M.A. Church's Blog, page 149

The Wednesday Briefers, Beth Wylde's yahoo group on June 29th, and giveaways. Mark down the date and join us!

Many of the members will be taking part. There will be giveaways! You do have to be part of the group to take part, but signup is free and easy. 
We will be posting flashing that all revolve around a cruise. These flashes will be part of an anthology we have planned. So make sure to stop by and chat with us! 
~M

Goddess Fish Presents For The Bite of It by Viki Lyn & Vina Grey and a Giveaway

Viki and Vina will be awarding a $30 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2014/04/virtual-blurb-blitz-tour-for-bite-of-it.html





For the Bite of Itby Viki Lyn and Vina Grey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:




EXCERPT:
Copyright © Viki Lyn and Vina Grey, 2014         How had John ended up in Vincent’s embrace?
Vincent.
Male and hard.
Slender muscles and sharp planes.
Vincent’s strength and restless sexual hunger, the masculine smell emanating off the man turned him on.
With a spinning head, he grabbed Vincent’s face and kissed him. Parting his lips, he allowed Vincent’s tongue to invade his mouth, the shock of his taste, coffee, a hint of wine, and something deliciously dark, intoxicating him as much as the wine he had drunk. Lips soft but firm, and experienced. Kissing a guy, this guy, felt damn good. It was a mistake but he'd enjoy it then face himself later.
“So you do it now, amante?” drawled Vincent, his tone teasing, as his lips nibbled John’s.
“Do what?” mumbled John.
“Kissing.”
Oh, hell! How did Vincent know he never kissed? He tried to push away to ask, but Vincent swept in closer, bumping him back against the wall.
“No, you don’t back away now. Sono troppo affamato per te.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying.” John muttered.
“Si. Il linguaggio dell'amore.”
If Vincent didn’t stop spouting Italian nonsense, John was going to crawl up his body and eat him alive.
“Mm. Whatever you said, it’s sexy as hell.” John slipped off his shirt, and unzipped his pants, freeing himself, finally, and surrendering to this deep need. With his control shot to hell, this once he’d enjoy heaven. Fuck his rules.
Pinned against the door, he rubbed his crotch against Vincent’s hardness then set to work on his pants. Finally they were both naked and lust rippled through him, making his knees weak.
John's whistled at the phoenix tattooed on Vincent's right shoulder blade, the wings sweeping upward in flight. “I never took you for a tat man. What’s that about?”
Vincent rubbed John’s arm. “Youthful folly. Nothing more.”
John traced the lines of the wing and kissed Vincent's shoulder. Before he could think more about it, Vincent had him in his arms, rolling on the bed. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest but he held it in as Vincent’s kissed his…
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…
Was his tongue on his…damn.
The dream had been fantastic but this beat any fantasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Viki Lyn:
What inspires me - the reality that romance between lovers is a hope more than a guarantee. My stories are an eclectic mix of contemporary and paranormal, but it is always romance that drives the story to its final happily-ever-after. There's nothing better than reading a good book over an espresso, watching a movie or trying out a new restaurant. I'm the author of several gay romances, including Last Chance, Rainbow Award winner for the Best Gay Paranormal/Horror. Viki’s website is http://www.vikilyn.com/

Vina Grey:
Vina Grey loves writing about romance. Two people finding each other, the two-step before they get together and the happily ever after, have to be the best story ever. Throw in some paranormal elements and she's in heaven. Vampires and cops, anyone? She loves to jabber away with anyone about books, so drop her a line at vinagrey@gmail.com.


FOR THE BITE OF IT IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON NOW.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J5S2KMO

Tease Me Thursday - Week 14

Welcome to week 14 of Tease Me Thursday ! When it's not quite Friday, and you're feeling like some fun from your favorite authors and authors you haven't met yet. Come on in, have a seat, and most of all... have fun! For this hop you post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. It can be from a WIP or something published.For this week, I thought I’d do something Trouble Comes in Threes. It's been subbed, and I'm just waiting to hear. :)


