See You In the Morning

Today we have A.T. Weaver, here to discuss her new release See You In the Morning. This isn't your typical two young men meet and fall in love story. Instead, the course of a fifty-year relationship unspools through memories.
The story spans youth, middle age, and the settling in of old age. It is a beautiful and bittersweet accounting of a love that spans decades, and will move you.

Blurb

Jake and Dave lived and loved for over fifty years. During that time, they campaigned for gay rights. They married each other three times until, finally, in 2013, the United States Supreme Court declared DOMA to be unconstitutional and thus legalized their union. They made a family and raised four beautiful children together. When he loses Dave to a massive stroke, Jake feels his world has ended. Join him as he relives a life well-lived through memories triggered by photos of his and Dave's years together. Jake feels as though Dave is still sitting beside him. As each picture is described, he reminds Dave of when and where it was taken. The reader is then taken to that time and place.

BUY:

Amazon  

 

BIO:

A. T. Weaver is the pen name of a Kansas City grandmother of ten. She lives with her cat, Cleopatra, in downtown Kansas City, MO. When she was growing up, the word gay meant happy and carefree and homosexuals were called queer or ‘one-of-those’. However, she never heard those terms until she was married and a mother. In 2003, through a TV show called Boy Meets Boy, A.T ‘met’ over 3,000 gay men in a Yahoo group. These men educated her as to the inequalities suffered by the LGBT community and she became a staunch ally. She visited one of the men in San Francisco who lived just up the street from the Castro. As he showed her around, they stopped in front of what was once Harvey Milk’s camera store. Her question, “Who was Harvey Milk?” started her education into Gay history. A. T.’s aim is to move you in some way. Whether you laugh or cry, love it or hate it, she welcomes all comments, whether good or bad.

A T Weaver actively participates in a charity walk every year, and this blog tour is in honour of all those in the walk and to raise funds for the walk and help AIDS charities.

http://www.aidswalkkansascity.org/ATWEAVER

GIVEAWAY:
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/ZTU0MjQxNmRmMjhmYjdmMTBlN2YzOTg4NTgxYmVmOjA=/
  

FE Feeley Jr and the Year 2125

         
 I've invited author FE Feeley Jr to give me his take on what the world might be like in 2125. Check it out... 

2125

The year is 2125 in America.  The world is quiet and at peace and has been for a one hundred year stretch since the last war between Russia and the United States.  During the conflict, hundreds of thousands perished in the hail of fire and weapons discharges.  Millions more were displaced by both world superpowers as they converged to war in central Europe.  Alas, a tentative peace brokered between the two nations has brought calm and mutual excitement to reach for the stars.

Technology has advanced and man has entered a new age.  Now, cities float high above where they once sat allowing for the growth of farmland and ecological preserves. These cities not only provide shelter, but clean industry as well as manufacturers focus on spaceflight.  NASA, still based in Houston, has just recently established a colony on the Moon and now transports come and go from Luna station daily.

Wars are a thing of the past as nations have figured out that ethnic and religious boundaries only isolate.  While religion and ethnicity is still widely celebrated, they look to the common good of forwarding man into the future, instead of tethering them to the past.  Law and Order prevails, but not to the detriment of society, as it is now.  Penal colonies are used to resuscitate and educate instead of punish.  Society sees the fault of one as a fault for all.

Race and minorities are no longer marginalized in society. Women hold key positions of power through their regions as well as those who once were trodden down my major corporations and the super rich.  Wealth and property still exist, but with sky cities, there is always plenty of room and while you may spend your life making a fortune, others, turn to agriculture and peaceful ways of living down on Terra Firma.

Sexuality is now seen as intrinsic to the human condition. Along with women and racial minorities, people of varying sexualities people are no longer denied equal treatment before the law.  Marriages and families are encouraged, and children learn at a much faster pace as education is a primary focus for each individual society. History, is a major focus, as a measure of where society was and where it is now. It isn’t shunned or altered in any way.  Human beings have come to realize their imperfections do not limit their triumphs.

It has been two years since first contact with an interstellar specie known as the Moldras, an advanced race of humanoids who had been observing the human race for quite some time and had been waiting just long enough for them to work their way technologically and socially.  And they have brought the human delegation to the interstellar Cathedral Council as a new member of the galaxy.

~*~*~

 I asked F.E. to share the blurb for his recent release Objects in the Rear View Mirror. Check it out...

