Rick R. Reed's Blog, page 37

#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: True Romance, Real Life, and LEGALLY WED

WHY WRITE ROMANCE?

I get asked this question a lot and the answer lies in the little story I’m about to tell you. It’s a story about finding one’s own happy ending—and how, today, even two men in love can end up Legally Wed.

My husband Bruce and I were having dinner at a little French bistro in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle on my birthday a couple years ago and, as the wine flowed, we talked. He told me how content he was with his life and that, really, there was nothing else he could wish for. I felt the same way (I still do). It's nice when you're on the same page. He said we had something special and that one word summed up what we had. I'll get to that word later.

But it wasn't easy getting to this page in the book of our lives. And thinking about Bruce and me has made me think about my other special love, and that's writing. If any of you out there have followed my career at all, you'll know that, lately, my stories have plotted out the course of love just as much as they have the build-up of suspense or horrifying revelations. I can proudly say I am now just as much a romance writer as I am a horror or dark suspense writer.

You may wonder why my writing slipped off in this new direction. I certainly have. And I think it has a lot to do with Bruce. See, we're happy. We're content. We're settled and in a love that only continues to grow with the passage of time.

I don't know if this is a leap of logic that makes sense but I think that I am more drawn to writing stories that map out the connections made by the human heart these days because I am not expending as much energy seeking out that connection in my own personal life. Now that I have found my one true love, my soul mate, I can open up and write more freely about what draws people together and what keeps them apart. I find those connections fascinating and I don't believe I could write about them objectively until after I had found, after much searching, a relationship that would work for me, one that would nurture and sustain.

Before Bruce, there was a marriage to a woman and a child. Both of those were—and still are—wonderful in their own ways. But trying to live a life that was not my own was not only emotionally exhausting, it was dangerous in many ways. With a lot of heartache, I had to let that dream, which really was never for me, go. I came out in my early thirties, in a world where gay marriage was not really even being discussed yet and the specter of AIDS loomed large. It was not necessarily a good time for a gay man to be experiencing the world and finding himself. But then, when is it ever a good time? But my point is I went through a lot of searching, a lot of experimenting, a lot of bad choices, always in search of love, and always coming up empty-handed.

A lot of those disappointments occurred because the real love I needed—the love of myself—I had yet to discover. I look at my thirties as my true adolescence, with its attendant growing pains.

It wasn't until I was 43 that I met Bruce. Gone were the hopes that I'd meet a special man in some bar or even a gay social group. The era of the Internet was on us in a big way and I placed an ad with the headline, "What's Your Story?" Bruce was one of several who responded, and the only one with whom I connected. He sent me some pictures of himself. He said things in his very first response to my ad that resonated.

I wrote back. He wrote back and we started a daily correspondence that would last two weeks, two weeks before we even laid eyes on one another, even though we lived less than two miles away from the other. We began to get to know each other and we both liked what we saw, what we read in our lines to each other, and what was between them. We had both reached a stage where we were ready for the other. Timing is everything.

We met in person and it was magic.

I won't say we didn't have some bumps in the road, though, getting to where we are today. Nothing really good ever comes easily. But Bruce and I were always willing to talk--whether it was face to face or through e-mails (and now texts and Facebook updates!). The line of communication has always been open and I think that's what's made the difference with us.

It's also made it possible for me to be able to sit back and be more objective about writing romance because finally, at age 59, I finally, finally, have a handle on what works and what doesn't. Until I had that key, I honestly believe I couldn't have written convincingly or effectively about romantic love.

So you can expect two things from me—one, that I will always be in love with Bruce and two, that you will enjoy many more stories of love and romance between two men—because of Bruce and what he gave to me.

Oh, and that one word I alluded to above? The one Bruce used when he said it summed up what we had?

That word was family .



Legally Wed BLURB

(Dreamspinner Press/2014/Contemporary Romance)

Love comes along when you least expect it. That’s what Duncan Taylor’s sister, Scout, tells him. Scout has everything Duncan wants—a happy life with a wonderful husband. Now that Seattle has made gay marriage legal, Duncan knows he can have the same thing. But when he proposes to his boyfriend Tucker, he doesn’t get the answer he hoped for. Tucker’s refusal is another misstep in a long line of failed romances. Despairing, Duncan thinks of all the loving unions in his life—and how every one of them is straight. Maybe he could be happy, if not sexually compatible, with a woman. When zany, gay-man-loving Marilyn Samples waltzes into his life, he thinks he may have found his answer.

Determined to settle, Duncan forgets his sister’s wisdom about love and begins planning a wedding with Marilyn. But life throws Duncan a curveball. When he meets wedding planner Peter Dalrymple, unexpected sparks ignite. Neither man knows how long he can resist his powerful attraction to the other. For sure, there’s a wedding in the future. But whose?

