Eden Winters's Blog, page 45

The Prodigal, now available at All Romance eBooks

I'm happy to announce that rent boy Mark, from The Angel of 13th Street, finally gets to tell his tale.
This story originally appeared in the Toquere Books anthology Someplace in this World.



Sauntering to a john’s car is a far cry from hauling hay back on the farm, and none of the married men or rancid losers who hire him come close to the love Mark left behind. His father’s angry words still ring in his ears a year after Dad caught Mark kissing Eric. “Get out of my house and don’t come back!” doesn’t leave a guy a lot of choices.

Mark’s lost all he held dear, but the man known as The Angel believes there’s hope. More than anything, Mark wants to go home—but can a runaway rent boy ever truly go home again?

Here's an excerpt:


Mark looked right and left before approaching the waiting vehicle. He really didn’t want another customer, but if one of Willie’s spies saw him walk away from easy cash he’d be in real trouble. Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling to calm jangling nerves, he approached the lowered passenger side window.  

Even in the low light he could see that the man sitting behind the steering wheel was fairly attractive, with light brown hair and a medium build. Mark leaned into the car and smiled as he’d been taught to do, though his heart wasn’t in it. He’d gotten good at lying, even convincing his body language to play along. To customers he must appear willing and able, always. “Looking for me?” he purred, striking a seductive pose.

“Could be,” came the casual reply. “I’m looking for a bit of entertainment. What will it cost me?” Despite the fact that the sun had long since set, dark glasses concealed the man’s eyes. Lots of johns wore similar disguises, but Mark really wished he could see those eyes. The guy appearing impaired was a valid reason to walk away. Even Willie didn’t tolerate drug abuse. Rumor had it that someone the pimp once knew had been badly hurt by a meth-addled customer, and the fastest way out of Willie’s employ was to earn a reputation as a user.

“What kind of entertainment?” Mark asked, a wink saying he already had a pretty good idea. This was a dance he knew very well. Maybe I should have studied drama, I’ve certainly become one hell of an actor.

Mark scrutinized the potential customer, alert for signs of danger. The john appeared nervous, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. That was nothing new, and normal behavior for a man approaching a male whore while wearing a shiny gold band on his ring finger. His next words confirmed Mark’s suspicions. “I don’t have much time. The wife gets off work soon.”
Well, his body had had enough for one day, so a quick blowjob suited Mark just fine. “I think I can handle that.”

 Those dark lenses dropped, revealing dark brown eyes. Eric’s eyes. Mark swallowed hard and pushed away from the car. No! He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kneel and suck this man off while looking up into eyes that so cruelly reminded him of all he’d lost. Hoping to scare the john off, he named a price sure to have tires screeching into the night. As soon as the words left his mouth, a metallic snicksounded behind him and the cold kiss of handcuffs clamped around his wrists. The heat of a warm body pressed against his back. Shit, a team.

Those shaded glasses slipped back into place as the “john” recited familiar words, “You have the right to remain silent… ”

Mark closed his eyes with a weary sigh, head bumping against the top of the car. Here we go again. Willie was going to kill him.

Now available at All Romance eBooks

Coming soon to Amazon

Coming VERY Soon...

Available Saturday, June 22, from Rocky Ridge Books:

In The Angel of 13th Street, Noah Everett helps a young man escape life on the streets and return home. Ever wonder what happened to rent boy Mark? 



The Prodigal
A side story to The Angel of 13th Street.

Sauntering to a john’s car is a far cry from hauling hay back on the farm, and none of the married men or rancid losers who hire him come close to the love Mark left behind. His father’s angry words still ring in his ears a year after Dad caught Mark kissing Eric. “Get out of my house and don’t come back!” doesn’t leave a guy a lot of choices.

Mark’s lost all he held dear, but the man known as The Angel of 13th Street believes there’s hope. More than anything, Mark wants to go home—but can a rent boy ever truly go home again?



The Prodigal first made an appearance in the anthology Someplace in This World from Torquere Books.

Lovely cover art by Zathyn Priest at Scarlet Tie Designs.  

Free Read Available at Goodreads

Good morning (afternoon, evening, whatever time it is in your neck of the woods).

