Welcome KC Burns today and Win a copy of her latest release

GIVEAWAY~ Leave a comment and your email address to be entered to win an e-copy of Pen Name: Doctor Chicken, KC's latest release. Contest closes on January 1st, 2014

I’m KC Burn, I write gay romance and I’m so pleased to be here at Dawn’s blog today. Thank you, Dawn! I thought I’d talk a little bit about inspiration, because not everything we write is made up entirely out of the creative soup in our brains!

My first apartment was… awful. It was part of a large house that had been cut up into units. My unit was a tiny kitchen (my stove only had three burners), a tiny bedroom and a bathroom in the basement. Every meter for every apartment as well as all the fuse boxes were through door in my bathroom, so I got regular visits from meter readers.

Thanks to this charming place, I now know what a severe cockroach infestation smells like. It was… appalling. I had loud, obnoxious neighbours, including the one who not only kept a line of empty Jack Daniels bottles along the ledge to his door, but ALL of his windows were boarded up, and he had a security camera over his door.

That camera either had an alarm, or he spent his whole time watching the display, because once when the landlord came over to change a fuse, he accidentally took out the wrong one. If it was even a minute before this guy pounded on my door because his security camera was out… I’d be amazed.

Needless to say, this apartment was quite memorable, and less terrifying now that I’m not still living there. I’ve also drawn inspiration from it for a few apartments that my characters have lived in.

Stratford Dale’s apartment, from my new release Pen Name – Doctor Chicken, was inspired from a different source. A dear friend of mine lived for a couple of years in an apartment that was over a vet’s clinic. The second floor was partly a storage area and dog grooming facility, and partly my friend’s apartment.

Her kitchen was a sink, a counter and a plugin hot plate (that I gave her) in a tiny wedge of a room.

The landlord/veterinarian kept his keys to her apartment in his office, and he and his employees didn’t seem to have much issue with privacy - hers. Not only did the landlord let himself into my friend’s apartment without notice a couple of times, my friend would come home from work to find people had used her shower, used her towels, left USED feminine products in her bathroom, and left panties behind.  She also had suspicions that someone had sex in her apartment (the vet and one of his employees?) while she wasn’t there, and after all this other stuff, I don’t believe it was an unfounded suspicion.

Stratford’s apartment isn’t quite that bad, but it sure isn’t great. If you read the book, you should be able to see where I drew heavily on my friend’s apartment for inspiration.

Of course, it’s possible that even the muted version of Stratford’s apartment might have people saying to the themselves “that wouldn’t happen”, but I can assure you that yes… yes it can. And hopefully, it can be a little funny, since it’s in the past.

Got any housing horror stories? Please share!

Pen Name – Doctor Chicken

Sometimes Stratford Dale feels like Doctor Chicken consumes his life. It’s his pen name for a series of wildly popular children’s books. They were his brainchild; he meant for them to be a way to pay his many bills while he pursued his dream of publishing graphic novels. But the Doctor Chicken contract was a raw deal; instead, he churns out book after book for a pittance, leaving him broke and no closer to his dreams.

Stratford’s dreams of love have fared no better, but he’s still trying. After yet another disastrous date, he’s intrigued by a man going into a cooking class—so he takes the class too. Vinnie Giani is a successful, self-made man who is charmed by Stratford’s bow ties, sharp humor, and clumsiness—which leads to an opportunity to take Stratford in for stitches. Vinnie is, above all, responsible, having taken on the care of his mother and sisters from a young age. Perhaps it’s natural when he begins to treat Stratford more as a child who needs a parent than as an equal partner. But when Vinnie tries to “fix” Stratford’s career woes—including the Doctor Chicken problem—and ends up making the situation worse, their fledgling relationship may not withstand the strain created by blame and lies

Excerpt

“ABBY, I swear, I’m never going to find my own Thad.”

Stratford should have waited until he’d gotten home to call Abby, because the wind was going to freeze his fingers into a permanent curl around his phone. Gloves, scarfs, and wind-resistant fabrics hadn’t suited his super-sexy Barry-bait outfit. Unfortunately, the Barry bait had been too enticing. Or the wrong kind of enticing. Sluts might wear shirts and pants as tight as his, but they didn’t wear bow ties, did they? At least he was able to grab a latte on the way home. Aside from being one of his few expensive indulgences, it was keeping his left hand warmish.

“Of course you will. Are you sure you’re not judging him too harshly? You sometimes have unrealistic expectations.”

He snorted. No one had to know he’d had a sneaking little thought that he’d so dazzle Barry with his erudition and joie de vivre that the man would immediately become smitten and fall in love. Besides, Abby already knew he was a hopeless romantic.

“There was a certain romantic touch to the butt plug discussion over shrimp devolving into a dessert discussion on whether silicone, rubber, or glass was preferable for dildos. A dead giveaway, if I’d been paying attention. I mean, anyone who has enough information to write a dissertation on dildo production materials is either way too oversexed for me or hasn’t had enough sex with other people… and probably for an excellent reason, as I discovered.”

An older man in a fedora, walking in the opposite direction, gave Stratford a raised-brow look, and Stratford simply rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Ford, you slut. You didn’t! On a first date?” Abby’s light, teasing tone hadn’t the slightest hint of censure, but it could have. After all, Stratford had had his slutty moments, to be sure, but slutty wasn’t the best way to snag a boyfriend. He didn’t think. Or at least, not too slutty. What man didn’t like a hint of slut? Monogamous slut. If there was such a thing.