Trouble Comes in Threes
Dolf picked out the saw he wanted, then followed Tal to another aisle. His mate pointed out the different kinds, but Tal’s words had rapidly faded into a meaningless buzz. There, on the air currents in the store, was the sweetest scent. It was light and flowery, reminding him of honeysuckle. He breathed deeply, taking the scent into himself. His cock hardened immediately, and his head spun. A yowl threatened to escape. That scent… that scent was seductive and alluring. It spoke to him, whispering things that made him need. His cat paced frantically in his mind, tail slashing madly. The need to pounce, to sink his canines in and drink that sweet, life-giving blood of his… His gums tingled and saliva flooded his mouth. He swallowed, then swallowed again as his head pounded, his heart rate spiking as one word screamed through his mind: Mate! Another mate! Where was that scent coming from? Or who? And by the goddess, why? He already had a mate. What was their goddess thinking giving him another? But he couldn’t ignore the reaction.  It had been the same when he met Tal.A quick glance down the aisle showed a human male muttering at commode kits. Dolf wanted to roll his eyes. Commode kits? Really? The same thing they were looking for? Their goddess must be having a high old time with this. “Fuck,” he whispered softly. He rarely cussed, except when aroused. Nothing sent his mate whimpering faster than Dolf describing in frank detail how he planned to fuck Tal. He loved hearing Tal’s voice begging… and speaking of that, only then did he notice Tal had stopped talking. Not only had Tal stopped talking, now he was growling. It was low, but it was a growl; a sound no human would make. “Tal,” Dolf whispered. “Look at me, mate.”Tal’s fist clenched, spasms shaking his arms. “That scent…”
“I know. Look at me. You’re growling, and you can’t do that here. Talise!” Dolf’s voice dropped as he snapped out Tal’s full name, power and command flowing from him. His mate was close to losing control right there in a hardware warehouse. “Stop. Now.”

Wednesday Briefs - To Touch the Sky 1.3

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Welcome to the  Wednesday Briefs  flash group (click to go to the site). The short stories have a maximum of a 1000 word count plus links at the bottom to the other flashers. If interested in joining us, drop me a line and I'll tell you how. :)
Prompts this week are:
“Explain that one more time, please.”“He’s/She’s not a hero.”“Oh jeez, now what?”“He/She is going to have a cow…”“Running away never solves the problem.”“Do the right thing.”“Did you just call me?”“Time is money.”“Be good, or be good at it.”“You’re tripping.”“Want to check out my mad skills?”“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”“You need some additional inspiration.”“Get while the getting’s good.”or have a character pay billsor use: buffalo, brain, nephewor have a character run into an exor have a character bake a cakeor use: blood, sock, forkor use: jeans, water, weedsor use: trash, tire, boxes or have a snow storm in your storyor have a draw a picture or “What kind of blood do you have, I think you’re my type”or “A friend in heat is a friend indeed”or “Blow me a kiss, handsome”or  “I’m one hell of a butler”or “I’ve got sea men, where’s the boat?”