Blurb:

Their new home on Frederick Street in Clay Center, Kansas, was supposed to give writer Jonathan David and his husband, clinical psychologist Dr. Eddie Dorman, an opportunity to enjoy married life. Jonathan has just released his first major bestseller, and he hopes to finally escape his traumatic past and find the quiet existence he has always craved. Eddie has taken a job at the Kansas State University psychology department, and they intend to begin anew.

They have barely settled in when the nightmare begins. Noises, disembodied voices, and mysterious apparitions make Jonathan’s life hell. Part of the house has decided to bare its teeth, show its jagged edges, and bring back the worst of Jonathan’s past. At first, Eddie cannot perceive the spectral events and fears for his husband’s sanity. When he’s also affected by the haunting, he’s unsure of what to do but refuses to be beaten.

Together, they seek a way to fight the forces trying to tear them apart. The world is a frightening place, but confronting their fears plunges Jonathan and Eddie into absolute horror.

 BUY: Amazon   Dreamspinner Press

BIO

F.E. Feeley Jr was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan and lived there for twenty years before joining the military. He is a veteran of the US Armed Services; having done a tour in support of Operation Iraq Freedom in 2002-2003, he turned college student, pursuing a degree in political science. He now lives in Southeast Texas where he is engaged to the love of his life, John, and where they raise their 1½ year old German shepherd, Kaiser.

As a young man, reading took center stage in his life, especially those novels about ghosts, witches, goblins, and all the other things that went bump in the night. His favorite authors include such writers as Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Anne Rice, whose work allowed him to travel to far off places and meet fascinating and scary characters. As a gay man, he wishes to be able to write good fictional literature for those who love the genre and to write characters that readers can relate to. All in all, he is a cigarette smokin’, whiskey drinkin’, rock and roll lovin’, tattoo wearin’ dreamer of a man with a wonderful partner who puts up with his crap and lets him write his stories.

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Allie Berg, Avalanches, and A New Dawn

Allie Berg joins me today to answer a few quirky questions. She’s also brought along a blurb and excerpt from her release A New Dawn, part of the Eostre’s Baskets collection at Loose Id.

 Okay, Allie. After an avalanche, you're trapped in a cabin in the mountains and unable to contact the outside world. A few questions...

 Who is the one person (known, fictional, or celebrity) you want with you? Why?

I'm tossing here between Lily Edwards, my bff and housemate, and Col. Samantha Carter from the Stargate franchise. 

Lily, because if I left her alone too long, she'd freak out, plus we get along well and can make our own fun for weeks at a time. Not to mention that if I was trapped for longer than a few days, when I got back I'd be talking to models for days on end. (Note: "talking to models" is Allily for having spent a day talking to people who don't understand the things that are important to you and having to talk until you run out of things to say to make up for it. It comes from a character of hers who is both a superhero and a fashion designer. No slight on models intend.) 
On the other hand, if I had Carter with me, we probably wouldn't be stuck as long, because she knows everything, and she managed to keep Jack alive in that ice cave the one time. It would be a great story to tell later, and I'd get to look at Amanda Tapping for days. This is a definite bonus. 
I guess I'd go with Carter in the end, but only because I'd be less likely to die. If I was going to die there, well, then I'd definitely want Lily.

What's the one thing you can't live without? 

I'm assuming that oxygen, fresh water or the means to boil snow, and a food source are covered, because obviously, I can't live without those. Literally. Beyond that, my iPad, charger and keyboard so I can read and write. If I can't have all of that or there's no electricity, then something to write with/on.

 I'd build a snow sculpture of…

Can I have two here? Because, honestly, I'd build an S.O.S. and cover the letters with leaves or branches or ash to make it stand out, if there was a chance of helicopter flyover. But if that weren't necessary, I'm sure I'd end up building a cock and balls, because decorating it and dressing it up would keep me entertained for hours. Besides, if help showed up, I could always claim it was a deformed snowman. 

Blurb: 

Amnesiac Essie Sundae has no idea that her psychically-inspired Easter baskets have antagonized treacherous supernatural entities. Or that her new lover is anything other than the identity-challenged shape-shifter he claims to be. To Essie, he’s the answer to her loneliness and, if she dares to trust him, possible help in filling in her blanks in her memory.
Xavier Cassidy, aka Rule 34, the soon-to-be god of internet porn, made an ill-advised deal to get help with his little identity problem. Now, he has no choice but to ‘recover’ a priceless treasure from Essie, even though he’s gone and fallen head over fins, heels or claws for the supernatural beauty who seems to have no idea who she is.
When new threats arise, imperiling Essie’s entire existence, Xav’s true nature is revealed. She needs his help more than ever, and he’ll risk his more-or-less immortal life to give it to her -- if she’ll let him.
But Xav’s not the only one who’ll have to sacrifice for Essie to make their sexily ever after.

