Rick R. Reed's Blog, page 53

A Tale of Two Covers: ORIENTATION Gets New Life at Wilde City Press

My novel about "reincarnation and love" Orientation , won the Epic Ebook Award the year it came out for Best LGBT Fiction. Sadly, the original publisher of  Orientation , Amber Allure, went out of business earlier this year.

Interestingly enough, Wilde City Press snatched up the orphaned novel to keep it in front of readers. It will be out June 1, with a brand new cover from the very talented cover artist, Adrian Nicholas.

I'm proud to share with you now (above) the new cover for  Orientation ! I'm also posting the original cover below, so you can compare and contrast.

I hope you'll pick up a copy June 1!

EXCERPT
Robert and Jess may just be the world’s most unlikely couple—a gay man and a lesbian. But there is something mysterious going on here: Is Jess the reincarnation of the lover Robert lost to AIDS more than two decades ago? Can they transcend sexual orientation and find true love…again? Before this question can be answered, both must confront a deadly peril just waiting to pounce…

BUY 
At Wilde City Press June 1

Blog Tour: RINGED LOVE by Elizabeth Noble

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Hello and thank you Rick for hosting me today. The first chapter of Ringed Love is posted on Dreamspinner Press, so over the next two weeks I’ll be offering the first one hundred or so words of each subsequent chapter. This post is also part of Rick’s Love Stories series.
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FROM THE AUTHOR
Six books, five years, two men: Lasting Love in Sentries
My series, Sentries, tells the story of one couple, Todd and Nick Ruger. They are hunters of the supernatural and protectors in a post-apocalyptic society. Together they face down a number of adversaries from ghosts to demons to mythological creatures.
However, that part of the tale is secondary to the real story: the love between Todd and Nick. A line that’s repeated by one or both of the men in each book is “we’re in this together”.
And they live what they preach.
When the series begins Todd and Nick are young men who are forced into a sort of arranged union. Each book tells part of the story of their lifelong love with a backdrop of political intrigue, war with preternatural foes and meddling people. Ringed Love is the final installment in the series, wrapping up all the story lines.
While writing each book I wanted to keep the love between these two men at the forefront, but it had to grow over time. As the series progressed, Todd and Nick’s lives and how they related to each other changed. They grew up, grew older and became more comfortable with themselves. All couples go through ups and downs, some survive those trials, some don’t. I wanted to be sure Todd and Nick’s love matured, flourished and survived. At first when their union is new, it’s exciting and there is a lot of exploration between them. Since the series covers their lives from their twenties until they’re very elderly their marriage changes with each life stage. I think their most important quality as a couple is they accept each other without judgement or reservation. Each man appreciates the good and doesn’t dwell on the bad in his partner. Last, but certainly not least, they have a healthy, active physical relationship. Todd and Nick do those little things physically, such as hugging, kissing and hand holding often. As they mature they learn the value of forgiveness and honesty in a relationship.
Throughout the chapters of Ringed Love there are a series of events spanning five decades of the Ruger’s lives. In each chapter they face another challenge. Their key to lasting love is shown during highlights, time and again they continue to put each other first. Love, real lasting love takes work and a lot of it. Lasting love is dealing with what life hands out together as a partnership. It’s also taking time out to appreciate the little things and to think about how lucky you are to be in this ride called life together.

EXCERPT
Today’s excerpt is from chapter 9
Of all the creatures supernatural and natural Todd Ruger had hunted in his life, perhaps the most disturbing were Windigos. He wanted this done and behind him and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. A shiver crawled up his spine and made the hair at the base of his neck bristle and his skin tingle.
Something was wrong.
Nick turned and looked behind them as they rode. Todd glanced sideways at Nick and shook his head slightly, then shrugged as if trying to shake some invisible invader from his shoulders. The night was quiet, with the only real noise being the steady clip-clop of their horses’ hooves on the road. Off in the distance a dog barked.
Blurb
New Colorado Protectorate fell with the assassination of Chancellor Clarke. Like many others, Todd and Nick Ruger left the land of their birth and made a home to the north in Yellowknife. Their world was ever changing. The time came to say a sad farewell to some of their friends and loved ones, but they were taken in with open arms by others and in turn offered shelter to yet more. Through the years they remained steadfast in their duty as sentries to protect and defend those that needed it the most.

Time marches on but through it all they hold each other dear and cherish the love they’ve shared. There are still angry ghosts, Windigos and water spirits to contend with. Their lives change, offering them new roles. When the time comes, they do what sentries have done for generations prior and teach others the skills to carry on as sentries. The Rugers lives were rich and their hearts full with their devotion and love for each other. The tradition of the sentries lived on forever. It was the legacy of Todd and Nick Ruger. That was the way it was always meant to be.
BUY
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Noble started telling stories before she actually knew how to write, and her family was very happy when she learned to put words on a page. Those words turned into books and fanfiction that turned into a genuine love of M/M romance fiction. Being able to share her works with Dreamspinner is really a dream come true. She has a real love for a good mystery complete with murder and twisty plots as well as all things sci-fi, futuristic, and supernatural and a bit of an unnatural interest in a super-volcano in Wyoming.
Elizabeth has three grown children and is now happily owned by an adorable mixed breed canine princess and her sidekick, tabby cat.  She lives in her native northeast Ohio, the perfect place for gardening and winter and summer sports (go Tribe and Cavs!) and stargazing all year long. When she’s not writing she’s working as a veterinary nurse, so don’t be surprised to see her men with a pet or three who are a very big part of their lives.
Elizabeth received several amateur writing awards. Since being published two of her novels have received honorable mentions in the Rainbow Awards. Her novel Jewel Cave was a runner up in the 2015 Rainbow awards in the Gay Mystery/Thriller category.
Website:  http://www.elizabeth-noble.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.noble.77Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4781553.Elizabeth_Noble