Chapter 1.3

Chetan refused to let the women skin that buffalo. He did it himself. Although considered a woman’s job, no one had argued. The wild look in his eyes frightened many as he all but bathed in the animal’s blood. And even though it made the skin between his shoulder blades itch, he hadn’t given thanks to the animal for its sacrifice. His arrow had gone through the animal’s eye and straight into its brain, killing it. But not before the animal killed his nephew. The celebration had now become a funeral rite. On the fifth day, after the burial in tribal grounds, Chetan left camp. As he was leaving, he passed Kaytall, who sneered at him, a smile on his face. I just lost my nephew and that heap of buffalo bung is smiling at me? One day he was going to kill that brave—if Hania didn’t beat him to it. Or Mapiya, for that matter. Kaytall had stuck his hand up Mapiya’s dress yesterday. Chetan had hoped Mapiya would strike Kaytall with a bolt from the sky.He shook his head, dismissing them, and made his way to the forest, to a cave he’d found earlier that summer. He had to leave camp. His guilt was choking him. He was responsible for the young warrior’s death, and he’d failed to protect him. The thrill of the hunt had consumed him, and he’d taken his attention off the brave. He still had no idea how the bull had broken rank and stampeded in their direction. It shouldn’t have. That’s why some of the braves had been in spirit form. The whole purpose was to direct the herd.Later that afternoon, he sat staring up at the sky when the snap of a twig drew his attention. He raised his head and sniffed the air, recognizing the scent of a friend. “Welcome, Hania. Come, share my fire.”“At least you’re paying attention to your surroundings.”  Hania settled next to Chetan. “Are you okay?”“Straight to the point, huh?” Chetan flipped his long hair over his naked shoulder. “No, I am not okay. The young one’s death was my fault.” “That’s not true.” Hania growled. “And you would know that if you’d get your head out of your ass long enough to look at the situation unemotionally.”Chetan stared at the fire he built. “You never were one to mince words, my friend.”“Then pay attention: It was not your fault. There’s enough going on without you trying to take blame where there is no blame. Braves die. You know as well as I do that’s not the end of life. Now stop this and come home.”“Doesn’t make the grieving any easier, though. It’s always hard to lose one so young. Especially when that brave is the only child you might ever have. And what’s the rush?”Hania took a deep breath. “There’s… Mother returned from The Tree of Life as the sun rose. She spoke to Wha-tay and was very upset. The Great Mother warns of newcomers who will arrive in huge vessels. They come from across the Great Water. She called them ‘white man’. She says they’re coming to our land. Death, and the destruction of our culture, will follow. Runners have been sent to warn the other Children of Wha-tay who’ve already left.”Chetan looked to the sky. “How… strange. Do you believe her?”“Yes.”
They spoke long on the vision. Chetan enjoyed his time with Hania and promised to return to the village soon. He just need a few more sunrises first. They ate, and Hania went to sleep. After tending to the fire, Chetan wrapped himself in a blanket and joined him. His breath strangled in his chest as he dreamed. Not of the buffalo that killed the young brave, or of how his body seemed to move through mud, or of seeing the young brave thrown in the air. He wasn’t racked by guilt over his failure, and the pain he’d caused the-one-who-shall-not-be named’s family.No, this time he dreamed of a pale-skinned man sitting on an odd contraption that was made from a material he’d never seen. The wood planks the man sat on looked somewhat familiar, thought. But the huge living areas behind him didn’t. He’d never seen such a thing as the little houses that were stacked one on top of the other. The stranger had hair the color of… yes, of corn. And eyes the color of good rich dirt. He looked to be of small stature and very lean. The strange hair fell in his eyes, and Chetan was suddenly possessed by an urge to touch those funny colored locks.Sounds that he’d never heard before attacked his ears. Everything was so loud. And the smell. Gone was the fresh scent of air he was used to. The white man he watched held a pole with a line that extended from the pole into the water. Chetan assumed he was fishing. As he watched, a hawk flew above the man, calling out. Chetan knew deep inside that hawk was him. The pale-skinned stranger looked at the hawk and grinned. Oh Wha-tay. Was this his mate? The one he would claim as his own? The other half of his spirit? Surely the Great Spirit hadn’t given him a man not of his kind. The vision—and it was a vision—must mean something else. That man couldn’t be his mate. He refused to consider it. The next morning, he returned to the village. His sister and her mate had already left. Word of Hania’s mother’s vision had spread. Fear, anger, and disbelief were heavy in the air. Troubled by his own vision, he kept what he’d seen to himself. Or he tried to. Hania had finally gotten it out of him. He also admitted he’d had a similar vision of a pale-skinned man surrounded by flame.
Neither he, nor Hania, could believe what they’d seen. TBC. Make sure to stop by the other briefers!


Kazy ReedAndrew Q. GordonLily Sawyer  Chris T. KatSarah HayesElyzabeth VaLey Jon KeysGrace Duncan  AveryShelly SchulzJim DunawayJohayan Victoria AdamsJC WallaceCia Nordwell Julie Lynn Hayes

Goddess Fish Presents Wildflower by Kyle Taylor

Wildflower
The Dramatic Life of Barbette --
Round Rock's First and Greatest Drag Queen

By
Kyle Taylor

A $25 Amazon gift card will be awarded to the commenter who leaves the best question or comment. So make sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot...






