Z.A. Maxfield's Blog, page 25

Sunday Brunch – 1/12/14

I’m just going to admit something here: Lately I’ve had a LOT of balls in the air. Last year I had several book releases: Grime And Punishment, My Cowboy Heart, Grime Doesn’t Pay and Lost and Found. I also wrote two more books, My Heartache Cowboy and a new one no one has even heard about yet, tentatively titled Home The Hard Way, which I finished on New Year’s Day (and totaled 90,000 words) when I typed in the last period.

On top of that, I’m really not writing in a vacuum. It seems I have a home and a husband and four kids, without whom none of this is meaningful at all… I have friends. I also have a rich and vibrant fantasy life. I dunno. Sometimes I drop the ball. Last year I failed to post things when I was supposed to, which is why sometimes you get more than one Tuesday Teaser at a time, or more than one Sunday Brunch Question. (Like today.)

And I’ve been unforgivably slow to post prizes in the mail. (I even found one of them in my car this week, because I had forgotten to post it at all.) I’ve been lax in keeping up cherished correspondences. I’ve given close local friends the impression I can’t be bothered to be social…

So, I think since this week’s first question is:

“What are your New Year’s Resolutions and which one do you think you’ll break first.”

I will answer with my New Year’s Resolutions first:

I ZAM, will cherish my friends and family even more this year.

I will not be as much of a hermit.

I will brave the post office, even in the holiday season (or I will get everything out way ahead) Or I will send gift cards through the World Wide Web and you will not be disappointed by me ever again.

I will set aside one day each week to create blog posts and stick to that schedule.

I will not procrastinate.

Those are mine, and I would say procrastination and schedules are the ones I’m likely to break first. ~~Author Z.A Maxfield

You can give Z.A. Maxfield Holy Hell if she forgets any of these things, at her email address zamaxfield at zamaxfield dot com.

Leave me your New Years’ Resolutions in the comment section below, please, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy looking back with the contentment of a job well done at the end of the year… OR NOT. *blushes*

~*~

My New Year’s resolution was going to be not to commit to so much, because I’m exhausted!  But I broke that last night when I started writing a short story for a charity anthology at the urging of two (*aherm*) friends.   It was also going to be to make the diet stick– and I can honestly say I’ve been doing that.  Of course I’ve been sick and generally disgusting, and even fudge is unappetizing, so I’ve sort of had some help on that front.  And I was going to keep my business matters more in check, but then a credit card got pirated and I still need to buy plane tickets to Florida.  But I definitely need to find my lost Kindle.  This year.  I can only read so much on my phone.

~~Author Amy Lane

Purchase Behind the Curtain   Dreamspinner   Amazon   ARE

~*~

First of all, hiya Zam! I so love coming over to hang out with you. The camaraderie, the cupcakes, the prospect of sighting one of your many vintage and uber-nerd-girl cool lunch boxes… well, I gotta admit it give me happy clappy hands. [Editor's Note: YOU ARE SO SWEET]

Every. Single. Time.

No fooling.

Now that that is our of the way, I want to say hello to my fellow New Year’s Resolvers…

*psst. Zam. Is that a word? Resolver? Eh, I think the readers will get what I mean. Or, you know, point and laugh. That’s good too.* [Editor's Note: I like to think of myself as a *Resolutionary* Vive la Resolution]

Right. Resolutions? Let me lay them out for you. Because hey, when I started thinking about New Year’s Resolutions, I started thinking about the changes I want to see in my life this year, the ones that I want to be an embodiment of, and the ones whose glory I want to bask in.

*Oh. Didja see that? I’m pretty sure I just dangled a participle. Quick, scope out the room, Zam… Are there any editors whimpering and clutching their red pens? Wincing and cuddling up to their laptops or tablets? Ouch.*

Ahem. Right. On to the resolve. Resolutely forward.

1) Plan stuff and things out better. Seriously. Backwards planning. How long it takes to do such and such. When it needs to be done. When I need to start… yeah, already blew that one to hell and gone. Moving right along, then, nothing to see here, nothing to see. What? The woman flying by the seat of her pants and making it up as she goes? Seriously, nothing to see here. Ahem.

2) Lose weight. Mainly for my health, but also because I am vain. No, really. And I have extreme shoe envy. Yes, yes, Marie Sexton, I am talking about your divine shoe collection. *salivates* Because I wanna wear my sexy shoes again, and at this weight my back won’t take the added stress. But if I slim down, I can *likely* wear heels for short bursts of time. Just long enough to make me happy and feed my sexy shoe fetish.

3) Exercise more. Health, and did I mention I’m just a wee bit vain? I want to look and feel my best. Plus, when I exercise I have so much more energy to write with! That right there is winning with a side of win.

4) Write more. ‘Nuff said.

5) Study harder *eh, or smarter, whichever comes first* in school. Yes, I’m back in school. Business major. Because there is just so much of this authoring that is all about the business aspects, and I figure I need to get myself rocking in that arena. The creativity? Got it. The writing skills? I learn a little more every day, and hope that every single book I put out is a little better than the one before. One day I want to hear folk say… “Do you see how much she grew as a writer over the course of her career?” And then of course, they can launch into a lovely soliloquy about how very brilliant my later works are. That would be awesome.

6) Spend more time with my kidlet. Structured time. With body armor, a whip and a chair, because… sheesh. Have you seen a teenager lately? They are scary beasts, I tell you what. Yes. I—no, I am not joking about the whip and chair. Okay, maybe a little bit joking. But only literally. There is no joking about needing all three of those things figuratively when dealing with the dreaded teen beast. So, this leads me directly to my next resolution.

