Rick R. Reed's Blog, page 33

10 Silly Questions with Lambda-award Winning Mystery Author, Marshall Thornton

Delighted to have mystery writer Marshall Thornton with us today for some indelicate, yet oddly fulfilling, probing. 


10 SILLY QUESTIONS WITH RICK R. REED AND MARSHALL THORNTON
RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat? MT: Rock Hudson. My plan would be to skip dinner entirely.

RR: Who do you think you are?
MT: I believe that writers can only write about themselves, so I guess I’m my books. And that’s maybe a little disturbing.

RR: What’s your problem?
MT: Money. I know that at base money is imaginary, and yet I can never manage to imagine myself having more.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
MT: Um, are you dying? Otherwise, no. (Honey, we're ALL dying.)

RR: Where you at?
MT: In front of my computer.

RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
MT: Hmmm… I think we need definitions here. Sex is healthy so I don’t consider that a vice. Being judgmental is my idea of a vice. And no, I won’t give it up. I choose judgement.

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
MT: Oatmeal. In a cookie.

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
MT: Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
MT: I do know the difference between my ass and a hole in the ground. Despite the rumors, no one has ever fallen into my ass, whereas a hole in the ground is dangerous.

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
MT: I’d like to plug that hole in the ground. I also have two books coming out, Never Rest 10/28, and Late Fees , a Pinx Video Mystery on 11/10. 

BLURB for LATE FEES
The third book in the Lambda Award-Winning Pinx Video Mystery Series, Late Fees, will be out on November 10th.

It’s Thanksgiving, 1992 and Noah Valentine is late picking his mother up from the airport. When he arrives he discovers that she’s made a friend on the flight whose also waiting for her son. When the woman’s son doesn’t show up, they eventually take her home for breakfast with neighbor’s Marc and Louis. Soon after, they learn that her son has overdosed—or has he? Noah and his motley crew investigate over the holiday weekend; which includes a fabulous dinner, a chat with a male stripper, a tiny little burglary and some help from Detective Tall, Dark, and Delicious.


BUY  LATE FEES
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Remembering My Buddy, Jim, on World AIDS Day

Remembering my AIDS 'buddy' from Tampa in the early 1990s, Jim, who inspired my novel CAREGIVER. Below is the real, true story of our relationship:
A PERFECT DATE

