Friday, September 27, 2013

Friendly Friday: Featuring J.M. Powers & GIVEAWAY (m/f)

Please welcome to my blog today, fellow Breathless Press author J.M. Powers!


Hello, I'm a guest blogger and I don't know what to write about. Can I just sit here, munch on chocolate and watch DC Juris write his books?

Okay…stop drumming your fingers, DC I'm on it.

What should I talk about? Me? Why I write? What inspiration I draw from?

Seriously now, do people really want to know the inner thoughts of an author who writes about time-travel, sorcerers, knights, whores, feisty wenches, sex and a magic stone? Hm….yeah!

*Inhales…gulps…burps.* Shit. I meant to exhale a little more attractively than that. Oh well, anything from here on out is bound to be more entertaining than that.

I'm J.M. Powers, highly acclaimed, bestselling romance author. I am frickin insane not normal. I don't wish to be and I think the people who come at me with strait jackets give the ol' side-eye are really wishing they could act stupid in public too.

Why do I write? I'm inspired by the smallest things, and the characters come alive in my head. So I set them free in my books.

Let's move on to the whole time-travel-sorcerer-knight-whore-wench thing. Oh, and the MAGIC STONE.



Let's start with what inspired me to write For All Time.

I was walking my dog in a nature reserve on my island. Yes I live on an island, and yes I call it mine even though I don't own it. (I should've warned you I ramble. Bear with me.)

My dog is frickin nuts. He barked at a coyote, a fox and my sunglasses. Though he simply wanted to play, his bark would sound a lot like I want to fucking eat your face off to a stranger. I wondered what he'd do if a stranger was hanging out in the trees. Then wondered why I thought that. I scared myself and high-tailed it back to my truck.

That's how For All Time came about. A guy in a tree. A girl walking her dog near said tree. He's hot. She's kinda freaked out and the dog is…you got it. Barking like he wants to eat the guys face off. Until hottie dude falls out of the tree. Then ferocious canine wants to play. So does she.

Next!

Book Two, Timeless Valentine, was inspired by a bank I worked at.

No, wait.

The bank didn't inspire a damn thing. It was a lap- me- up hot guy standing in line at the bank. Every teller wanted to wait on him. Yum. Inspiration indeed. I started scribbling the idea for my next book right then. Call me a nerd.

In the book, a teller wants hot-guy-customer. Until he puts a rock on her counter and says it led him to her. Yeah. Uh. Wanna just make a deposit in me instead?

Now for book three… STOLEN TIME. Today is release day!



This book was inspired by a minor character in book one Let me tell you, this woman, Margery, refused to stop stabbing my mind with a dagger until I told her story.. (Medieval people and their daggers. Sheesh!)

So, in honor of Margery, who actually stole the magic stone and traveled to modern day….

I'm giving away one copy of Stolen Time to a lucky commenter on this post. Winner contacted via email and announced on my blog http://jmpowersromance.blogspot.com/



Thank you DC Juris, for having me!



You can read more about these books at Breathlesspress.com, Amazon and most places e-books are sold. Hey, you should visit my blog too. There, you'll find book trailers, blurbs, buy links and more. I'll happy dance until my boss tells me to get back to work be honored if you become a follower, but it's not a requirement for the give-away.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

When Characters Hit Home

This is a recycled post. It originally appeared here, but it's been over a year, so I thought I'd dig it out and re-post it, for new folks.




When Characters Hit Home by DC Juris

People always ask me if I identify with any of my characters, what they've been through, etc. While I always have to answer absolutely, sometimes, I identify with characters a little too much. That's exactly what happened with my character Mark, from "Buried Treasure," whose father is in a nursing home.

When I was in junior high, my grandmother became terminally ill with cancer. Unbeknownst to the family, she'd actually had it for quite some time, and just never went to the doctor. That's how my family was – very hush, hush about things, never sharing, never talking. My mother and her sisters went into immediate action after the diagnosis, searching for all sorts of medical options. The bottom line was that my grandmother was in her late eighties with cancer in pretty much every organ. Although one of my aunts demanded chemotherapy, my grandmother's doctor refused, based on my grandmother's wishes.