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BLOG TOUR
May 16 Kris Bethke https://kristbethke.com/May 17 Susan Laine https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/11415563-guest-post-elizabeth-nobleMay 18 Meg Harding http://megharding.wordpress.com/May 19 Jamie Lynn Miller https://jamielynnm.wordpress.com/May 20 Charlie Descoteaux https://cdescoteauxwrites.com/May 23 Grace R. Duncan http://www.grace-duncan.com/May 24 Sarah Madison http://www.sarahmadisonfiction.com/May 25 Rick R. Reed http://www.rickrreed.com/May 26 Skylar M. Cates https://skylarmcates.wordpress.com/May 27 Lou Sylvre http://sylvre.rainbow-gate.com/May 30 Ki Brightly https://brightlybooks.wordpress.com/ May 31 Shira Anthony http://www.shiraanthony.com/

Skylar M. Cates On Her First Kiss: A Guest Post

First Kiss
A Guest Post by Skylar M. Cates
On a New Jersey beach in the heat of summer, while the rest of us were lazy and baking in the sun, Timothy alone braved the waves. Timothy was not my boyfriend, but I wished him to be. He was older, and I was the pesky little sister that my sister was forced to babysit. Timothy had a girlfriend, Ginny---a super-cool, bikini-clad girlfriend. So I was safe. Timothy would never want me. He would never see me. With my flat chest hidden in an old t-shirt, and my hair blanketing my face to cover my acne-cheeks, I could sit there and fantasize.

Crush.

It’s an accurate word. It’s a love that can’t be spoken out loud for fear of humiliation. It’s a love hoping for more.

Timothy returned from his ocean swim. Muscles. Abs. Wet skin.

I hide my quickening breath and willed myself to lower my eyes. Not that he noticed me or what I did. Timothy playfully dived on top of Ginny, arms out wide, laughing.

Flash forward: three years

I’m at home, barefoot and stretched out on my lawn, pretending it’s a beach. I have no car and am stuck at home. It’s hot and I’m fucking bored. My sister is working at the local Carvel. She’s supposed to bring home ice cream. Please, let her make it something chocolate.

Ginny broke up with Timothy a few months ago and moved south to live with her mother. Since then, he has been coming around to hang out with my sister and other friends. So I’m not too surprised when he enters my backyard.

He grins at me as I get up. I’m wearing a fire engine red one piece with a halter tie. My body has filled out nicely, although I focus more on its flaws than its good parts. He asks what I’m doing and I say “nothing.” That’s the truth. There is nothing else I need to do or think about---Only him.

Timothy never did become my boyfriend. We had that one day where we found ourselves alone and lonely. We spent it kissing. For first kisses, they were magic .Soft. Nice. But crushes are secret.

When my sister interrupted us, opening the front door, her keys jangling as she balanced a gallon of rocky road and her purse, we quickly stopped. She never suspected, and I didn’t tell my sister about the kissing until many years later. Believe me, back then she would have kicked Timothy’s ass.

Timothy did return to my house a few days later, but my sister had the day off and was home. Did I want a repeat performance? Yes… and no. If it turned real, it would no longer be perfect. Timothy smiled at me, his eyes kind and warm. My cheeks heated as I smiled back.

One day was all we had. One day was enough.

And here's a little taste of Skylar's work....

BLURB
A Work in The Guy Series

Anthony Carrino loves his big, gregarious Italian-American family, even if his sisters are interfering, and his dad, the local sheriff, knows everything going on in town. He’s happy as a middle school guidance counselor. Despite helping kids and their parents fix their problems, Anthony can’t manage to get his own love life right. If only everyone would stop calling him the “nice” guy.

Dean Pierce doesn’t do relationships. A tough-minded military man, he is dedicated to his job as a Night Stalker, flying Chinook helicopters and not speaking much to anybody. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with a mess of emotions. But when tragedy strikes, Dean finds his hands full with his troubled niece, her irresistible guidance counselor, and a meddlesome family, which includes a rather large puppy.


BUY
From Dreamspinner Press
From Amazon

MORE ABOUT SKYLAR M. CATES
Skylar M. Cates loves a good romance. She is quite happy to drink some coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Most days, however, Skylar is chasing after her husband, her kids, and her giant dog, Wasabi. Skylar dreams about spending her days writing her novels, walking along the beach, and making more time for her good friends. On a shoestring budget, Skylar has traveled all over in her early years. Although, lately, the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe.

Dreamspinner Press Author Page

Social Media Comparison Sickness

I admit it. Even though I'm not a religious person at all, I love the writing (and the wisdom of John Pavlovitz). I'm a fan.

What he had to say the other day about how social media can get under our skins really hit home. He ended with what I'm pasting below, but I encourage you to read his whole post here.

People’s lives are never as magical as they appear.
We’re all faking it and hoping others will believe us.
Everyone’s a mess.
Everyone is insecure.
We all feel like frauds.
We all feel ugly.
We all feel like we’re falling short.
Our marriages are all challenging, our kids all exhausting, our careers all frustrating, our bodies all failing.
We all worried about our waistlines and hairlines and bottom lines.Every one of us feels like everyone else on the planet has their junk so much more together—so let’s stop making ourselves sick.Friend, we each have a solitary sacred space we fill in this world; the families, friendships, marriages, careers, relationships that we alone occupy. The key to overcoming comparison sickness, is to treasure and revere that space. It is to covet the lives we already have.

Cover Reveal: Island Counselor by Sue Brown

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Sue Brown reveals the sexy cover art of her next book titled ISLAND COUNSELOR coming out from Dreamspinner Press.
It releases on June 20, 2016.
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BLURB
Counselor Logan Wilde has a successful therapy practice in London, but when a traumatic incident there leaves him suffering from PTSD, he takes refuge in his holiday cottage on the Isle of Wight, unable to face going back to work. Not that he’s allowed to relax. Logan’s time is taken up with helping Liam Owens, plus there’s Nick Brent, whom Logan discovers collapsed on the beach. Nick and Logan spend their time bickering with each other, but that doesn’t alter the attraction they both feel.
Logan is forced to make some hard decisions about his future, which entails facing up to recent events, only he’s not alone—Nick is with him. Unfortunately, someone else makes a decision, too, and now trouble is on its way to the Isle of Wight.
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PRESENTING
Cover Art by L.C. Chase

