M.A. Church's Blog, page 173

Wednesday Briefs

Welcome to the Wednesday Briefers flash group. The short stories have a maximum of a 1000 word count plus links at the bottom to the other flashers. The prompts for this week are: 
“He's staying with...”

or show one of your MC’s as disappointed  

or use: pizza, frigid, date 

or: sex on a carousel

or use a key party

or use leftovers in an interesting way.

use a cardinal - either the bird or the cleric




All That He Desires #19
“Indeed you do, so I will… How did you say it? Behave, dammit.”
Jules slowly lay back down, Anslee’s arm coming around him once more. Satisfied he’d made his point, he tried to go to sleep… again.
He was just drifting off when Anslee whispered in his ear, “For now.”
Yup, he was in big, big trouble.
* * * *
As disappointed as he was, Anslee reined himself in. Now was not the time to let his dick rule him. He’d actually made some strides with Jules tonight and didn’t want to ruin that progress, even as tempted as he was to push. He was in bed with his human, Jules wasn’t trying to brain him with something, and Anslee had learned a very important lesson—when stressed, Jules resorted to sarcasm as a defense. The kid had a naturally smart mouth on him, but it was worse when Jules felt threatened; and he threatened Jules, of that Anslee had little doubt.
The soft snores brought a smile to Anslee’s lips. Jules had finally gone to sleep, it seemed. Anslee smoothed Jules’ hair back from his neck. Too bad he was wide-awake. Anslee snorted… Maybe he should count sheep. Of course, that made him remember his comment about counting orgasms, and Anslee found himself wishing Jules would wake up. Not that it would change a damn thing. Jules wasn’t ready to be sexually… well, anything… and Anslee found himself puzzled as to why he cared one way or the other.
“Damn humans,” he whispered. They did nothing but stir up trouble and had from the very beginning. Okay, that wasn’t historically correct. A certain female had been tempted.
Anslee shifted closer, and the fragrance he was coming to recognize as Jules’ own unique scent wafted up to him. His cock hardened and he tightened his grip. The urge to thrust against Jules’ ass was driving him crazy. Even with several layers of clothes between them, his human’s body gave off enough heat to scorch Anslee… and make him yearn.
Anslee buried his nose against the soft skin at the back of Jules’ neck and inhaled deeply. He was driving himself slowly insane, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted this human in a way he’d never wanted another. And, of course, the one he desired was busy holding him at arm’s length. That simply must change. Anslee kissed the back of Jules’ neck, silently promising that it would change.
By all that was holy or not, Jules would need like he did.
A soft murmur sounded from Jules and he shifted backwards, his ass rubbing against Anslee’s groin. Anslee closed his eyes, soundlessly praying for patience as he tried not to thrust against that firm ass snuggled so temptingly against him. A displeased grunt from Jules drifted back to Anslee. Anslee exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. At least when he was asleep, Jules sought him out… and wanted him. Now all Anslee had to do was find a way to make Jules lower his guard while awake.
“I’d better be getting points for good behavior, little one,” Anslee whispered, slightly amused at himself. Jules had told him to behave and he was—astounding as that seemed. “What would my fellow Lords think if they could see me now?”
They’d think he’d lost his mind, that’s what they’d damn well think. With dawn approaching, he contemplated his situation. Thing was, he wasn’t sure he could argue with them. None of them would understand why he didn’t just take what he wanted. They wouldn’t understand why this small human was any different from all the others. He wasn’t sure, either; he just knew Jules was. This fragile being played an important role in his life. Now he had to figure out what that role was, dammit. He’d been told this was his last chance and not to mess it up. Dire words, certainly.
Anslee closed his eyes again. Enough of this, dammit. I’m tired, daylight is coming, and I need to rest. God knows I need my wits around me to deal with Jules. Tomorrow is a new day and we will start off on a new foot. Or is it we got off on the wrong foot? Maybe I’d better go to sleep so I won’t be so tired tomorrow I stickmy foot in my mouth. Ah God, listen to me. I’m giddy from lack of sleep.
Anslee yawned and stopped thinking.
* * * *
Jules lay in the dark, not moving, and barely breathing. Anslee’s talking to himself had woke him up. He’d felt the erection nestled against him, and the insane urge to do something about it had nearly gotten the better of him. Things were changing… no, no, that wasn’t right. Anslee was changing, and what was he going to do about that?
As he lay in the dark, listening to Anslee, one thing became clear to Jules—Anslee needed him. Anslee, his dear Fallen Angel, needed to learn the meaning of love and somehow, someway, he’d been chosen as the one to show Anslee. Jules let sleep take him over again now that Anslee had settled down. He was going to teach a Fallen Angel to love… to love him.
No problem.
While he was at it, he’d solve the conflict in the Middle East, end world hunger, and bring about world peace. Those would probably be easier than what he was about to undertake.
 TBCMake sure to check out the other flashers!
Nephylim Andrew Gordon Lily Sawyer Cia Nordwell Ava Michael Mandrake Renee Stevens    J.A. Harmon Julie Lynn Hayes

On The Coming Soon Page At DsP - Pure

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3886  Hey everyone! Pure is on the Coming Soon page and is ready for pre-order. The release date is June 12th.



Blurb:

Zygi Wyatt is an intimidating dom, but he yearns for love just like the next man. However, finding a partner who isn’t scared of his size is no easy task. The easygoing Mo seems like the answer to his prayers.

Love is the stuff of dreams. Ask the god Morpheus—he knows all about it. Mo wants Zygi in a forever kind of way, but he has to be sure of Zygi’s love before he claims him for his mate and reveals his true self.

Unfortunately, Zeus is growing increasingly unhappy with Morpheus, and Ares is determined to throw a monkey wrench into everything. Zygi and Mo will have to brave the wrath of the gods to make their dreams come true.



