Sunday, June 21, 2015

A little snippet...

Here's a little bit of what I'm working on right now...



Silence. Korden stood in the doorway, his mind racing, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his nostrils pulling in the odors of blood, sweat, and unmentionable other things. Pain, fear and desperation rolled off his brother in waves, souring his scent, taunting Korden's alpha instincts. His lungs strained to work beyond the crushing pressure of emotion in his chest. But above all this, he knew, years later, it would be the silence he remembered most. Sokel stood next to him, not moving, not daring to breathe, eyes riveted, as his were, to the huddled, naked form chained in the corner. He heard Sokel swallow hard, thought the sound verily echoed off the cold, filthy walls. With a strangled sound, the healer finally broke free of their mutual trance and moved forward, striding with more certainty than Korden assumed either one of them felt. He remained where he was, watching intently as Sokel approached and crouched, then pulled back abruptly as a snarl filled the air and Rennett’s teeth barely missed taking the fingers off the healer’s outstretched hand.

Sokel turned to him. “Korden?”

And he was already moving, drawn to Rennett by bone-deep instinct. In his mind’s eye, he could see their link, golden and gossamer, lighting the way forward. He sank to his knees as Sokel slid back. “Renny?”

Guess Who's Back...

Hola ya'll!

As many of you know, my main publisher, Breathless Press, closed its doors a month or so ago. At the end of June, another of my publishers is closing up shop.

This means that massively impressive backlist of mine is now homeless.

I'm working on getting them all to another publisher, and I'm pleased to announce that 7 of them will be republished. I'm also working on three new stories. :-)

And yeah, I know my website is down. There's a couple reasons for that - for one, it needs a revamp, and two I need to switch to something that's free, at least until I get a job.

So. DC Juris is officially back.

Tell a friend.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Cranberries and Spice Blog Hop


Please be aware: I write GLBTQ romance. This blog posting contains an excerpt from an m/m/m romance - that's male/male/male. As in male/male/male sex. As in a threesome. 
If that ain't your cuppa, please move along
 and make room for the next person. 


I don't have any Thanksgiving-themed stories, but I do have a hot little Christmas tale. So... I'mma be all rebellious and junk and share an excerpt from that one. It's called "Perfect Christmas." Like most things in my life, this snippet is Rated R!!

Leave a comment below and you'll be entered to win a free pdf copy. :-) 

Enjoy!!

Blurb: Depressed and lonely, Evan has nothing to look forward to on Christmas but his TV dinner and store-bought cookies, while his lover, Drake, spends the holiday traveling for business. But a special delivery changes everything, and Evan finds himself in the middle of a perfect Christmas. Worn out from his stocking stuffer, Evan's not sure how he's going to handle his present, but when Drake reveals that Evan's gift is a threesome with none other than their hunky friend Mike, Evan summons the energy!

Excerpt:

Drake straightened, stepped back, and stretched. He flashed Evan a dazzling smile. “Now we can head to the bedroom.”

“I was starting to like the bathroom,” Evan admitted.

“Well, if you want to open your present, you need to go to the bedroom.”

Curiosity piqued, Evan slid down off the sink. Drake took his hand and led him to the adjoining bedroom. In the middle of their big, black lacquer, four-poster bed, naked except for a pair of black leather underwear with a silver zipper, was their friend Mike. The soft glow of candles surrounded them but no heat radiated from them; Evan recognized them as the flameless battery operated ones he’d bought online last year but had never used.

“How?” Evan managed to whisper, just before his jaw dropped open.

“I called him on the way here and arranged it,” Drake explained, his tone full of pride.

“I snuck in the backdoor after Drake got home.” Mike grinned sheepishly. “No pun intended.”

“Remember when you said you wondered what he was like in bed?” Drake asked, pressing his lips to Evan’s ear.