7) Receive a Presidential Medal of Courage in Parenting. *see above*

8) Be more organized and stuff. *hmm. I may have mentioned this already. Lists are good. I like lists. And color coding them. Never mind.*

9) Write every day. This one? Is the realio dealio, I am pushing to make this a reality. Because writing every day leads to writing better prose every day. Which in turn will spur me to be more organized, which will free up time to spend with the dreaded teen *cracking of whip sounds*, leading to being nominated for that Presidential award, freeing up time to exercise, which in turn leads to the weight loss and my ultimate goal of affording *via scads of book sales* the sexy shoes which my new, strongly muscled and svelte figure will enable me to do more than gaze at longingly.

10) Possibly swear less, drink less coffee and give up chocolate. *bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha*

Everything hinges on the whole writing every day thing.

Well, everything hinges on daily writing except for number ten. That one’s fucking impossible. Especially without fortifying myself with coffee and chocolate first. So I’ll go right ahead and plan to break #10 at every given opportunity, because if I managed to fulfill all ten resolutions… well, you’d be obligated to go find the freaky space pod that ate my brains and produced the false, caffeine and chocolate free Cherie

*Oh dear, I can’t even say that without weeping just a little.*

I have been writing every day. Writing my fingers and toes off since the first of the year, that’s what I’ve been doing. In fact I even started earlier. November… yep, that’s when I started the current push to be better about writing, editing, blog posting and hosting and promo, oh my… all the bits and bobs that go with being an author… November and December were a wee bit rocky for various reasons, but every single day since the first of the year I’ve been right on target. I can feel those sexy shoes getting closer and closer every day. My first product of this improved organization and stuff is the Big Bone Lick Anthology, which publishes January 24th. Kendall McKenna, Jambrea Jo Jones and I all wrote a story for the anthology set in and around Big Bone Lick Park.

I could not make up a name like that. It’s a real place. True story. Here’s the smexy cover for the story, and a wee little blurb.

Blurb: Welcome to the Big Bone Lick Pack: A more friendly and hospitable group of werewolves you’ll never meet! Visit with; ‘Devil Dog & Bad Wolf’, a ‘Big Bad Bear’ and enjoy some ‘Shifty Fox Shenanigans’. Watch yourself, ’round the state park, ’cause we had a grizzly on the loose, just a bit ago. Our brave men and woman of the Boone County Sheriff’s Department have everything under control. (Except maybe their own love lives!) But if you find yourself needing a doctor, head on down to Rabbit Hash clinic, or St. Elizabeth’s Hospital is just up the road a piece. We hope you enjoy your stay.

If you want more info on the silly behind the scenes shenanigans that went into creating the Big Bone Lick Pack, or the chance to win some fun prizes like the sweet fox pictured here, catch us on tour. Here’s the link:

TALES FROM THE WRITING CAVE

Again, thanks for having me over for brunch, Zam!

 ~*~

I have a funny relationship with New Year’s resolutions. I’m generally against them. For starters, new year’s day is an entirely arbitrary date on the calendar with no relation whatsoever to any celestial phenomenon. Seriously, it’s what? Roughly a week and a half past the winter solstice? I realize the calendar is a mess to begin with, but that would actually make sense for the end of one year and start of the new one. Think of it—the day of the solstice is the rebirth of the sun after the longest night, so why not make it the start of the new year? It’s perfect!

Quixotic calls for calendar reform aside, I also think that if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing when you think of it. Why wait for an artificial date on a calendar? Plan to do something improving in the new year? Great! Why not start now? In my case I wanted to get back in shape before the DSP Authors Weekend in Portland in April, so I hit returned to the gym in the middle of December instead of joining the new year’s resolutionaries on January 1st. [Editor's Note: See? And I didn't even read this before and I coined that phrase above. Proof we share a brain. I think you got all the best parts though. Just saying']

That said, I do make one resolution every year. It’s the same resolution every year, and I blow that sucker out of the water before lunch. I resolve not to mock the deeply-held beliefs of others.

Well, what did you expect? It’s like you don’t even know me. Oh well, as Sue Brown remarked, my head would explode if I tried to keep that one.

You can find me online at christopherkoehler.net/blog, on Facebook, or on Twitter @christopherink.

Settling the Score is the fourth book in the CalPac Crew series, all available at Dreamspinner Press. It was released on December 16, 2013.

Purchase Settling the Score  Dreamspinner  Amazon   ARE

 

 

 

Very Special Guest, Tara Lain!

I do love my friends from the Orange County Chapter of the RWA. These ladies laugh with me, they cry with me. The worry about me as I worry about them. I love them dearly and I don’t know what I’d do without them. One of them, Tara Lain, has a brand new release, and she’s making a blog tour stop at my place, to talk about it. I just read this, it’s so nice! Without further ado, the awesome Tara Lain—>

Hi everyone! I’m Tara Lain and I write The Beautiful Boys of Romance. I’m so excited to be here on ZAM’s blog to introduce my new paranormal romance, The Pack or the Panther. This is my first werewolf book and, like most paranormals, it has a fair amount of plot, but the story is really about the characters. My hunky, tongue-tied werewolf and the solitary, snarky panther he falls in love with. Truly, that’s what all my books are about –characters.  One of the places I learned that — was from ZAM!

You see, ZAM is my inspiration. One of three actually including Lynn Lorenz and Jet Mykles who I so admired as a reader that I wanted to write as well as they do. I still aspire to do that every day. Here are some of the things that I learned from ZAM –

• No matter how simple or complex the story may be, the books that stay with you and ring your heart are all about the characters. If the people are deeply memorable, readers will forgive almost anything else.
• Great stories don’t have to be angst ridden. They may be — and many super books do rip your heart out — but often the stories that are the most popular are romantic and what ZAM calls “swoony” with only enough angst to keep you interested, but not so much as to get in the way of the HEA.
• Expect the unexpected! ZAM always surprises. A guy so beautiful, the hero thinks he’s a girl and follows him across the country. A human so audacious, he’s not even scared of the most bad-ass vampire on earth. Romance that springs up in the midst of crime scene cleanup.