As you may know, each year Goodreads M/M Group hosts an annual free read event. This year's event is called Love Has No Boundaries, and here's how it works. Readers are given picture prompts to claim and write a letter for an author, in hopes of having a story told. The authors then claim the letters, interpreting the letter and picture to create a short story. Check out the thread for many great stories by some extremely talented authors.

I've been priviledged to participate in this event for all three years, with short contemporary, coming of age, freinds to lovers, Sweet Dreams , a fantasy, elf story, In Dreams , and now this year, once again, I'm offering something different, a sci-fi: The Sentinel.

Thank you, Brett, for your letter and inspiration.


PHOTO DESCRIPTION:
A sepia tone photograph shows a handsome man, bare-chested, who sits cradling a baby in both hands. He has short hair and a muscled body, and he gazes adoringly at the baby.

STORY LETTER:
Dear Author,

This man is a protector, a fierce and rugged man with a checkered past and an absent family… and yet he holds our new daughter with such tenderness and care. He loves my entire clan of a family nearly as much as he loves me, and despite his horrid birth family, he has become the brother, the son, the cousin, the uncle that they never knew they were missing.

He loves us all, and protects us all… even when the proverbial s*$% hits the fan.

Please tell our story, how he came to be so gentle and loving of my family, OUR family, yet can be so fierce, so distant, from the rest of the world.

Sincerely,

Brett

STORY INFO:
Genre: science fiction
Tags: futuristic, other world, enemies to lovers, military, men with children
Content warnings: character death, off-page child abuse
Word count: 16,910 

Enter to Win The Match Before Christmas

Enter to win a copy of my newly re-leased short story, The Match Before Christmas, at Stumbling Over Chaos. While you're there, check out the linkety, lovely kitty pics (her two cats inspired Toms I and II in the story) and my all time favorite thing on her blog, Misadventures in Stock Photography. Plenty of book contests and insightful reviews too!


The Match Before Christmas 2nd Edition is now available at All Romance Ebooks and Amazon. And it's got a great new cover, courtesy of Jared Rackler from Jared Rackler Designs.

Release Day!

I'm very pleased to announce that The Match Before Christmas 2nd Edition is now available at All Romance Ebooks  and Amazon. And it's got a great new cover, courtesy of Jared Rackler from Jared Rackler Designs.

Join lonely building contractor Barry Richards as he navigates the (sometime frightening) maze of online dating.



Candlelight, mistletoe, gaily wrapped packages beneath a trimmed tree, and someone to share it with. That's all Barry Richards wants for Christmas. Desperate for a traditional holiday, he creates a profile on "GetaDate.com," in hopes of finding the perfect man in a matter of weeks. One date after another goes sour, while all around him friends are falling in love, and Barry starts to lose faith.

The first snow falls and the world fills with seasonal cheer, all except for Barry, for whom time is running out. Facing the prospect of a lonely holiday, he tries just once more to make The Match Before Christmas.

Excerpt:


How It All Began...

Barry admired the festive holly wreath hanging from his parent’s front door, while deciding how to knock with one arm laden with brightly wrapped packages and the other around a smiling man. The family was going to love his new boyfriend.

A car door slamming in the neighbor’s drive brought him out of his daydream. Barry sighed for about the hundredth time since getting his parent’s e-mail. Was it too much to ask to have, just once, the kind of Christmas he’d always dreamed about? But that’s what it was, a dream. His parents’ holiday cruise plans laid waste to Barry and his sister’s annual Yule pilgrimage to Mom and Dad’s. Karen immediately invited him to spend Christmas at her house. “We’ll make a new tradition,” she’d said.

While his sister’s family would love to have him there, Barry wanted someone of his own to spend the joyous occasion, and ultimately life, with. He wasn’t pouting. Not at all. The entire situation underscored his loneliness. Mom and Dad had each other, Karen had Jack and the kids, he had nobody—yet. Barry’s was a simple goal, to find someone special by Christmas, three months away, even if he wouldn’t be introducing the as yet unnamed man to his folks this year.

He returned to studying the image on his computer screen of two gorgeous men, laughing. A head-thrown-back, eye-twinkling, “I’ve never been so happy” laugh, arms wrapped about each other in a sensual embrace. Underneath their picture an icon beckoned, “Meet our success stories.”