Excerpt:
Zygi took a sip of his beer. “It’s just out of character for Jeff to put on that kind of show. He’s usually very controlled.”“I can tell you now, Cam isn’t. He does try, though. But when he gets mad, everyone around knows it.” Mo shuddered. Boy, was that an understatement.Zygi shrugged, unconcerned. “I guess love will make you lose your head. Then there was Brad, and that one would make a saint lose his temper. No-good bastard.”Mo sipped his drink through a straw. Again, he didn’t understand what Zygi meant. “You don’t like Brad much.”“No. I have no time for liars and users.” Zygi checked his watch and missed the pained look that came into Mo’s eyes. “Damn, I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. We better call it a night—I have to work early in the morning. You got a way home?”“No, I don’t. I don’t have a car.” Mo couldn’t tell Zygi that his normal mode of transportation was to appear in a swirl of smoke.“Then how did you get over here?” Zygi signed the ticket the waitress had left and stood up.“Grabbed a taxi.” Mo wanted to scream as he added yet another lie to the growing pile he was knee-deep in already, remembering the remark Zygi had made about liars. Zygi frowned. “You’re staying with Cam, right?”“Um, yes.”Zygi grabbed Mo’s hand and turned to leave the cabana. “I’ll take you home. No point in wasting money on a taxi.”Mo jerked when Zygi touched him. Once again that tingle raced up his arm. “O-oh, okay, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”Zygi stopped as he made his way through the crowded dance floor and turned back to face Mo. “Believe me, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”Mo shivered. Oh yeah, he believed the big man. Silently, he followed Zygi to the private garage for employee parking. Zygi walked Mo to his jacked-up 4x4 Chevy truck. Mo looked up, then up, then up some more until he located the door handle. Bewildered, Mo turned and looked at Zygi.“Ah, is there a ladder? Maybe a rope, something I can use to get into this thing?”Zygi laughed, unlocked the truck, and opened the passenger door. Why point out the running boards under the door if Mo hadn’t noticed them? Besides, it gave him another excuse to touch Mo. He placed his hands around Mo’s slim waist and lifted. Again electricity shot up both arms as soon as he touched Mo. Yup, same reaction as before.“Grab the handle above the door and pull yourself in.” Zygi’s voice was husky as his hands flexed around Mo’s waist. He gave Mo a boost by placing his hand flat on that tight, sexy ass and pushing. He hardened when he heard Mo’s startled squeak. Zygi stepped back. Before the door closed, he caught a quick glimpse of wide blue eyes and teeth nibbling a tender bottom lip.Mo squirmed in the seat, trying to convince his hard-on to go down before Zygi got in the truck. He looked at his lap—no such luck. One touch and he was all but jumping out of his skin. Mo nibbled his bottom lip imagining what it would feel like when Zygi did more than just touch his ass. He moaned and his wayward dick throbbed from the thought.“Go down,” Mo whispered to his dick, one hand clutching the door handle as Zygi opened the driver’s door.A smirk crossed Zygi’s face. He’d heard Mo, and the Dom in him demanded he call Mo on it. But he wrestled that side of himself back. Mo looked like he was ready to leap from the truck as it was, and Zygi knew there was no way the boy was ready for that kind of… play.“You okay?” Zygi asked, then frowned as the word “boy” circled in his mind. Mo certainly was no boy. He looked to be middle thirties at the very least, and all that gray hair made him look a bit older, but “boy” fit.“Ah, yeah, why?”“If you want the window to go down, you’ll have to wait for me to turn on the truck.” Zygi watched as a slight blush worked up Mo’s neck. Okay, so maybe he didn’t have that side of him completely under control. “That is what you wanted to go down, right?”“Oh. Oh yeah, right.” The noise Mo made was close to a hysterical giggle. He cringed at the sound and blushed harder.Mo’s unease made Zygi want to fold him in his arms. He was surprised by the urge to protect Mo, coddle him, until he calmed down. Then he wanted to work him back up by putting Mo over his knee and spanking that tight ass until Mo begged him to stop.There was such an untouched quality to him that stirred every primitive instinct Zygi possessed. He knewthere was no way Mo was untouched, not at his age, but still. He wanted to take that sweet innocence and…. What? Certainly not destroy it, or even taint it. So what then? The Dom in him knew exactly what he wanted; he wanted to claim him, brand Mo as his, and dare anyone to look at what belonged to him. What he wanted was to see his collar around Mo’s neck, and that shocked him. It had been a long time since he’d felt the urge to collar someone, and Mo was nowhere near ready for that.
 

Sexy Snippets

Hey everyone! Welcome to Sexy Snippets. This is seven sentences, taken from a work in progress, or published book, and brought to you every Sunday. For this week, I thought I’d do something from my WIP called Wrapped in Leather. This is the first book in what will be a three book series, and all will be over 60K. I'm at the 40K mark right now. Surprisingly, lol, this series is contemporary BDSM. I tend to write more scifi/nonhuman. ;)

~ ~ ~ ~

Damn, what a sound. Stopping to look, Toshi noticed a well-built man on a Harley hunting for a parking place. His helmet had a blacked-out face shield and he wore a black leather jacket. Toshi watched as the guy parked and swung a leg off the bike, jeans tightening across what looked like a fine ass.

Now that was some fantasy material. The guy stood next to the bike—oh, he was tall too. The helmet, along with the leather jacket and biker boots, gave the stranger a mysterious, dangerous look with a strong side of kinky thrown in the mix.

Winner of the Be My Alien giveaway...

  dreamseeker331 Congrats! I'm sending you an email. Please respond so I know I have the right address, and I'll send Be My Alien on to you! Big thank you to all that entered! I have two blog hops coming up this month, so make sure to drop by for more chances to win. :) ~M 