Excerpt:

Seated at the rail of the Kalapaki Beach Hut, the shape-shifting supernatural calling himself Xavier Cassidy sipped the Kona blend that, until this morning, had been the primary perk of being on a case on Kauai. Now the black brew tasted charred and tarry beside the apricot, honey, and musk of the woman he’d eaten before breakfast. As appetizing as his Loco Moco platter--rice, hamburger, egg, and brown gravy--was, he figured he’d have traded it straight up for another taste of Essie Sundae.

No one he’d ever been with tasted like the beauty he’d had wrapped around his face. No lie, he could’ve eaten her all morning, fucked her on his tongue until her screams went hoarse. He wouldn’t be forgetting the look of her either. Big, firm homegrown tits pointing skyward, dirty-pink nipples hard and skywriting oh gods, yes with every heaving breath. Strong thighs splayed away from his shoulders, wanton, and...no shit, he could swear her damp coppery-blonde hair caught fire, or at least caught the light in a way that looked like fire, a nimbus of red-gold flame.

Nimbus? Xav blinked, fact-checked that one along his perennial mental link to the wide world of Internet porn. Ah, yeah. Harry Potter. Brooms. Named after the cloud of divine atmosphere around a goddess. Fitting, he decided, with the way her hair fell over her shoulders and brushed the tops of her breasts, with the slight womanly curve of her stomach and the hips he happened to know swayed like a hypnotist’s watch when she walked. And that mouth. Oh hell yeah. Whether or not she was divine, a guy could worship a mouth like that.

Not to mention that this morning was the first time he’d ever gone to a partner because he wanted to, instead of getting sucked in by their admittedly hot fantasy.

All of which was one helluva problem, since the errand that brought him to Kona at Kalapaki turned on that leggy honey with her killer curves and every-color blonde hair. Oldman--aka Janus, Roman god of beginnings and transitions, gates, doors, passages, endings, and time--his boss, for lack of term that didn’t make him sound like some kind of vassal, ironically had a severe shortage of patience and an even shorter fuse. So the sooner Xav could recover the damned “key” and cut ties with the old bastard, the better.

He must’ve been scowling at the laptop in front of him--filled with virtual ream after ream (pun more or less unavoidable) of porn, erotica, and erotic romance--since the bona fide beauty two tables over was giving him the “u mad bro?” come-hither. Thing of it was, he wanted to come hither or go thither. In theory. In theory, a hot, willing woman would be the perfect way to wash the taste of Essie Sundae out of his mouth. He sure as fuck wouldn’t have turned this one down last night if she’d been crossing and uncrossing her dragon-inked legs like that to give him a view of heaven, maybe even couldn’t have. Pretty as hell, prettier than Essie Sundae by most any measure, but this morning, she did nothing for him, and her broadcast fantasies about sucking him off under the table, as strong as they were, couldn’t have been less appealing.

Jesus H! The hell was wrong with him, panting after one woman, any woman, let alone a supernatural he didn’t know and was supposed to be tailing? Snorting disgust at himself, Xav went back to mainlining porn between beefy, salty, perfectly greasy bites of Loco Moco, trying to find some clue in every bit of smut since the beginning of forever as to what this damned key Oldman wanted was and why it was so important. Archaeological journals might’ve been more useful, but they took longer. His mind and his processing speeds were hardwired for smut; some of it, especially the fanfic, came shockingly well researched.

A plink interrupted his reading. He looked up, expecting to find a roach on the table or one of the huge flying fuckers on his spoon. Instead, a crumpled-up paper napkin sat beside his water glass. The Hawaiian hottie didn’t give up easy. He’d give her that. Since he wasn’t looking up the skirt a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader would’ve been embarrassed to wear, when he glanced over, she went full fellatio on her shave ice and spoon. Yeah, he got the message. They could be playing hot and naughty with the rainbow ice, if he’d just put away his computer and pay his bill. He shrugged, pointed to the palladium wedding band that had been a stud in his ear seconds before, up-chinned at her, and mouthed a cane-sugar-sweet Thanks anyway, princess.