I’m driving north on Florida State Route 75. It’s August and the flat land stretching out on either side of the highway looks baked. The slash pines, palms, and cypress trees stand like stalwart sentinels against the blistering sun: brave. The car hums along, the whirr of the air conditioning compressor keeping me company. I’m too jazzed to listen to music. I’m on my way to a date with Jim. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, since he moved from the Tampa Bay area up north to Raiford, which is a good three hours away. I can’t blame Jim for the move (it wasn’t his choice), but it’s been hard not being able to see him the past month. Oh sure, we’ve written and Jim’s a great one for letters, especially since he can draw hilarious caricatures of the people he’s meeting in his new home. But there’s a disturbing edge to his letters, too, and I know some of these people have been less than kind to Jim. The name-calling, for one thing, breaks my heart. But thank God Jim has a sense of humor, otherwise I don’t know how he’d get through each day. I know he’s been hanging on for this date, which we’ve had planned for a while. Finally, an afternoon with Jim. I didn’t know, four months ago, that I would grow to love him so quickly. I drive on, the broad expanses of rough grass and hearty trees being replaced every so often by strip malls and towns with names like Ocala. The pavement shimmers before me in the heat. My tires hum. An armadillo hurries alongside the road. A mosquito splats against the windshield, leaving a swath of blood. *** I remember the first time I met Jim. It was another blistering summer day (funny how in my memories of the two years I lived in Florida, it’s always summer, even when the memory took place in December or February). Jim and I had been set up and these kinds of dates always put me on edge: they never worked out. When Jim answered the door, I was sure that this set-up date would work out like all the others: completely inappropriate. Other people never seemed to have the capacity to pick someone out for myself that I would choose on my own. And this guy who opened the door immediately put me on my guard. I mean, I enjoy a good drag show at the local bar as much as the next guy, but here in Brandon, Florida (a suburb of Tampa, full of kids, trimmed lawns, and swimming pools), a smart little black dress and pearls just seemed out of place, especially on a very handsome blond man with great blue eyes and a nice, tight build. But there was Jim, all smiles and beckoning me to come inside. I went into the little bungalow he lived in with a roommate (who was at work). The place was typical Florida, one-story, stucco, with a schefflera bush in the front yard, and that peculiar, tougher-than-nails, fire-ant infested grass on the front lawn. Inside, pastel walls and beige furniture completed the picture. The Golden Girls could have used the place for a set. And there was Jim, smiling at me in his sensible matron’s outfit and just putting the finish creases on a little ironing he was doing just before I rang the bell. The whole scene made me think of a cross between June Cleaver and RuPaul. I wasn’t sure what to say. But that really didn’t matter, because Jim was more than ready to take over (once he’d made certain I had a fruity cocktail in my hand, even though it wasn’t yet noon), telling me all about his recent move down here from Chicago (I had the same story to tell, but I wasn’t to learn until much later how very different our respective moves to the sunshine state were), his love for Barbra (need I add a last name here?), and how his health was improving under the abundant Florida sun. I learned fast that day that clothes don’t always make the man and that Jim would turn out to be one of the bravest men I’d ever met. *** It’s been a long drive and I’m glad to finally be pulling up in front of Jim’s new home. Raiford, Florida is north central Florida…typical of the state, but not the kind of look one usually associates with Florida (white sand beaches, aqua-marine waters, palm trees swaying in the salty breeze): Raiford is kind of grim and parched looking, especially the wide open spaces where Jim’s new home sits. It’s surrounded by dry brown grass…stretching infinitely to a blazing blue sky, where the sun beats down, relentless. A tall fence surrounds Jim’s new home, with no nod to adornment (Jim, with his graphic design background and his love for the visual arts, I’m sure, did not approve). This fence was made of foreboding chain link and twice the height of a good-sized man, topped with razor-sharp circles of barbed wire. The only thing that looks halfway decent is the curving arch over the entrance drive and the stone monument just beside it. The arch tells visitors, in curving steel, that this is the Florida State Prison. The stone monument spells it out further: Department of Corrections, Florida State Prison. This is where they send the big boys: the felons. I can’t imagine Jim inside. He’s been hanging on for our date. I can’t wait to see him. *** When Jim and I went on our first date (after our getting-acquainted morning cocktail hour at his house) we went to Ft. DeSoto beach, a beautiful stretch of white sand just off of St. Petersburg Beach. Because it’s in a state park, the beach is backed up not by high-rises with balconies overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, but with a view that nature intended. Instead of bricks and mortar (and the attendant Florida tourists), Ft. DeSoto beach has only sand dunes, sea grass, and mangroves as a backdrop. It’s another blazing hot day and I’ve brought lunch for Jim and me (with a thermos full of mai tais…Jim’s favorite) and we spend the entire afternoon listening to the waves roll in and watching a matronly pair wade along the shoreline, net bags in hand, collecting starfish and shells. Jim tells me about the last job he had before he went on this extended period of unemployment and how he worked as a graphic designer. He tells me about what led to his dismissal: picking up a stranger one night and bringing him back to his workplace. Out of lube, and always imaginative, Jim went into his supervisor’s cube and found some very creative use for the waxy (and slippery) substance those in the cosmetology trade call lipstick. The couple made quite a mess, not the least of which was Jim’s being fired the next day. Jim was like that: a little imp, unable to play by the rules. Life has a way of biting those who go against its conventions by biting them in the ass. *** Getting into the Florida State Prison is a lot easier than getting out, but there are some obstacles. In order to arrange for my date with Jim, I had to go through the chaplain, who put me on the very short list of visitors who could come and visit him (not that there was a long list of admirers waiting to be put on that list; only Jim’s family so far had come to check him out in his new digs—and they had made the trip all the way from Downer’s Grove, Illinois). Once inside the prison, I had to go through an anteroom, where I had to sign in and then subject myself to being frisked, right down to removing my boots to ensure I wasn’t securing a file in the heel or something. I understood the precautions, silly as they were. Yet Jim was in no shape to escape, even if I had somehow managed to smuggle in everything he would need to slip through Raiford’s well-guarded walls. Security wasn’t as tight for my last couple of dates with Jim, which had taken place at the Hillsborough County Jail. There, things weren’t as grim, or as lonely. I would line up with a whole room full of chattering visitors, get checked in, and then be off to converse with Jim through a wall of Plexiglas, under the admiring eyes of some of the other inmates. Jealousy is such a petty thing, and particularly annoying when you’re trying to have an intimate moment with your date, while those behind him wonder what it would take to make you their bitch. But that was before Jim’s case was adjudicated and they sent him north, to the state prison. That was before Jim began to get really sick. *** Now, a guard down a colorless hallway leads me to the prison infirmary. I know this will be my last date with Jim and it’s hard not to recall all the laughs we shared before he was caught (he had violated his parole in Illinois, where he had been convicted of grand theft auto) at various beaches along the Gulf of Mexico, in Cuban restaurants, just listening to music at my apartment. It’s also hard not to remember the additional details that brought him here: how, in a fit of depression, he had set fire to his roommate’s house. What did he have to be depressed about, anyway? He was only dying from AIDS (this was in the early 1990s and the drug cocktails that would keep many of his brethren living full lives were still on the horizon), isolated, and on the run from the law. Why be sad when he could number his only friends (me) at the number one? Why be sad when my friendship was not borne out of a common love for the arts and sarcastic observations about life, but instead courtesy of the Tampa Aids Network, where I had volunteered to be an AIDS buddy and was assigned to Jim? I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Jim. He had written me, before he was confined to the infirmary, about how the other inmates taunted him and called him Spot, because of the Kaposi’s sarcoma lesions that covered him from head to toe (and continued, even now, to eat his fragile body and soul alive). I didn’t know what to expect. The last time I had seen him, he was still vibrant, still Jim: a little blond man with a quick smile and bottomless kindness. I knew he had deteriorated…and I knew it was going to be bad. *** Jim was alone in the room of the infirmary where they had done, I suppose, what they could to ensure his comfort. Other beds awaited other inmates, with maladies less deadly, I hoped, than Jim’s. And there he was. Asleep. He looked frail and vulnerable, not at all what you’d imagine if you thought of the terms “convicted felon” or “state pen inmate.” His face, once tanned and vibrant, was covered with purple sores. My Jim had turned into a monster in the short time that had elapsed since we last saw one another. He turned to me and opened his eyes. At least his eyes, blue as those waters we once sat beside, had stayed the same. It took him a minute or two to recognize me, but when he did, he smiled. I moved close to the bed and took his hand. With my other hand, I touched his forehead, where a fever raced around inside, hot as the air outside these prison walls. I don’t remember what we talked about on our last date. Probably not much; Jim drifted in and out of sleep while I stood beside him, sometimes even in the middle of a sentence: mine or even his own. He did manage to tell me about his parents’ visit the day before, how his mother had collapsed in grief the moment she saw him. I wanted this last time of ours together to be meaningful. But what, really, is there to say, at life’s end? I leaned in close and kissed him, my cheek brushing up against one of the lesions. It felt crusty. The only thing left to say, really, at the end of life, or even the end of a perfect date are three words: “I love you.” Jim whispered back, “I love you, too,” and then he fell asleep. I crept away. Jim died the next day. The chaplain very kindly told me, when he called, that he thought Jim had hung on long enough to see me. I hung up the phone and slipped outside to my patio and looked across the surface of the pond just steps away. A wind rippled across the deep green water, making the grass at the water’s edge sway. A white ibis pecked at something along the shore. I thought of a silly drawing Jim had sent me a couple months ago. It was a colored pencil caricature of a fat middle-aged woman I had written about; she was naked and riding a surfboard. Jim had called it “Amelia’s Hawaiian Adventure.” The picture made me laugh when all I really wanted to do was cry. But my eyes were dry. Maybe it was just Jim’s influence as he looked down, trying to replace grief with hilarity. I laughed until I was almost breathless and had to sit down, cross-legged, on the concrete. Finally my laughs turned to sobs and I faced away from the pond and toward the sliding glass doors. The glass was bright with sun and I swore I could see Jim reflected there. He mouthed some words and I strained to make them out them through my tears. “Glad you could drop by.” I swallowed, containing myself and think: me too, Jim. Someone else might think our last date was kind of sucky, but for me it was perfect. After all, a perfect date is marked by a timeless connection and an intimacy borne of true love. Maybe I didn’t get the chance to bring you flowers or candy, but this date we had…well, it will be the one that will always stand out in my mind as my best, because I like to think that I sent you off, free, with the words “I love you,” lingering in your mind.