“Uh, hello, you still there?”

“What, oh, yes. Sorry.” Stratford had to stop drifting to his fantasies of a fairytale ending.

“You dog. You did it, didn’t you? And how was it?”

“No. Really, I didn’t. I mean, he blew me a little bit.”

This time it was Abby who snorted. “Blew you a little bit? Kind of like being a little bit preggers, you know.”

“It’s never a good sign when you have to say ‘watch the teeth,’ followed closely by ‘don’t bite that.’ Puts a damper on things.”

“You think?” Loud gales of laughter buffeted him across the wireless waves, and Stratford pursed his lips. Why was his dating life such a fucking joke?

Available at Dreamspinner Press (http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4395)

KC Burn has been writing for as long as she can remember and is a sucker for happy endings (of all kinds). After moving from Toronto to Florida for her husband to take a dream job, she discovered a love of gay romance and fulfilled a dream of her own – getting published. After a few years of editing web content by day, and neglecting her supportive, understanding hubby and needy cat at night to write stories about men loving men, she was uprooted yet again and now resides in California. Writing is always fun and rewarding, but writing about her guys is the most fun she’s had in a long time, and she hopes you’ll enjoy them as much as she does.

Website: http://kcburn.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorkcburn

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kcburn

                                                                                              

Celebrating with Lynn Crain/Excerpt

First of all, I’d like to say Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to everyone. I know just how important it is to many people to be wearing the green today. And I’ve got my own little piece of green to share.

See, EPIC’s eBook Award has a slight green tinge to part of the award. I am so thrilled to have my own special bit of green today, I thought I’d share with you a little about the evening I won it.

I was supposed to be somewhere else. That somewhere was a renaissance guild meeting and I didn’t make it. As I was preparing to go, I remembered that Saturday, March 12 was the night that EPIC’s Award Ceremony was to take place. I figured that since I was up for an award and I hadn’t been able to go to the conference this year, I should try and find out if someone was posting live again this year.

Last year, the awards were posted as they were given out to EPIC’s loops and elsewhere. This year, they were tweeted. So, here I was, along with a ton of people, hanging on every tweet to #EPICon. I saw that there was no one posting to the loops and I hastily cut and pasted what I could to start getting the word out.

Now, I had told myself my chances were good but I wasn’t holding my breath. I’d had been a finalist previously but not won and have a few friends it took a number of times before they actually got the award.

I saw the call go for Historical Erotic Romance and held my breath. The next tweet that came told me I’d won and suddenly, I was jumping around like a kid. I paid for that exuberance the next day. LOL! It was such a magical moment and I was thrilled even though I wasn’t there.

Here's an excerpt from my award winning Scottish historical book, The Haunting of Maggie Grey.

The Haunting of Maggie Grey

Available NOW at eXtasy Books!

http://tinyurl.com/Haunting-of-Maggie-Grey

Part of the Tarot Series

BLURB:

Maggie Grey had wanted to be a doctor all her life. She achieved her dream along with her husband, Justin. Together they planned to build a clinic on his ancestral home on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. But women doctors in the year 1882 didn’t have many options and even fewer if they were widowed like she had been recently. Arriving in England to visit Elizabeth Blackwell, founder of the London Medical School for Woman, she is discouraged to find that the only real health care on the remote Isle of Skye will be herself, a few aging doctors as well as veterinary doctors.

But she must build a clinic there to escape her memories and fulfill her late husband’s dream. Maggie goes by train and boat to the rather bleak Isle of Skye. The island is almost as barren as she feels and she isn’t sure if she can even fit in. Add the fact that her dead husband is haunting her with the request for her to fall in love again and she knows she’s losing her mind.

But the people of Skye need her…and she is determined not to let them down...but they are slow to accept a widowed woman doctor. Now if she were married again…that would be a different matter…and her dead husband, Justin, knows just the right man for the job, Conall MacGryman, his childhood friend and cousin, a veterinary for the island. Now all Justin has to do is to convince Maggie to give the man a chance so she can fall in love again…for both their sakes.

TEASER EXCERPT: 

“Maggie,” the seductive whisper of her name brought her soft brown eyes to glance quickly at him. “Do not turn away from me, girl.” His hand curled completely around her head, filing his palm as if she were a small child, holding her where he wanted. He was so large and she was so small. Never had he felt like he held a fine piece of fragile porcelain. Winding his fingers into the silk of her hair, he slowly, he forced her to face him, gazing deeply in her brown eyes. 

“I am going to kiss yeu now.”

He lowered his lips to hers, devouring her bottom lip in one swoop. Nibbling at the edges, he gained access to her mouth and groaned. Conall did not want to scare her off. But he needed her in the worst way and he was sure if she would just press herself against him, she would feel his hard shaft, would know his body wanted her much in the same way he was sure she wanted him. They had danced around each other for two months but the woman acted like a virgin instead of the widow he knew her to be. The deep red color of her hair should indicate her passion ran hot instead of the shyness she displayed with him on many occasions..

“Open up completely, girl,” he whispered even more seductively than the first time, as he softened his mouth  to stroke against her soft lips. He was surprised when it took little prompting on his part to get her to open her mouth as his tongue slid in.