After that, she backed off, cheeks a little on the flush side, gaze narrowed and smoldering, but ego no worse for the wear. He knew, because not five minutes later she’d moved on to a guy with cheekbones and nipples that could cut glass. More power to ya, sweetheart, he thought in her direction, and cast his gaze out over the sands to see if it was just her not doing it for him or Essie Sundae’d inoculated him with real immunity. That’d be a helluva thing. Might mean he didn’t need Oldman’s help so damn much.

Like the old bastard had radar for him thinking about bailing, his cell rang “January Friend” by the Goo Goo Dolls. Great song. Not so much the caller, and for half a dozen heartbeats, Xav seriously considered either not picking up or telling Oldman to fuck right off. On the seventh he recalled Oldman could kick his ass coming and going, and on the eighth through twelfth, he reminded himself of the other reasons pissing off his current boss would be a fool-stupid idea. On the thirteenth--yeah, he counted--he picked up and kicked back at the same time, then flipped a flying cockroach the bird when it tried to dive in for some rice and drawled, “Yeah, man. How’s it hanging?” into the phone.

“How many times have I asked you not to address me in that fashion, and to accord me the respect I’m due as--”

“Let’s call it an even dozen and skip the lecture. I’m a little busy. Porn waits for no man, woman, or child and all that.” Pissing him off royally might be off-limits, but tweaking him a bit--Xav smirked, flipped his hair out of his face, and nodded to the waitress for more coffee, eyeing her up idly for good measure--had to be fair game, or Xav’d choke on a kowtow. “What’s on your mind?”

“You couldn’t begin to encompass it all.”

Xav made the universal gesture for wanking off and rolled his eyes. “Why are you calling?”

“Ah, now we get to the crux of it”--the antique leather chair in Oldman’s New York study creaked protest as he shifted his weight but apparently didn’t give up the ghost, since there were no extraneous thuds or curses. Too bad. Xav wouldn’t mind imagining him dumped on his ass--“but can you truly be so entirely stupid as not to know what I require?”

“Oh, probably. I can give Forrest Gump a run for his money if I put my mind to it.” Oldman snarled, and Xav smirked to himself but settled down before the bastard blew his stack. He tabbed open his working file on the key and skimmed the nearly nothing there. “I’ll spare you the box of chocolates, though, and get right down to it.”

From the other end of the line came a profound sigh of relief. “Oh frabjous day!”

Frabjous? Xav traced that down his link and quickly found the reference. Lewis Carroll, “Jabberwocky.”

“Did you just make a joke, Oldman?”

“Yes, but an Indian supermodel just unzipped my fly, so don’t read anything into it.”

And he was talking on the phone with his promise-bound supernatural errand boy? Whatever blew his skirt up, Xav guessed. Oldman’s money, probably in both cases, and definitely fell under the heading of Not My Problem. “Well, don’t get too excited. I haven’t found your vorpal sword yet.”

“When I want you to be funny, I’ll let you know.”

Xav recognized the soft huff of breath as that of a man with an abruptly, pleasantly wet dick and paused to slice through another strip of his burger.

“Cassidy...”

“Here. Trying to time my responses appropriately.” So Oldman wouldn’t miss them in the waves of pleasure from his blowjob and call Xav yet again.

“Get on with it--ahh, not you, my dear.” There came a soft shushing sound, as of the sweep of a hand through long hair.

Annoyed, and tired of wasting time he could be spending with--watching Essie Sundae--as a dolphin, a bird, a gardener, a barista, anything ever mentioned in porn-- Xav spit out, “You were right. She’s got mojo. Maybe a hell of a lot of it. She tastes like ambrosia, and her hair--”

“I’m not paying you to have sex.”

No, that’s what you’re paying the model for, Xav thought, but kept the belligerence on his own side of the equator. “Like I was saying, her hair has a nimbus of sunfire around dawn. I’m not sure she’s aware of it.” She definitely hadn’t been today, but Xav decided to take that as a vote of confidence rather than any evidence of her abilities or lack of.

“How could she not be aware of it? Is she...damaged?”

Unsure whether the hesitation was significant or an accident of the blowjob, and unwilling to ask, Xav scowled. “Not as far as I can tell. She definitely feels all there.”

“Cassidy,” came the expected rebuke but in a rasp that Xav really wished he hadn’t heard.

“If you don’t mind, could you save growling at me for sometime you’re not in the middle of your ten-thousand-year-life crisis? It’s creepy.”