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EXCLUSIVE TEASER
Logan took a moment to admire Nick’s wiry, muscled figure before jogging up to him. “I thought we were meeting at nine?”
“I’m used to being up early.”
“You miss being out at sea,” Logan said.
“Every ship and boat is like a stab to my heart. Every wave calls me out there.” Nick sighed, shifting restlessly. “Will I ever get back, doc?”
Check out other exclusive teasers on -
:: Rick R. Reed :: RJ Scott :: Frosty's Book Corner :: Bayou Book Junkie ::: The Purple Rose Tea House :: Cia’s Stories :: Alpha Book Club :: Man2ManTastic :::: Love Bytes Reviews :: Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents :: :: Wicked Faeries Tales And Reviews :: Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words ::
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sue Brown is owned by her dog and two children. When she isn't following their orders, she can be found plotting at her laptop. In fact she hides so she can plot and has gotten expert at ignoring the orders.
Sue discovered M/M erotica at the time she woke up to find two men kissing on her favorite television series. The series was boring; the kissing was not. She may be late to the party, but she's made up for it since, writing fan fiction until she was brave enough to venture out into the world of original fiction.
:: Website :: Blog :: Facebook :: Twitter :: Google+ ::
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RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY
Winner’s Prize: $10 Amazon/ARe Gift Card
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On the Preservation of Innocence: A Guest Post by Jon Wilson

A five-part series wherein I examine the pitfalls—both real and imagined—and difficulties—both encountered or merely anticipated—to being a gay author in the 21st Century, and attempt to discuss how said pitfalls and difficulties can be used to our advantage, thereby employing the old adage "Making lemons into lemonade." (And, in advance of the inevitable inquiry, allow me to retreat into the naivete allowed one of my advanced years and answer simply: "What's a Beyonce?") 


Part 2:On the Preservation of InnocenceorLet Me Hold Your Purse

"In the truly awesome attempt of the American to at once preserve his innocence and arrive at a man’s estate, that mindless monster, the tough guy, has been created and perfected; whose masculinity is found in the most infantile and elementary externals…" 
— James Baldwin, The Preservation of Innocence 
Baldwin went on to challenge the violent homophobia of, among others, authors such as Raymond Chandler, and, as I have admitted elsewhere, the initial impetus of my novel Cheap as Beasts, came after rereading the first fifty-odd pages of The Big Sleep (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Sleep). Baldwin's critique, in 1949, surely felt groundbreaking (and, in light of today's bathroom wars, still echoes with a certain prescience), but I'm not much of a serious essayist, so those seeking an academic, philosophical, or, let's face it, even a general survey may want to go right on seeking.

Instead I want to tell you about a time I didn't buy a shirt.

That hardly sounds like an exciting story. Even if you're one of those people who love to shop, the tagline pretty much spoils the ending. Cos I didn't buy it…Even though it fit nicely (a circumstance not to be undervalued—see Tuesday's Pink Lemonade entry), was 100% cotton (a must) and discounted (a double-must). You see, I couldn't bring myself to buy it because it was pink.

I'd like to tell you this happened back in my teens when I was struggling with accepting my sexuality and when the only gay character one regularly saw on tv was Charles Nelson Reilly. Unfortunately, it happened last week. 
Charles Nelson Reilly
Provocateur
I'm as shocked as you. Maybe more. Or then again, maybe I'm making too much of it. But I remember looking at that shirt, pausing, and then deciding, "Nope, I…Nope." Maybe it's because I'm too fat (I again refer you to Tuesday's Pink Lemonade) and feared I'd end up looking like a giant Easter egg. That last excuse is tempting me with a warm embrace of denial, but it is a lie. To me that shirt screamed, "GAY!"

I'm no butch manly-man. In fact, now that I think about it, that shirt would probably look fantastic on someone who was. The pink cotton stretched across his hard pecs, a few coarse strands of chest hair curling flirtatiously out of the V-neck…His arms packing the sleeves like great pink salamis…The lower seam hitched up over his belt buckle… 
Robert Conrad
Provided for no other reason than I thought I'd show you what my childhood fantasies looked like
Sorry, where was I?

Oh, yeah, no manly-man me. But I'm what used to be called—in less enlightened times, I'll allow—"straight-acting". (Which never really should have been a term embraced by any self-respecting gay man because it's right there plain as day that you're saying your whole demeanor's an act. Worse, your implying no homosexual would naturally behave as you do. So, yeah, that's a minefield and let's just step slowly back from the barbed wire surrounding it and find another path…)

I can't remember exactly when it happened, and the why of it has probably been mostly reconstructed in my imagination, but I still hear my mother's voice telling me that boys swing their arms when they run. In my imaginary reconstruction, I'm running alongside my two older sisters—or, more probably, a few steps behind—and undoubtedly doing what they were doing. Not that either of my sisters were particularly girly (something mothers probably critiqued in the 70s, just unbeknownst to their slightly swishy sons). The most girly thing I recollect about the sister a few years older than me is that she had a pair of white gogo boots she wore a lot. (It really was a hip decade and I'm afraid most of you missed it!) I wish I had digital pictures to back me up, but I sent both sisters requests for pics, and have yet to hear back.

That my mother's words still echo in my head is probably not surprising to most gay kids of my generation. This was before all children were recognized as special snowflakes; when parents, schools and churches felt obliged to train you to be the sort of snowflake the world expected you to be. And I certainly don't want to single my parents out as extreme or regimental or even particularly strict. My day had been an army drill sergeant and the family was expected to go to church every Sunday, but I pretty much hit the jackpot on parents. They had no problem showing affection and, when the inevitable day came that they learned I was gay, neither considered (out loud, anyway) disowning me.

But I do remember her saying that about swinging my arms. Just like I remember being in fifth or sixth grade and having a group of guys call out my name just so they could laugh at the—let's call it "graceful"—way I pivoted to answer them.

I was not an athletic kid. I could hit a ball and I could run the bases, I could shoot a basket (to some degree, and never anything fancy), and I knew the rules of football, but I never felt any keen desire to engage in those activities. Racket sports were my thing, when "a thing" was required, and I rocked at Badminton…Which, y'know, in itself is sort of a red flag. Despite a lousy serve I played tennis moderately well, and, at Summer Camp I once did the unthinkable and beat a counselor at ping pong. (That's seriously one of my more traumatic sports memories. I had a major crush on that counselor and he shunned me for the rest of the summer!)