Barry stared at the happy couple and frowned. What had life come to? He blinked hard, and when he reopened his eyes the mutually smitten couple still flaunted their coupledom. A simple, beguiling message asked, “What are you waiting for?”

He reread his “About Me” blurb, trying to imagine a stranger’s reaction:
Single, reasonably attractive gay man, looking for same for possible long-term relationship. Interests: museums, the arts, sports, pets, and romantic candlelit dinners.

Muttering, “I’m a loser,” under his breath, Barry double-checked all the questionnaire boxes he’d clicked previously, making a few minor adjustments here and there.

He paused at the question: “Desired Ages?” While he wanted a stable adult in his life, starting too high might discourage some earnest recent college grad. Likewise, ending too low might exclude the doctor of his dreams for having had a recent birthday. Knowing the criteria could be changed later prompted him to select “Between twenty-five and thirty-five.” Race and religious preferences he left open. He listed his own as Christian, due to the vague memory of a few Sunday school classes in his youth.

Though he’d always been a bit camera shy, resulting in very few available likenesses, he found several group pictures on his hard drive and attempted to edit all the other subjects out. He discarded the results one by one until he came across a recent photo his secretary had taken at the office. He didn’t usually photograph well, in his opinion, but he wasn’t too ashamed of this one. His clear green eyes stood out, thanks to a slightly darker green shirt, and his normally unruly auburn hair framed his face nicely, falling in loose waves. To him, the photo portrayed a successful businessman, which he was, but also showed a more casual side of his personality. “Present yourself as well-rounded,” the site advised.

Before he had a chance to overthink the situation and change his mind, he hit the big red “Enter” button. There went nothing. If things went well, Barry fully believed he’d spent his last lonely weekend. If they didn’t, he was only out fifty bucks, and the cats didn’t lose a lap to sit in for the few hours it would take to go on a date. 

Memorial Day

A few years ago I rode to Washington, DC on the back of a Harley for Memorial Day. It was the first time I'd ever seen the memorials, and let me tell you, it was a moving experience. 

Here I was with all these burly biker types, and not an eye stayed dry at the Viet Nam wall. Letters lay scattered against the base, from family, friends, and even a fourth grade class, thanking those soul's whose names appeared on the wall for making the ultimate sacrifice. It's just a wall, covered with names, and from what I'm told, the creators caught a lot of flack for its design. There's something about that memorial that chills you to the bone. 

I strolled along, reading names, wondering what those men and women's lives had been like, who they left behind, and what would have happened if they'd made it home alive. Cigarettes, chocolate, and even packs of Koolaid held places of reverence, gifts to the individuals who lost their lives in service to their country. 

Occasionally, I'd run across someone holding a piece of paper to the wall's surface, rubbing charcoal over it to capture the name of someone they'd known. Over 58,195 names represent over 58,195 people, with hopes and dreams, triumphs and fears, and loved ones left behind. 58,195 people, all with a story to tell. "Humbled" doesn't even begin the cover what I felt in that moment.

 Today I'm off work as many are, celebrating a national holiday. But in between the barbeques and Memorial Day sales, pause and reflect on the reason for the day.

The Telling redo

Some of you may have known that I've been taking an editing course for my own edification and to become a better beta. My final project in the course is to take a look at my very first book, The Telling, from the point of view of an editor.

Once I'm finished, I'll be republishing the story in a (hopefully) better and less error-ridden format. But... there's more. A dear friend has also been taking classes, in how to format print books. You see, over the years I've had several folks ask me for print copies of The Telling, and to be honest, I wouldn't mind one myself. A reader even offered to do the necessary formatting just so they could have a personal, signed copy.

If all goes well, soon a new improved version will be available, and in print for those who prefer "hold in your hands" books. After taking the editing class, I'm sure I'll cringe when I look at the file, because I've learned a lot in the time since I wrote the story. I'm not changing the storyline, however, merely editing. And there's a new blurb! Don't worry, I'm not changing the cover--it's too perfect as is. Thanks Jared Rackler, of Jared Rackler Designs.