And so much more! Thank you ZAM for everything you have taught me by example and face-to-face. I’m honored to be your friend. And delighted to be here with my new book, The Pack or the Panther — #20 on my list of published works that you helped inspire!

The Pack or the Panther

(Tales of the Harker Pack Series)

By Tara Lain

Blurb:

Cole Harker, son of an alpha werewolf, is bigger and more powerful than most wolves, tongue-tied in groups, and gay. For twenty-four years, he’s lived to please his family and pack—even letting them promise him in marriage to female werewolf Analiese to secure a pack alliance and help save them from a powerful gangster who wants their land. Then Cole meets Analiese’s half-brother, panther shifter Paris Marketo, and for the first time, Cole wants something for himself.

When Analiese runs off to marry a human, Cole finally has a chance with Paris, but the solitary cat rejects him, the pack, and everything it represents. Then Cole discovers the gangster wants Paris too and won’t rest until he has him. What started as a land dispute turns into World War Wolf! But the bigger fight is the battle between cats and dogs.

 

Available for purchase at 






EXCERPT


Cole’s lips turned up just a smidge. “Uh, you look good. I

wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“What the fuck?” He threw his hands in the air and collapsed

in a wing-back chair.

“You came to my show. Of course you expected to see me.”

“Uh, I mean I didn’t expect to see you off stage.”

Paris frowned. What kind of game was this? “What in the hell

are you talking about? You came here to get me.”

“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I didn’t come here for you at all. I remembered that you

said Eliazer came here to see you, and it was the only place I knew to look for

him. That’s why I came.”

“Not for me?” He wanted to scream and he wanted to cry.

Which one would win?

“No. You said to leave you alone.”

“You son of a bitch!” Paris leaped out of the chair and

hurled himself across the room at Cole with his fingers extended like claws. He

hit the wolf like a missile and scratched at his face. “You bastard. You sucked

me in and got me involved with your ridiculous pack crap.”

“Wait. Hold on.” Cole wrapped a huge arm around his middle,

pulled Paris’s back against his chest, and held him with his feet off the

floor. The big, dumb, bastard!
Paris kicked his feet, which was humiliating. “Let me go.”

“And let you scratch me? No way.”

Paris shook his head wildly. Frustration. “Why did you—? Why

didn’t you—? Shit!”
 “Uh-uh. You’re just a

confused kitty.”

He had to stop this. Heat pushed behind his eyes. Damn. What

was going on? The words flew out. “You didn’t come for me.”

For a second Cole said nothing. “You said you didn’t want

me. Hell, you practically tore down your parents’ office door proving it.”

Paris frowned. “That’s right. I don’t.”

Cole loosened his grip just a little and let Paris’s feet

hit the floor, though his strong arms still held Paris’s body tight. It felt

way too good. “So why should I come looking for you?”

“Because you want me?”

“What gave you your first clue?” His voice held laughter.

“The nine-inch steel rod sticking in my butt?”

A big hand slid down the front of Paris’s robe. “Oh, like

the tentpole I see you’re sporting?”

Cole’s fingers brushed the silk robe aside and closed around

Paris’s erection. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t.” But his hips were thrusting his cock into Cole’s

hand. Liar hips.
Cole pressed tight against Paris’s butt. That big cock

nestled between his ass cheeks. More!

Oh hell. He was burning up! He turned in Cole’s loosened

embrace and grabbed his face, pushing his mouth hard against those carved lips.

He reached down, managed to pull Cole’s zipper past that hard-on from heaven,

and stood on tiptoe so he could rub their dicks together.

 Cole pulled back,

gasping. “I don’t have long. Lindsey is outside waiting for me.”
A low growl trembled past Paris’s lips. Shit, where did that

come from?

Cole’s eyes widened. “Linds? He’s just my friend. But

Eliazer is out there. I don’t want to put Lindsey in danger.”

 

Paris heard his own breath, hot and hard. “Fuck me quick. I

can’t stand it if you don’t.”



About the Author

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her best­selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul­mate husband and her soul­mate dog in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

Click here for a Rafflecopter Giveaway

You can find Tara at

                   

Teaser Tuesday – Part Two, Kate McMurray!

Welcome to Tuesday Teaser part TWO! Join me in welcoming my very good friend, Kate McMurray!

Kate McMurray has been writing stories since she could hold a pen. She picked up her first romance novel when she was thirteen and has loved the genre ever since. She started writing gay romance after reading a book and thinking there should be more love stories with gay characters. Her first published novel, In Hot Pursuit, came out in February 2010, and she’s been writing feverishly ever since. She likes stories that are brainy, funny, and of course sexy, with regular guy characters and urban sensibilities.

Kate signing autographs at GayRomLit 2011

When she’s not writing, Kate works a nonfiction editor. She also reads a lot, plays the violin, knits and crochets, and drools over expensive handbags. She’s maybe a tiny bit obsessed with baseball. She lives in Brooklyn, NY, with a pesky cat.

She is currently serving as president of Rainbow Romance Writers, the LGBT romance chapter of Romance Writers of America. She’s also active in RWA NYC, the local New York City RWA chapter.

Kate’s website www.KateMcMurray.com

You can email her at kate (at) katemcmurray.com.

Email your Teaser Tuesday guesses to me at zamaxfield (at) zamaxfield dot com for a chance to win one of Kate’s books! (put Tuesday Teasers/Kate in the subject line please)

Here’s her teaser, are you ready?

“What the hell is that thing?” I asked.

He grinned ear to ear. “This is a Ducati. Best motorcycles in the world. Costs more than your yearly salary, normally. I bought this one for a song from a guy in Waukegan.”

“It’s in terrible shape.”