I suppose I was bullied in school, but not mercilessly, and (going back to my parents), my self-esteem was quite healthy. In grade school and a good part of Junior High, I was a "Brain" more than a pansy, and then I fell in with the drama and band kids, meaning I was teased more about being a drama\band kid than for any suspect sexual deviance. (My sexual deviance was well-established in my own mind, however; though I dated several nice girls, I'd started messing around with other boys—well, one other boy in particular—quite young.)

I knew I was gay quite early too, even though I continued to date girls (really just two) in college. I recollect a gay friend at the time explaining he didn't believe I was gay at all; he said I was just "artsy". I think he meant bohemian, but he called me "artsy", carefully prefacing it with the "just". (I don't think "bi" ever entered my mind—despite the fact that these were the bi-Bowie and bi-Jane Wiedlin years—I was just a gay guy who liked to make out with girls occasionally—and the last thirty years has been exclusively me with dudes, so, y'know, hindsight and all.) 
The Author in College
His milkshake did not bring all the boys to the yard.
Which brings me to another interesting aspect of my inability to buy the pink shirt. Thirty years ago I would have bought it on principle. I'd have said, figuratively rather than actually probably, but still: "Fie on your expectations world! That's right, Fie you M****rf****rs!"

And, on the one hand, that bothers me because have I turned yellow? Or has the world progressed, matured, abandoned it's febrile innocence and rendered the need to shout "Fie!" obsolete? I don't think it's the second. We've come a long way, baby, but we ain't there yet.

I don't worry much about the way I'm perceived by the world. Well, I do but not about whether or not the world perceives I'm gay. I worry about the fact that I sometimes forget how old I am. At my last job I came home one night and wondered why I was so exhausted. I quickly realized that I'd attached myself to a social circle twenty years my junior. Worse than the fact that I could no longer keep up, I began to fret that they saw me as a sort of mascot or pet old person they kept around ironically. It was terrifying.

Besides, I write gay fiction, so anyone who progresses beyond the most casual of acquaintances is probably more or less aware of, let's this time say "proclivities". And really I don't want to beat myself up too much about not buying the shirt because it prompted this essay, which is today's lemonade. That moment of homosexual panic I experienced got me thinking about masculinity, explicitly its various trappings, and that got me to thinking about the male homosexual experience, which, is more or less compelled to confront the question of masculinity in ways the heterosexual experience manages to avoid.

Oh, I agree with Baldwin; there's a definite American (though almost certainly not exclusively American) construct of masculinity that is in many ways infantile. And surely any number of great heterosexual writers have explored, examined, or even eviscerated it. But I do believe the homosexual experience (and I'm certainly including gay women here too) compels those of us who aren't straight to see it askance even when we embrace it. We thereby bring a unique perspective to the question of masculinity (and femininity for that matter) and necessarily have important things to say about it. 
The Author's Westerns
Available from Lethe Press !
I could be accused of writing tough guy fiction. (In fact, I have been, though neither as vehemently nor as regularly as I'd like.) The one superpower of Declan Colette—the PI narrator of Cheap as Beasts and Every Unworthy Thing—is his ability to take a punch (it's not really a superpower, but it's not like he spies dust on the carpet and immediately recognizes his adversary has been to the Maldives either). The plots of both of my westerns, A Shiny Tin Star and A Hundred Little Lies, turn on pretty violent fistfights. But I don't quite see it that way. I think I write rather regular guys who just happen to be caught facing extraordinary circumstances.

But I do rather enjoy exploring the question of masculinity, especially in the Declan Colette books. These take place not long after the end of WW2 and America was experiencing a panic of sorts of its own. Communism and Homosexuality were twin specters threatening the American Way of Life. If you've read Chandler's Big Sleep, you may remember the line that so rankled me, about how, no matter how tough they looked, queers lacked any real iron and folded like lawn chairs (I'm paraphrasing because it doesn't deserve a direct quote and/or I'm too lazy to get up and find my Chandler). But really that's less Chandler treading out a tired stereotype than it is an attempt to reassure himself that when it came down to it he—and, by extension, any real man—could always spot the queers. They weren't the same as the "normals". A major part of the fear of that period that is mostly forgotten now is that WW2 revealed the old stereotypes didn't hold. Queers could be every bit as masculine as the "normals". They, like a Commie, could be anyone. 

Jon Wilson is the author of Cheap as Beasts , a current finalist for the Lambda Literary Award Best Gay Mystery of 2015. He's also written a follow-up volume, Every Unworthy Thing , as well as two westerns. He lives and works in Northern California, where he will gladly hold your purse while you shop. Believe me, it's better that way.

The Pink Lemonade Blog Tour continues tomorrow at Meg Perry Books, and, if you missed any previous entries, you can find them HERE (Part One) and HERE (Part Two)

I'm giving away a signed copy of both the Declan Colette books at the end of this blog tour. Just leave a semi-cogent comment (which, I suppose, means I'll have to allow "YOU SUCK!") to any of the five parts in the Pink Lemonade Blog Tour to enter (if you leave multiple comments or comment each day, you get entered for each comment)!

LOVE STORIES: Wrecked by Deanna Wadsworth

Welcome to my little exploration of love, how people fall in love, what keeps them together, and what keeps them apart. This week, Deanna Wadsworth shares her own real-life love story. And please read on to check out her new book, Wrecked!

DEANNA'S LOVE STORY: A NON-ROMANCE NOVEL LOVE STORY
As a romance novelist, I write my books to capture one moment in time, that perfect part of the protagonists’ lives where they meet, fall in love, and decide they’re going to have a happily ever after. Of course in fiction, that moment is filled with all the angst, drama, and the intense, unrivaled passion that readers love. No one really wants to read about my two heroes burning dinner, going to work and folding the laundry. In other words the real life stuff.

