H.B. Pattskyn's Blog, page 18

Please welcome Chris T. Kat!

I am very happy to introduce Chris T. Kat back today, talking about her new novel.
 Helen, thank you very much for having me on your blog! I'm excited to share my new release Too Good To BeTrue?, which is a sequel to Seizing It , with you and your readers. It released on February 27th from Dreamspinner Press. Too Good To Be True? is an m/m contemporary romance story. The main characters are Kit (Nikita) Hall and Dale Miller. They've met and fallen in love three months ago. Kit works as a receptionist in a veterinary clinic and in addition is a freelancer (translations). Dale Miller is a veterinarian and Kit's new boss.
Kit is epileptic and also has to cope with the aftereffects of an abusive relationship. His behavior often bounces from shy to aggressive and Kit himself knows he's acting like a brat. Wait—brat? What does that mean?
If you look up the definition for the word brat, you'll find that it means a spoiled or ill-mannered child.
That's not what Kit means when he refers to himself as a brat, and neither does Dale. I've written several stories where two men are in a domestic discipline relationship because I like the power dynamics. For Seizing It and Too Good To Be True? I wanted the main characters to show similar characteristics without adding the spanking aspect.
Before I wrote this post I exchanged some e-mails with an online-friend to get some structure in my own jumbled thoughts on this topic. He (Thanks, Chris! He writes great stories too, which you can check out here: http://chrisdangerfield.blogspot.com) helped me out with a couple of long e-mails and I liked his definition of the term brat so much, that I'm copying it here:
The term brat implies being the non-dominant partner (by choice) in a committed relationship with a more dominant partner (also by choice) who is the Top. Given that, there are as many types of 'Brats' as there are men who inhabit these types of relationships.
The term brat doesn't mean the character can't help their behavior or is selfish or thoughtless. Kit does come across as whiny and tantrum-throwing but he's got reasons for his behavior—they might not be comprehensible for everyone but he's not acting like he does because he's spiteful or anything the like.
Sure, Kit can handle his life and whatever gets thrown at him but doing everything on his own becomes more and more exhausting, and maybe even a bit scary. On the other hand, it's equally scary for Kit to give control to Dale, for him to trust Dale to handle his emotions, no matter if they're positive or negative. Isn't that something most of us want? That special someone who stands by our side no matter what?
Then there's Kit's epilepsy—he hates it! Kit can't wrap his mind around the fact that Dale likes to take care of him, even if that means watching him seize and helping him get through the aftermath. He feels unworthy of Dale's compassion and love. In Too Good To Be True? Kit learns and accepts to like being cared for.
He still has a long learning curve ahead of him to see himself as someone who's strong and lovable. But that's for another book... ;-) 
Available from Dreamspinner Press:
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3604 Sequel to Seizing It
Blurb:
Three months after Kit falls in love with Dale, his epilepsy takes a turn for the worse and his nightmares and flashbacks about his abusive ex intensify. His work at the veterinary clinic and as a freelance translator only adds to the stress. As Kit's life flies out of his control, his last tether of sanity frays as Dale grows frustrated with Kit's stubborn independence.
Dale wants to be Kit's rock—to step in to help—but the walls Kit builds may be too hard to break through. Excerpt from Chapter Three:

Two strong hands gripped my shoulders before I had a chance of stomping away. I groaned loudly. “Get the fuck—”
“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”
I was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about when my world suddenly tilted on its axis. I found myself on the floor on my side with a sofa cushion quickly placed under my head. My eyes widened when it dawned on me what was going to happen. A whimper escaped my mouth, followed by, “Not a seizure. I don’t want to—”
I broke off midsentence. My whole body spasmed and jerked, my last coherent thought being that this was going to be a big one. 
 
I was right with my prediction. When I woke up shortly for the first time, the first thing I became aware of was the sharp smell of vomit. I coughed and choked, the nausea leaving me reeling from its intensity.
“Hey, welcome back,” Dale whispered in my ear.
“Sick,” I croaked, while willing my stomach to quit churning.
My body moved on its own, eliciting a surprised yelp from me. The movement stopped immediately, and Dale said, “I’m just moving you a bit so you’re not lying in your puke. I’ll get a washcloth. Don’t move, okay?”
Move? I couldn’t even pry my eyes open, which wasn’t that bad because I had at least a chance to keep the tears from running freely.
“Kit? Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
One of Dale’s hands lifted my head while the other one pushed something aside. Something else was placed underneath my head, from a feel of it, another cushion. The first cushion had probably been soiled by me. Embarrassed, I sniffed.
“Don’t, kitten,” Dale said before he pressed his lips firmly against my right temple. Then he was gone.
I busied myself with struggling against new waves of nausea and holding back tears of utter humiliation.
“Kit,” Dale sighed when he came back.
He swiped a warm washcloth over my mouth and face, cleaning me up in his usual gentle manner.
Dale kissed my cheeks, no matter how hard I tried to pull my head away. How could he even stomach to be so close to me? My breath had to reek, and kissing this pathetic, sniffling mess on the floor surely couldn’t be high on his to-do list.
“Kit! Stop it! I’m not going anywhere. I love you. A seizure doesn’t change that.”
Sooner or later he would change his mind, I was sure of it. He was supposed to be my lover, not my caretaker.
“Kit, please calm down.”
That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one feeling sick like a dog and embarrassed beyond belief. There was also the fact that my body still felt weird, as if it wasn’t through with whatever it did when it decided to seize.
I became aware of my hands clenching to fists and my arm muscles contracting symmetrically. “No,” I whispered, “no, no, no.”
My muscles suddenly spasmed, and I heard myself panting and Dale exclaiming, “Oh hell!” before unconsciousness claimed me again.
 
Chris T. Kat
Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing. She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and romance. If there's any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to audiobooks or does cross stitch.
 
Links:
Blog: http://christikat.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/christi_kat
GoodReads:http://www.goodreads.com/ChrisTKat
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChrisTKat
DSP author page: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=605 .............................Thanks again to Chris for stopping by today.  It's always a pleasure to host awesome authors on my blog (even if it does invariably put more books on my "to-read" list!)


   Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

The End

The two most difficult words for me to write when I'm working on a story is "The End" (and here you thought this was going to be some crazy existential discussion about the end of Life, the Universe, and Everything!) See, the beginning is easy; sometimes I shift it around a little (should I start here or here or here), but there are some good guidelines that most writers follow:It's always good to start "in medias res"--in the middle of the actionStart as close to the single most important life changing event for the main characters as possible--and in a romance, that's typically when the two guys meetStart out with a good "hook" and suck the reader straight into the actionAfter that, you let important bits of backstory filter in bits and pieces, maintaining the subtle balance between the gentle tease (keeping readers intrigued) while not giving them so little information that they feel lost, AND not landing an info dump on their heads. It's a tightrope walk in which a lot of information never gets into the novel--I can tell you loads more about my characaters than you'll ever read because not every scraped knee or kindergarten crush is important to you, the reader. It may be vital to the character's development as a three dimensional person, but you the reader probably couldn't care less.  But when is the story over?  The easy answer is that it's over at the end, when all the loose ends have been tied up. Except life is never that neat and tidy. There are always things left hanging, things we don't know even though we wish we did. There are things the characters couldn't possibly know about the events of the story.  Several otherwise amazing novels that I've read recently (and no, I won't name names) have been completely ruined by having an overly happy ending where absolutely *everything* works out. To me, this feels very unrealistic; I was completely content that the author pointed us in that direction and would have preferred to let my imagination take over and see the parents finally coming to embrace their gay son rather than been hammered over the head with it in a sappy final chapter/epilogue. I'm smart. I can figure it out for myself. (Now watch, my words are going to come back and bit me in the ass because parential reconciliation is part of my third novel).  The point is, I don't need a bow put on it. Sometimes I wish there was more story, but that's just because I'm not ready to put the book down, I want to read what happens next. I don't need it, but I'm greedy, I want it. I might even crave it, like fancy Godiva chocolate.  I completely understand why some readers grumbled at me over the ending of Bound. It was fairly abrupt, but in my own mind the story was over; anything that happened after that final scene is part of the next chapter in Jason and Henry's lives, it's a new story. Bound is about a young man coming to terms with his submissive nature and finding a mentor who loves him. Did that happen? Yes. Are there still lots of unanswered questions? Also yes. Do I want to explore Jason's training? Hell to the yes!  But see, for me, if I love the story it's  never  over on the last page. The characters (whehter they are mine or someone else's) continue to "live" and grow and have more adventures.  Which I suppose is what makes finding the end so difficult.     Chapter Two of Jason and Henry will be up on Monday; on Saturday, I'm welcoming returning (and totally awesome) guest blogger Chris T. Kat. Also this month, I have the fabulous Grace Duncan lined up to talk about BDSM (I believe Grace will be here on the 18th). And just because I'm a little (okay, a lot) crazy, in April, I'll be doing the A-Z Blog Hop/Challenge; in a nutshell, that means I'll be blogging for 26 days in April beginning on April 1st, blogging about something that begins with the letter A. On the second, the blog will be about something that begins with the letter B, and so forth (we get Sundays off for good behavior and to rest our fingers!)  The "somethings" for my blog will cover a wide range of topics, some serious, some silly, some personal, some writing related, some just me scrambling to come up with something to say about a word beginning with the letter X, Y, and Z. Stay tuned, come back soon, and feel free to leave comments! To a blogger, they're like milk and cookies, they let us know we're loved (or at least read).
  The End is...Here! http://www.othertees.com/design/2546/     

Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Monday, Monday

I spent this last weekend at ConVocation, a Pagan Spirituality convention in SE Michigan. Sales were a bit slow, which is okay, it's not necessarily about the money, it's about networking, establishing new contacts, and reconnecting with old friends and generally having FUN! (My legs and liver seem to think I may have had a little too much fun.... sigh. I'm not as young as I used to be).   In addition to selling copies of all three of my books, I also had up some artwork and wooden rune sets. The left over rune sets will go up on Etsy in the next week or so. The paintings will probably continue to hang out in a tub until the next convention or show...and will be joined by new paintings, especially after an inspirational Sekhmet ritual. In many respects, it was the spiritual kick in the pants I needed on a lot of levels. I need to start painting more because it makes me very, very happy.  One of the hardest parts of a show like this for me is sitting at a table for 9 or 10 hours (but thank you Angie for the daily chocolate!!) As my regular readers know well is that I'm an introvert. That means my batteries get recharged when I'm sitting off by myself somewhere quietly NOT talking to anybody. I think there's a reason so many of the writers I know are introverts; we're very happy when we're all by ourselves. Unfortunately when you're at a convention sitting behind a table, you're doing nothing but talk to other people, whether it's people walking by who have a question or want to chat, someone who came to a class you did who has a question, the merchants around you who feel like being social (it's a very community enviroment, and I love that!) or friends stopping by, it's almost non stop human contact. Which isn't in itself a bad thing.

Except for that whole being an introvert part.

So I'm glad it's Monday and my hubby is off to work and my daughter is off to school and I have the house more or less to myself (there's still the dog, the cats, the fish, and those seedlings I seem to have started too soon... I swear a few years ago I started tomatoes in Feb and had twiglets to stick in the ground come May. This year I seem to have way more than twiglets and it's not even March!)

I'm going to spend today "indulging" myself a little, resting my legs (and my liver), and working on a story that hatched nearly fully formed in my head over the weekend, then tomorrow go back to work on what I'm SUPPOSED to be working on.

       Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Bound to Please Ch. 1

I've had numerous requests for a sequel to Bound: Forget Me Knot, and while I am working on a spin off (and possibly a sequel), I have a lot of material that I'd written for the novel that got cut from the final draft that won't find its way into either. This is one way to present that material and also to say thank you to everyone who has let me know how much they loved Bound. I am grateful and intimidated at the same time! 
A number of people commented that it ended abruptly. It did. But I felt (still feel) that the next chapter was the start of another story, so I chose to type "the end" right where I did. It wasn't easy. I wasn't ready to let Jason and Henry go.
And...well...I haven't  ;-)
Originally, I started the next chapter with Jason and Henry’s arrival at Henry’s house, but then I remembered that chastity device. Reader reviews also gave me some things to think about, so I decided to start literally right were the book leaves off.
Please bear in mind that this has NOT been professionally edited AND that it's going to be just as adult in nature as the original story. It is my sincerest hope to update weekly, but depending on the demands of life, I may have to adjust that as necessary. When I decide I've reached "the end", I'll archive the whole thing together on blogger and maybe put it out as a free ebook on Amazon.  
And of course if you're so inclined to leave me a comment, I'd love to hear from you!
Thanks and enjoy!

