive). Especially in male prisons, rape serves to reinforce hierarchies among prisoners. In this context, the “punk” is at the bottom of the food chain: a physically weaker inmate, often but not always a fish, who is the victim of prison rape. The punk can end up belonging to a single man or to a whole gang. For a pretty-boy like Troy, with few resources, in a prison full of criminals much more violent than he is, becoming a punk is almost inevitable. 

Daddy: A stronger male inmate who becomes the dominant partner in a prison relationship, protecting the more submissive partner. But the word “protection” can mean a lot of things, including out and out abuse. There are a wide variety of relationships in prison, including totally consensual agreements typical of minimum-security prisons, but exploitative relationships are common among men who are used to violence. Troy is looking for protection; Daniel can provide protection. Can what they have together transcend that simple, brutal fact? 

And there you have it! Just a small taste of prison language and culture. Thanks for reading, and thanks to Jessica Freely for hosting us!

You're so welcome you two. That was fascinating.

Follow Heidi and Violetta on Twitter for more news and goodies: @HeidiBelleau and @ViolettaVane. 

And here's a steamy (literally) excerpt from The Saturnalia Effect: 

So maybe Daniel had a hunch about what he was up to. But if Troy pushed him hard enough, pushed him just right, it might not matter. Make him think with his dick instead of his head. Yeah. The time for slow, coy seduction had passed.

He looked down at the neat little pile he'd made of his boxers and jumpsuit, sneakers on top. Smoothed his hands down his thighs. He could hear the water from the showers hitting the tiles, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was rain.

He hadn't had a single shower since coming to Westgate. He'd been washing himself at a laundry room sink instead, with a sliver of soap and a scratchy handtowel, braving the bitterly cold water just enough to keep from getting ripe. The reputation prison showers had on the outside was well earned—except that in the real world, you didn't actually need to drop the soap to end up... well. Doubly so for guys like him. He'd put a lot of effort into not getting himself into that situation.

Now he was going in with the exact opposite intention.

A smothering wall of steam hit him face-on. He pushed ahead, heading straight for the back of the room, far past the comfort of an easy escape route. He had to fight every instinct and habit he'd carefully built up since coming here. If he could have worn shoes in here, he would have. 

"Work it, girl!" came the first catcall. He barely flinched; he'd known that was coming. He'd seen the looks they all gave him in the TV room, the cafeteria, every shared space he dared to enter. It had always only been a matter of time.

Whoa. What a cliff hanger. I'm dying to know what happens next.

Guest Post: Allie Ritch

 

I'm so pleased to welcome the awesome Allie Ritch to Friskbiskit. Allie writes erotic paranormal and science fiction romance, which we just happen to have a soft spot for around here. Her most recent release, Love & Torment, came out from Cobblestone Press on Dec. 7 and has a hot premise:

In a dangerous world of secrets and corruption, Kira has a unique method for getting information from prisoners. She uses her psychic ability to torture them with sexual desire. But when she interrogates Dixon Hazard, she finds herself fighting her own arousal as he captures her heart.

Tortured with sexual desire! Yay!

Allie's got a great post for us about labels and their limits. Take it away, Allie!

Hi, everybody. I really enjoyed writing Love & Torment. This novella-length work is fully character driven and works much like a drama set in just one room. Or in this case, just one bed. 

When Jessica invited me to do this blog, I started thinking about what I have to say as a writer. Literary people love to throw around the word “theme.” I can’t say that I ever set out to give my stories any deep, serious themes. I’m more concerned with having a good time and making sure I entertain my readers, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some common themes running through my work.  

  

Without getting too serious, I thought I’d talk about one of those themes. It’s this: labels don’t define people. No, I don’t mean those itchy tags in the back of your shirt. I’m talking about social labels.

 

Interestingly enough, the labels we use for people (real or fictional) tend to tell you what the person is not. For example, think about the label “gay male.” Okay, that doesn’t tell you who this guy is. Is he funny or serious, kind or cruel? We don’t know. Since it doesn’t mean he’s attracted to every man on the planet, it doesn’t even tell us what he is. But it does tell us what he is not. He’s not sexually attracted to women. That’s not much of a descriptor and certainly not something that should be used to pigeonhole a whole person or character.

 

Obviously labels for race, religion, and sexual orientation are the biggies. I would also add gender to that list—something I played with in my female-dominated society in Switching Positions. Other labels are subtler.

 

In Love & Torment, my characters defy labels at every turn. Dixon Hazard is labeled a prisoner, yet he’s not powerless. He uses his wits and the attraction between him and Kira to connect with her and turn the tables. Although he’s the one bound and naked, she’s the one who is vulnerable because he sees through her dominant, jaded façade. Kira is psychic, equipped with the ability to control arousal and orgasm, but that’s just a talent she has. Her personality is really revealed by how she uses that talent.

 

No label can tell us who we are. Only our actions and choices can do that. Why should fictional characters be any different?

 

Thanks, Jessica, for inviting me over to Friskbiskit. I’m delighted to be a part of your diverse and entertaining site.

Thank you, Allie!

 

Tomorrow: Allie Ritch Guest Blogs

In other news, author Allie Ritch will be a guest here tomorrow. I'm very excited! Allie hosted a cool promo a few weeks ago where we gave her some of our favorite lines from our books. Kind of a group Word Candy Wednesday. You should check it out, and you should come back here tomorrow to read what she has to say about labelling. It's a great post.

