Z.A. Maxfield's Blog, page 27

Tuesday Teaser – S.J. Frost

Let’s have a GREAT BIG Tuesday Teaser welcome to S.J. Frost, author extraordinaire… 

Last week’s winner: Nikita!

Hello! I’m S.J. Frost, an author of sweet and sexy gay erotic romance stories. Rock stars, vampires, fantasy heroes…I enjoy stretching my writing muscles in many different themes, but there are a few consistent things with each story I write. They each contain love, passion, and romance between men. I’m currently published by MLR Press and Ellora’s Cave. For more info on my work, please feel welcomed to visit my website: http://www.sjfrost.com/

My thanks to ZAM for having me as a guest for Teaser Tuesday! Good luck to all on guessing which of my stories this snippet is from!

Don’t Forget!

Your mission is to guess which S.J. Frost book this comes 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 ——

 

Excerpt:

****** walked further into the room, turning in a circle to fully take it in.  Electric guitars of numerous styles and brands hung on one wall with bass guitars and acoustics.  Of the electric, ****** guessed there had to be over thirty.  Against one wall, dark walnut shelves displayed several violins and violas with two cellos and a full-sized harp sitting close by.  On the other side of the room, shelves and wooden tables held still more instruments, though many of these were exotic, some of which ****** didn’t even know existed until that moment.  He moved across the room to them, his fingers all but twitching to touch.

**** could see on ******’s face how he battled for control to not finger the instruments.  “Go ahead.  You can touch them.  From the moment it’s created, an instrument’s only wish is to be held by a loving and skilled hand.”

****** gently laid his fingers on a zither near its strings and caressed the wood.  “It’s true, isn’t it?  Sometimes I think they’re almost living, the way each one has a unique voice.  ***** thinks I’m nuts.  He says, a Strat is a Strat.  But to me, every instrument has a subtle pitch difference that makes it its own, and when it gets held in the hands of someone who respects and understands it, the sound of that instrument becomes as individual as the soul of the person playing it.”  He looked over his shoulder at **** and smiled.  “You probably think I’m mental, too, for thinking like that, don’t you?”

“No, not at all,” **** said softly, in awe at the serene beauty that came over ******’s face when he was surrounded by instruments.

****** stopped before the violins, admiring each one.  “They’re so beautiful.  I’ve always wanted to learn to play, but I haven’t had the chance.”

**** headed over to him.  “I could teach you.  I’ve seen all the instruments you can play.  Picking up one more would be easy for you.”

****** turned a hopeful smile on him.  “You would do that?”

“I would love to.”

**** pulled down a violin case from the top shelf and set it on one of the lower ones.  He opened it, revealing a violin inside with a rich brownish-gold finish.  Though it lay silent, as the light in the room washed over it, ****** swore he could hear the echoes of the countless songs the instrument had known, and all the emotions its voice had evoked from its listeners, joy, sadness, hope, seemed to have become as much a part of it as its neck, body, or stain.

**** lifted the instrument from its case with the tenderness of a father lifting his child from its crib.  He set it against his left shoulder to check the tuning, placing a soft white cloth where his chin would go since the model didn’t have a chinrest, and when the final adjustments were made, he said, “It’s been a while since I’ve played, so don’t laugh at me if I screw up.”

****** shook his head and sat down on the stool for the harp.  “Never.”

**** raised the bow and closed his eyes, calling the song he wanted to play to his mind.  The music flowed through his mental ear, telling him the notes he needed.  He settled the bow on the strings and played the first gentle notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D major.

******’s lips parted, the pure, divine sound of the violin stealing his breath to add to its essence.  Like a heavenly being residing in the mortal realm, **** wove the notes together with expert fingers and created a blanket of music that wrapped around them both.  Though the piece normally called for more violins, ****’s rendition and skill made it so the other instruments weren’t missed.  Enraptured, ****** stared at him, at his lips that looked so soft, at his fingers of such deft skill, and in that moment, the newly awoken part of himself became fully alert, and he knew then it was his very soul that **** had roused.  It responded to ****, called to him, and there’d be no silence within himself until **** was his.

Sunday Brunch Blog – 11/17/2013

Hey Sunday Brunch lovers! I can’t tell you how thrilled I was by how many of you actually spent time thinking about what Disneyland ride you’d want to live in! I thought I was the only one who wanted to live in the Haunted Mansion or Pirates of the Caribbean.

Coincidentally, my son went to Disneyland last night with his friends, and I had such a pang of envy. I guess I really am still kind of in love with Disneyland. I miss the days when I had an annual pass, and if I wanted to I could just go on a weekday afternoon and walk the kids around in a stroller, have a snack, watch a parade, and feel like a special part of a really unique fantasy world.

Last week’s winner? Jess1

Here’s how my Sunday Brunch Blog works:  I invite a couple of your favorite authors to my blog and ask them a question. Sometimes my questions are silly, sometimes they’re thought-provoking.

My guests will share their answers with me 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 deepest, darkest desire?

Cause I’ve got it right here

What is my deepest, darkest desire?

Sh… you have to promise not to tell. It’s evil, I tell you. Evil. The height of decadence. Enough unmitigated desire to make you queasy. I swear.

So, you guys remember The Brady Bunch?

You do?

Remember Alice, the Maid?

I want Alice. To come work for me. And clean my kitchen and my bathroom and cook my food and remind me when I have appointments and to live in the upstairs and have no life so she can help my house look beautiful and my kids have clean clothes and my husband to never have to come home and raid the snack corner because I haven’t gotten dinner ready either.

*nods vigorously * Yup! *shudders * A clean kitchen. That’s sexy enough to have sex on! Oh my God! *fans self * Uh-huh. The very thought of it makes me hot. I’m going to go have some private time…

And then I’m gonna start dinner! — Author Amy Lane

Pre-order Christmas Kitsch at Riptide!