Life isn’t like a romance novel. 
It’s boring, wonderful, awful, stressful, funny, and mundane—depending on the day. 
Our nineteenth wedding anniversary was April 19, and yes, we’ve had our “romance novel” moments over the past two decades. First kisses, first fights, making love on a beach, getting a puppy, the evil MIL trying to thwart the wedding…..you know all that wonderful drama that makes a great book. 
But in between those times, the real moments are the ones that make me fall in love all over again. When I go outside after a snow storm, and he already scraped my car clean at 5:30AM before he left for work. When he reaches out his hand, and wordlessly I take it in mine. When we share a glance and a million conversations are shared in that one look. Even when I’m madder than hell at him, deep down I know that no matter what, we still love each other. What’s more important, we still LIKE each other.
Maybe not that romantic, but that’s saying something after all this time.
So what’s the key to having a happy, non-romance novel love story? Well, marrying your best friend is a good start, but how do you make it last? Well, I attended a coworkers wedding this weekend and she had placed notebooks on each table asking guests to write a bit of marital advice. It’s hard to put it all into one succinct sentence, but this is what I penned:
Never forget how in love you are today, never go to bed angry, always shower together, and always remember to laugh.
Hey, it’s worked for us!
WRECKED Off the Key West coast, Rief Lawson works as a wrecker, salvaging ships and their cargo. Exiled to the outskirts of society because of his mysterious gift of sight, Rief’s only respite from his loneliness is painting an unknown blond man. When a merchant ship wrecks during a violent storm, Rief rescues a drowning victim and comes face-to-face with his destiny.
It is the man from his art!
Heir to an English barony, Mathew Weston entered the merchant trade with his greedy father and soon-to-be father-in-law. Dominated by his father and smothered by the people around him—including his sweet but tiresome fiancée—Mathew is terrified to follow his true desires. Marriage and obedience seem safer than a life of secrecy and possible prison.
After the daring rescue, a fire ignites between the two men. Powerless to resist his desire, Mathew learns what it means to be a man in Rief’s arms. With this newfound confidence, Mathew teaches Rief through gentle touch that he deserves the affection he’s long been denied. Yet their affair is doomed from the start. Two desperate men, wrecked in heart and mind, must find a way to salvage the chance at love fate has given them.
BUY WRECKEDAmazon │Dreamspinner │Google Play │iTunes │All Romance │Kobo │Barnes & Noble 

EXCERPT My historical romance novel WRECKED is a tale of two men, wrecked in heart and mind, who must salvage their chance at love and happiness in 1850’s Key West, Florida. The following excerpt is the romantic stuff of novels we all love, what makes us swoon and our hearts skip a beat. Maybe it isn’t real life, but it is romantic. After all, you don’t want to read about Rief and Mathew arguing about who is going to fix the leaking gutter, do you? LOL

Rief looked around, and though some new gawkers paused to look at the rubble, they were rather secluded in their corner. “You aren’t leaving? That you want to build a life here… with me?” 
Even as the words left his lips, Rief feared that speaking them aloud might end the dream, forcing him to awaken back in his former, sad reality where the only one who loved him were mere images. 
Coming closer, Mathew inspected the black soot coating the beam Rief sat upon. He hesitated for a moment, then adjusted the tails of his coat and sat. Rief chuckled at his fussiness, pleased he’d opted to join him despite the risk of sullying his clothing and reputation. 
“It disheartens me that you do not believe me to be a man of my word,” Mathew finally said. “How many times must I tell you that I will never leave you?” 
“I was not questioning your honor, Mr. Weston. I just can’t believe that this is happening.” 
“Why not?” he all but demanded, a hint of impatience showing through. “How can I turn my back on the man who has needed me so badly that he has been drawing me since childhood, anticipating my arrival all this time, without even knowing it? You expect me to abandon you in your greatest hour of need when I have always been there for you before?”
Rief could not form a reply and only stared. 
Smoothing the lapels of his frock coat, Mathew continued, “I have thought long and hard about this, Rief. After your mother’s death, you began to draw someone who gave you peace when life became unbearable. Well, take a look around you?” He gestured to the wreckage. “That man has been destroyed.” 
Rief’s heart skipped, and Mathew’s eyes captured his, wide and impassioned. “You have no need for him ever again,” he declared in an ardent whisper. “I’m here now, and I will be your new peace, your solace. I am not paper and ink. My love cannot be destroyed by mortal means.” He placed a gentle but firm hand on Rief’s knee, and hope burned as hot as desire. “If the mere shadows and drawings of me have been your saving grace, I will be your anchor. Where they gave you peace, I will give you ecstasy. They may have brought you happiness, but I will vow my love.” 
Sudden tears streamed down Rief’s face, and he did not bother to check them. He did not care if a thousand people saw, for these tears were not borne of weakness. 
They were of pure, unadulterated joy. 
Though Mathew’s vow was so damn perfect and succinct, spelling out a life grander than he’d ever imagined possible, old fears and doubts could not be vanquished with mere words. Lip trembling, he barely managed to ask, “But what if this becomes too much? The risks of being discovered, my visions? Are you sure you want to give up everything for a life with me?” 
Mathew laughed, patting his knee and not letting go. “And what sort of life did I have before you? One of high society and pretentiousness? One where no one knew or cared who I was? Days being surrounded by people yet feeling so miserably alone? How can you ask me if that life is preferable to one with the man I love?” 
“Matt,” he whispered, emotions getting the best of him and silencing the things he wanted to say. “I love you, Rief, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said so quietly Rief wondered if it was just the wind, for the words were too perfect to be real. “I don’t care about the risks. I could have lost you last night, and that was enough to teach me real fear. I’ve always been afraid to be myself, but now the only fear which has power over me is losing you. I’d rather die than spend another day without you.” 
Rief pressed his hand over his face to hide the tears, and the grip on his leg tightened with intimate promise. 
Mathew’s voice wavered as he continued, “My entire life I have been waiting for this moment. I have been lonely and broken, not knowing where to go or what to do. Or even who to be. But I do not feel that way when I am with you. Your touch makes my body and my heart burn with love and desire,” he said very softly but with the intensity he showed when they made love. “You are the missing piece of my soul, Rief Lawson, the very thing which has made me a man. I love you, and I hope that you love me—” 
“I do!” he cried, clutching at the hand on his leg, imploring Mathew to believe him. 
Eyes brimming with affection, Mathew smiled. “Then what else do we have to worry for?”
ABOUT DEANNADeanna Wadsworth might be a bestselling erotica author, but she leads a pretty vanilla life in Ohio with her wonderful husband and a couple adorable cocker spaniels. She has been spinning tales and penning stories since childhood, and her first erotic novella was published in 2010. She has served multiple board positions at her local RWA chapter and with Rainbow Romance Writers of America. When she isn’t writing books or brainstorming with friends, you can find her making people gorgeous in a beauty salon. She loves music and dancing, and can often be seen hanging out on the sandbar in the muddy Maumee River or chilling with her hubby and a cocktail in their basement bar. In between all that fun, Deanna cherishes the quiet times when she can let her wildly active imagination have the full run of her mind. Her fascination with people and the interworkings of their relationships have always inspired her to write romance with spice and love without boundaries. 
Website │Facebook │ Twitter │Pinterest │goodreads │Amazon │Instagram 
You can also find her young adult alter ego, K.D. Worth Facebook │Twitter
Buy Deanna’s books at Dreamspinner Press, Decadent Publishing or at any reputable eBook seller like Amazon