Neither of them was naive as to what happened between a man and a woman.  He had wanted her from the moment he saw her at the train station in her widow’s robes. He’d know she’d suffered a great loss and  knew he must bide his time until she was ready to give herself to him. The storm had provided  the perfect situation  for them to be together and if she was willing he was going to take full advantage of it.

He only prayed she felt the same about him as he did about her.

Hope you enjoyed this little look into Maggie’s book. Thanks also go out to all the readers who have supported me over the years. I really do appreciate it!

Guest Author Shirin Dubbin

Pissed Off and Lovin’ It
by Shirin Dubbin

It’s the day after Christmas and my mind is fried. Or maybe baked. Heck, I don’t know, higher brain function is beyond me right now. Which makes what I’m about to say funnier than it might’ve been. I don’t know whether it’s the toasted state of my grey matter or the fact I’m on the downside of a romance but I’ve been thinking a lot about breaking up and…how to put this delicately? Aw, I ain’t got pretty words today, let’s call it what it is: angry sex. It’s so much fun! Haven’t you ever antagonized your sweetie so they can get all puffed up and pissed off, resulting in the two of you going at it—in a good way? Ah, the joy of the little things. ^_^

In my new release, Dreams’ Dark Kiss, I have a scene that goes there. After a night of fighting off corporeal nightmares bent on her destruction Ciaran, my heroine, gets mean with my hero, Keoni. They have a spat, leading to glorious body-rocking. I can’t share the entire scene but here’s a taste:

Excerpt from Dreams’ Dark Kiss (an angry prelude to getting groin-y)

She stared back at him. Dark emotion swirled inside her aura, clouding her thinking, and she said what she supposed she must to protect herself. “Fuck you.”

The man growled and reached for her. She snatched the frying pan from its place on the stove. Keoni knocked it aside, sending it sailing across the room so fast she could only gape at her empty hand. Bang. A cabinet door dislodged and slid to the floor, crushed by the rocketed pan.

She screamed and rushed him. He took her by both shoulders and lifted her off the ground while she kicked and screamed a stream of expletives cruel enough to gut punch him in a one-two combination.

She knew the words wounded him. She didn’t care.

Keoni managed to set her down on the countertop and push himself between her legs, putting an end to her barrage of kicks. Ciaran pushed against him until he imprisoned her arms by firmly pressing them to her sides.

She heaved with the exertion, making the mistake of meeting her man’s gaze. Hurt darkened his eyes.

Agonizing moments passed before Keoni spoke.

“You testing me? Huh? ’Cause you can stop now. I’m not gonna hurt you, hit you, curse you, belittle, demean, or do anything to make you even a little uncomfortable. None of it. I’m a man, tita. A real one. And I know it’s not what you’re used to, but you better get acclimated real quick. Unless you’ve decided to live a half life, cut off from one another in a warped version of what life mates are meant to be, you’re gonna have to cut this shit out.”

He walked a furious path around the granite island and came back around. Placing his big hands on either side of her, he leaned in. Ciaran opened her mouth, then shut it, her eyes filling with tears.

“That choice enough for you? You wanna keep this up? Fine. We’ll live in separate houses, neighbors with visitation rights. ’Cause I won’t live my life fighting with you. No matter how much I need you.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Fine?”

A humorless snort punctuated the question. “Fine.” Keoni turned away and stared out the window above the sink. Without warning, he whirled back to face her. “No. Not cool. Why’re you so angry with me?”

“Because.” Her jaw trembled, and she lowered her eyes, unable to face the intensity of his gaze.

“What?”

Because I’m not good enough. Because I’m rude. Because it’s always my fault. Be—

“’—cause you’re too perfect, and I’m scared.”

Now what man wouldn’t let a woman have it—in a good way—after that? =giggle= So what do you think, any thoughts on why angry sex is such a treat?

Find out more on Shirin at the following places:

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Blog

Newest release: Dreams Dark Kiss now available at Carina Press

Buy HERE

Guest Author Day with GG Royale

Writing for the Holidays

by G.G. Royale

Every year I try to write one holiday-themed release. Last year, it was a short, romantic fairy tale based on Norse mythology, “The Longest Night.” I ended up self-publishing that for Kindle, because I didn’t get it ready in time for the publishers.

From a writer’s perspective, making the choice to write a story set around the holiday season can be difficult. It has it pros and cons. Cons? Well, you definitely have to stick to a stricter publishing schedule. You can’t miss deadlines or procrastinate in the least. Another con is that you may only sell the book for the length of the holiday season. Just think of how the Christmas movies are on TV. We all gather round to watch Elf and A Christmas Story over and over again leading up to Christmas, but as soon as the holiday is gone, we forget those movies for the next eleven months. I think people feel the same way about romances set around the holiday season.

The major plus for writing a holiday story is the a potential for a new audience. Some readers will buy into the promotions publishers have during the holidays and purchase holiday-themed books from writers with whom they are unfamiliar. This could win the author a new reader who will come back for book after book. Not to mention it’s fun to write holiday stories, getting to play with all those traditions and trappings of the season.