  “More fun than a sex party!”
 — Barbette









BLURB: Long before Ru Paul  eyed his first pair of six inch stilettos or Boy George donned his colorful caftan, a handsome young man from the small town of Round Rock, Texas barnstormed the stages of Europe’s most lavish theaters and night clubs as Barbette, a beautiful aerialist drag queen who became a scandalous sensation throughout the Roaring Twenties.
Performing his erotic, high wire and trapeze routine in lavish, feminine regalia, Barbette shocked audiences by revealing the true nature of his gender at the very end of his act.
From a child who picked cotton and walked his mother’s clothes line to headlining at the Moulin Rouge in spectacular drag,  Wildflower reveals long-forgotten secrets of this enigmatic performer: his arrest in London on morals charges, his bout with polio, his infamous collaborations with some of Hollywood’s greatest stars— Orson Welles, Vincente Minnelli, and Judy Garland, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis as well as his hidden affair with French surrealist  Jean Cocteau.
Wildflower captivates with every page, dramatically revealing the startling and at times heart-breaking story of Round Rock’s first and greatest drag queen.





EXCERPT:
With all his might, Vander swung the trapeze as high into the air as he could tolerate, the muscles in his feet screaming out. As he reached the apex, he released his feet, tucked into a tight ball and did a backward somersault. In an instant, he was bouncing on the safety net, thrilled by what he had just done!           Bobby Fuller stuffed his cigar into his mouth and applauded loudly. Audrey too was impressed. From the platform, she did a swan dive, turning onto her back at the right instant for a soft landing on the safety net. She then walked over to where Bobby and Vander were standing.            “Now, son, I need you to be honest with me. You’re new to this aren’t you?” Bobby asked as he stared intently at Vander.            “I did shows in my back yard—on the wire. I’m good!” Vander said trying to sell himself. He wanted more than anything to get back up to the trapeze.            “You a run away?” Audrey asked with her hands on her hips.            “No. My momma sent me off today on the train, from Round Rock.”           “He’s got balance,” Audrey said. “It’ll take him time to train.”           “I’m a fast learner! I even doubled up my studies and finished high school two years early!”            Bobby rubbed his chin. “We’ve only got a week, ten days tops, to get him trained. If we don’t get this act back on track, they’ll can us and then where’ll we be?”            Audrey’s pale blue eyes looked serious. “Did you see, how he moved his arms? He sure looks the part. He’ll look sweet in a dress.”            Vander’s mouth dropped. “A dress?”            Bobby Fuller scowled, “The part’s for a female trapeze artist. Didn’t y’all read the advertisement?”           “We’re the Alfaretta Sisters!” Audrey interjected. “World famous aerial queens.”           Vander Clyde was trying to absorb what they were saying.            “He’s got a good figure, not quite a man yet,” Audrey said looking over Vander’s body. “A little taking in here and letting out there and Lydia’s costumes could fit.”           “You ever put on a dress, boy?” Bobby asked. “It’s no big deal. Wouldn’t be the first time a boy in a trapeze act did it.”           “You look better in a dress, up on a trapeze,” Audrey encouraged. “More beautiful, the dress flows, you know.”            Vander remembered Miss Nelson told him all the actors during Shakespeare’s time were men or boys and they played the female parts as well. “Like Shakespeare, you mean the way the boys played the girl’s parts?” Vander asked.           Bobby and Audrey laughed. “Yes, son, just like ol’ Will Shakespeare!” Bobby chuckled. “You’ll get five dollars a week—no pay until we get the act back up. Deal?” Bobby extended his hand.
           Vander Clyde couldn’t believe it was all happening so fast! He enthusiastically extended his hand. “Deal!” 

Website:  http://www.billiondollardreamer.com/


Book List: (Most recent to oldest): Wildflower: The Dramatic Life of Barbette, Round Rock’s First and Greatest Drag Queen, Exposition, and Billion Dollar Dreamer.



Bio: The Kyle Taylor character debuted in Billion Dollar Dreamer as a journalist who was assigned to write a story about high school history teacher cum overnight billionaire John Driskil. He resides in New York—and of course he is a work of fiction!