Legally Wed  EXCERPT
Same-sex marriage had just become legal in Washington State and Duncan Taylor didn’t plan on wasting any time. He had been dating Tucker McBride for more than three years and, ever since the possibility of marriage had become more than just a pipe dream, it was all Duncan could think of. He had thought of it as he gazed out the windows of his houseboat on Lake Union, on days both sunny and gray (since it was late autumn, there were a lot more of the latter); he had thought of it as he stood before his classroom of fourth graders at Cascade Elementary School. He had thought of it when he woke up in the morning and before he fell asleep at night.

For Duncan, marriage was the peak, the happy ending, the icing on the cake, the culmination of one’s hearts desire, a commitment of a lifetime, the joining of two souls. For Duncan, it was landing among the stars.

And for Duncan, who would turn 38 on his next birthday, it was also something he had never dared dream would be possible for him.

And now, too excited to sleep, he was thinking about it—hard—once again. It was just past midnight on December 6, 2012 and the local TV news had pre-empted its regular programming to take viewers live to Seattle City Hall, where couples were forming a serpentine line to be among the first in the state to be issued their marriage licenses—couples who had also for far too long believed this right would be one they would never be afforded. Many clung close together to ward off the chill, but Duncan knew their reasons for canoodling went far deeper than that.

The mood, in spite of the darkness pressing in all around, was festive. There was a group serenading the couples in line, singing “Going to the Chapel.” Champagne corks popped in the background.

Laughter.

Duncan couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he watched all the male-male and female-female couples in the line, their mood of jubilation, of love, of triumph traveling through to him even here on his houseboat two or three miles north of downtown. Duncan wiped tears from his eyes as he saw not only the couples but also all the supporters, city workers, and volunteers who had crowded together outside City Hall to wish the new couples well, to share in the happiness of the historic moment.

And then Duncan couldn’t help it, he fell into all-out blubbers as the first couple to get their license emerged from City Hall. 85-year-old Pete-e Peterson and her partner and soon-to-be-wife, Jane Abbott Lighty, were all smiles when a reporter asked them how they felt.

“We waited a long time. We’ve been together 35 years, never thinking we’d get a legal marriage. Now I feel so joyous I can hardly stand it,” Pete-e said.

It was such a special moment and it was all Duncan could do not to pick up the phone and call Tucker and casually say something like, “Hey honey, you want to get married?”

Legally Wed  Buy Links
Dreamspinner Ebook
Dreamspinner Paperback
Amazon Kindle
Amazon Paperback
AllRomance eBooks

#FLASHBACK FRIDAY: Who's HUNGRY FOR LOVE? Hear Me Read...

I hope you enjoy this little excerpt...and my voice. Point of interest: I read this at the same desk and in the same room, and on the same computer where I originally wrote Hungry for Love, back in Seattle (where Hungry for Love happens to be set) in our condo.

 

Blurb
Nate Tippie and Brandon Wilde are gay, single, and both hoping to meet that special man, even though fate has not yet delivered him to their doorstep. Nate’s sister, Hannah, and her kooky best friend, Marilyn, are about to help fate with that task by creating a profile on the gay dating site, OpenHeartOpenMind. The two women are only exploring, but when they need a face and body for the persona they create, they use Nate as the model.

When Brandon comes across the false profile, he falls for the guy he sees online. Keeping up the charade, Hannah begins corresponding with him, posing as Nate. Real complications begin when Brandon wants to meet Nate, but Nate doesn’t even know he’s being used in the online dating ruse. Hannah and Marilyn concoct another story and send Nate out to let the guy down gently. But when Nate and Brandon meet, the two men feel an instant and powerful pull toward each other. Cupid seems to have shot his bow, but how do Nate and Brandon climb out from under a mountain of deceit without letting go of their chance at love?


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Guest Post: Author Michael Rupured Talks Up his New Release: CASE OF THE MISSING DRAG QUEEN