Evan nodded, mouth too dry to talk. Not that he didn’t find Drake’s boyish good looks and curly blond hair attractive, and not that he didn’t feel content and fulfilled with their relationship, or their sex life—he did. But there was something about Mike—an animal magnetism in those large, dark eyes—that had always tempted Evan. Mike was the tallest man Evan knew, towering well over six feet, with a hunky build and chestnut skin that bespoke of exotic travels, action and adventure, and completely belied his ordinary, down home life as bartender at the local gay club. Evan would never have acted on his fantasy, of course, but with Drake giving permission and Mike willing, how could he say no?

“Aren’t you going to unwrap your package?” Mike wiggled his hips, flickering light glinting off the metal zipper.

Drake moved to stand behind Evan, pressing their bodies together, the proof of his excitement obvious as the long, hard ridge of his cock nudged Evan’s ass. “Go on,” he encouraged.

Evan took several slow, measured steps forward, reawakening cock swinging between his legs.

“He looks good enough to eat, doesn’t he, Mike?” Drake asked.

Mike nodded. “I’m eager for a taste.”

Evan shivered and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching a trembling hand for the zipper. His fingers fumbled, bumping Mike’s cock through the leather and Mike let out a long, low moan that went straight to Evan’s cock.



Tuesday, August 5, 2014

I'm Only An Asshole Until You Get to Know Me...

Hello, I'm DC Juris. I'm about to admit something to you that a lot of writers won't.

I have an ego.

There - I said it.

It's not a small one, either. Nu-uh. My ego is *huge*. It's *gigantic.* It's *hugantic*. That's right - it's so big I just made up a whole new word to describe how big it is.

If I read a nomination list for an award, and don't see my name on it, my ego immediately asks "What the fuck? Do they not know who I am?" Yep. That's what happens. Every. Damn. Time.

I don't click on review links with trepidation because I don't expect to see negative reviews. Why would anyone have anything bad to say about my writing? It's awesome. It *has* to be awesome, because *I'm* awesome, therefore anything I *do* is, by default, also awesome.

Believe me, I'm not the only one.

I've been on the receiving end of my fair share of messages and e-mails that started something like "Did you SEE who got nominated for the Fabulous Everything Award this year??? What the hell??" or "Can you believe So-and-So has a new book out? Who keeps reading that crap and thinking it doesn't suck?" as well as "I cannot believe I was left off the nomination list YET AGAIN."

Yep.

You see, the thing about authors - the one major flaw we all share - is that we're human.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Things We Suffer For Our Art

It's no secret - at least it shouldn't be - that I'm a fairly decent photographer. I've always loved capturing the moment - freezing it for all time so that it can be revisited over and over whenever someone wants.

From a very young age, I've carried a camera around with me. My very first was an old Anscomatic my mother had. I was around 4 or 5 when she gave it to me. It looked something like this one:


I don't remember if it had any kind of zoom - if it did, I probably didn't know how to work it - and it didn't have a flash. 

Later on, when I got a little bit older, I had one of these:


It took 110 film, which looked like this:


I didn't get a real 35 mm camera until I was grown and living with my fiancĂ©. 

In any event, I've had a camera for as long as I can remember. I've always been very careful with them - never broken or damaged one. ::knocks on wood:: 

Over the years, my pursuit of awesome photos has led me to some interesting situations. 

I've stood on the edges of cliffs, despite being petrified of heights, and I've stuck my hand into hollowed out trees and logs. This is probably the time to reveal that I'm allergic to almost every insect known to man. Which makes sticking my hand into hollowed out trees and logs not the greatest of ideas. I've sat in waist-deep snow, biting a hole into my bottom lip as I tried not to shiver so I didn't disturb the bird I was trying to get a photo of while he was digging in the snow for seeds. I've stood as still as a statue in mud, holding my breath as a deer foraged a few feet from me. I've waded out into streams and rivers - have I ever mentioned I hate water? - to get photos of fish and turtles. 