Welcome Julie Lynn Hayes - Dallas in Wonderland

I have always been fascinated by the story of Alice in Wonderland, and have re-read it many times over the years. Both Alice’s adventures in Wonderland, and the chronicles of her trip through the Looking Glass. I read the books to my kids when they were little, too. What an imagination the Reverend Dodgson, aka Lewis Carroll, must have had. One could even say of the psychedelic variety! Caterpillars with hookahs, food and drink that made you grow or shrink, depending on what you ingested. A horrible creature known as the Jabberwock. Dodos and talking rabbits. And a great deal of poetry that is now inextricably tied up with my memories of this book. To this day, I can still recite Jabberwock, which I memorized back in grade school. (Trust me, that was a very long time ago!) 
I’m also very fond of some of the movies that have come from the stories. Two, in particular, that caught my fancy were SyFy Alice, which features a very handsome Mad Hatter, and Malice in Wonderland. In the Sy Fy version, we have Colm Meaney as the Red King, and guest appearances by Tim Curry and Harry Dean Stanton. In this, Alice is a very independent young woman who, because of her fiancé, tries to save him and ends up going into Wonderland, where people are drained of their emotions in the Red Queen’s casino. It’s a fascinating twist. 
So is Malice in Wonderland, which starts out with Alice almost being run down by a cabby in the streets of London. He turns out to be the Rabbit, and the adventure begins. The Rabbit is the cute one in this version. I watched it with a friend of mine and we seriously wondered if the writer was tripping when he wrote it. Especially the Cheshire Cat, driving around in his pot smoke-filled car, and speaking in rhymes. 
There’ve been a couple of manga made from the stories, one of which is also a video game—Alice in the Country of Hearts. In the manga, Alice falls asleep while waiting for her sister, and finds herself a player in a strange game in a strange land, and the only way she can get out is to play. I haven’t finished reading the series yet, but I love it, and the Mad Hatter, aka Blood Dupre, is very easy on the eyes!
Having this great love for Alice, is it so surprising that I decided to write my own twist on the tale? In the m/m genre, of course. No surprise there! Alice became Dallas, and I wrote it as part of a series on my flash fiction group, the Wednesday Briefs. I never knew from week to week what the prompts would induce! It was a fun trip, though, and I enjoyed it. I self-published it briefly, when it was done, but then I pulled it from the market when I subbed it to eXtasy Books and they accepted it.
The rest is history! Dallas was released on May 1stand is available at eXtasy here.
Going down the rabbit hole has never been so sexy! 
Blurb:
After finding his lover in the arms of another man, Dallas Crosby moves to a Victorian-style apartment building to begin a new life. A chance encounter with the mysterious and sexy Dr. Samuel Levi has Dallas in a tailspin. But the man comes and goes unexpectedly and Dallas doesn’t know what to make of him. Just when he thinks he’s getting somewhere with the unusual man, he finds himself in an unbelievable situation, and he has to struggle both to find the man he’s fallen for, and to get back to where he belongs.
Can Dallas find a way to leave Wonderland or will he be lost forever? 
 Excerpt:
The apartment building was conveniently located near the bus line, the grocery store, and the park. School, food and relaxation all within walking distance. What more could a guy ask for? Moving off campus was the best decision Dallas Crosby had ever made. Well, second best decision. The first had been getting rid of his lying cheating boyfriend. Right after he caught him in their dorm room with the RA’s cock rammed up his ass.
And then he’d had the nerve to claim nothing had happened. How stupid did he think Dallas was?
Never mind.
The last thing the jerk had said, as Dallas had removed every last trace of himself from their shared bedroom, was, “Dallas, please, don’t go breakin’ my heart. You can’t do this to me.”
He was so very wrong. Dallas could and he did. Right after he broke the cheating bastard’s nose.
The building was old, a converted Victorian mansion whose owner had fallen on hard times; she’d had to divide it into six units, two per floor. Dallas lived on the third floor, just beneath the attic. Sometimes he swore he heard rats scrabbling about, and he’d offered to place traps there for the landlady, but Mrs. Persepolis had laughed off his concerns. He was hearing things, she said. There was nothing there, she insisted. Hadn’t been rats in the building for many years.
Although Dallas wanted to believe her, one time he decided to see for himself that the attic was indeed rat-free, as she claimed. When he dropped the stairs leading to the attic, and then mounted them, broom in hand, he’d found the door at the top locked, and he gave it up as a lost cause, all the while thinking that rats didn’t use keys, so who was she locking out?
The basement contained limited amounts of storage space, as well as laundry facilities for the use of the tenants. Only two washers and two dryers, but that was enough to cover the needs of those that lived there. With their disparate schedules, there never seemed to be a conflict among the residents over the use of the facilities, for which Dallas was grateful. He juggled culinary classes during the day with working in the restaurant of a four star hotel at night. Usually the only time he had to do his laundry was in the wee hours, when the house was still, and there was no competition for the few machines.
Dallas would bring down either whatever Stephen King novel he was currently reading, or one of his cooking textbooks. While the washing machine agitated and rinsed, he’d prop his feet against it, his chair tilted back on two legs, the back of his head scraping the wall, the rhythm of life vibrating through his soles. It was a comforting feeling, and more than a little sensual. He sometimes daydreamed about what it would like to be fucked there, while the machine was going, either leaning against it or lying on top of it, while a big strong hotter than hell guy rammed into him.
With an imagination like that, he could have chosen to write porn for a living.
One of his favorite Stephen King novels was the Shining. He didn’t even care that they’d fucked up the movie, he loved them both. Jack Nicholson was sure hot. In a totally crazy kind of way. Maybe that was Dallas’ problem. He had an irresistible attraction to psychopaths. Or was that sociopaths? To paraphrase Doctor McCoy, I’m a chef, Jim, not a psychiatrist.
Dallas was also a big Star Trek fan.
What was that? He cocked his head, listening. Although, to be fair, with the washing machine thrumming the way it was, hearing anything outside of this room was rather difficult. Plus he had his iPod blasting in his ear. Bach. Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. Phantom of the Opera music. The movie, not the musical.
He turned the page, losing himself in Jack Torrance’s troubles. All work and no play…
He heard it again. This time he was sure. Footsteps. Coming his way. He hastily brought the chair back onto all four legs, placed his bookmark inside and closed the book. The hairs on the back of his neck began to bristle, in the way that they sometimes did just before a storm, when the air’s full of static electricity and mischief.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
If he didn’t get his mind off of men with axes, he’d never be able to go to sleep tonight, and then he sure as shit wouldn’t be able to function tomorrow. Probably one of the other tenants coming home. Maybe wanting something out of storage. The storage area was separate. Each tenant had a key to the room. Dallas didn’t keep very much there himself. He didn’t have very much.
Slipping back into his book, he was very much surprised to hear a cultured voice ask, “Pardon me, but is that seat taken?”
 
A slender figure stood in the doorway. At first glance, Dallas made his age to be somewhere in the forty-five to fifty range, not from his appearance, which was completely toned and fit, but something in his eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages. Startling eyes they were. He wasn’t aware that copper existed in the palette of the human eye.  But here it was. Copper with hints of green. Hair of a muted red, pulled back from his forehead, and tied into a long plait which fell over his shoulder.
 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
 
“Um… um… no, you didn’t.” Too late, Dallas realized he’d inadvertently dropped his book onto the floor. Guess he was more rattled than he let on. With a deft movement, the newcomer bent to retrieve it, his movements sure and graceful. He presented the volume to Dallas with a smile.
 
“Allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Samuel Levi, at your service.” He made a slight obeisance with his hand, rolling it from his forehead to his chin, in a graceful gesture.
 
“Oh, a medical doctor?”
 
“Alas, nothing quite so useful.” His laughter was soft, cultured. “An honorary title given to those whom the world cannot decide what it wants to do with.”
 
Dallas thought this man looked more than useful. The back of his neck was tingling again.
 
“I’ll bid you good night, Dallas, I hope we meet again.”
 
Only after he’d gone did Dallas wonder how he knew his name.
 
Thanks for having me, Michelle! This is like my home away from home lol
 

Be My Alien Giveaway!

Hey guys! It's that time again, lol. Are you ready for some... no, not football, lol. Giveaway!! Be My Alien is out and I'm giving away a PDF copy.   As y'all can see, Taz has stripes. They show up when he's aroused, lol, along with some other interesting alien happenings. ;) So tell me... If you were Reed, how would you react the first time you saw Taz's stripes? Tell me how and you're entered in the giveaway. The comment can be as short or as long as you want, lol.  I'll announce a winner Saturday. :)   ~I'll get back to the Wednesday Briefs next Wednessay.~M 
    A man too busy for love…

Reed owns an upscale men’s boutique with a naughty back room. While making a late delivery to a client, he runs into Taz.

A man on a disastrous date…

When Taz agreed to come to Earth on a date, he didn’t expect to be dumped and left with no way home. Then he falls into Reed’s arms—literally.

A coffee date soon becomes a trip back to Reed’s apartment. But when Taz’s stripes begin to show, Reed discovers Taz comes from a planet far, far away.

Reed never believed aliens existed, but he’s facing one now. What in the world is he going to do?   http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3801  TAZ thought the purple and blue lights of the Empire State Building were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. He pressed his nose up against the glass, gazing at the reflection of the glimmering exterior of the tall building on the surrounding structures in dumbstruck awe. Having no fear of heights and a wonderful sense of balance, he would have had no qualms about extending his torso beyond the edge in order to obtain a better view. Alas, this was completely out of the question as the observation deck on the 102nd floor—the highest public point—was inside the building and completely enclosed. There was an open-air deck sixteen floors below, but even that was surrounded by a barrier between Taz and his heart’s desire. Earthlings had an unreasonable phobia about such things, he’d noticed during his short time on the planet, always putting up barriers between themselves and even the slightest heights. How silly of them. They didn’t know how to enjoy what they had. 
“Vor, don’t you think this is utterly beautiful?” he asked his date. Due to the slight refraction of the glass, Taz saw the image of his own cat-like green eyes bounce back at him. Smiling at his reflection, he looked for that of his very handsome companion. He’d been beside him a moment ago. Hadn’t he? 
Receiving no response to his question, Taz turned his head. Standing beside him was a petite blonde, who gazed with equal rapture at the skyline. When their eyes met, hers grew hard and her lips tightened. “Don’t try nothing funny, buddy. I’m carrying mace.” She stamped her foot as if to emphasize the menace in her words. A moment later, she turned from him, hanging on the arm of a male companion. Taz heard her overly loud whisper. “Jeez. Can’t get away from the weirdos even here.” They pushed their way through the crowd that populated the observation platform, disappearing from view. 
Although Taz had a perfect understanding of all Earth languages thanks to the ULT—Universal Language Translator—he wore in his ear, he still didn’t understand everything he heard. According to the study he’d done of the Earthlings in this particular section of the planet known as New York City, words had multiple meanings, and the inhabitants were known to blend and blur the lines between proper usage and unintelligibility. This was one of those latter occasions.
So where was Vorlod?
He turned and glanced about him at the tops of the heads of the crowd massed around the circular room. Vorlod stood out in any crowd. Taz was almost six feet tall, in Earth measurements, but Vorlod was a good seven inches taller. This date was not going the way Taz had hoped or expected. It was obvious to him that his companion was not quite as adventurous as he was. And he was more than a little bored. He seemed uninterested in anything Taz had to say, always looking around as if searching for something—or someone—else. Which begged the question—why had he even bothered to invite Taz on this excursion to Earth to begin with? 
Taz was beginning to wonder if maybe Vorlod had ulterior motives for being there. Motives that had nothing to do with Taz. 
There he was. He spotted the dark-brown hair of his date, and relief flooded Taz. Quit being silly, he chided himself, pushing through the throng in the direction of Vor. Taz felt his stomach rumble. They’d not eaten since they’d arrived, and Taz was starving. The economy flight Vor had booked them on provided no in-flight sustenance. It was a bare bones journey to a planet that only rated one star in the Universal Entertainment Guide. But it was cheap; that was its only outstanding feature. 
“Vor, let’s see what we can find to eat….” His words trailed off as he drew abreast of the other man. He wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was Truba Vondyck. Truba was a student at the university, the same as they were. What in the name of the great horned Wussarian was he doing here on Earth? Why were he and Vorlod holding hands? And why did Taz smell mating scents emanating from them? 
“Vorlod?” He tugged on one of the tall man’s sleeves. Vorlod turned an annoyed face toward Taz. Taz drew back slightly. The mating smell was stronger, and Taz could see the faintest hint of stripes that ringed the other alien’s neck. He knew exactly what that meant. 
“What do you want, Fabrintazo?” 
Taz flinched at the use of his full name. No one ever called him that. He much preferred Taz. 
“I just thought maybe we could… you know… get something to eat?” He rubbed his stomach hopefully, but the possibility seemed to be growing more and more remote by the second. 
Truba stepped closer to Vorlod; he turned disdainful eyes Taz’s way. “If you’re hungry, then go eat, and leave us alone.” 
Us? What us? Vorlod washis date. This was his idea…. 
Wait a minute. Things were starting to fall into place now—images and words half-understood now revealed in all their ugly glory. He’d wondered why, after having asked Vorlod out more times than he could count and never receiving any reply other than “not interested,” the good-looking student had suddenly asked Taz to accompany him to Earth; he’d paid for his passage and everything. Now Taz understood only too well. Vorlod had wanted to be with Truba. That explained why Truba was on the same flight with them—Vorlod had claimed it was something related to school. Also he now realized the meaning of the strange looks he’d seen directed toward them by Truba. He had thought maybe Truba wanted to ask them something, but he’d kept his distance. Now it turned out Vorlod had only used Taz to make Truba jealous. He’d used the pretext of their date to follow the other Trygoshean to Earth and then he’d wooed him behind Taz’s back. How stupid could Taz be? 
Now Taz was nothing to Vorlod but an irritation, a bit of space flotsam waiting to be kicked out of bed, except they’d never even gotten that far. They’d spent all of five minutes in the motel. Long enough to leave their things and embark on the whirlwind of activity that had led to this. Taz felt suddenly sick to his stomach as tears prickled his eyes.      “HELLO? Mr. Hatcher? Um, this is Justin. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to come in today. I’m sick.”  The conversation lasted thirty seconds and ended with Reed throwing his cell on the bedside table and jumping out of bed. It was the third time this month Justin had pulled this. Except it was usually something he did on Mondays—now his inability to show up for work was carrying over into Tuesdays. Reed’s boutique was supposed to open in an hour, and damn it to hell and back, Valentine’s Day was the day after tomorrow. Next to the Christmas rush, Justin couldn’t have picked a worse time to play hooky. Reed was not in the mood to deal with his shenanigans.   “Damn kid,” Reed growled as he dressed in gray pants and a black silk dress shirt, part of the stock from his store. Justin wasn’t really a kid, not at twenty-five, but still…. He was only a few years younger than Reed, but on mornings like this, Reed felt every minute of his thirty years.   “He just couldn’t have called a little earlier, I guess, and saved me from making a mad dash downtown,” he fumed. “This may be the stunt that gets his dumb ass fired.”   Reed arrived with ten minutes to spare. The street was busy, cabs buzzing back and forth, pedestrians hogging the sidewalk. A light dew from overnight made the drab gray concrete glisten in the early morning haze. Streetlights flashed and steam spiraled up from vents in the street. He rubbed his hands together as he let himself inside, the cold making his hands shake. His manager, Peter, arrived a few moments after him.   “What are you doing here, Reed?”   “Hmm, good question. A question I seem to be asking myself a lot lately,” Reed growled.   “Let me guess—Justin called in sick.”   “Got it in one.” Reed stalked to the front door of the boutique and unlocked it, barely resisting the urge to fling the door open. He hadn’t had his morning coffee yet… a dangerous thing.  “You look tired. Tell you what, I’ll just go and start the coffeepot in your office. You’re not quite human without caffeine running through your system.”  “At the rate this day is going… make it a full pot.”   Truer words were never spoken.   By noon, he’d consumed enough coffee to float a battleship. Now he was tired, wired… and hungry. Not a good combination in his present frame of mind. He offered to get lunch for himself and Pete—he definitely needed something to soak up all the caffeine that was circulating in his system. There was this little deli down the street that made the best Reubens he’d ever tasted. Both he and Pete were addicted. Twenty minutes later, he debated with himself the advantages of sneaking out the back door of his own boutique as he eavesdropped on a conversation between Peter and an unhappy customer.  “But sir, as I’ve been trying to tell you, we can’t take this back. I’m sorry.”   “You can’t prove I wore it.” The voice was definitely belligerent. Reed rolled his eyes. He could tell the man was lying without even looking at him.   “It smells like cologne, sir. It didn’t when I sold it to you a few days ago.”   “This is bullshit. I want to speak to the manager,” the man demanded.   “I am the manager,” Peter replied. “And we’re not taking this back.”   “Yes, you are.”   “Shit,” Reed mumbled. Time for him to take over. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the backroom. “Is there a problem?” He sounded far calmer than he felt.   Hours later, Reed shoved his streaked blond hair out of his face as he locked the door. It was quitting time, thank God. It had been one of the worst days he’d had here in a while. The new customer who had tried to return an expensive Italian silk shirt he’d bought a few days earlier—which would’ve been fine if he’d had a receipt—had gotten aggressive with Peter. Reed had to step in and refuse to refund his money. That particular skirmish ended in a heated argument and a lost customer. Later that afternoon he’d received a shipment, already a day late, only to find out it was completely wrong and had to be returned. Reed looked around his shop. He still had the night deposit to do, and he needed to check inventory.   “I need a drink. Hell, I need several drinks. Fuck that—what I need is a nice long vacation.”   Privately, he could admit the truth—what he actually wanted was a man in his life. His last relationship had ended a year ago, and no one he’d dated since had really flipped his switch. As things stood, it looked as if he’d be spending another Valentine’s Day alone. What he needed was some excitement in his life, some pizzazz. Five years ago, he’d opened this boutique that catered strictly to men, and he’d worked like the very devil to make sure it took off. Masculine tones, dark woods, and an easy but professional atmosphere greeted the male clientele who chose to shop with him. Many of his clients came from Wall Street. He offered business casual clothes of high quality. But his real money-maker was his backroom. The volume of sexy underwear alone he sold almost equaled the sales from the front. The flattering fit and provocative styles of barely-there thongs, lean and sexy jocks, and comfortable silken boxer briefs brought back many a client for repeat business. Along with the high-end sex toys, quality videos, and discreet service Reed offered. No one got into the backroom unless they were recommended by another customer.   “Reed? I’m going now. Are you going to be okay here alone?” Peter stood poised in the doorway at the rear of the shop.   “Sure, I’ll be fine. I’m not going to be much longer.”   “Okay, then.” Peter waved. “See you later.”   “’Bye, Pete. See you tomorrow.”   Not leaving anything to chance, Reed double-checked to make sure Peter had locked the back door after him. Already tired, he started stocking shelves. He really needed to go to the gym tonight, but that was less likely to happen the more time he spent here. It had been a week since his last visit. At his age, he still had a good physique, and he wanted to keep it that way. He was around six feet tall with a swimmer’s build. He’d never been overly built, more long and lean with toned muscles. His hair was a dirty blond, parted in the middle with long sides, and tended toward blond streaks in the summer. He had big hazel eyes and a mole on the right side of his top lip. “Cute” was the word often used to describe him. Since he was a natural blond, the hair on his arms and legs wasn’t easily seen, and his chest was smooth.   Finally finished, he set the security alarm for the night. The boutique’s phone rang just as his hand landed on the doorknob, and Reed swore violently. For all of two seconds he debated not answering. Defeated, he turned back and picked up the phone.   Reed felt differently once he’d hung up. “Well, glad I answered that, after all.” Reed hurried into the back of the shop to his safe. A very wealthy client had called. Apparently he’d waited until the last minute to buy his partner a Valentine’s gift and now he was in a royal bind, otherwise called having his ass in a sling—and not in a good way. Reed snickered as he spun the dial on the safe. This was where he kept his most expensive sex toys. He didn’t mind interrupting his schedule for this—his client’s absentmindedness would turn into his own joy, and thereby make him a tidy little profit in the bargain.   “Perfect.” Reed picked up the platinum butt plug encased with diamonds around the base. The perfect gift for the gay man who has everything. He rang up the sale and wrapped the toy before heading out. He’d been requested to deliver the gift to the Empire State Building. For what his client had just spent on the thing, he would take it to him… gladly. So what if he didn’t get much sleep tonight? He’d go in late tomorrow. After all, he owned the damn shop and Justin wasn’t scheduled to work, Peter was. After he dropped off the night deposit, he had one more thing to do before he could go home.