#WorldAIDSDay2018

My First Two Novels, OBSESSED and PENANCE, and Their Secret Russian Life

Recently, through the miracle of social media, I found a Russian reader who had a copy of a book I'd signed a foreign rights contract for to be published in Russia some 25 years ago.

The book was to be a double volume of my first two novels--horror published in Dell's Abyss line called OBSESSED and PENANCE. That was in 1992 or '93. I signed the contract, took my advance, and never heard anything about the book after that; never even saw it.

Then, a few days ago, I looked at my Instagram and saw a Russian follower holding the double volume in Cyrillic in his hands. It was such a thrill to see after 25 or so years! My Russian friend was kind enough to take more pictures of the book and send them to me today and I thought I'd share them with you.

By the way, both PENANCE and OBSESSED are still available on Amazon ( OBSESSED & PENANCE ) and from their second publisher, Untreed Reads, ( OBSESSED and PENANCE ) who will bring them out in a print edition next year to accompany their digital versions.

10 Silly Questions with Author A. Nybo

Delighted to have fellow Dreamspinner Press author A. Nybo with me today. Read on to see how she responded to my rude and impertinent probing....  

10 SILLY QUESTIONS WITH RICK R. REED
RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
AN: I would never invite a dead person to dinner (famous or otherwise)—the smell would likely ruin my appetite.  A living person, however, if I liked them sufficiently, I would probably eat them. 

RR: Who do you think you are?
AN: On a good day I think I’m a god, on a bad day I think I’m a zombie.

RR: What’s your problem?
AN: Trying to figure out how to sell stuff without ‘marketing’.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
AN: Only if you promised to give it back.  I can trust you, right?

RR: Where you at?
Outside the supermarket, hanging onto the shopping trolley for grim death.

RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
AN: Hedonism

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
AN: Just Right.  Who wouldn’t want to breakfast with the Three Bears? 

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
AN: Phillip Seymour Hoffman – as he would appear today.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
AN: Yes.  When something comes out of the ground it leaves a gaping space.  When something comes out of your ass, it leaves a...Oh my!

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
AN: A hole—in the ground...*ahem* apparently.

Who is A. Nybo?
A. Nybo is an acclaimed sleeper.  She has won several awards for her outstanding sleeping successes—the Revving Lawn Mower Outside the Bedroom Window award is her highest achievement to date.  

She has worked in a variety of fields including but not limited to: horses (racing, riding school, stud work), people (mental health, Uni lecturer [Ψ], retail) and trees (planting, pruning, grafting).

Western Australian born, she has been spotted on the other side of the planet several times–usually by mosquitoes.  And discovered Amazonian mosquitoes love her just as much as they do in her home state.

Twitter: @anybo5Email Goodreads   Dreamspinner 

BLURB for THREE BEARS
At Three Bears surf break, the attraction between a group of friends is anything but “Luke warm….”

Dan goes to stay with his best friend Josh in Margaret River, the surfing capital of Western Australia, to sort out his sexual confusion. But his best friend is the source of that confusion. Having never been attracted to a man other than Josh, Dan fears risking their friendship just to discover men aren’t his thing.