Since grandmother couldn't take care of herself anymore, the family ended up putting her in a nursing home, completely unlike the one in "Buried Treasure." She was often left unmonitored with no one looking after her. Things went from bad to horrible when she started showing signs of dementia and Alzheimer's. We never knew which grandmother we were going to see – the one who loved us, or the one who thought we were trying to steal her things. The one who remembered us, or the one who demanded to know why we were lying to her, and where her real family was. The kind, gentle, woman, or the hostile, hateful one who threw things at us.

You see, my grandmother wasn't always the woman I knew her to be. In her youth, when she'd been raising my mother and my aunts, my grandmother was an abusive person, physically and mentally. By the time I came along, she'd drastically changed. She was caring, kind, never raised her voice. Which isn't to say that she didn't give it to you straight – you always knew where you stood in my grandmother's eyes. Sometimes, that wasn't such a good thing. LOL

That was the hardest part of watching her fade away – watching her revert to that person she'd been before. You could see the confusion in her eyes, sometimes. Like she didn't really understand why she was being mean either, just that she was, and you were in front of her. In the end, things progressed as can be imagined, and she passed away.

But, out of that emotional perfect storm, came wisdom and strength. Watching my aunts (not so much my mother) take what my grandmother dished out on a weekly basis, watching them persevere, unbending under the onslaught, watching them treat my grandmother with nothing but respect no matter what she hurled at them – verbal or physical. So when the character of Mark popped into my head, I instantly identified with him and what he'd been through with his father.

Despite the gloomy overtones at some points, I really enjoyed writing "Buried Treasure". Often times, my characters and I have a great deal in common, but usually not on childhood issues. In a way, it was like chatting with an old friend, reminiscing over things we'd seen and heard, laughing at things that most people wouldn't find funny (there is a certain humor to a wizened, eighty-eight year old woman fast balling a TV Guide at your head as though she's a pitcher for the Yankees, trust me).

I hope my readers like "Buried Treasure" as much as I do. I'm certainly happy to bring the story to you.


Blurb:

After his last long-term relationship ended because of his nightmares, Mark closed his heart to the possibility of finding love again. He's certainly never considered Gabe, the orderly who works at Miller's Retirement Home where his father lives. But there's more to Gabe than meets the eye, and if Mark is willing to let Gabe in, he might just discover the most important buried treasure of all.



Monday, September 23, 2013

Six-Pack-Stud-a-Thon



For my part in the hop today, I wanted to share some of my book covers that have been designed for me. Sadly I don't know any of the models names, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying the eye candy!  ::wink:: 

For my prize, I'm offering up a free pdf copy of the winner's choice of any one of my books, found at www.dcjuris.com. To enter to win, just leave a comment below with your e-mail and the title of the book you hope to win. 

There's also a GRAND PRIZE - see the Rafflecopter below!

Good luck!!

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****














a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, September 22, 2013

100th Sunday Snog


Today I'm sharing a snippet from "Serge's Gift," my short m/m vampire romp featured in the "Crimson Anthology Volume 1." I'm giving away a free pdf copy to one lucky winner! Just leave a comment below with your e-mail address. Good luck!!

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****
(Don't let the het cover fool you - my story is *ALL* male!)
Blurb:

Dark, sexy, delectable reads await. Join us as ten stories seduce, suck, and ensnare your body and soul with tales of vampires in this anthology.
Excerpt:


“The choice had to be yours, if you wanted me or not.”
“You never really gave me that choice though, did you? I mean, if a starving man has a choice between steak and chicken, but only sees the chicken, he’s going to eat the chicken. If he doesn’t know there’s steak back in the kitchen, he’s not going to ask for it.”
Serge cocks his head to the side. “I’ve never understood your habit of turning everything into a food reference.”
I pat my belly. “I do like to eat. I identify with food.”
“Indeed.”