Sexy Snippets

 Hey everyone! Welcome to Sexy Snippets. This is seven sentences, taken from a work in progress, or published book, and brought to you every Sunday. For this week, I thought I’d do something from Be My Alien, which will be released May 8th from Dreamspinner. This is the first in a series of novel length books written by Julie Lynn Hayes and me. J
 
  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3801  He couldn’t wait to see Taz riding his fingers while he loosened him, moaning and begging for his dick, pushing back desperately.
He’d just turned on a lamp when Taz’s shirt hit him from behind. Laughing, Reed turned. “Throwing clothes at me, are you?”
Reed’s mouth dropped opened.
Taz stood shirtless in the middle of the room, the soft light from the lamp falling over his body. A body that had stripes… stripes.

“Prelude” – Where Love and Music Intersect

 
Thanks so much, Michelle, for letting me ramble a bit about my upcoming release, Prelude , and hosting the first stop on the Prelude Blog Tour!  The book releases this Monday, May 5th, and is now available for preorder at Dreamspinner Press’s website.
Prelude is the fourth book in the Blue Notes Series of classical music-themed gay romances from Dreamspinner Press and is co-authored with my good friend, Venona Keyes.  Each Blue Notes Series book is an independent story that revolves around two men, at least one of whom is a musician.  You can dive into the series in any order.  Please make sure to read to the end of the post to learn about how you can win a Blue Notes Series book or t-shirt to be given away at the end of the Blue Notes blog tour.
Prelude, as with the other Blue Notes books, is all about love and music.  In each book, I explore a different aspect of music and of relationships.  The first book in the series, Blue Notes, is about letting go of your expectations and finding yourself through the love of another person.  In it, attorney and former pianist Jason Greene escapes the ruins of his relationship in the US by running to Paris.  There, he meets violinist Jules Bardon, who has begun to more past his painful childhood to pursue blossoming career as a jazz musician.  Together, Jules and Jason find love against the backdrop of one of the most romantic cities in the world.  But it’s not just the relationship that helps them heal, it’s their shared love of music as well. 
In The Melody Thief, cellist Cary Redding is on a downward spiral filled with anonymous sex and alcohol.  Things come crashing down around Cary when he’s mugged late at night on his way home from a seedy Milan nightclub.  Enter lawyer Antonio Bianchi, who saves Cary’s life in more ways than one.  With Antonio’s unconditional love and support, Cary not only comes to realize that he’s worthy of being loved, but that through that love he can connect with his music in a way he never knew possible.
       In Aria, lawyer Sam Ryan (yes, I do like writing about lawyers!) meets and falls for opera singer Aiden Lind.  But Sam isn’t ready to let go of the love of his life who died several years before.  Fast forward five years, and Sam and Aiden meet once more at a party in Paris.  They begin a rocky relationship that’s threatened by Aiden’s demanding career and Sam’s inability to let go of the past.  Both men must learn to sacrifice a bit of what’s important to them in order to stay together and grow as a couple.
      Of all the Blue Notes books, Prelude has perhaps the deepest connection to music.  Superstar conductor David Somers literally hears music in everything he does.  Whether it’s in the conflicts he had with his domineering grandfather when he was a child, or in the day to day activities of his life, each event, each emotion, each person evokes a melody in David’s mind.  But when David meets violinist Alex Bishop, the music he hears is unlike any other.  David, who always wanted to be a composer, longs to write Alex’s music.  But each time he tries, he fails miserably.  How can you write the music of your heart when your heart is walled off from emotion?  With Alex’s help, David must learn to open his himself to both pain and joy.  Only that way can he begin to express what he hears in his soul.
Curious about how love and music can combine in romance?  You can pick up any of the Blue Notes books at Dreamspinner Press’s website or on Amazon, AllRomanceEbooks.com, Barnes & Noble, and many other outlets. 
Thanks for listening to my ramble!  I’ll leave you with the blurb for Prelude and a short excerpt from the novel.  Want to win some Blue Notes swag?  I’ll be giving away winner’s choice of a paperback or ebook of one of the Blue Notes novels as well as a Blue Notes Series t-shirt (winner’s choice of cover) at the end of the Blue Notes blog tour.  To enter, comment on this post and the other blog posts to win!–Shira
PS:  Michelle mentioned she wanted me to talk a bit about my next book, the first in a fantasy series that will be published late summer by Dreamspinner Press.  Stealing the Wind is the first in a series of stories about Taren Laxley, a slave who is kidnapped by pirates and who learns that he isn’t human at all, but an “Ea”—a merman shifter.  Stealing is a bit sexier than my contemporary books, and features my first foray into mermen sex and my first ménage scene (although the pairing is strictly a twosome).  You can read an excerpt from the novel on my website(www.shiraanthony.com).  Just click on the “excerpt” tab under the book summary on the “Works in Progress” page!  More about that later....
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Blurb:  World-renowned conductor David Somers never wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t translate the music in his head into notes on paper.
When a guest violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David. Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.
David has sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he loves, or that he'll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents in the armor around David's heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.
David’s fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he must find the strength to acknowledge himself.
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Excerpt from Chapter Two
David Somers had a headache.  He’d hoped it would pass, but it had only gotten worse in the past fifteen minutes.  He waited stage left as the orchestra finished tuning. 
Deep breath.  Focus.
The concertmaster sat back down—the signal for David to walk onto the stage of Orchestra Hall.  His hall.  His orchestra.  He breathed in slowly before walking onto the stage, his expression schooled, utterly focused.  The Armani tux he wore was perfectly pressed, his posture faultless, and his stride confident.  The orchestra stood as he entered.  The hall, filled to capacity, rang with polite applause. 
But David’s disinterested poise was merely a sham—he was irritated to the extreme.  Only his strong sense of duty had brought him back to the stage tonight for the second half of the program.  That, and the potential sponsors of his modern music series whom he knew sat in the center box seats—the box that had been owned by Somers Investments for more than sixty years.
He glanced stage-left to where the soloist waited to make his entrance.  David had seen him for the first time only moments before, and he'd been left with the distinct impression of a street thug.  Tattoos, indeed.  There was no place for such a thing in the refined world of classical music.  True, the soloist had worn the traditional tails of an artist making a solo appearance with the Chicago Symphony, one of the finest symphony orchestras in the world.  But that was de rigueur, expected of him, regardless of his personal tastes.  No, it had been the telltale ink visible at the other man’s throat as he buttoned up his shirt that had taken David by surprise.
"Lastislav Voitavich is ill," his personal assistant, James Roland, had told him as he arrived at the back entrance to Symphony Center that afternoon, "but we've managed to find a replacement."
David hadn’t been concerned.  Such last-minute substitutions were rare, but not unheard of.  He knew there were plenty of violinists who would give their eyeteeth to take the stage under his baton and with such a prestigious orchestra.  There were few conductors on the classical music scene with his reputation, let alone as young as he.
"Has the replacement performed the piece before?"
"Of course, Maestro," James assured him. “Several times, I’m told.”
"That will be sufficient."  It would be just that—sufficient—nothing more and nothing less.  That was the way of all last-minute substitutions.  The evening would not be a memorable one, but David would make sure that his audience did not leave disappointed.  The orchestra’s performance would, at least, be outstanding.
"There is one thing you should know, though," James added in a quavering voice.  It meant little that they’d worked together for nearly five years; David had never been an easy man to please.  But then, one didn’t get a reputation like his by having lax standards.  David was a perfectionist and proud of it.
He glared at James—he didn’t appreciate being troubled with such nonsense before a performance—he needed time to prepare, to focus on the music, and review the score.  "What do you wish to tell me?"
"Th… the… the soloist… he… ah—"
"I don’t care who he is, as long as he can play the Sibelius."  David ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
"He… he can, of course.” Beads of sweat appeared on James’s forehead.
Five minutes before he’d taken the stage for the second half of the concert, when he read through the bio James had handed him, David realized what a mistake he’d made by not pressing the issue further.   It’s a concert.  Nothing more.  There will be time to kowtow in apology to the board tomorrow, if need be.  He detested kowtowing, but he also knew he did it quite well.
David rarely made any sort of public speech, let alone an announcement in the middle of a concert.  He despised public speaking, but there was nothing to do for it—the substitution had been too eleventh-hour to print something to add into the programs.
“Good evening,” he began with a practiced smile.  “There has been a slight change in tonight’s program. Our featured soloist, Lastislav Voitavich, has taken ill.”   There were murmurs from the audience, so David waited until the hall was silent before continuing, “Alexander Bishop has graciously agreed to perform the Sibelius.”  Instead of voicing their disappointment, the audience applauded with surprising enthusiasm.  “Thank you.” David was unsure what to make of the response.   He nodded toward the wings.  There was renewed applause as the violinist took to the stage. 
Alex Bishop.  A rock star masquerading as a classical violinist.  Tattoos and groupies.  He didn't doubt that the man was competent—his assistant was young, not stupid.  Still, David loathed this "new breed" of musician who all too often graced the covers of magazines like Time and, more recently, Rolling Stone.  Tattoos, indeed.  In David’s estimation, the term “crossover artist” was a mere marketing tool, intended to exploit an artist’s good looks and increase sales. 
He signaled for the concertmaster to provide the soloist with an opportunity to tune before turning to face the orchestra, his back to the audience.  The Sibelius Violin Concerto was a challenging but not an overly taxing piece, and he’d rehearsed his orchestra well.   The orchestra will shine, despite any deficit in the quality of the fiddle playing. He raised his baton and did his best to ignore the auburn hair that fell onto the soloist’s shoulders in a tumble. 
Alex Bishop was attractive enough.  Tall and muscular—taller than David himself.  David was surprised he even noticed, but then there was something about Bishop that commanded attention.  Still, in spite of his apparent ease in front of the large crowd and his undeniable stage-presence, David knew Bishop was no more than a pretender to the world of classical music.  All hype and no substance—a creation of Hollywood agents and a second-rate player, no doubt.  He’d heard so-called “crossover” artists perform before, and he hadn’t been impressed.
Bishop glanced over to David, his instrument tucked under his chin.  Their eyes met for a brief moment.  Bishop’s dark brown eyes simmered with passion and focus.  David raised his baton higher, the signal to the orchestra for the downbeat.  One deft flick of the baton later, the orchestra began the first measures of the Sibelius Violin Concerto in D Minor.
As a conductor, David had always preferred the less emotional, modern repertoire to the sweeping romanticism of Brahms, Mahler, or Sibelius.  Tonight's program had been a nod to the wealthy patrons who kept the orchestra’s finances in the black.  It was a tedious thing, to be required to accommodate the common musical tastes of his benefactors, but David tolerated it, knowing he'd been able to include a less tonal, more challenging piece of music later in the symphony's performance schedule.  In David’s opinion, the Sibelius concerto was no exception.  He was unmoved by its soaring and plaintive melodies, although he knew that his audience would respond to it with enthusiasm.
David glanced over at Bishop.  Their eyes met again as Bishop began the first few notes of the solo line and the heady tones of his violin filled the concert hall.  With practiced concentration, David returned his focus to the score that sat on the podium in front of him.  He didn't need to read the music to conduct the piece—he had committed every measure to memory—but he sought the distraction. 
Strange.  He’s better than I expected.  Far better, really, although David would hardly admit it to himself.
Bishop finished the opening phrase of the movement with obvious ease.  Again, David found himself taken aback by the intensity of the other man's playing, as well as the natural musicality and the warm tone he was able to coax from the fiddle.  The violin Bishop played was serviceable, but it was no Stradivarius or Guarneri.  Still, David found it remarkable that the instrument sounded nearly as resonant the as finest instruments he had heard through the years.  “A good instrument can make the performer,” his old friend and predecessor, John Fuchs, had once told him.  “But without talent, it is only an instrument.” 
As the evening progressed, Bishop began the second movement: a slow and sensual adagio.  Once more, David found himself transported by the artistry with which Bishop conveyed the depth of the composition, and again David found himself struggling to maintain his focus and not lose himself in the music.  After the third and final movement, the crowd jumped to its feet.  Amidst the enthusiastic applause were resounding calls of "Bravo!" from some of the patrons.  Including, David noted with pleasure, the two men and one woman seated in the Somers’s box.
The audience was satisfied with no fewer than four bows, each time calling back both soloist and conductor to the stage with more cheers and applause.  As they walked back and forth across the stage for each bow, David watched with interest, half-expecting Bishop to react as a rock star might and toss an article of clothing to his adoring fans.  He did nothing of the sort, instead bowing with surprising grace and maintaining the decorum expected from a soloist performing with a world-renowned symphony orchestra.  David noticed that rather than basking in the glow of the audience’s response, Bishop appeared slightly ill at ease with the adulation, although he smiled personably and with genuine appreciation.
After the final bow, David followed Bishop offstage.  He had intended to retreat to his dressing room, but several fans already crowded the wings, blocking the way.  Irritated by the lack of security, David attempted to walk around the gathering crowd by taking a path through the wings instead of directly out to the corridor.  Several orchestra members milled about, clearly anxious to congratulate Bishop on his performance.  Seeing David, they nodded in a formal manner—they had long since learned that the he did not wish to be disturbed after a performance.  David returned each gesture with a curt nod, sidestepping the approaching fans before slipping out the door and into the hallway.
He closed the door behind him and looked up into a pair of dark eyes.  Bishop, it appeared, had also sought to avoid the backstage chaos.  He smiled at David, holding his violin and bow in his right hand.  “Maestro,” he said.  Transferring his instrument to his left hand, he offered his right hand to David.  The casual warmth of the gesture took David aback—he was used to being the one to initiate such contact with the orchestra’s guest artists.
They shook hands in silence.  There was a moment’s hesitation before David withdrew his hand and said, "We appreciate your willingness to fill in at the last minute."
"It was my pleasure," the violinist murmured.  He watched David as if unsure what to make of him.  "I've played the concerto a few times, although never with such a skillful conductor."
David, accustomed to compliments, remained unmoved.  "Thank you."
Bishop shifted inelegantly on his feet.  "Listen," he said, "we're having a little party at my place.  Just a few friends, a couple of beers, that sort of thing.  Nothin' fancy.  Would you like to join us?"
"I appreciate the invitation, but I’m expected at a donors’ party in a few minutes."
"No problem." Bishop smiled and nodded.  "I understand." 
Was that disappointment David saw in the other man’s face?  Unlikely.  He’s relieved.  Besides, can you see yourself at a party with a few friends and a ‘couple of beers’?  He’s just trying to be kind.  Then, realizing that his response had been quite rude, David said, "Perhaps another ti—"  His words were cut short by shouts and giggles as two teenage girls launched themselves at Bishop, nearly knocking his violin from his hand. 
David stepped backward to avoid the onslaught and almost collided with a woman with long blond hair who swooped in to protect Bishop from the girls.  The girlfriend, no doubt.  Time to leave.  He turned and strode quickly down the hallway to his dressing room, closing the door and taking a deep breath on the other side.
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Shira Anthony, in her last incarnation, was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.
Shira can be found on:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

To co-author or not to co-author...

Well now, that *is* the question, isn’t it, lol? When I first started writing, I really didn’t get the whole co-authored thing, and I also had dozens of questions on how it would work. *shrug* I dismissed the whole concept, actually, as something that wasn’t for me.
Then I met Julie Lynn Hayes, lol. Julie and I became friends when she edited my Nighttime series. As time passed, we became very good friends. Then the fateful day came and one of us made a joke about co-authoring something… and there you go, lol. Our first co-authored book, Be My Alien, was born.
I had my questions answered on the ‘how’ of writing together. I also found this isn’t for everyone. Stories written by two people can be a thing of beauty… or a flipping nightmare. I did worry about the nightmare part, to be honest. I found out very quickly in order to work together the co-authors had better be able to separate friendship from business. It’s give and take, and most relationships are, right?
I can’t speak for all co-authors, and this post is strictly from my perspective. But in Julie’s and my working relationship there’s a level of trust, which is needed for those times when bluntness is called for. I can tell you, this is no place for egos. Julie and I are good enough friends we can shoot down an idea, or twist an idea, or expand on it… and there’s no hard feelings. And we’ve done just that. It comes down to what’s best for the book.
We also share the workload. Meaning we both deal with edits, emails, setting up promotions, picking titles, choosing the cover, and anything else connected with our book. We both wrote it, so why should only one of us have to deal with all the little things? It’s sort of like a symbiotic relationship.
We’re also comfortable enough to write each other’s characters. Our voices are similar enough to do that and pull it off. She came up with Taz, and I created Reed. Why didn’t I take the alien when I’ve written aliens before? For that very reason. Julie has more experience writing than me, but scifi is one of my loves, lol. I’ve written aliens, so we agreed she’d do Taz for the experience. And God, Taz is a cutie.
Julie likes to say I got her into scifi, lol.
There are pros and cons to this too. One of the pros is working with someone. One of the cons is… working with someone, lol. When my hubby is off, I’m not usually on the computer. That’s our time together. So that means for a day or two I’m not available. Then there’s the fact I still have one child at home. Throw in she’s about to graduate this year and things can get busy.
I guess my overall point is co-authoring a book can be good, bad, or downright ugly. Friendships can be strengthened or destroyed. The whole damn thing can turn into a PIA of major proportions. I like to think this has helped my friendship with Julie grow. We haven’t scratched each other’s eyes out yet, lol.
As I said, these are just my thoughts. But I found this subject interesting, so I asked a few other authors to chime in too, and they have my thanks for doing this for me. What they had to say is below. J
~M.A. Church
 
~S.L. Armstrong/K. PietI began writing fanfiction in 2000. When I moved into the "Lord of the Rings" fandom, K. became a fan of my writing. She would email me occasionally or leave comments on my work. When I ceased writing fanfiction and moved to original fiction back in 2006/2007, K. and I began corresponding more. We also began roleplaying online. Eventually, I pointed out that the fan works we were creating together might serve us better if we just wrote original fiction. K. had never thought to write professionally before me, but I thought our styles meshed well, and I really enjoyed the collaborative environment co-authoring provided. With K. in college in Las Vegas, and me in Tampa, co-authoring was initially a very difficult and trying endeavor. We even took a year break in 2009 while K. completed her college education, and then we began writing once more in 2010.
We quickly realized that the time differences and distance just weren't working for us professionally, and in the summer of 2011, K. moved in with me in Tampa. Since then, it's been awesome. K. and I are like family, and we joke that we share the same brain. Ideas flow easily between us, and we can really motivate each other when the writing is going strong. The encouragement is just awesome. We tend to write out full scene-by-scene outlines for everything we write, and then work in Google Drive to create the manuscripts. It's a far cry from when we started, going back and forth in an AOL Instant Messenger window. Since she moved in, the cons have slowly disappeared. I think the only remaining cons, really, are a severe lack of time (since we're publishers, too) and my health (I have a compromised immune system, and so I'm constantly ill). But, we try to power through both of those, motivate one another, and sharing the same living space really helps that. While I do write on my own, it's not the default choice for me. I love co-writing, and I don't see myself flying utterly solo ever again. :D
 
~ habu/SabbShabbu http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Shabbu&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank, is the combined pen name for two established authors, one on the East Coast of the United States, habu, and one on the East Coast of Australia, Sabb, who spin gay erotica together in cyber space. Thus far, they’ve published nine e-books-to-paperbacks with Sabb’s publishing house, BarbarianSpy, and more than twice that many stories to free-use story Web sites. Sabb contacted habu on such a Web site, commenting on how similar their writing and writing topics were, and the two struck up a deeper cyber relationship. Their initial Shabbu stories emerged from role-playing banter in e-mails and were facilitated with Sabb hosting online publishing houses and habu being a mainstream professional book editor and published author.
Their coauthoring technique is one of establishing a story dilemma, each taking separate characters in a story, and tossing sections of separate perspective plot back and forth, permitting the progress of the story to reach its own resolution. Habu then, typically, remolds the work and polishes it up into a coherent storyline. Their styles are so similar that various reviewers have remarked not being able to tell which author provided what passages, and if there is any pitfall of the two working together it is that habu composes much more quickly than Sabb does and has to be careful not to overshadow Sabb’s contributions. BarbarianSpy (http://www.barbarianspy.com) publishes not only their Shabbu series, but also multiple works by the separate authors.
 