When I first moved to NY, I became obsessed with getting pictures of the various birds I'd never seen. Goldfinches, chickadees, and hawks, among others. There were dozens of hawks, but they were illusive. Usually, we'd see them on the power lines or in trees along the highway, while traveling 65 mph. 

One day, on the way to work, I spotted a hawk sitting in a tree in a wooded area off the side of the road. This was perfect! I immediately grabbed my phone and called to say I'd be late because I'd seen this thing, and I was going to get a picture. By now, they'd all become familiar with my photographic tendencies. I found a place to turn around and headed back. I parked across the road, and got out, armed with my camera. Even with zoom, though, the picture wasn't as good as I'd wanted. I needed to get closer. 

I Froggered my way across four lanes of traffic, and headed into the wooded area. Of course, a photographer is never really happy until they get the absolute best photo possible, so I kept inching closer and closer. I got within about 6 feet of the tree, and the hawk suddenly turned and looked right at me. I froze. It turned its head left and right, and then leaned its head forward and screeched at me. 

At this point, my blood went a little cold. 

The next thing I knew, it had propelled itself off the tree and was careening toward me, feet - talons! - stretched out as if to snatch me up. 

My life flashed before my eyes. 

"Local Photographer Pecked to Death in Fight with Pissed Off Hawk."

I was sure that's what the headline would say. I couldn't run from the thing - if I went left or backward, I was just in more brush, the terrain of which I was unfamiliar with. If I went right, I'd end up in heavy traffic. And I sure as hell wasn't going forward. 

I stood there, rooted to that spot, staring down death as it approached me on graceful wings. I was suddenly quite thankful I'd peed before I left the house. 

About a foot from me, it veered off. 

As I stood there, trying to catch my breath, two things went through my mind: "That. Was. AWESOME!" and "Damn, I wish I'd gotten a picture of that."






















Friday, February 14, 2014

The Power of Love Blog Hop


For my part in the hop, I'm giving you a snippet of my m/m romance set in the zombie apocalypse, "Bad Moon Rising." (Don't worry - nobody gets sexy with a zombie - it's not *that* kind of zombie romance!)

One lucky reader will win a free pdf copy - just leave a comment below, including your e-mail, to be entered. Good luck!!!




Blurb:

Bryce never expected to find himself smack in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and he certainly never expected to meet the man of his dreams along the way. But there's more than zombies in the way of his happily ever after. Richard comes with baggage, in the form of his on again, off again bipolar lover Cole, who is off his meds and descending into his own mental hell at an alarming rate. Will the three men be able to work out their romantic feelings? Oh yeah...and then there's that little issue of the zombies...
Excerpt:

Maybe I could try to talk some sense into Richard. Make him see Cole’s point of view. “Richard—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Just c’mon and let’s shower.”
I followed him reluctantly. Even the luxurious draw of hot water after so long couldn’t make me feel any better.
Richard turned on the shower water and fumbled with his clothing. I stood in the corner, suddenly unsure what to do. Should I wait for him to get in and then undress? Did he expect me to undress now? What would he think of my body, when he saw it? I wasn’t fit like him—my love handles were more like love steering wheels. Would he even notice me?
He glanced at me. “You need help?”
“Huh?”
“With your clothes? Are they stuck to your wounds or anything?”
“Um...” I couldn’t think. Richard stood before me, naked and beautiful. His big, burly chest, covered with a thick mat of dark hair that made me want to run my fingers through it, his little paunch of a belly that made me want to make raspberries on it, his powerful trunk-like thighs that made me want to lay down between them and lick them, his thick, stubby cock that made me want to fall to my knees and wrap my lips around it.

“Bryce?”

“I...um...” What had he asked me? If I needed help? Jesus Christ, no. Help meant that delicious body of his being close to mine, and I didn’t think I could handle that at the moment. “No. No, I’m... you’re... I can do it.”