How do you usually come up with a story idea? Dreams? Writer’s journal? Eavesdropping on conversations? Newspaper?
My orbits of interest are history—things that catch my attention usually have some sort of historical aspect to them. For Wildflower, I read an item in the paper about Barbette, a Roaring Twenties drag queen.  I just had to learn more.  Exposition was inspired by a conversation I had with one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s last living apprentices. I wrote Billion Dollar Dreamer when I was shocked to see the fabled ocean liner, the SS United States, was going to be scrapped.


Who or what inspires you when your creative mojo is lagging?
I love summer holidays!  When my creativity is lagging, it’s usually because I’m exhausted.  A little rest and travel and look out, those ideas start bubbling up!


Who is your Yoda—your seasoned mentor?
A Norbertine Monk.  I don’t want to disclose his name. He taught me everything matters in writing.  That’s why Kyle Taylor novels have so many little historical details.


What importance do you place on writing workshops? What workshops would you recommend to us?
I much prefer working with a good editor. They are so instructive and personal. I have two wonderful editors at the magazine I write for who have been crazy-helpful.


What person would you like to thank for inspiring you in your writing aspirations? How did this person help you?
There are a couple of characters in Billion Dollar Dreamer, the small-time lawyer Humberto Cabral and his husband Abe—the real Humberto and Abe have been completely enthusiastic and have pushed me to write more!


Have you ever used songs for inspiration?
Yes!!  In all of my novels, music plays an integral role.  I love juxtaposing songs with action.  Or a song will help paint a picture of a character.  At the beginning of Billion Dollar Dreamer, the hero’s cell phone goes off. He has a ring tone of Barry Manilow’s Copa Cabana.  That fact speaks volumes about the hero!
I will also listen to particular music while I write a novel.  When I wrote Exposition, I swear, I must have listened to my Pachelbel Pandora selection a couple of hundred times!


Do you play music when you write? If so, what kind? Or, do you have to have silence or background noise to set your writing muse free?
(See my scintillating answer above.)


Do you read in a different genre than you write? If yes, why? If you read in the same genre that you write, do you feel that it influences your writing in any way?
I read tons of historical nonfiction. I’m also a news junkie.  A book like Seabiscuit certainly inspired the writing in Wildflower.  There are segments of narration which are more ample than typical historical fiction, which I’m sure came from that wonderful book. I loved Devil in the White City, but purposely refused to reread it while I was writing Exposition—because books shared characters and a world’s fair.  I needed to find my own way to describe the characters.  Instead I read a lot of Jane Austen.


What is your process from idea to first draft?
Wildflower was my anomaly book. I’m usually very methodical and create five acts with at least ten major scenes per act.  In my mind, I actually wanted the Barbette story to be a parallel story juxtaposed with a contemporary one of a gay teenager growing up in Round Rock today. I had that all outlined and started writing. But as I kept learning more about Barbette, I realized his life was far too interesting. He needed to stand alone.


Have you ever given assistance to a struggling new writer? Has another writer ever come to your aide? How?
I don’t feel accomplished enough yet. Maybe when I’m much older.


What do you consider your greatest accomplishments in your career so far?
I love having a physical copy of a novel I’ve created. Seeing it in your hands is magical!


If you won the big lottery, what would you do with the money? Would give any of it to charity? If so, which one?
Of course I would renovate the SS United States ocean liner! 

What is the best advice you want to give to a new writer?
You most likely won’t make any money writing novels, but that’s where your soul will be.


If you could choose an animal for a mascot, what animal would it be? What do you admire about this animal? Do you feel you have qualities similar to this animal? If so, what are they?
Golden Retriever! My best friend is a golden and his name is Winston.  He makes cameos in all three of my books.  He’s patient, intelligent, athletic and loves a good belly rub—just like his master!



If money, education and fear factors were set aside, what three careers would you like to attempt other than writing?
Being a writer is so tremendously soul-satisfying. What else could there be?


If money, talent and fear were no object, what big adventure would you like to have?
To live the life of the hero John Driskil, in Billion Dollar Dreamer. His fortune lets him unleash a torrent of creative ideas which take him around the globe.


What characteristics do you like to instill in your heroes? What characteristics do you feel are necessary for a good heroine?
I really like flawed heroes and heroines.  I try to create leads who have aspects of themselves that are unfinished or unattractive. I think that makes them more interesting.