My deepest darkest desire…

I want to move to Catalina Island.

I know. Probably not what you were expecting. In fact, kind of ordinary run-of-the-mill fantasy, right? Wanting to move to a desert island? But…it’s not for the Mai Tais and the balmy ocean breeze. Well, I don’t object to those things, but that’s not the main attraction.

The main attraction is specific to Catalina. Have you been there? It’s like a trip back in time, a trip back to the 40s and 50s. In some ways, it’s like a living museum. It’s small, it’s isolated, it’s well-preserved. Like me.  They have jazz festivals and film festivals and art festivals. They have buffalo and rain and oarfish.

The water around Catalina is some of the most polluted in the state.  And there may or may not be a problem with teenage gangs. It’s expensive to visit and it sounds even more expensive to try and live there.

I don’t think they have a real bookstore and the theater is only open one night a week. But it has that giant old casino. And lots of watering holes. And very few people for half the year.

You can hear the seals at night. And the ocean. You can see flying fish.

A tsunami is eventually going to wipe the whole place out.

I want to run an annual writing retreat there. I hope it doesn’t take place during a tsunami.

So why is my wish to live on Santa Catalina a “dark” desire? For the same reason everyone’s wish to move to a desert island is a bit dark. Because a large part of that wish is the desire to escape, to isolate oneself. Myself. Not just for a vacation. All the time. Maybe that’s partly the reaction to a job where inevitably I spend so much of my life on line and on stage. Maybe it’s the desire to escape from responsibilities and the demands of being an adult. Maybe it’s not so sinister, maybe I’m just longing to remove myself from the modern, busy world and slip into a slower pace, step back…and then back again. But there’s no denying I like the idea of being out of touch, hard to reach. I’m afraid JohnDonne had it right:

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

And speaking of deep, dark desires, how about a jolly little story about recovering from addiction? Alcohol addiction in this case. — Author Josh Lanyon

Purchase The Parting Glass  AMAZON     B&N    ARE

Tuesday Teasers – Vicktor Alexander

Let’s Have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome To my Guest Author, VICKTOR ALEXANDER

About Vicktor:

Hi all! I’m Vicktor Alexander but everyone calls me “Vic.” Southern gentleman by day, completely displaced and living in New York, and a writer and purveyor of steamy, sticky, hot man on man (sometimes on man on man on man on man on man) sex. I wrote my first story at the tender age of 10 about my youngest biological sister and her destruction of the world…with her breath. The stories didn’t stop there and it wasn’t long or much of a shock to those who knew me well, before I was writing interracial historical romances. I quickly realized that my heroes seemed much happier when they were hanging out with other guys (aren’t we all?) and that was when I discovered the M/M genre.

I now enjoy writing about shifters, humanoids, cowboys, firemen, rent boys, fairies, elves, dancers, doctors, Doms, Subs, and anything else that catches my fancy, all sexy men falling in love with each other and having lots of naughty, dirty, man-on-man sex. I am the author of the best-selling series, The Tate Pack (which still blows my mind) and am a huge fan of the “happily-ever-after” ending. But while all my characters all ride off into the proverbial sunset, all sexually satisfied and in love (because it’s the least I can do), they all bear the scars of fighting for that love, just like in real life. I am never satisfied with only one genre, and every book that I write tends to fall into more than one category and has each main character experiencing more than one orgasm.

Out and proud, I don’t believe that love only comes in one form, one race, one gender and that not only is gender fluid, by sexuality as well. I loves to make people laugh (and guys hot) and when I’m not writing, or rather, procrastinating in writing, I’m reading, playing the Sims 3, hanging out with my very supportive adopted family, talking to my adopted daughter whom I call Chipmunk, seeking the man or men who can handle my crazy, stressful, soap opera-esque life and being distracted from said writing by pictures of John Barrowman and Shemar Moore.

 And here’s his snippet: 

“I think we should paint this room before we move everything in,” ***** said with a smile as he looked over at ***.  The cowboy had been acting strange all afternoon.  First he’d taken everything and shoved it into the bedroom.  Then he’d rushed **** out of the house, telling her that ******** and *** had lunch for her at their house and that she could stay with them if she were planning to spend the night.  After **** had left, he’d leaned against the front door, crossed his arms and just grinned at *****.  ***** was slightly nervous by ***’s sudden mood shift and he found himself babbling to cover his nervousness.

“I think that’s a great idea,” *** agreed before pushing away from the door and walking over to the love seat against the wall. *****  followed him and with a shy smile helped him to lift the love seat and carry it into the kitchen.  They moved quickly but carefully and moved all of the furniture, paintings and electronics from the living room into the kitchen and the dining room before laying down huge pieces of blue tarp that *** brought in from the barn that he laid down over the beautiful cherry hardwood floors to protect them from paint splatters.  *****’s jaw dropped and his breath stuttered in his chest when *** removed his shirt before beginning to paint.  Adjusting his rapidly growing erection in his cut-off shorts, ***** fanned his suddenly flushed face with his red tank top and turned back to his wall to begin painting.

Both men painted steadily for five minutes before ***** growled in frustration.

“I need some music.  This is tedious and boring if I can’t listen to music,” he admitted and he heard *** chuckle behind him.]

“Well, why don’t you turn on some music then?” *** asked him before turning back to his wall to continue painting.

With a determined nod, ***** walked out of the room and returned shortly after with his iPod and his iPod Home system and after getting them both set up in the middle of the room, with the iPod home plugged into an extension cord leading into an outlet in the kitchen, he turned on his iPod listening device.  Scrolling through the songs he came across a song that he thought was perfect for what they were doing.  With a grin he pressed play and the throbbing beat of “Paint” by Travis Garland and **** began to play.