“Do you have anything else to report?”

This time the snap in Oldman’s tone was entirely satisfactory. Maybe he’d lost his wood. A guy could dream. “No. I’m planning to--”

“You’re planning to find my key,” Oldman barked, and the line went dead.

Aaaand, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack. Or something like that, anyway. Xav rubbed a hand over his face and reminded himself that finding the key would release him from his obligations to Oldman. Maybe there’d be time to come back for another taste of Essie Sundae when it was done. Even if she did have the key, she’d never know he’d been the one to take it.

But when he typed in the address for the website from which she ran her business and watched it come up, Xav’s stomach twisted. He didn’t have much in the way of a code of ethics. It hadn’t ever served him as the anthropomorphization of Internet porn. But something about the beauty he’d worshipped this morning made him really want to get one.

Fuck Oldman, anyway. He better come through on his end of this deal to help Xav stabilize his identity and his abilities, or Xav was going to... Yeah, right there, he always ran into the same problem. If he didn’t come through on his end of the deal, then what? It wasn’t like Xav could kill him. Old bastard might be past his zenith and all that, but he’d been around about a thousand times as long as the Internet even existed, and if someday Xav might be powerful enough to knock him around, it would be pretty much a flea kicking an elephant right now.

“Evs,” Xav muttered, scrolling through Essie’s site again, trying to get some sense of the woman, why she ran a business that promised sexily ever afters using custom gift baskets, of all the damned things, and where she might hide a key to a chamber in a barrow in Skalunda, Sweden, if she had it. How the hell had she managed to rack up twenty-seven glowing testimonials when she’d only been open since end November as far as he could tell?

Only one way to find out. He’d have to order one. For little sis, who was little bro this month, and charge it to Oldman...hmm, no. If 63 got it, Xav wouldn’t be able to examine it, see if Essie was doing what she claimed. Dropping his shades down his nose, Xav scanned Kalapaki for a likely chick to send a basket to, but didn’t find anything to taste. Then he remembered the crumpled-up napkin on the table and the Hawaiian beauty attached to it.

Xav flattened the paper and pocketed the penny that fell out. Moana Kamikawa and her phone number. He ought to be dialing it instead of contemplating it like cold fish a mile from the nearest sushi plate. Maybe he would. Later. Now, he plugged it into the fields for the gift basket recipient with a sick little twist in his gut.

But what else could he do? He couldn’t exactly go asking Essie to make a basket for herself...

Buy:  ~Loose Id ~     ~Amazon~     ~ARE~ 

Contact Allie:

www.sosayethallie.com - website, under construction

sosayethallie.com/blog

@sosayethallie - Twitter

facebook.com/sosayethallie

sosayethallie@gmail.com - author email

pinterest.com/sosayethallie - active

 

 

 

Yes, He's My Ex with Julie Lynn Hayes

They don’t make comedies like they used to.

Nowadays, you don’t see comedians like the Marx Brothers, or WC Fields, or the Keystone Cops. Groucho Marx could elicit belly laughs just by the way he rolled his eyes or waggled his thick painted-on eyebrows. The Keystone Cop films were famous for their chase scenes—just good old-fashioned fun—while Harold Lloyd swung perilously off the end of a clock hand.

As a kid, I watched the Marx Brothers and WC Fields, Joe E Brown and Mae West. One of my favorite scenes in the Marx Brothers many hilarious films comes from A Night at the Opera. The boys are in their stateroom on the ocean liner, and it’s one of the most famous comedy sequences ever in which any number of people end up inside this tiny stateroom, and you sit in the audience wondering who else can possibly fit.

There were also romantic comedies too, films like Jimmy Cagney in Boy Meets Girl, in which he presents the formula for every love story ever told: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl. Of course, it’s fun to turn that trope around and change it to: boy meets boy, boy loses boy, boy gets boy. Because two men in love? You can never go wrong, right?

I loved Doris Day as I was growing up, and she made some very funny romantic comedies. In one, she was dragged out of bed by an irate Rock Hudson and carried through the streets in her pajames to the scene of the crime—the bachelor pad she had so viciously “decorated” for him, thinking he was nothing more than a playboy on the  make. In another film, The Glass Bottom Boat, Doris got a job with the Space Agency and met a handsome astrophysicist, played by Rod Taylor, who took a liking to her, but the suspicious people at NASA thought Doris was a Russian spy, and things just went crazy from there... Of course, all’s well that ends well. You can’t very well have a romantic comedy that ends badly, that makes it a tragedy, doesn’t it?