If you had the power to change two things in the world, what would those two things be?
Absolutely end poverty. Improve health conditions around the world. Can I also add world peace? No, really—I mean it. Let there be peace on earth.


If could have a super power for a day, what would it be? Why?  I would love to fly, like Superman.  Just pick up and go. The experience must be completely transcendent. 

Check out my interview with Wolfwriter

It's here: http://wolfwriterga.weebly.com/author-interviews
I had a lot of fun doing this lol. Make sure to check it out!
~M

Tease Me Thursday Week 13 - To Touch the Sky

Welcome to week 13 of Tease Me Thursday ! When it's not quite Friday, and you're feeling like some fun from your favorite authors and authors you haven't met yet. Come on in, have a seat, and most of all... have fun! For this hop you post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. It can be from a WIP or something published.For this week, I thought I’d do something my WIP To Touch the Sky. This is book 2 in the Leap of Faith series. Shadows in the Night is book 1.

On a star-filled night, the full moon shone brightly over the untamed land. Predators, nothing but shadows in the dark, moved through the forest hunting for unsuspecting prey. A symphony of sound echoed all around. Tree frogs sang, crickets chirped, and a raccoon prowled in search of something to fill his empty belly. A barred owl hooted, his call reverberating into the night. Bats silently dipped and spun, hunting for food on the warm air currents as danger lurked. A wolf howled, his cry crossing the land, then fading. A mysterious shadow moved through the forest, tracking the docile prey not far beyond the safety of the trees. Out on the moon-draped landscape, the plains reached for miles. The buffalo stood silently as the night held the land tight in its grip. In this wild land there was only one creature who walked upright, stalking the flat plains and rolling hills on two legs. The Great Spirit, called Wha-tay, had created Mother Earth. Then her children, The People, inhabited the land and settled at The Tree of Life—the soul of Mother Earth. Each child born to The People was bound with a spirit—could be a land spirit, a water spirit, a plant spirit, or an animal spirit. Once bound, they had the ability to use the gifts the spirit had. Children of Wha-tay lived in harmony with the creatures around them. The land provided what they needed to survive, and they gave thanks for the sacrifices made to support them.“It’s too damn bright, Mapiya. Do something.” “Would you give me a second, Chetan? It’s not like I can just pull a cloudy night out of my ass.” Mapiya’s totem had the ability to control the weather. Mapiya cleared her thoughts, letting the words that would bring her powers fill her mind. Closing her eyes, she gave her body over to her totem spirit and called to the Spirits that ruled the air. Taking a deep breath, she began to chant.
A cool, gentle breeze wrapped around her body. The clear nighttime sky slowly filled with rolling clouds that blocked the moonbeams. The silvery light faded as the night darkened. Mapiya’s long hair whipped above her head as the breeze strengthened. Opening her eyes, she cast the land in shadows. Her eyes were a milky white and glowed with power.

Wednesday Briefs - To Touch the Sky #1.2

[image error] Welcome to the  Wednesday Briefs  flash group (click to go to the site). The short stories have a maximum of a 1000 word count plus links at the bottom to the other flashers. If interested in joining us, drop me a line and I'll tell you how. :)
Prompts this week are:“Did you know that a “butt load” is an actual unit of measurement, equivalent to one hundred twenty six gallons?”“This is not my first day.”“There are some things money can’t buy...”“I was having an awesome day, then…”“Take one for the team.”“What’s under that kilt?”“Show me yours first, then I’ll…”“Why is that so hard?”“There goes the neighborhood.”“You’re as useless as a knitted condom.”“Sometimes burning bridges isn’t a bad thing.”“With friends like that, who needs enemies?”“Just love that ‘scorched earth’ mentality you have.”“Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.”“When is a hand not a hand?”“It’s a question of balance, I’m afraid, and you don’t have it.”
or have a character get lostor use: sheet, clock, dollaror have a character see a ghostor have a character running late to workor use: howl, bell, canor use: sand, fox, evergreenor use: apple, candy, globe or have a dragon in your storyor have an estate sale.  or have a character enter a food-eating contest of some sort, whether hot dogs or pies or whatever.or use the Ghost of Something past