I felt like a child learning to tie his shoes, shouting I can do it and holding up his foot to show off his success as I unzipped my jeans and pushed them past my hips. I peeled my shirt off over my head and stood there with my arms in front of my body like an idiot.

“You trying to kill two birds with one stone?”
“Am I...what?”
Richard laughed and pointed at my boxers. “You going to wash those in the shower too?”
“Oh. Yeah. No.” But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. One, Richard would finally see me fully naked, and I was nowhere near as sublime as he. And two, the raging erection between my legs was a bit of a nightmare.

Richard walked over, tipped my face up to his, and grinned at me. “I can see your boner through your underwear, you know. You’re not hiding anything.”

I gazed up into his face—bright eyes, days’ worth of stubble, and that sweet, pouty bottom lip. Fuck my life.

He knelt down in front of me and tugged my boxers down. “Step out,” he instructed, the heat of his breath grazing my cock. He laid his hands on my hips to steady me as I stepped out of my boxers.

“There. Much better.” Richard ran his hands up my sides as he stood. “Shall we?” He stepped into the shower and reached a hand out for me. “Careful,” he warned as I stepped in. “It’s a little slippery.”

I gasped as the water hit my back. I couldn’t recall anything so luxurious in my whole life. I’d never travelled or spent any time at any fancy hotels or anything like that, but I had to believe they didn’t have anything on Doctor Austin’s shower.

“He thinks I want you.”

Richard’s voice brought me back to reality and I opened my eyes to look at him. He stood there casually, not close enough to make contact, but not so far away as to insinuate contact would be unwelcome. I gestured to our bodies and the shower. “How is this supposed to show him he’s wrong?”

“Who says he’s wrong?” He arched an eyebrow and held out a bar of soap.

The bluntness of the question startled me, and I just stood there staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed for a few sec- onds. I reached for the soap, palm open, so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him any more than was necessary. “You want me?”
Richard shrugged. “Of course I do. You’re handsome. You’re gay. I’m gay. We’re in a heinous situation. Emotions are high. Stress is high. I’m not getting it anywhere else. But wanting you and doing anything about it are two different things, and Cole ought to know that by now.”

“True.” And I supposed that, after being reduced to a situational convenience, I was just as happy he wasn’t doing anything about it after all.

We finished the shower, me trying hard to ignore Richard’s nakedness. Richard seemed so enthralled in the idea of hot water I didn’t think he even noticed me. He left the shower first while I was still busy picking dirt and dried blood off my legs and arms, and trying not to twist my ankle again in the slippery, soapy water. By the time I’d finished, toweled off and changed into a pair of pajamas I’d found, he was already ensconced in the living room couch, polishing off a glass of wine.

Richard poured another glass of wine and downed it in four gulps. He sniffed me as I walked by. “You smell good.”

“So do you.” I sat down next to him. “It’s the soap.”

“You look good, too.”

“Showers will do that. You’re half-drunk already.”

He turned and ran his fingers along my cheek, tipped my chin up and leaned in, his mouth just a wisp of air away from mine. “Do you care?”

I didn’t. God help me, I didn’t. “Cole might.”

He pulled his hand away, chuckled, and poured out more wine. “You know, it’s not polite to stare at a man when he’s trying to drink alone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want to be alone?”

“Want?” Richard shook his head slowly and took another gulp of wine. “No.” He looked at me, and the sadness in his eyes made my heart hammer. “But it doesn’t matter what I want.” He drank more wine, pointed to the door. “You should find something else to do. Before it doesn’t matter what you want, either.”

He looked me up and down and licked his lips, and I took the words for the warning they were. Drunk Richard was apparently not someone I wanted to trifle with. I couldn’t help but tempt fate, though. “If all I am is a matter of convenience, then what difference does it make to you what I want?”

“Who said that’s all you were?”

“You did. In the shower.”