With a grin, ***** rolled his hips and danced back over to the wall and his paint tray.  He became so entranced by the song, which he had put on repeat, and what he was doing that he didn’t even notice that *** had walked up behind him and began to dance closely behind him.  ***** moaned and pressed his ass back into ***’s groin.  The two men continued to dance seductively with each other, the beat of the music matching the beats of their heart and the throbbing in their erections.  ***** felt so safe and treasured with ***’s arms wrapped around him from behind., the bigger man’s paint splattered hands rubbing across his chest, with his hardened nipples and his slim but muscled thighs.

When ***’s hands left paint streaks on his skin, ***** squealed and pushed away.  The desire darkening ***’s eyes gave him momentary pause but with effort he continued with his rant.

“***!  You got paint all over my clothes and my skin!” he stated in exasperation, his hands on his hips.  He expected *** to apologize profusely, he didn’t expect for the larger man to bend over and stick his two large hands in one of the paint buckets and to toss the paint directly at him.  The paint landed in his beautiful black hair, the dark red streaking his curly locks, and all over his torso, neck, legs and face.  With another squeal he raced over to another bucket of the dark red paint and stuck his own hands inside before tossing the paint back at ***.  It wasn’t long before the two of them were tossing paint all over each other, the walls, the fireplace, the front door and all over the tarp that covered the floor.

***** laughed breathlessly when *** scooped him up in his arms and pressed his face into the smaller man’s neck.

“Say you surrender,” *** growled.

“Never,” ***** giggled as *** tickled his sides before lifting him into the air.  Without thought ***** locked his legs around ***’s waist, his arms around the cowboy’s neck.

“Surrender,” *** demanded playfully again before nipping gently at *****’s earlobe.  ***** shuddered as lightening raced from his ear through his head, his chest and his legs before settling in his groin, his erection growing to full mast at the feeling.

“N-n-never,” ***** panted.  *** knelt on the floor and laid ***** down upon it before lifting up his shirt.  He pressed his lips against *****’s throbbing pulse in his neck.  He made his way down the smaller man’s chest, taking small bites and placing small kisses across the skin.  ***** shuddered when he felt the raspy touch of ***’s tongue upon his erect nipples.  *** licked around and around the nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth.  He then pulled at the erect nub with his teeth and pulled the flesh taut almost to the point of pain before releasing it.  ***** groaned, his hands coming up to clutch at and touch the firm, muscled flesh of this bigger man.

*** moved over to the neglected nipple, while his fingers came up to play with the wet nub he’d just left.  *****’s hips began to thrust up, seeking something firm to rub against, the desire had become an ache inside of him and he needed something to ease it.  He needed *** inside of him.

Your mission is to guess which Vicktor Alexander book this comes 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 ——

 

Sunday Brunch Blog – shhh… pretend it’s still 11/10/13

Hey Sunday Brunch lovers – Some of you may notice today is not Sunday. You are getting sleepy… Very sleepy… Today is Sunday… Today is Sunday…

I spent the weekend at Bent-Con in Los Angeles with one of the worst head colds I’ve ever had. I actually spent the weekend trying not to give my germs to my author friends Belinda McBride, James Buchanan, E.M. Lynley, Kimberly Hunter, Lou Harper, LE Franks, Sara York, Damon Suede, Shira Anthony, Rhys Ford and rest of the gang from Dreamspinner, who were also there AND the rest of the attendees. I bonked on scheduling this Sunday Brunch post correctly. Entirely my fault!

Here’s how my Sunday Brunch Blog works:  I invite a couple of your favorite authors to my blog and ask them a question. Sometimes my questions are silly, sometimes they’re thought-provoking.

My guests will share their answers with me 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!

Last Week’s winner? Barbra! I’ll be getting in touch with you soon.

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 live on a ride at Disneyland, which one would it be?

Can I just live in the entire park? No, well okay. There are plenty of rides I could see myself living – The Haunted Mansion, Aerosmith’s Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, the Great Movie Ride. Disney has so many amazing rides in their parks, which is probably why so many people go to there. But I think if I had to choose only one to be my home, I’d have to go with the Tower of Terror in Disney’s Hollywood Studios.

On one hand, you get to scare the living crap out of all the tourists. On the other hand, you get a lovely view of the park and surrounding area from the elevator, at least until it drops you to your death. Plus, it reminds me of getting stuck in the elevator at GRL 2013! (Which was quite amusing once we finally got out.)

Although, I’d much rather live in one of the Harry Potter rides over at Universal Studios…–Author William Cooper

Purchase For His Love   Amazon    ARE    B&N

I have to admit, I haven’t been to Disneyland for a while and don’t remember a lot of the rides, but then, maybe it’s because every time my family visits a Disney property we have some sort of Traumatic Moment. Happiest place on earth, my day-glo white ass. So I’m reinterpreting the question as favorite ride, but even then I’m playing fast and loose with it. My favorite ride was a 1989 Dodge Minivan with fake wood paneling. Yeah, it’s all about the woody.

Classes at UC Davis always to start on a Thursday, at least for the fall quarter, so three friends and I hatched a plan. As soon as the last one of us got out of our last class on Friday, we were hitting the road. So my favorite ride at Disneyland? The Disneyland Expeditionary Force of 1990. One friend had been my best friend since seventh grade: we told everyone we were cousins so they’d stop accusing us of fucking while we were in high school; one friend was the first person I came out to; one of them is now dead.

While names and details have been changed to protect the innocent, Esmé, Margaret, Greg, and I piled into the minivan and hit the road that Friday afternoon with two ice chests and a cheap CD player (because the radio in the minivan was even cheaper) and hit the road. The drive south was unremarkable, and if you’ve ever drive south in I-5 through the Great Valley you know why. That it was dark helped immeasurably. That’s the kind of dumb thing you can do when you’re twenty—drive all night and check into a hotel in Anaheim after midnight. Anaheim looks better in the dark, too.