This time I'm using a picture prompt-
Chapter #1.2Isi didn’t show the maturity Chetan saw from the other young warriors Isi’s age. It worried Chetan at times. But that wasn’t the only thing preying on Chetan’s mind. He glanced at his sister, Alaqa, who waited silently with several other women. She and her mate, Niyol, were among several members thinking about leaving the tribe, as were quite a few of the older braves. It was insanity. They wanted to leave the very foundation of their lives. He didn’t understand it.
A breeze caressed his cheek, refocusing his attention, giving an unvoiced prayer of thanks for the upcoming bounty. The buffalo provided everything they needed. Without it, chance of survival was nil. The tipis were made of buffalo skin. They buffalo’s mighty hide made their beds, blankets, and winter coats. Their drums, which pounded long into the night, were made from the hides. From the skins they made water bags. No part was wasted. They dropped red-hot stones into the animal’s stomach and that became their soup kettles. Spoons were his horns, the knives were bones. From the buffalo sinews, bowstrings and thread were made. The ribs were fashioned into sleds for the young ones, hoofs became rattles. The buffalo’s mighty skull, was their sacred altar.
Chetan took one last glance over the noiseless landscape and nodded. It was time. Softly, he spoke. “After the hunt, we’ll give thanks to the mighty buffalo for his sacrifices, and to Wha-tay for her gift of such beasts. Everyone be safe.”
Chetan and the other braves moved like ghosts across the land to the locations they’d picked out several days before. While in his hawk form, he would’ve been useful with his keen eyesight, but his ability with the bow couldn’t be matched. Between the bows and the spears, the males of his tribe were deadly.
He glanced at the sky. Overhead an owl tracked him and the others. Time crawled as all the braves took position, and the owl returned to the trees. Steadying his breathing, he waited. Long moments passed as he readied himself for what was to come. Suddenly the energy in the air changed, became more electric. The ground rumbled under his feet as Wha-tay knew how many pounds of panicked buffalo charged across the plains.
Dust filled the air, and the strong, musky scent of their prey assaulted his nose as he left his hiding place. The excited, high-pitched cries of many braves echoed endlessly, causing more confusion among the buffalo. Fear and anticipation heightened his sense of awareness. His blood pumped through his veins in a pounding rush. Oh, how he wished he flew on the air currents, so he could watch. What a sight it must be.
Quickly, he left his hiding place and chased the stampeding animals. Everything was working well. The tribe members, in shifted form, moved the herd the way they wanted. Chaos ruled the buffalo. Clutching his bow, Chetan took aim at the magnificent beast that charged past him and let his arrow fly. Power raced through his body as his arrow took flight and landed true. The thrill of the hunt washed over him; his heart pounded hard in his chest. Nothing made him feel more alive, short of taking to the skies. Sounds assaulted his ears—the dying shrieks of the animals, the howls of the wolves, the screams of the cougars, and the steady fall of hooves coming close…
Much too close.
“Oh Spirit,” Chetan whispered. He’d let his attention drift from his nephew and now… His own cries joined the madness as a monstrous bull darted from the stampede and charged Isi.
The maddened animal had several spears embedded in its body. The night was cool, and steam blew from its nose. The rank smell of the animal nearly gagged him. As reality slowed to a crawl, he saw Isi standing still, his hands by his side, staring. Sound distorted and warped as he yelled for Isi to move, draw his bow… do something. His voice was hopelessly lost in the pandemonium raging around him.
Isi stood frozen, as the buffalo charged.
Chetan continued to yell as he ran toward the young brave, waving his arms frantically. If he could just get the bull’s attention… If he could just get to Isi’s side before… He saw a black cougar casing the buffalo, gaining rapidly. More cat shifters landed on the buffalo’s back and attacked, sinking their great canines into the animal. It still wasn’t enough. The bull was now a short distance from Isi and bearing down, the young warrior in its sights.
Oh Wha-tay, I’m not going to make it!His legs pumped, his breath wheezed… and it didn’t matter. Oh please, Great Mother, no. Not this young one. Please. It’s my fault. I let myself get distracted. Don’t let him… Take me, instead.
The black cougar raced besides the buffalo, then darted in close as it latched on to the throat in an effort to suffocate the massive beast. The danger was immense; the buffalo would trample the black cougar, if given the chance. The bull was too close, and still Isi stood unmoving. Why is he just standing there? There was no way, no way for him to get to Isi in time.
Chetan stumbled to a stop and raised his bow, carefully taking aim. Please, please, let my aim be true. The arrow struck the buffalo dead in the face, but it was too late. It plowed into Isi with its mighty horns. Isi’s body flew high into the air, blood spurting form the terrible gouges. A scream filled the air. Was that Isi? Isi’s mother? Or the bull?
“No. No!” Chetan’s own scream joined the ones around him.