“Nah, that’s mostly on the outside.” He ran his hand over the front suspension. “What you’re looking at is a 1973 750 SuperSport. It looks like shit because the owner left it in his yard to rust for fifteen years. I think he also had some kind of accident, which is why the casings are all scratched. But I intend to restore it.”

“Does it even work?”

“Sure. The engine is sound. I drove it around the high school parking lot a little yesterday to be sure. The exterior is banged up, but inside, she purrs like a kitten.” I couldn’t think of a time I’d heard so much reverence in ***’s voice. He walked a lap around it, then stood next to me, still admiring his purchase. “You want to go for a ride?”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed. “Okay. Well, so, I’ve got a connection to a parts dealer through my dad.” ***’s father was a mechanic, which I suspected was half the problem here. “I’ve already talked to him. He’s willing to sell me what I need at the wholesale price, and then I just need to paint it. I was thinking about red.”

I wrinkled up my nose. “Ugh, that’s such a cliché.”

He frowned. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I dunno. Green?”

“Green it is. But not, like, bright kelly green. Army green. Manly green.”

I continued to stare at the thing. All I could picture at first was *** perishing in a fiery crash. But then I started to imagine *** decked out like a biker in tight leather pants and a slick leather jacket, the motorcycle humming between his thighs….

I coughed and took a step backward. “You all right there?” he asked.

Jesus, I thought. *** in head-to-toe leather. I felt the flush rise up my neck to my face. Because that was an image to keep me warm on cold, lonely nights.

Then I realized *** was staring at me, and I snapped out of it.

Teaser Tuesday – Part One! Carolina Valdez

Hi Teaser Tuesday Peeps! Today’s first teaser comes from author Carolina Valdez, who happens to be my very great pal from the Orange County Chapter of the RWA.

Carolina Valdez lives in southern California with a husband–who was her college sweetheart–and a talking cat. Well, the cat is Siamese, and thinks he holds conversations with his owners. As a child Carolina entertained herself making up plays and stories. In third grade they showed up on paper; her first sale came when she was 23. Winning a contest with her first erotic romance sparked an interest in sizzling passion between a man and a woman. It was easy to make the leap to hot men loving hot men. Writing, she confesses, is an obsession that can’t be repressed.

Website: http://www.CarolinaValdez.com Blog: http://fingerstothekeys.wordpress.com  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/author.carolina.valdez Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/carolina_valdez

Find her books on Amazon, Kindle Us and UK, Barnes and Noble, All Romance eBooks, Sony, and Amber Allure.

Email your Teaser Tuesday guesses to me at zamaxfield (at) zamaxfield dot com for a chance to win one of Carolina’s books! (put Tuesday Teasers/Carolina in the subject line please)

***** was tending bar with ****** *******, whose long dreads were carefully tied back so as not to get in the drinks. This was *****’s first time doing a private gig in the fancy La Jolla digs. He was gay, ****** was gay, and he’d lay money that everyone here was. The testosterone was an almost palpable force in this all-male crowd.

****** leaned in to say in *****’s ear, “Don’t look now, but the dick-throb of this group just hit the door.”

***** was mixing California Surfer shots, but he’d noticed the faint lull in the chatter, despite the music blaring open throttle. Now periodic greetings filtered through to the bar.

“Hey, man.”

“Welcome back!”

“Where ya been?”

“Wha’s up?”

He finished the shots and slid them, with a small white napkin, to the waiter, who was young and bald, but whose washboard abs filled out his snug muscle shirt. His stretch shorts barely covered his junk and butt, so tight as to be on the verge of splitting if he bent over. His arms bore tattoos in vivid colors and his feet were covered by high top, laced up boots in black.

Figuring he must be pretty uncomfortable in shorts cutting into his crack, ***** didn’t envy him strutting his stuff in order to keep his job.

The waiter loaded the drinks on his tray and excused his way through the crowd.

Despite ******’s advice, ***** glanced at the tall newcomer as he wiped the bar down. Even viewing him from the rear, he could tell he oozed sex appeal without even trying. He was dressed all in black leather, his pants straining over what little showed of perfect glutes peeking from beneath his jacket. His thighs were wide, but he wasn’t flaunting it.

***** had to admit his crotch tingled. He drew in a couple of deep breaths and let them out slowly. Stop that, big guy. Keep your head down.

His gaze wandered down the newcomer’s body to his boots and stopped. He recognized them–black Bates 924 Series. Interesting… more than interesting. If the boots told anything true, it was that he was, or had been, military.

Once, so long ago it seemed like a trip back in a time machine, ***** had worn that boot, too. Now he wore Adidas black desert boots, and a brace on his lower right leg to stay upright and walking. Even in the heat of summer he wore long pants to cover scars that grossed people out.

This man worked the room with an easy stride, touching knuckles, bumping chests and pulling in some men for close, guy-style hugs lasting only seconds. At one point, someone tried to welcome him with a kiss on his mouth, but even though ***** still saw only leather’s back, he could tell he smoothly avoided it and moved on.

***** didn’t think the other guy was happy about the brush off. He got the feeling it didn’t bother the one who hadn’t responded to him.

In the beginning, he’d tagged the new man as a biker because of the leather, but then he’d noticed the boots and the way he held himself; the way others seemed in awe of him. Read his bearing, and you knew he was someone special.

There was a time when ***** had had that confidence, that walk of restrained swagger, too. He grinned to himself. Well, maybe it was outright swagger when with the other members of his team. Boots, bearing, and the way this man moved? It wasn’t biker it spelled out for ***** now, but Special Forces. Delta, maybe?

He’d had the pleasure of working on ops with some of the Army’s Delta Force men and–officers or enlisted–they were serious fellows. The only thing about their training that differed from his was that when they flew in the copters on a mission, they weren’t allowed to load their weapons until they’d taken fire.