“So.” Now what? Serge is still interested, if his erection is any indication, but he’s still standing there, unmoving, looking at me. I wonder briefly if he’s expecting me to make the first move now. Not something I’m too good at, I have to admit.
“Keeping things between us platonic has been taxing.” He bares his fangs and hisses. “And I have not enjoyed watching you with the cretins you chose to cavort with. The chickens, if you will, when there is...” He smiles crookedly. “Filet mignon right here.”
“Cretins, eh? I didn’t think David was all that bad.”
Serge snarls and spits on the floor. “David had no brains and even less spine, if that’s possible.” He stalks toward me, though I’m not the least bit afraid of this show of power. “Two problems from which I don’t suffer.”
He’s on the bed again now, straddling me, and I lie back, letting him advance. This is everything I’ve dreamed of since meeting him, after all. No way in hell I’m resisting now. Serge nuzzles my neck with just his lips, traces up to my jaw and back to my ear. “Are you mine, Bryan?”
I nod. I don’t think I can speak around the pounding of my heart and the thickening in my throat. Being this near him has a surprisingly intoxicating effect on me. It reminds me of the one and only time I tried Ecstasy. The room around us is suddenly much brighter, the colors stronger and bolder. I close my eyes against the glare and am met by dozens of little spinning, glowing lights, like lightning bugs trapped behind my eyes.
“Bryan?” Serge calls my name, pants it or moans it, I’m not sure which, but the sound is velvet in my ears. I can literally feel his voice sliding into my brain. I can’t remember ever wanting anyone this much, even him. “Say it, Bryan. Say you’re mine.”
“Yours.” God, he’s absolutely like a drug—I’ll say any goddamn thing to keep him this close, keep his hands on me, keep his body pressed against mine.
Reality runs away from me, and I don’t even try to stop it. Serge kisses me, lips like fire against mine. He pushes his tongue inside my mouth, not asking permission but taking what’s rightfully his. One of his hands grips the back of my neck, the other surrounds my cock. I buck up into that touch, craving the sensation of flesh on flesh, the feeling intense beyond anything I’ve imagined.
Serge strokes my cock slowly, lovingly. I can do nothing—I’m a pile of emotional, sex-crazed knots. I feel boneless and weightless, dizzy, as though I’ve been spun around and around for far too long and then yanked back to stand still. I try to make my arms move, to return Serge’s attentions, but they’re unresponsive.
Serge chuckles, and the sound of it rumbles along my muscles, leaving tiny ripples of pleasure in its wake. “Just enjoy for now, my love. There will be time enough to reciprocate later.”

Friday, September 20, 2013

NSFW - Guilty Indulgence Blog Hop


For my part in the hop today, I'm featuring the most sinfully indulgent book I've written - at least when it comes to food! LOL Here is the blurb and a snippet from "Sundae Surprise."  (WARNING: FOOD PLAY!!)

I'm also offering up a free pdf copy to one lucky winner! Just leave a comment below telling me what your favorite guilty indulgence is (mine is m/m porn... go figure!). Be sure to leave your e-mail in the comment! GOOD LUCK!!

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****


Blurb:

Dean learns the true meaning of the words "playing with your food" when his hot and hunky roommate, Rick, interrupts his plans for some solo Sunday afternoon fun. Human sundae aside, Dean discovers a kinship with Rick that he never knew existed, and a basis for what promises to be a delicious relationship. But when Rick overreacts to Dean's nonchalance after their first time, can Dean convince Rick that what they have is real?


Excerpt:

Dean stood at the kitchen counter, restlessly tapping his left foot on the tile floor, barely able to contain his excitement as he emptied out the plastic grocery bag. Nice, ripe cantaloupe—check. Bottle of Red Cat wine from his last trip to New York—check. He grabbed a pewter goblet down from the cupboard above the counter next to the sink and poured himself a drink before he went about the rest of his preparations. He had seen this idea on a masturbation website a cou- ple months ago, and had been dying to try it ever since. What better day to treat himself than today, a lazy Sunday afternoon. Even think- ing about what was to come, no pun intended, made his cock hard and his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He’d felt a little silly asking all the women at his office what he should use to make a hole in a cantaloupe, but his explanation of turn- ing several of them into candleholders for a summer party had been absolute genius. Of course, now he would have to remember to make the damned things if he ever did have a party!