I can't wait to read my friend Michael's new book! Buy links are at the bottom...
AboutThe Case of the Missing Drag Queen takes place in 1982 – three years after I came out of the closet. The local gay bar was clique-ish. My circle consisted of upper-middle class white guys around my age who’d grown up in Lexington.
Aside from occasional-to-frequent walks on the wild side, we kept our distance from anyone who wasn’t like us—especially drag queens. What can I say? We were young, dumb, and—like everyone else at that time—raised to be homophobic.
Today’s distinctions in the Trans community were unfamiliar. Anyone who dressed up was a drag queen. Some performed in drag shows. Most did not. A few were always in drag. Whether an individual was or wasn’t transitioning was a subject for speculation and gossip.
Several years later, my partner and I started going to the 10:00 p.m. drag show. Getting to the disco before 11:30 was totally uncool. The drag show was a better option than falling asleep at home waiting for it to get late enough to go out.
Go ahead. Try not to enjoy a drag show. I dare you. From the first show, I was hooked.
Years of research watching drag shows at various venues around the country went into The Case of the Missing Drag Queen. Much of the action in takes in the Gilded Lily showroom where Luke Tanner tends bar. Get a taste by reading the excerpt below.  BlurbBroke, saddled with a mountain of debt, and dependent on his Aunt Callie's support, aspiring writer Luke Tanner has returned to Kentucky to put his life back together after a failed five-year relationship.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, Luke meets diminutive Pixie Wilder, a long-time performer at the Gilded Lily. After headliner Ruby Dubonnet doesn’t show up, Pixie takes her place as the star of the show—a motive that makes her a suspect in Ruby’s disappearance.
Luke reluctantly agrees to help his new-found friend clear her name. He and Pixie set out to find the missing drag queen, and in the process, put themselves in danger.
Cover Artist:AlexandriaCorza
Buy Links AmazonBarnes& NobleDSP PublicationseBookPaperback
Author BioMichael Rupured writes stories true enough for government work about gay life from the 1960s to today. This life-long Southerner was born in Fayetteville NC, grew up in Lexington KY, and after 18 months in Washington DC, moved to Athens GA where he’s lived since 1999. By day, he’s senior faculty in the College of Family and Consumer Sciences at the University of Georgia. He’s an avid fan of the Georgia Bulldogs, the Kentucky Wildcats, and any team playing the Florida Gators. In his free time, Michael tinkers with his garden, plays with Toodles (his diabetic chihuahua), and keeps up with his many friends around the country. Previous novels include Until Thanksgiving(thriller), No Good Deed(mystery/thriller), Whippersnapper(regional), and Happy Independence Day(historical). Visit his website (http://rupured.com), follow on Twitter @Crotchetyman), like his Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMichaelRupured/)  or shoot him a message (mrupured@gmail.com)
Excerpt:Thursday, October 21, 1982The smoke-permeated Gilded Lily barely contained the standing-room-only crowd for the eleven o’clock drag show. Luke Tanner had never been so popular. Thirsty customers vying for his attention stood three- and four-deep along the bar as he quickly mixed drinks, opened bottles, and poured draft beer.The house lights blinked several times, and Frank Marvin’s voice echoed from the loudspeakers. “Five minutes until the show begins, folks. Still plenty of time to see Charlie or Luke for a cocktail. Tip them well, y’all, because I don’t pay ’em shit.”Luke stuck out his lower lip and put on a sad face as he fixed drinks for three different customers. Every gay man in town wanted to bartend at the Garden. The hourly rate was the same everywhere, but bartenders in any of the Garden’s four bars averaged thirty dollars an hour in tips—more upstairs in the Green Carnation disco and on busy nights.The day Luke got back to Lexington, he’d popped into the Garden. Five years earlier, in the months between coming out of the closet and moving to Atlanta, he’d danced in the Green Carnation six nights a week. who owned the Garden, remembered him from the thousands who frequented the club, and shocked when he’d offered Luke a job.They’d never met before. Luke would have remembered. Frank had been on a very short list of men in his desired age range—. Then and now, the age group was under-represented at the Garden.The house lights dimmed, and Frank’s voice again filled the showroom. “Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, queens, and queers.”The crowd responded with cheers, jeers, and whistles.“Welcome to the Gilded Lily, home of the best motherfucking drag in the entire United States!”Luke dropped a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of a handsome man wearing an expensive-looking patterned sweater who appeared to be in his late thirties. He cupped a hand to his ear to hear his order above the thunderous applause.“Cape Cod,” the man shouted and held up a finger. “One, please.”Rather than taking orders from other customers and making several drinks at once, Luke gave the well-dressed stranger his undivided attention. As he topped an ice-filled tumbler of vodka with cranberry juice and a squeeze of lime, he wondered if he was a gay visitor from out of town or a straight tourist observing homosexuals in their natural habitat. Most likely gay. A heterosexual man at the Garden who wasn’t clinging to a woman for dear life was rarer than snow in July.“Three dollars,” Luke shouted as he placed the drink on the cocktail napkin.The handsome, blue-eyed man gave Luke a dazzling smile, a wink, and a ten-dollar bill and said something drowned out by the din.Luke furrowed his brow, shook his head, and leaned forward. “What?”The man formed a megaphone with his hands again and leaned toward Luke. “Keep the change!”“Oh.” Luke’s face grew hot. Good-looking and a big tipper. “Thank you, sir.” He shoved the ten into the register drawer and moved seven dollars to his tip jar. When he turned back around, the man was gone.“And now,” Frank yelled through the microphone. “Please welcome to the stage, the dark and lovely Dirty Duchess of Broadway, Simone!”The stage went dark except for a spotlight trained on the center. The music started—a dance club remix of a recent Diana Ross hit—and Simone burst through the curtain wearing a tight red cocktail dress, red spike heels, and an Afro wig that added a good eight inches to her height. She danced from one side of the stage to other, then strode quickly to the end of the catwalk and danced some more. In between wild bursts of joyous and energetic dancing, she bent to air-kiss adoring fans who clustered around the stage waving bills of various denominations to get her attention.Russel Clark stood just offstage with his burly arms folded across his massive chest. The bodyguard-slash-bouncer was six foot seven inches tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. In the weeks that Luke had worked at the Gilded Lily, Russel’s hulking presence had prevented any unwanted interaction with the performers from even the most inebriated fans.By Simone’s encore, the preshow rush at the bar had slowed to a trickle. In between customers Luke emptied ashtrays, cleared empties from the bar, and washed glassware. When nobody was looking, he shoved his hands into his pockets to soothe a relentless itching that he suspected was what he got for washing his underwear with cheap laundry detergent.