Within the first few days, Dan meets Luke, a local barista who offers him surf lessons. Dan soon finds himself emotionally coveting not one, but two men. When they go to Three Bears, his hidden desires begin to emerge. As the ambiguity of Dan’s mixed signals clears, it becomes apparent both of his surfing companions want him—badly. 

It is only when Luke and Josh hook up that they formulate “Operation Three Bears,” an adventurous plan that might lead to a satisfying outcome for all of them.

(Cover Artist: Alexandria Corza)

EXCERPT


Dan was cooking dinner when I arrived home. He had been staying with me less than a week, and already we had fallen into a routine that we could both live with. Ash Grunwald pumped from the stereo, and Dan intertwined dancing and cutting carrots with such style that it could easily be believed one couldn’t be performed without the other. Since he hadn’t heard me come in, I was able to watch him without fear of being caught.

At this moment, he was the embodiment of rock ‘n’ roll. His body undulated fluidly with the guitar, but his limbs snapped and flicked in sharp rock movements with the drum beat. It was poetry in motion. As it often used to, my appreciation slid into the sexual side, and I quickly jolted myself away from those thoughts. I couldn’t let myself go there again. It was too painful. Dan was straight and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“How did your surfing lesson go?” I asked, over the top of the music.

He swung around, brandishing the knife in one hand, the remaining carrot in the other. Lucky I was a good distance away.

“Jeezus.” He clutched the carrot to his chest and heaved a few breaths before lowering the knife. “You scared the fuck outta me.”

“I thought the spin was part of your dance.” I waved at his stance. I slid onto the stool at the end of the counter.

He set the knife on the bench and then went into the lounge where he turned the music down to a conversational level.

Returning, he picked up the knife, and continued chopping the carrot. “Apparently I’m to ask you if I can borrow a thruster.” The mischief that played across his features was so attractive, it was difficult to look away.

“You took the single-fin?”

Of course he did. It was Dan. He probably opened the shed door and took the first board he could reach, while his mind battled some deep philosophical question about the meaning of life, or whether the colors chosen for Dr. Who’s scarf had some significance to the grandmother who probably knitted it. With Dan it was a fifty-fifty shot at either one of those topics, and he would give both the same deep consideration.

“Careful,” he warned with a wave of the knife. “That single-fin sparked an awful lot of questions about you.”

This didn’t sound good. I liked to keep a low profile. “What sort of questions?”

“Who you are, where you work, what color hair you have.”
“What color hair I have?”

“Yeah, he was trying to place which Josh you were. He’s one of those guys that’s got a ton of acquaintances.”

“Who is he? Maybe I know him.” I pinched a piece of carrot from the chopping board.

“Luke, the barista from Chino’s Café.”

I stopped midchew. Any kind of attention from that particular barista would be welcome. “The gorgeous guy with the curly hair, square shoulders, and slim hips?”

“Yes, he has curly hair. I suppose he’s good-looking, but I don’t really know about the rest. Oh wait. He has a set of abs that you could wash your clothes on. There, how’d I do?”

“You’re improving. I’ll make a man connoisseur of you yet.”

BUY  THREE BEARS
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A Modern-Day Twist on a Classic: Beau and the Beast

BEAU AND THE BEAST is my LGBT Seattle-set, modern-day version of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. I hope you'll pick up a copy at JMS Books or on Amazon Kindle! 

BLURB
Beau is a down-on-his-luck street artist living on the streets of Seattle. One rainy night, he is accosted by a group of fag-bashing thugs, intent on robbing him of his art supplies and humiliating Beau for who he is. Beau is beaten into unconsciousness ...

... And awakens in a bedroom, head bandaged, with no memory of how he got there. Outside his window pine trees and mountain vistas beckon.



Beau’s tale grows more mysterious when a large, muscular man begins bringing Beau his food. The man says nothing -- and wears a wolf mask. When he finally does speak, it’s only to tell Beau to call him “Beast.”



What secrets does the mask hide? What do these two outsiders have in common? And will their odd circumstances bring them to the brink of love -- or rip them apart? Inspired by the timeless fairy tale, this is a haunting love story that reveals that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.


BUY
At JMS Books
Amazon Kindle



EXCERPT
The door opened and a large figure, clothed all in black, stood for a moment, framed in the doorway. His massive shoulders were so broad that Beau wondered if he would have difficulty making his way across the threshold. The man -- and Beau was sure it was a man despite not being able to see his face—stood well over six feet tall, perhaps closer to seven. In the form-fitting black jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, Beau made out a pumped-up body in which the muscles were piled on like slabs. His hands, huge, dwarfed the silver tray he clutched, a tray containing a ceramic teapot and several bowls and plates.

Breakfast? Dinner? What time was it, anyway?

And, more importantly, was he a prisoner here?

The last thought came unbidden, but bolstered by the logic of the most mysterious and disconcerting aspect of the man standing before him -- his face was completely covered.

And it wasn’t merely covered, but covered in a most unusual fashion: with a mask made of rubber that looked surprisingly realistic -- the visage of a wolf. The salt and pepper fur crowning the top of the mask blended perfectly with a mane of salt and pepper hair that hung halfway down the man’s back.