Greg and Margaret, renamed the Greg and Peg Show by my parents due Greg’s habit of turning summersaults on the furniture and Margaret’s—Peg’s—futile efforts to stop him, took one room because they were dating. Esmé and I took the other one because we weren’t and she knew she was safe as a kitten. More to the point, so did her boyfriend who was doing his year abroad. Once he found out I was gay, he became a big fan of her spending time with me.

Another advantage to doing dumb things when you’re twenty is we were there before the park opened, ready to run amok, and did we ever. Margaret ran varsity track, Greg played rugby, I swam, and Esmé just kept up with us. I’m sure Greg and I scared a number of people out of our way…I’m freakishly tall and Greg, while of average height, was built like refrigerator, and we wore mouse ears and maniacal grins.

I think the best part of the weekend was trying to let Margaret know I had something to tell her and then chickening out…over and over and over. When I finally came out to her at the Foster’s Freeze just north of the Grapevine she looked at me and yelled, “That’s it? I thought you were dying of cancer or something!” Then she slugged me. For such a short woman she had a really good arm.

But all good things, as they say. Margaret’s now a deputy state attorney general. Esmé is now a housewife in the OC and doing her best to subvert her son’s Boy Scout troupe with liberalism. It doesn’t seem to be an issue with her daughter’s Girl Scouts troupe, for some reason. And Greg? Greg’s dead. It’s been a few years, and it’s still a shock to the three of us.

In honor of Greg’s boisterous personality, I give you Tipping the Balance, because Brad Sundstrom, too, has such a personality. — Author Christopher Koehler.

Purchase Tipping The Balance   Amazon  ARE  B&N

Oh God, this is so embarrassing! If you’ve met me, take a guess what my answer will be.

Okay yeah. Sigh. It’s a Small World. Yep. That’s the home for me. I am just that ridiculously lame — and optimistic and sunny and all the crap that no writer of super sexy MM romance should be. I’ve lived and traveled all over the world. I started as an Army brat and just never quit. So that part of Small World makes sense.

I also decided as a very small child, that if there was a God, he/she loved us all the best. And if that wasn’t so — if there was “one way” to the truth of living — then I wanted nothing to do with any deity that was so screwed up. So yes, there is “just one moon and one golden sun” in my world and they shine on us all equally and with love. I believe in true love. No, more than believe. As Jung said, “I know.”

That’s what I write about. I feel amazingly lucky to get to share that experience. And, like A Small World, I hope I’m a catchy (slightly crazy-making) tune that never leaves your head.  LOL : ) — Author Tara Lain

Purchase F.A.S.T Balls   Amazon   ARE   B&N

 

 

 

 

Teaser Tuesdays – Jaime Samms

Let’s Have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome To my Guest Author, Jaime Samms! 

About Jaime:

I’ve been writing for various
publishers since the fall of 2008, although I’ve been writing for myself far longer. I’m often asked why men? What’s so fascinating about writing stories about men falling in love? It’s never been an easy question to answer. I just always have written stories about men, and as I reached the age where I started to fall in love (and that happened on a fairly regular basis, and not always with men, myself) my characters grew along with me. For a long time, I thought I was pretty odd. 
 
When I discovered the internet, in the form of text chat rooms in university, and that‘s as close an approximation on age as you’re going to get, I realized I was not the only one who had this fascination. There were other writers out there writing the stories I wanted to read, and reading the kind of stories I was writing. Sometime between then and now, an author was born.

 
When I’m not writing, I’m probably reading, and you can find all kinds of opinions (other people call them reviews, but let’s call a spade a spade and acknowledge that I like to spout my opinion) about what I read on Goodreads, at Kuriousity, a manga and yaoi review site, and on my website under the category of “Book Talk”.
 
And here’s her snippet:


Your mission is to guess which Jaime Samms book this comes 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 ——


PS. Last Week’s Twofer winner? Joe! I’ll be getting in touch with your authors!

So?” ***** spun in front of the full-length mirror in ****’s cramped dorm room. “How do I look?”

“If I say fabulous—”

“Just don’t.” ***** stopped spinning and leaned closer to dab at a smear of eyeliner.

“You sure about the boots, though?” **** asked, still eyeing him.

“The boots, most of all.”

“There are so many buckles.”

“****, love, the buckles are precisely the point.”

“I’m just thinking of…you know…when we get home.”

***** grinned into the mirror, catching the other man’s focused blue gaze. “Relax. I can fuck you with my boots on, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Can and have,” **** acknowledged with a nod that sent his dishevelled blond locks into his eyes.

“And will again.” ***** turned from the mirror, a devil’s smile on his face. “So? Do I pass inspection?”

“Oh yeah.”

**** planted a serious kiss on him, taking over his *****’s senses with his power. He roved his big hands up *****’s legs, travelling over his leather pants, under the stiff pleats of the short,black leather kilt covering them, to dig them into his ass. ***** groaned, rocking his hips forward under the pressure of ****’s touch. His cock strained in the tight confines of his constricting clothing.

Sunday Brunch Blog – 11/03/2013

Hey Sunday Brunch lovers – Today some of us had to turn our clocks back to end Daylight Savings Time, and I got to go out for a real Sunday Brunch with my good friend Lex Valentine (because Halloween was her birthday.) We headed to Lucille’s for a bit of barbecue today, so look for a delicious no-fuss barbecue beans recipe (From Jack Stack in Kansas City via the Food Network) at the end of the post that you can try at home!