A Hilarious Excerpt from OUT ON THE NET: A Love Story in Blog Form

Out on the Net: A Love Story in Blog Form is all about a small-town young guy’s tentative steps toward self-acceptance and finding true love. Below is one of the saddest—and most hilarious—of those tentative steps.

BLURBRay Tolliver has bad timing. Cold feet? It doesn’t get much worse than accepting you’re gay twenty minutes before your wedding to a woman, yet that’s just what happens.

Join Ray as he recounts in his blog the hilarious and touching events that lead him on a journey toward true love. Although he originally starts looking for love in all the wrong places, will he eventually find another man who wants more than just quick sex? A man who appreciates romance, hearts, and flowers? Or will he find that self-acceptance and bliss do not always go hand-in-hand?And what of Alice, Ray’s lovely, jilted fiancée? Will she find it in her heart to forgive the man who left her at the altar?
These questions and more are answered in this unique love story, told in the form of blog entries. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, but you’ll come away with a renewed appreciation for the power and difficulties of loving not only others, but yourself…

Buy Link: Amazon
Add Out on the Net: A Love Story in Blog Form on GoodreadsEXCERPT: A VISIT TO A REST STOPOh, I know what you’re going to say when you see the title of this entry. You’ll roll your eyes and say, “Now, I understand why this blog is labeled ‘adult content.’” And you’re probably thinking that things are going to get juicy and scandalous.Because everyone in Summitville knows what goes on at that little rest stop just north of town, on the way to the highway. There’s a reason people snicker about it and call it “Lollipop Park.”Are you rolling your eyes and hoping in every sense of the phrase that I will not go there?Hang on to your hats, boys and girls, because I did go there. Sordid. Seedy. Shameful. I know. I went there in real life and I’m going there now on paper. Hang on, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!But I didn’t yet tell you why I drove out there just a couple of weeks after the disaster that was to have been my wedding day. And I haven’t yet related what happened there, so just hold your horses on your judgments, Mary. I am trying to learn to talk as I imagine a gay man would and it’s not coming easy. Case in point—calling you “Mary.” So stupid.Anyway, Summitville, PA has no gay bars, no gay clubs, no gay newspaper. To the untrained eye, one might even claim the little riverside town has no gay people, but discerning minds know that in a town of 12,000, that can’t be true. If you take the more or less accepted rule of thumb of one in every ten people is gay (don’t ask me where I got that statistic; I’ve heard it all my life), that would mean there are at least 1200 people here just like me, or at least like me in that they prefer sausage over pie or vice versa.I digress. Why did I stop by the rest stop, when I neither needed to rest, nor to pee? What made me go to that shadowy, stinking-of-excrement, gravel-fronted little rest stop with the obscene graffiti and lone men lingering too long in parked cars? What would possess a nice, clean, upstanding guy like me to wander out to a place known for anonymous sexual encounters?Curiosity. Don’t give me that crap about killing the cat, either. It was curiosity. Because, you see, even though I knew now that I was a gay man, I had no idea what gay men did, where they went, how they met. Maybe if I lived in that big city to the west, Pittsburgh, with its gay bars and clubs, I would have a better idea. But here in Summitville, where when people think of “cornholing,” they think of a summertime game played with beanbags and slotted boards, I just hadn’t had much opportunity to know much about gay life—the ins and outs of it (yes, I hear you snickering…shut up!).Ergo the rest stop, rest area, Lollipop Park, whatever you wanted to call it. It was my only frame of reference for where gay men met up. I had driven by many times, on my way to the mall, and had heard the whisperings and jokes about the place, had even pretended to find the idea of such a locale humorous. But when I was alone, I put the humor aside and toyed with the rumors I’d heard—that men sucked each other off in the woods nearby and sometimes even right there in the stalls; that guys picked each other up and went back to each other’s home for God knew what. Parcheesi? Root beer floats? I don’t think so. These ideas made me feel paradoxically sick and weak and, at the same time, queasy with desire.So I decided that my first act as a gay man should be to meet another one. And my very limited frame of reference left this as my only option. The idea of driving up to Pittsburgh or down to Steubenville and setting foot in one of the gay bars there filled me with terror. I was so not ready to mingle with my more urban, and sophisticated, gay brethren.So I was stuck with this seedy and unseemly choice. I pulled into the gravel parking lot, where several other cars were already sitting, and shrugged. What would be the worst that could happen? Okay, okay, I could be fag bashed or arrested…that would be the worst. But if I was careful, maybe I would come out of this at least knowing someone else like myself and maybe, oh God, just maybe, I would have my first sexual encounter with a man.Whoa there, boy, you’re getting ahead of yourself! I quieted the lustful thoughts and the rising erection that both seemed to arrive of their own accord, with no prompting from me.I sat in my car and looked around the little parking lot. It was around nine o’clock, dusky. A few fireflies danced in the air over the grassy area just ahead of our cars, where the Summitville park district had kindly put out a pair of decrepit looking picnic tables. Who would want to picnic here? And what was on the menu?Shut up with the weenies comment, please!Because of the dying light and the setting sun reflecting off car glass, it was hard to see any of the other occupants of the three other vehicles in the lot. One thing was for sure, though: from the silhouettes, I could tell that a lone male occupied each car. One of them was smoking; I could see the glow of the cherry at the tip of his cigarette as he brought it to his mouth and drew in.What was I supposed to do now? I didn’t