Dedication: 
To you, my readers. I definitely could not do this without you!!

Bound to Pleasecopyright H.B. Pattskyn2013

Chapter One
Jasonran his fingers over the sturdy leather as if feeling it for the first time. The collar had never felt so heavy—or so real—as it did just then. He snuck a peek of his reflection in the mirror; Henry was standing behind him, his hands still resting on Jason’s arms.
“Like what you see, boy?”
“Yes, Sir.” Master. The word suddenly felt more real too. It wasn’t long distance anymore, it was seven days a week, twenty four hours a day. It was everything Jason wanted and it scared him to death. No, Henry was everything he wanted and what Henry wanted was a full time, real life slave. The only way to have Henry was to give him that. It had been a lot easier to think about in the abstract.“I’m afraid we’ve got us a little unfinished business, boy.” Henry’s tone was gentle, but Jason swallowed hard anyway. He knew exactly what Henry was talking about. “You earned it,” Henry reminded him. “Best to get it over with now.”
“Yes, Sir.” Eight days in the chastity device—and that wasn’t counting whatever Henry decided to tack on for his grades. But there was no way Henry could expect him to get “acceptable grades” now, not when he’d have to drop out of his classes because…Jason swallowed again. He was going home with Henry. To Ohio. To a place he’d never been, a place where he didn’t know anybody. What if Henry’s friends hated him? What if they thought he was too young, too immature, too in experienced? What if they thought he was stupid for getting himself into a situation like this in the first place? It wasn’t his fault his dad had kicked him out, but he could have stuck around, finished the semester, found a place—
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Henry whispered into his ear.
“I’m scared.”
“Of?”
He closed his eyes; he didn’t want to tell Henry the truth. What if Henry changed his mind. Or decides it’s better for me to go back to Michigan. Maybe it was better. But he wanted Henry, he loved him.
Buy Henry hadn’t said it back.
Maybe that’s what was really wrong. Maybe if Henry had said ‘I love you too’ everything would be all right.
“I…I don’t know exactly,” Jason fibbed.
Henry let out a heavy sigh; when Jason opened his eyes again, he saw Henry studying him closely in the mirror, but he couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“There’s just all this stuff going through my head,” Jason told him.
“Remember what I said about talking to me. If you ever have second thoughts, or doubts—”
God, he couldn’t tell Henry the kinds of doubts he was having, but he had to tell him something. “I just…I want your friends to like me.”
The relief on Henry’s face was visible. “They’ll love you, boy.”
But he didn’t add ‘because I do’. He didn’t add anything at all, he just pressed another soft kiss to 
Jason’s temple. Then he stood up a little straighter and cleared his throat. “Now, I believe we were discussing that punishment. Would you like to tell me exactly what you did to earn eight days in a chastity device?”
Jason did his best to keep his tone neutral. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to swear anymore.” And he had managed to stop swearing in front of Henry (mostly), but when Henry asked him if he’d sworn around other people, he couldn’t lie. Well, he supposed he could have, it’s not like Henry would know. 
But I’d know. “Will you at least tell me why it’s such a big deal? Doesn’t everybody swear?”
“No, they don’t. Even if they did, there are lots of things that ‘everybody’ does that I don’t want you doing. Some of ’em because they’re bad for you and others because of this.” Henry touched the lock he’d just placed through the clasp of Jason’s collar. “Anyone who understands what this means will judge me by how you present yourself.”
Jason frowned. Nodded. He tried to wrap his head around it. Of course it made sense, but…but. Everything seemed like one big “but” because this was still the United States, it was the twenty first century, no one could actually own another person. But this is the choice you made, Jason reminded himself. He belonged to Henry because he wanted to belong to him, and that made real, at least for them.
Henry tucked his knuckles under Jason’s chin and gently tilted his head upward, so they were facing each other. “It’s my job to train you, boy, to teach you. I’m not just training you how to be a slave, I’m teaching you how to be my slave. And my slave does not swear like a sailor. I expect you to be quiet, attentive, and above all polite to everybody you meet, even people you don’t want to be polite to.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good boy. Now how about you go get dressed, run out to your car, and get me that chastity device.” It wasn’t really a request.
“Yes, Sir.” What else could he say?
“How’s the fit?”
Jason choked back the first word came to mind—a halfhearted “fine”— and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to let himself really absorb the way the thick metal ring felt around his cock and balls. It wasn’t too tight; it didn’t feel like it was going to fall off, either. It was heavy, but not so heavy he couldn’t deal with it. But he hated it—only the question wasn’t whether or not he liked it, it was how well did it fit. “I’m pretty sure it’s okay,” he finally said. “It reminds me a little of that metal cock ring I bought myself only not as loose.” A light flush of heat crept into his cheeks. Half the problem with the cock ring he’d bought himself was that he was afraid it would fall off and could just imagine it sliding down his pant leg and clattering to the floor at school or work.
“It’s kinda like buying a pair of shoes,” Henry told him gently. “You’ve gotta try on a few to figure out which ones fit. Or have a pretty good eye for size.” He winked.
