Jaime Samms's Blog: Stories Between Men, page 21

The Squee of Fandom

Or how not to behave badly and embarrass yourself.
Actually, I don't really have any advice on this issue. It's just something I've noticed. If you're a writer, how do you, or rather, do you draw a line between your professional persona and just squeeing over your favourite authors? My instinct tells me we probably should--draw the line, that is--and yet, I don't know  if other authors are much different from me. I like when a reader squees over something I've poured my heart and soul into. Who wouldn't really? It makes me feel good. Why hold that feeling back from our fellow authors?
In my case, I'm very likely to, and have, run into my favourite authors on the various groups I frequent. Some of those authors I was friends with and became a fan, some I was a fan and have become friends with, but the distinction is most definitely there.
My friends who write so well I have to snap up everything they put out and read it immediately are friends first. I can tell them my writing woes, and sometimes, even my personal woes, commiserate or gush all over myself and not worry about how they might take it.
Authors who I've grown to love and then get to 'meet' or chat with, always have that odd disconnect between being colleagues and inspiration for me and being people. I know. They're people. But not people as in 'my people' They are always one step above being 'my people'. If that makes any sense.
I might comment on their blog, or chat with them at some group event, while inside, I'm peeing myself and wondering if they're just being kind and think I'm actually some nut case. You know: "humour the crazy person  in case they become a stalker" kind of deal. Or maybe, they're just like me, just hoping to connect with a few fans, find out what their readers like in hopes that they can deliver more of the good stuff. I like to think most writers are exactly as they seem: kind, generous people who like to talk about what they do for a living.
If you're an author, have you ever thought about this? Do you care if the person you're talking to, who's wiggling around in ecstasy at your latest offering like a little eager puppy is a fellow author or a reader who doesn't write, too? (do those even exist?)
What about from the readers' perspective? Do you like the authors you chat with to be all...author-y, or do you prefer t the down-to-earth approach?
Not that anyone's opinion is really likely to change my own mind about any of this. As a writer, I love talking to my readers. I like to hear what they've enjoyed, and it's helpful to know what they didn't. (I won't say I like that, because really, who likes it), but I will say I always encourage it and appreciate hearing the bad along with the good. How else would I get to the stuff y'all like if I'm busy writing stuff you don't, and I don't know about it? I doubt I'll ever be other than as I am when I'm talking to readers; just me.
As for the part about embarrassing myself when I'm chatting with an author I love to read, well, I can't make any promises. I try to be professional and courteous, and act my age, but hell. If I love what you've done, you just have to realize, I'm a reader, too, and you might get some squee on ya. It happens. Bring a tissue.

What Romance is...

According to  Kimberlee Shortland: http://kemberleeshortland.blogspot.co...

Now, this is a really interesting and informative blog post. I enjoyed reading it, and I think she did a pretty good job tracking the evolution of the romance/erotica genre.

Just one thing I would quibble with: Why, oh why are all things gay so often piled together under erotica, and 'nuff said?

Quote:
"Erotica also allows same sex partners, advanced sexual experimentation, S&M, bondage and other fetishes, even self-pleasuring. There seems to be few limits... "

I know we write sex between men. But it isn't all sex, all the time. Sure there's gay erotica, and obviously gay porn, but there is also plenty of gay romance out there, where sex never even happens. There are plenty of books written for young adults featuring gay protaganists, and I've read a few fantasy books with strong homoerotic or homoromatic overtones, but narry even a kiss between the men (or women) in question. For the love of humanity, people, stop it. Being queer does not make us sex fiends. There's no need to keep us segrigated from the masses.

/rant. For now.
(Yes, I know. I complain about this alot, but it bugs me.)

Free Read: Who Says Shamrocks Aren't Lucky?

Ever wonder where authors get their ideas? You'd be surprised how small an incident or how inconsequential a turn of conversation it takes to blossom into an entire story. Sometimes, the idea isn't even mine. In the case of my Irish Lovers, as I like to call them, the idea came from a number of oh-so-helpful fellow authors and readers.