know, so I just sat in my car, the butterflies dancing in my stomach, for what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, only about fifteen minutes or so. I drew in a deep breath and gathered up my courage. Someone had to start something.I rolled up my car windows and exited my Kia Soul, closing the door softly behind me. I used the remote over my shoulder to lock the car up as I headed to the little cinder block structure to my left. Even from here, the word, “MEN” beckoned in white on a blue background.Promising.I went inside and thought of uttering that old Bette Davis line, “What a dump!” and then chastised myself for being such a queen.But the shitter, er, the restroom was not exactly a sight for sore eyes. It was dingy and dark, the only illumination came from a bare, low-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. The paint-peeling industrial green walls looked like they would be damp to the touch. Flies buzzed around, obviously delighted with the luxurious accommodations. Cigarette butts and toilet paper littered the floor. Twin pieces of reflective metal, trying hard to find their motivation as mirrors, had been affixed to the wall above a pair of old, dripping, and rust-stained sink. On one wall was mounted a dispenser out of which one could get a condom for just a quarter. What was that doinghere? The whole place stank of urine and shit.Isn’t it romantic?If this was gay life, perhaps I should crawl back to Alice on my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.But, as the saying goes, “in for a penny, in for a pound,” I thought I should at least check out the rest of the place. See what some witty scribes had written on partition walls…I headed over to the two toilet stalls and, after wiping the seat with a piece of single-ply toilet paper, I nervously sat down. Even though I had wiped the seat, I didn’t feel comfortable enough to lower my cargo shorts.The first thing I spied was some graffiti that said, “10-4 good buddy, this is the place, pull down your pants and fuck my face.”Charming!I wondered what poet wannabe had written those lines on the wall and if any burly trucker had ever heeded its siren call. I searched in vain for more rhyming couplets, but none of the other graffiti matched its poetic flair. In fact, the rest of it was downright crude, exhortations to suck and be sucked, to fuck and be fucked, penis sizes, and messages left by people who cared so little about their privacy that they left phone numbers.I could not imagine calling one of those numbers…or what kind of person would be hanging out on the other end of the line.I stiffened—and not in a good way—as I heard footsteps. It was then that I noticed the hole drilled into the partition wall. It was just the right size to fit a hand—or, oh my Sweet Jesus, another part of the anatomy—through and positioned at waist height.Did people really use that hole for what I thought they did?Was there no romance in the gay world?The footsteps neared my stall, and because there was no front door, I locked eyes with my new restroom buddy. He stopped in front of my stall and stared at me. I didn’t know what to do. Even though my shorts were up, I placed my hand over my crotch.He had his hand over his crotch, too, and was rubbing it suggestively. He squeezed and I could see the outline of an erect cock beneath the denim.Suddenly, my mouth felt dry and my heart was beating at double its usual rate. Good Lord, when had it gotten dark outside?I eyed the man and he met my stare almost with a challenge in his eyes. He was about my age, but had long, stringy blond hair. He was too skinny and his bare arms (he was wearing a grimy wife-beater) were tattooed up and down their sinewy lengths. A hoop earring dangled from one ear, peeking in and out from the strings of his platinum locks as he glanced down at his own crotch, as if making sure it was still there.My mouth was dry and I wanted to lick my lips, but was afraid of giving the wrong idea. I was learning fast that the language spoken here was with the eyes and not-so-subtle gestures.Finally, he smiled at me and I saw he had what my mom used to refer to as “summer teeth.” Some are here. Some are there.Suddenly, he reached for my crotch, as if to give it a neighborly squeeze. I swung my legs around to ensure his intended was out of his reach.He sighed impatiently and ducked quickly into the stall next to mine. For a long time, there was silence and I dared not hazard a peek through the hole in the wall to see what my new buddy was up to.But finally, I could stand the suspense no longer. I leaned forward a little, positioning my eye so it was level with the hole.Boy, did I get an eyeful. Mr. Summer Teeth had had no compunction about dropping his drawers and working himself up into a frenzy. A huge cock, what I would estimate to be between eight or nine inches, rose up from between his tanned thighs. He worked it hard and there was a drop of precum poised at the slit in his head.I have to admit it. My mouth wasn’t so dry anymore.I watched. I think I was a little in shock. All kinds of things were running through me, making me feel both nauseous and lustful. I wanted that thing. I needed to get the hell out of here now.He must have noticed me peering through the hole because the next thing I knew that big missile was coming right through it. Hey, buddy, watch it! You could take out someone’s eye with that thing!Suddenly the cock was right in front of my face, dripping precum. With just a slight lean forward, I could have the pleasure of tracing a bulging purple vein with my tongue.Did I touch it? Did I take it in my mouth?Are you crazy? I ran out of there as fast as I could and if it didn’t mean being labeled as a drama queen, I would have said I rushed out screaming into the night.As I drove away, tires sending up a spray of gravel behind me, I wondered if I would ever make a very good gay.

Buy Link: Amazon
Add Out on the Net: A Love Story in Blog Form on GoodreadsNote: This blog originally appeared on The Novel Approach May 12, 2016.

LOVE STORIES: CASTO: Gods of War by Xenia Melzer

Welcome to my little exploration of love, how people fall in love, what keeps them together, and what keeps them apart. This week, we have  talking about the routines of love...and it's a beautiful and touching post. And please read on to check out her new book, Casto: Gods of War!

XENIA'S LOVE STORY: The Routines of Love
That night, I came home to a sleeping house. The cat was a bundle of rolled up ginger fur on the couch, ignoring me completely. The children were both cuddled with their stuffed toys in their beds, looking almost angelic. They’re so cute when asleep., I thought. Nothing compared to the two little devils I have to deal with during the day. I went into the bathroom to find my toothbrush prepared and I knew a hot water bottle was waiting for me under the sheets. When I climbed into the bed, my husband greeted me with a grunt and a sleepy half-smile. Once I was settled and comfy, he slung his arm around me, hugging me tight, never waking up in the process.
I gazed into the dark and wondered, not for the first time, how I’d gotten so extremely lucky. So far, I’ve spent fourteen years with my husband and we shared the good and the bad. We were caught in the early flush, embarrassment, and anxiety that comes with a new love. We outgrew that blissful, yet awkward stage, enjoyed our time together and then added children to the mix because it seemed like a good idea, like the natural thing to do. Watching and supporting my husband as he grew as a person while he did the very same thing for me was sometimes tiresome, but always rewarding. We helped each other along the path and each passing year saw us getting even closer. 
With the children and both of us working, our life has become more structured, the room for spontaneous actions has shrunk considerably, both for going out and having fun at home. Do I miss that time? I would be lying if I said ‘no’. But as much as I sometimes crave the lightness of the early days, I would never trade them for what I have now. To an outsider, it may seem boring, knowing what your partner is thinking, being able to tell from just a glance what his emotional state is. To me, it’s a soothing, comforting thought. No matter what the world throws at me, at home I have a safe haven, a person who is there for me to share the laughter and the pain, the little happy moments and the outbursts of anger. 
Do I think consciously about all the small gestures we have established between us when I go through them? Not anymore. Preparing his toothbrush when I go to bed first, placing his coffee mug in front of the coffee maker in the morning, wishing him good night and sweet dreams – all those things have become second nature to me. Does that make them less precious? I don’t think so. Routines they may be, but they are the routines of love.
CASTO: Gods of WarAll is fair in love and war. 
Renaldo has lived happily by that proverb his entire life. But he has finally met his match, and he’s about to discover how unfair love and war can be.
When demigod and warlord Lord Renaldo takes a beautiful stranger captive during an ambush, he is delighted to have found a distraction that will keep him entertained during the upcoming siege. Little does he know, Casto is keeping more than just one secret from him. Slowly, Renaldo gets sucked into a turbulent roller-coaster relationship with his mysterious prisoner, one that begins with hatred and soon spirals into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. And when it seems that things can get no worse, an old enemy stirs right in the heart of his home.

Determined to keep Casto by his side, Renaldo has to find a balance between the capricious young man and his own destiny as a ruler and god to his people.
BUY AT DSP PUBLICATIONS
Ebook
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ABOUT XENIAXenia Melzer was born and raised in a small village in the South of Bavaria. As one of nature's true chocoholics, she's always in search of the perfect chocolate experience. So far, she's had about a dozen truly remarkable ones. Despite having been in close proximity to the mountains all her life, she has never understood why so many people think snow sports are fun. There are neither chocolate nor horses involved and it's cold by definition, so where's the sense? She does not like beer either and has never been to the Oktoberfest – no quality chocolate there.
Even though her mind is preoccupied with various stories most of the time, Xenia has managed to get through school and university with surprisingly good grades. Right after school she met her one true love who showed her that reality is capable of producing some truly amazing love stories itself.While she was having her two children, she started writing down the most persistent stories in her head as a way of relieving mommy-related stress symptoms. As it turned out, the stress-relief has now become a source of the same, albeit a positive one.

When she's not writing, she teaches English at school, enjoys riding and running, spending time with her kids, and dancing with her husband. If you want to contact her, please visit either her website, www.xeniamelzer.com or write her an email: info@xeniamelzer.com .    

COVER REVEAL: A Dangerous Game

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I'm excited to reveal the beautiful cover art of my next book, A DANGEROUS GAME coming out from Dreamspinner Press on June 03, 2016.

It's now available for pre-order in the Dreamspinner Press store (through May 14) for 35% off! See buy links below!
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BLURB
2nd Edition
Sex can be a dangerous business. So can love.
On the worst day of his life, Wren Gallagher wants oblivion when he steps into Tricks for a drink. When a mysterious stranger steps up to pay his tab, he offers Wren the key to fulfilling his dreams of prosperity and true love.
But appearances are not always what they seem.
His savior owns the escort agency À Louer, and he wants the young and handsome Wren as part of his stable of men-for-hire. Down on his luck, Wren figures, why not? He needs the money. When he joins, though, he doesn’t count on meeting Rufus, another escort with whom he falls hopelessly in love.
But their love story will have to overcome the obstacles of not only trading love for money, but À Louer’s dark—and deadly—secrets.
1st Edition published as Rent by ManLove Romance Press, 2012.
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PRESENTING
Cover Art by Reese Dante

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Teaser
“How’d you get so cute?” Rufus finally broke the silence. Wren could have easily fired back the same question. Rufus was what his mother would have called a “doll.” He stood a few inches taller than Wren, maybe six one or six two, and his head was topped with a thatch of wheat-colored hair that fell fetchingly across his forehead, every so often blocking the view of one of his startlingly dark blue eyes. The color reminded Wren of sapphires. He had pale skin, a lanky frame—that promised, Wren knew from past experience, a big dick—and a dusting of pale hair on his chin and upper lip that served to make him only look more masculine and sexy.
Read more exclusive teasers on –:: Gay Book Reviews :: MM Book Escape :: Love Bytes Reviews :: The Purple Rose Tea House :::: Bayou Book Junkie :: The Novel Approach ::
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PRE-ORDER LINK
Dreamspinner Press (eBook)
Dreamspinner Press (Paperback)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love.
He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). He is also a Rainbow Award Winner for both Caregiver and Raining Men. Lambda Literary Review has called him, "a writer that doesn't disappoint."
Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever "at work on another novel."
:: Website :: Blog :: Facebook Page :: Twitter :: Google+ ::
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RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY
Winner’s Prize: Winner’s choice of any eBook title from Rick’s Dreamspinner Press backlist.
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