Richard laughed and tossed back another few gulps. “I like you, Bryce. I don’t love you. I don’t know you enough to love you. But I know you enough to like you.” He leaned forward again, brushed his lips against mine and it took all my will power not to wrap my arms around his neck and turn that brush into a real kiss.

“And I know you enough to want you.” He pulled back. “And I do care what you want. That—” he belched and wiped his mouth “—that should be obvious.” He pointed to the door. “Door’s still there.”

I stood and walked out into the kitchen, found Cole seated at the bar.











Monday, February 10, 2014

With a Name Like Marci...

I announced it on Facebook and Twitter, but neglected to do so here.

I've started the process of officially changing my legal name. Going forward, I'll be known as Marci Nichelle Jansen.

Now, I knew my choice of name would cause some...confusion. And this morning, I was met with no less than 25 FB messages and 10 e-mails.

There seems to have been a two-pronged reaction to my announcement: The people who have simply accepted the change and moved on, and the people who have sought clarification.

I'm grateful to both groups - I honestly am.

Well, I'm grateful for the people who gently asked out of genuine concern. I'm not grateful for the person who demanded to know "just what exactly" did I think I was doing, or the person who began their message with "I knew you weren't really transgender!!!"

Yeah, I'm not grateful for you two. You two can kiss my ass.

So. An explantation is in order, it seems.

The first thing that comes to my mind, of course, is that it's nobody's galdurn business *what* I do with any part of my life, especially my legal name, since none of you address me by it anyhow.

The second thing that comes to my mind, of course, is that being in the spotlight - any spotlight, even one so small-focused and dim as our industry's - gives people the belief that you owe them something of yourself. It gives people the belief that they have a right to know certain things - your sexuality, your gender, who you sleep with, what your favorite ice cream is. Chocolate peanut butter swirl, if you're wondering.

So the overriding question seems to be - am I male or female? I've chosen an obviously female name. Does that mean I'm female, and no longer transgender?

The answer is... I don't know. I know it's irritatingly disappointing when someone can't provide you with basic answers about themselves, but that's the truth of the matter. I don't know *what* I am. I do believe I warned you about this in a blog post the other day, titled "Identity Crisis."

I don't feel 100% male *or* female. I'm just...me.

I'm not certain what my gender is, or what pronouns you should use.

Here's what I know about myself, with 100% certainty:

I love Star Trek TOS. I like baking, but only cupcakes. I like food, sweet wine, horror movies, sock monkeys, math (that's a new one!), candles, incense, and mushrooms - collecting items, not eating them - I hate eating them. I hate having dirty feet. I don't like large bodies of water. I love the city of New Orleans. I hate the West Coast - no offense, it's just too damned far away, and it takes too long to get there. I love photography. I love to write. I'm a parent to 8 wonderful beings - The Boy, The Older Boy, Wallace, Higgins, Mindy, Lollypop, Sassy, and Tina Jean. I miss my baby girl Ginger and my baby boy Duncan every day of my life. I have an irrational, deep, abiding love for William Shatner - that man could murder a baby or a nun, or a nun holding a baby, and I'd believe he was fully justified. I have a list - and Hubby does too - of celebrities we can have sex with, should the situation arise, and still stay married - it's call the Allowed List. Mine is much longer than his. I'm typing this blog with painted fingernails. The color is called "Bizerk Turq" by Funky Fingers, and it's a bright, minty sort of sea green. My socks are black with little pink hearts and lace at the ankle. I have more want than brains when it comes to spending money - my current PayPal Credit balance is over $3K, and I'm not ashamed of that. I believe my house has feelings. If I found out I only had a few months to live, I've got a mental list of people who would have about 24 hours left on this planet. I do not love my mother. I am pondering getting a perm and growing my hair out. I like data entry. I believe everyday should be met with a mug of hot tea, and ended with an episode of Star Trek TOS, because really - there's nothing tea and TOS can't fix.

If all or any of that tells you which gender I am, then you're a more perceptive individual than I.

Ultimately? Here's what I think: