Marcus Lopes's Blog, page 36

The App: Taking Up the Dare

Ding!

Parker, stretched out on the sofa, dropped the remote as he sat up. His gaze landed on his phone and the alert on the screen: “You have 1 new message!” One time, just once, he wanted the courage to ignore those damn push notifications, but this wasn’t it. He snatched his phone off the coffee table, swiping and tapping with a sniper’s precision.

Hi, Sexy!

He fell back into the sofa and groaned. He still hadn’t answered the message he’d received as he walked home from Octavo earlier in th...

The App: Avoiding Temptation

Don’t do it. Be strong. But Parker, seated at the corner table that provided cover, couldn’t stop himself. He picked up his phone and, liked he’d done not even two minutes ago, opened Cuddlr. No new messages. He chucked it back on the table and bit down on the inside of his mouth. God, I’m pathetic.

It was hard to resist an app like Cuddlr that packaged love into the essentials — height, weight, age, race, scene and position. Fields on a screen that didn’t say much about a guy’s personality o...

Changing the Script: On Writing and Sobriety

On 17 January 2018, I stopped drinking. Not because I was being pressured to. Not because I didn’t know my limit. Not because alcohol was ravaging my life. I gave it up because, like Oprah Winfrey, I had an ‘aha’ moment. Reading Winfrey’s The Wisdom of Sundays and Russ Perry’s The Sober Entrepreneur created so many aha moments that I thought I was going to suffer some type of breakdown. I couldn’t keep up with the big life questions being thrown at me. Then I ended up frustrated because I cou...

The App

“You have 1 new message!” flashed on the screen.

Parker Wright, his eyes locked on the words, went rigid. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to open it. Yet even as his index finger hovered over the Delete button, he couldn’t stop himself. He tapped on View Message.

Hi, Sexy.

Parker hit the Profile icon, groaning as he read the description. White. Toned. Single. “Like that narrows it down,” he grunted, scrolling back to the photo of the CN Tower. And that didn’t impress as much as it made h...

The Park Bench

“Is this seat taken?”

Todd, leaning back and staring blankly at the blue sky through his sunglasses, brought himself forward. His gaze fell on the grey-haired man already lowering himself down onto the other end of the forest green bench. “No,” he said, rising to offer assistance.

“I’m okay,” the stranger said, but gripped his trembling hand to Todd’s arm to steady himself. “These bones don’t work like they did when I was your age.”

Todd smiled thinly as he sat back down. He closed his eyes a...

The Visit: Finale

Trevor went to jam his key in the lock when the front door swung open. He did not — could not — move as those dreamy, sapphire-blue eyes bore into him. Something was different. It wasn’t Oliver’s usual intent look of desire that could have them devouring each other before they made it to the bedroom. No, it was something worse. Disappointment.

Oliver stepped forward and reached for Trevor’s suitcase, dragging it into the house. He set it by the foot of the staircase, then slipped his hands in...

Do You Know Who You Are?

I didn’t always want to be a writer.

What? What did he just say?

Let me back up a moment. I didn’t always know that I wanted to be a writer. That’s because I kept running away from who I really was.

In this journey called life, there are moments that change not only our lives but, more importantly, how we see ourselves in the world. They define us. These moments ask, “Why am I here?” For some people, the answer is clear. They know exactly why they’re here, know what they want to achieve and b...

The Visit: Part III

Oliver slammed the door and marched into the living room. “We need to talk.”

Phyllis, seated on the sofa reading Maclean’s, looked up and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re home. It’s been horrible having no one to talk to.” She tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “Tell me all about your day.”

“Mom, I’m not seven years old,” Oliver said brutishly. “I don’t want to talk about my goddamn day.” He lowered himself onto the sofa, clasped his hands together on his lap and locked his gaze on his mot...

The Visit: Part II

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Trevor warned, yanking out the cork from the bottle of Lagavulin. He poured another generous amount into the crystal tumbler, jammed the cork back in and returned the bottle to the counter with a hard clank. “You’re not my favourite person at the moment.” He felt the weight of hands on his shoulders, then started to squirm as the wet tongue traced the curve of his ear.

“You love me,” that gravelly voice said. “Don’t fight it.”

That voice … it was what had h...

Living in a State of Grace

Beginning a new habit is, perhaps, one of the most difficult things to do. It’s easy to give up on it in the first few days or weeks. Missing one or two days in a row has the power to challenge our commitment to it. We say, “I’ll try again tomorrow,” but we never do.

When I realized I wanted to be a writer, I knew I had to write every day — no matter where I was, no matter what was happening in my life. And now, for almost twenty-five years, writing every day has kept me grounded. Especially...