This year, I wrote The Adoration of Addana, which releases 14 December with Loose Id. This story is special to me. Most of my readers know I live in New Orleans, and I have for nearly a decade now. I am fiercely proud of my city and its citizens. I love setting my stories here, not just because my familiarity with the area makes it easy to write and gives a sense of realism to the details, but also because it possesses such vibrance and diversity. It’s a setting rich with possibility and promise. Much of that grows from the suffering that comes from living here: the hot-as-hell summers, the mosquitoes, the floods... But the town and its people are resilient, resourceful, and joyful. We have to be.

What better time of year to feature those qualities than the holiday season? This story really came about because of my own experiences during those first few months after Hurricane Katrina, just about five years ago now. After the evacuation, we weren’t allowed back into the city until October. Luckily, since I live in “the sliver by the river,” my house didn’t flood, but going into the holiday season of 2005, my coworkers, students, and friends were dealing with rebuilding, Thanksgiving dinner cooked on FEMA trailer stoves, and all the mess that came with the clean-up after the hurricane.

I wanted to write a story about those hard times and fill it with hope. The National Guard troops stationed here did bring hope, and safety, to a lot of people, so it seemed fitting to have a sergeant serve as my hero. Even though I don’t live in Holy Cross -- a neighborhood just to the east of the Industrial Canal -- I’ve always loved its unique qualities, so I decided to set the story there. My heroine, well... She had to be a strong black woman who was fighting the battle of her life to keep her family together through very hard times. The people in this story are true, though they may not actually exist outside the virtual pages of the ebook. All the bits and pieces that make up The Adoration of Addana come from reality. I know people who felt these feelings, who did this work.

I hope you, readers, will take the time out this holiday season to read The Adoration of Addana. It’s probably a little more emotional than my other books, but I think it’s well worth it. In addition, I’ve pledged to donate 20 percent of my own royalties to two local charities who are still helping to rebuild Holy Cross, the Ninth Ward, and other neighborhoods throughout the city: Habitat for Humanity and Rebuilding Together. Many people are still trying to come home, and there are many historical homes in need of renovation and loving families. If you have a little extra left this season, I hope you will donate too.

Happy Holidays!

Blurb about The Adoration of Addana:

It just doesn’t feel like the holiday season with her young boys still evacuated in Houston, but Addana Carmouche will make the best of it as she works to rebuild the home Hurricane Katrina destroyed only a few months earlier. When Sergeant Aleister Colmes sees her on the street one day, he’s intrigued by the small, determined woman clearly living by herself in a place little better than a war zone. He takes it upon himself to look after her, and from that, something more develops. Love grows as Christmas approaches and the neighborhood shows signs of a slow, painful rebirth. But will their relationship survive Colmes’s retirement? His old farm house in Nebraska beckons, but so does the fiery woman who’s spirit and heart he’s come to adore. Addana will never leave Holy Cross. Can Colmes learn to love the neighborhood as much as he does her so they can stay together?

Purchase link: http://www.loose-id.com/The-Adoration-of-Addana.aspx

Guest Author Day with KZ Snow/Excerpt

Tendrils of Steam

Steampunk, that is.  Well before I began writing my m/m steampunk erotic romance, Mongrel (just released by Dreamspinner Press), I'd heard about this relatively new genre and been intrigued by it.  Then, when I looked up actual definitions of "steampunk," I was intimidated.

Phrases like Victorian-era Britain, anachronistic technology, and science fiction kept turning up. So did other criteria.  Yikes!  As much as I was drawn to the concept as well as the ambience of steampunk fiction, I was no longer sure I wanted to try writing it.  The genre seemed as rigid as a tightly laced, whalebone corset.  Who could possibly get all those elements right?

Sez who? I thought.  More reading and poking around made me realize that steampunk has a number of offshoots and is only as restrictive as an author chooses it to be.  Sure, it has certain conventions, but as is the case with any genre, it's possible to honor those conventions without writing from a how-to manual.  In fact, it's desirable to stretch and bend literary conventions.  If that doesn't happen -- and I think m/f urban fantasy is a good case in point -- we get nothing but an endless stream of copycat fiction. 

Once this realization hit, my mind was made up.  Away I went!

I wrote Mongrel the way I wanted to write it: without boxing myself in. I didn't tie the setting to Victorian-era London because that's been done to death.  Instead, I made it an alternative-history amalgam with a distinctly American flavor.  The novel doesn't have a heavy emphasis on science and machinery, either. Since I find living creatures more fascinating than mechanisms, I veered down the fantasy-steampunk path and added an unusual supporting cast (which includes, of course, the Branded Mongrels of Taintwell -- beings who are part human and part unidentified creatures with various paranormal abilities or superhuman traits).  Finally, I took some liberties with the traditional steampunk timeline and let the age of electrical power impinge a little, but only a little, on the age of steam power.

Here's the blurb for Mongrel.  You can read the entire first chapter by clicking on the link above.  Thanks for stopping by!

~ K. Z. Snow

http://kzsnow.blogspot.com

* * * * *

Hunzinger's Mechanical Circus, a rollicking seaside carnival where imagination meets machinery, seems like the only bright spot in the dreary city of Purinton. But a shadow is cast there one day by a tall, cloaked figure striding down the boardwalk and behaving in a most eccentric way -- a man with strange eyes and strange ears and a mark at the base of his throat. He's Fanule Perfidor, commonly known as the Dog King, and he isn't welcome at the Circus. No resident of Taintwell is. They're all Branded Mongrels, and they're officially shunned.