The Clockwork Author: An Interview with Steven Harper

Steven and I go way back to when we were both in the Untitled Writer's Group together. He's a great writer and a wonderful friend and it's a particular pleasure to welcome him to the blog today. Steven has a new book out and it sounds terrific, so, Steven, without further ado, tell us about THE DOOMSDAY VAULT. We're in London, 1867.  Alice Michaels is the daughter of a down-and-out baron.  She and her father are social outcasts because the rest of her family died of the clockwork plague.  It was years ago and she doesn't have the disease, but polite society won't touch her now anyway.  In desperation, Alice's father wrangles her an invitation to one last high-society ball in the hope she can break back into the right crowd.  She does meet a rather nice young man, but on the way home, she's attacked by zombies, and-- Wait--clockwork plague?  Zombies? Yeah.  About a hundred years ago, a new plague tore through the world.  It eats the brain and the body, causing oozing sores and dementia.  Out of that, you get zombies.  Everyone calls it the clockwork plague because for maybe one victim in a hundred thousand, the plague makes the brain come together instead of fly apart, and the victim becomes absolutely brilliant--but only for a short time.  For a few months they invent like crazy--automatons, coal-driven computers, clockwork animals--then go completely insane and die. Mad scientists. We call them clockworkers, to be polite.  Clockwork plague.  At any rate, Alice runs into an underground police force called the Third Ward.  They . . . harvest clockworkers and their inventions for the good of the British Empire.  And they want Alice to work for them. Meanwhile, a young man named Gavin Ennock, who is seventeen, works as a cabin boy on an American airship.  En route to England, the ship is captured by pirates.  Gavin eventually escapes into the mean streets of London, but his only other skill is playing the fiddle, and he's in dire straits.  No money, no shelter, no job, and winter is coming.  He has undeveloped talents, though, and he eventually comes to the Third Ward's attention.  Trouble is, the Third Ward has a number of secrets, ones that can topple empires.  Alice and Gavin are in more trouble than they know. How did you get started writing steampunk? I'd read quite a lot of steampunk, and then was invited to submit to a steampunk anthology called THE SHADOW CONSPIRACY at Book View Café.  I wrote a novella called "The Soul Jar," and it was so much fun, I had to do more.  At first I thought about writing more in the same universe as "The Soul Jar," but that was fraught with legal complications--SHADOW is a shared-universe anthology--so I created my own world.  I was glad I did.  THE SHADOW CONSPIRACY is still available, incidentally, at http://www.bookviewcafe.com Where did THE DOOMSDAY VAULT come from? That annoying DHX noise.  You know, that electronic sound they used to play at the beginning of movies?  My son is autistic and that noise causes him active pain--autists process sensory information differently than neuro-typical people.  I started researching sound as a result and learned that the DHX noise is based on something called a Shepard tone.  It's the auditory equivalent of a barber's pole, which has no beginning and no end.  More reading turned up the relationship between the Shepard tone, the square root of two, and a tritone, which is sometimes called the Devil's Interval because it's so ugly.  The tritone is a paradox--its vibration rate is based on the square root of two, an irrational number.  Irrational numbers can't quite exist, but they do.  I wondered if that paradox caused the pain for my son.  His autism gives him perfect pitch, you see, and he's hyper-aware of the impossibility in a Shepard tone. And then the book started to come together.  I created Gavin, a young man with perfect pitch (but who isn't autistic) and a group of mad scientists who can't bear the sound of a tritone.  I created Alice, a woman who wants back into a society she dislikes--another paradox.  The story went from there. You often explore non-traditional relationships in your fiction. Your Silent Empire series, for example, revolves around a gay male couple.  Is that true for THE DOOMSDAY VAULT, too? I can't seem to work with traditional relationships.  (laughs)  It's true, yes.  Alice is in her twenties, and she meets Gavin when he's only seventeen.  They fall for each other pretty hard. A younger man with an older woman. Yep.  It's another paradox, actually.  I ran into controversy with this even before the book was published.  My editor said she wanted to buy the book but felt Gavin was too young for Alice.  My writers group criticized this aspect of the book for the same reason, claiming it was too squicky for a twenty-something woman to get into a relationship with a seventeen-year-old guy.  I pointed out that in the Victorian era, no one would have said a word if Gavin were in his twenties and Alice were seventeen.  Why should there be a problem for modern readers with the reverse?  Aren't we all for equality?  This inequality, of course, causes conflict in Alice and Gavin's relationship, since the Victorians would have objected to the relationship, too.   In order to placate my editor, I did have Gavin turn eighteen soon after he and Alice meet, and a year passes in the book, so he's actually nineteen some time into their relationship, but some of my beta readers still protested.  Interesting, isn't it? What do you do when you aren't writing? My day job is teaching high school English.  And I've recently become a single dad.  Between the day job and three sons, I'm pretty busy.  I ride my bike and play City of Heroes, the on-line video game, when I have a little free time. What's up next? I just turned in the final version of THE IMPOSSIBLE CUBE, the second Clockwork Empire book.  It's due out in May, 2012.  Now I'm working on THE DRAGON MEN, the third book.  Watch for them! Thank you, Steven Harper. Steven Harper usually lives at http://www.theclockworkempire.com and http://spiziks.livejournal.com .  His steampunk novel THE DOOMSDAY VAULT, first in the Clockwork Empire series, hit the stores in print and electronic format November 1.