Jason had the feeling it wasn’t so much that Henry had a pretty good eye for size so much as it was that Henry had done this before, probably to a lot of boys. The thought didn’t settle right.
He gave himself a good mental shake. It didn’t matter who there had been before him. He belonged to Henry now. Just him. He closed his eyes and tried to find that quiet place inside his own head that Henry had talked about, a place where the only two people who existed were the two of them. It should be easy; he was standing in front of his Master, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back, elbows out, just like Henry told him to. But he couldn’t seem to find any kind of peace. “Can… can I ask a question?” Jason asked, nibbling at his lower lip.
Henry nodded and sat back in the chair so he was gazing right up at him. “You can ask anything you want, anytime you want.”
“I was just…you said there were going to be changes, Sir? To our contract.
Henry nodded. “We’ll talk about it when we get home”
Not ‘my house’. ‘Home’. Jason licked his lips nervously. “I was just…could you give me some kind of idea what you’ve got in mind? Please?”
He heaved a sigh and for a moment, Jason was sure he’d pissed Henry off and started to mentally berate himself—but then Henry’s expression softened. “Under the circumstances that’s a fair request. But in the very near future, you can expect start learning patience.”Jason swallowed hard; there was nothing harsh in Henry’s tone or expression but that sounded more like a threat than a promise. “Yes, Sir.”
“Come here,” Henry tugged him gently into his lap.
Jason curled into him at once. It was easy to forget how afraid he was with Henry holding him. When stole a quick glance up at Henry’s face, it looked like he was enjoying it too.
“You honestly have no idea, do you?” Henry said softly.
“Sir?”
“How much you get to me.” Then he cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about the details at home—and just to be clear, by that I mean we’ll work them out together. But you need to understand that belonging to somebody doesn’t just mean giving me a blowjob anytime I want one. It means cleaning my house and ironing my shirts.”
“Oh God.” Jason had the sudden image of himself as a nineteen fifties housewife. “Sorry, I…,” only instead of being upset by his outburst, Henry merely chuckled.
“Don’t worry, boy, you don’t have to wear an apron. Although…hmm…”
Jason gulped. He looked like he was considering it. “Please, no.”
“Wait ’til you see what I have in mind before you safeword out of it.”
“I still have that? A safeword?”
“Always,” Henry promised him. “I know what it says in books, that the difference between a slave and a sub is a safeword, but I have never been comfortable telling somebody they can never say ‘no’ to me. I expect you to use it judiciously, only when you are really, absolutely sure you can’t do something. If you’re not sure about something, just say so. We’ll talk.”
“So what’s the difference between a submissive and a slave?”
“A slave only gives up his or her rights once, at the start of the contract. After that, you belong to me. Every single part of your life is mine to control unless I specifically tell you otherwise. A submissive doesn’t give up that kind of control and they give it up every single time they enter a scene with their Dom. If you’re with someone long enough, you don’t need a lengthy negotiation, but the thing is that as soon as the scene is over, the sub and Dom go back to being on equal footing. Unless of course, they have some other arrangement,” he added with a chuckle. “Every relationship is different, boy. It’s the people in it who define it. What makes you my slave and not my sub is that I own every part of your life.”
Jason chewed his lower lip. He nodded. “What about school and a job?”
“Oh you can bet your sweet little ass you’re going back to school. What you take will be completely up to you,” Henry added quickly. “I have my preferences, but my responsibility is help you grow and you can’t do that if I make every decision for you.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction?”
Henry chuckled. “Anyone who thinks Doms and Masters have it easy have never spent a day in a Dom’s boots.”
Jason nodded. “And the job part?” he asked.
“I have my preferences about that, too. I’d rather you put all your energy into getting a degree and taking care of me—and in that order. But I figure you’re gonna want to work and as long as you can find something that doesn’t interfere with your real priorities, I won’t tell you no.” But he didn’t sound happy about it.
“There’s no way I can go to school unless I have a job.” Unless…but Henry didn’t have that kind of money. He couldn’t really intend to…
“They don’t have Financial Aid in Michigan?”
“I don’t qualify for it.”
“And why’s that?”
“My…,” he stopped short. “I didn’t qualify for it because of my father’s income.”
Henry smirked. “That doesn’t count anymore. First thing tomorrow, we’ll head into town, get you an Ohio drivers’ license, change your address at the post office, and maybe swing by OU’s campus—”“OU?”
“Ohio University. There’s a community college nearby, too. We can check them out. But I think I might assert my prerogative as Master and tell you that you’ve spent enough time at community college and it’s time to get into university.”
“Yes, Sir.” He was still a little dubious about the money, but… “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Talking to me.”
Henry ran his fingers lightly over Jason’s cheek then cupped it. Held it. “That’s never gonna change, boy.”
It wasn’t what Jason wanted to hear, but it was good enough. Besides, how many times had Terry said “I love you”? What did those three words really mean, anyway?

Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Back from Hiatus!!

Yes, I'm back and I am so sorry I was away for so long! Between losing Mulberry, adopting a wonderful new boy (Giacomo, or Jack for short), and dealing with a little bit of LIFE... sigh. I managed to miss spending Christmas, my birthday, and Valentines day with some of my favorite people: y'all.  Yes, you guys. I really love my readers.
Which is why I'm back for real and expanding my blogging activities, so that I'll be posting  regularly on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, and I'm working on getting some guest bloggers lined up, starting with the lovely Chris T. Cat, who will be stopping in on March 2nd to talk about her book Too Good to be True? 
In the meantime, I have finally finished and submitted the Book That Ate My Life, (which has a real name:  Hanging by the Moment ) a 111,500 word tome  about a Russian American waiter/cook struggling to keep the family business alive and the guy who shows him what life is really about. 
I'm still waiting to hear whether or not the wonderful folks at Dreamspinner love it as much as I do (and if they don't, that's okay, I'll either shop it around some more or self-pub; the story is really very, very different from my first two books and there are lots of reasons for a manuscript to be "rejected"--which is really a harsh word. It's not so much being rejected as simply not being contracted. And yes, I suppose it is a glass half full/half empty kind of thing, but writers have fragile egos, if we don't say the glass is half full, we might stop writing  ;-)  But really, being "rejected" doesn't mean anybody hates you, it's not like getting dumped. Maybe I'll blog about that more another day). 
As many of you know, either from reading my blog or following my chatter on Facebook, my own heritage is Russian. My great grand parents came over here at the turn of the 20th century, eventually settling in a coal mining town in Illinois. My grandmother moved to Michigan after she married. 
While I was finishing up Hanging by the Moment  I engaged in a sort of "put yourself in your characters shoes" exercise and got up early one Sunday morning to attend Divine Liturgy (i.e. Sunday morning service) at Holy Trinity Church, the church I grew up--the same church my character Pasha Batalov and his family belong to. 
Much like Pasha, I have a love/hate relationship with the Russian Orthodox church. 
The service last Sunday was not only beautiful and but absolutely everything I remembered from when I was a kid (Almost: Father Andrew wasn't there, but the new priest, Father Lev has an amazing voice). In fact so little has changed since the last time I was there, almost 15 years ago for my godfather's funeral, that I half expected to see familiar faces. 
Of course, I didn't. When I attended regularly, the church was filled mostly with older folks, most of whom, like my god parents and grandmother, have long since passed on. I couldn't help feeling a sense of joy when I arrived last Sunday to see so many young families, including little kids and my gosh, more alter servers than were *ever* there when I was a kid. The choir was lovely; Matushka Victoria is a wonderful choir leader (the choir leader when I went there was this dreadful nasal-y soprano who roared over the whole choir).  But stepping through the doors, I was immediately swallowed up whole by the scent of frankincense, myrrh, copal, and something floral, maybe benzoin? Definitely a hint of sandalwood.  The Russian Orthodox Church is no place for asthmatics! I was still in the front lobby!
Of course once you step through the doors, incense smoke lingers heavily in the air; I'm sure there are some electrical lights tucked up in discrete places, but the darkened room feels like it's only lit by candles (many in red glass holders) and the morning sun streaming in (through the incense smoke) through stained glass windows. The service is long (about an hour), and like many American Russian Orthodox Churches, mostly in English. But even though it is no longer my religion, I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity; a sense of happiness at being there. 
But. 
Anyone who has read my blog saw the post I made a while back about the treatment of the LGBTQ community in Russia. Moscow has placed a 100 year ban (!) on Gay Pride eventsGay rights protesters are regularly arrested even for peaceful demonstrationsFr. Vladimir Enert was defrocked for consenting to wed a gay couple (not a legally binding ceremony, of course); another priest was declared a "conspirator" in the event and has been banned from conducting church services.  A spokesman for the Orthodox Church said the chapel had been desecrated and "had to go"--and indeed it went. Some local officials later claimed the chapel had been due to be demolished anyway, but had no doubt that the outrage the church felt over the "wedding ceremony" hastened its destruction. (Getting facts on this one took some digging.)And that's just the tip of the iceberg
So yes, I love the church and country of my heritage, but I also hate the narrow minded, bigoted, backwards, hurtful stance they both take on the issue of equality. The true irony here is that the church itself was oppressed for decades under Communist rule. The church and it's people know exactly what oppression feels like.

Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Welcome Guest Blogger Michael Rupured!