“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, the queen of the cathouse, Miss Kitty Galore!”Kitty Galore was an S&M queen, standing and modeling as she lip-synced. The tight-fitting Kentucky blue and silver gown she wore emphasized her fabricated curves. Matching heels and an elegant backswept bouffant embellished with pearls added to her already impressive height.Charlie Ross, who Luke had shadowed for two weeks to learn the ropes, crossed from the other end of the bar into his section. Charlie was a good head taller than Luke with strawberry-blond hair, brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across both cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and an imposing, athletic physique. He intimidated Luke, and for essentially the same reasons, turned him on. Not that turning him on was particularly difficult. He hadn’t had sex in months.“Hey, man,” Charlie said. “Think you can handle the bar without me?” He reached down and groped his crotch. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”Luke gulped, struggled to maintain eye contact, and pushed thoughts of what a naked Charlie might look like from his mind. “Frank say it’s okay?”Charlie nodded. “If it’s okay with you.” He scratched his butt. “He’ll pull somebody from elsewhere in the Garden to help if it gets too busy for you.”“I can handle it,” Luke said, feigning confidence. This was only his fourth night with his own section. If everyone in the showroom wanted a drink at the same time or someone ordered an unfamiliar cocktail or—He slammed the brakes on his runaway train of thought. No point giving Fate any ideas.“Thanks, man,” Charlie said, extending his hand.“No problem,” Luke replied. He swallowed and wiped his sweaty palms on his hips. Shaking hands was not his thing. A firm grasp had thus far in life eluded him. He reached out, and Charlie engulfed his hand with a finger-crushing grip that hurt more with each pump.“I owe you one,” Charlie said. He let go of Luke’s throbbing hand, pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket, and tossed it into Luke’s tip jar. “Mind shutting down for me? I really need to run.”“Sure,” Luke replied. He’d assumed Charlie would break down the well on his end of the bar before leaving but said nothing. He’d also kept his mouth shut for two weeks when he’d done all the work and Charlie kept all the tips.The handsome, big tipper approached. When he reached the bar, another Cape Cod awaited him. He raised his hand and saluted. “Thanks, handsome. I’m flattered you remembered.” Then he thumbed through his wallet, pulled out a bill, and slid it across the bar. “Keep the change.”Luke gasped when he saw the twenty-dollar bill. Too stunned for words, he nodded as the gorgeous man turned and walked away. The big tip was only partially responsible for his sudden inability to speak. That some imbecile somewhere hadn’t remembered his drink was as shocking as being called handsome. Presentable yes, perhaps even interesting, but handsome? Never.On stage, Pixie Wilder wrapped up a disco version of “Rose Garden.” Her look was classic Nashville: big hair, flashy jewelry, a vibrant turquoise dress embellished with ten or fifteen pounds of rhinestones, and high-heeled, rhinestone-studded boots. For a girl, she was short. For a guy, she was tiny.Luke kept up with the demand for beverages as Simone, Kitty Galore, and Pixie Wilder each performed a second number. The crowd grew restless, but nobody left. Business at the bar picked up as Pixie performed her second number. Ruby Dubonnet was next, and nobody wanted to miss a second of her performance. Only a couple of customers still waited for drinks as Pixie retrieved the tips she’d dropped and exited the stage.A church bell sounded, and two well-oiled young men stepped onto the stage wearing white bikini briefs and matching bow ties. They marched in step to the end of the catwalk and back, tossing white rose petals from large baskets into the wildly cheering crowd as the bell chimed two more times. Luke was alone at the bar when they stopped on either end of the stage.A hush fell over the Gilded Lily. Everyone stared at the stage, waiting. On the fourth chime, the curtains parted and Ruby Dubonnet emerged in an elegant beaded wedding gown with a long veil over her head and an enormous bouquet of white lilies in her arms. She took a few steps, stopped, and looked over the enthusiastic fans who scrambled for a position next to the stage to the back of the room.Nobody—including Jennifer Holliday—did “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going” better than Ruby Dubonnet. Ignoring her adoring fans and the bills they tossed onto the stage, Ruby gave herself to the performance. As the song progressed, she flung her bouquet to the ground and stomped on it a few times, yanked off the veil, and ripped the dress from her body in pieces. For the dramatic conclusion of the Broadway showstopper, she sat in the remnants of her tattered dress with an upraised fist, mascara running down her cheeks, and the mutilated bouquet in her lap.When the music stopped, she stood, straightened her hair with a few well-placed shoves, quickly wiped the mascara from her face with a recovered sleeve, and stripped away everything but a lacy bra, dainty white panties, a garter belt, white hose, and white spike heels. She blew kisses to the rapturous fans tossing crumpled bills at her. Then she traversed the stage touching the fingertips of her fans and blowing kisses while the flower boys picked up her tips and tossed them in the baskets they carried.The crowd gasped when the handsome big tipper vaulted onto the stage. Russel leaped into action, moving toward Ruby with far more grace and speed than Luke would have thought possible for such a large man. Ruby stopped him with an upraised hand. Then she opened her arms to embrace the handsome big tipper. He hugged her close, kissed her right on the lips, and after a moment, stepped back to bow deeply before hopping off the stage.Moments later Ruby and her boys slipped behind the curtain, the lights came up, and the crowd dispersed to other parts of the Garden complex until one o’clock when the bars closed. Nobody lingered in the Gilded Lily. Even Frank and Russel had left.Luke thoroughly scratched his irritated nether regions and then counted his tips, and readied the deposit for Frank to take to the bank. Cleaning up both ends of the bar took longer than expected. Exhausted, Luke brushed his teeth when he got home, stripped to his underwear, and fell into bed.