That’s what I’ve tried to do with Yes, He’s My Ex. It started out as a flash fiction on  my blog, a simple story about an ex-boyfriend who couldn’t seem to get it through his thick head that they were over. But then things began to happen. A cry for help leads Tim into a race to save Sonny. Goofy gangster, a dumb ex-boyfriend, and the FBI... what else can happen to Sonny and Tim? Read Yes He’s My Ex and find out!

Thanks for having me here today, it’s been fun!

Blurb: 

Sometimes Sonny Scrignoli forgets he’s Tim Mansfield’s ex. He waltzes in and out of Tim’s apartment like he still lives there, driving Tim crazy. Is it really so hard to remember they’ve broken up? Then again, maybe Tim should quit having sex with him.

When Sonny disappears for two weeks, Tim can’t help but be concerned. A strange phone call and a mysterious cry for help leads Tim on a desperate search for his ex.

Sonny’s in big trouble, and it’s Tim to the rescue! He’s the only one who can save his ex from a fate worse than death. Bumbling gangsters, a thick-headed former boyfriend, and secretive FBI agents lead Tim and Sonny on a merry chase full of laughs and quirks.

Excerpt:

Sonny’s real name is Mario, but he’s been called Sonny since he was a small bambino, as his mother puts it, so Sonny it is. Sonny stands almost six foot tall in his bare feet, which are surprisingly small for a man, almost dainty. He has chocolate brown hair that grows thick but not long, and generally looks tousled; blue eyes so dark that sometimes they look purple in the proper light, framed behind silver wire spectacles; a generous nose and wide sweet lips which have been known to give the most amazing head this side of anywhere. Put that with the body of an Adonis, and you have Sonny.

I had Sonny, but not anymore. He seems not to realize that, though. At least not most of the time. Hence the part where I see him more often than should be considered normal for someone who’s my ex. Which is where I began.

Sometimes I think he forgets that he has indeed attained that past participle ex-boyfriend status. Granted, it’s only been six months. His mother tells me he just needs time to adjust, please don’t be too hard on her boy. Yes, I still see her too. On a rather regular basis, in fact. Hard not to, when she’s my mother’s best friend. Lucky me. Lia’s a nice lady, I love her to death. But she has this deep-seated belief that Sonny and I are going to get back together again, a belief he seems to share. Along with my mother. And most of our friends.

No one seems to listen to me when I say snowballs rolling along the floor of Hell have a better chance of survival than our relationship. Least of all Sonny. I guess that’s why he keeps coming over here, because in some strange deranged naïve corner of his mind, there’s still an us, and he isn’t an ex. So he wanders over whenever he wants. Sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn’t. Today he called.

Sometimes I just get tired of telling him no. Some days I don’t even get that far. Today, I didn’t want to waste my breath, so I just said, “Fine. As long as you promise to behave.”

By behave, I mean quit assuming we’re going to have sex. Even if sometimes we do. I know, I know, he’s my ex, right?

Sometimes I just don’t know where to draw that fine line, I think. No wonder the boy’s confused.

~*~*~

Meet the author: Julie Lynn Hayes was reading at the age of two and writing by the age of nine and always wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Two marriages, five children, and more than forty years later, that is still her dream. She blames her younger daughters for introducing her to yaoi and the world of M/M love, a world which has captured her imagination and her heart and fueled her writing in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She especially loves stories of two men finding true love and happiness in one another's arms and is a great believer in the happily ever after. She lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah and two cats, loves books and movies, and hopes to be a world traveler some day. She enjoys crafts, such as crocheting and cross stitch, knitting and needlepoint and loves to cook. While working a temporary day job, she continues to write her books and stories and reviews, which she posts in various places on the internet. Her family thinks she is a bit off, but she doesn't mind. Marching to the beat of one's own drummer is a good thing, after all.  Her published works can be found at Dreamspinner Press, Amber Quill Press, MuseitUp Publishing, Torquere Press, and eXtasy Books, and coming soon to Wayward Ink Publishing and Prizm Publishing. She has also begun to self-publish and is an editor at MuseitUp.  

You can find her on her blog at http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com, and you can contact her at tothemax.wolf@gmail.com.