“Who are you?” Beau managed to stammer and his words seemed to propel the man forward, although he offered no response. His silence was equal to his appearance in eeriness.

Beau caught his breath as the man approached the bed, his footfalls echoing on the hardwood. Beau wanted to ask more, but suddenly lost the power to form words. He could only stare.

The man paused at the bed and stooped over, one hand outstretched. Beau imagined he was going to touch him and recoiled, drawing back.

But all the guy did was push the Tiffany-style lamp on the bedside table over a few inches, so he could set down the tray. Once he positioned the tray just so, he stood back up and clasped his hands together, staring down at Beau.

Even though Beau could not see his face, he had a certainty that this man, creature, whatever was hiding behind the mask, was smiling. Beau glanced up at him and, for the first time, their eyes met.

Beau was struck by the intensity of the eyes peering out from behind the holes in the wolf mask. Not only was the gaze fixed and passionate, but also the eyes themselves were remarkable. They were a pale green, the palest shade of green Beau had ever seen on a person, almost a kind of aquamarine, and they were rimmed by long black lashes.

They were the kind of eyes, Beau thought, that had inspired that careworn cliché for the eyes: the window to the soul.

Just this connection with the man’s eyes calmed Beau somewhat. Even though the man had spoken not a word, there was something in those eyes of his that told Beau he was safe and that the man standing above him meant no harm.

BUY
At JMS Books
Amazon Kindle

10 Silly Questions with Kiernan Kelly

Today, fabulous author and friend, Kiernan Kelly (aka Dakota Chase) drops by the blog to get silly with me and to plug her own...book.

10 SILLY QUESTIONS WITH KIERNAN KELLY
RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
KK: Stephen King, and the menu would be based on his book titles. We’d have Cujo burgers with a side of Children of the Corn on the Cob, and Carrie Blood Pudding (too gross? Nah, it’s Stephen King – he’d get it), along with a big, fresh Salem’s Lot o’ Lettuce Salad. Then we’d top it off with a Firestarter Cherries Jubilee.

RR: Who do you think you are?
KK: You know, sometimes I’m not sure. I might be me. Maybe. Unless I’m you. Am I you? How do you know? Ooh, maybe I’m Stephen King.  If I’m him, could you have him please forward his royalty checks over? Thanks ever so much.

RR: What’s your problem?
KK: I am Queen of the Procrasti Nation. Seriously, I should have t-shirts made, but I keep putting it off.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
KK: Sure! If by one wish you mean ten. You do mean ten, right? Because why would you only give me one wish? Are you a wish tightwad? Are you hoarding wishes? You have all the wishes and you only give me one, and expect me to give it back to you? What the hell, man!

RR: Where you at?
KK: I be in Florida. Unless I’ve been sucked into a random wormhole, in which case I could be anywhere. Even right behind you! Ha! Made you look.

 RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
KK: Only one? What is it with you and giving people only one of things? One wish, one vice… You know, now that I think on it, maybe my vice would be greed. *shifty eyes*

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
KK: That’s an easy one. I like Quaker Oats because have you seen the Quaker Oats guy? He’s hot, in a puritanical sort of way. I keep wanting to see him hook up with the Lucky Charms guy. Admit it – you’re picturing that in your head right now.

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
KK: Edward Scissorhands.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
KK: The ground doesn’t refuse to fit into my skinny jeans.

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
KK: There are several random holes I feel strongly could use a good plugging, but in the interest of keeping people reading this from running out into traffic screaming, I won’t go into details.

BLURB FOR MAMMOTH
To replace another of the artifacts they accidentally destroyed, Grant and Ash must travel further back in time than ever before—ten thousand years, to Paleolithic Virginia Beach. They quickly realize that in this time, food doesn’t come from a supermarket, and if they want to survive, they’ll need to learn skills like hunting and fire-making.

Merlin’s magic won’t return them to their time until they locate a mammoth talisman, but this time, they’ll need to do more than find the object. They’ll have to earn it—along with their manhood names—in a dangerous hunt. And before their latest adventure ends, they’ll have to help an injured young man and convince two rival tribes to work together. It might be a different environment, but they soon see that human hatred and fear are universal. Luckily, so are love and compassion.

BUY MAMMOTH
FIND OUT MORE ABOUT KIERNAN/DAKOTA

Dear Hoped For Reader

Dear Hoped for reader,
I wrote this book for you. I see you in my mind’s eye—a high-school kid, a little shy, maybe a little bookish. You stay on the periphery of the social scene. You know, the one everyone seems to belong to except you.

Because you’re different. Maybe you even think of yourself as abnormal, an outcast, someone not worth knowing.

So you hide. You think that if anyone knows the real you, the one who wishes your same-sex attraction would just disappear, so you can be like everyone else, they’ll turn away. At best, they’ll tolerate you. At worst, they’ll hate you and bully you for who you are, who you dream about when no one’s looking.

But see, what I want you to get from my book is this—you’re okay. And what makes you different is not something to hate, but something to embrace. Being different doesn’t mean you’re bad; it means you’re special. Who wants to be normal, humdrum, run-of-the-mill? You’ll discover, I hope, as you grow older, that being different can be wonderful. It can lead you to all kinds of experiences, all kinds of people. It can maybe even lead you toward a love you might not even dare to dream of now....
Read the rest at Love Bytes Reviews
Get Bigger Love at Amazon or Dreamspinner Press

A New Book is Born: BIGGER LOVE

Today, my 35th novel, Bigger Love , comes out. For a kid who dreamed of one day being a writer, that's a heady statement to make. The story of a high-school outcast who embraces that he's different no longer belongs solely to me--but to you. Be gentle....