Here’s how my Sunday Brunch Blog works:  I invite a couple of your favorite authors to my blog and ask them a question. Sometimes my questions are silly, sometimes they’re thought-provoking.

My guests will share their answers with me 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!

Last Week’s winner? Shae! I’ll be getting in touch with you soon.

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

This weeks question is:

If you could get away with one crime, what would you do?

If I could get away with one crime, it would be prostitution. Lord knows I’d love to able to say with complete confidence that I was good enough in the sack to actually charge for it. That isn’t actually the case, but hey…a boy can dream can’t he?  But if I did charge, I certainly wouldn’t want to be arrested for it!

For one, if I were a hooker, I’d totally be the heart-of-gold variety and people with hearts-of-gold shouldn’t get tossed into the pokey. I mean, really…how f’in rude!! I’d be giving the gift of orgasmy-goodness, people. I’m sorry, but that should not be something folks get arrested for.

So, if I were a horny hustler who sucked the creamy filling out of every Twinkie I could get my lips on in exchange for some coin, I’d prefer a key to the city as opposed to an extended stay at club fed. They may say it’s better to give than to receive, but I see no reason why can’t we have both. You give me some money and you receive a blow job. Hello…that’s like synergy right? Giving and receiving never sounded so good. : ) — Author Ethan Day  ** Editor’s note – SPLUTTER! **

Purchase Northern Star  AMAZON   ARE   B&N

I only get one? That hardly seems fair. And I’m guessing I can’t count my past misdeeds? I mean, ‘cause I’ve danced on the edge of shady a few times in my past. You think thishttp://www.fictionwithfriction.com/2009/10/31/sexy-devil-in-uniform/ got made up whole cloth? Of course, my little slice of that ended when the Doña Ana Sheriff’s Deputy walked out the door. My real life doesn’t usually equate to porn scripts…wait, uhm,

Yeah, so crime.

It wouldn’t be murder. That’s the nice thing about writing in the realm of suspense/mystery and fantasy – if I really dislike someone, I can kill them off. Repeatedly, if I wish, with much glee. I can pretty much guarantee you that if there is an “on screen” death in my books that, with one notable exception, those characters were drawn in some fashion from someone I knew who I couldn’t stand. It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy.

I also couldn’t see getting my one pass at something small or petty. It’d have to be a BIG crime. A one in a million. A D.B. Cooper type heist**(N) Since I don’t get to be known for it, then the crime itself has to be grand and executed with panache. Something that will become a legend in itself. It must be something that feels “victimless” or at least where the victims are so generally reviled anyways that what I would do to them would be seen as justice.

I’m thinking, something that the American public would do a fist pump for.

So, I think, if I could pull it off, I would find a way to siphon off the bank accounts of the chief executives of some of the biggest banks in the country. You know, the guys who were giving themselves multi-million dollar bonuses while the country was drowning in the morass of the foreclosure crises they created. The problem is, it’s not terribly splashy, but it does hit the moral high ground of a well deserved “comeuppance.” I’d have to make large public threats and then carry them out in the most public manner possible. It would require a cadre of conspirators, ‘cause frankly, I have a hard enough time trying to clear a virus off my website. Hacking secure banking databases is way out of my league. Masterminding it, that would be my role.

Then I’d sit back in some foreign country, and every few years watch the latest news piece on who did it and how. — Author James Buchanan

**(N) In 1971, D.B. Cooper (an alias) extorted $200,000 from Northwest Orient Airlines when he hijacked and threatened to blow up one of their planes full of passengers. He then leaped, at night during a storm, from the airborne 727 over the North American wilderness. He wore a suit, dress shoes and had 21 pounds of $20 bills strapped to his torso. A little bit of the cash has been found, but DB’s body and the majority of the money have never been discovered. http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/criminal_mind/scams/DB_Cooper/index.html

Purchase Laying Ghosts  AMAZON   ARE   B&N

Boy, does that open up a world of possibility! Revenge…profit…self-gratification…

I thought about swiping a yacht, plundering a museum or sneaking into Fort Knox. And needless to say, I thought about past crimes…like that time I snuck into the college swimming pool in the middle of the night.  Wild times, baby. Wild times…

That’s when it hit me. I’m a goody-two-shoes. I mean…seriously. I’ve never shoplifted, do my best to avoid speeding and when I lie, it literally keeps me awake at night. Now all this doesn’t mean I’m a paragon of virtue, I just have an overactive sense of self-preservation. And I also have a massive guilt complex. When I was a kid, I used to apologize for things I didn’t do…my sister gleefully took advantage of my tendency to confess to things I hadn’t done.

But still, there’s a lot of possibility here, getting away with a crime…any crime. I could steal from criminals or sneak into a lab and free all the research animals. I could actually help people by being bad! But again, for everything you do, there are bound to be repercussions.

So if I could commit a crime…any crime…and get away with it?

I’d probably sneak into the college pool, but this time I’d go skinny-dipping!

Purchase Blacque/Bleu  AMAZON   ARE    B&N

And on behalf of Belinda and ZAM, who ate at Jack Stack in Kansas City this year (BEST! BARBECUE! EVER!) Here’s a link to an easy peasy version of their recipe for barbecue beans via the Food Network:

JACK STACK BBQ BEANS

ENJOY!

 

Tuesday Teaser! – The “Thursday Twofer” edition!

I admit that this week I’ve dropped the ball. Not only did I not do a Tuesday Teaser last week,  I am late with this one. Suffice it to say, though, this week I have TWO of your favorite authors, and I am giving away TWO prizes. My only excuse is that I was in Atlanta for GRL and I came home with conference Cooties. Tomorrow, I have Jury Duty! Am I pitiful enough yet?

Let’s get to the main event!

Let’s Have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome To My TWO Guest Authors! 

First Up, we have Tara Lain, who is not only a terrific writer but one of my dear friends. We’re both members of the Orange County chapter of the RWA and I am lucky enough to see her once a month at meetings. Here’s her bio, straight from her website:

I’m Tara Lain and I write The Beautiful Boys of Romance. I love all my characters, but especially my unique heroes. I write mostly MM romance with some MMF as well. I love the intensity, passion, lack of gender roles, diversity, and innate drama that accompany two men in love. Giving my guys their happy ever after is my favorite thing. I write serious themes with a light touch and readers often call my books “sweet” despite all the hot sex!  I believe in love and enjoy giving more of it to the world! 

And here’s her snippet. Your mission is to guess which Tara Lain book this comes 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 ——>

Movement. Slight but there. The eyelids fluttered, and ****** stared into bloodshot brown. He pulled off the respirator, and *** coughed convulsively. ****** leaned over, but could barely hear the whisper. “I couldn’t let you go.”

“Hey, ******, we got him.” The EMT reached out and tried to take the canvas from those graceful, lethal hands. ***’s eyes had closed, but he clutched the painting to his chest like a child clutches a doll.

****** murmured, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got it.”

Two EMTs took *** from ******’s arms. He gently extricated the canvas from ***’s hands and watched them load him onto a stretcher. God, he looked so small and vulnerable. But that little frame contained a mighty heart. Why in hell had he done it?

As the EMTs loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, ****** glanced at the canvas. Sweet Jesus. His own face looked back. Perfect, illuminated, glowing as if it emitted light. Heat filled his chest, prickling behind his eyes. Shit, he wanted to smack ***. Right after he kissed him.

 Our Second snippet - comes from multi talented author Lynn Lorenz, who is also a friend! Here’s her bio, from her website:

Lynn Lorenz lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.

“I want to apologize,” **** said. His voice was all raspy and gruff and sexy as hell.

****** stared up into his face, waiting. **** scuffed his boot against the cement but didn’t say anything else. He shoulders hunched, as if he’d curled up inside himself but still walked upright. Something ate at ****. Served him right. As far as ****** was concerned, there’d been too many “somethings.”

“So which one are you apologizing for? Lying to me about being gay? Trying to steal my best friend away from me? Making me think I was nuts? Or manipulating me?”

**** winced with each item ****** ticked off. “All of it, I guess.”

“Apology accepted. Good night.” ****** shut the door, but ****’s arm shot out and stopped it.

“Wait.” He licked his lips.

“There’s more?” ****** arched a brow.

**** stood there, looking at his feet. Maybe be was trying to figure out which one to shove in his mouth first.

****** sighed. “Why are you here, ****?”

**** looked up, and ****** could see some internal battle being waged as demons danced in the depths of ****’s blue eyes.

Hell and damnation. Why did the man have to be so damned sexy? So in need of healing?

 

And that’s it! Go forth and make your guesses! You could win an ebook from one of these lovely authors!

Tara Lain and Lynn Lorenz, as always…it was a total pleasure to see you in Atlanta. I cherish all the time I get to spend with you!!! Looking forward to next year in Chicago!

 

Sunday Brunch Blog

Hey Sunday Brunch lovers – Now that I’ve dined in the south, no Sunday brunch will ever be complete for me without grits! At the end I’ll link you to a little recipe for cheese grits courtesy of Alton Brown of the Food Network!

Here’s how my Sunday Brunch Blog works:  I invite a couple of your favorite authors to my blog and ask them a question. Sometimes my questions are silly, sometimes they’re thought-provoking. My guests will share their answers with me 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 would be in the comments, and you could win an e-book!

This weeks question isn’t really a question, but a topic:

Describe any misfortune that turned out to be a gift in disguise.

Looking back, most of my life hasn’t been exactly easy but—well, you know, it’s life and it’s yours.  You live it and move on to the next phase when it arrives.  I never liked the other alternatives.

Well, except for fiction and usually romance fiction.  When things were tough, a story could get me away from my bad mood or bad situation and I could enjoy myself.  Writing, once I got back to it after a long hiatus, made me feel the same.  Finally I stumbled into publishing, which is one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever had.

But then my mother was diagnosed with dementia (not that I couldn’t figure it out for myself) and my son, who has developmental issues, hit puberty.  They both lived in my home and they both demanded attention.  I ran for my writing whenever I could but push came to shove.  My day job, which paid the most, my publishing, my writing and my family were too much to handle.

I quit the day job.  I told myself I was stupid and I resented having to do it.  The publishing company was starting to make me a kind of living but nothing else I did paid as much as my day job.  I felt very sorry for myself, very trapped, and very scared.

Quitting turned out to be a gift.  Publishing took off for Loose Id that year.  I kept enough sanity to do all the things I truly wanted or needed to do and I got through to a much better new phase.  I learned to take joy in what is good and happens right now, rather than waiting for something better to come along.  And, believe me, I appreciated Loose Id authors, my own writing, and my family.  I’d like to think it helped my writing, too, since I love my characters to struggle for their happy endings…but I also know there can be a happy ending. Working for a HEA and getting it is why I loved romance so much from the start.  Really believing it can happen is a true gift. — Author Treva Harte

Purchase His Best Man:  Loose Id  Amazon

RIP Dear Volv0 Okay—you know those times in your life when you can take what you can get?

Yeah.  My family was rock bottom broke, and my husband—who was working and going to school in Sacramento while we lived in Ophir—got to use the one good car.

I was stuck at home with a ’74 Volvo that would periodically cease to function for no reason.

And I made the mistake of mentioning this to my father.

“Why don’t you just drive the damned thing?  At least you’ll go somewhere until it stops!”

“Dad, I’ve got two kids in diapers—do I want them in the back of something that’s not going to run?”