TBC. Make sure to check out the other Briefers. :)~M


E.S. SkipperAndrew Q. GordonJon KeysKazy ReedGrace Duncan  Cia NordwellJC WallaceJohayanJulie Lynn Hayes

Just Another Manic Monday - Fused by Fire: Firehouse Six Series (Book Three) by Draven St. James

Fused by Fire: Firehouse Six Series (Book Three)Published by Loose IdM/M Contemporary

Release Date:  May 20th





Blurb
Michael prides himself on being the man that everyone can depend on until one of his firefighters is severely wounded on the job. Will he be allowed to process the situation alone? Not when a loud and persistent Simon Winters shows up on his doorstep. The man hasn't met a boundary he didn't skip across. 



Simon has had the biggest crush on Lieutenant Firefighter Michael Donovan since the first day he saw him. Which just happened to be at an interview for a job to work as a firefighter. Before his desire to lick the gruff older man from head to toe affects his work, Simon transfers over to being a paramedic. Just when he's begun to build a life that doesn't include hot shower fantasies of Michael, the object of his angst is thrust into his path.



All too quickly, Simon begins to barrel through Michael's defenses and dig up the desires Michael has fought so hard to hide. As passions flare out of control, tragedies collide from every side. Michael's struggle to keep Simon at a distance starts to crumble beneath the weight of the secrets that Simon is hiding. Will Michael be able to protect Simon when he needs it the most or will he lose Simon forever?



Excerpt


Author Bio
I’m a born and raised Oregonian. I’ve traveled extensively in search of mischief and mayhem to fill my books.  My ventures have been quite successful in inspiring a wealth of stories both sexy and humorous.  It gives me a great excuse to do some crazy stuff in the name of research. Of course at the end of the day, coffee within reach, laptop at the ready is where I find my peace.

Buy Links: Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fused-Fire-Firehouse-Draven-James-ebook/dp/B00KH0G4FI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1400703950&sr=1-1
Loose Id: http://www.loose-id.com/firehouse-six-3-fused-by-fire.html
ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-fusedbyfire-1520819-149.html

Links: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/draven.stjames
Blog: http://dravenstjames.wordpress.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DravenStJames
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/dravenstjames/
Email: Dravenstjames@gmail.com

Tease Me Thursday Week #12 - The Yellow Rope

Welcome to week 12 of Tease Me Thursday ! When it's not quite Friday, and you're feeling like some fun from your favorite authors and authors you haven't met yet. Come on in, have a seat, and most of all... have fun! For this hop you post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. It can be from a WIP or something published.For this week, I thought I’d do something from The Yellow Rope.

Gage returned, both hands behind his back. “Here we go.” “Sir?” “Hold on, you’ll love this.” Gage walked closer, a fiendish smile on his face. “Oh, Jesus, now what?” If it would help he’d beg, but he knew it wouldn’t. At least his orgasm had backed off. Gage held up a can of whipped cream and Luke’s toes curled. “What’s that…Oh, my God, Gage!” Luke shouted as Gage sprayed the whipped cream straight on one of his nipples. “Cold—that’s damn cold!” Luke grunted as Gage’s warm mouth covered his creamed-covered nipple, sucking and nibbling. He was still babbling when Gage raised his head and tapped his mouth. “Suck them, or I gag you.” Gage set the can of spray cream down.

Buy link: http://www.extasybooks.com/the-yellow-rope/