Also for a kid who once thought of himself as an outcast because he thought no one would love or accept him if they knew who he really was, a book like Bigger Love is a real revelation. The book is all about being who you are and embracing it--and that means not conforming to anyone else's idea of who or what you should be.

My main character, the fierce, independent, an out-and-proud high school senior, Truman Reid, suffers from self-doubt despite what he projects to his small town high school. Jean M. Auel, author of The Mammoth Hunters, kind of describes him:

“He began to understand that just because some people thought certain behavior was wrong, that didn’t make it so. A person could resist popular belief and stand up for personal principles, and though there might be consequences, not everything would be necessarily lost. In fact, something important might be gained, if only within oneself.”

I hope you'll give  Bigger Love  a chance. If you've been an outsider, or even loved someone who was, I think you'll enjoy the book and may find yourself not only thinking, but moved.

BLURB
Truman Reid is Summitville High’s most out-and-proud senior. He can't wait to take his fierce, uncompromising self away from his small Ohio River hometown, where he’s suffered more than his share of bullying. He’s looking forward to bright lights and a big city. Maybe he’ll be the first gender-fluid star to ever win an Academy Award. But all that changes on the first day of school when he locks eyes with the most gorgeous hunk he’s ever seen.

Mike Stewart, big, dark-haired, and with the most amazing blue eyes, is new to town. He's quiet, manly, and has the sexy air of a lost soul. It’s almost love at first sight for Truman. He thinks that love could deepen when Mike becomes part of the stage crew for Harvey, the senior class play Truman's directing. But is Mike even gay? And how will it work when Truman's mother is falling for Mike’s dad?

Plus Truman, never the norm, makes a daring and controversial choice for the production that has the whole town up in arms.

See how it all plays out on a stage of love, laughter, tears, and sticking up for one’s essential self….

BUY

Amazon paperback
Amazon Kindle
Dreamspinner Press paperback
Dreamspinner Press ebook

10 Silly Questions with Charley Descoteaux

Delighted to have fellow Dreamspinner Press author Charley Descoteaux with me today. Read on to see how she responded to my rude and impertinent probing....  
10 SILLY QUESTIONS WITH RICK R. REED
RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
CD: Whatever they wanted to cook.

RR: Who do you think you are?
CD: Nobody special, just a queer with voices in my head.

RR: What’s your problem?
CD: See #2.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
CD: Sure! If you had one wish would you give it to me? (Note: I absolutely would because then we'd be even and we'd both have the added plus of good Karma coming our way.)

RR: Where you at?
CD: Crone stage.

RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
CD: Chocolate. It’s truly a vice if you do it right.

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
CD: Chex, because it’s cereal and you can eat it right out of the box at midnight.

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
CD: Beaker from The Muppet Show.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
CD: Sometimes. I rely on the fact that I usually don’t have to bend down to reach my ass.

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
CD: Thanks for asking! The final book in my Buchanan House series is out from Dreamspinner Press. Art House, Buchanan House: Book Six gives Chase and Garrett their HEA while wrapping up threads from the previous books. Art House can be read as a standalone novel, but series fans will recognize a lot of characters from previous books. It’s a little angstier than the rest of the series, but age gap and hurt comfort can be angsty tropes.

BLURB for Art House, Buchanan House: Book Six
Chase Holland spends his days painting Portland scenes to hang in local businesses, neglecting his own surrealist style. After twenty-five years as a full-time artist, he’s frustrated that his career has stalled, but churning out the equivalent of corporate art is better than getting a day job. Chase and Garrett have been together—off and on, but mostly on—for a decade. If asked, they would both say the source of their trouble is the seventeen-year age gap. The truth is less clear-cut. Life would be so much easier if Chase could make a living with his own art, or if Garrett held less conventional ideas about relationships.

Garrett Frisch has been watching their friends get married for the past two years, and it’s taking an emotional toll. When he proposes as a way to keep them together permanently, he thinks he’s being responsible, but Chase is ambivalent and hurt and can’t hide it. It doesn’t help that Garrett’s anxiety is out of control and he’s dealing with insecurities about his own art career. They will have to do their least favorite thing—talk about something more important than which food cart to visit—if they are to get the happy ending they both want.

Here’s a happy excerpt from Chase’s point of view.

A soft knock on the bedroom door startled a sound from Chase. Whoever it was would probably think he was asleep and leave him alone. Not many people it could be. My life is small and only getting smaller.

Regardless, he had no plans to give up his comfortable wallowing to try and be social. He wasn’t dressed to answer the door anyway, wearing only a faded pair of green plaid boxers—a pair Garrett had bought one year around the holidays. He did his best work without any clothes on at all but didn’t have the heart to be fully nude when he was so lonely.
I haven’t done my best work in years. No great loss.

When the doorknob turned, Chase sat up. When the door opened and Garrett peeked in, it took Chase’s breath away.

“Hey. Did I wake you?”

“No.” He wasn’t sure Garrett heard; he barely heard himself. “It’s good to see you.”
Wow, great line.