#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: Chubby Guys Rule in CHASER

Today, I'm looking back at one of my early m/m romances, and loving the relationship between Caden and the adorable and lovable Kevin.

Here's a review from Insight Out! that sums up the book in a really cool way:

Caden DeSarro likes more cushion for the pushin’.  He likes them with more to love, a sentiment I fully understand and champion with my ever-expanding waistline.  In a world of twink-orexia and the Muscle Mary Mafia, Rick R. Reed explores what happens when your preference lies on the side of the meatier man.  And what a job he does!

On a regular night on the town with the scene-dream best friend and full-time Adonis, Bobby, Caden encounters the beefy Kevin Dodge, and after a hilariously bad first impression, the men get a chance for their second introduction on the El.  After two great dates and the premature assumption of a future, Caden is called out of town to help his sick mother and Kevin is left for six weeks feeling that he might not be the type of guy good enough for the hunky other man.  So he basically starves himself and exercises to exhaustion and when Caden returns, things get a little tense.  In a society where initial attraction is 100% visually based, what’s a boy to do when the object of his affection re-emerges and is just like all the guys he dismissed before?  Kevin is such a believable character that at times you actually see his good guy persona falter, hints of arrogance threatening around the edges.  He is so well characterised, he is completely human, his thought processes eerily accurate to the standard.

Reed’s descriptive prose is not wrought with adverbs or overtly dripping with meaning, yet the simple descriptions hold their own emotional meanings and after a few short pages, you are right there with the author, dancing down the streets of his hometown like you’d grown up there yourself.  It’s quite a feat to achieve but Mr Reed does it effortlessly and with seamless panache.  So as Kevin shrinks away and Caden is in turmoil as to whether or not he wants to carry on the relationship, what happens to the story?  How do we fill the awkward silence?

Introducing Bobby, the homosexual stereotype that makes you want to Linda Blair just reading about him.  Bobby seems to have no soul, and me being me, I do love a bad guy, especially one pretending so adequately to be a true friend.  We’ve all known a Bobby or two in our lives, the prettier than you guy whose self-worth is based on how he looks and who he takes home.  Bobby isn’t especially deep, his thoughts immediately going to his groin at every opportunity.  He wants what his best friend has, so he tries to take it.  For the sake of this book, that’s all Bobby needed to be, and damn if I wasn’t loving to hate the character from the get-go.  Luckily he wasn’t written off completely, the follow up story Raining Men giving the truth about why he is such an unrelenting so-and-so.

Chaser is light reading, a giggle and a drama all rolled up into two hundred-odd pages and interlaced with humorous references and comedic dialogue like the pro Reed has proven himself to be.  It was such a refreshing change to see a story approached from within, as with writing it’s difficult to ignore the visual.  But Reed defies the ordinary and scrapes away to a deeper level, grabbing the readers hand and taking them into the story with him.  I liked this book a lot, you should read it.

BLURB
Caden DeSarro is what they call a chubby chaser. He likes his guys with a few extra pounds on them. So when he meets Kevin Dodge in a bar bathroom, he can’t help but stare, even if he does make an ass of himself. As far as Caden is concerned, Kevin is physically perfect: a stocky bearded blond with a dick that’s just right. (They met in the bathroom—of course he looked!) But Caden gets tongue-tied and misses his chance.
When Caden runs into Kevin one night on the El train, he figures it’s fate offering him a second shot. Caden manages to get invited back to Kevin's place for a one-night stand that turns into the kind of relationship he’s dreamed about.
But the course of true love never did run smooth, and Kevin and Caden’s romance is no exception. When Caden returns from a few weeks away on business, Kevin surprises him with a new and “improved” body—one that fits Caden’s shallow friend Bobby’s ideal, not Caden’s. Caden doesn’t know what to do, and his hesitation is just the opportunity Bobby was looking for. This isn’t the same Kevin he fell in love with… is it?
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Getting the Blurb and the Cover Right for my upcoming SKY FULL OF MYSTERIES