Okay, so I have no doubt that my absence for over a week has been a little conspicuous! After a harrowing, nerve wracked, emotionally charged  week before Christmas, I finally ran out of fumes and had to take an unscheduled, unplanned break. But I'm back with a vengeance! I'm putting the final details on that HIV novel so I can (FINALLY) ship it off to Elizabeth for consideration and check back on Saturday for the first installment of Jason and Henry!In the meantime, please give a great big warm welcome to awesome author, fellow Dreampsinner, Michael Rupured! 
what an awesome cover!
I think this is going on my
to read list right now!Thanks, Helen, for inviting me back to your blog to talk about my first novel, Until Thanksgiving, released since we last visited by Dreamspinner Press as a paperback and in multiple digital formats. I'm walking on air.That the editors at Dreamspinner Press liked my first novel enough to offer me an advance blew me away. But four months ago, I had no idea what was in store for me. Signing the contract was just the first of many thrills, and I'm pretty sure this is only the beginning.I've had an amazing career in academia and achieved success beyond my wildest dreams. Over the last quarter century, my work has garnered numerous awards, recognitions, and accolades from my peers across the country. I tell you this not to toot my own horn, but for context. Becoming a published author is, beyond a doubt, the coolest thing that has ever happened to me. None of my other accomplishments even come close.On a scale from one to ten, with ten being the coolest thing in the universe, my day job has a cool factor of maybe one and a half or two. The work is obscure, and difficult to explain to ordinary people. Long before I get to the specifics of my role, eyes have glazed over and the person I'm talking with is looking for an excuse to escape.When I tell someone I'm an author, there's no need for a lengthy explanation. I write gay romance thrillers. That's all I have to say. But I had no idea--and I'd file this under You Can't Miss What You Haven’t Had--that being a published author has such a high cool factor. We’re talking at least eight--maybe even nine.Throughout my twenty-five year career, at no time have I ever heard anyone exclaim, "Oh my God! Now I can say I know an extension financial management specialist!" Surprised? Me too, but it's true.People I know tell their friends they know a published author. More and more, when I run into someone I haven't seen for a while, they already know about my book because they heard it from so and so. Now if I can just get them to buy a copy… Your readers can find me at my blog (http://rupured.com), on Twitter (@crotchetyman), or the Dreamspinner Press site (http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3456). Hot men wishing to vie for my attention and others with a desire to say hello can contact me at mrupured@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing from you!
Blurb:
Josh Freeman knows his best days are behind him. After his partner of seventeen years has an affair with a younger man, Josh buries himself in takeout boxes, half-smoked joints, and self-pity until his best friend gently kicks him in the ass and encourages him to try out a new job in Washington DC—at least until Thanksgiving.
Though DC has its share of troubles, specifically in the form of a murderer targeting gay men, Josh soon discovers its charms as well. Unlike his old home, DC is crawling with men who want to date him—apparently he's not as overweight, out of shape, or over the hill as the man he once loved made him believe. In particular, Josh would love a chance with relocation expert Thad Parker, but Josh is sure Thad is seeing someone, so he looks for love elsewhere. He tells himself he and Thad don't have anything in common anyway.
Then Josh learns Thad really is available. Maybe they can work it out after all. Suddenly the future seems bright again. Of course, Josh doesn't know he's the murderer's next target....
Excerpt:
Josh Freeman left the Bar Complex well before last call. Except for the hustlers that prowled the streets behind Lexington’s one and only gay bar, nobody noticed him leaving. A rough-looking kid in a tank top and jeans sized him up and walked toward him.“Looking for some company?”“No, thanks.” Josh kept walking. The gravel crunching under his Justin Ropers didn’t cover the laughter the boy got from the other hustlers. Josh wasn’t hard up enough to pay for sex. Yet. The cold shoulders at the bar had been bad enough.He unlocked his red Toyota Celica. Gay life in Lexington, Kentucky, had changed. The bar crowd that evening was nothing like the good old days, when the place overflowed with good-looking, readily available men—before AIDS and the siren call of gay meccas like Atlanta, San Francisco, and New York. That school was out for the summer didn’t help. The class of ’97 had moved on, and the class of 2001 hadn’t yet come to town.Going to the Bar had been a mistake. Josh hadn’t talked to anyone and nobody had talked to him. He wasn’t surprised. Unless he needed help crossing the street or had fallen and couldn’t get up, the college boys shaking their stuff on the dance floor had no cause to talk to him.He started the car and headed to Jerry’s Restaurant for a late-night snack, smoking the rest of the joint he’d left in the ashtray. Smoking pot kept him from feeling so lonely. These days, he smoked so much he didn’t really feel anything.“Table for one?” asked the waitress, chomping her gum and tugging on a severely strained bra strap.“Table for one” sounded like a life sentence. Absent enough money to justify the sugar daddy label, he had slim to no chance of finding another lover.“Here ya go, darlin’.” The waitress plunked down a food-stained menu and a glass of water. “Can I get ya some coffee or something to drink?”“Water is fine, thanks.”“Ready to order or do ya need a few minutes?”“I can order. I’d like a J-Boy plate.”“Sure. I’ll be right back out with that for ya, darlin’.”A tiny spark of hope still glimmered, enough to get Josh off the couch earlier that evening and into the shower. By ten o’clock, he’d whipped his hair into a look, fingered through some gel, squeezed into his best jeans, and donned a Polo golf shirt for a solo night out on the town.The waitress returned with his food, interrupting his thoughts. She set the burger, coleslaw, and mountain of crinkle-cut fries down in front of him. “Ya gonna save some room for hot fudge cake?”Josh was tempted to say yes. He could eat whatever he wanted now. What difference would it make if he got big as a house?“No, thanks. I’ll be doing good to eat this.”“Well, just let me know if ya change your mind.” She left the check on the table and headed to the hostess stand to seat a group of punk rockers that had just arrived.Josh glanced at his watch and noticed it was after one o’clock. The bars had closed, and a line waiting for tables had formed just inside the door. He wolfed down the rest of the burger, finished off the slaw, and made a noticeable dent in the mountain of fries. After leaving two bucks on the table for the waitress, he picked up the check, settled with the cashier, and returned to his car.The J-Boy plate had filled him up, but left him feeling just as empty as before. Instead of going home where he belonged, Josh headed for the bookstore.He parked under the trees at the very back of the parking lot, smoking a cigarette and watching guys coming and going through the bookstore’s rear entrance. A steady stream of cars cruised slowly through the parking lot. Now and then the cars paired up, driver’s side to driver’s side, for quick conversations. If the drivers connected, a two-car convoy headed to a secret rendezvous for a hookup. More often, both cars returned to the parade circling the bookstore in search of a hot encounter.After seventeen years with Ben Dixon, Josh was single. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything right. The idea of cheating never even occurred to him. As far as Josh was concerned, once you decided to move in together, death was the only way out.He thought Ben agreed. In a way, he did. Ben didn’t want the relationship to end, either. Not the relationship with Josh or the relationship Ben had on the side with his coworker, twenty-five-year-old David Hicks. That Josh considered David to be a good friend added insult to injury. In one fell swoop, he’d lost two of the most important people in his life.Oh well, Ben is history. No more lies. No more worrying about what’s going on behind my back.But the absence of gnawing paranoia was a small comfort in the face of reality. Josh knew his best chance for finding the love of his life was now behind him. Downhill was the only direction left for a single, middle-aged gay man.He locked his car and made for the rear door of the bookstore. When he crossed the threshold, the scent of Pine-Sol punched him in the nose. There wasn’t enough cleanser in the world to cover the smell of all the sex that went on in the cubicles making up the dim back half of the store. The brightly lit front of the establishment featured dirty magazines, an eclectic collection of pornographic videos for sale or rent, and a wall of dongs, dildos, and other sex-related paraphernalia.A dozen small cubicles with coin-operated video players featured an assortment of porn. Scattered throughout the dark maze connecting all the cubicles lurked maybe a dozen horned-up men. Some were married and popped into the booths for the blowjobs their wives refused to deliver. Most of the rest were there to oblige. The way they leered made Josh uncomfortable.Never a lurker, Josh stepped into a cubicle and dropped some quarters in the slot to watch some gay porn. On the screen, an obviously bored African-American plowed the ass of a homely white dude who tried to act like it hurt. Neither performer was likely to win any acting awards. Josh pushed the button and the scene changed to a blond frat-boy type blowing a hairy, muscular white guy.Fearing what he might sit in, Josh ignored the wooden bench seat and remained standing. The black plywood walls of the booth were riddled with holes of various sizes, none part of the original construction. Smaller holes allowed for spying on the action in the neighboring cubicle. Larger openings served more illicit purposes. Every few years, the police raided the place and the owner would board up all the holes. New holes reappeared in days.Watching the action on the little screen gave Josh a hard-on. When a finger appeared through a baseball-sized opening on the right side of the booth, beckoning, he figured what the heck. Getting off was getting off. He went over, lowered his pants to his knees, and stuck his cock through the hole into the warm, wet mouth waiting on the other side.Josh concentrated on the video, imagining the frat boy sucking his dick instead of one of the leering men he’d seen outside the cubicle. He dropped more quarters in the slot, then focused on the video and the mouth milking him through the glory hole. Soon Josh was pounding the wall with his hips. The sound attracted bystanders to the holes in surrounding cubicles to see what the noise was all about. Josh felt the beginning of his climax tingling in his balls and groaned. The hot mouth working urgently on his throbbing cock quickly produced the desired result. On still trembling legs, Josh zipped up his pants and headed home to his empty bed.
......................
DEFINITELY on my to read list!!Thanks, Michael! 




Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

We're all still here

nicked from Facebook
(http://www.facebook.com/brett.lamb)

We're all still here and by all accounts, yesterday was a fairly uneventful day on a worldwide scale. Around here is another story. We *finally* got the Yule tree up Thursday night. And it's such a sad tree. Skinny, not enough branches... a few years ago we had to replace my wonderful fat fluffy tree and we ended up with a six foot version of the Charlie Brown tree (but somehow lacking in the character or charm that Chuck's had). After last week I'd enough sad, so I went out and bought a new tree. Yes, four days before Christmas, this crazy woman was in K-Mart buying a new holiday tree. And you'd better believe they were all sold out! But...that meant they had to sell the floor model and aw, shucks, the only way I could take it was with all the "display only "ornaments. For eighty bucks (the tree was on sale, down from one fifty), I got a gorgeous six and a half foot tall, fat fluffy tree and at *least* a hundred dollars worth of ornaments, nearly all of them things I would have chosen myself in a heartbeat. It's definitely beginning to look a lot like...


Okay, so I did hold true to my tradition of putting on the Nutcracker for *most* of the decorating, but I couldn't help playing my favorite carols for the rest of it!


Happy, Merry Holidays!

And for those of you awaiting the first installment of Henry and Jason... check back on Christmas Day!


Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

The hardest word...

The hardest word in the English language is goodbye. It's not hard to say, it's just hard to say, because on Sunday, we had to say goodbye to our dog, my boy Mulberry. yes, there's a cat staring down at him ;-)
This was taken a couple of years agoWhat we thought was a scary and server case of pancreatitis turned out to be an even scarier and inoperable tumor on his liver (most likely cancer, but we didn't have the biopsy--really once you hear inoperable, it doesn't make much difference what it is). The tumor was causing internal fluid buildup which seems to have led to sepsis. There was only one option; we brought him home for one last night (he'd already spent three nights at the vet's) and Sunday morning, we took him in one last time. 
He got to spend his last night at home getting cuddles and love and being reminded what a good boy he was (not that I think he ever forgot)--he even got out of bed with us to spend a couple of hours cuddled up with my daughter on the sofa. He got a visit from his Auntie Diane and lots of kisses and hugs from friends via Facebook. The last few hours at home were spent curled up with me in bed--but it was a really rough night for all of us. By morning, he'd deteriorated even further and as much as I wanted just a little more time, we went back to the vet pretty early. 
My husband and I stayed with him until he was gone; I held Mulberry and Ed held both of us. It was hard, but I couldn't abandon him to strangers when he was hurting and after so much time spent away from home last week. (Truth is, I wouldn't have just left him to the tech no matter what; he was my boy, he loved and trusted me, no way I wouldn't be there 'til the end).


The illness came on pretty suddenly; we'd had a few warning signs of something being amiss the week prior, but he'd be sick for a day and then fine for a couple of days so I thought he'd just gotten into something (he had a certain fondness for Qtips of all things). Whatever was going on inside, he didn't seem to suffer long for it just that last week when things got rough and we went to the vet. I am very grateful for that, and that I got to take him up north with me earlier in the year. It was off-season, so it was just us and maybe one or two other people up at the lake. We spent almost two weeks, me writing on the sofa and him curled up under my legs. We walked on the beach almost every day and he got to run off the leash...which was great except for the day he spotted the rabbit and bolted, scaring the snot out of me. He chased it for maybe fifty feet, then remembered that Mom had treats in her pocket and came running back! Because we live in the city (suburbs), he didn't get to run off the leash very often (although we've got a decent sized yard, of course). 
Mulberry and Lilith (taken last year)I'd been intending to do a post on my dog for a while, I just never expected to have to start it out like this. Xolos (pronounced "show-low"--and short for xoloitzcuintli) are such an amazing breed (and I had such a special boy). Most people know them as Mexican Hairless dogs, but I never call them that if I can help it; see, about one in three are born with hair. And I mean as much hair as your average Labrador retriever. 
Compare a hairless to a coated xolo:
Yup, these guys are the same breed. Here are another coated xolo:  You can see why I didn't like calling Mulberry a "Mexican Hairless"!

The name of the breed, xoloitzcuintliis derived from two words: 
the name of the Aztec God Xolotl 
and the word itzcuintli, which means dog. from webcomicsnation.com


Xolos are the national dog of Mexico and one of five hairless breeds (the others are the hairless khala, the Peruvian Inca Orchid--sometimes called "moonflower dogs", the American Hairless Terrier, and the Chinese Crested--a breed made popular in recent years by Hollywood). 
One of the things Mulberry and I ran into a lot was people surprised at his size (he typically weighed in at between thirty five and thirty seven pounds). Most people think of Mexican Hairless dogs as chihuahua size and while they do come in miniature size (9-18 lbs), they also come in medium (18-22 lbs) and standard  (22-35 lbs). (Okay, so maybe Mulberry was a bit spoiled to weigh in at 37 lbs on a couple of our vet visits over the years!)
Mulberry and Annabelle (she crossed over two years ago; she didn't like dogs, but she did like warmth!) Xolos come in a variety of colors and have a markings that range from spots (practically like dalmatians), to spoltches, to solid colors ranging from tan to black.

Hairless xolos tend to have poor dentation (the American hairless terrier is the only hairless breed not known for bad or "missing" teeth; in the other hairless breeds, the hairless gene is linked with the "bad teeth" gene--yes, so scientific ;-)  

The reason Mulberry's tongue lolls out of his mouth is (was) lack of pre-molars. (He actually had quite a few teeth for a xolo). 


Up until recently, xolos weren't a part of the American Kennel Club (the reason sited was simply lack of interest in the breed, which is pretty believable). It takes a special person to love naked dogs! 


Frida Kahlo
Summer 2011
Mulberry came into my life about a year after having to find a new home for my last dog; it wasn't a happy choice, but I'd just had gone through a couple of serious and complicated surgeries and  could barely take care of myself and my daughter; taking care of a dog was out of the question. It worked out for the best (and that dog ended up with a very good home, a pair of retirees who spoiled him rotten!), as I ended up marrying a man who is allergic to dog fur. He would probably do all right with a poodle or a puli, but...well, he kept saying "no", until I showed him Mulberry's picture!