Also, the understatement of the week. Chase wanted to apologize, to throw himself at Garrett’s feet and beg his forgiveness for being so stupid, but couldn’t seem to move. He still sat with his legs over the far side of the bed, twisted to look at the vision stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. It almost felt like he was dreaming, but he’d never ached so badly from a dream before, so hopefully it was real.

It had to be real, because it was happening differently. If he were dreaming, things would be happening the way they had in the past. Chase hadn’t gotten a call first, and Garrett for sure didn’t look tentative or the least bit upset. He looked amazing—confident and relaxed, even with the shadows of bruises still on his face. He had shaved, and Chase missed the facial hair, but Garrett could never be anything short of gorgeous in his eyes.
Garrett moved closer to the bed, breaking the spell Chase was under. He stood and closed all but one step of the distance between them.

“I’m sorry.”

Garrett shook his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay if I—”

Before he could finish the one thing that was playing out the same as it always did—Okay if I stay?—Chase leaned forward and kissed him. Softly, only enough to stop him from finishing that sentence. If everything played out differently this time, then maybe it would be the last time they spent days—or weeks—apart, the last time he drove away the love of his life with careless words or boneheaded actions.

The kiss was short, and when Garrett pulled back he was smiling. “I guess that’s a yes.” He reached out and rubbed his thumb over a splotch of green paint near Chase’s left nipple. “Were you working?”

“Taking a break.”

“Want to take a longer break?”

“I really do.”

Garrett gripped Chase’s upper arms and pulled him close. Still a little stunned, Chase didn’t move. He sighed when Garrett wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I missed you.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Chase embraced him and squeezed, burying his face in Garrett’s soft auburn hair. He moaned when Garrett slid both hands past the waistband of his boxers and pushed them to the floor. A twinge of embarrassment made it past the relief and desire flooding his mind when Garrett grasped his cock and it didn’t even say hello back.

It did, eventually, and Chase welcomed Garrett home the way he always did.

BUY  Art House, Buchanan House: Book Six
Amazon Universal Link Dreamspinner Press
WHO IS CHARLEY DESCOTEAUX?
Charley Descoteaux has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they’ve agreed to let her sleep once in a while. Mx Descoteaux has survived earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, but couldn’t make it through a single day without stories.
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10 Silly Questions with Catherine Ryan Hyde

Catherine Ryan Hyde doing one of the things she loves.Many years ago, back when I lived in Chicago, I went to see a movie that changed my life. It was called PAY IT FORWARD and it had a simple message of how simple gestures, when given selflessly with love and kindness, can have a cumulative effect. 

Little did I know that seeing the movie would send me on a quest for the book's author and that she would also become one of my favorite authors, bar none. I've probably read most everything she's written and have to confess, I rarely failed to shed copious tears when caught up in her web. That I also consider her a friend is one of my life's greatest blessings.

Be sure to check out her December release, Just After Midnight, details below. 

My intention when I wanted to do this series of questions was to ask sarcastic and silly questions and be responded to in kind. But Catherine makes her own way--read on to see her witty and wise answers... 
10 SILLY QUESTIONS WITH RICK R. REED
RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
CH: It would probably be the Dalai Lama, so we’d be eating like monks. Bowls of mung beans and rice, maybe. Then again, by most people’s standards, I eat like a monk every day.

RR: Who do you think you are?
CH: I think I’m a human being. And I think, maybe more than some people, I have no quarrel with that. I don’t pretend I have everything mastered, I don’t play games to make myself believe that nothing can go wrong. I don’t cover over mistakes in that cat-like manner. (Yes, I fell off the couch in my sleep, but I meant to do that. *Carefully grooms shoulder.*) I’m not adverse to just saying, “Yeah, that was not my best thinking.” And I try to impart some of that in my work. My hope is that readers will come away feeling more human, and more as though human is an okay thing to be.

RR: What’s your problem?
CH: Hypocrites. People with no empathy. Liars. People who seem to be able to focus only on complaints. People who completely overlook a flaw in one person and all but call for the death penalty for the same flaw in another, based on nothing but their own unrecognized tribalism. As you can imagine, I’m finding our current social climate a bit indigestible.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
CH: Absolutely I would! Because in the last six years or so, I’ve been given so much. I have everything I need and most of what I want. I helped somebody out with financing his dream a couple of years back, and when someone asked why, I said, “In the past few years, all my dreams have come true. It was time to see what other people were dreaming.” So, yes. If you want my wish, it’s all yours, my friend.

RR: Where you at?
CH: I’d like to say “Here.” You know, like the Ram Dass classic Be Here Now. I’d like to say it, but it’s easier said than done. I try to ground myself in this actual moment of this actual world as often as possible. But, let’s face it: My job is pretty much to walk through the world lost in my own head. So the more realistic answer would be “Lost in my own head.” Oh, well. At least I’ve found a way to make a living at it.

RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
CH: This may sound weird. And I hope it’s not off-putting. But to get to one vice I swear I would have to add one. I’m a recovering alcoholic and addict, so I haven’t had alcohol or drugs for almost 30 years. I quit smoking in 1989. I eat unusually healthy food because my mood is not very stable when I don’t. This is not to suggest I’m perfect. Far from it. I just get obsessed with much smaller, sillier and more harmless things. Refreshing Twitter or some idiotic thing like that. But as far as actual “Big V” vices, I think I might have left them in the dust. Hate to tempt fate, though.