I just finished up blurb and cover forms for my upcoming novel, SKY FULL OF MYSTERIES , which is a gay romance with an alien abduction hook. Dreamspinner Press, my publisher, always does a beautiful job with both the cover and the blurb, but it's forever a chore to wrestle my thoughts down to make them coherent and useful for the blurb writer. Below is my suggested blurb for the book (which should be out next summer), and attached are some of the pictures I sent to inspire my cover artist.
TENTATIVE BLURB What if your first love is abducted, presumed dead, and then returns twenty years later?
For Cole Weston, that’s the dilemma he faces. Now happily married to Tommy D’Amico, he’s suddenly thrown into a sense of the surreal as his first love, Rory Schneidmiller, returns. Where has Rory been all this time? What happened to him the night, two decades ago, when a strange mass appeared in the night sky and he felt himself being sucked upward? Even Rory has no memory of those years. For him, it’s only as though a day or two has passed.
Rory still loves Cole with a passion unique to young first love. Cole has never forgotten Rory, yet Tommy has been his rock, with him since Rory disappeared so long ago.
Cole is forced to choose between an idealized and passionate first love and the comfort of a long-term marriage. How can he decide? Who faces this kind of quandary, anyway? The answers lie within the pages of SKY FULL OF MYSTERIES…and, perhaps, within the stars themselves.
Look for SKY FULL OF MYSTERIES, Summer/Fall 2018

#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: My AIDS-era novel,Caregiver, Wins for Best Contemporary Romance

What a wonderful memory! CAREGIVER is one of my favorite books of my own stuff because it's based on a dear departed soul whom I once loved very much.

I'm so pleased to announce that my love story set in the early days of the AIDS crisis, CAREGIVER, has won the prestigious EPIC eBook Award at EPICON ceremonies in Vancouver, WA on March 16. The book won for Best Contemporary Romance. I am especially happy because lately my writing has shifted from suspense/horror to romance and my other finalist, PENANCE, was in the horror category. I'm not glad I lost on that one, but the fact that I won for romance is validating.

This win means a lot, too, because the story of CAREGIVER has deep personal ties to me. One of its main characters, Adam, who is dying from AIDS in my story, was based on a very significant real person in my life, Jim. I was Jim's AIDS buddy when I lived in Tampa, FL in the early 1990s, when AIDS was a death sentence, the only treatment AZT. Almost everything that happens to Adam in CAREGIVER happened to Jim in real life. Jim remains a very special influence; he will always be with me.

I dedicated my award to his memory--and the victory was bittersweet.


BLURB
It’s 1991, and Dan Calzolaio has just moved to Florida with his lover, Mark, having fled Chicago and Mark’s addictions to begin a new life on the Gulf Coast. Volunteering for the Tampa AIDS Alliance is just one part of that new beginning, and that’s how Dan meets his new buddy, Adam.

Adam Schmidt is not at all what Dan expected. The guy is an original—witty, wry, and sarcastic with a fondness for a smart black dress, Barbra Streisand, and a good mai tai. Adam doesn’t let his imminent death get him down, even through a downward spiral that sees him thrown in jail.

Each step of Adam’s journey teaches Dan new lessons about strength and resilience, but it’s Adam’s lover, Sullivan, to whom Dan feels an almost irresistible pull. Dan knows the attraction isn’t right, even after he dumps his cheating, drug-abusing boyfriend. But then Adam passes away, and it leaves Sullivan and Dan both alone to see if they can turn their love for Adam into something whole and real for each other.


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#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: A Playlist You Can Strip to

My book, TRICKS takes place in the world of male dancers (i.e. strippers). My main character, Arliss, is a one of the hottest dancers at TRICKS and, when I put this post together, I wondered what kind of music he’d pick out to dance to and get down to just his little pouch and combat boots.

Below is the (very diverse!) list I’ve come up with. Put it on to get yourself in the mood to immerse yourself in the world of TRICKS.

TRICKS PLAYLIST

1. Cookie by R. Kelly
2. Night Train by Oscar Peterson
3. Pour Some Sugar on Me by L.A. Guns
4. Hot for Teacher by Van Halen
5. Magic Man by Heart
6. Slow Ride by ZZ Top
7. Toxic by Britney Spears
8. Erotica by Madonna
9. Pull Up to the Bumper by Grace Jones
10. Face Down, Ass Up by 2 Live Crew

BLURB
Tricks can mean many things: sex partners, deceptions, even magic—or maybe all three.

Arliss is a gorgeous young dancer at Tricks, the hottest club in Chicago’s Boystown. Sean is the classic nerd, out of place in Tricks, but nursing his wounds from a recent breakup. When the two spy each other, magic blooms.