Fuck that. How insane was it to have an enemy scope you in his sites and fire while you’re jamming ammo into your gun? The first time he’d flown with them in Afghanistan, the minute they were in the helo, ***** had said, “Lock and load, men. Lock and load.” He wasn’t Delta, but he outranked them, and despite their regs, they seemed relieved to comply with his order. Before liftoff, all guns were loaded and ready. Good thing, too, because they’d almost immediately drawn enemy fire as they’d approached the pickup area.

Their rescue mission successfully completed, they’d touched down at base camp with the helo intact and no injuries or loss of life. In appreciation for maybe having saved their asses, they’d tossed *****, fully clothed, in a cold shower and invited him to fly with them any time.

Yep. Deltas were seriously great fellows.

Judging from this guy now, if he was military, he was due for a regulation shave and haircut. If he was Delta, it wasn’t surprising these partiers were drawn to him. They were responding to a confidence and bearing that tagged him as a leader; a man’s man–the kind every man wanted to be, but too many were not. Since presence on any of the counter-terrorism teams was top secret, no one here except ***** would guess what he did for a living.

(Editor’s note. Okay. NOW I WANT TO READ THIS and I don’t know what it is. Help me out folks!)

Stay tuned for Tuesday Teaser part TWO, Kate McMurray is next, and tonight, a special version of Sunday Brunch we’re going to be calling Taco Tuesday! Stick with me today, kiddie’s, I’m playing holiday catch up!

 

Sunday Brunch Blog – 12/29/13

This week, we’re looking at our most treasured holiday Memories, and it’s a little different, because instead of a book cover, one of one my very favorite writers gives us a treasured memory! Thanks Rick for sharing something so personal with us. And Jambrea? Love your story! You keep rocking that holiday goodness! I BELIEVE!

Last week’s winner? Chris !!!

This week my guests will share their answers with us, and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple!

Tell me what your answer to today’s question would be in the comments, and you could win an e-book!

This weeks question is: What is your favorite Holiday Memory? 

Christmas Snapshot: 1962

© 2013 by Rick R. Reed When I look at this picture, it evokes a lot—happy memories, a sense of loss, a bit of wonder, and gratitude. That’s me in the center with the cowboy hat, big ears, and tricycle. To my right is my mom, behind me my dad, and to my left is my sister Susan.

It’s Christmas 1962. Why does this old photograph induce such a complex mixture of emotion? For one, both of my parents are gone. My dad passed from a heart attack in 1990 and Mom succumbed to cancer in 2007. Seeing them both so young and beautiful only makes me miss them more. The death of a parent leaves in its wake a hole that can never be filled. For the child who survives, the world is never quite the same. So looking at this picture, back through many, many years, fills me with sadness and loss, for the family I once had.

But I don’t want to be maudlin. This same picture and same memory is also joyous. Look at our happiness! I am grateful I grew up with this quirky, sometimes dysfunctional unit, grateful I had a mother who showed me, every day, that love and family were the most important treasures we could have.

There’s a kind of innocence here, too. It was the early 1960s and big changes were in store for the world and for each of us. It would take a biography-length post to fill you in on those, but it’s enough to say that the picture reminds me of a little boy who could be filled with simple happiness on Christmas morning by a little magic, lots of love, and the promise of future whose joys and sorrows had yet to be revealed.

Giveaway My gift, to one commenter below (chosen by ZAM) will be a free copy of my Christmas story, “Matches,” published by MLR Press.

It’s my m/m homage to the fairy tale, “The Little Match Girl.” Here’s the blurb: Christmas Eve should be a night filled with magic and love. But for Anderson, down on his luck and homeless in Chicago’s frigid chill, it’s a fight for survival. Whether he’s sleeping on the el, or holed up in an abandoned car, all he really has are his memories to keep him warm-memories of a time when he loved a man named Welk and the world was perfect. When Anderson finds a book of discarded matches on the sidewalk, he pockets them. Later, trying to keep the cold at bay hunkered down in a church entryway, Anderson discovers the matches are the key to bringing his memories of Welk, happiness, and security to life. Within their flames, visions dance-and perhaps a reunion with the man he loved most.

Purchase Matches  Amazon  MLR Press

~*~

I have two great holiday memories. One from when I was a kid and one from when my son, PMan, was a baby. Many moons ago I was at that age when I wasn’t sure if I really believed. My brother who is two years younger than me was in the same boat.

We were both saying how Santa wasn’t real, but we weren’t a hundred percent sure of it. That night we reluctantly went to bed—like every Christmas because you’re too excited to sleep and all you can think about is opening presents. I had settled down into my bed when what did I hear? A clatter—On. The. ROOF! Oh my goodness SANTA IS REAL!!! That was all I could think about until I finally fell asleep. My brother and I were both so excited.

Now years later I figured it was just my step-dad on the roof trying to help us believe for one more year. Well—it was my step-dad, but he was up there because we had a chimney fire and he was trying to put it out before it spread. So we could have had a very different Christmas that year.

The other memory was from just after PMan was born. I really wasn’t feeling the Christmas Spirit. I didn’t want to put decorations up and I was even thinking about not setting up the tree. PMan was a baby, he wouldn’t know any difference.

One day I came home from work and walked into a wonderfully smelling house with decorations set up. My mom had driven into town and put on a wonderful roast in the crock pot. There was Christmas music playing in the background and I was ready for the season. — Author Jambrea Jo Jones (*Editor’s note. ZAM LOVES JAM)

Purchase Once Upon A Prince  Amazon   MLR Press

And the winners ARE… Drumroll please…

YAY! I get to announce the winners to the Lost and Found Blog tour!

