Daventry Blue: Eric Arvin And The Useless Magnificence

This Week's Bullet Points

2012-02-02T11:44:00.000-08:00

1. Unique Eats/Sweets are the most dangerous programs on TV. If I get diabetes it's their doing.

2. I was thinking of heading to the Rainbow Book Fair in NYC this March, but money and my damn foot may put a wrench in my plans. We shall see.

3. My "U" key is almost completely useless now on my laptop. I have to put all my body weight on it for the damn letter to show its smiling, narrow face. Ass.

4. Signed the contract for SuburbaNights with Dreamspinner Press. I have a trilogy!

5. The first language to get a translated version of Simple Men is...Italian! Woot! I loves me some Italians!

Foot Note 3

2012-02-01T14:01:00.000-08:00

Got an ortho appointment with a general foot doctor. He won't be able to really help me too much, but I had to get in the Ortho Indy system by seeing any other doctor before I can be scheduled to see the doctor I actually need. So says my insurance. Go figure. Oh well. At least it's a step forward.

Ready Set Go

2012-01-31T07:12:00.000-08:00

Foot Note 2

2012-01-30T09:22:00.000-08:00

Contacted Ortho Indy today to ask if they've had the chance to look over my case. They told me they had yet to receive anything from my ortho beyond a referral. They need the office notes. So, I left a message with my ortho via both email and phone to fax those notes ASAP. Since April, folks. I've been waiting to see a surgeon since April.

Goals

2012-01-29T06:06:00.000-08:00

This year I have set goals for myself. I don't normally do this, but this year I felt like I needed to. I have become very...apathetic lately. Everything is a shrug. When life becomes boring you must give it a shake, a slap, or a tickle. Apathy is not attractive.

So, I sat myself down at the beginning of this month and gave myself a stern talking to. There was name-calling and vases thrown, there were fist fights and insults, but after all was said and done I came up with FOUR things I hope to accomplish by year's end.

The first of these is getting my ankle and foot properly seen to and hopefully fixed for good. It wasn't until last year that I was told there was a surgery that cold possibly help me. My response: "Well, fuck! Why wasn't I told about this before?" I got the name of a good surgeon from my orthopedist and tried FOR MONTHS to get in to see him. If you are a regular reader of this blog you know how that went. Now I've contacted another doctor and so far this one is much quicker. He's looking over my ortho's notes now to decide if I'm someone he can help. I haven't heard from his office in a week, though, so I might give him a call tomorrow.

My second goal is to find a new living situation. Because of money and a few other disasters, I've had to move back into my parents' home. This is not ideal, but it is necessary. Before the year is out I plan to either have a new apartment or an add-on to the house. I've already looked into the latter and it's do-able. I might even get French doors that lead onto the deck. I'm gonna feel so fancy! I'll know more tomorrow.

Goal numero three is accomplished. I wanted to have my surreal horror/magical realist novel The Mingled Destinies of Crocodiles & Men. This is my baby. I found a wonderful editor who is not shy with the red ink. Now, I need to get the book published.

My final goal of the year is to get back into the bodybuilding regime - the workout and diet - I once had. That said, I don't think I'll ever be huge like Ahnold, but I would like to see just how large I can get. In March I hope to start really getting into the regime full-force. I might even look into getting some new equipment for garage/barn/gym.

I'm excited about this. It's the end of January and I'm already 25 percent done. Excellent, Dante! I'm certain there will be some bumps along the way, but such is life, right? I'll keep you all informed of my progress. Cross those appendages that can be crossed.

Potpourri of Pretty

2012-01-28T06:42:00.000-08:00

10 Confessions

2012-01-27T08:31:00.000-08:00

I got this email thingy from a friend, so I thought I'd play along:

1. I haven't been to a movie theater since 2003.

2. I've never read Catcher in the Rye.

3. Mariah Carey? Mariah I-Don't-Carey. Blech!

4. I HATE being in crowds of people. It makes me very dizzy.

5. I have no idea what looks good on me and haven't been clothes shopping in years.

6. I smile entirely too much. It's deceiving.

7. I have arguments with people I have never met. I usually win these.

8. I posed nude in Italy, then had my salad tossed by the artist.

9. I swear that I am giving up writing at least 5 times a year.

10. When we were kids, my two brothers and I went to a costume party as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the bible. We were accused of wearing dresses. I looked fabulous.

This Week's Bullet Points

2012-01-26T08:04:00.000-08:00

1. Downloaded the new Joseph Arthur 2-disc work, Redemption City, from his site FOR FREE, thanks to a heads up from Chris at Stumbling Over Chaos. Very experimental stuff, with at least three real gems.

2. Finished Brandon Witt's Submerging Inferno. A wonderful debut novel about demons, vampires, and witches.

3. The Airborne Toxic Event covers my favorite song, "Boots of Spanish Leather," on the new Bob Dylan/Amnesty International covers project. Awesome.

4. Having found a kickass editor, I have been revising my epic manuscript, The Mingled Destinies of Crocodiles & Men all week. I see red! Literally. It's like a bloodbath here!

5. Alcatraz: Glower, Sam Neil! Glower!

6. Does John Williams need to be Oscar nominated for EVERY piece of music he writes?

7. I have not seen Albert Nobbs, but I have to say, I was quite excited to see Glenn Close back in the Oscar fold. And Max von Sydow!

My Best Sellers of 2011

2012-01-24T14:03:00.000-08:00

According to my royalties, these are my five best sellers of 2011. All are available HERE:

#5

#4

#3

#2

#1

The Last One is My Favorite

2012-01-23T17:13:00.000-08:00

What Type of Writer Be I?

2012-01-22T08:35:00.000-08:00

What type of writer be I?

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. What's my style? What do readers think when they hear my name?

I've been spending time on Good Reads lately - that online library/chat room/encyclopedia - reading over reviews. Not just reviews of my own writing, but that of other authors as well. While reading reviews of one's work can be a very affirming hobby, it can also be a dangerous one. As a writer, one is bond to run into negative reviews. Some of these can be quite helpful, well-written, and insightful. Others can be vicious, as if the reviewer now has a personal vendetta against the author.

Some people have been disappointed with my latest work, Galley Proof. While I wish that weren't the case, there has never been a proven way to please everyone all the time. Some people just won't connect with me or my writing. That's fine. We are not clones.

A lot of this disappointment, I think, comes from expectations. Many of the less than favorable reviews come from people who have never read any of my other works. My writing, I have been told, is not typical. I write for Dreamspinner Press, a m/m romance publisher, but my books don't fall neatly into that genre. I have been lucky enough to find a publisher who believes in my work so much she'll publish me anyway. The best description of my writing I've seen so far was from a reviewer who said I wrote "gay fiction with romantic themes." I think it throws readers when they go looking for a balls out romance and pick up one of my books. They soon find my book doesn't follow a particular template. When you are not what people expect you to be, it's something akin to taking a big gulp of Pepsi only to find that it's really iced tea.

(Then again, maybe they just hate my writing.)

I hate the idea that I'm a disappointment to anyone. At heart, my books are about character more than story. I prefer the surreal and fantastic storylines to the contemporary ones. Of the TEN published books I have written, only THREE were intentionally written as romantic. Simple Men succeeded the most, I think, in capturing the genre's template. I tried again with Another Enchanted April, and then once more with Galley Proof. The latter two branched off from the m/m genre as I was writing them. I freely admit that. Yet I find them much more interesting because of it.

I don't have it in me, the ability to write sweeping m/m romance. But maybe that's a good thing. There are a number of master traditional m/m romance writers out there. As long as I have a publisher, I'll be happy to be the weird guy at the party telling stories that might be just a little off. I might not be the most popular, but I'm a lot of fun.

Crooked Fingers: Your Apocalypse

2012-01-20T14:57:00.000-08:00

Fantastic song.

This Week's Bullet Points

2012-01-19T08:34:00.000-08:00

1. Galley Proof was released last week to very positive reviews. Both print and ebook formats are up on Amazon, where it made the Amazon bestseller list for gay books. I haven't been on a bestseller list since Simple Men. I feel pretty again!

2. I prefer the newer episodes of M*A*S*H with Charles Winchester. Frank Burns just annoys the hell out of me. I also like the character growth in the latter episodes of Hot Lips.

3. Signed a contract last weekend to have Simple Men translated into Spanish, French, German, and Italian. Woot! I'm a global whore!

4. Soon after I updated my Facebook status on the translation news I got a congratulations from Patricia Nell Warren, author of The Front Runner. That was awesome! Like many a gay, I find her writing absolutely soul-stirring.

5. Geraldine Page in Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice reminds me of Jessica Lange in American Horror Story.

6. Get over it, Elton John.

7. I wish ABC would grow a pair and give the gay character on Happy Endings a boyfriend episode. Just saying that he's gay does not a gay make. This ain't Melrose Place in the 90s.

Hurts - Sunday

2012-01-18T07:15:00.000-08:00

How have I never heard of these guys? Great synth!

How Many Loads Have u Taken 2nite?

2012-01-17T15:50:00.000-08:00

Well! I NEVER!

Will it Fit?

2012-01-17T13:49:00.000-08:00

Amazon Review Touches My Heart

2012-01-17T09:58:00.000-08:00

Galley Proof received this wonderful review from an Amazon reader. It's one of my favorites so far. I hope the writer doesn't mind my re-posting it:

this is a wonderful story - very wry and funny, heartwarming and interspersed with literary and cultural references that only enhance the work and don't overwhelm the reader. As Logan, the narrator of this tale, might say, Eric Arvin bumps words against each other in a perfect way. Some artists use a Kabuki mask, others lay themselves open in their characters -- one wonders whether some of Logan's adventures and experiences in this story mirror those of the author - if so, Arvin is a fascinating as well as a literate person. Logan also points out that genre labels are meaningless, or useless in providing any helpful guidance - this tale is broadly classified as male or gay romance but that seems an unfair restriction - it's so much more than that, and the kind of erudite writing that deserves as wide an audience as possible -- one hopes that any labeling doesn't limit the readership when something this good comes along.

-Bill m

Madonna - Masterpiece (Music Video)

2012-01-16T11:05:00.000-08:00

Very nice new tune from Madonna. You know, the one that pissed off Elton John at the Golden Globes...

Up to the Mountain - A tribute to MLK

2012-01-16T08:15:00.000-08:00

A Distracted Mind

2012-01-15T08:43:00.000-08:00

Well, I have had quite the busy week, my dear friends. Most of it has been very good. I would get into it, but I would first need to make a list so's I don't forget anything. Right now I don't feel like making a list.

All week long I have been trying to think of something I could post about here on my Sunday Sermon blog, but nothing really came to mind. There was the occasional flash of excitement - I could tell you all of my undying adulation for a certain Brandon Flowers or I could tell you about the time I was in the hospital and a clearly very religious nurse would NOT believe I was a gay - but I'm not really feeling either of those today.

I wish I could be more blog-minded like some of my other blog brethren and sistren - sistren? That can't be right - and come up with something sharp and witty every day, but alas...

Instead, I have decided to be lazy this morning and flip through the TV channels, commenting on each show as I pass it by. Ready? Here we go:

Walnut Street Live - A local religious program. My god! It's like a Penney's catalog from the 80s exploded all over my TV. But I won't judge. That's their job. Oh! No he di-int!

Culture Click - something like Entertainment Tonight, I guess. I've never heard of this. Now they're talking about currency. I'm bored with this.

Moyers & Company - politics. Zzzzzzzzzzz....

Okay. That was a bad idea. It sounded fun when I came up with it. Of course, in the idea I was also drinking. Maybe I'll give it another try...when I'm sloshed...and nekkid.

I am reaching for something to write about here. Man, this is painful. Do you see this? Do you see how I am spiralling down? In flames! In flames! I have absolutely nothing to say this morning, but I haven't written a true blog piece in a while. It looks like it will be a while longer still.

Well, it's been...fun...

Listen. I am so sorry. This is a mess. What is wrong with me? I'm going to stop writing before I go too far and no one ever loves me again. Oy...

Have a great week. I'll try to think of something to write for next weekend, but honestly, the world is filled with so many shiny pretty things and I am easily dis - Oooooooh! Pretty...

Galley Proof Lovin'

2012-01-15T08:27:00.000-08:00

Had a great weekend! Galley Proof is getting some wonderful reviews on Amazon and Good Reads. Here's a link to Carey Parish's review at Sole Focus. Woo to the hoo!

Galley Proof is Released!

2012-01-12T11:41:00.000-08:00

Today's the day! Galley Proof is released today! Friday the 13th. I hear that's lucky. Anyway, you can order HERE. It will turn up on Amazon in a few days if it's not there already. Also, today I'm guest blogging on the Dreamspinner Press BLOG and I did an interview for the release HERE. Tomorrow I'll be on "Meet the Authors" at Good Reads. That's right, folks! I'm whorring it up.

This Week's Bullet Points

2012-01-12T07:03:00.000-08:00

1. Finally saw the film version of The Help. I liked it. I read the book two years ago. When first reading the book I pictured Viola Davis in the lead and lo and behold, they cast her. Also, the big house wherein Skeeter lives is spot-on to the house I had in my brain-head.

2. If I ever give up writing it will be because of all the damn promo. Ugh.

3. I finished SuburbaNights this week. Book three in my Jasper Lane series is finito! Go, Eric! Go, Eric!

4. The Killers have a new CD due out this year. OH MY GOD! IT'S BRANDON!! BRANDON, I LOVE YOU!!

5. Tomorrow and Saturday are big ol' Galley Proof promo days. I'll keep you all posted. I'm going to be doing a Good Reads "Meet the Author" thingy on Saturn Day from 1 to 6.

6. In my search for a new orthopedic surgeon, I have had my records sent to a doctor up in Greenwood. Fingers (and toes) crossed.

7. Why is it whenever anyone updates stories like the Oz books or Wonderland they're always dark and twisted? I don't mind a fresh retelling, but come on! After a while it's like "Oh, look. Another Oz steam-punk story."

EXCERPT: Galley Proof

2012-01-10T09:13:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from my latest, Galley Proof, to be released this Friday...the 13th. I hope that's good luck.

"A Room of One’s Own"

I was clearly caught in a cliché.

Everyone has seen those films – usually a sex comedy about high school or college – in which an alluring character is introduced to the plot with the use of soft lighting, swoony music, and, depending on the level of writing, induced drooling from the other characters in the film. Said character enters the library or cafeteria and the music hits its stride. Every other character, but most notably the main character, is dumbfounded – nay, lobotomized – by the sheer sensuality and god-like nature of that which has just walked in. Life, we are led to believe, was nothing before this divine event. Yet what we aren’t privy to as viewers of this type of film – not at the outset anyway – is what trouble will follow in this beauty’s wake. And there must be trouble, for without it there is no story. No life. No box-office. What boisterous, if unbelievable, shenanigans will the hero have to go through to get the guy or girl of his or her dreams? And will it be worth it? That’s what makes or breaks films like this: worth. For if it is worth it, if after all the embarrassing smackdowns, the disgusting flatulent jokes, and the strained one-liners, if in the end we really do care about these somewhat contrived and clichéd characters, then we can forgive any plot hole. We, every one of us, are only looking for a good time, after all. Nobody expects a rom-com to change their life.

Logan Brandish. That’s my real name. I was destined to be a writer, it seems, with a name like that. And I’m a decently successful writer too. I have even managed to amass a firm little nest egg from what was, at one time, a dubious career choice. Even when my sales start to sag, I’m still successful enough that my publisher, Hillside Books, pays for my meals at posh hotel restaurants. Especially when they want me to meet with a new editor.

And, now that introductions are out of the way, so starts my tale.

To put it plainly, I was pigging out. My new editor had yet to arrive and I had already ordered half the menu and was on my second Long Island iced tea. I’m a pretty man – clean-cut brown hair, a face that has been described as “open”, and a body that knows its way around a gym – but I don’t know how pretty I was looking just then. Though, in my defense, all thirteen dishes on the table were in nice rows, perfectly laid out. I was a stickler for order and conformity.

Normally when meeting with an editor I would arrive early to look over my notes for my new project. But my notes had been destroyed. By me. In a fit of anger and self-ridicule. All that was left was a single piece of paper which now lay on the table, a small dab of shrimp cocktail sauce on the right corner. Who cares.