Links:
Blog:  http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com

Twitter @Shelley_runyon

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/julie.l.hayes.7?ref=tn_tnmn

My Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3442231.Julie_Lynn_Hayes

Dreamspinner buy link:  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4845

 

 

 

Guarding My Heart with S.C. Wynne

Today I’m sitting down with Liam Carlington and Scott Jackson from Guarding My Heart.

Hello, guys. Introduce yourselves. I’m Liam Carlington. My parents own the Carlington Winery and I am an admitted spoiled, pampered rich kid.

Scott Jackson. Body guard. I’m here to replace Joe the other bodyguard who got his ass kicked and a knife in the gut.

What are you struggling with, Liam? My ex-lover left me for a woman. It was a horrible shock because he was my childhood crush, and I thought he was the love of my life.

What about you, Scott? Are you struggling from thing from the past? Yes. I lost a client and it has haunted me ever since. I took some time off to try and grapple with it.

Liam, do you think a body guard should be able to protect you from anything you get yourself into? Not all of them. But I trust Scott with my life. There is something about him that makes me feel safe. I believe he would lay down his life for me.

Scott, is this just a job to you? No. It was when I first got here. Regardless, I would lay my life on the life for my client. That’s why they hire me. But with Liam, it’s personal. No one is getting past me if I have any breath left in my body.

Liam, do you see a future with Scott? Yes. I feel a connection with him that I haven’t felt since Paul broke my heart. But to be honest this is different because I hid who I was from Paul because he would have judged me. Scott accepts me for who I am.

Scott, do you think Liam’s family will be okay with you two being together? I do. Liam’s family has been very welcoming and they want Liam to be happy. Regardless of their wealth, they are very down to earth.

What do you see in your future Liam? I see possibilities I never knew existed.

Scott, same question. I see hope. I love Liam and I am willing to do whatever it takes to be near him.

BLURB:

Liam Carlington is a spoiled rich kid. He’s been acting out since his childhood love, Paul devastated him by marrying a woman. Liam drops out of school and is drinking and partying way too much. When his current bodyguard is injured in a bar fight, a new bodyguard replaces him.

His new protector, Scott Jackson is gorgeous, and tough. He’s back after a break from the job after losing a client. He’s attracted to his new charge, and Liam is aggressive about how much he would love to get Scott in bed. But Scott is worried Liam is just a using him for a sexual fling.

As much as Scott would love to give into Liam sexually, he knows there is someone out there who has threatened Liam’s life. It complicates matters that Scott is beginning to lose his professional distance from Liam. Can these two damaged men let go of their fears, and help each other mend?

EXCERPT:

“No, I’m serious. How involved do you get with your clients and their…needs?”

 

Scott gave a dry laugh, but the look he shot me let me know he was not amused. “This childish bullshit might work with your parents, but it won’t work with me.”

People only said that kind of crap when it was working on them. So I kept on. “A guy in your line of work must get lonely.”

“Knock it the hell off, Liam,” he ground out. “I’m coming with you. I’ll try not to cramp your style.”

“Maybe we can have a threesome. Is that what you’re hoping for?” I sneered.

He moved so fast I didn’t even see it coming. Next thing I knew my back was slammed up against an oak tree, and Scott had me by the collar with both hands. His face was inches from mine, his full lips almost touching my mouth. Scott’s gaze was anything but calm and cool now. He looked provoked and a little turned on. Maybe all that talk of a threesome was like foreplay to this tough guy.

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” he breathed. “I ought to let you go alone. With any luck you’d get your ass kicked.”

“I can take care of myself,” I spat out.

His icy gaze paused on my mouth, and I felt a stirring at his expression. Attraction was smoldering in his blue azure eyes, but that need wrestled with extreme irritation. I could feel the heat of his lower body next to mine, and he was hard against my thigh. His breath was sweet and warm on my cheek. For a split second, I thought he was going to plant his mouth on mine, and the jolt of excitement that shot through me was shocking. Then he let go so fast I almost fell over.

I straightened and adjusted my shirt, trying not to look as disturbed as I felt. “Jesus, maybe I need a bodyguard to protect me from my bodyguard.”

“We need to get something straight,” he growled. “If you go out tonight, I’ll be there. If you stay home, I’ll be there. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better we’ll get along.” He let out a breath as if trying to calm himself. “This isn’t a game to me.”

“No, this is your bread and butter. You make good money feeding off the fear and paranoia of others.”

“What should we do it for? The pleasure of your company?” he asked. “And we don’t cause the fear and paranoia.”