Riptide $20 Gift Card:

Suzanne

Playlist gift cards ($10) from iTunes:

Nina, Sherry, and Sophia

All the gift cards have been sent via email from Riptide and iTunes, so if you think you didn’t receive yours check your spam filters and then let me know. I’ll double check. Thanks to everyone who participated and made this so much fun for me. Thanks to my friends, my readers, all the wonderful bloggers and reviewers. May you be well, happy holidays, and I wish you the best of all good things in the New Year.

XOXOXO

ZAM

Sunday Brunch Blog 12/22/13

This week, we could use a little help from the Spirit of Christmas Past, because we’re talking about spending time with (long dead) authors we love. Have you ever wanted to ask Franz Kafka if if drugs played any role in the writing of The Metamorphosis or do you want to know if Mary Shelley would be awesome to party with? (‘Cause I am SURE she would be.)

This week we’re talking about interviewing our literary heroes even if they’re dead.

Last week’s winner? Beth B.!!!

This week my guests will share their answers with us, and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple!

Tell me what your answer to today’s question would be in the comments, and you could win an e-book!

This weeks question is: If you could interview long-dead authors, who would you invite?

Rueful, most vexed, that tender skin

Should accept so fell a wound,

He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground

Which had caused his dear girl pain.

– Sylvia Plath, “Bucolics” (http://www.internal.org/Sylvia_Plath/Bucolics)

During the holiday season, it seems a bit morbid to be focusing on dark works, but I’ve been told many times I possess a dark side. When Z.A. Maxfield posed the question about interviewing long-dead authors, I immediately thought of Sylvia Plath and Charlotte Perkins Gilman, who wrote the haunting short story “The Yellow Wallpaper.”

Growing up with a mother who suffered from mental illness, I supposed affects my early inspirations. Plath deals with depression through The Bell Jar, and poetry. The language of “Bucolics” is brisk and shocking. Likewise, Gilman wrote about a woman slowly losing her mind, until the reader cannot discern the insanity from reality. – Author Louisa Bacio

The Vampire and The Werewolf:  Ravenous Romance, Amazon Kindle and ARe.

As a person and an author, I often feel the constrains of society. Not in any big or significant way, but more in the nature of, “Why can’t I say what I want to? Why do I have to be polite to people who don’t deserve my good manners? Why do I have to hold back when they get away with doing what they want?” The long dead authors I’d want to interview are two authors who didn’t let polite society hold them back.

Lord Byron and Oscar Wilde were as reknowned for their personal lives as they were for their literary works. Sure, they seem like a popular answer to ZAM’s Sunday Brunch question, but my reasons for wanting to interview them probably don’t fit the conventional mold. For one, I probably wouldn’t ask them much about their writing. I’d want to ask them about what it’s like to flaunt the conventions and set your inner self free. I’ve always been more interested in their personal lives because that’s what fueled their muse. Every writer’s personal life fuels their muse whether they admit to it or not and these two literary figures had very flamboyant, don’t-give-a-damn-about-convention lives.

Lord Byron had a notorious affair with the married Lady Caroline Lamb who styled him, “mad, bad and dangerous to know.” He was rumored to have had homosexual affairs as well as an incestuous one with his half-sister. No one could accuse Byron of having lived a conventional life and Oscar Wilde was just as unconventional.  Wilde famously gave an explanation of “the love that dare not speak its name” in court during his trial for sodomy and public indecency. I don’t think he meant those words to become the banner for homosexuality that they’ve become but I wonder if he’d like that they did. It’s definitely a question I’d ask him.

Neither of these literary figures seems to have cared much about what others said of them. It only makes me wonder if they had any regrets for the way they lived their lives. It makes me wonder if their lifestyles and their flaunting of conventions helped fuel their muses. The recklessness, the sense of freedom they must have had while flying in the face of convention, inspires me and if I had the ability to interview them that is what I would want them to talk about.

I recently sent a short story to RWA for possible inclusion in their first ever anthology. I don’t know yet whether it will be accepted for the book and I wonder if it is the only MM story they received. It’s entitled Flying in the Face of Convention and I wonder if Wilde and Byron would like it. At the very least, I imagine it would be a spirited conversation if we were to discuss it together!

Purchase Broken Bonds at Amazon   ARE   B&N and NOW(!!!) in audio book at Audible

Tuesday Teasers – CRIKEY! It’s Wednesday!

Yes! I’m a day late. I don’t even know why. I blame it on the holi-DAZE and a  writing deadline.

So today I want to welcome not one but TWO fabulous Tuesday Teaser authors:

Author Number one is the amazing Marie Sexton. She of the fabulous shoes.

Marie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway. You can find Marie at her website, HERE, and on Facebook and Twitter.

Don’t Forget!

Readers, your mission is to guess which of Marie or CR’s books these come from, you know the drill. Email me at zamaxfield @ zamaxfield dot com and put Teaser Tuesdays in the subject line. Guess the name of the book and I’ll draw the winner before next Tuesday —— Here’s  Marie’s excerpt:
 
**** sharpened his pencil and he started to draw.

His art took him away, as it so often did. He lost all sense of space and time. He barely noticed the soreness in his backside from sitting on the ground, or the pain in his shoulder from his hunched position. He knew only shapes and lines, reflections and light. It was a calm place inside him that occupied him, yet left some remote corner of his mind free and clear to think of other things. Today, he thought only of the sun and the grass and how surprisingly good it felt to be there. He had worried he wouldn’t fit in here, and maybe he didn’t, but he found it suited him all the same.

He didn’t see or hear  ****** approaching. It wasn’t until he sat down next to **** in the grass that he noticed him at all. **** looked over at him in surprise.

****** didn’t look at him. He didn’t say anything, either. He sat there, his knees up and his forearms draped over them, staring out into the field, and **** waited, wondering what in the world was on the man’s mind.

****** finally looked over at him and he seemed startled to find **** watching him. “Am I bothering you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” **** said. “I missed you at breakfast.”