Mulberry flew to us from Idaho--when we picked him up from the airport, he was terrified (who wouldn't be? He'd been in a crate for over 12 hours!) He curled right up into my lap and stayed there...well pretty much for the rest of his life! :D  (No, forty pounds really is NOT too big to be a lap dog, honest!)  He hadn't been terribly well socialized as a puppy; we had to teach him how to play and he had to learn to get along with people and dogs--but he was ALWAYS good with kids, even my husband's nephews. When he'd seriously had enough, he crawled into my lap with this pleading look on his face: "Please make them stop now, Mom!"

Between the tongue that lolled out of the side of his mouth (normal for the breed), the way he got pale in the winter and tan in summer, and the general sweet, goofy look on his face, he won over hearts no matter where we went. Xolos are truly special dogs and my boy was a truly special boy.

He will truly be sorely missed. 

Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Favorite Books of 2012

Okay, yes, we're in the middle of a blog hop, but I still felt like doing my regular Saturday post. Just let me make get some "business" out of the way first, since there's a very good chance you're here for the Purrrfectly Giftastic Christmas Blog Hop,
Up for grabs:One signed copy of Bound: Forget Me Knot a kinky, sexy, BDSM novel (contemporary)~AND~
One signed copy of Heart's Home an urban fantasy set in Victorian London. Entering is easy: 
Leave a comment below and let me know which book you'd like to be entered to win--and yes you can put "both"! (And YES! I do accept international entries!)

Theoretically, this link will get you back to the Blog Hop main page. 
If you happen to want to read my short blog post for today and maybe comment on it, that would be spiffy too, but it's not required... 
Favorite Books of 2012As the year draws to a close, I thought I would take some time to reflect back on my favorite books of 2012 and why I liked them so much. These books weren't necessarily published in 2012, I just happened to have read them this last year. 
Here are my top eight, in no particular order:Duck! by Kim DareMagpie by Kim DareNowhere Ranch by Heidi CullinanFalling into Place by Tia FieldingMelody Thief by Shira AnthonyGhost On My Couch by L.A. GilbertDon't Let Me Go by J. H. TrumbleThunder In His Head by Gene GrantThere are too many books to talk about in one sitting (without making this a ghastly long post), so I'm going to split them up over the next few weeks. First up:

Duck! and Magpieby Kim Dare
I'm going to comment on these two together  because they're two books from the same series; in Duck! we meet Ori, a sweet if "ugly" little duckling (he's more uncoordinated than physically unappealing) and Raynard, a very stubborn hawk. Ori and Raynard appear as secondary characters in Magpie, which centers around raven Everette (who we met Duck!--and who I happened to have fallen in love with at that first meeting; there's just something compelling about Everette...or maybe I just love ravens!) and a troubled (and trouble-making) magpie named Kane. (Seriously it's a bit of both where Everette are concerned; I do love ravens, but there is obviously something very special about this quiet corvid).

I love Kim Dare's avian shifters. First and foremost, bird shifters are just cool! But beyond that, the world that Dare creates for her avian shifters is well thought out (we see more of the thoughtfulness of it in the second book). 
While these books are definitely BDSM light, with Duck! being more D/s than BDSM, the elements of it are strong enough to make this kinky girl very happy :D  
Dare also delivers up a good sized helping of angst in both books, which also makes me a very happy camper. Ori and Kane both come from difficult backgrounds, and neither of them is especially good at trusting; for Ori, it's more a matter of not understanding why anyone would value him (ducks are pretty low on the proverbial pecking order--pun intended). Kane has just been told he's not worthy of loving or being loved so many times that he actually believes it. It doesn't help that nobody even seems to like magpies. I noticed in some of the reviews of Magipe that other readers had a hard time connecting to Kane--but I saw him for what I believe he is: troubled and hurting, just needing somebody to convince him that he's worthy of having a home. And of course I loved the part Ori and Raynard played in making that happen. I truly adore Ori and it was good to see he and Raynard again. (It was almost comical how jealous Kane got of Ori and Everette's friendship.)
There isn't as much backstory as I might have wanted for Everette or Raynard, but I still got a complete sense of who these guys are (strong, noble, and above all deserving of the gift of submission). Of the two, I would have liked to have known more about Raynard's past, simply because of some of the tantalizing little clues Dare gives that maybe he's one of those guys who colors outside the lines a bit (or at least he butts heads with Hamilton, the eagle who rules the nest). 
While I was looking over my Amazon wishlist, I realized that one of the books on my to-read list is also by Kim Dare...guess what I'm going to go buy a copy of as soon as I finish up this blog post!
With a Kiss has been on my to-read list for six or seven months. I was wavering because I'm stupid-picky about vampires, but I was so impressed by Dare's avian shifters, I feel confident that even if her vampires aren't quite "my" vampires, it'll be kinda like I feel about Tanya Huff--it's her world, we don't have to see eye to eye, because when the writing is that good, I can forgive that we work from different cannon!



Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author

Blog Hop!!!

Can you believe it's December 14th?!  Yikes. I haven't even STARTED my holiday shopping!

Okay, let's get to the fun stuff:

I'm giving away two prizes:

A signed copy of my first novel Heart's Home (urban fantasy about werewolves and demons and murder in 19th century London) and A signed copy of my second novel Bound: Forget Me Knot (super kinky contemporary BDSM romance)Please note that they are both M/M
Entering is easy: 

leave a comment below--you don't have to, but it would be fun for me if you tell me what your favorite holiday song is...or maybe your favorite holiday food (y'all know I love food!) Or maybe whether or not you've finished YOUR shopping yet :D make sure I have a way to contact you if you're a winner (either sign using a Blogger ID or leave me an email addy)let me know which book you'd like (and yes, you can say both!)I will draw two names from the hat on the 18thInternational entries WELCOME!Here's the link back to the hop!


Helen Pattskyn, Fantasy Artist, Gay Romance Author