You see I was innocently perusing one of my favourite yahoo groups one day, when I saw an interesting post go by that went something like this:
"Come vote for your choices for this month's chose your own m/m romance."
Now, I was intrigued, so I followed the link. Much like leaving a trail of gum drops leading down a woodland path, Kris lured me into her domain. I followed blithely along. And found myself at Kris's blog, where, indeed, she had a post up asking her blog followers to make choices between some odd picks indeed.

You see, the idea is that she thinks up the craziest things she can manage, as to who the characters in a story should be, where the story should be set, what the story should feature by way of props and interesting complications. Then her chosen writer, or victim, as she likes to call them, must take the choices the readers have decided on, by majority vote, and incorporate them into a holiday themed story. Sound crazy?

Crazy fun, is what it is. Just call me Hansel. I followed that trail of candy, and walked right into the witch's hut (not that Kris is a witch! She's actually one of the nicest people I've come across on the web) I immediately said to myself:

"Self, you can do this! This is fun!!! Volunteer!"

And me self, being the pushover that she is, volunteered to take up the challenge. Kris laughed herself silly at the idea of an author volunteering for this crazy assignment.
And from prompts such as: A character with green skin, A set looking like an Irish Pub, A rugby player who wants to be a twink, a potato shaped like Bono and a dildo with green shamrocks, my Irish lovers, Ian McVeigh and David MacDougal were born. My story was to be ready to go live by St. Patrick's Day.

Check out the post: http://krisngoodbooks.blogspot.com/2010/02/jaimes-story-your-choices.html#comments
Mission accomplished. Kris, my friend, the joke's on you, because not only did I write your story, but David and Ian are back for round two; Good to be Home, soon to be available at Loveyoudivine, and round three is already in the works.

The PDF version of Who Says Shamrocks Aren't Lucky, with a lovely cover, that you can download to your e-readers is now available!.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/33192212/Who-Says-Shamrocks-Aren-t-Lucky-by-Jaime-Samms

And by the way, that's Kris's title. Great, isn't it?

Please do check out the other authors' stories while you're there. There's some really great, entertaining stuff. I tell you, this has generated some very off the wall stories from some terrific authors.
Bring it on, Kris! I meet your challenge and raise you another go at your silly game!!!

Blurb: Ian's budding relationship with David seems to focus on the one thing David is both fantastic at, and loves; sex. Ian's not sure he can keep up. When David's past comes calling, and David goes running, Ian is not sure what to think. He has no idea where he stands with his new lover, only that he's sure he doesn't want to share.

Review of Spinning

Well;
I haven't had a review of one of my stories in what seems like a really long time. This one was interesting, and full of really good points. I'm flattered about the comments about my writing, and had to nod my head in agreement about the world-building, the length and the ending. The good news is that this is only the first book in the series, and the next will be out in October. There will be more of Ken and Mikko and the new oder of the world they live in soon. If you're at all interested in seeing what Kassa at Rainbow Reviews had to say about the story, here's the link: http://www.rainbow-reviews.com/?p=6401

"The writing is once again top notch, as expected of Samms, and the emotion connects with the reader immediately. "

(Sorry. I really couldn't resist, and that is such a fantastic compliment. I'm all ablush and yet indulging in self-pimping at the same time. Go me.)

Spinning Release

You may or may not have heard me mention this around. I've been very excited about ths book. It's very close to my heart for many reasons. It's a little dark, and was a little scary for me to write, but I think it has turned out fantastic, and it does end on a hopeful note. If you liked Poor Boy, you might enjoy this, though it's more paranormal and post natural disaster than urban grit. I hop you like it.