****** shrugged uncomfortably, obviously disconcerted by such a frank statement. He looked down at ****’s sketchpad. “What’re you drawing?”

**** hesitated, afraid ****** would make fun of him for his art as he had the first day they’d met, back in Milton, but he saw no mockery in his eyes. Only friendly curiosity.

He held his sketchbook out and ****** took it.

He didn’t say anything for the longest time. He looked at the drawing, then up at the bull in the field, then down again at the drawing. He seemed puzzled. “I don’t get it,” he said at last. “I can see it’s the bull, but it’s not the same at all.”

****’s heart fell at the words. “I guess it’s not very good,” he said, reaching to take the pad back.

****** pulled it out of his reach, still looking at it. “That ain’t what I said. It’s just…” he looked up at the bull again, then down at the sketchpad, his brows furrowed as he tried to find the words. “When I look at your picture, he looks… Well, I guess he looks strong. And proud. He looks special, like he’s something way more than all the other cattle.” He looked back up at the bull standing in the grass, lazily chewing his cud. “But he’s just a bull,” he said, pointing out at him. “Nothing special at all.”

It was such awkward praise, and yet **** found himself smiling. He felt something inside him swell with pride. “That means I did it right,” he said.

~*~

AND BECAUSE I’m a DITZ, and you had to wait: Here’s a second Tuesday Teaser, from the lovely and talented CR Guiliano!

CR writes in many genres, but is most happy writing the love between two men (or more!).

CR has a huge warren of plot bunnies that is growing every day and can’t wait to fill out the story ideas and share them. CR is a committed advocate for the GLBT community and does her best to change society’s attitudes, one mind at a time. You can find CR’s blog here.

Now for CR’s excerpt:

The nurse led **** down a sterile, white hallway lined with glass doors and most covered with thick curtains. The ones that were open had no patients. They stopped outside of 9B and **** felt himself shaking. The nurse turned back to him, laying a hand on the sliding door’s handle.

“As many times as I tell people not to be shocked or dismayed at the condition of their loved one or the number of machines and wires connected to them, it never really helps. It will look much worse than it is. He’s comfortable, shouldn’t be in any pain and is healing. Do you have any questions before you go in?”

**** was nodding at the nurse. “Um, just one. I was told he was being kept in a drug induced coma, but heard his mother say he was waking up?” **** asked. The nurse smiled at him.

“Mr. ******’ last CT scan this morning showed the swelling in his brain had gone down by almost 89% so he has been taken off the drugs to keep him unconscious. He does have pain medication and antibiotics in his IV and he has a g-tube and catheter. At the rate he’s going, he might even be moved to a regular room by tomorrow.” The nurse said and then giggled. “It is common knowledge around here what Mr. ****** said to Dr. *******, so you have become somewhat of a celebrity. We all believe his recovery is directly related to how much he loves you.” She added and **** blushed furiously. The nurse patted his arm kindly. “Everyone only has fifteen minutes to visit him in ICU, however, you have authority to stay as long as you like. Just don’t tire him out too much. He needs rest…and your presence…more than anything to heal.” The nurse finished, gave him a gentle push towards the door as she slid it open and then walked to her station outside ******’s room.

**** stared at the curtain, then gently pushed it aside and entered the room. Immediately, he was assaulted with the antiseptic hospital smell, the constant beeping of machines and the low drone of the TV mounted on the wall in the corner. He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to gaze at the man he loved. He cringed at the bruises that were the most prominent thing he noticed first. ******’s face was a mass of blue, black and purple. One eye was almost swollen shut. ****’s gaze quickly traveled down ******’s body. Most was covered by a light blanket, but he could see the bulges that indicated casts. He knew there was one on ******’s ankle and his right arm. His left arm was scraped, the skin raw as it lie on top of the covers, the IV needle taped to the indent at his elbow. **** didn’t know what they were doing for his hip, but he certainly could relate to that discomfort. He noticed ******’s feet were moving restlessly and almost grinned. He knew why. From the time he’d met ******, the man could not stand to have his feet covered. **** moved quietly to the bottom of the bed and carefully lifted the blanket and sheet off ******’s feet. One had a cast on it, but looking at ******’s face, **** saw the immediate relief there, and ****** sighed. Silently, he moved to stand next to the bed, his hand coming up to gently brush ******’s hair off his forehead. He skin was cool to the touch and **** was thankful. Hot skin could mean infection. Even **** knew that much. He should after his hip had gotten infected, which was the main reason he would be forever dependent on prescription pain killers. Just even being here was playing havoc on ****’s bad memories. The smells and sounds bringing back his own stay in the hospital. He continued to gaze down at ******, watching him sleep. So overwhelmingly grateful that ****** was alive, **** leaned down and pressed his lips to ******’s, giving him a tender kiss. He pulled up only far enough to whisper to him. “I love you.” When he stood again, he was startled to see ******’s beautiful hazel eyes open and directly on him, boring into his own green eyes. *****’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He did mouth ‘I love you too’ back at **** and ****’s eyes stung with tears. One escaped and traveled down his cheek. ****** lifted his uninjured arm and brushed the tear with the back of his fingers. **** captured his hand gently and held it against his chest, right above his heart. ****** mouthed again, ‘Don’t cry’ at **** and **** gave him a wavering smile. ****** puckered his lips at him, making a smacking sound and **** laughed. He leaned down to kiss ****** again, feeling ****** kiss him back. God! It felt so good to have ****** respond. To feel his lips move under his after thinking he’d never feel that again. **** heard the heart monitor attached to ****** speed up and he reluctantly broke the kiss.

Sunday Brunch – 12/15/13

This week, we’re talking about weird family traditions, and I can’t help making a joke about heading down the Lane, or the Lain, as it were because today my guests are none other than Amy Lane and Tara Lain, and they’re here to talk about the weird and wonderful things we call family traditions.

Last week’s winner? Fay!!!

This week my guests will share their answers with us, and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple!

Tell me what your answer to today’s question would be in the comments, and you could win an e-book!

This weeks question is:

What is your weirdest family tradition?

What is your Weirdest Family Tradition?

I was an Army brat growing up all over the world. We seldom stayed in one place long. The things that most people consider traditional — events with extended family, neighborhood get-togethers — weren’t true for us or people like us because we moved all the time.

I think that’s why my nuclear family had a lot of traditions — things that gave some order and meaning to a very disordered life.

My father spent hours creating Easter egg masterpieces, my mother decorated windows for Christmas that would have put Michelangelo to shame.

Food played a key role in many holidays. For Christmas eve, my mother made an elaborate display of what she called antipasto — a buffet of mostly cold dishes that people could snack on all evening and into the next day. And Thanksgiving? Do you know anyone else whose turkey dinner included sauerkraut and cold canned asparagus! Yep.For some reason, my father discovered that the sour taste of sauerkraut was a perfect complement to the often sweet tastes that star in a turkey dinner like yams, cranberry sauce, even the turkey is a sweetish meat.

To this day, I miss the sauerkraut on my turkey dinner. But I must confess that fresh, steamed asparagus now has more appeal than the cold squishy stuff in a can. Still, I honor it for the weird family tradition it was. — Author Tara Lain

Purchase Mistletowed at  Amazon   

~*~

My weirdest family tradition?

 
My daughter says it’s German cabbage.  
 
You know, purple cabbage, bacon, brown sugar and vinegar?  
 
I think she’s crazy– how can you not love German cabbage?  I’ll move on to another tradition. editor’s note: I know, right?
 
How about hanging the star from the ceiling instead of putting it on the tree?  Except we couldn’t find any good stars to hang from the ceiling after our last one sort of disintegrated so we have a light up star instead– but we do have a perpetual valentines day heart hanging from our ceiling, and the heart and the star sort of hang up there in the heavens and visit, so, no, that doesn’t count.
 
Maybe it’s mom’s crafting spree?  Could that be it?  Every Christmas I’m making something to deadline?  And I’m staying up until goddess knows when trying to get it finished?  Oh wait– does everyone do that?  Rats.
 
OH, I know!  
 
Our best and weirdest family tradition– besides rats as pets for our children– is the way we try to out-do each other scaring off the missionaries that come to our door.
 
I’ve been known to tell them that we’re so pagan any bible that passed our threshold would burst into flames.
 
Mate once told a group that we were heathens.  When I explained to him that being a heathen wasn’t a religion, it was just the word we used for our kids running around in their underwear, he shrugged and said, “Well, anyway, the church people left.”  
 
Today was one of the best though. Today was a lovely sleep-in day, and they knocked at 10:30 a.m..  Mate answered the door in his pajamas with his hair rumpled and his eyes still all sleepy and said, “I’m sorry.  We’re busy.”  
 
And then shut the door.  
 
Chicken, my college-age student, has taken this tradition and run with it.  
 
“Here, would you like to read a scripture?”
 
“No thanks.  I’m good.”
 
“Would you like an anti-masturbatory pamphlet?”  (Swear to Goddess, this happened.)
 
“No, not really.”
 
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to read the bible with us?”
 
“No, that’s okay.  I went to a fundamentalist Christian Academy.  I’ve read it plenty.  Have a nice day!”
 
I told her we’d work on her technique the next time someone came at her with an anti-masturbatory pamphlet, but so far, she’s carrying the family torch in grand style.  Author — Amy Lane


Going Up by Amy Lane is available for Pre-Order from Dreamspinner Press

 

 

 

Celebrations…Counting down

We celebrate whatever we can, chez Maxfield. Whether it’s our family’s tradition or someone else’s, we can always find something to be grateful for, to be joyous about. This is a picture of our tree the year before we had the fire, and the next is one taken while we were putting up the new things, after. We also got rid of those dated drapes (hey, they came with the house.)

Yes, those are my feet, I was too lazy to get up and take the shot, but in my defense, I didn’t know how long Zack would stand behind the tree, holding that pose. As an aside, when I messaged this picture to my daughter, she simply assumed we’d gotten a tree with arms. 

Mostly we celebrate with music, and to that end I’d like to share one of my favorite groups, Pentatonix, and one of my favorite holiday carols, “Carol of the Bells” with you (although to be honest, I’m more likely to be playing the Transiberian Orchestra version while I’m assembling toys or wrapping packages last minute, like a mad scientist):

What’s your favorite Christmas song?  Although I’ve gone “Walking In A Winter Wonderland” once or twice, snow has been pretty scarce in my life, and so I enjoy the winter themed carols, the ones with snow and snowmen and sleigh bells glistening.

Here’s one of my favorites, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, with who else? Kurt and Blaine from Glee… I mean. Does it GET any cuter? These guys are adorable:

I also enjoy the strictly sacred music of the holidays. I love the contemplative nature of Gregorian chants and the frisson of something otherworldly devotional music brings, even without having an understanding of the words. (Except after all those years of studying Italian, Spanish, and French, it’s kind of hard not to get hit with the gist of things in latin.) While I enjoy the perfectly pronounced versions produced by churches and famous choirs, I enjoy this version of the carol “Gaudete”, recorded by Steeleye Span during their 35th anniversary tour. I have had a major voice crush on Maddy Prior for 35 years, and I doubt I’ll ever get over it.

And finally, this video needs no introduction, but I love Judy Garland so very much. This is from one of my favorite movies of all time, Meet Me In St. Louis. I think Judy Garland was at her most beautiful, most engaging, and most beguiling in that movie. My heart still breaks when I here her sing this: