Dev Bentham's Blog, page 2
February 2, 2018
Walking the Trail
I have some friends I meet in town for coffee every Friday morning. It's about a fifteen minute walk from my house, mostly along an old railroad track that's been turned into a walking/biking/snowmobiling trail. I live in the lake country of northern Wisconsin. Back in the day, passenger train service built the tourist industry here. There used to be two trains a day from Chicago. I often think about how nice that would be. I love it here, but I'd love it even more if I was only a train ride away from the city.
Still, the old railway trail is a beautiful way to get into town and I walk it whenever possible. This morning the temperature was -10 F, colder with the wind. Nevertheless, I bundled up and trudged over, grateful for the moon on the way to town and the sun on the way home. It's such a pretty walk that about half the time I take a picture to post on Facebook. I can't tell you how many versions of this scene I have, one even made it onto the cover of Whistle Blower. And yet, again this morning I stopped to record and share it.
There's that old homily about falling into the same pothole along the same route until you finally decide to go a different way. Maybe there's something to be learned from the opposite experience of going the same route every day and marveling at the ordinary beauty. I hope so, because I doubt I'll stop taking and sharing this picture. It just gets me every single time.
January 26, 2018
Of a snowy evening
Just a pretty winter picture that warms my heart.
December 30, 2017
Happy New Year!
December 22, 2017
December 15, 2017
A holiday story
Every month I send out my newsletter with some news and a piece of flash fiction. I thought I'd share this month's story with you all since it's a sweet holiday piece. Those of you who get the News Flash have already read this. If you would like to sign up to get a little love in your inbox every month, I've included a place to sign up at the end.
This year's flash is a little bit Hanukkah and a little bit Christmas. I hope you enjoy.
Beating the Hanukkah Blues
The tyranny of Christmas – that’s what Mike was thinking as he crossed Main Street against the light. Once upon a time, just last week, he’d lived in New York, where the December
extravaganza was all about commerce, but where there were also plenty of dreidels and latkes to balance things out. Here in the middle of fucking nowhere Wisconsin, even the Chinese restaurants had signs saying they’d be closed for Christmas.
Last Friday, as his sister helped him load the last of his crap into a van, she’d asked him why he’d agreed to move into the wilderness. He’d made a lame joke about the diaspora but really, what was he doing? This town wasn’t exactly a mecca for gay Jews. So far it looked like Mike was the only one of either group. He sure hoped the job he’d come for was worth it.
And here he was, going into a big box store the week before Christmas. No matter where you lived, that was a crazy thing to do. But the new apartment needed stuff. With any luck, he’d be in and out in ten.
“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
Mike jumped as a guy in a Santa suit boomed it out behind him.
Mike scowled at him, but the guy, who had very nice blue eyes under all that fake beard, just winked. “What do you want for Christmas, little boy?”
Mike stopped. Was Santa flirting with him? He peered at Santa, trying to see the man behind the costume. Despite the padding, the red suit and the fake hair, there was something very appealing about the guy.
But come on, it was Santa. Mike squared his shoulders. “The Salvation Army has a history of homophobia.”
“What can you do?” Santa shrugged. “It’s a small town.”
“Not really into Christmas.” Mike turned away.
“So happy holidays,” Santa called.
Mike held up his hand in what he hoped was a cool, over the shoulder wave then went off in search of light bulbs, laundry soap and floor cleaner.
On the way out, Mike was disappointed to find a woman in a deep purple parka standing by the red Salvation Army bucket. It was those eyes, he decided – lapis blue with little laugh lines around them. This Santa wasn’t an old man, but he wasn’t twenty either, maybe fifteen years older than Mike, a thought that definitely clanged his daddy-kink bell.
Mike’s shoulders ached. He stood and stretched. Enough with the cleaning and unpacking, he needed to get something to eat. No use looking in the refrigerator. If there was anything there it had been left by the last tenant and Mike didn’t want to open it up to check.
He slid on his jacket, grabbed his keys and headed out to see if anything was open at ten on a Sunday night. This wasn’t the land of twenty four hour take-out, but hopefully that didn’t mean he’d be stuck with a gas station hot dog.
As Mike drove through the quiet streets, he had to admit the lights were pretty against the snow. The neighborhood looked like a Christmas card, twinkly and cheesy and sort of appealing.
He almost didn’t see the restaurant. A converted Victorian with a small sign out front – Vitolli’s pizzeria. It didn’t look like any kind of pizza place Mike had ever seen. The yard was meticulously landscaped and fairy lights lined the windows. Old fashioned blue, red and orange lights had transformed the giant pine by the doorway into a Christmas tree.
It was too classy looking to be open this late on a Sunday in a small town, so Mike almost drove on by. But then he spotted the electric menorah in the window with five bulbs glowing, the same number of candles that would have shown from Mike’s window if he’d managed to get the menorah unpacked. Above the candles, hung a hand lettered sign saying simply, “open”.
Mike parked and climbed out of his car, feeling a little like a moth drawn to the Hanukkah not-flames-but-bulbs. The image was amplified when a blast of hot, delicious air hit him as he opened the door.
The place was empty. Mike kicked snow from his boots but kept his jacket on. “Hello?”
A man stepped out from the back. At the sight of him, Mike straightened his shoulders. He resisted the impulse to run fingers through his hair to try to tame the curls.
The man smiled. “Well, hello there.”
Mike tried not to stare. The man had dark hair with just a little gray at the temples. His skin was weathered, his features rugged and his body looked lean and fit under his long, white apron.
“Um, are you still open?” Mike shifted on his feet, trying to place what was so familiar about this guy’s face.
“I can be.” The man patted the bar in front of him. “Sit here and we’ll talk while I cook.” His eyes twinkled.
Mike sat. It was the eyes, that color.
“Excuse me, but Santa?” He stuttered.
The guy laughed. “For someone who’s not into Christmas, you’re very observant.”
“So are you. I can’t believe you remember me.” Mike stuck out his hand. “Mike Greenberg.”
“Ephraim Vittoli. It isn’t every day that a handsome stranger comes to town and insults the Salvation Army. Although I gotta say it’s refreshing to know someone cares about homophobia.” His hand was warm in Mike’s. Mike didn’t want to let go.
When he finally did, his hand tingled with the memory. He stuck it in his jacket pocket. Two days in town and he was hitting on Santa?
He gestured to the window. “Ephraim and a menorah, don’t tell me you’re Jewish. I didn’t think there were any other Jews here.”
“Jewish and Italian, raised agnostic, I’m the town odd ball.” Ephraim leaned across the counter. He held Mike’s gaze. “So, Mike, what brings you to town?”
And now Santa was hitting on him. Mike leaned in. “I came for the job but I’m thinking of staying for the company.”
“Good answer.” Ephraim slid a menu across the counter. “Wait until you try the food.”
Mike smiled. Happy holidays indeed.
The end
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December 8, 2017
Equity strikes again
It can be hard to look at the news these days, at least here in the US where our political life has been taken over by trolls. So it was great to read some good news coming out of Australia, where marriage equity became the law yesterday. It got me thinking about the role of marriage in gay romance stories.
My first book, Moving in Rhythm, came out in early 2012. At that point marriage in the US was a mess, with same-sex marriage legal in a handful of states, outright banned in more and in still others "civil unions" made up a hybrid sort of marriage-lite. It was possible for a couple to come down from Canada where they'd been legally married, and drive around down here going from married to single to married again as they crossed state lines. People in California didn't even need to move around to have their marital status change.
With everything in flux, it just didn't make sense to have a love story between two men end in marriage in 2012. My first wedding book was Bread, Salt and Wine, which came out in 2014. Because the story spans several years and takes place mostly in California, whether or not George and Kenny can marry remains in flux through most of the book. It's only been three years since then, but all that is already ancient history. As of today, that's true even in Australia.
It is a cliche that in straight romance, the story always ends with a ring. That hasn't been true in gay romance, but things are changing. For me, I'm still not ready to have wedding bells at the end of every book, but I'm ever so grateful for the choice. And I'm happy to be thinking good thoughts today.
November 15, 2017
Lots of free stuff
The weather is gray and cold here and it feels like a perfect time to hunker down with a good book. So I have a couple that I'm giving away.
Today and tomorrow (Nov 15 and 16), my Hanukkah story, Sacred Hearts, is free on Amazon just to start getting us all in the holiday spirit.
But wait, that's not all..... I'm part of a great giveaway on Instafreebie November 16-26. I'm giving away Learning from Isaac and there are books from lots of great gay romance writers like Charli Coty, Missy Welsh and the incomparable Jordan Castillo Price. Check out the giveaway and collect a stack of books to while away these winter hours.
Life's a gamble. And David's partner has lost so much at the blackjack tables that David is forced to close their restaurant, the hippest little place in Portland. He sells everything and moves back home. But at thirty-five, he's not eager to sleep alone in his childhood bed. He needs to start over, maybe with someone like the elusive man who keeps showing up in his dreams. An old friend offers David a job catering a movie set in Puerto Vallarta. He stuffs his few remaining possessions in a backpack and takes the next flight down.
All he has left are his dreams. And what dreams they are—tall, dark, and luscious. As Mexico prepares for Christmas, David lights Hanukkah candles, celebrating the return of the sun and wishing for true love. On the first night of Hanukkah, David meets a tall, dark stranger who rocks his world in a secluded moonlit cove. Is this the mystery man of his dreams—the answer to David's prayers or just another illusion? To find out, he’ll need to gamble everything, even the dream of true love.
October 27, 2017
Reading and writing with Pride
I'm so excited to be heading to Seattle for Read (and Write) with Pride (the conference formerly known as GRNW). In addition to a reading and the book fair, I get to participate in a panel titled : Writing Queer Romance in Turbulent Times: Escapism, Political Act, or Both? with CJane Elliott, Rick Read and Karelia Stetz-Waters It should be a great conversation.
I'll be there on Friday 11/3 for Write with Pride and on Saturday 11/4 for Read with Pride. If you're in the Seattle area, I'd love to see you. Even if you're not....
Here's the event page. Check it out.
October 13, 2017
An invitation to my newsletter - and a flash
On the first Friday of every month, I send out a newsletter that I call Dev's News Flash which consists of a little bit of news and a new piece of flash fiction. If you're interested in getting an original story delivered to your inbox every month, here's a form to sign up.
Subscribe to Dev's News Flash
And here's this month's flash. I hope you enjoy it. It's called Russian Mark
“How did you meet Russian Mark?” The kid couldn’t have been more than 20. I envied the ease with which he sprawled in his chair.
“It’s a long story.” I pushed the plate of muffins toward him. God knew someone ought to be able to eat them. At my age I couldn’t afford the extra calories.
“I’ve got all afternoon.” The kid stuffed half a muffin into his mouth.
I took a sip of coffee. “It all started because my friend Cassie thought I should get a dog.”
I remembered it was raining that April morning when Cassie showed up at my house. She’d thrust a fancy coffee at me and pushed her way in.
“Mark, we have to talk.” She eyed the scattering of fast food detritus that surrounded my couch.
“I’m still healing,” I’d pleaded as I made a half-hearted effort to clear away the clutter. Half-hearted had been the best I could do since my latest boyfriend moved out.
“He wasn’t worth this much misery.” Cassie scooped up a potato chip bag and several takeout food containers and tossed them in the kitchen garbage.
I trailed after her, holding a single empty candy bar wrapper. “You’re right. But they’ve all been awful. I’m done with men. I just have to come to terms with the fact that I’m doomed to be alone.”
She put her hands on her hips and stared at me. “What are you talking about? You’re not even thirty. You’re a healthy, reasonably attractive man. You just haven’t met the right guy.”
“All I ever meet are losers and alcoholics. I can’t take it anymore,” I whined as I sank onto a barstool at the kitchen counter.
Cassie leaned toward me, across the kitchen counter. “If the only places you go to find men are dive bars, how the fuck are you going to meet anything else?”
“You don’t understand.” I put my head in my hands. “It’s easy for you. You can meet women all over. That’s what women do, they congregate. Men aren’t like that. Single men have to go to bars to look for other single, or not so single, men. Where else am I supposed to meet guys?”
Cassie smiled. “You need a dog.”
“A dog?” I pulled my head up and stared at her. Even for Cassie, this was a stretch.
“Walking around with a dog is a great way to meet people.”
“You want me to get a dog so I can meet men. That’s no reason to get a pet. It’s a big responsibility.”
“You own your own house and work from home. There’s no reason you can’t have a dog.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you’re always talking about how much you miss the dog you grew up with.”
I had to give her that one. “He was a great dog.”
Cassie gestured to my depression nest on the couch. “Look, maybe a dog won’t help you meet the right man. But what’s the worst that could happen? Even if you don’t meet the right guy, you’ll have a dog. And from where I’m standing, it looks like you could use some companionship. I say we head over to the shelter right now and find you some unconditional love.”
“Unconditional love.” I thought of my childhood dog and how happy he’d been every time I entered the room. “Yeah. I guess I could use some of that.”
“So that’s where you met Russian Mark?” The kid jolted me out of my story.
I shook my head. “I told you, it’s a very long story.”
Gigi was a dirty white bichon chihuahua mix, all fluff, shake and attitude. It was love at first sight. It was clear to me that her first two years had been even worse than my twenty-eight. Taking care of her pulled me right out of my depression. Soon, we’d established a routine –we walked around the block after breakfast, lunch and dinner, she slept on a chair by my desk as I worked, I scratched her belly as we watched TV, and she slept on my feet every night.
I wasn’t as lonely as I had been, but I was just as isolated as before.
When Gigi came to me, she was afraid of a lot of things. Over our first few months together, she started to relax around the regular terrors of a knock at the door, the telephone ringing, dust bunnies skittering out from in front of a broom. But she just couldn’t get comfortable around other dogs. When we ran into the dachshund that lived two doors down, Gigi would cower behind me, so we started skirting around that house on our walks.