BLURB: Ken has fallen in love twice in his unnaturally long life. He's spent the rest of it trying to forget what falling out of it feels like. Not even the end of civilization has distracted him from his own misery, and now, desperate and achingly lonely, he calls the one person who's never hung up on him.


Mikko lost Ken once, letting life get in the way of love, and ever since the day Ken ran, he's been trying to track him down. He's honed his skills over the years, tracking Ken through the morass of men and ugly affairs, waiting for the chance to make things right.


Ken thinks his messy past is a secret from Mikko, and is too ashamed to admit any of it. Mikko has secrets of his own, things he's discovered about their very nature he's sure Ken's not ready to hear. Back together, after years of cat and mouse, Ken has to learn to trust a man he knows isn't telling him everything, and Mikko has to figure out how to fix something his own negligence might have destroyed beyond hope of repair.


Ken gazed out the back window of the house to the waves; dark, rolling mounds lifted the horizon and dropping it again into the abyss on a rhythmic schedule. Gulls wheeled and cried over the water, white dots between the grey overcast and the darker ocean.
"Newfoundland?" The incredulous accusation jerked Ken's attention back to the phone call, "Seriously?"

"What about it?" Ken tossed his soccer ball up and caught it one-handed. Held in his other hand, the cool plastic of his ancient cell warmed against his ear.

"Um...it's a rock, for starters." Mikko's indignation echoed thinly across the poor Atlantic connection. "Nothing grows there."

Ken's breath caught and his grip on the phone tightened. "So?" Belligerence, he noticed, had no echo. "You can't re-grow a broken heart, anyway." Gardening is for idiots who fall in love. He fixed his gaze on the barren rocks outside the window, taking comfort in their never-changing strength. The waves rose and fell on the same cadence as his breathing. Or maybe it was the other way round.

Silence didn't echo either, strung out along the line. He hung up. Sea waves splashed up over the rocks. He gulped in great breaths around the jagged edges. After a moment, the chirping ring tone soothed over his uneven breathing, and he flipped the phone open.
"I know it's tough, Kenny."

"You don't know fuck all." He snapped the phone closed again. A minute passed. Another. His knuckles ached. If he loosened his grip, he'd throw the damn thing. It wasn't Mikko's fault. Or the phone's. Still, he turned it to vibrate and tossed it onto the coffee table as another minute ticked past. The ring's vibration carried it almost to the floor before he lunged after the phone. His momentum carried him to the window and he leaned his forehead against the glass. The waves rolled in steadily as he opened the phone and held it to his ear.
"So where are you staying?" Mikko's voice drifted, soft over the connection. He never stayed properly hung-up on.

"Why does it matter?" Ken turned away from the ocean view and tossed the ball. This time it thumped off the wall, onto a bare table behind the couch, and obediently back into his hand, just like a soccer ball should. Gravity was predictable that way. Not like men.

"Because if I know you," came Mikko's reply, "and I do, you searched out some pre-furnished dump of an apartment and are sitting on someone else's lice-ridden mattress bouncing that ball of yours against paper-thin walls. Any moment now, an irate neighbour's going to come screaming down on you, and I should know where to send the cops after your bruised and bloodied self."
"It's a room, actually." Ken caught the ball on its second trip and hugged it against his chest. "I'm not sitting." He glanced at the grungy couch and grimaced, turning back to the comfort of the watery view. "No one wants to live this close to the ocean since the Wave hit. It was cheap."

"Even better."

"Shut it."

"So. Where?"

"What difference does it make?" You let me go. He smothered the logical, unwelcome follow-up that'd been impossible to stop, and Mikko had never been far, oceans notwithstanding. He always, always, answered his phone. Maybe he was a bit more like gravity than he was like other men.

"Kenny" Mikko's voice caressed his soul, even over the crappy connection. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened." He could be so gentle.

Ken's fingers shook as he closed the phone on that sweetness—that gentle caring.

Not even a minute passed before the phone amplified his trembling with its vibration. He opened it, brought it to his ear. This time, Mikko did not speak.