So it's understandable that Will Marchman, a young patent-medicine salesman, is wary when Perfidor approaches his stand and begins asking questions. Much to his chagrin, Will is beguiled as well. When the two men meet again at a public house in the city's seediest district, all prejudice falls away. Lust takes over, then affection. An affair is born.

The naive but plucky pitchman soon becomes embroiled in a dangerous quest. Fanule suspects that Alphonse Hunzinger and Purinton's civic leaders are responsible for the disappearance or incarceration of countless Branded Mongrels. But why? As Will's passion and regard for his tormented lover grow, he's determined to help Fanule get answers and prevent any further persecution . . . or worse.

With the aid of a dead and dismembered witch, a vulgar bounty hunter, and a dapper, voracious vampire, Fan and Will take on a group of ruthless enemies. If only they can stay together and stay alive long enough to see their plan through...

     

Blogging with DJ Manly

Much Ado About Nothing: labelling fiction in the gay/male-male genre

By D.J. Manly

When Bethann invited me to blog…(and I know…I know…I’m becoming a real blog whore); I asked myself what I’d blog about. Then I remembered seeing all this stuff recently about male/male versus gay fiction and I just couldn’t resist. Now don’t get me wrong, I believe strongly in the power of language…hell…I craft words for living and I’m all in favour of political correctness when it comes to human rights…but I sincerely think that this male/male versus gay labelling is Much Ado About Nothing (thanks Will!)

            So far this is what I understand…apparently, male/male is considered to be kind of fluffy romance, while Gay is “real serious literature.” Umm. I even understand the motive behind this in a strange sort of way. I believe it’s all born out of some inherent inferiority complex about the genre we write in. Marginalization comes quickly to mind, outside the mainstream. I’m all for reinventing the wheel if it’s empowering and makes good sense.

            What do I mean by marginalization? Well, everyone knows that many erotica writers have written under pen names. Anne Rice comes to mind…but now even her vampire stuff seems to have become an embarrassment…but I digress. So, yeah, you don’t discuss your latest book with your great aunt Judie who plays organ in the church because she’d probably be scandalized (maybe she’d surprise you!). Now, add “gay” to your list of descriptors and you again narrow down the list of people you feel comfortable discussing your books with. For some writers, they fear backlash, for others, they don’t hide what they write, but they don’t spread it around either. They know about homophobia and ignorance. We all know about that. 

            It’s not surprising to me that we would search for a way to create a hierarchy within this genre. We can boost our own egos a little and claim … I write GAY literature…not that fluffy, insignificant male/male stuff. We can imagine it’s like comparing good old William to someone’s first attempt at a cheesy bodice ripper. It’s a way to pat ourselves on the back for a job well done when we are seriously short on hands. I get it. I get it. But to me….it’s off target.

            I’ve said this often in interviews and I will say it again just for the record: I look forward to the day when these damn labels of gay, male/male or whatever it’s listed as, disappears altogether. The fact that “straight” stuff doesn’t require labels speaks volumes to me. When books are divided simply by real genres such as romance, science fiction, horror, etc…then…maybe… I will begin to think that we’ve evolved as a species. Until then, it’s irrelevant to me if you say your books are “gay” or “male/male.” If you feel better saying you write ‘gay,” go for it.

            If you really want to set up elitist divisions in this genre, then separate books that are well written and deserve the label of literature, and those that are okay…I am using diplomacy here…not well written enough to be published. That’s one label I would support. It’s not what we call ourselves that ‘cheapens’ our genre, it’s the fact that some writers, who previously wrote straight, are now writing ‘gay’ because they’ve heard it sells better. And the fact is, they’re not very good at it. Hell, some have told me that they don’t even like it…and believe me, it shows.

            So before we get up on our diva platforms and say….”I write gay, not that other stuff…”let me suggest that we concentrate on writing well written stories about characters who love one another…whatever sex they might be…and make them so damn good, those people who thought they’d never pick up a book where the two main characters are called Mike and Jeff….email you to say …this is no different from when Harry met Sally…except for the equipment. That’s all I want…to make this world a little better, to put all love on an equal playing field.  And if you want to call what I write Gay…gee thanks…but if you insist its fluffy male/male stuff…well…damn it, I’ll try and write better!!!! (Grumble, grumble)  But you know in the end all I really want you to say…is…D.J…..that was a damn good story! 

Anyway, come visit me at www.djmanlyfiction.com

Merging the Real & the Unreal by Toni V. Sweeney

Merging the Real and the Unreal

By Toni V. Sweeney

The Harmonic Covergence mentioned in my fantasy novel Wizard’s Wife occurred August 16-24, 1987, a time when our planets aligned themselves with the sun.  This isn’t an unusual thing; there have been more harmonic convergences than you can shake a stick at. What was different about this one is that it involved all the planets, not just two or five or even seven.  At the time, newscasts made much of this, and as usual the doomsayers came out to make their dread pronouncements of what was to follow.  When nothing happened, they faded again into whatever shadowy depths from which they emerged, and the world went on, waiting for other dire predictions such as 2012 to raise their chaotic heads.

Perhaps I should say nothing obvious happened.  After the brouhaha died down, I found myself asking:  What if something did happen but we just don’t know about it?  Because it didn’t happen here on Earth…?

At the time, I was reading a book entitled An Encyclopedia of Fairies, Hobgoblins, Bogies, Brownies, and Other Supernatural Creatures (by Katherine Briggs), and what I read and that previous thought collided inside my head and ganged up on me and produced the germ becoming Wizard’s Wife.

It wasn’t an easy germination…  I had the concept, but unfortunately was about to undergo a tremendously difficult period in my life during which—in what I can only conclude was a minor fit of madness—I destroyed many of my manuscripts.  The fragment of Wizard’s Wife survived but was lost in a pile of papers only to emerge 20 years later to remind me it had never been completed.  So I decided to do just that.  Then—the tease!--it disappeared again, and I was left to start from scratch.

So scratch I did, and the story of Tavis (David) McMuir, Faery Wizard, Champion of White Fire, Defender of Ais Linn and the Earth, and his mortal wife, Megan, slowly took emerged.  I made David a nominal Irishman.  After all, he’s one of the Little People, although as wife Megan reminds him when she first discovers his secret—at 6’2”, there’s only one portion of his anatomy fitting the human hand.  In his dimension, he’s a Prince, a Wizard, and the champion of his half of the kingdom of Ais Linn.  His opposite number is Exeter Dubhtina, also a Wizard, and ruler of the other half of the kingdom.  Both drop-dead gorgeous, both magically equal in power.  Only trouble is, Exeter wants to rule everything, and he’s bored…so bored he decides to conquer the Earth so he can entertain himself by manipulating the puny mortals living on it.  It’s also an easy way to force the White Fire lords to surrender to his rule. 

Since the White Fire faeries are guarding the portals allowing entrance from one dimension to another, Exeter’s men have difficulty coming through, though on occasion they manage and soon after a war or some other human unpleasantness occurs.  David is sent to guard one of the main portals and his falling in love and marrying a mortal and producing a Halfling grandchild is definitely not in his father’s plans.  When David returns to Ais Linn to ready himself for the coming war and his wife follows, things take a deadly and unpredicted turn.

In depicting my two main characters, I had to make them compatible to each other while being different enough to matter.  David’s a Trooping Faery, a human-sized supernatural as attracted to mortal women as they are to him.  Fortunately, he’s also faithful and from the minute he meets Megan O’Connell, he’s doomed to love her forever; she’s bound his heart with gossamer and that stuff never lets go!  Megan, in turn, loves David just as passionately, but she has a bit of a struggle adjusting to being the only mortal in a houseful of faeries, especially when they reveal themselves as having 6-foot dragonfly wings dripping faery dust all over the furniture, pointed ears a la Spock, and vaporous antenna.  That they’re all to-die-for handsome—even the villains—doesn’t make it any easier.

Welcome to Ais Linn, where unicorns graze and werewolves prowl the Dark Forest in search of pixies to terrorize…where a faery wizard and hi04 mortal wife defend the Earth against  the Lord of Dark Fire … and the Harmonic Convergence nears…

EXCERPT: 

“Damn it, Megan!”  He made an angry gesture,  slapping his hands against his thighs.  “What can I do to make you believe me?”

            “Prove it.” Call his bluff.  There’s no way he can prove what he says is true. Perhaps that’ll snap him out of it.        

“What?”

            “You heard me.  Prove to me you’re a faery, I mean a wizard.  Go on. Show me how you look when you’re in Wizard-form, World-Champion-Defender-class.”

            “All right.”  He didn’t even pretend to think about it,  just stalked a few feet away and turned back to face her.  He thrust both hands in front of him, fingers outspread, palms toward his body.

            “You’re serious.”  Abruptly, Megan was frightened.  He really thinks he’s some type of extra-terrestrial  supernatural being.  Oh, David!

            “Damn right.”  The hands moved apart,  one above his head, the other hovering near his waist.  He brought them together.   They passed each other.  “There!  Would you be thinkin’ this better?”

            Now it was Megan’s turn to stare.

            Where David had been, there now stood an old man...a very old man...long snowy-white  hair,  longer snowy-white beard.

Merlin.  She had no doubt of it.  Wearing a black floor-sweeping robe spangled with  crescent moons and stars.  On the white hair perched a pointed cap,  its peak so tall it had creased and fallen over under its own weight, the tip touching his shoulder.

            “Who are you supposed to be?” She was out of the chair before she realized it, running toward him only to skid to a stop and approach a little more cautiously.  “And where’s David?”

            Merlin looked down at her.

            “I’m David,” he informed her with a dignified British accent.  “World-Champion-Defender-class wizard.”

            “Hah!”  Later,  she would marvel at her ability to be so sarcastic.  “You look more like the Wizard of Id.”

            “My apologies, my darlin’.”  Looking a little insulted, he swept her a bow that skimmed his sleeves across the carpet.  “But is this na your idea o’ how a wizard should look?”  He waggled a finger at her.  “I’ve lived with you long enough to know how that cute little mind o’ yours works,  Meggie.”

            “David.” Briefly, her voice held infinite patience.  I'll get angry later for that last remark.   “Show me how you look.  Really.”

            “Very well.”  The hands moved again, performing the same gesture.  Merlin disappeared.  David stood in his place.

            David.  But not David… Oh my God, this is definitely not my husband!