“Maybe she needs more exposure, not less.” Cassie told me when she came over to dinner one night. “Deliberately keeping her away from other dogs can’t be helping. How about taking her to puppy classes?”
I looked down at Gigi, who was curled in my lap. “She’d be terrified.”
Cassie frowned in frustration. “When I suggested you get a dog, I didn’t mean you should use it as just one more excuse to never leave the house.”
“We leave the house. We go to the grocery store and the post office, not to mention all our walks around the block.”
“Just try one class. Gigi will thank you for it.”
The kid sat up in his chair. “And Russian Mark was at that class?”
I shook my head. “We never went. I just couldn’t subject her to the stress of a class. But one day, I read about a new dog park being built just down the street from my house.”
It had been the announcement that the new dog park would have a separate space for small dogs, that’s what caught my attention. I thought that if all the dogs were her size, she might get used to them. And I had to admit Cassie had a point. We needed to get out more.
It had been a warm July morning when Gigi and I drove to the dog park. There was only one other car in the parking lot when I pulled in. I eyed the section for small dogs. It was empty, just like I’d hoped it would be. I wanted to give Gigi time to get used to the space, smell the other dogs and relax before we had to confront anyone else. I carried her through the double gates and set her down on the wet grass to explore.
In the distance, in the large dog section, I saw a man tossing a ball with what looked like a Great Dane. The dog and the man looked like they matched – both tall and thin. The Dane bounded after the ball with great loping strides, but it was the man who captured my attention.
The kid grinned. “Russian Mark?”
I nodded. “Russian Mark. Only back then he was just Mark, newly arrived from Russia.”
“And you met that day at the park?”
I shook my head. “Not that day. It took a long time. Gigi and I went to the park the same time every day and watched them from a distance.”
The truth was, it had become something of an obsession as I tried to time our trips to the park to coincide with his. Some days I had barely noticed him because I was busy holding Gigi and letting her get acquainted with another dog from the safety of my arms. I’d look up, and the man with the Great Dane would be gone. I hated the sinking feeling of those days.
Then, one cool October morning we’d arrived just as the man and his dog were getting out of their car.
“Morning.” I think I blushed as I said it. I held my breath waiting for him to answer.
“Good morning.” His accent was thick. And sexy.
Up close he was even more handsome that he’d looked from a distance. Tall, dark, with a shy smile that grabbed me deep in my guts. Neither of us moved toward the entrance to the dog park. I held Gigi close but for some reason she wasn’t shaking, even though the Great Dane was only a few feet away.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve seen you here before. I think we come around the same time.”
“Yes. Every day.” He held out his hand. “I am Mark. It is nice to meet you.”
“Oh.” I blinked at him. “I’m Mark, too.” Our hands touched. It was a long time before either of us let go.
I smiled at the young man sprawled across a chair in our living room. “And that is when I became Mark G and he became Russian Mark. And the rest, as you said, is history.”
“What about the dogs? Was Gigi okay with the Dane?”
I laughed. “They were best friends from the start. It turned out Gigi was only afraid of other small dogs. She loved the big ones. We never went into the small dog section again.”
The sound of the front door opening was followed by the thunder of three dogs galloping through the hallway and into the living room.
Mark appeared in the doorway, looking just as handsome at 65 as he had at 30. “Have you finished your interview?” His accent had softened over the years, but it still got to me. “I hope you told him that after all these years you still want to marry me, because now it is time to get dressed.”
“Good.” The kid sprang up. “I wanted to get a couple pictures of the two of you in your tuxes. But first, do you have any relationship advice for the younger generation?”
Mark met my gaze and smiled. “I’m sure Mark G told you the most important thing. You should always have a dog.”
The End
October 2, 2017
Making Home - coming out 10/3/2017
I'm so excited to announce that my newest book comes out tomorrow! It's a novella, the first in a new series set among the faculty and staff at Bay Valley U. Making Home is the story of two men with very different histories who have to figure out how to make a future together. This beautiful cover was created by Fiona Jayde.
In his real life, Manu Contrares makes a decent living as a videographer in New York. But when his mother goes into hospice, he heads home to Bay Valley to help take care of her and ends up back at his first job on the janitorial staff of the local college. It feels like a long step down for a proud Hispanic man.
Chris Hall loves teaching but hates research. That’s becoming a big problem because his third-year faculty review is coming up and if he doesn’t make something happen soon, he’ll be out. He’s spending his nights working in the lab on a Hail Mary attempt to save his job.
When the two men meet, it’s explosive. And complicated. Chris is lily-white and culturally tone-deaf and Manu’s only in town for a short stay. It’s a recipe for heartbreak. Still, the pull between them is too strong for either to ignore. Can they overcome their different backgrounds and somehow surmount the geographical problems, or is this a fling that will leave them both more exhausted and lonely than before?