But this opposites-attract tale does not run smooth. What happens when Arliss is approached by one of the biggest porn producers in the business? Can he make his dreams of stardom come true without throwing away the only real love he’s ever known? This question might not even matter if the mysterious producers realize their dark intentions.

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EXCERPT
Arliss had everything he needed right in front of him for that night’s performance—hardhat, check; steel-toed boots, check; tool belt, check; black mesh thong with pouch for his rather prodigious endowment, big check—yes, Arliss was just about ready for his turn on the stage at Tricks, located in Chicago’s infamous Boystown neighborhood, at its epicenter on the corner of Belmont and Halsted. He also had before him a tall tumbler of Stoli vodka with just a whisper of cranberry juice cocktail in it for color and a half-empty pack of Marlboro Ultra Lights. The latter two items helped the twenty-one-year-old calm himself before a performance, and the vodka in particular went a long way toward reducing backstage jitters.

He lit up a cigarette and regarded himself through the smoke. The lights in the crowded dressing room, which he shared with the other eight or so exotic dancers, were unforgiving. Fluorescent did little to hide any imperfections, like rings under the eyes, reddened noses from too much partying, and for those on their way out of the club, track marks on the arms. But Arliss didn’t have to worry about signs of drug abuse showing up on his person. He had learned to just say no a long time ago, in a manner he preferred not to dredge up, at least not now, when he was trying to put himself in a cheerful, high-energy mode.

The face that looked back at him was young, handsome, and vital. Arliss had a shock of white-blond hair that stuck up in a manner reminiscent of rocker Billy Idol back in his glory days, before Arliss was even born. Both ears sported piercings—from one a single razor blade, cast in sterling, dangled; from the other, three hoops crawled up the side of his ear, growing smaller as they ascended. Arliss had full lips, sharp cheekbones, a cleft in his chin, and the most piercing ice blue eyes in the Midwest (or so he had been told). The only thing that marred his nearly perfect face was a gap between his front teeth, for which he comforted himself by saying the space gave him character. Cigarette clenched between his teeth, he struggled into his costume, ending by stuffing his dick into the pouch that protruded from his black thong. His member stuck out in a way that invited grasping hands, which was what Arliss wanted, as long as there was cash in those hands to stuff the thong even more fully.

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Note: This post originally appeared, in slightly different form, at The Novel Approach.

#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: Writing Horror AND Love Stories

The public sometimes sees two of me—one is the “Stephen King of gay horror” and that me writes books like A Demon Inside , Blood Sacrifice , and Third Eye . This Stephen King character is grizzled, bearded, and grumpy. You don’t want to meet up with him in a dark alley.
The other me is much lighter, in terms of psyche. That me is a gay romance writer. This guy, who is clean-shaven, has a smile for everyone, and is generally in a good mood, writes love stories like Chaser , Legally Wed , Caregiver and Dinner at Home .

These two me’s have seldom been left alone in a room together and when they have they have managed to produce books that are a hybrid of the two, books like Dinner at the Blue Moon Cafe and Bashed . Those two combine the sometimes-at-odds with the other combination of horror and romance.
For the first time ever, the two me’s sat down in a café in Seattle’s free-spirited Fremont neighborhood (neutral territory because the horror me likes the big troll statue living under one end of the Aurora Bridge). In order to keep things, um, straight, the following interview uses HM to indicate Horror Me and RM to indicate Romance Me. And yes, you can romance me, anytime….
HM: So what are you doing here? Must you show up everywhere I want to be? Christ, I can’t get a moment by myself.RM: Sorry, but it’s a free country. I can be anywhere I want. What’s that? A cappuccino?HM (rolls eyes): It’s a black coffee. Drip.RM: Well, I’m having the crème brulee latte.HM: You would (snorts).RM: I detect a note of disdain here.HM: Well, there’s more than a note, Miss. Why are you sitting down at my table? Did I invite you?RM: No, but I belong here as much as you do.HM: Getting back to the disdain, I have disdain for you because you are taking over my personality and stealing my reputation. Before you happened along with your little love stories, I was doing quite well for myself writing about blood, gore, and things that go bump in the night. You know, mapping out nightmare territory. I had my author photos taken in cemeteries. People knew me for throwing a good scare into them.RM: And they still know you for that, which is something you’d realize if you took a good, hard look at yourself. But I am here to tell you there is room for more than one writer under this rapidly-thinning head of hair.HM: But why? Why romance? It’s the antithesis of everything I stood for.RM: Not really. Romance, like horror, is ultimately about strong emotion. Fear, like love, is universal. So, we are not as different as you’d like to think. HM: I’m not so sure about that. I write about people being killed, people being haunted, monsters, ghouls. I don’t see how that’s much like your la-di-da romance tales.RM: Think of the emotions involved. The rising sense of excitement, the increased heart rate and perspiration, the breathlessness. All of those are present with both fear and passion.HM: Okay, I get it. I get it. But does that mean you still have to step on my toes? You’re ruining my reputation.RM: Just like with love, sweetheart, there’s room for variety, for harmony. I think we can coexist.HM: But you seem so much more powerful lately. Just look at the books that have come from you over the past year.RM: You’re right.HM: Why is that?RM (pausing to consider and take a sip of his latte): Maybe it’s because I’ve reached a different place in my life. I’ve reached a place where the stories I want to tell are about something other than the terror that life can bring, but the joy that life can bring, too.
See, for years, when you were really my dominant force, I was consumed with finding love in my own life. And I came close many times, for one reason or another, it never worked out. That is, until I met Bruce. He was the one. The perfect fit. The soul mate. The one with whom I can’t imagine not spending the rest of my days.
Once I was secure in my own personal romance, only then was I free to write about others’. Does that make sense? I needed to confront my fears (not just the ghastly, curl-your-hair ones), but the ones about being alone, about maybe never making that connection that was more than just passion, but family.
HM doesn’t say anything for a long while. He sips his coffee and eyes me, like I’m some sort of alien—not the illegal kind, but an invader from another planet. The kind he might write about. For a moment, I am afraid, he will fling the coffee into my face, but then a strange thing happens—he begins to fade away, just like the ghosts in the stories he used to pen.
Just as he’s about to disappear completely, he stops in mid-transformation and eyes me.HM: I get you. You were who I always wanted to be. But, although I am fading away before your very eyes, I am not disappearing.
I am merging with you.