And then… oh God.  Does family know how to get under your skin or what?  Cause my dad—who had hauled three kids cross country in a Volkswagen Bus with neither seatbelts, stationary seats, floorboards, or wholly functioning exhaust system—was convinced that anyone without that level of crazy was automatically a pussy of the first water.

“What happened to you?  You used to be so much braver than you are now?”

Grrrr…

But you know how it is with family.  You hear the dare, you refuse the dare, and still, the words go ricocheting through your head like a psychotic ping-pong ball.  You used to be so much braver…

Aw, hell.

I was going to have to take the damned car, wasn’t I?

Which is, of course, how I managed to get stalled behind the world’s seediest Chevron station, with, yes, you guessed it.  Two kids.  This was before cell phones, mind you, so the mechanics of getting hold of Mate and having him come and bail us out were painful and traumatic—and notice, by the way, that my father with the “You used to be so much braver than you are now!” was nowhere to be found on this day.  Jerk.

Anyway, even worse than all of that was the fact that we had nothing to do with the car.  See, normally we would have had the car towed—because that’s logical and all, but, see, you know AAA unlimited towing?  That’s a lie.  That’s a big fat lie, they cut you off after fifteen tows in three years.  Yes, I know this from experience, why do you think I’m bitter?

And we didn’t have the money to have it towed.  Hell, I had to scrape the floorboards of the damned Volvo to find money for milk to give the poor puzzled offspring as we sat in the heat and waited for a lift.

And if we could have afforded to have it fixed, well, I wouldn’t have been in that pickle in the first place, right?

So we left it.

Yup.  Left it.  And every so often we’d pass the gas station, and there it would be, layers of tickets for an abandoned vehicle accreting on the dusty windshield like archeological strata.

My father was completely disgusted.  “You left it?  A perfectly good vehicle like that?”

“Well, daddy, if it was a perfectly good vehicle it wouldn’t have died when I needed it would it?”

He didn’t have anything to say to that, really, and he dropped the subject.

Eventually they tore down the gas station, and impounded the car.  We’d get periodic notices on how it was doing—“Oh, yay!  It’s moved to the impound lot!”  “Oh, isn’t that sweet—someone adopted it!”  “Oh noes!  It’s been abandoned on the side of the road. Who would do such a thing to such a splendid piece of shit?”  “Oh, hey, look—it’s been impounded again.  They say they’re going to sell it to cover the cost.  Good luck with that, guys, we mean that sincerely.”

Until eventually I’m going to assume someone pushed it off a cliff or it ended up cannibalized in an Pick-n-pull, where someone else tried in vain to find a functioning transmission for a ’74 Volvo.  (The car was on it’s fourth when we abandoned it—as I said, good luck with that—we mean it sincerely!)

Anyway, the death of the car, while high comedy (at least to Mate and I, who didn’t have too much to laugh at during that point in our lives) was also a learning moment for me.

Yeah, my dad can still get under my skin.  Yeah, he can still piss me off.  And yeah, I periodically have to weigh the things he’s taught me as a decent parent against the things he inadvertently taught me by negative example.

But he can no longer dare me.

Yeah, he tries.  And sometimes, he still pisses me off.  But I’ve learned to trust my own judgment on shit that he just does not have to live through.  He wasn’t stuck in that seedy gas station with two screaming, confused toddlers,  I was, and he didn’t have to take time off from work to rescue us.  That was Mate.  So that right there is my real gift.  It’s hard to shake those patterns of obedience that family sets for us—and respect and sometimes obedience really can be positive qualities in a family.

But that right there was one of my cardinal lessons in how to judge a situation for myself, and although I’ve needed a lot of them since, that one was pretty damned iconic.  But it helped me become the person who would write in this genre at a time when everyone assumed all I was writing was porn.  Moments like this one were lessons that in spite of what your nearest and dearest tell you, only you have to live through the upshot of the actions, and if you can live with something that the rest of the world doesn’t understand, then maybe you’re doing the right thing after all.

So while it’s not safe to say I owe my writing career to the death of a ’74 Volvo, it is safe to say it taught me something I brought into my writing life.

And I’m lucky enough to be living with the consequences of following my own judgment this time—and they’re not bad! — Author Amy Lane

Purchase Ethan In Gold:  Dreamspinner  Amazon

Hah! Summing my life up in a single sentence again, are you Zam? I honestly can’t of a single misfortune in my life that didn’t turn out to be a gift in disguise… not even the death of my mother. Eh, that may sound a bit like extreme Pollyannaism, but when I give you an example I think you’ll understand. I share often about how I came to write M/M romance, mostly because writing is such a huge part of my life now. Well misfortune is what led me here. I had left the army on a family hardship chapter—my daughter was ill and yes, another misfortune that turned out to be a blessing there—and gone to nursing school. I worked as a nurse for a couple of years, just long enough to *know* that I LOVED nursing, wanted to make a life-long career of it. Then I fell at home, reinjuring my spine. The original injury happened while I was in the Army. In less than a month, I was having trouble walking, hands and feet going numb, brain disconnected from the extremities as it were. Then came two spinal surgeries, and nearly two full years of being incapacitated.

Sounds tragic, huh?

But it wasn’t. I found m/m romance during that time, and the stories, especially yours, Zam, and Ethan Day’s, and… well, suffice to say there are a lot of m/m authors I hug every time I see them because they were instrumental in getting me through those tough times (yes, yes, I do mean you, Andrew Grey, Mary Calmes, and Amy Lane). So I loved the world of m/m romance. I couldn’t go back to my other love, nursing, not in a hands on manner, but—oh, and this is the exciting part—I could write. So I did. And I found a brand new career that I love even more than I loved nursing.