"Everyone leaves," Ken whispered at last, into the waiting silence.


Buy link: http://pinkpetalbooks.com/index.php?m...

Muse's Vacaion

I just wanted to share with you my latest release, Muse's Vaction.

One writer, plus one nasty bout of writer's block, makes a sub willing to risk punishment and take things into his own hands to care for his lover's well-being, but has the power shifted too far this time?

Patrick is pretty new to the idea of having a Dom. When Leo gets trapped in that endless cycle of word-lock, and the inspiration just doesn't come for his writer Dom, Patrick decides discretion is better than taking his needs and frustration to Leo and asking for what he wants. Leo is not pleased to find his sub trying to satisfy his own desires, but even giving Pat what he needs doesn't break through the block, and Patrick knows drastic measures are in order. He has to drag Leo half way around the world before the writer realizes it's time to put his muse, and his sub, in their places
 
And here's a small taste for you:
 
Patrick needed something, and if Leo was too caught up in work to help him out, that left him pretty much on his own. Back upstairs, he tossed himself across the bed and spread out, face buried in Leo's pillow--which only prompted him to hump the mattress. Rolling over and trying for some zen-like yoga breathing went exactly nowhere. His hands moved on their own, palming himself through stiff denim, eliciting little moans and a deeper need than skimming over the bulge was going to satisfy.
 
A quick flip of one thumb opened the top button of his pants, then the next, and before long, they were dangling off one ankle and he panted hard with the inability to get anything close to satisfaction.
 
"Lube. I need lube." He pulled the bedside table drawer too far and it thumped to the floor. That left him dangling over the side of the bed fumbling for the tube and finding instead the long black toy Leo loved so much and sighed. "Fuck me. Now I really need lube."
 
A few minutes later, Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bed eyeing the slicked up dildo in his hand and feeling about as needy and pathetic as he ever had. That wasn't going to stop him getting off. He just wasn't sure how he was going to control the thing from the awkward position of doing it himself.
 
Heart thumping with pointless nerves, since he was the only one to know if it didn't work, or even that he was doing it at all, he decided to start where he was most comfortable. Crawling on limbs shaking with excitement, he got up on the bed on his hands and knees. He missed the heat and strength of Leo there behind him, but he really needed to do something about his hard on, and imagining Leo was going to have to do for tonight.
 
The burn of stretching to accommodate the wide dildo distracted him from everything else for a few minutes. The flood of heat rushing through him roared in his ears until it was all he heard. If he closed his eyes, concentrated, he could imagine that heat emanated from his lover, could almost feel Leo's hands on him, caressing his hip with the lightest of touches, hear the murmur of encouragement as he slid the toy in further.
 
"Easy, Baby." That's what Leo would say, even as he pressed the dildo deeper. "Take your time," while he pushed Patrick to the edge. One warm hand would slide up along his spine, the other reach around to cup his balls. He moaned, a low, desperate sound and rocked back, his supporting hand gripping the bedspread.
 
"Louder, Baby."
 
Patrick's eye flew open. He twisted, but the hand on his back came up and cupped the back of his head. The one around his balls moved to grip the dildo half inside of him, and hold it steady.
 
"Leo..." His heart pounded. How had he missed him coming in the room?
 
"Fuck yourself, Patrick," Leo commanded, ignoring his surprise."Let me hear how much you like it." Leo planted a hot, firm kiss between his shoulder blades and applied pressure to the dildo. "You didn't think you'd get to do this without me, did you?
 
The story came available on Dec 11, 2009.
http://www.loveyoudivine.com/index.ph...

New Release

I've got a new release this month, with a new publisher. Well, new to me, and what a great experience I've had at Lovyoudeive Alterotica. Check out my latest short story, Black Roses, just one small offering in an anthology that's shaping up to be a terrific bunch of authors writing a variety of fantastic stories.



Buy it Here