Note: This post originally appeared at OnTopDownUnder Reviews.

Writing THE END to BLUE UMBRELLA SKY

Hooray! Yesterday, I wrote "The End" on my latest novel, BLUE UMBRELLA SKY. I will be doing a final polish and turning in to Dreamspinner Press early next week. Letting go is always bittersweet: 2 parts joy, 1 part despair. I was inspired by my new home and this book is about a man moving to Palm Springs to begin a new life after his husband passes from Alzheimer's. He not only finds abundant blue skies, but a neighbor called Billy Blue, who offers him a second chance at love, if only he'll take it. Here's the first page, as it now stands: 
Milt Grabaur stared out the window of his trailer, wondering how much worse it could get. The deluge poured down, gray, almost obscuring his neighbors' homes and the barren desert landscape beyond. The rain hammered on his metal roof, sounding like automatic gunfire. Milt shivered a little, thinking of that old song, "It Never Rains in California."

He leaned closer to the picture window, pressing his hand against the glass and whispering to himself, "but it pours."

That window had given him his daily view for the last six months, ever since he'd packed up a life's worth of belongings and made his way south and west to Palm Springs and the Summer Wind Mobile Home Community. This same picture window, almost every single day, had shown him only endless blue skies and sunshine.

Milt had begun to think the expanses of blue, lit up by golden illumination, would never cease.

Until today.

At about three o'clock, that blue sky, for the first time, was overcome with gray, a foreboding mass of bruised clouds. Milt wondered, because of his experience in the desert so far, if the clouds would be only that-foreboding. The magical gods of the Coachella Valley would, of course, sweep those frowning and depressing masses of imminent precipitation away with a wave of their enchanted hands.

Surely.

But the sky continued to darken, seemingly unaware of Milt's fanciful imagining and yearnings. At last, the once-blue dome above him became almost like night in mid-afternoon-and the first heavy drops-fat beads of water, began to fall, first a slow sprinkle, where Milt could count the seconds between drops, then faster and faster, until the raindrops combined into one single, and Milt had to admit, terrifying roar.

#FLASHBACKFRIDAY: Bashed, Hate Crimes, and a Love that Transcends Death

Cover art by Aaron Anderson Do you believe that real love never dies? 
That's the premise behind my ghost/love story from Dreamspinner Press, Bashed. Bashed is a haunting blend of romance and suspense, wrapped up in a timely story that could have been ripped from today's headlines.


BLURB
It should have been a perfect night out. Instead, Mark and Donald collide with tragedy when they leave their favorite night spot. That dark October night, three gay-bashers emerge from the gloom, armed with slurs, fists, and an aluminum baseball bat.

The hate crime leaves Donald lost and alone, clinging to the memory of the only man he ever loved. He is haunted, both literally and figuratively, by Mark and what might have been. Trapped in a limbo offering no closure, Donald can’t immediately accept the salvation his new neighbor, Walter, offers. Walter’s kindness and patience are qualities his sixteen-year-old nephew, Justin, understands well. Walter provides the only sense of family the boy’s ever known. But Justin holds a dark secret that threatens to tear Donald and Walter apart before their love even has a chance to blossom.

1st Edition published by MLR Press, March 2009.

The GLBT Roundtable of the American Library Association gave it a highly favorable review and recommended the book for public libraries.

In part, the review said:

"A gripping thriller told from multiple points of view, Bashed delivers what readers have come to expect from Rick R. Reed: a violent and emotionally wrenching tale of realistic horror. The story is told by three characters: two perpetrators of a horrifying hate crime, and the man who survived the attack...The violence is graphic, as is the sex, but neither is gratuitous..."

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