“Just don’t try coming off like you’re some noble samurai.”

“Liam, I’m just trying to do my job.” He looked like he wanted to say something else but stopped.

“That’s my point. This should be an easy gig for you. Don’t take it so seriously.”

“I kind of have to.” Scott looked up at the sky, frustrated. “You need to have a talk with your father.”

“What about?”

“It’s not my place to say. That’s why I’m suggesting you have a heart-to-heart with your old man,” Scott said.

“Um, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my dad and I don’t have a warm and fuzzy heart-to-heart type of relationship.”

“Fine. Have a business discussion. It doesn’t matter what you call it, but you need to ask your father about a letter he got a couple of weeks ago.” Scott started walking again, and I followed.

“What letter?”

“Talk to your dad. He has something to tell you. I don’t.” Scott threw the comment over his shoulder.

“For Christ’s sake, just tell me,” I griped.

“I would.” He hesitated. “But I wouldn’t want to feed your fear and paranoia.”

~*~

BUY:  Loose Id (all formats available)  Amazon     

 

BIO:

 S.C. Wynne started writing m/m in 2013 and did look back once. She wanted to say that because it seems everyone's bio says they never looked back and, well S.C. Wynne is all about the joke. She loves writing m/m and her characters are usually a little jaded, funny and ultimately redeemed through love.
S.C loves red wine, margaritas, and Seven and Seven's. Yes, apparently S.C. Wynne is incredibly thirsty. S.C. Wynne loves the rain and should really live in Seattle but instead has landed in sunny, sunny, unbelievably sunny California. Writing is the best profession she could have chosen because S.C. is a little bit of a control freak. To sit in her pajamas all day and pound the keys of her laptop controlling the every thought and emotion of the characters she invents is a dream come true.
If you'd like to contact S.C. Wynne she is amusing herself on Facebook at all hours of the day or you can contact her at scwynne@dslextreme.com

 

 

My Passion Isn't What You Think

I'm at FE Feeley's blog discussing my passion. I bet you'll be surprised--it's not romance.

 

http://authorfefeeleyjr.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/guest-blog-the-wonderful-whitley-gray-shares-her-passion-and-it-isnt-what-you-think/

Who Writes More Convincing M/M Romance--Men or Women?

I’ve heard of editors betting whether an M/M story was written by a man or a woman.

Now, depending on the degree of honesty in the proceedings, some editors reportedly have a knack for knowing, others not so much. I’ve heard arguments on both sides. Witness the debate…

“If M/M is written primarily by straight women for straight women, that means a straight woman knows best what another straight woman wants in an M/M story.”

Mmm…no. What readers want is a good story with well-drawn characters they can invest in. The author’s ability in this department is what readers want. The book can be written by an asexual purple polka-dotted Martian with numerous organs and orifices—as long as the characters are well executed.

“A straight woman can’t possibly have a clue what it’s like to be a gay man, let alone conjure one for fiction.”

Geez. For decades, M/F interactions typified romance. Women wrote the vast majority of this, including the male character. This “have a clue” business about male characters didn’t get the press then that it does now (if it ever did get press then). The gay character is still a character. Maybe he’s an accountant, likes golf, favors pepperoni on his pizza, is gay, likes T-shirts versus button-downs, worries about the mortgage, and loves red. See? He’s not defined by his preference. He’s a guy, first and foremost.

“Straight women can’t write believable intimate gay encounters (read: they have no reference for man-on-man sex).”

Well, folks, have to disagree. Sure, there’s the mechanics, but that’s pretty standard, isn’t it? Ninety percent of a good sex scene is in the mind of the character(s). The emotional investment, the chance to reveal the naked core of the character(s). The human sexual experience is emotional, regardless of the gender of the participants. Men who write M/M romance are not uniformly sputtering ‘that would never happen!’ with any more frequency than their female counterparts when they read these scenes.

“Gay men favor the work of gay writers, while straight women favor books written by straight females.”

My thought—no. Being human, gay male readers of M/M like what they like because of content, not because they know the sex/orientation of the writer. The same is true of straight women.

 

My favorite M/M writers are split evenly between men and women. Mostly gay men and straight women. There are a couple of ringers in there, though—transgendered writers. Notice they haven’t been accorded a spot in the above debate, which likely makes them giddy with happiness.

Sooo…coming back to the initial dilemma of our blindfolded editors, betting over the slush pile whether the author is male or female, my money’s on the horse called “You Can’t Tell.”