            It was the same handsome face, Megan admitted, but changed.  Thinner,  paler.  Copper brows winged above his eyes, not arching as they had before, but arrow-straight.  And the eyes themselves...  Green like David’s but...there’s no white in them.  They were like an animal’s, the entire eye a deep green iris.  That,  however, wasn’t the most disturbing thing.  Protruding from his forehead were antenna.  Not butterfly-like but smoky, feathery tendrils floating in the air above his head.  They wavered  back and forth, like seaweed drifting in a stream,  then stiffened and pointed in her direction.

            As if they’ve sensed me...homing in...

            He turned his head slightly, an ear twitching,  and Megan stared.  Nearly lobeless, peaked on top.  Hello, Mr. Spock!  The left one sported a small golden ring with an emerald set in it.  She recognized it.  It was her wedding present to him.

As he shifted his weight impatiently,  Megan allowed her gaze to move down the creature's body,  past a tanned chest dusted with coppery hair to a slim waist,  and—

“David!  Why are you naked?”

            And why am I shocked? She’d seen him naked from their wedding night on.  He always slept nude.  Because what I‘m looking at definitely does not belong to my husband!

            “’Twas going to be your next question, was it na?  Am I like a human male?  I thought I’d save you th’ trouble o’ askin’.”  The familiar voice coming from the creature’s mouth shook her slightly. 

“D-David.”  Her voice trembled and she wasn’t certain if it was laughter or a desire to cry.  She gestured sharply.  “You know damned well that is not normal...in any respect.”  She forced her eyes away from what lay below his waist and began walking around him.  She thought she saw a bit of a smirk cross the generous mouth.  Has he always been like this?  How could I not have noticed?  She started to think back to their wedding night.  Give it a frame-by-frame scrutiny.  Decided not to.

            She had to admit he certainly looked like David, aside from those little...uh...big... differences.  Same muscular body, same dark red hair.  The hair was so much longer, however,  falling past his waist in a tangle,  one large curl twisting to caress the division of his buttocks.  She nearly reached out and touched that curl,  clenched her fingers into a fist to prevent it.  There was a fast-growing desire to stroke her fingers down his skin.  See if it felt as satiny-smooth  as it looked.

            OK, so this is David… the real David... and I really don't have an argument with the way he looks, even with—   I guess the main problem is the wings.

            Dragonfly-like, they didn’t come from under his shoulder blades as she’d always suppose wings should, but grew on each side of his upper spine. Not the tiny things shown in drawings of fairies either,  but equaling David’s height.  Delicately translucent in  bronzes and golds, the colors of a Monarch's wings magnified.  When they began to flutter, Megan had to dodge to keep from being struck as the right one swept upward, shedding a fine dust which sifted gently onto the antique Persian carpet.  It glittered a moment before disappearing.        

Reaching out, she touched the wing,  running her fingers along the heavy mast-bone.  It was soft and furry, felt like a swatch of velvet,  and warm.  Megan pressed her fingers against it,  letting its heat flow into her hand.  She would swear she felt a pulse beating against her palm.

            The wing began to quiver.  It suffused crimson.

            “Meggie, please.”  David's voice trembled in unison with the wing’s movements,  quite a different sound from his previous belligerence.  “My wings are one huge erogenous zone.  If you do na stop touchin’ it, darlin’,  I’m after sportin’ an embarrassin’ woodie.  An’ I’m thinkin’ th’ parlor’s na th’ proper place for that.”

***

If you like stories of knights in armor battling it out with broadswords, with touches of leprechauns and faery glamour, a glib, feisty heroine, a sexy, brave hero,  and an equally sexy, non-repentant villain and villainess, Wizard’s Wife might be just up your alley.  It’ll be available from Class Act Books (www.classactbooks.com) in January, 2011.

Talking with Ed Williams

“Peeing After You‘ve Held It Awhile Can Be Better Than Sex!”

Tell me where I’m wrong here!

See? Admit it. If y’all are like me, if you’ve ever had one of those times where you had to sit still in a business meeting AFTER you’d just drank three cups of coffee or a big can of Diet Mountain Dew or whatever, and you couldn’t get up because the meeting was at its most critical point and you knew if you got up and left that it’d look like you were less than company focused or whatever, and finally after doin’ the two-legged toe tap to the point that your knees ached almost as much as your bladder and you thought you were going to explode internally……then, finally, the meeting ended and you got your chance, so you bolted from your chair straight into the bathroom faster than the Flash and almost cut your fingers from snatching your zipper quickly, and then, finally, you heard fluid hit porcelain….

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, relief! The best!

Now, think about how good that felt. Think about how badly you needed to do that. Think about how you could feel the sweet tingle of relief all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Now, collectively told, what do all those feelings remind you of?

Admit it! Taking a good pee, especially after you’ve held it in longer than it took the Titanic to be built, is a mighty good feeling. A mighty refreshing feeling! A mighty sweet feeling of both pleasure and release that might be akin to one other always interesting feeling. Now, in unison, let’s all guess what that feeling is….could it be…..
Sex?