It’s paying me back in spades by being rewarding, fulfilling, and hopefully in the not too distant future, it will pay the bills as well. I’m currently up for a Rainbow Award—yes, Zam, I am still getting goose pimples to think that Changeless is up there in the finals with your works *dramatic shiver* because you are truly one of the authors whose level of craftsmanship I aspire to.  I love writing love stories. I love writing funny stories. I LOVE knowing somewhere in the world someone’s day has been brightened by a story of mine. Good times indeed. — Author Cheri Noel

Purchase Changeless: MLR Press  Amazon

Don’t forget to comment for a chance to win an ebook and then go to:

Alton Brown for Cheese Grits !

Tuesday Teaser – Damon Suede

Let’s have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome to Guest Authors! 

From now on I’m asking your favorite authors to stop by and share snippets of their work for our Tuesday Teaser Game. Try to guess the book!

Last Week’s Winner? ANTONIA walked away with an Amy Lane E-book!

My guest TODAY needs NO introduction, But here’s one anyway: Damon Suede grew up out-n-proud deep in the anus of right-wing America, and escaped as soon as it was legal. He has lived all over: Houston, New York, London, Prague. Along the way, he’s earned his crust as a model, a messenger, a promoter, a programmer, a sculptor, a singer, a stripper, a bookkeeper, a bartender, a techie, a teacher, a director… but writing has ever been his bread and butter. He has been happily partnered for over a decade with the most loving, handsome, shrewd, hilarious, noble man to walk this planet.

Cravings: sweetness that isn’t sentimental, wit that isn’t bitter, strength that isn’t cruel. Loathings: professional victims, half-assery, clichés. Damon is a proud member of the Romance Writers of America and serves as the 2013 president for the Rainbow Romance Writers.

Though new to gay romance, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen for two decades, which is both more and less glamorous than you might imagine. He’s won some awards, but his blessings are more numerous: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year.

PLAYERS: Here’s how you do it! 1. Guess the title of the Amy Lane book this teaser comes from. 2. Email me with the title of the book at zamaxfield @ zamaxfield (dot) com.  3. Put Tuesday Teasers in the subject line!

 

You could win an ebook copy of the book in question or another book from Amy’s backlist. Be sure to give me a valid email address so I know where to send your ebook. This time I’ll draw a winner on Sunday so everyone has an equal chance to win!!!

Today’s TEASER -

**** opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and opened it again. “So… still counts as a date.”

“I sure thought so.”

“Truth?” **** shivered. “This is gonna come out wrong… but you’re like every gorgeous jock meathead I ever wanted in school.” A glance at the street. “I know you’re not a meathead. You’re just a lot to take in. Funny and sweet and smart—”

***** kissed him. He couldn’t think of what else to do to stop the strange spiral of anxiety, so he just stepped forward and planted a chaste peck directly on Trip’s lips.

**** froze and then softened.

***** stepped back. “Sorry. You left me no choice.”

“I’m sorry.” **** still looked anxious.

“What you are—” Grin. “—is charming.” ***** kept his hands to himself, just barely. “I gotta take sips of you. What may seem like me being standoffish is me trying not to throw you over my shoulder and haul you back to my greasy Batcave.”

**** gulped but said nothing. The taxi slowed to a halt.

Sunday Brunch Blog – 10/13/2013

I’ve always wanted to find a way to ask a few of my favorite authors over for a nice, leisurely Sunday brunch, and that became the idea for this blog.

Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me 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! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! 

This weeks question is:

What kind of car are you?

Readers, comment below for a chance to win an ebook! We want to know what kind of car YOU would be!

So this week, Zam wants to know what kind of car we would be if we could…what? Be a car? Not sure why I would want to be a car (not having opposable thumbs seems like it might be a deal breaker) but hey, let’s have some fun, shall we?

(And totally as an aside, the writer in me dearly wants to know why my word processor is so dumb it doesn’t think ‘opposable’ is a word when it seems to know perfectly well that Jedi should be capitalized. There are other words I use as an erotic romance writer that it also didn’t think were words, but I’ve since educated it, and it’s much better now.)

So. On to what kind of car would I be. Based on my level of nerdiness just evidenced for you all? Probably a Volvo. And not the new, sleek kind, either. Oh no. We’re talking 80′s station wagon…beige.

Oh yes. That’s me. — Author Jamie Samms

Lace, available at Total E-Bound  Amazon

No doubt about it. If I were going to be a car, I’d be a Tesla.

Electric. Gorgeous. Fast. Mindblowing. And not a tailpipe on it. (That is sooo sexy!) Not burning fossil fuel never looked so good nor went so fast.

If I’m honest, I’m really all about being sleek and efficient. After all, I spend a shitton of money on WEN to keep my flyaway hair from looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket. I could buy regular hair products but nooooo. I have to go for the stuff that’s supposed to make my hair more shiny, more sleek, more awesome. I’m not all that sure it really works as well as it says it does but sometimes my hair is all those things so I guess it sort of works! As for efficient…I do this best at the day job, but in all my creative outlets I strive for it as well although I don’t achieve it as easily. I don’t sleep much, so I work. What could be more efficient?

The Tesla is more than an electric car that hauls ass. At over $70K, it’s a statement. And it’s pretty much a work of art. Completely handmade and 100% head turning as it streaks down the road. It’s the perfect melding of technology and art.

That would be me. IT geek with a need for speed meets writer and artist with a need to create hot, sexy characters who make hot, sexy love.

And no tailpipe. (Did I mention how sexy that is?) It’s like the HEA at the end of every book I write. A statement of who I am and what I believe in. Hot sex. Endless love. That’s a Lex book in a nutshell…and that’s Lex, the Tesla of erotic romance! — Author Lex Valentine

Sunday’s Child, available at Amazon  B&N  ARE