It was for precisely this reason, I suppose, my publisher at Hillside Books decided to send me a new editor. They could tell I was having issues and thought maybe an editor could help. This is when editors start to resemble mean drill sergeants. There were going to be some major battles in the coming weeks and months. Most likely their thinking was that if they started things out between me and this new editor, a Mr. Brock Kimble, in a chic hotel restaurant where there were other people around things would not so quickly dissolve into a sparring match like it had with the last editor they sent me. And honestly, I’ve never been one for showy displays of anger, so they thought correctly. I was not going to knock over the gorgeous pastry tables or throw dishes at the large crystal chandelier, even if the thought did cross my mind. I was a nice guy. I would not be throwing the wine into the cascading fountain or slap some passing waitress across the face just for being too near to me. But I had decided I would not be so easily soothed either. Yes. I would eat their free food and drink their bribery wine, but I’ll be damned if I gave Mr. Kimble one smile. My tolerance was worn thin already. Like that Kool-Aid t-shirt I had kept since high school and refused to throw away. Worn thin.

No. Mr. Kimble would have to get by on my curt and dismissive answers and challenging stares. I was very proud of myself for deciding all of this. It was written like a script in my brain.

And then, as I was devouring a chicken wing as if tolling out vengeance, my moment of cliché happened. Into the restaurant walked what could only be described (albeit inadequately) as a stunning man. I swear, the room went silent and everything crawled in his presence. He was dressed in a dark suit, buttoned properly so that it showed a tapered waist. His shoulders were broad and above them, oh deliciousness, was a face so proportioned and perfect I wanted to take up drawing on the spot. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. In fact, he was so pretty I found myself gagging. Then I realized that the chicken wing was still halfway crammed down my throat. Silly me. I spat it out just as his eyes focused on mine. The chicken landed on the plate with a resounding echo and my face, I could tell via the flames of my embarrassment, was flushed. My ears were most likely bright red as well.

I began to chant to myself: Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. Please, please, please don’t be him.

But it was. And he was soon standing over me, grinning. He looked at my table and the mess I had made. “You’ve been busy,” he said. “Cute ears.”

As I reached for his offered hand to shake it, I gasped and choked. A bit of leftover chicken flew out of my mouth and onto the table, in front of his crotch. Humiliation complete. Lesson learned.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a quick drink of water. People were looking at me disapprovingly for daring to nearly die in public.

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled and sat down, sitting his briefcase in the seat beside him. “I’ve had worse things thrown at me than a piece of regurgitated chicken. I’m Brock Kimble.”

“Logan Brandish. Of course, you know that or you wouldn’t have known how to find me. Wish I had had a photo of you.” I grimaced. That did not sound right even though the implication was very near the mark. By golly! He was pretty!

“Would have been easy enough to find you. All writers have the same look of social discomfort and inferiority.”

Wait. What?

I can only imagine what I must have looked like sitting there with him. How others saw me. He ordered his drink with style. He did everything with style. He was fluid. He was Henry Higgins. I wasn’t even Eliza Doolittle. I was Nell, still choking up bits of chicken.

“You’re my new editor?” I asked. My plan to be subtle and aloof was lost.

He must have heard that question and intonation before. His smile jarred the room. “I started as a cover model for the romance division of Hillside. After proving myself,” (he leaned in closer here, smelling clean and fresh) “and sleeping just a few feet up, I landed myself in this position. I’ve been in every position you can think of. Wink wink.”

Wait. What?

Eyes bright. Eyes full of mischief. “I believe in being totally honest. That’s one thing you should know about me, Mr. Brandish. Or Logan? I’ll call you Logan. Over the next few weeks I will hurt your feelings with some of my critiques, but I’ll also be there to encourage you on. We’ll get you going again. You’ll see. I’ll be like Henry V, ushering you on to victory…or something like that. I’m not certain what Henry V is famous for other than being played by Kenneth Brannagh. So, what have you got to show me?”

“Um…I…I’m having issues…”

He spread his arms. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have anything?”

My fingers edged toward the lone, pathetic piece of stained paper on the table. He snatched if up and read it:

“The trireme surged on the open sea.”

He looked at the page a bit longer then flipped it over as if there were any possibility at all of something being on the other side.

“This is it?”

“Well, there was more…”

“More better, or just more of the same?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. The fact is, since the destruction of my notes I had only gotten as far as the first sentence. Fifteen versions of the first sentence. (There once was a trireme from Kent. Trireme Irene had seventeen children. Triremes are big big boats powered by angry muscle bottoms. All aboard!) The first sentence gets things going. It’s the START button to any new manuscript. Unfortunately for me, the first sentence of any new manuscript is like pushing a basketball out my urethra.

I shrugged and gave a half smile. That worked to get me out of trouble sometimes. I looked so All-American people sang at me when the National Anthem was played at ball games.

“Hmmm. Well, it’s a start.” He handed the paper back to me. “Do you know anything about galley ships?”

“No.”

“Looks like you got some homework, then, huh?” He leaned forward and said with a booming voice, “Cause I sure as hell don’t either, and have no intention of edimicatin’ myself about ‘em. Know what I mean, Jelly bean!”

He was a silly man. A silly, gorgeous man.

A handsome young waiter brought Mr. Kimble his drink and I noticed a lingering gaze between the two. That’s when my stomach dropped and my balls disappeared into my abdomen. Here was a lovely gay man and I had, quite purposely, sabotaged any chance I had with him. He had even said I had cute ears. I had most likely put him off eating for the rest of his life with the whole chicken debacle. He certainly wasn’t ordering anything there. There wasn’t room left on the table.

The waiter looked at me, disinterested, and asked if I needed anything more.

Go away, little bird. Go away.

“I’ve read your blog,” Brock said. “Very entertaining. Witty.”

“Well, I’m no Noel Coward.”

“Never heard of him. Unfortunate name. About your blog. Like I said, entertaining stuff, but I would reconsider the links to the naughtier sites. You know. The porn blogs and naked men.”

How dare he!

“We want the focus to be on you. We don’t want anyone who has come to your site to be distracted by pretty pictures. We want them to stick around and not be clicking away for the first pair of fresh ass cheeks they see.” About that time a fresh pair – those of our handsome young waiter – walked right by. Mr. Brock Kimble couldn’t keep himself from following them for just a bit.

“It’s my blog. It’s like a diary. I post things that interest me.”

“I get it. I know what a blog is. Still, the Lord wouldn’t like it.”

My jaw literally dropped.

“Just kidding.” What a wicked smile.

He looked around the restaurant for that cute little waiter. The one I had just bitch-slapped in my mind. “But seriously, consider taking those links down.”

“Are we through here?” I asked, doing my best to show some irritation.

“Sure. Would you like me to help you clean up?”

“No, I would not! I don’t think I like you, Mr. Kimble.”

“Good. Then you can stop worrying about how you appear around me.”

I froze. How could he know? How could he tell how awkward I felt?

His eyes locked with those of the waiter. “I’ve got another meeting,” he said. “And you’ve got homework.”

I sat a while longer, trying not to pay attention to my new agent walking out the door with the waiter. In my most Walter Mitty-like fantasies I swung into action and knocked the waiter on his cute little buns. He was fired for flirting with a customer and trying to steal my man, and then Mr. Kimble and I purchased a suite where we fucked like toys wound too tightly. My fantasy love life was always so exciting. But life never measured up to fantasy. In real life, kisses are never as sweet and assholes only stretch so far.

Ink and Muscle

2012-01-10T06:08:00.000-08:00

This piece of MASSIVE has a series of videos on Youtube. I can't explain my fascination, other than the boobies.

Oh, the Places You'll Go at Burning Man!

2012-01-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

This made me happy, and put a lump in my throat.

Foot Note

2012-01-08T06:21:00.000-08:00

As you may or may not know, dear reader, a few years ago I had a mean little accident caused by a mean little man. My foot has never recovered. I've had to wear a painful brace for my right ankle ever since. Sometimes the pain is cutting. Sometimes it takes a back seat to the pain that is continuous in the arch of my foot. This has never stopped my workouts - I AM a gay man after all, and I must do squats if I want a booty - but it has inhibited my social interaction. Some days it's just too painful to head out into the world. This combined with the imbalance also caused by the accident has made me a bit of a hermit. If I do go out...well, on the great show Arrested Development there was a character played by Liza Minelli. She suffered from some serious vertigo. That is me.

Anyway, last April I went to an orthopedist to see if he could perhaps design for me a brace that wasn't so painful. Dr. Bley was recommended to me by someone else so I had no idea what to expect. He is an amazing man. At the age of 18, while in the Navy, both of his legs had to be amputated because of an accident. You wouldn't know it to look at him walk, though. He designed his own prosthetics and walks with a completely natural gait. While on my visit he told me that I might be able to get my foot fixed. That he couldn't believe nobody had mentioned surgery to me before. He sent my info to a Dr. Ertl in Indianapolis. Dr. Bley said Ertl was the best and he had seen him do some real cutting edge things. He even worked for Walter Reed.

For the first time in a long time I had hope.

It wasn't until June that Dr. Bley heard back from Ertl's office about me. The office assistant said that my info had been misplaced but she had just found it again and would be calling me soon.

I waited. After a w few weeks I began calling Ertl's office. No one ever picked up, nor did I get a response to my voice mail messages. I started feeling a bit depressed about the situation. Like I was being purposely avoided.

By August I was getting impatient. I went to a foot doctor here in town to see if he could do anything. I knew it was a long shot - this IS Madison, after all - but it was better than sitting on my thumbs and waiting. As expected, the doctor here said he was just a general ortho and had no idea what he could do. I needed a specialist. I told him and HIS office assistant about Dr. Ertl and his office assistant said there was no excuse for Ertl's office to keep me waiting for so long. She said she would keep calling every hour until Ertl's office responded.

A week passed and finally I got a call from Dr. Ertl's office. An appointment was set for November 11. Yahoo!! Ertl's assistant asked me which foot I wanted amputated. WHAT?! I kindly but firmly explained to her that there would be no amputation, and then told her what my issues were. And yes. By this point I had already began thinking of finding another doctor.

A few days before my November appointment I got a letter confirming the date - of December 15. I called the office to ask about this and the assistant assured me it had always been December 15, not November 11. Huh. I let it go. If this doctor is as good as I hear he is I didn't want to get in a tiff with his assistant.

On December 7 I got a call telling me they were going to have to reschedule my appointment. I was pissed. I asked if we could reschedule right then. The office assistant said no.

So now, I am waiting again. I have left messages on their voice mail but still nothing. I am thinking it's just not meant to be. There have to be other ortho specialists out there as good as Dr. Ertl so I'm going to start searching. It's disheartening, to be given that hope and have it snuffed out by someone else, but there it is.

Sometimes you kick. Sometimes you get kicked.

Caught Riding the Lion

2012-01-07T07:42:00.000-08:00

This Week's Bullet Points

2012-01-05T07:39:00.000-08:00

1. Woot! Made a few End of Year lists: Both my Jasper Lane books - Subsurdity & Suburbilicious - were mentioned by Silvia Violet; Another Enchanted April made Shae Connor's list; Woke Up in a Strange Place placed VERY high on Tom Webb's list; and BOTH Another Enchanted April AND Woke Up in a Strange Place each made it on to one of the "Best of" lists at Jessewave. I am basking like a filthy whore. Thanks everyone!

2. Watching the first season of The Walking Dead last weekend and it hit me that Jeryl Prescott, who plays Jacqui, would be a marvelous Vera if my Jasper Lane books were ever adapted to TV or film. She's got such elegant features.

3. That new Geico commercial with the pig on the zip line is cracking me up. Weeeeeeeee!!

4. Stumbling Over Chaos is having a contest where you can win an ebook copy of my newest book, Galley Proof. It is released next Friday, January 13th. Go enter!

5. Liza Minelli has been cast as Wendie Malick's agent on Hot in Cleveland. Classic.

6. The fantastic Tilda Swinton is looking into doing a remake of Auntie Mame. Who wants to bet it will be MUCH darker than the original with Roz Russel?

Noteworthy New Releases: Big Business

2012-01-04T07:05:00.000-08:00

My friend Carey Parrish brings back the residents of Number 56 Kensington Street, Holland Park, London in a new novel, Big Business. (Amazon & B&N)

Busybody landlady Mrs. Shugart, with her ally Mr. Humbolt at her side, has an empty flat for rent, but her tenant, upwardly mobile attorney Ms. Sandra Leverock, is anything but what she was hoping for. Especially when she discovers that Ms. Leverock is the niece of her oldest nemesis, Margaret Armstrong.

American journalists Rob Brent and Jeff Schrader are contemplating a life changing opportunity that promises them more angst than joy, and upstairs neighbor DJ Pack finds himself attracted to Ms. Leverock in spite of the fact that she's engaged to billionaire Edgar Allardice.

As the neighbors settle into their new circumstances, Mrs. Shugart finds herself grappling with a past that she thought was settled long ago. Ms. Leverock and DJ grow closer, while Margaret becomes embroiled in the mystery of who is trying to buy out her shares in her late husband's corporation, and she enlists Rob and Jeff to assist her in the quest. And Allardice, determined to see his empire expand by any mean necessary, is pulling the strings like a puppet master.

Murder, intrigue, and corporate ruthlessness combine to teach the residents of Number 56 Kensington Street just how dangerous the world of big business can be.

The sequel to Marengo, Big Business is Carey Parrish at his best.

From Carey Parrish's own lips: "I was very pleased that the characters in Marengo struck such a chord with readers that even almost two years later I was still receiving emails asking for more of them. Whenever I write, my only goal is to tell a good story that I hope readers will remember. So Big Business is the answer to all those requests I got for a continuation of the characters from Marengo. I hope the new novel is as satisfying as the first."

Looking for Something in Red

2012-01-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

EXCERPT: Woke Up in a Strange Place

2012-01-03T06:39:00.000-08:00

Woke Up in a Strange Place: Joe, having recently woke up naked and without any knowledge of who he is in a field of barley, is traveling with his spirit guide, a folk singer named Baker, down a river. They come to a great waterfall where Joe will remember the first important occurrence of his life.

The creek had gone from shallow stream to shallow river and flowed swiftly into the woods. Tied to a large tree was a small boat, barely big enough for more than a couple of people. A bright red sail flapped with the breeze. On it was written two letters, 3P, in scratchy black scrawl like that of a young child who paid no heed the badgering blue lines of notebook paper. The vessel bobbed with the current of the river. The water sang brightly, a winking ta-dah!

"This is our ride, chief," Baker said as he approached the small craft. He grabbed the thick rope tied to the tree and jumped into the boat with ease, the guitar sounding a hollow thump on his back. Joe positioned himself in the vessel more carefully, still uncertain of the new place he had suddenly found himself in. There were no seats in the tiny boat. Joe and Baker were to remain standing. This assumed Joe’s balance was functioning properly.

Baker untied the boat from the tree and the current pushed them onward.

"Looky here," Baker said in dry excitement as he looked over the edge of the boat. "We got critters. Bet you never seen ‘em like this before."

Joe cautiously peered into the water, careful not to tip the boat. Bright colors were shooting past, swimming with them. Rainbow fish. They leaped into the air through the circled mouths of the singing river spirits, which choked and coughed in displeasure. Joe couldn’t help but laugh and swore he saw smiles on the playful little fish as they lingered momentarily in mid-flight.

There were much larger things as well. Otters and beavers and turtles and platypuses. Were they to break out in song Joe would have thought it none the stranger. After all, the river did sing. At one point, a beaver placed its tiny hands on the aft of the boat, as if to aid their speed, using its slight might to push. It stayed there for a while, inquisitive eyes twinkling, then slid back beneath the waters once more with its beaver kin. Joe and Baker were being shown the way, it seemed. Small swimmers of all kinds guided their voyage down the river through the increasingly dense forest.

The trees appeared restless as the boat passed them. They creaked with loud snaps and groans, the sound of bark and wood stretching and twisting. But there was nothing ordinary about these trees. They too had faces. Knobby, grumpy-looking faces (of course they were grumpy-looking) that eyed the boat with discernable interest. Their eyes were wide, hollow holes, but they were not frightful. Only curiosity could be recognized from their wooded expressions and inquiring moans.

"Baker, look!" Joe whispered loudly, caught off guard by the rustic audience.

"Yeah, the trees," Baker said, already past any wonder. "Strange place to call Heaven, huh?" Baker winked. “And these ain’t no special effects. This ain’t Oz or Middle-Earth.”

The roaring sound of falling water caught Joe’s attention. There was a drop-off ahead, a cliff. They had already traveled deep into the forest and the trees were many.

"Guess we better tie up here," Baker said.

The boat, seeming to obey his wishes, drifted over to a bank, ignoring the strong current effortlessly. The myriad of critters that had accompanied them dispersed in random bursts and splashes. Baker took one long stride off the craft and then turned to help Joe.

"This is your first stop," Baker said. The roar from the falls muffled the other sounds of the forest around them.

"A waterfall?" Joe questioned. “This is our stop? What could be here?”

Before Baker could respond, however, as Joe was stepping from boat to land, something jarred the craft, knocking it from side to side with a grinding wrench. Joe was rendered unbalanced and fell backward into the stream, losing his grip on Baker’s hand. The water took him under with a cold and powerful embrace. Submerged in the glassy liquid, he opened his eyes and saw something emerge from the wildest depths, a face-like form glaring at him hungrily in the current. It seemed a transparent visage for the most part, but for eyes made of silver fish that circled in rapid waltzes, and a mouth of some golden worm that wriggled around a tongue of writhing three-headed eels. The water that made up the creature was a shade of urine yellow. Somehow it was more polluted than the rest of the river. Remaining fixed as if admiring a meal before devouring it eagerly, the eyes regarded Joe. Then, suddenly, the creature raced for him.

Joe emerged from the depth with a pronounced gasp, struggling to get over to the bank as quickly as he could. Baker was on his knees, holding out a branch into the water for Joe to grasp. “Take hold here,” he yelled above the sound of the furious flow.

Joe swam as best he could against the current, away from the watery monster, but was continuously pushed farther down stream and closer to the falls. All thoughts of this place being Heaven had disappeared from his mind altogether.

He felt a tug below him and he froze in sheer terror. “It’s got me, Baker!” he cried. “Something’s got me!”

“Keep swimmin’, Joe,” Baker hollered. “This a-way!”

But all the swimming got him nowhere. Out of the guts of the river rose a figure so large that even the trees seemed dwarfed. A dragon, a demonic water-spout growing high into the forested air. It was of the water; one with it. As if the entire length of the river was its long, sleek body. Joe saw various fish and smaller amphibians swimming around the rank body cavity of the beast in cyclonic twists upward. The liquid features of its face could now be discerned more clearly. The silver fish eyes, the worm lips and eeled tongue, a long snout that dripped river sludge, and small ripples and waves all over its waterscape that echoed the likes of horns and spikes and scales. There were no arms or legs. This was a creature that had no need for those appendages, looming fierce and deadly as a cobra. Its hiss was like that of shooting water into the haul of a sinking ship, only magnified a hundred times.

Joe looked at the river beast in absolute fear as it stood to its full height over the forest and peered down at him in victory. Baker still called from the bank, trying to distract the creature. He threw fallen sticks and large stones which did nothing but disappear into the stinking serpent-like form and sink to the river bed.

Without warning, the monster charged down at Joe from its lofty height, head first. Its eeled tongue reached out for him, squirming in greedy anticipation, and Joe screamed in horror. He knew he could not escape this thing, whatever it was. The river held him in its grip. He closed his eyes to the approaching demon and waited his fate.

But, of course, his fate was not sealed. Not in this life. The story goes on.

From somewhere behind the river monster, Joe heard a challenging yell. More of a squeal, really. A small voice making a mockery of the beast’s epic actions.

Joe opened his eyes to see the fiend’s attention averted elsewhere; distracted in a moment of greatness by a small figure standing on a boulder on the bank near Baker. The creature juggled its options briefly, and then left Joe for the time being to focus on the other completely. It charged at the boulder as it had done Joe. The water around its extended torso splayed up around it in rage. But its intent to cause harm was coolly blunted. As it came within mere feet of the rock, the figure atop it held out a defiant arm and the transparent lizard fell apart into a million droplets of current with a screeching cry. Its tiny marine prisoners rained back into the place from where they had come with a chorus of splashes. The water calmed then, and soon continued on its natural flow over the cliff as if nothing had happened at all, as if the dragon were but a hiccup in an ordinary day, hardly noticed.

Joe, still shaking and frightened, swam to the shore. It was much easier now that the waters were not agitated. The current even seemed to aid him in this, all but stopping in the swim path. Baker gave him a hand and helped him to the safety of solid ground.

“What was that?” Joe trembled.

“Don’t really know, chief,” Baker said, once again steady and unnerved. “I ain’t never been to this area of the forest before. You’re all right, though.” He helped dry Joe with his own clothes and body. “Where’s a giant sponge when you need one, huh?” he joked.

“Whose forest is this?” Joe asked.

But then he heard the voice from the boulder. A tiny thing. Shrill and familiar, yet Joe was unable to place from exactly where he knew it.

"Hi!" said the voice in a loud burst. Joe could see the figure clearly now. It was a little boy with wet, messy blonde hair and a toothy grin minus a couple of teeth. He was standing proudly on the boulder, all barefoot and soaked swimming shorts, with two spindly arms resting on his hips. "How d’ya do?” he shouted, though he was no more than a few feet from them. “Thorry about the monthter. I try to keep them under control betht I can.” (He spoke with an undeniable, completely likeable, perfectly natural lisp.)

“My name ith Peter! Peter Patrick Pithburgh," he said. The words shot from his mouth, each one, like a cannonball of spittle and determination. "But people call me 3P.”

Joe stood up from the ground, shaking off his last experience. “You can control that thing?” he asked. “What was it?”

“Jutht a water worm. Ain’t nuffin’ really. You jutht gotta shthow it who hath control. Can’t hurt you if you don’t let it. I’ve been fightin’ with that one from the firth day I got here.”

Joe looked at Baker in confusion. “Don’t ask me, kid.”

“It took y'all a while, didn’t it," 3P shouted.

"You were expecting us?" Joe asked. He pushed back the wet hair from his forehead.

"Well, yeth. I knew you'd get here thooner or later," 3P hollered. Baker couldn't hide an affectionate smile.

"He's a trip, huh?" Baker said to Joe.

"Come for a thwim?" 3P asked as he jumped down from the rock and hopped up to Joe's side. “A thwim will calm you. The water worm ith thleeping now. I put him in hith playth.”

"A swim?" Joe responded incredulously, peering out over the rushing waters of the falls. “I don’t think....”

"Yep. Nothin' like a good thwim," 3P said as he grabbed Joe's hand in his own tiny palm and pulled him toward the swift current.

"Wait! We'll be swept over the edge," Joe protested. Though, at the moment, he was more concerned about the sleeping habits of the river beast.

"Of courth," 3P said knowingly. "Thath the fun part! C’mon!"

"What?" Joe cried as 3P let go of his hand and rushed at the frenzied stream. "Stop!" Joe screamed. "Baker, stop him!"

"This is his world, Joe. I cain't do a thing. He makes the rules here. He'll be fine."

Baker settled himself against the trunk of a disproportionate climbing tree, unconcerned with the youngster’s seemingly dangerous activity.

Seeing that Baker wasn’t going to do anything, Joe took off running after the little boy, but it was too late. 3P jumped with a heroic holler into the crystal water. An echoing scream issued forth down the length of the falls. Yet it was not a scream of terror, but a cry of undiluted joy. Strange thing, that.

Joe tried to peer over the cliff but could see nothing. The child must have been buried deep beneath the uncaring, pummeling current. Joe’s heart was ready to break for him. But to his surprise he saw the water open like a blooming flower with white petals of foam, and out leaped 3P as if he were a springing trout or salmon. He flew through the air like a puppet on strings and landed safely, almost too carefully, on another large boulder that rested conveniently near the flowing river below. He waited there, looking up at Joe, drenched and smiling with crooked teeth and bright eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he sat on the boulder. He was calm and steady, not breathless at all. Joe was yet again in a state of disbelief, a state that was becoming more and more common here.

"C'mon down!" 3P shouted, his voice galloping up the falling water with snappy volatility.

"No way!" Joe yelled in return, still unsure as to exactly how 3P came out of the current so unscathed.

"Go on! Have some fun. What are you afraid of?" Baker said from his resting place at the tree. He didn't bother to glance up from his guitar. "Dyin’?" Joe could have sworn there was a trace of a smile with that last word. A little jibe.

Yet, Baker was right. If this was an afterlife, if this was a bodyless existence and everything he saw was only his mind’s illusion, then leaping from a mountain top was as safe as tripping through a field of daisies. Still, the water was ferocious. It dared the nervous first-timer to swim along with it. The current had stopped singing a ways back. Peculiarly, Joe thought he heard a low chant coming from the river now: Jump! Jump! Jump!

"C'mon!" 3P yelled again. He was now standing on the boulder, his arms down at his sides, helping to push out every ounce of vocal encouragement.

"Great courage," a voice said from somewhere near Joe. "Great courage.” Baker again, being his helpful self, Joe thought.

Joe took the words to heart, though. He picked up what audacity he could from the surrounding air, closed his eyes, and jumped with a high-pitched yelp back into the rushing stream. The waters crowded over and around him once again, carrying him like a victor to the prize, or a victim to the banquet. The river cheered in approval. Head above water, he opened his eyes to see the great drop of the falls in front of him and felt his bravery ebb.

A mistake! A mistake!

A long tree branch hung low over the waters ahead. Joe grabbed for it, but he was unable to reach it fully. His fingertips barely grazed it. The stream saw to that.

"Great courage!" He heard a voice say again. But it couldn't have been Baker. The voice seemed too near, as if it were coming from someone right beside him.

Before he could think of another means of escape, the waters pulled him down the falls. Weightlessness combined with a terrifying, deafening roar. A sense of sublime elation overtook him and the noise and rumble were silenced as if a glass curtain had closed in around him. He heard only the inner whispers of his excited mind. Rushed whispers whizzing through his head like phantom fireflies. These whispers stirred in Joe a new thing. They were an awakening, the emergence of new memory. In those weightless seconds of unspecified time, he saw faces and matched these faces to names. Suddenly, he remembered places and events of his childhood, of a former self, like he was waking to the reality of the world after a night's restful sleep. It was like the night in the field of barley, only more pronounced and meaningful.

Memories as echoes in visual form:

His mother's gentle face beamed at him from sharp jolts of recall; friends he had known shouted at him through screen doors to come out and play; embarrassing accidents in school plays made him cringe; and the leather from hot car seats stuck to his legs on long rides to his grandmother’s house on summer vacation. He was reliving these things. He was able to see every Christmas gift, every birthday party, and every youthful mishap from his childhood in more than a simple snapshot or one reel film. And it all seemed new, and yet done and over with.

And then it stopped. Or at least, the focus shifted to one particular memory....

My Top 10 Albums of the Year

2012-01-01T04:59:00.000-08:00

10. Coldplay, MYLO XYLOTO. Nobody writes anthemic rock like Coldplay, and Chris Martin's melancholy voice treats every note just right. The first half of this album is stronger than the second, but any other artist in today's boring pop music world would be drooling to get their hands on Coldplay's throwaways let alone their merely "good" tracks.

9. A.A. Bondy, BELIEVERS. Atmospheric and dreamy, Bondy's newest sounds like it could be the soundtrack to a David Lynch film. Picture yourself driving down a desolate road at midnight with this CD playing low in the background...

8. Bright Eyes, THE PEOPLE'S KEY. Conor Oberst is one of the greatest, most inventive songwriters of the last decade. Some people don't care for his artistic flourishes, like having this album opened and closed by the words of a spiritual teacher who speaks of aliens, but I love it.

7. City & Colour, LITTLE HELL. The haunting vocals alone are reason enough to purchase this album, but with songs like "The Grand Optimist," where Dallas Green ponders his own worth and ghostly sings "I guess I take after my mother", and it's a must have. This was my major new find of the year.

6. Middle Brother, MIDDLE BROTHER. A fun hillbilly/rock group made up of members from Dawes, Deer Tick, and Delta Spirit. Their song "Middle Brother" has one of my favorite, if inexplicable, lines of the year: "I got a dick so hard that a cat can't scratch." What?

5. Over the Rhine, THE LONG SURRENDER. From Cincinnati, this husband and wife team created one of the most swoony, bluesy records I heard all year. Karin Bergquist's vocals are gorgeous, and when teamed up with Lucinda Williams on the track "Undamned"...lawdy. The most touching song of the CD is "Only God Can Save Us Now," centering on the residents of a nursing home.

4. Frank Turner, ENGLAND KEEP MY BONES. Trust me. Once you hear "I Still Believe," a rowdy song about the power of music, you'll be hooked. Turner does rock n' roll with flair, but he also has the ability to pull some heartstrings with songs like "Redemption."

3. Ryan Adams, ASHES & FIRE. Adams' best work since GOLD, but this is an even more thoughtful affair. Those who keep shrugging him off as a has-been are big stupid-heads. His voice at times can be the equivalent of a steel guitar.

2. Emmylou Harris, HARD BARGAIN. A gut-wrenching set of songs. There is the occasional lovely lighthearted meander (the fun "Big Black Dog", which will make you want to go hug your own dog immediately), but this is for the most part a very sad and beautiful album. With songs ranging in theme from Emmit Till to New Orleans after Katrina to the loss of close friends, how can it not be.

1. Gillian Welch, THE HARROW & THE HARVEST. First of all, how great is that title? Gillian is an amazing one-of-a-kind artist. Her voice is recognizable even to people who aren't familiar with her name. Her songwriting and playing is nearly as spare as it gets, but so damn haunting. That's what made her record TIME (THE REVELATOR) an all-time favorite of mine. Here she mines that same familiar territory of lost souls, but offers them some kind of redemption.

The Year: Getting it in the End

2011-12-31T07:21:00.000-08:00

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-12-29T08:22:00.000-08:00

1. Woke Up in a Strange Place made a year end "Best of" list at It's Raining Men. But just to make sure I didn't get too full of myself another of my manuscripts was rejected this week.

2. The holiday season brings on many a TV marathon and I got snagged by Oddities last weekend, a reality show set in a strange antique shop. Now I know where to get that three foot sea lion penis I've been looking for.

3. Saw the trailer for the upcoming 80s musical Rock of Ages. It looked awful. Tom Cruise AND hair bands? Blech! But then I caught a glimpse of the fabulous Catherine Zeta-Jones playing a self-righteous crusader and singing "We're Not Gonna Take it." I'm sold.

4. If Joyful Noise were centered around Dolly Parton and Queen Latifah I would be interested in seeing it. But I don't want to sit through a crap teenage romance. Is there an edited version?

5. Woke Up in a Strange Place made its premiere on Daily Kindle Bargains this week. It's my first attempt at paid promo. We'll see how it goes. I've got three more weeks on there.

6. Elisa Rolle gave Woke Up a wonderful review on her site this week.

7. Ricky Gervais is the most annoying man on the planet. I will not be watching the Golden Globes.

Be a Sport

2011-12-27T13:25:00.000-08:00

EXCERPT: Simple Men

2011-12-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

Simple Men is essentially the story of Foster Lewis - the new chaplain of Verona College -and the school's football coach, Chip. Yet the side story of college ball players Brad & Jason has gotten quite a response from readers, some even suggesting they get their own book. This is the scene where I introduce those two troublemakers.

Football is an outside sport. Jason Jordan hated practice in the gym because it might rain. All the guys did. Nobody minded getting wet. They were ball players after all. Still, there was one good thing about practice inside: Coach Arnold wore his skin tight shorts. Any other coach would look like a caricature in those shorts, but Coach Arnold…The man could wear the hell out of those shorts! When they trained outside, the coach wore his usual sweats or pant suit. But on strength-training days, it was the shorts. They were mesh, shone off the fluorescent lights, and hugged tight around the Coach’s thick legs like a wrapped ham at Christmas.

Mmm. Ham. Jason suddenly realized he was hungry.

The team sat on the gym floor in designated rows. They had just finished with their calisthenics, the dullest part of strength training, and the Coach was going on about something. Jason really wasn’t giving it too much thought. He was caught up in Coach Arnold’s thighs. He rested back on his hands, his legs spread out, his mouth salivating at naughty fantasies. He was sure he wasn’t the only one. The coach had a bulge in his shorts that couldn’t be ignored.

Beside him sat his best friend, Brad Park. Brad was a bit of a troublemaker. In fact, they both were, but Brad looked the part more. He had a goofy grin and carried with him an air of mischief. Jason was a slyer sort of troublemaker. It was his looks that let him get away with most things – the sweet eyes, the mop head of hair – whereas Brad’s eyes were dangerously close to wide-eyed shiftiness and his hair was shorn. The two had been best friends since starting college, having connected immediately over B-movies and country music. They were not the most popular guys at school, but they were well-liked enough. Coach Arnold seemed to like them anyway, and that’s what mattered. You get in good with the coach and you’re set. Brad’s dad and half dozen brothers had told him this.

Brad had dated a few different girls, but none seemed willing to take his shtick for long. He wasn’t surprised by this, or even particularly hurt when a relationship ended. At the end of a lousy date, he still got to go back to his dorm where his best bud, Jason, was waiting, most likely with a copy of some dark, twisted movie filled with bad special effects and a freshly opened box of Chips Ahoy!

Jason was the type of guy who was invited to all the formals. He cleaned up very well. Yet he was never too interested in anything more than that. He had plenty of girl friends, but no girlfriends. He’d not had a girlfriend his entire time in school, though Brad knew he had been involved with a girl at least once before college. None of that mattered, though. When Jason and Brad were alone in their room, they had a blast watching the movies and pigging out on junk food. (Enjoy it, they were told. Your metabolism betrays you as you get older. And that’s just the first thing.)

They wrestled some…Well, a lot. They were, after all, on the wrestling team when football wasn’t in season. But some of the guys in the house – especially those in the floor below them – found their late night pinnings quite annoying.

Jason’s mind had shifted to one of these late night matches as the coach spoke. It was no longer the coach who was making his mouth water as he sat on the gym floor, but Brad. The coach was only a momentary salivation; Brad had been filling Jason’s thoughts for about a year now. By the feel of Brad’s pecker last night as they rubbed against one another in a spontaneous match – frotting, he had heard it was called – Brad felt the same. Nothing was said the next morning, though. Jason was a man of few words anyway. Why waste them on embarrassed utterings.

Jason heard Brad snicker. He leaned over Jason’s shoulder and pointed at his happy crotch. “Dude!” he said. “Watch the boner.”

Sure enough, Jason’s dick stood at alert, stretching his own mesh shorts. He owned the moment, shrugging with a smile. “Jealous?”

“Shit! I got that beat and you know it.” He reached to his own shorts as if he were going to pull the thing out. Jason loved that cocky grin. Brad was a bulldog, but he was a bulldog with a tender heart. He didn’t show that aspect of himself to too many people though.

“Guys!” the coach called from the front. “Something wrong? Am I bothering you?” The coach had one of those voices that could clear a stadium.

“Jason’s got a boner, Coach!” Brad blurted out.

Snickers and guffaws from the assembled players.

“Pay attention, guys,” Coach Arnold instructed the two troublemakers.

“I am, sir,” Jason said with a grin. He nodded at his penis. It was starting to subside.

Coach gave them a You two will never grow up look. “All right, everyone. Hit the showers. Remember, practice tomorrow at four on the field….as long as it doesn’t rain.”

The gym filled with the squeaking of shoe rubber and relief. Most of the guys were starving.

“You two,” he said, pointing at Jason and Brad with the rolled up coaching magazine he always seemed to have in his hand. The boys wondered if he ever actually read it. “I need to speak with you.”

“Listen, Coach,” Jason said. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I just get distracted. You know how it is. It has a life of its own. I’ll start wearing a strap if you want.”

“I don’t want to talk about your pecker, Jason. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, Coach,” Brad said. “What can we do you for?”

Riley on Marketing

2011-12-26T08:47:00.000-08:00

This young lady has a good head on her shoulders. I love how worked up she gets. Thanks to my friend Volkan for showing me this.

Monroe

2011-12-23T11:14:00.000-08:00

The absolutely fucking gorgeous, sexy, and disturbing work of Justin Monroe. I would love to work with him one day. I bet he has a great director's eye.

A Bear on Books Reviews 'Woke Up'

2011-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

There is a small army of endearing readers who have connected so wonderfully to my book Woke Up in a Strange Place that they are taking it upon themselves to spread the word...and I love them for it! Today I received a loving, wonderful review from A Bear on Books, HERE. It touches me deeply to think of people responding to my writing in this way.

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-12-22T10:27:00.000-08:00

1. Scarred for life. Last Sunday I was flipping through channels when I landed on that Spartacus series... just as a sexy muscular gladiator is getting his legs cut off. NOOOOO!! Must save the sexy!

2. Woke Up in a Strange Place was recently nominated for "Best Title" and "Best World Created" at the M/M Romance Group Choice Awards. I'm on my way, Mama! I'm gonna be a star!

3. The three 2012 CDs I'm most excited about so far: Madonna, Mumford & Sons, & Richard Shindell.

4. Meryl Streep gives the best interviews. Did anyone else see her on 60 Minutes?

5. If Michelle Williams wins the Oscar for imitating Marilyn Monroe I will be disappointed. I like her fine, but against the likes of Streep, Glenn Close, Viola Davis, and Tilda Swinton, all of whom j'adore, Williams' win would seem like the same ol' same ol'. The Academy seems to love to give that award to younger ladies.

6. The Hobbit trailer came out this week. It looks very good. And, damn! There be some mighty fine dwarves in Middleearth. Somebody hand me my battle ax.

7. American Horror Story season finale. I really liked it for the most part. Though, I have to say, the end with Jessica Lange was a bit predictable.

The Booty Enthusiast Club

2011-12-22T09:22:00.000-08:00

Absolutbleu

Justin Monroe

Bon Natale with Daniel Garofali

2011-12-21T05:44:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas to us all! It's my three year blog-iversary!

Excerpt: Kid Christmas Rides Again

2011-12-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

Today's excerpt is from my novella "Kid Christmas Rides Again," a slight piece of erotica illustrated by the wonderful Absolutbleu. The bit I've chosen is right from the start so all will be explained...well, most will be explained. Happy Holidays!

"Kid Christmas Rides Again!"

The idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do – even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of tooth-rotting fervor – it was still the only thing that could be done. After all, Santa as the world had known him had just died of a massive coronary. See, he was trying to break up another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of stress and binge-eating he just finally collapsed in the tussle. Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended, and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit…um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy. A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and milk. There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly died instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.
The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially Father Time who had been eyeing the position for some…time. (Time was, and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.) The new Clause was the handsomest of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced…well, the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so that the young guard’s 22-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosed to accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them. The consensus was that he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings. COCK was a bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening place and the committee eventually convinced itself that people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip. (Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no more ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!
He called himself The Kid…Kid Christmas, that is. (Clearly, a fan of western films.)
All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was a week to go before his first outing as the new Claus and things were clockwork. There were a few minor glitches. There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few times (he really liked how he looked in his new suit, and flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and there was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer…but they – um, that is to say, it was soon put down. The elves were warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by for a visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid Christmas was Chris-napped!
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but now – woo-hoo!) Then, there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.
When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new threads but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd over-abundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw, and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. “How do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself.”
“Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my clothes? Show yourself!”
“You won’t be needing your shocking threads any longer,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m having them altered.” A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped from behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.”
The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’ balls were enormous. They were a mesmerizing sheen and hung like ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas’ physique and rested on the Jolly-man-in-waiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused himself.
“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with everything around them being so very, very large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho…right?” He winked.
“I don’t say that anymore…Wait, what?” Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red. “What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”
“Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snowbunny.” Snow Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn’t stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like an orgy; The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
“You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is altered – which shouldn’t take too long – I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon they will want nothing to do with you. ‘Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas!’ they’ll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty.”
“But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait for an explanation? There was a crazy man standing in front of him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. “I won’t let you do it!”
Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his balls sing with clinks and clonks like a captivating Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the seductive dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of something coming…and coming hard!
“Have fun with Willie,” Snow Globes said as he quickly disappeared behind an icy divider. “And watch those pointy stalactites.”
“You mean stalagmites?”
“Whatever.”
Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and booty-beautiful (by now it should be clear that the Narrator has a thing for the big guy’s triple-beeehind). Yet he was unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called Willie did not have need of any hidden entrance, though. He broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing the muscle-bound merry man across the chamber. Kid Christmas landed on his handsome face with a smash-rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed, but not broken. Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how could he miss it?) of a lengthy and large, growling and snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow penis. It bowed its massive head, huffed a puff of cool air, and crouched like a bull ready for the charge. Intent and starved, it sped toward our hero’s helpless bum.

Galley Proof: The Blurb

2011-12-20T05:48:00.000-08:00

Fiction writer Logan Brandish is perfectly happy in his peaceful small-town routine with his best friend, his cat, and his boyfriend—until he meets the editor of his next book, the handsome Brock Kimble, and the lazy quiet of everyday living goes flying out the window. Faced with real passion for the first time, Logan becomes restless and agitated, and soon his life and his new manuscript—a work in progress he’d always thought would be completed—are in a shambles.

But as Logan is learning, you can’t always get what you want… at least not right away. To take his mind off the mess, he takes a trip, but even the beautiful Italian, um, scenery can’t keep his thoughts from his erstwhile editor for long. Logan just might have to admit there are some things you can’t run from.

Available January 13, 2012.

Charlie on Jasper Lane

2011-12-19T06:41:00.000-08:00

The wonderful artist (and my friend) Charlie Esquiaqui designed this gorgeous piece for me as a companion to the one he did as a banner for this site. I love this! It was an unexpected treat. It's very Jasper Lane-like. Charlie's in my head!!

The Killers - The Cowboy's Christmas Ball

2011-12-18T15:14:00.000-08:00

The Killers new Christmas song! Brandon Flowers is lookin' so damn sexy!

Easily Overwhelmed

2011-12-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

I am easily overwhelmed.

Ever since I was a wee thing I have worried myself sick. Literally sick. At en early age I became a list maker. During class I would make lists of what to do when I got home from school, I designed my outfits for school weeks in advance (though, what lil' gay boy didn't?), and I underlined every TV show I wanted to watch in the TV Guide. I designed for myself a structured life. We'll not get into the "why" because I really have no answers.

Whenever things came in great heaping batches - even good things - I found myself disconcerted and dizzy. I remember the first packet I got from Colt Studio (Mmmmmm...) when I was a curious adolescent. (I had lied and said, Of course I'm 18!) It was the first porn I had ever ordered. I received it in a large brown package and it was stuffed full of postcards, pamphlets, and pretty men with powerful penises (enjoy that alliteration?). There were so many of them I didn't know what to do or where to begin. The will power, the sheer determination, it took to get through that packet without creaming my pants...well, I should have received an award. Or gone to a doctor because it had been at least four hours.

Shopping was - is - the same. Having money didn't change anything. I still come out of clothing stores sometimes empty-handed due to indecision. Why is there so damned much of everything...and nothing?

I remember the first time I saw the inside of my college gym. I had been working out since I was 13 or 14, but I had always done it at home. I was actually quite pumped by the time I hit college. Well, my mouth dropped at the sight of the weight room and it had nothing to do with the choice of men. My mind swam. There was so much equipment there. How was I supposed to decide what to use? I didn't get anything accomplished that first day. I was freaking out. I had to calm myself down, head home, and put together a routine from what I saw. It got much easier after that.

This sense of overwhelm has made its way into my writing career as well. I have such a long list of outlines and story ideas that I don't know how I will ever get to them all. Okay. I'll admit it. I won't. Yet the list sits there on my desk leering at me. Undressing me with its I's. And I say to all of those stories, "I want to write you! I really do. But where's the time? Stop harassing me!"

And that's what it comes down to, all this overwhelm, all this anxious tittering. I'm afraid I won't get everything I want done before I'm done. Not just in writing, but in everything. In life. I hate (Read: LOVE) to get all philosophical here, but that's what's wrong with the world. We work for the future and have become enemies of the now. We're always thinking three books ahead. At least I am.

All my damn lists! I wish I could live without them, and I'm trying. I am. But it's going to take a while. Maybe I should see a shrink about it. I'll need to put that down on my list of things to do.

D'oh!

Little Black Panties

2011-12-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-12-15T18:17:00.000-08:00

1. Whilst I was wandering around Goodreads this week, it was pretty damn awesome to see that my soon-to-be-released book Galley Proof (ETA Jan. 13th) has already been placed on some To Read lists. People want to read me!

2. I love Justin Monroe's twisted take on big bubble booty. Love it! Check out the circus shots and those of the trucker.

3. Got the classy cover for my upcoming digital short from Untreed Reads, "She's Come Undone." It's non-erotic and centers on a put-upon teacher. I'm very proud of it and am expecting a call from an indie filmmaker within minutes of its publication.

4. Starting on the third draft of SuburbaNights. There's the light at the end of the writing tunnel!

5. Watching ABC's Once Upon a Time, I can't help but think that Robert Carlyle (Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin) is a strangely attractive man. And then there's the sheriff...sniff.

6. Woke Up in a Strange Place was mentioned by novelist Dawn Kimberly Johnson on a year end list over at Kim's Writing Again! I'm honored!

7. The Golden Globes were announced today, and, in a surprise move, everyone in Hollywood was nominated.

Two Gay Dads Told They Will Be Grandpas

2011-12-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

One of the most joyful things I've seen in a long time.

Arvinistic Profundity

2011-12-15T10:35:00.000-08:00

Today, I was sitting on the porch, enjoying the nice weather - that of the breeze on this overcast day - and I looked over and out the gravel lane. It's days like this I can't help but ask myself, "Eric, what would you do if a zombie came a-stumbling back the road right now?"

Indeed, Eric. Indeed.

Madonna - La Petite Jeune Fille

2011-12-15T09:17:00.000-08:00

William Orbit produced.

The Bigger The Better

2011-12-14T06:30:00.000-08:00

EXCERPT: Another Enchanted April

2011-12-13T08:16:00.000-08:00

Today's excerpt is from my book Another Enchanted April. The story centers on three young friends in need of change who take a vacation at a B&B, the beauty of which they are unprepared for. In this scene the guys are waking on their first morning there and quite astonished at the look of the place:

Tony woke refreshed the next morning as well, though he would never admit it to Jerry. Streams of sunlight peaked through the shutters and he stared at the high ceiling, smelling the flower perfumed air and at last appreciating the bed linens that had been his comfort all night. He didn’t want to move, but Jerry and Doug were most likely awake, and if history were any indication, Doug would be racing into the room very soon and tickling him until he got up. Doug tickled hard, and Tony really didn’t want finger bruises on his abdomen.

Tony reached for his cane which had fallen to the floor in the night. He admired the old furniture and the look of the room itself. This was most definitely an old place, decidedly un-American in its build. He, like Jerry, was not used to such fine surroundings. He hadn’t been able to work since the accident and got by on the small stipend the government claimed he could live on. That meant a very modest apartment. Anything else now made him nervous. Nothing was ever free or without strings.

Tony headed bleary-eyed to the French doors at the side of his bed. He was not prepared for what the opening of them would bring him. There was a balcony, its wall draped in vines and ivy. Below him were gardens and, beyond them, a small forest. A patch of trees, really. Finally, the sea could just be heard hitting the shore beyond that. Sea birds flew in the distance against a ferocious blue sky. He felt like Eva Peron on her balcony, ready to sing to the masses.

“Jesus Christ on a hang-glider!” he said, breaking into something of a smile as a warm wave, not unlike the waves he imagined on the beach below, rippled through him. He sat for a moment at the table on the balcony and watched the unexpected treasure before him. Unlike Jerry, he was not thrown into a dizzying fit of overwhelming awe. Awe of the more simple variety was good enough.

When at last he was able to stand, he left his room to find what Jerry and Doug had gotten themselves up to. Jerry was in the main hall, an old book in his hand, but he was staring in appreciation at the magnificent cavern above him. He had not changed from his boxers and t-shirt. Doug had risen as well by this point and had already headed out to the gardens, more at ease around beautiful things than either of his friends. Kind attracts kind.

“Can you believe this?” Jerry said. “I mean, can you believe this?” He gestured so wildly the book fell from his lap and slid to the floor.

“We’re still in America, right? We didn’t take any wrong turns did we? Like to Italy?”

Jerry laughed. The two strolled slowly through the hall, studying the paintings and feeling the plush sofas and lounge beds draped in soft, clear, and willowy fabric. Doug was used to this posh lifestyle. He had been raised in a well-off family who owned, and invested in, just about everything. But this was all new to Jerry and Tony.

At last, they headed onto the veranda. It seemed to Tony that Jerry was somewhat cautious, as if he needed some hand-holding before going outside.

“It’s like Oz,” Jerry said. The two stood on the veranda as the sun shone down on them. There was nothing for Tony to say or do but nod in agreement at the silly statement.

The gardens of the Manor House in Beechwood were as such: As stated, they were separated into levels and areas. The veranda had no railing along its edge nor any wall, so the effect was a dramatic drop to the next level. A dangerous fall if one was not aware of one’s surroundings. This thematic design was continued down all the levels of the gardens, giving the effect of large descending steps, or, in some cases, walls of vegetation and ivy like waterfalls. The flow of the gardens was, in this way, undisturbed, and served as an ode to the sea at the doorstep of the Manor House. Benches, tables, and places to lie down were afforded to each level. As many types of flowers and trees that could be imagined were in the gardens all the way down to the path which led to the small forest and out onto the beach. Statuary and ornate pots and vessels lined the walkways, and various fountains gave continuous sound to the gardens. The closer the garden to the patch of trees, the wilder it became. Indeed, those flowers nearest the bottom were not just ready to bloom, but to explode in magnificent color.

Tony was soothed. He instinctively took off the shoes he had worn all night and let the cool feel of the moss and stone relax his feet. It would be harder to walk for him without shoes, but how could he wear them here? It seemed rude.

They heard a steady stream of water as they descended that differentiated itself from the fountains around them. It was not as natural sounding and was often interrupted, as if something was repeatedly obstructing its flow. They followed the sound to a slightly hidden area on the second level. There, past tall wispy trees and statues of satyrs, Doug stood stark naked, cleaning himself underneath an outdoor shower with a detachable shower head. The sun shone and gleamed on his flesh and every muscle sang, every striation became a tiny river. Tony, knowing the effect Doug had on a lot of men, especially Jerry, offered his friend his cane so he wouldn’t fall over.

“Look at that,” Jerry said. “Has there ever been a more greedy sun? A more lusting morning light?”

Doug was, of course, all smiles when he saw them watching. He was Doug, after all, and had star billing in Holt’s Pride Parade, where he wore as little as possible. “Yeah, babies! Get a load of this!” He shook and flexed playfully for them under the stream, completely at ease.

Tony rolled his eyes. Something he did often when he was with Doug. It had become habit, even when Doug made sense. “Settle down, muscle boy. You’re not impressing me.”

Jerry meant to say something in agreement with Tony, but…he couldn’t. He had forgotten to breathe. Tony slapped him on the back to encourage life.

“If I knew my mom’s friend had this place I would have been here every weekend! Didn’t I tell you she was an awful mother? What a bitch.” Doug was not giving up his shower. He splashed and danced and sang a bundle of popular tunes. A show only made sense (at least to him) since he now had a couple of spectators.

His small audience, only half of which was truly enthralled, soon noticed a change in the showering showman, however. A very physical change in the form of a stiffening penis.

“Oh! Come on, Doug,” Tony said. “We get it. You’re sexy. Enough with the show. Put that away.”

But he noticed Doug was smiling flirtatiously past both he and Jerry. “Well, hello there,” Doug said. The greeting hurried over their shoulders. If it had mass it might have knocked them both down.

Tony and Jerry turned to see a young man in a blue baseball cap. He wore dirty overalls, no shirt, and a large pair of brown and dirty gardening gloves. He leaned on a shovel and smiled pleasantly in that way that all Italians have, the description of which lies somewhere between friendship and lust. “Good to see you all up and Adam,” the young man said. Clearly, this was the mysterious stranger from the previous evening.

“At them,” Tony corrected the gardener (it was better than calling him their ‘host’, he decided).

“What?”

“It’s ‘Up and at them.’ Not ‘Up and Adam.’ That makes no sense. It’s like saying ‘I could care less’ when you really mean ‘I couldn’t care less.’”

The gardener smiled broadly at this. His eyes glinted. The glint Tony had noticed the night before and only now re-remembered. Tony swallowed and felt the hairs on his neck bristle pleasantly. He swatted them back down.

“Sexy naked man standing right here,” hollered Doug from behind them. He was never too keen on shifts in attention away from him.

“Be careful of the mosquitoes,” the gardener said. “There are some around here that would make your pecker swell up bigger than what you are packing right now, though not in quite such a pleasurable way.”

Doug grabbed a towel and covered his nakedness at once, looking around for possible penile assault until he was dizzy from the looking.

“There’s a shower room inside that can hold twenty.”

Doug’s penis poked up from beneath the towel in keen interest. “Twenty?”

“Twenty.”

Without another word, Doug raced past them.

“I have a feeling there’s going to be a party,” Jerry said, watching Doug’s finely sculpted mass make the stairs in impressive time.

“Do I want to be here for this?” Tony asked.

“Where else are you going to go?”

“Sit back,” the gardener said to Tony. “Have a good time. Just relax. But, be warned, this garden can make you drunk from its scent sometimes. It can change a man.”

“Right,” Tony said in a dubious tone.

The gardener shrugged as if it was no big deal he was not being believed. Tony had the feeling that this same shrug would have accompanied an earthquake or an atom bomb explosion. As if the entire history of the world was no big deal. Then he winked at Tony. “I will see you later. I have work to do.”

He walked away, again, in a way that only the Italian man can perfect through years of being Italian.

“He winked at you,” Jerry said, nudging his friend as they watched the gardener stroll down the garden paths. “The hot gardener with the Italian accent winked at you and then he said he will see you later.”

“I know. Why do you suppose he did that for?”

The Head and the Heart - Heaven Go Easy on Me

2011-12-12T10:53:00.000-08:00

Good folkie goodness:

For a Ride

2011-12-12T10:46:00.000-08:00

Music & Wine

2011-12-11T05:59:00.000-08:00

Of the arts, music has been very influential on me. There have been songs and scores which have inspired me to write entire manuscripts. I'm guessing I am not alone in this. Art has always inspired art. Music grabs hold of me like nothing else. I will forgo watching a movie to sit back and listen to music. This would have been unheard of in my teen years when I was a film nut. But things change. Things like quality.

One of the things I used to looked forward to all week was winding down on Friday nights, putting in a good CD, opening a bottle of wine, and simply soaking in the music and the alcohol. Yes, I drank alone on occasion. When you're an writer that's not alcoholism. It's your life's prologue.

In college I had my dorm room at Hanover College, whether in Wiley Hall or the Ogle Center, streamed with Christmas lights all year long. Growing up a Jehovah's Witness and forbidden to have such decorations I may have over-decorated for a bit thereafter. I would turn the Christmas lights on and sit back in my comfy green camping chair with a wine glass, and tune out. Saturday nights were for partying with friends, but Friday nights were all mine. Just me and Nina Simone or Aimee Mann, Sarah Brightman or Joni Mitchell. Anything lilting and melancholy usually served the purpose. I never listened to the groups everyone else seemed to be all ape-shit about in college. I didn't care for Rusted Root, and I don't care who thought they were "awesome." And Phish? I didn't smoke enough pot to like Phish.

When I stayed for a summer in the Phi Delt fraternity with my friend Maxie it was the most musically fulfilling time of my life. It had a sort of evolution where I was being introduced to new music by him and, in turn, he by me. It was wonderful. An entire summer of downloading music and drinking gin. It was a summer filled with Ani Difranco, Dar Williams, Lyle Lovette, Dave Matthews, and Bob Schneider. And Dylan. Of course Dylan. (Still, I'll never forgive Maxie for drunkenly proclaiming one night that Emmylou Harris was dull. The travesty! But, in the end, I kind of thought the same of his favorite, Dave Matthews, so we're even. I guess.)

When I got my own apartment the Friday night music tradition continued. I remember specific moments listening to Bob Dylan's "Time Out of Mind", Gillian Welch's "Time (The Revelator)", and Duncan Sheik's "Humming." Wine is the great social lubricator and so it is with music as well. If you want to really zone in to a new CD - to really get to know - crack open a bottle of wine and let the music do its stuff. Just sit back, relax, and be open to it. Meet your new friend. (It doesn't always work, though. Sometimes you come across a CD like The Verve Pipe's "Villains." I could NOT get into that.)

I haven't done this tradition in a few years. As I said earlier, things change. It died out like my own private Lilith Fair. Whether by time or circumstance, I just haven't been able to kick back with some wine and listen to some good music. And I miss that. I miss the Ways of the Lush. That alcoholic blush. (I'm kidding! I kid.) Things just got in the way. Maybe I need to get hold of Maxie again. Maybe I need to stir things up. Yes. I feel the need for evolution.

Emmylou Harris: Goodnight Old World

2011-12-10T14:31:00.000-08:00

My favorite song from Emmylou's latest. Gorgeous piece.

Weight Training

2011-12-10T04:57:00.000-08:00

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-12-09T05:23:00.000-08:00

1. Bob Hoskins playing "Smee" - the same part he played in Steven Spielberg's 1991 film Hook - in Syfy's Neverland was some fun casting. Didn't make me want to watch the whole movie, though.

2. I'm trying to choose some of my more mainstream short stories to send to literary journals. I could use some help if any of y'all have any recs.

3. Laura Nyro is being inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame! Who knew this would ever happen? I love it! If you don't know who she is rent the film version of Michael Cunningham's A Home At the End of the World.

4. I got the galley proof of Galley Proof this week. You have no idea how long I've waited to say that. Makes me giggle. My book Galley Proof is set for release January 13th.

5. By the by, did you see the cover Anne Cain did for Galley Proof that I posted yesterday? No? What kind of blog reader are you? Here it is:

6. I am unimpressed so far with the monsters on NBC's Grimm. Just sayin'.

7. Elisa Rolle's wonderful Rainbow Arards were announced this week. Woke Up in a Strange Place got an honorable mention. I feel a bit like Miss Congeniality. ;-) I'm kidding! I kid!

First Look: 'Galley Proof' Cover

2011-12-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

The cover (by Anne Cain) for my upcoming book Galley Proof, set for release January 13th. I love the image of Rome beneath the guys. Wonderful!

An Excerpt & A Recipe

2011-12-08T06:03:00.000-08:00

I am guesting on Silvia Violet's blog today, HERE. Come by, read a bit from Woke Up in a Strange Place, and get the recipe for my mom's delicious chocolate penuche.

Beaches and Cream

2011-12-07T06:06:00.000-08:00

Which Head?

2011-12-06T13:34:00.000-08:00

So, um...does anyone get the feeling that something...er, ELSE is happening in this ad? Just wondering.

Excerpt: Suburbilicious

2011-12-06T08:00:00.001-08:00

From Book 2 in my Jasper Lane series, Suburbilicious. Here we find gay dad Terrence on a father/son outing with the son he had no idea existed until recently. This is taken from my original version before sent to the editor.

Tessa, the name of Terrence’s one-night trist with the puzzle that was heterosexuality, had put together the trip to the father/son camp as a surprise for both Terrence and their son, Christian. She had done this because she knew that they needed to spend more time together. Of her own admission, she hadn’t even let Terrence know about Christian (Terrence called him Chris, for reasons of obvious aversion) for the first sixteen years of their son’s life because she wanted him to be raised with her own ideals. She realized the folly of this now, and sought to rectify the error by any means she could.

It was a long drive from Jasper Lane in the compact minivan; an all-nighter. They would have been there sooner but Terrence insisted on stopping by every antique store they passed, and there were a lot of them. Chris liked browsing, so this was not something he fussed over in the beginning. But by the time they were through browsing (or the shop owners had thrown them out), the minivan kept getting more and more compact.

“Dad, no more!” Chris eventually had to put his foot down. He said it with a bight smile, though. He said everything with a bright smile. He could have said “Rupert Murdoch is president” and still be smiling as the world collapsed around them.

Chris realized this was par for the course with his father, this semi-parenting of Terrence. For their trip, Chris had packed a few items of basic clothing that he could reuse; he had also brought camping gear, and Terrence had helped him pack the tent in the back. There would be plenty of room for them in the mini-van, he had first supposed. But that was all before Terrence began loading his “basics” into the van. Terrence had brought luggage. He had packed every creature comfort he could think of: an electric toothbrush, his iPod, his laptop (and a small library of the best of Falcon porn), and the latest issues of every magazine he subscribed to, all 26 of them. Chris just laughed as he stood alongside David and Cliff, the three watching Terrence struggle with his load of unnecessary necessities. “That’s our Terry!” their expressions seemed to say.

Once they finally arrived at the camp, which consisted mostly of pines and lakes spotted by barren patches designated for the tents (the only stable structures was the check-in and the latrines), it was Chris who realized exactly what type of vacation his mother had planned for the two of them. He wondered when Terrence would notice, but, thankfully, he didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to what was going on.

God, thank you for laptops and gay porn DVDs!

Terrence had completely missed the three crosses at the camp’s entrance, and, to Chris’ relief, his father had even skimmed over the rather obvious Christian feel and look of the check-in as they approached it. Chris held his breath the entire time, but there was no grand explosion of horror. Terrence was completely unaware even without his DVDs. Chris thought it would have been humorous, if it weren’t so sad. Instead of paying attention to the crucifix-decorated welcome forms he was signing or the “Jesus loves you” pen he was holding or the collar-wearing older man who was welcoming them, Terrence was busy checking out the only other father to arrive as of yet, a cute GQ-ish number with gorgeous, executive hair and wearing a plaid shirt. Chris was thankful for this, otherwise their vacation together would have ended sooner than…well, a gay man’s vacation at a Bible camp.

The old priest or preacher or shaman – whatever he was – the old man who had welcomed them shook Terrence’s hand, but Terrence hardly noticed. He had caught the other father’s eye, trying to reel him in. Quickly, Chris acted. He pulled at his father like an anxious child ready to go to the fishin’ hole and soon enough they were out the door with the directions to their designated campsite.

“Did you get a look at that!” Terrence whispered. “Oh, daddy!” Then, remembering he was with his son, he straightened up, somewhat embarrassed.

“This ain’t the Dunes in Saugatuck,” Chris jibed. “Here are the directions. It’s not too far. I’ll drive.”

They first carried the large green army tent they had borrowed from James (well, Rick gave it to them technically without telling James) from the minivan. Sitting it down, they surveyed their surroundings. They were given a spot at the rear of the campground near the woods and the lake. Terrence liked this. From here he could watch the other fathers arrive, and slowly divide and conquer.

“I wonder where Paul Bunyon from check-in will be?”

Chris shook his head in mock disappointment. “This isn’t a monastery, Dad. Mom sent us here to spend more time together.”

“And we will,” Terrence assured him. “But I’m sure there are going to be times when you want to be alone with the other boys your age.”

“Right.” Chris smirked.

“I’ll start unpacking!” Terrence proclaimed excitedly as he sauntered back to the minivan. It was the sauntering that made Chris giggle. Terrence was like a chameleon, he changed every five minutes, trying the butch routine here, the more fem there. Turned on by superheroes one day and cowboys the next. Even his hair was a constant show of changing personal taste. When Chris had first met Terrence the year before his head was shorn as clean as a cue ball. Now, he wore a stylishly messy blond mop. Chris sighed. What a great dad!

Chris busied himself with unpacking the tent so that the canvas lay square on the ground. He set the pegs and rods to the side, knowing that one of the competitions described at check-in was the raising of the tents. Kind of like a barn-raising, he supposed, but pointless. When done he watched squat on the ground as Terrence fumbled his way in and out of the minivan. It was immediately an enjoyable show, so he tore open the beef jerky he had bought at one of the previous nights’ numerous pit stops and chewed hungrily.

“Hello, young man,” came a kindly voice from the dirt road near the campsite. The preacher/pastor/shaman who had checked them in earlier was walking toward their site, kicking up dust onto his black ensemble with his shiny black shoes. “Christian, right?” he said, coming to a stop in front of Chris. Terrence remained by the minivan, still fighting with his luggage. Chris was able to keep an eye on his father over the preacher’s shoulder.

“That’s right,” Chris replied with his trademark smile. He was hoping desperately that Terrence would be too consumed with his testy luggage to actually recognize the old man was an old man of the cloth, and was relieved when the old man didn’t repeat his name, Father Donaghan.

“Very appropriate for this place, your name is.” He chuckled. “I just came by to tell you something I forgot. Check-ins are always so confusing for me. The older I get....” He wasn’t a bad old man, Chris thought. Rather grandfatherly in fact. Wilford Brimley-ish, but not as hefty. “I came to invite you to the prayer circle this afternoon” (Terrence straightening, ears seeming to perk up to the sound of danger) “, a circle of Christian and brotherly love” (Terrence turning in their direction, a deer caught in the headlights) “a joyous praising of the Lord.”

At once, Terrence dropped his luggage and bounded into the woods, desperate for escape. Father Donaghan heard the luggage drop, but was too slow to see Terrence flee into God’s wilderness.

“Looks like you’ve overpacked my boy,” he said, noting the spilled luggage.

“Looks like,” Chris agreed anxiously.

Kindly refusing the old pastor’s generous and continuous offers to help him get things settled, Chris finally saw Father Donaghan off and at once leaped into the forest after Terrence. It didn’t take him long to find his father. The sounds of a cell phone’s keys being punched frantically led him around a thick wall of ferns and brush.

“What are you doing?” Chris asked.

“Calling your mother,” Terrence hissed. “She did this on purpose. Did you know about this? Oh, it’s an evil plot! I’ve never been more Barbara Stanwyck than now.”

Chris took the phone from him without much struggle. Terrence simply wasn’t expecting it.

“What are you doing? Give that back!”

“You’ll get it back when we head home. Not a moment before.” He closed the phone before Tessa could answer and stuffed the cell into his pocket. “Now come on. Let’s get things unpacked. Christian or not, you’re going to have fun here. And you’re going to have that fun with me. Got it?” He turned to go, expecting Terrence to follow.

After a few steps he heard a rustle in the brush and turned to see Terrence still hidden behind leaves and trees. His fingers pulled away the leaves just slight enough so that he could see out. “Is he gone?” he whispered loudly. “Is the church man gone?”

“Stop that!” Chris whisper-shouted back. “Stop hiding behind bushes. You look creepy!”

“Don’t talk to your father in that tone of voice!”

“If you don’t come from behind there I swear to God, I’ll...”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll scratch every DVD you brought with you!”

There was an audible gasp, more rustling, and then Terrence emerged from nature as if nothing had happened. “Let’s go raise a tent,” he said, walking briskly past his son.

Pretty Mens

2011-12-05T06:13:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Jennifer for this. DE-lightful!

Quite the Page Mother

2011-12-04T14:44:00.000-08:00

How is Paul Richmond's GORGEOUS cover for my book Woke Up in a Strange Place NOT up for any year end awards?!

I mean, seriously! THAT is a gorgeous cover. Sigh. Okay. Daddy feels better now. Carry on.

Movies That Moved Me This Year

2011-12-04T06:55:00.000-08:00

I'll be honest. I don't believe I'm much of a film buff anymore. At one time I was, but over the last few years I've become disenchanted by film. Maybe this has to do with knowing too much about the actors involved, about their lives. Maybe I think the special effects have taken over the plot. Maybe I just haven't connected on any level to many films. Maybe I just can't be bothered. Whatever the reason, I'm sure I will discuss it in a future blog piece. I will prattle and prattle about it. Today, however, I thought I'd look back and chat about the films I have seen this year. The ones that stuck out the most to me anyway. Not one of them is from 2011, by the way.

I saw quite a few films aimed at a younger audience this year. Animated features mostly. I thought Tangled, Disney's beautifully animated retelling of Rapunzel, was very cute. The songs were mostly forgettable, but I did enjoy the song in the barbarian gay bar scene. I also liked the tune Counselor Deana Troi...er, Rapunzel's mother...sang at the beginning. My big complaint on that film is the lack of ass on the hero, Flynn. Give that boy some booty! Him and those red-headed twins need to get something filthy going on.

Toy Story 3 was genuinely touching. Especially at the end. I got a lump in me throat. I was never big on the Toy Story franchise (or their annoying Randy Newman songs), but I really liked this entry.

Alice in Wonderland was one of the prettiest films I saw all year. It deservedly won the Oscars it won for sets and costumes. Despite the wonderful performances by Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter and Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen, though, the rest of the film felt flat and rushed. Tim Burton is not an epic film director and that end battle suffered because of it.

Coraline was by far the best animated film I have seen in a long while. Based on Neil Gaiman's tale, the wicked animation style and dark story thrilled me. I lovered it!

Of the Oscar-y type films I saw, a few stood out. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was much better than the backlash told me. Brad Pitt gave his best performance since Fight Club, and Cate Blanchette and Tilda Swinton were marvelous. And that final scene with the baby? Lawdy!

Meryl Streep and Viola Davis - who will most likely be competing against each other this year for Best Actress - were both amazing in Doubt. The final scene with Streep was very powerful. My issue with this film is Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Aside from his turn in Magnolia, I'm just not a fan of his.

Eat Pray Love was a better film than people give it credit for being. I found it very touching in scenes. The father/son goodbye with Javier Bardem was lovely, and the whole Italian part of the trip was nostalgic for me. Sigh. I miss Italy...and its food.

I finally saw the great Maggie Smith in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, the film she won her Best Actress Oscar for in 1969. I went in thinking I was going to see Smith in a performance akin to her wackiness in Travels with My Aunt, but it turned out to be quite different. I've been shouting "Assassin!" at odd moments ever since I saw it. Now, the only Oscar nominated performance of Smith's I have not seen is 1965's Othello.

I at last saw Suspiria all the way through. Dario Argento's bloody ballet film about Satanism at an all girl's academy is fun camp and often very creepy.

Volver might be my new favorite Pedro Almodovar film. Penelope Cruz is very good as a mother protecting her daughter, all the while being visited by the ghost of her own mother. There are some neat little twists to this tale that I didn't see coming.

Clint Eastwood is the star of 1971's Southern Gothic masterpiece The Beguiled, but Geraldine Page and Elizabeth Hartman steal the film. Eastwood plays a Civil War soldier, a Yankee, who is wounded and captured by Page. He is nursed back to health at her all girls school, a wilting southern mansion. Just when you think you know where the plot is going it shifts. This reminded me of the writing of my favorite writer, James Purdy.

The best film I saw all year was 1947's Black Narcissus. A film about a group of nuns led by Deborah Kerr at a secluded convent in the Himalayas. The film is gorgeous to look at, and the themes of lust and madness are never more deeply etched then when Kathleen Byron is on screen as Sister Ruth. She is now one of my favorite film villains EVER.

So, that's it. That's what I've been watching this year. You'll notice not a single sparkling vampire or transforming robot in the lot. Why? Well, because I'm better than you. Haha. I kid. I kid.

Or do I? BOW TO ME!!

Every Time I Think of You - by Jim Provenzano

2011-12-03T16:26:00.000-08:00

Jim Provenzano has a new book, "Every Time I Think of You." I had the chance to read it and was honored to offer a blurb for this wonderful work.

Underwear is Fun to Wear!

2011-12-03T14:03:00.001-08:00

Annie Lennox - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

2011-12-03T06:54:00.000-08:00

First posted this last year. One of the best Christmas songs (and videos) to be released in some time.

Bullet Points

2011-12-02T06:21:00.000-08:00

1. The Walking Dead - They found the girl and now they're going on a two month hiatus? Those monsters!

2. House Hunters - Where do they find people who can afford these homes?! What percentile of the population can....Oh. Wait.

3. It would be so awesome to see Helena Bonham Carter win an Oscar for her role as Miss Havisham in next year's Great Expectations. That role was made for her.

4. My book Another Enchanted April made a Goodreads year end list!

5. How did I become a fan of Emma Stone? I just seems to have happened without my knowing. First Zombieland then the world!

6. The review for Kid Christmas Rides Again was the top visited review of the year over at Brief Encounters. Awesomeness.

7. I have a date for the release of my next book from Dreamspinner Press, Galley Proof: January 13.

Look At That Face!

2011-11-30T16:10:00.000-08:00

Good Reads Best of...

2011-11-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

Another Enchanted April has made Good Reads end of the year Best M/M Romance list. Yay! You can still go there and vote. HERE.

It's time

2011-11-29T14:42:00.000-08:00

More moving than most films I've seen lately.

Excerpt: Subsurdity

2011-11-29T09:15:00.000-08:00

I'm finishing up writing Suburbanights right now, so I thought I'd share a bit from Book #1 in the Jasper Lane series, Subsurdity. In this scene, Rick Cooper moves into the nighborhood:

Rick Cooper pulled into the driveway, his heart still pounding from his run-in with the curb. More truthfully, it was the sight of a sweaty, beefy muscle god in tiny, green shorts that flustered him. He was still a tad dumbfounded by the experience. If things had gone worse, if he had run into a house instead of trash cans, there would have been serious repercussions. He only had one eye. It would be a clear-cut case to any police officer.
“Ricky, baby!” came a shout from the lawn. Terrence sat in his green lawn chair in the center of the grass, holding a very large margarita in one hand and a very small pink cell phone in the other. “I’ll call you back,” he said quickly to the person on the other end.
“Hey, Terrence,” Rick greeted, as he got out of the rusty blue Festiva.
“Is this all you brought?” Terrence asked, somewhat disappointedly as he approached the vehicle, peering in the back seat. He held his drink like a prized possession, high and out of harm’s way, sunglasses he had perched on his shaved head.
“I didn’t have much,” Rick answered, numbly. “Most of the stuff was Coby’s.”
“So, he gets everything? The apartment, the dog, the computer? The greedy slut!”
“Yeah, I didn’t buy too much when we were together.” Rick’s reply was simple, nonconfrontational.
“Well, how could you? I mean, he was using everything you made to support his gambling habit,” Terrence explained. “What an ass! And after your accident, too.” He shook his head in disdain before taking a gulp from his glass as one hand stayed permanently fixed to his hip.
“Well, it’s over now. All I’ve got are these few boxes of clothes and CDs.”
“We’ll soon fix that, baby!” Terrence grinned. “There are some fabulous places around here to shop.”
Rick could always count on Terrence to know the best shopping venues. Even in college he could smell out a unique shopping experience a mile away. But then, unique never much appealed to Rick.
“I like the shaved look,” Rick said, gesturing to Terrence’s dome.
“Why, thank you, darlin’,” Terrence replied in a faux southern accent. “I like the eye patch. It looks good on you. You can really pull that off.”
“Whatever,” Rick shrugged.
“No, really. Gives you character. It’s sexy.”
“I lost my eye, Terrence,” Rick said. “That’s not sexy.”
“You didn’t lose it. It was taken from you by that bastard of a boyfriend and his gambling debts. And then,” he exclaimed, clearly getting more intoxicated by the minute, “he goes and breaks your glass eye! Who breaks someone’s glass eye! I mean, really! You were living in a damn Tarantino film, my friend.”
Rick laughed dryly. “It’s good to see you, Terrence,” he said, giving his friend a hug. “Thanks for this, for letting me move in. You and David are great friends.”
“Don’t mention it, hon. It’s David’s house, though. I’m just staying here for a bit, too. Want a margarita before we unpack you?” David and Terrence had been the best of friends since college, yet they couldn’t have been more different. David was athletic and masculine, Terrence was artistic and a tad feminine. Somehow, though, they connected. There were times in college when Rick had felt like an outsider around the two of them-but then, Rick always felt like an outsider.
“No, thanks,” Rick declined. “What are you doing, drinking so early-and in the yard, no less?”
“David and I have been doing this for the past two weeks. You’re not the only newbie on the street.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“A big muscle man,” Terrence moaned. “He runs by here every day. Just moved into a house down the street. Yummy! He was in the military.” His eyes lit up with mischief.
“Oh, I think I saw him. Almost caused me to run off the road.”
“Uh-huh,” Terrence said, sipping his drink. “Speaking of you and the road, are you supposed to be driving? Isn’t that dangerous with the whole Cycloptic thing going on?”
Rick took a playful swipe at his friend’s cheek. “You’re the dangerous one,” he joked, as best he could.
His attention, though, was immediately drawn to a grey Hummer pulling into the driveway behind his Festiva. The bass thumped loudly, shaking windows down the street before it was silenced.
“Who is this?” he inquired, awestruck by the massive vehicle.
“Hmmm?” Terrence said, as he turned to look at the land yacht. “Oh. It’s just David.”
“David owns a Hummer?”
“Of course not! That’s his boyfriend’s.”
“Ricky!” David’s voice called from behind the passenger-side door as it opened. He struggled to get out of the beast without falling awkwardly to the ground. “My God! Ricky! How are you?” he yelled as he ran to his friend with arms wide.
David had clearly been to the gym recently. His arms were twice the size they once were. He’d been a wrestler all through high school and college, but he had never looked as swollen.
“I’m good, David. How are you?” Rick smiled.
“Oh, you know,” he shrugged off the question. “I’m so glad you’re going to live with us! And if that Coby or any of his gambling goons tries to come around here, we’ll sic Cliff on them.”
“Cliff?”
Rick’s question was answered as he saw the owner of the Hummer, a solid man built from muscle and veins, walking toward them in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both of which were barely able to contain the bulges beneath.
“Rick, this is my boyfriend, Cliff,” David said with pride.
Cliff held out his huge hand with a square-jawed grin. “Hey there, Rick,” he said with a deep baritone of a voice.
“Hi,” Rick replied, taking the giant’s hand. “You’re huge.”
“Eh...it’s the steroids,” Cliff admitted, nonchalantly.
“Oh.” Was that supposed to lessen the wonder?
“Cliff, would you take Rick’s things inside?” David asked.
“You bet,” Cliff said.
He opened the Festiva’s back door, nearly tearing it from its hinges, and got almost the entire lot of clothing and CDs with one muscled embrace. He walked to the house with heavy strides as the three friends watched by the car.
“Where did you find him?” Rick inquired.
“Becky Ridgeworth, down the street,” David answered. “She knows a lot of guys in the film biz.”
“He’s an actor? I think I would remember if I saw him in anything. What has he been in?”
“You haven’t seen him in anything, believe me,” Terrence cut in, taking a break from the margarita. “You don’t watch porn.”
“He’s a porn actor?” Rick glanced at David with eyebrows raised. It was as exclamatory as he ever got.
David grinned widely and nodded. “Becky does copy writing for porn studios...on the sly, of course.”
“That’s amazing. I imagine it’s hard to breathe with that much man on top of you during sex, huh?” Rick winked.
“Oh, honey. Cliff’s a bottom,” David corrected.
Rick nearly fell over.
“Are you all right?” Terrence asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Rick steadied himself. “Depth perception,” he said, blaming his one eye. “Screws me up, that’s all.”
Cliff strode back out to the Festiva to retrieve the last bit of luggage. As he leaned into the backseat, Rick watched the muscular, steroid-enhanced ass.
“I’ll have that drink now,” he whispered to Terrence.

Mirror Crack'd

2011-11-28T12:15:00.000-08:00

Who Does Ang Lee Think He Is?!

2011-11-27T09:45:00.000-08:00

Love this deleted scene from Knocked Up.

A Boy & His Dog

2011-11-27T07:45:00.000-08:00

There's a story I've been trying to write for quite a while now about a boy and his dog. Actually, not so much a boy as a young man. Me. I just haven't been able to find the right format to tell it.

I had a German shepherd named Spike all through high school and college. He was a big sweetie. He looked as mean as all git out, but he loved everyone and everything. Even my other dog, Stretcher, warmed up to him immediately when my dad brought him home.

German shepherds have notorious hip issues as they age, and Spike was no different. A few years into college I began to see his wobbly walk and how much more energy it was taking for him to rise. When I left for grad school in Australia I knew he was in very bad shape, but the program I had entered was only a year and I was hoping he would still be there when I got back to the States.

I got very ill when I was in Oz and had to fly home early. I talked to my mother on the phone at least twice a week when I was there, and even more often after I got sick. Familiar faces and voices are never more important than when you are facing your own mortality. I always asked about Spike. Mom always said he was fine. I remember her answer seemed less than certain on one of the last phone conversations we had before I returned home.

When Mom picked me up at the airport she told me the truth of it. She had had to put Spike down. He had become too ill and was in absolute misery. This had been done at least a month before I returned. She hadn't told me over the phone because I was so ill. She figured a lie was best in that situation. Mom told me that when the vet came and got Spike he cowered behind her, looking for protection. As if he knew what they were there for. My mother has never been a fan of dogs, or any pets for that matter, but her heart broke when Spike did that. Mine did too just hearing about it.

What tears me up to this day was something I found out later. Spike was not put down at once. He was in some strange cage for a whole week, in pain, without a soul that he knew. Without seeing anyone who truly loved him. I wish I could have been there. Someone should have. No creature who brings as much joy as that pup did should have to leave this world alone.

Now that I think about it, maybe some things shouldn't be fictionalized. Maybe telling them outright is the perfect way to go.

Friendly

2011-11-26T02:55:00.000-08:00

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-11-25T03:42:00.000-08:00

1. The White Stripes' Jack White has turned into quite the producer for legendary ladies like Loretta Lynn and Wanda Jackson. I would love to hear what he could do with Dolly Parton.

2. Got my author copy of Erotica Exotica, the new Richard Labonte anthology in which my short "Gordy & the Vampire" is featured. Hard sexy stuff.

3. I heard that the Saints & Sinners Literary Festival in N'Orleans was cancelled. I was really hoping to make it down there this year, but now it looks like I'll need to wait until 2013. This does not help my predilection for hermit-like behaviour.

4. Finished the first draft on Book 3 in my Jasper Lane series, SuburbaNights. Woot.

5. I had the fleeting idea of offering SuburbaNights as an episodic series on a blog rather than publishing it outright. Maybe that would gain me more readers?

6. If I ever wrote a vampire book, I would set it in a hospital and the main character would be a doctor named Le STAT. Hehe.

7. Parades are dumb.

Addams Family Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T13:07:00.000-08:00

Happy Turkey Day all! I had originally intended to post a very S/M piece of artwork by Jotto here, featuring two muscle boys and a crazed turkey. However, having recently discovered that my blog posts are now being shown on GoodReads for all eyes to see, I have decided on something a bit less...controversial. From one of the GREATEST THANKSGIVING MOVES EVER!!

Pre-Holiday Indecision

2011-11-23T09:02:00.000-08:00

Wings?
Breast?

Thigh?

Decisions, decisions...

Excerpt: "Electronic Love, Australia"

2011-11-22T08:41:00.000-08:00

This is one of the Cat/Gael stories from my antho Slight Details & Random Events (available via Dreamspinner HERE). These tales are loosely based on my own life. Here, Gael is studying abroad and converses via email with his boyfriend, Cat, who is still in the States.

Electronic Love, Australia
Eric Arvin

Hey Baby!
From our conversation on the phone after the flight I could tell you were still edgy about my being here. All I can say is that it’s only a year program. I’ll be back soon, and with a masters degree. (I think you’re just pissed that your degree is going to take twice as long. Just kidding.) Please don’t get all sentimental on me like you did when I left ever again. Evan helped me through the first hours of missing you... well, Evan and Starbucks. I’m glad she came with me to Australia. Oh, and about Evan, she thinks you hate her. What’s that about? Please write her and tell her it’s not true. Anyway, better go. Evan and I need to find a hostel while we search for apartments near campus. I’ll e-mail every day. There’s an internet café on every corner here. It’s amazing! You and I both know neither of us can afford phone calls right now. Like I said before I left, though, I promise to call once a week AT LEAST.
Love you and miss you!!
Gael

God I miss you! And it’s only been two days since I saw you at the airport! I’m a pussy.... Anyway, no, I won’t write Evan. The fact is I do hate her, the bitch! Just joking (or am I?). I’ll write her as soon as I’m done here. Classes are going okay where I’m at. Cold as fuck, though. I can’t believe it’s summer over there. So weird! I mean, they have Christmas on the beach. Sounds sweet.
I’m glad I got to spend this Christmas with you. Mom really liked you. Thanks again for finding that Willa Cather first edition. She loves it. Valentine’s Day was my favorite, though. You and me in my apartment on the sofa all night. I love that it snowed. GOD, I MISS YOU!
Well, babe, I gotta be getting to class. You’re a day ahead down there, right? So if I want to catch you on Friday night that means I need to call early Friday morning? You’re always ahead of me. Overachiever!
Love you Baby!!
Cat

Hiya Dollface!
Been here a week now. It’s so strange. This city is massive! Sydney feels larger than any place I’ve ever been and yet I know Rome has to be larger. Evan and I stick pretty close for fear of getting lost. As I told you in our lil’ weekly phone splurge, the hostel is nice. They say we can stay on as long as we need. Usually there’s like some time limit. A certain length of days and then you’re out, but this is apparently not a busy time for them. Summer is winding down now, after all. The hostel has an internet café located in it, so that makes things easier. Last night Evan and I went to the roof where they have set up a nice picnicking area. We got a couple alcoholic beverages (against the rules, by the way) and watched the planes landing and taking off from the nearby airport. It’s all very pretty, though a bit loud. Tomorrow we’re going to sign up for classes. ( I told you the hostel was right down the road from the University of Sydney, right? In fact our road leads right to the University park.) Afterwards, we’re going to check out some more apartments. I hate having to go through a realtor to find an apartment. I don’t trust them.
Oh! One more thing. I forgot to tell you about this flight attendant on the long flight over. He was checking me out. I mean, really checking me out. I was wearing that black sweater you got me for Christmas. Well, the guy looked more like a rugby player than a flight attendant. He was hot! Anyway, he kept chatting it up with me. He even brought Evan and I a couple of those gift thingy’s from first class. When we were about ready to land, all buckled up, he says to me “You’re very cute”! I didn’t know what to say! I retorted with a clumsy “Thanks.” I just thought I’d pass that on to you. It was amusing.
Who loves you, Baby!
Gael, that’s who!

Whoa!!
Are you already forgetting about me?! Keep your pretty gay hands off those rugby-playing flight attendants! You have no idea how jealous I just got reading that. I’ll admit it. I got jealous. I’ve decided that I’m going to come visit you. I have gotta see this place for myself. Don’t know when. I haven’t fixed a date in my head, but it’ll be as soon as I possibly can. I’ll start saving now.
Things here are pretty much the same. It’s still very cold but the weather guy says everything is going to warm up next week. We might even hit a balmy 50 degrees. School is everything I thought it would be. Very, very dull. I’m beginning to think I went into the wrong area of study. Maybe I should just join the army, or (hee hee) the navy like my dad. Mom says ‘hi’. Oh, and do you remember Blake Parcel? Big guy, chubby, really nice but smelled like rotten tomatoes. Well, he sent me the strangest letter today. I’m not sure, but I think he’s telling me he’s gay. Did you ever get a vibe from him while he was my roomie in college? I bet he was trying to look at me naked! Dang homosexual!
Yours truly (who will be calling your ass this weekend to interrogate you on said flight attendant),
Cat

Great news darling!
Sorry I haven’t written for a couple of days, but we found an apartment! Actually, we found lots of them but this is the only one the realtor will let us have, and we still had to haggle over the rent. AAARGH! Anyway, it’s a two bedroom second floor apartment in a really nice area. It has a balcony, crown molding, and a security buzzer-upper thing, like on Seinfeld. (Unfortunately, it also comes with what seems to be a very large family of cockroaches. We’re told, though, that Sydney has a cockroach infestation problem. It would be the same anywhere. Yuck.) We are actually located in a suburb of Sydney called Coogee. It was once a resort community. We can see the beach from our balcony. It’s a good spot to sit and check out the surfer boys and sun-tanned studs. There is plenty of eye candy here (though none compare to you, darling :). There’s a nice little café by the beach that Evan thinks should become our morning tradition, and a fitness center right outside our door. It’s all kind of perfect, actually. I can’t wait for you to see it all!
Classes are going okay. It’s so much easier than I thought it would be. I guess going to school at Verona really paid off. How are things going with your classes? Has it gotten a little more interesting? Spring’s just around the corner (for you anyway), just keep that in mind.
We finally got a small cd player so I was able to listen to the CD you made me. I love it!
I miss you! I miss that purty mouth o’ yours. And I miss that ass. I jack off to it every night (wink).
Lata figure-skata!
G

Sooo happy to hear you like the CD. But then, why wouldn’t you? I have great taste. “Pancho and Lefty” was my favorite song on the CD. Gotta love Townes van Zandt! (Your gal Emmylou does a great cover of that tune, by the way.)
I’m so jealous that you are out on that beach all the time. When I come for a visit I think I’ll be spending most of my time on the sand... well, there and the bedroom (wink wink). But please, I don’t want to hear anymore about the surfers! Enjoy them in silence. As for my own ass which you alluded to, I’m keeping it fit for you. I joined a baseball team. It’s an amateur league here in the city. Nothing big, but it’ll keep me in shape.
Grad school is fucking dull. I hate it! Nothing new to report other than the fact that it’s becoming a little harder. My grades are slipping of late. I’m just not interested in anything they are teaching me. I’m thinking of taking some time off after this term.
Blake and I have been spending some time together. He’s really nervous about the whole gay thing. He’s even more closeted to his friends and family than me. He does look better, though. He doesn’t smell anymore either. He makes me a bit nervous sometimes. I think he might be flirting with me. I don’t know how to let him down easy. I’ve told him about you and me, but he doesn’t seem to care. Don’t worry, though, I’ll keep him at arm’s length..
And get this: Mom is trying to set me up with some girl in her church. The pastor’s daughter!
Anyhoo, gotta git. Talk soon, baby. Love you!
The C-man

Okay. I don’t really know how to ask you this, but my mom is really pressuring me to date the pastor’s daughter. I think she’s getting suspicious. She’s always asking me why I don’t have a girlfriend. What do you say to me fake dating her? Not for real. Just like a show for my mom. Just for a bit.
Cat

I get that you’re upset. I tried to call back after you called me but I know you’re pissed off and probably chose not to answer. I’ll try again tonight. We can talk this out. It’s just that Mom is asking all these questions. You had every right, though, to call and scream at me. I’ll talk to you soon, I hope.
Love
Cat

Baby! Please answer the phone! Or at least e-mail me again!
Love
Cat

Thank you, thank you, thank you! That phone call meant a lot. Finally speaking to me again, huh? It was so great hearing your voice. I realize that breaking that news to you through e-mail was probably not the best way to go. No matter now. I’m going to tell Emily that I’m gay. I did tell you that was the pastor’s daughter’s name, right? Emily. I’m doing this for you, but I have to get Mom off my back somehow. Any suggestions?
Cat

Kitten,
I’m glad to hear that Emily took so well to your coming out. I can’t believe, though, that she wasn’t attracted to you. Impossible! Yes, I suppose it would be okay for you to be her show-pony... or she yours. Whichever the occasion calls for. So I guess Rosa is pretty happy then, huh? Her son is “dating” the pastor’s daughter. How long are you going to keep the charade up?
Anyway, been hanging out with some guys from England. They’re all obscenely wealthy and bumming around Australia for a year. They’re a lot of fun. The two I’ve taken a liking to are Ewan and Liam. (How original, right?) All they do is go to the beach and then travel on the weekends. They stay in hostels, but I don’t understand why. They can afford much better accommodations. They play rugby near the beach a lot of the time. Evan and I will go down and watch. They asked if I wanted to play but there’s no freaking way! Those guys kill each other! American football is for out and out wimps now that I’ve seen this game.
Forgive my jealousy and childish behavior over Emily.
Love you!
Gael

Blake Parcel killed himself. Heard the news yesterday morning. That’s why I didn’t call. I went and visited with his parents after I heard. Some of the other brothers from the fraternity came to see them as well. I don’t really know how to feel. I knew him, but not extremely well. I lived with him, but we didn’t share too much. In the last couple of weeks we hung out and everything seemed great. He was even talking about putting his pic on one of those internet matchmaker sights. Everyone is puzzled as to why he did it, but I think I know. He was going to tell his family he was gay. Maybe they didn’t react the way he had dreamed they would. Baby, this scares me. What would happen if I told Mom? I’m going to call you tonight.
C

How was the funeral? Stupid question, I know. Are you feeling any less uneasy? I wish I could be there for you. I’ll call later.
Love you,
Gael

Thanks for the pix you attached to you last e-mail! Damn you look good. Down Under agrees with you. I’m in a better mood now. Blake’s death just put me in a deep funk. It’s been over a week now, though, and I think I’m getting back to normal. Went down to visit Verona, our alma mater, last weekend. Walked to he Point and sat and stared at the river. It did me good. The weather’s nicer now. Just sitting there I felt refreshed. You know that Joni Mitchell song where she sings “I wish I had a river that I could skate away on”? It kept running through my head.
Missing our jogs,
C

Have I got a story for you!
Evan and I went out partying with the Brits last night. Everyone got sloppy drunk and, after the Redcoats had stumbled off to their hostel, Evan and I too went to bed. Well, in the midst of my drunken slumber I am awakened by a figure in my doorway. (I always leave my bedroom door open.) I was terrified at first, but then realized the thin frame to be Evan. She was taking off her clothes! Not slowly either, but as if they were on fire. She then came over to my bed and mumbled something. I couldn’t understand a word. Aside from that her box was directly in front of my face! That’s right! Her naked-to-the-world VAGINA was staring right at me! It was terrifying... and completely shaven. I didn’t know where else to look. How do you avoid looking at something like that? So then she ran to the door of our apartment and tried to open it, all the while mumbling something that sounded like “I know we know, I know we know.” I watched as she ran to her room, then back to the aforementioned door. This back-and-forth went on for about 20 minutes. I was getting very concerned. When I tried to stop her and ask what was wrong she said (finally something coherent) “It’s in my blood.” What?! What kind of nutcase had I agreed to lease an apartment with? “It’s in my blood.” Was she on drugs? Sleep-walking? She finally succeeded in getting the apartment door open and going out naked into the hall. She was ready to climb down the stairs and go outside but I dragged her nude ass back up. Well, after about an hour she calmed down and laid on the couch. I stayed watch for a bit longer, just in case. I covered her up with blankets and went to sleep. The thing is, she doesn’t remember a thing about it. I’m freaked out. Do you think somebody might have slipped her something? Liam and Ewan were with her most of the night. Either of them maybe?
Anyways, how are you?
Love
G

Hello Lover!
So Evan thinks her lunacy the other night was a combination of mixing her medication for depression and alcohol? Whatever. It’s still a little funny, though. Tell her to take it easy.
Emily and I are the perfect fake couple. Everyone is none the wiser. Emily’s dad, the pastor, is happy that his daughter is dating such an upstanding, moral boy. Emily needs me for show as much as I need her, it seems. She’s had a boyfriend for a while but has had to keep it secret because her father disapproves. I’m in a big, fat cliche but it’s working for me. Mom is ecstatic. She’s already making wedding plans! She’s come down with something. A cold or flu bug, but not even that can keep her from reveling in the fact that I’m dating the pastor’s daughter.
Love
Emily’s show-pony,
Cat

It makes me a little sad to think that neither your mom nor mine would be as ecstatic about planning a wedding for the two of us. Everyone says they want happiness for their children, but it’s selfish really. How will marrying so-and-so make the family look, or will they have children for the relatives to spoil. I don’t like this Emily girl. Not one bit. It should me and you, not you and her. Why can’t people be happy for us?
Classes stink. One in particular, Ancient Roman History, is so full of pompous Eurotrash students that I feel nauseated stepping into the room every day.
Later
g

Cheer up darlin’. Things will get better. You only spend a few hours a day with your classmates then you get to spend the rest of the day with people you actually like, right? And about the wedding thing, it’s a ridiculous tradition. Weddings always lead to divorce and anger. Ask my mom about that.
My classes are almost ended for the year. I’m still debating on returning next term. We’ll see.
I’m definitely coming to visit next month. I put the plane ticket on the old credit card. I’m so excited to see you again! I’m gonna call tonight.
C

Hey baby.
I’ve been feeling very ill the last few days. I don’t really know what’s wrong. I don’t have a fever but I have the symptoms of the flu. A few of them anyway. It started after I hit my head the other night. Evan and I had the Redcoats over and Ewan, drunk off his skinny little ass, jumped on me. I lost my balance and my head hit the corner of the wall. There was a bit of blood but everyone assured me it wasn’t serious enough for a doctor or stitches. I guess I should have gone anyway. I have gauze wrapped around my head. I’m sure it’ll start a trend.
After it happened, as I sat there cradling the back of my head, Evan and Liam were making out right in front of me. I was a little pissed off! A little concern might have been nice. I actually thought at the time it was a bit more serious than their drunken minds could fathom. I still do. I might go see a doctor.
I’m through with drinking, Baby. Done.
Is Rosa feeling any better?
Love
Gael

Sorry for the frantic phone call. Didn’t mean to wake you, but you had me scared. Are you feeling any better? I can’t believe you didn’t go to the doctor right away! I know I reamed you out about this on the phone, but it was a really stupid thing not to do. Oh, and is it okay for me to hate Evan again?
About the drinking prohibition: I agree. I think it’s a good time to stop. Maybe we’ve been drinking too much as it is. Actually, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I’m gonna stop right along with you. Moral support.
In other news, I fake broke up with my fake girlfriend Emily. Mom is devastated but she’ll get over it. I’m tired of having to act all lovey-dopey around people. Emily told her dad about her real boyfriend. That’s what broke up our faux relationship. She got angry with her father and just blurted out that she was cheating on me with another guy. I’d say ‘bless her heart’ if I were religious. She took the fall. She’s the bad guy. All I get is sympathy. She doesn’t really give a shit, though. Her and her man are moving in with each other downtown, and they’re happy. Of course, I have to act upset for a while, but at least it’s over now. I can move on to other girls, you know?
Well, take care. Call me tonight. I want to know how you are doing.
C

God, I feel awful. I thought I’d feel better by now. In fact, I feel worse. I’m sick to my stomach. I can’t keep any food down. I think that’s due in large part to this acute dizziness, vertigo, whatever it is. I lay down and the room just spins. Sometimes it feels as if my eyes aren’t catching up with my head when I turn. Also, I have this loss of strength. My grip and strength in my wrist seem to be lessening. I’m a sight to see, Boyfriend. I hate going out of the apartment because I just get so disoriented. Like I’m lost in the world, like I’m on the wrong planet. Everything has a dream-like quality. It’s a nightmare! On the bus ride home from campus today I lost my balance and fell over on some chick. The driver took off before I could find a seat. She gave me the dirtiest look. I’m not myself anymore. I am completely changed.
Mom wants me to return home immediately. I know she’s worried sick. I want to see if I can fix this and stay here, though. I really like it here. I have an appointment with a doctor at the Prince of Wales Hospital.
Thanks for the daily calls. They keep me looking forward to things. Mom too. She calls every day as well.
Love, and talk soon.
G

COME HOME!!! You sounded terrible on the phone. I know you love it there but you have got to think of your health. You can come back and get well, then go to school somewhere here in the States. The fact that your leg seems weaker and your ankle keeps giving out worries me. You would feel better back here in the States with people you knew. Those few you’ve met in Oz can’t be of very much comfort. They don’t know you like we do. Evan will just have to find another roommate. Vomiting every morning is no way to start your day. Besides I need you here to help me fend off my mother. She wants to set me up with another girl.
Please come home. I’m supposed to come down in a couple of weeks, but I might see if I can get on an earlier flight to drag your ass back!
Love you and want you home!
Cat

I had a CT scan today. I hate those things. I remember my Dad having to deal with them when he got sick. They’re so loud and uncomfortable. I have another appointment with the doctor to discuss them. Dr. Phelps is his name. Nice enough, I guess. He smiles a lot. It makes it seem things might not be that bad. I know that’s not the case, though. I’m still as ill as ever. Vomitous and gross. I haven’t been able to workout and it’s showing. I sleep a lot and try to keep from falling. I’m missing all my classes. I haven’t the strength to travel to class. It takes 45 minutes from Coogee to the university. I don’t really care about my studies anymore. My profs are e-mailing me their worries. I’m missing too much, they say.
Evan isn’t really that helpful. She’s pulled away. I don’t think she deals well with illness. She had a brother who died while she was in high school. He had some disease and lingered for a few years in a coma before he passed away. I don’t really try to ask too much of her. I know how uncomfortable it makes her.
Anyway, I’ll call and let you know about the results from the scan. Talk soon. Keep writing me. It’s the thing I look forward to most every day.
Love
g

Don’t you worry about me not writing. I’ll write five times a day if it’ll cheer you up. Evan needs to grow up! I know for certain I hate her now. I’ll be coming to see you in a couple of weeks. Have you given any more thought to returning home? I think it would be for the best.
As for my educational adventures, I too am missing classes. My reasons aren’t as acceptable as yours. Simply put, laziness and boredom are keeping me away from my seat in the lecture halls. Also, I’m finding it hard to concentrate on anything. You and your dilemma are always on my mind.
I’ll write you later today and I’ll call. How’s that? Something to look forward to, huh?
Keep well and keep your spirits up,
c

You get your ass back to class! No excuses for you! I’m kidding, of course. I understand disinterest. From our phone conversation it sounds like you are probably just unsure of direction. Maybe a year or so out of the halls of academia would be just the thing for you. I’m off to see the doctor about scan results. I’m a little scared.
Love
Gael

Cavernous hemangiomas. I looked it up on the internet. There’s some sites you might want to look into. I’ll e-mail the addresses to you later. Just because your father died from it that doesn’t mean anything, does it? It’s not always fatal like that, right? God, I wish I knew something to say. I’m so frightened for you. How did your mom react? I couldn’t do anything today. I just sat around my apartment and tried to figure this hemangioma thing out.
I quit school. I can’t do it anymore. I got a job as a manager at a GAP. I start this weekend. What are your plans now? I know the doctor said this would work itself out in time, but do you still plan to stay in Australia? I should have asked that on the phone. Write me back ASAP.
Love
Cat

Can you get a refund on your ticket? I’m coming home after all. I’ve already booked a flight. I’ll call you tonight with the details. Mom was so relieved when I told her. She’s even flying out to meet me in L.A. Then we’ll fly back home from there. Evan is helping me pack. She’s started looking for a new roommate. I hate to leave but I know it’s the best thing to do. This morning, before anyone was stirring on the beach, I went and sat on the sand. I enjoy just watching the water lap at the shore. I put some of the sand in a little bottle. One of those tiny ones that hold samples of liquor. I’m taking it home with me. I’ll stick it up my ass if I have to. Part of Coogee Beach is coming back to America with me. I’m not going to the beach again before I leave. That was it. Well, I’m tired and I can only type one-handed now (I have no strength or flexibility in my right hand), so I’ll say goodbye.
Later baby.
Gael

I’m so happy you are returning! I know you’re feeling like shit right now, but things will get better. It’s the way life is, right? One day it’s smooth water and the next you’ve hit the rapids. I’ll take care of you. I’ll drive down every day to see you. My mom’s sick again too so maybe the two of you can get together and bitch and moan. (Kidding.)
Your mom called me like you asked her to. I’m meeting up with her in Verona and we’ll fly out meet you in L.A. Everything’s gonna be okay, Baby. Nothing lasts forever. Good things will always trump the difficulties.
Can’t wait to see you!
I love you so much!
Cat

"W.E." - Official Trailer

2011-11-21T12:05:00.000-08:00

It certainly looks pretty!

Bulls

2011-11-21T07:08:00.000-08:00

Deals on Readin'

2011-11-20T19:45:00.000-08:00

Wanna purchase one of these titles o' mine?

Well, it's your lucky month, mother friender! Dreamspinner Press is sportin' some deals. Here's the info:

There are three special events going on between now and the end of November.

First, they're having a We Are Thankful Sale - 20% off everything on the web site through Nov. 30.

Secondly, they reached 1500 fans on Facebook page. To say thank you, there's a code on the page for 15% off one order of any size over the next year. Just head on over to the FB page, http://www.facebook.com/dreamspinnerpress, to get the code.

Finally, every purchase between now and Nov. 30 enters people in a drawing for a Kindle Fire, to be drawn on Dec. 1.

Woot!

Men. Men with Penises.

2011-11-20T06:24:00.000-08:00

What is it that makes a man attractive?

For me, the answer to that question has changed over the years, as it should. The only thing that every man I have ever been attracted to over the years has had in common is their essence of masculinity. This essence has really nothing to do with sex organs or the size of them, but is rather that certain sense of male-ness. Let me see if I can explain: There's a whole subgenre within a subgenre of erotica in which the male hero - a Superman type with bulging muscles - through whatever means, ends up with a vagina. His wiener be gone or pushed inside his frame, and he sportin' the cooter. Once I got past my initial shock at this idea, I found I wasn't too disturbed by it. Superman was still hot, even with a woo-hoo instead of a dingle-dong. His masculinity was still hanging out even if his balls weren't. The Masculine Mystique.

Still, masculine essence a given, my attractions have changed beyond that. My first erotic memory was about Bo Duke. You know. One of the good ol' boys riding around in the General Lee. Ick. This is strange for me since I'm usually not attracted to blonds. Occasionally I'll see one and be wowed, but that's a random occurrence. I much prefer darker-haired men.

For a large part of my life I was all about the boy next door look. Clean cut and handsome. I had a junior high math teacher who exemplified this look and who was positively distracting in his khakis. I remember watching his baseball trained ass wiggle as he wrote out math problems on the chalkboard. My distraction may be why I never made above a C in his class.

I also found my interest in beefy musclemen around that time. My fantasies included adventures with huge stacks of hard beef. I even expiramented with drawing them. My art was actually quite good. Though I felt bad about my pervy sketchings and one day burned them up in the wood stove. I went for the hairless kind of muscle man, with a near zero percentage of body fat. Hair at the time seemed an impediment to the muscle beneath. I liked my guys rippled and glistening, and, apparently, starving.

This attraction to the All-American guy grew in college to include the football types I worked out with in the gym. But I also became interested in the fit but nerdy guys. A hot guy reading a book with his glasses on stirred my loins. Still does.

My taste now has matured a bit. Pretty young collegiate things are still pretty. Don't get me wrong. But they're not what I find myself attracted to anymore. It has something to do with life experience. A few more wrinkles on the face can be very sexy. A little gray in the hair can make a man all the more attractive, especially if he's taken good care of his body. Last year I played around with a couple of older guys (though, not at the same time), and one of them ranks as the most erotic experience I've ever had.

Too, I've found that I rather like a guy with body hair now. Beards may exfoliate my sensitive skin, but they're so hot! And I even like a little fuzz on the bum now. That was a major "ew" ten years ago. It's strange how that in particular has changed. Hehe. Fuzzy bums.

Men are amazing. Really. Right down to our often oddly shaped, but adorable penises. Speaking of, I had a gal pal in college who once told me that she thought penises were hideous things. That they were ugly and gross. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My reaction was, if you don't like 'em leave 'em alone. More for me. And then...

But that's a whole other tale.

Tangled

2011-11-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

Art by Muma

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-11-18T05:53:00.000-08:00

1. Herding zombies into a barn can only mean trouble. I mean, sure, it sounds like a good idea until someone loses an eye...or an arm...or a leg...

2. Speaking of zombies, why haven't I ever seen a film or read a book where zombies hit a gym? There would be a buffet of meat there. Bodybuilders are delicious!

3. Colorsplash's David Bromstad is undeniably, certifiably adorable...but my god! Sometimes his taste is a bit....tacky.

4. Coldplay's new CD is great. Have I mentioned this?

5. I am Glee'd out. I cannot watch that show anymore. The character development, at least with Sue Sylvester, seems to be at a standstill.

6. I was watching Ghost Hunters Wednesday night (they were in a haunted distillery in Frankfort, KY) and who do I see but my friend (and a guy I once dated) Adam! He works there and was being interviewed. It's very weird to see someone you know pop up unexpectedly on TV. The world becomes momentarily unbalanced.

7. For some fantastic and VERY hot CGI, go HERE (NSFW). If my Gordy or Kid Christmas characters were ever animated to film, this is the guy I would want to do it. Seriously. This will blow your balls off!

Coldplay - Paradise

2011-11-17T16:01:00.000-08:00

I know it's considered "uncool" to like Coldplay these days, and I feel pity for those soulless bastards who think that way. Coldplay writes and performs some of the most moving pieces of anthemic rock I've ever heard. This is the best song from their newest album, Mylo Xyloto. And this video is great. For some reason, I get all emotional when the elephant sees the other elephants at the end.

Professor Goodbody

2011-11-17T08:05:00.000-08:00

I believe this artist's name is Lollicock. I had a professor in college I often thought of in this manner as well.

My TV Guide

2011-11-16T09:33:00.000-08:00

I've noticed this year I've been watching more television than usual. I don't know why this is. But here are the 12 TV programs I watch on a regular or semi-regular basis, listed by my interest in them.

12. Bones - Truthfully, the main reason I watch this is to see Patricia Belcher as Caroline Julian. She kills me.

11. Antiques Roadshow - comfort food.

10. Grim

9. Community - not as funny this year.

8. Austin City Limits

7. Modern Family

6. Once Upon a Time - the cheesy costumes make me wish they'd shake some of the fairy tales up a bit, but this show has definite charm.

5. Happy Endings - one of the best gay characters I've seen in a long while is on this show.

4. The New Girl

3. Battlestar Galactica - I love that BBC America is playing the series from beginning to end.

2. The Walking Dead - Eeeeew. Zombies!

1. American Horror Story - if they have a plan and aren't just writing as they go, his could be a classic.

Frank Turner - If Ever I Stray [Official HD Video]

2011-11-15T07:57:00.000-08:00

I'm such a fan of this guy! And I love how he looks to be nearly breaking into a smile at the silliness of the video concept.

No Shame With That Thang

2011-11-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

Art by Muma

My Work Reviewed By Sexy Actor

2011-11-14T06:07:00.000-08:00

This sexy man gave my work a wonderful write-up on his blog, HERE. I love that a poetry piece I wrote about my dad and posted here on my blog was what encouraged him to read more of my stuff.

What the Hell

2011-11-13T05:49:00.000-08:00

The other night I was watching Ghost Hunters. I have no excuse for this other than I was bored and that show, believe it or not, relaxes me. Anyway, they were investigating an old TB sanatorium in Louisville not far from me called Waverly. In the course of the investigation one of the crew asked the ghosts "Are we in Hell?" Meaning, "we" as in all of humanity. There was no answer.

When I was a bright young thing in high school, I had a journalism teacher who had then just recently been diagnosed with MS. She was a woman who kept her emotions hidden, especially from her students. I was the co-editor of the yearbook and got to know her since she was the advisor working on it with us. One afternoon when it was just the two of us in the journalism lab we somehow got on the topic of the afterlife. More specifically, Hell. We wrestled through the various incarnations of the place and when I mentioned that maybe we were in Hell already, that it could only get better from here, her eyes lit up. I imagine my eyes looked the same to her because the idea had only just come to me then.There was a strange comfort in the thought, and I think we both felt it.

Growing up a Jehovah's Witness, I was taught that there was no literal Hell. There was a literal Heaven, but only 144,000 anointed by God would see that and I wasn't one of those. Hell, in the JW belief, is simply death. You die and you never wake up. Jw's believe that after Armageddon there will be a resurrection. Everyone who has ever lived. (Can we say "over-population"?)Those who are not of the 144,000 will live peacefully on a paradise Earth for 1000 years. Then, there will be a...ahem, cleansing of sorts, wiping out those who went back to their ghastly heathen ways, i.e. the gays, the feminists, etc. Those that remain are the ones who get eternal life. It always sounded a bit Orwellian to me. What a mess. Anyway, my point is, no literal Hell.

Whether it be the underworld of the ancient Greeks or Dante's Inferno, Hell has always brought to mind agony and twisted pain. As if anything in the afterlife could be worse than what we think up here, worse than what we do here. Just turn on the evening news. If you listen to them, Hell is right next door. I am left to wonder how many people actually still believe in a literal Hell. I for one think that if there is a literal Hell then God is a jerk who doesn't deserve my worship. He's but an omniscient sadist.

Hell is different for everyone. I think it does exist, but as a state of mind. Hell is indeed other people sometimes. Hell is doing the same thing over and over, a trapped spirit in a dark house. Hell is being trapped in paralysis. I had a brief taste of that. Very brief, but it felt forever. Hell is the situation you can see no way out of. Hell is being alone. Hell is shattered dreams.

But buck up, Bucky Boo! There is a way out. There is always hope. I think, like everything, change and evolution happen because people will it to happen. Human will is a powerful thing, an almost supernatural thing. The great collective soul says, "We've had enough of this. Let's move on." And we do. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes with the simple nudge of a book or a film. Our minds, our beliefs, have given us great leaps in evolution in the past. I think it's time to jump again. Let's make better hells. Ones that are easier to control and ones that we can eventually get rid of altogether.

Can I get an Amen!

This Week's Bullet Points

2011-11-11T05:37:00.000-08:00

1. In the battle between Grim and Once Upon a Time I give the edge to the latter, just for the camp factor. I like them both, though.

2. I sent a horror manuscript to a literary agency last Saturday and was sent a form rejection on Sunday. I don't think they read it.

3. Reading Stuart Wakefield's Body of Water. Lovely stuff so far!

4. Mickey Rourke has been cast as rugby star Gareth Thomas. Strangest casting ever?

5. Sent a copy of Subsurdity to Piece of Pie Productions (the team behind Suburgatory) to see if I can't get my book featured as a prop.

6. The New Girl is, hands down, the funniest show I've seen all fall.

7. Jennifer Saunders is writing an AbFab movie! Excitement!

Potpourri 2

2011-11-11T05:20:00.000-08:00