If y’all guessed that, you’re right, can y’all believe that’s exactly what I was thinking as well? Peeing is a lot like sex, especially after we’ve held it in for awhile. And peeing can be even better that sex as we don’t have to worry about STDs or gettin’ pregnant whilst peeing. Ain’t that pause for reflection? And I’ll even admit this just to advance our article along, in my youth sometimes I would deliberately hold in a nice, mountainous pizz for awhile because I knew how good it would be when I finally released it! And don’t think it’s a coincidence that both peeing and sex occur utilizing the exact same body parts! I think, when all is said and done, that that’s what I like about my “Fred” the most - he performs two very important functions for me, and both those functions are useful and fun.

Now, in conclusion, y’all might be wondering why I’d write an article about peeing after you’ve held it in awhile bein’ better than sex. Well, I did so because I can! It’s the writer’s choice to be creative, right? It’s the writer’s choice to pick whatever hits him at the moment, right? Hey, here on Gather I continually see people writing about politics, their pets, foods they like, pet peeves, religious stuff, complaints, hell people even write about whether or not they like Gather to begin with. So, if all that kinda stuff can be written about, if all that kinda stuff is allowed, then a good old article about the joys of taking a well needed pizz ought to fit in nicely, shouldn’t it? In fact, go ahead and be honest with yourselves. Some of you have laughed at this, haven’t you? A few of the more honest amongst you out there even nodded your heads a time or two, didn’t you? And one or two of you, and yes, you know who you are, said something like “damn straight” and jumped right up out of your chairs and punched the air in triumph, now didn’t you? I figured as much.

Holding in a good pee and releasing it is important. It’s fun. It’s good, sometimes very good. And we should now all hold hands, sing Kumbaya together, and talk about it some more below….

"ChristmaSin'", my new Christmas novel, is now available for sale! Click this link below to order!

 www.christmasinthebook.com

www.elwiii.gather.com
www.ed-williams.com
www.twitter.com/ELW3

Talking with Ed Williams

“Satan = Atlanta Traffic”

For most of us Georgians, at least for most of us rural Georgians, there’s one common hell on earth we can all relate to. I’ve heard it talked about all my life, and have actually experienced it many, many times over the course of my adult years. It can make me cuss, cry, question my religion, and cause my blood pressure to get up to dangerously high levels. Ya’ll want to know what I’m talking about? Want to know one of the most vile tortures imaginable for any rural Georgian? Want to know what scares me worse than an envelope with an IRS return address printed on it? It’s the incredibly heinous act of having to drive one’s car in Atlanta traffic.

If I were a betting man, and I am, I’d wager that there are a lot of ya’ll out there nodding your heads up and down in response to that. Driving in Atlanta is one of the purest hells imaginable, and an experience that I could do without for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, if you live in Georgia, you’ll have to drive up to Atlanta sometimes. And not one time will you ever like it. Ever.

Far be it from me, though, to just sit here and moan and groan about something. It’s my duty as a responsible journalist (try and keep a straight face) to offer suggestions on proactively dealing with Atlanta traffic in order to make it as pleasant an experience as possible. Try these three: 

1. Prepare yourself for the experience by watching some video footage of the latest roller coasters over at Six Flags. Watch their curves, loops, and how fast the cars roar through them. Once you watch a few minutes of that, you’ll be better acclimated for your upcoming drive to Atlanta. Especially if you happen to go through a part of the interstate system up there known as “Spaghetti Junction.” Spaghetti Junction is where about ten different interstate highways link together just north of Atlanta, and driving in it is akin to making your way through a field of land mines. I’ve never seen more cars in any one area in my life, and, the worst part is, half of ‘em don‘t know where they‘re going. If you get Six Flags planted firmly in your mind and mesh it together with some scenes from a demolition derby, you can actually have a good time. And, look at it this way - it costs forty or fifty bucks a pop to get into Six Flags, and, if luck is with you, it’ll only cost you a few gallons of gas to experience Spaghetti Junction.

2. Whatever you do, carry an empty milk jug with you. This is especially important if you drink about four cups of coffee before beginning your journey to Atlanta. You’ll find out why you need it when you hit one of those “pond water” traffic jams - that’s one of those traffic tie-ups that’s so bad that you’ll need to stand a stick up next to your car to see if it’s moving. If you get stuck in one of those, you can have a major problem if you don’t have a milk jug with you. Personally, the thought of whizzing “au natural” in the midst of about two hundred cars is more than enough to get me to take the milk jug. ’Nuff said.

3. Watch an episode of the Jerry Springer Show right before leaving. This will prepare you for any interactions you may have with other motorists if your vehicle happens to experience mechanical problems along the way. In fact, if you do have mechanical problems and someone starts hollering at you, imagine you’re the husband on the Springer episode I recently saw who found out his wife was fooling around with an unemployed midget. If you just pretend you’re that guy, you should be able to fire back language at your tormentor(s) that would scare off a group of Navy Seals. And doing that will lower your blood pressure, which is always a good thing.

Armed with these tips, you should be able to tolerate driving around Atlanta, this requisite hell for most of us Georgians. And that’s gonna be about the best we can do with this situation, unless the legislature gets together and does what should have been done years ago, and that’s move the state capital over to the Macon Centreplex. Since hardly anyone ever goes there, the traffic would be much more manageable, and we could put an end to this awful problem once and for all.

 

"ChristmaSin'", my new Christmas novel, is now available for sale! Click this link below to order!

 www.christmasinthebook.com

www.elwiii.gather.com
www.ed-williams.com
www.twitter.com/ELW3