~An author friendI did co-author a book once, a very long time ago, and it was dangerous to the friendship. My co-author and I had been friends and we thought working as a team would be no problem. Turned out that was indeed the problem. The pros? You know your co-author’s deepest darkest secrets, how your co-author thinks. The cons? Your co-author could fall into the but-you’re-my-friend play, or you could.
When co-authoring—and I’ve seen this with many co-author teams—there is a risk of the friendship coming between the team members or the book coming between friends.
You can’t let that happen. You can’t be friends with your co-author when working on the book. There is the friendship that is about the friends and then there is the co-author team that has nothing in the world to do with the friendship. You have to keep that personal friendship separate from that co-authoring business task at all times as mingling business with personal will destroy one if not both. My friend and I realized what was happening and, in complete agreement, ended the writing to save the friendship. Do I regret it? No, because it led me to being the person I am today and discovering the job of my heart as well as giving me a better understanding of authors and their lives. 

Wednesday Briefs

Welcome to the Wednesday Briefers flash group. The short stories have a maximum of a 1000 word count plus links at the bottom to the other flashers. The prompts for this week are: 
"An ounce of prevention is worth..."
or use: cauliflower, pastor, enable
or "When will I see you again?"
or dress your characters in blue
or "Count sheep? I'd rather count..."
or "My ... is so sore....  
All That He Desires #18
Jules followed Anslee to the bedroom, his nerves jumping. Anslee had kissed him. Okay, it wasn’t the hottest kiss he’d ever had—it probably wouldn’t show up on the Richter scale, but still... And what Anslee had said about moaning with need, panting, gasping… screaming with pleasure... That had lit him right up.
Anslee pulled the covers back, got into bed, and patted the space in front of him, showing Jules clearly where he was supposed to lay. Resting on his elbow, Anslee was the picture of decadence. All that long dark hair spread out around him, his night pants riding low, that sexy treasure trail, those dark eyes trained on him… Jules gulped.
He’d never noticed what good shape Anslee was in. Probably been too busy freaking out. Anslee was buff, ripped, cut… however you wanted to describe it, the fact was the man had a body that made him drool. Anslee had a six-pack he wanted to explore… with his tongue. And then, after that, take the exploration farther south. Holy hell, he was getting hard. His libido had picked a hell of a time to wake up and take notice of the body in his bed.
“Come on, I don’t bite.” Anslee grinned suddenly. “Unless you want me to, that is.”
“I, ah… Jesus. Just shut up and move over a little. My bed isn’t that big.” He was not going there, just wasn’t.
Jules lay down, his body as stiff as petrified wood; and fuck him, that wasn’t the only thing stiff. The arm Anslee threw over his body didn’t help matters, nor did being pulled into a close embrace. His back was glued to Anslee’s chest, and dammit to hell and back, there was something hard against his ass too. Anslee’s warm breath against the back of his neck made his body tingle and his toes curl. He was never going to go to sleep like this—lose his mind maybe, but not sleep.
He lay there, barely breathing, and thinking of every horrible nightmare he’d had about midterms, coming to class naked, and failing the semester. Nothing worked; his cock was still stiff and aching. Time for plan B… otherwise known as counting sheep. After about ten minutes of that, he caught himself humming Old MacDonald. Disgusted, he blew out a breath.
“Whatever were you just doing?” Anslee whispered against the sensitive skin on his neck.
Chill bumps rose and Jules had to fight not to squirm. So distracted by the warm puff of air against his skin, he answered without thinking. “Counting sheep.”
“Un-huh. Counting sheep.” Anslee’s fingers slipped under Jules T-shirt. “Why?”
Jules nearly came off the bed when Anslee’s warm fingers glided across his stomach, making the muscles twitch. “I-I count sheep when I can’t sleep.”
“Count sheep. I see.” Anslee threw his leg over Jules. “Wouldn’t you rather count something else?”
Jules fought to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. The hard cock nudging his ass really got his attention now that Anslee had shifted positions. “Huh? Like what?”
“Um, like how many times I can make you come in one night?”
“Alrighty then!” Jules, panic creeping in, struggled to unwrap all the arms and legs that were holding him down. When had Anslee morphed into a damn octopus? “What the fuck are you doing, Anslee?”
Anslee sighed, letting Jules move away. “I said I wouldn’t force you. I never said I wouldn’t seduce you, Jules.”
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” Jules struggled to sit up, sure he had that panicky wild-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across his face.
Anslee snorted, looking down at the rapidly decreasing tent in his night pants. “If you’re trying to break the mood by throwing God in the middle of bed with us, I think you may have succeeded. Anslee junior here is certainly retreating fast.”
Jules goggled at Anslee, for once struck dumb. Anslee junior? Seriously? Anslee did not just call his cock… Jules lips twitched, then he slapped himself mentally. No! No, no, no, no. Oh, he was in trouble—big, fat, hairy, fucking trouble with a capital T. When the hell had Anslee gone and gotten himself a sense of humor? Anslee couldn’t do that! It was against the rules. This wasn’t good, really wasn’t good. He loved men with a sense of humor. That was his one weakness.
“I-I-I…” God, he sounded like a broken record. Jules cringed. He was so not thinking about God right now, not after the image Anslee had stuck in his head. “Behave, dammit.”
A sultry smile slid across Anslee’s face. “Just giving far warning.”
Jules’ cock actually jumped in his night pants at that look. He was screwed… figuratively and, very possibly, literally. As long as Anslee acted like a bossy ass, he could ignore how sexy the man was, but now? Now that he’d changed and was acting… Oh, crap. Anslee was acting like he might give a damn about Jules and his feelings. Like he was willing to learn about Jules, know his wants and desires. Like Jules actually mattered to him. Like he wasn’t out to break Jules and bend him to his will.
Like… shit. He was so screwed. Screwed, screwed, screwed. Which was probably not the best terminology to use at the moment.
Jules glared at Anslee. “Let me repeat: behave, dammit. Or I’m sleeping on the couch. I need my rest, remember? You even agreed.” Hey, he was desperate. He’d use whatever he had to in order to get Anslee to back off.
“Indeed you do, so I will… How did you say it? Behave, dammit.”
Jules slowly lay back down, Anslee’s arm coming around him once more. Satisfied he’d made his point, he tried to go to sleep… again.
He was just drifting off when Anslee whispered in his ear, “For now.”
Yup, he was in big, big trouble. TBC! Make sure to visit the other briefers. :)~M Michael Mandrake   Lily Sawyer     Cia Nordwell  Renee Stevens  Andrew Gordon Julie Lynn Hayes

J.A. Harmon