Time in Iraq cost Michael Ritter some of his hearing and a friend whose death he feels responsible for. He'd left home hoping to escape a dull, small-town life, only to return four years later, lugging a duffle full of personal demons.
Cookesville, Alabama isn’t the most welcoming place on earth, particularly for a gay, Hispanic student wanting nothing more than to earn his degree and get back home to Texas. An image of a somber young man that he knows only by name and the stories told by an adoring sister comes to life when Michael returns home, just as Jay is already half-way to losing his heart.
Michael’s biggest battle lies ahead, and he’ll need all the help he can get to find his way in a world where he no longer fits in. Jay’s not sure where he fits either, but it could be next to the war-torn soldier in need of his strength.

***

For those who aren't aware, The Telling is available as a free download from ARe, as well as a short sequel, Night Watch. 

What's in a Word? It's All About the Feel

It's been too long since I posted in my What's in a Word series. Today let's talk about feelings.

Now, I'm no editor--yet, and definitely not an expert, but I do know what I like to read and words that bring my reading to a screeching halt. While my own work is probably rife with such examples of words that I don't care for, I'm actively working to overcome them. Today's word is "feel", or any of it's derivatives.

Sometimes, as with any word, it's the best choice, but many times, it bogs the writing down or adds distance between the character and the reader.

Example: Billy felt cold.

Yeah, he's cold. Now let's move on to next sentence.

How to maximize on what Billy is experiencing: Brrr! Billy's breath fogged before his face. A shiver raced up his spine. Why had he left the house without his jacket when the weatherman predicted snow?

In the second example, I don't have to tell you Bill feels cold. Fogging breath, shivers, "Brrr" and a snow prediction does that for me.

Here's another example: Kyle felt out of place.

More interesting: Students huddled in groups of two or three, assessing gazes following Kyle's passage down the hallway. Their pleated and pressed Valkenburg Academy uniforms set them apart from Kyle, with his worn jeans and faded T-shirt, their designer backpacks a startling contrast to his frayed and oft-mended Army surplus duffle.No one spoke except to snicker and whisper behind his back. Why the hell had Mom decided to take him out of public school?

While a somewhat more wordy alternative, I don't have to tell you of Kyle's discomfort, do I?

The words feel, felt, feeling etc., may indicate a bit of telling versus showing, one of the reasons most autocritter programs flag it for excessive use.

If you're a reader, does the word "felt" make you wish the author had shown you the feelings?

Authors, is there a better word (or series of words) than felt?

How about this example: Jim got the feeling something was wrong.
Now let's try: Unease squirmed to life in Jim's belly. What was that sound? Wait! There is was again. He held his breath, listening to the night. Cold chills raced up his arms.

Do you get a better sense of connection to Jim in the first example or the second?

Food for thought, and one author's (and reader's) humble opinion.

Tune in next time when we'll be doing a little thinking.

Review for Summer Boys

I've been remiss in posting, but have been very, very busy. Tune in next time (hopefully) for details of my recent weekend at Outlantacon. Fun times had by all!

Today, however, I'd like to have a proud mama moment for my short story Summer Boys.

Ferris Stuart has two missions to accomplish while on vacation on Oahu: research for a new Hawaiian Islands themed hotel and have a little fun, something he hasn't had much of since his partner died two years ago. So far he's managed to halfheartedly accomplish the first task; however, he's failing miserably at the second. That is, until a charming islander shows him both the locale and how to start living again.

Originally writtern to raise money for the It Gets Better project, I'd been kept to an 8,000 word limit, which required a lot of trimming. The story wanted to be longer.

After the rights returned to me from the publisher, I was able to add the additional content that I longed to see, sending the word count to 13,000. Toss in a lovely Zathyn Priest at Scarlet Tie Designs cover, and Summer Boys is back again. Though I'm a bit late in posting, here's what Lucky at Mrs. Condit and Friends Read Books had to say about the story:

Eden tells a wonderful story for these two men. I was taken in by her descriptions, their passion, and coming to terms with their lives and how they fit together. Or don’t.

Find full review here:

Find Summer Boys at:
All Romance Ebooks
Amazon

Goodbye, Puppyboy

I met Rick McGranahan online while discussing his book, Visting the Ghost of Puppyboy with a very dear lady who'd given the autobiography a good review. In a few days I was leaving for vacation, and her words encouraged me to take the book along. Only, how could I get a copy quickly? The reviewer made introductions and the author himself stepped in and saved the day--overnighting me a copy. Nothing makes you feel more special than for a stranger to go out of their way for you like that. Over the course of the next few days I fear I neglected the beauty of Oahu, for I kept my nose stuck in Rick's memoirs, absorbing each word.