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
CH: I have a granola that I make from scratch, and if I do say so myself, it’s killer. Thick cut rolled oats toasted in the oven with whole almonds and walnuts and cashews and sunflower seeds and sesame seeds, all coated with honey and tahini and baked together. Am I making you hungry? Good.

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
CH: I think I’d have to say it’s a tie between Lassie and Mr. Ed.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
CH: On a good day, I do. And it helps, in this case, to be 63 years old. The ground is noticeably more firm.

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
CH: You bet I do! Always. I’m writing and publishing two books a year, so there’s always some new title I hope people will hear about. My next release is due out December 4th from Lake Union/Amazon Publishing. It’s called Just After Midnight , and it’s a novel set against a backdrop of the dressage (horse show) world. That makes it exciting to me, because I ride (novice level) dressage, and I think it lends an excitement to the book. But it’s about far more than horse shows, so a love of horses is helpful but definitely not required.

Then next summer I have another new novel coming out. It’s called Have You Seen Luis Velez? , and it’s special to me. I’m just especially looking forward to that one. It’s close to my heart. Then another in December ’19, and another that I’m working on now, and it just keeps going. And I want it to just keep going. I’m doing what I love to do.

BLURB for Just After Midnight
From the New York Times bestselling author of Pay It Forward comes an uplifting and poignant novel about friendship, trust, and facing your fears.

No longer tolerating her husband’s borderline abuse, Faith escapes to her parents’ California beach house to plan her next move. She never dreamed her new chapter would involve befriending Sarah, a fourteen-year-old on the run from her father and reeling from her mother’s sudden and suspicious death.

While Sarah’s grandmother scrambles to get custody, Faith is charged with spiriting the girl away on a journey that will restore her hope: Sarah implores Faith to take her to Falkner’s Midnight Sun, the prized black mare that her father sold out from under her. Sarah shares an unbreakable bond with Midnight and can’t bear to be apart from her. Throughout the sweltering summer, as they follow Midnight from show to show, Sarah comes to terms with what she witnessed on the terrible night her mother died.

But the journey is far from over. Faith must learn the value of trusting her instincts—and realize that the key to her future, and Sarah’s, is in her hands.

PRE-ORDER Just After Midnight
Amazon Kindle
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WHO IS CATHERINE RYAN HYDE?
Catherine Ryan Hyde is the author of 37 published and forthcoming books.

Her newest releases are Heaven Adjacent, The Wake Up, Allie and Bea, Say Goodbye for Now, Leaving Blythe River, Ask Him Why, Worthy, The Language of Hoofbeats, Take Me With You, Walk Me Home, and When I Found You.

Forthcoming are Just After Midnight and Have You Seen Luis Velez?

Pay It Forward: Young Readers Edition, an age-appropriate edited edition of the original novel, was released by Simon & Schuster in August of ‘14. It is suitable for children as young as eight.

Other novels include When You Were Older, Where We Belong, Don’t Let Me Go, Second Hand Heart, Jumpstart the World, Becoming Chloe, Love in the Present Tense, The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance, Chasing Windmills, The Day I Killed James, and Diary of a Witness.

She is co-author, with publishing industry blogger Anne R. Allen, of How to be a Writer in the E-Age: a Self-Help Guide.

Her bestselling 1999 novel Pay It Forward was made into a major Warner Brothers motion picture. It was chosen by the American Library Association for its Best Books for Young Adults list, and translated into more than two dozen languages for distribution in over 30 countries. Simon & Schuster released a special 15th anniversary edition in December of ’14.

Her newer novels—such as Take Me with You, When I Found You, Leaving Blythe River, Say Goodbye for Now, etc.—have been translated into fourteen languages and achieved Kindle bestseller status in Germany, France, Italy, and Spain.

Both Becoming Chloe and Jumpstart the World were included on the ALA’s Rainbow List. Jumpstart the World was chosen as a finalist for two Lambda Literary Awards, and was honored with Rainbow Awards in two categories. Love in the Present Tense enjoyed bestseller status in the UK, where it broke the top ten, spent five weeks on  national bestseller lists, was reviewed on a major TV book club, and shortlisted for a Best Read of the Year Award at the British Book Awards. When I Found You spent two weeks dominating the US Kindle charts in the top three. Walk Me Home was #1 in Kindle at the same time as When I Found You held the #3 spot, causing Catherine to jump to #1 in Amazon author ranking, just above JK Rowling. Where We Belong won two Rainbow Awards in 2013 and The Language of Hoofbeats won a Rainbow Award in 2015.

More than 50 of her short stories have been published in The Antioch Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Virginia Quarterly Review, Ploughshares, Glimmer Train, The Sun and many other journals, and in the anthologies Santa Barbara Stories and California Shorts and the bestselling anthology Dog is my Co-Pilot. Her stories have been honored in the Raymond Carver Short Story Contest and the Tobias Wolff Award and nominated for Best American Short Stories, the O'Henry Award, and the Pushcart Prize. Three have been cited in Best American Short Stories.

She is founder and former president (2000-2009) of the Pay It Forward Foundation. As a professional public speaker she has addressed the National Conference on Education, twice spoken at Cornell University, met with Americorps members at the White House, and shared a dais with Bill Clinton.