One of the unique things about Visting the Ghost of Puppyboy is that it was deliberately left unedited, to give the reader the feel of the author's state of mind during all that transpired in the pages. The result is that from start to finish it reads like a letter from a friend, sharing triumphs and tragedies, instead of a commercially packaged offering. Through Rick's memories I came to know the man who wrote them down and shared them with the world. Through personal correspondance (read: rabid fangirl letters) I came to know him ever better. We became Facebook friends, and I looked forward to the hot men pics he posted, as well as his commentary on life.

Having met Rick's love Paul in the latter pages of Puppyboy, I was thrilled when Rick posted wedding pictures of the two of them. They made a beautiful, happy couple.

Then last year I met Rick McGranahan face to face at the Rainbow Book Fair in NYC. OMG! What a wonderful guy! He hammed it up on a grand piano for pictures. I'd loaned a friend my signed copy of Puppyboy and she forgot to bring it with her on that trip, so she bought me a new copy, Rick signed again (with a hilarious inscription), and posed for pics with me.


I hadn't heard from him in awhile, but folks get busy and they lose touch, only to reconnect the next week when they post again. While I was in DC a few months ago we'd planned to meet for dinner, but car trouble derailed that meeting, to my deep regret.

Yesterday I received a Facebook invitation--nothing new, I get them all the time for this book release and that chat. This one was different. For a moment the world seemed to stop, for I read the following words: You are invited to Rick's Memorial Service. 

Shock, horror, denial... all slammed into me. How could this young, vibrant, happy man be gone? I don't know the details of his passing, only that it was sudden. My thoughts and prayers are with his husband Paul and the rest of the family.

Rick, you touched my heart and will be dearly missed.

Now, I'd like to share with you my review for Rick's book, in hopes that those of you who didn't know him will have some idea of the impact of his words.

Eden's Goodreads review of Visting the Ghost of Puppyboy

** spoiler alert ** I'm being haunted by the ghost of Puppyboy. For a period of three days I was a part of his life. I danced with him on a raised platform, basking in the spotlight's glow. I cheered on his efforts to find true love, and held him close when what he thought was love poofed like smoke through a closed fist. I screamed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" when he followed the downward spiral of drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex. He took me many places, introduced me to countless people, some good, some bad, many unforgettable. I laughed when he laughed, cried when he cried, begged him to lay off the drugs, and prayed that his risky lifestyle wouldn't reap long-term repercussions. I was a mourner when Puppyboy was laid to rest, admiring his determination to stay alive, and I was there when he crashed and burned, Rick rising like a Phoenix from the ashes. 

Paul became my hero when he issued that ultimatum that quite possibly saved Rick's life, and I shed many happy tears when love finally came to stay. Thank you, Mr. McGranahan, for inviting me to share your adventure. The deliberate lack of editing made this tale more personal; it's a heartfelt, uncensored letter from a dear friend, not a commercial effort. What struck me most is that the author is unapologetic. Too many memoirs are filled with regrets, but Rick McGranahan understood that this was merely a journey to be taken. It's his story and he's not ashamed of it. There's a lesson there for the rest of us: accept who you are, change what needs changing, but never forget that who you were shaped who you are today. 

And the story continues. For as much as I was a part of Puppyboy's life, he's now a part of mine, and I occasionally catch myself seeing the world through his eyes. To have been so young, he imparted valuable wisdom, the greatest of which is that love is out there; it may take awhile to find it, but it's there. Visiting the Ghost of Puppyboy is a raw, uninhibited peek into someone's life, a wild ride well worth taking, and your tour guide is one of the most unforgettable characters you'll ever meet. Some review sites have distinctions above five stars, to indicate that a book is a must read and a keeper. While I don't currently have that, I will say that this is one incredible book, and I am in awe of its power. I give it five stars because that's all that's allowed on this site. It deserves so much more, and I'll be revisiting Puppyboy often in the near future. 

***

Goodbye, Rick. You won't be forgotten.