“Measure twice, cut once,” he muttered, as he carefully made a hole in the melon, using the corer and the v—shaped cutting knife he’d ordered from his sister’s Pampered Chef party. Oh, if she’d only known!

All smiles, Dean headed to the living room with his cantaloupe and glass of wine. He pulled out his favorite porn flick: the one with the longhaired guy who bore a striking resemblance to his roommate Rick. He popped the DVD in, doffed his t-shirt and jeans, and frowned. He wasn’t too fond of the so—called ‘vintage’ couch, but Rick would kill him if he got any stains on the thing. He didn’t know if cantaloupe would show up on orange, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He pulled a tan velour blanket from off the back of the couch and laid it down over the cushions, then settled.

He let the movie play for a few minutes, watching it through la- zily lidded eyes while he sipped his wine. Porn Guy A, the delicious Rick look—alike whom Dean liked to call ‘Porn Rick,’ pushed his part- ner—Porn Guy B— down onto the bed with a little shove and dove on him, running his hands up and down Porn Guy B’s body. Dean felt a twinge of jealous inferiority; he was nowhere near as muscular and built as either of these guys, and his short, nearly shaved—off hair wasn’t as sexy as their long, luscious locks. As always, though, any rational thoughts fled and his cock hardened painfully when it got to the part where Porn Rick went down on Porn Guy B. Dean took his cock in hand, stroking it in rhythm with the bobbing of Porn Rick’s head.

“Mmm...Rick...yeah...suck me....” With his other hand, Dean slid the cantaloupe onto his throbbing cock. Perfect. Fit. Dean gasped and rocked his hips as he closed his eyes, imagining the flesh of the fruit to be that of Rick’s mouth. “Yeah...feels so good, Rick...”

“What the hell are you doing?” Rick—the real Rick—boomed.

Dean’s eyes popped open and he fumbled with the melon, even- tually dropping it onto the wood floor with a splat—thud. “Um... nothing.”

“Are you jacking off with a cantaloupe?” Rick stood just inside the living room, arms crossed, a grin the size of Texas splitting his face.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Sunset on Summer Fun Blog Hop


I'm going to keep my post short and sweet, because I know you've got a ton of blogs to hop through.

For my prize, I'm offering up a free pdf copy of the winner's choice of any of my books, found at www.dcjuris.com.

To enter to win, just leave a comment below, with the title of the book you'd like to win.

GOOD LUCK!!

There is also a GRAND PRIZE -

1 winner will receive their choice of a Kindle Fire 7″ HD or NOOK HD winner’s choice (US Only), or Paypal Cash (International).



****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****








<!-- end LinkyTools script → GRAND PRIZE ENTRY a Rafflecopter giveaway












Mini Giveaway: Sock Monkey Madness

Caesar and Leo have decided to host their own giveaway featuring...what else? Sock monkeys!


This includes magnets, pins, pens, sticky notes, tattoos, a can koozie, erasers, and a fabulous keychain.


To enter to win, just leave a comment below. Contest ends 9/19/13 at Noon EST.

GOOD LUCK!!

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If being associated with that kind of a blog isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on. Thank you.****

Friday, September 13, 2013

Guest Blogger: H.B. Pattskyn (and giveaway!)

Please welcome guest author H.B. Pattskyn to my blog today!





First and foremost, I want to give a huge thank you to DC Juris for letting me invade his blog today to talk about my new book, Hanging by the Moment. It came out on September 6, from Dreamspinner Press and I am over the moon about the initial reception and reviews I’ve gotten for it. All books are special, but this one is very close to my heart.

One of the things Dianne over at Live your life, buy the book said (and I’m paraphrasing) was that at one point there was so much getting thrown at Pasha that it seemed really overwhelming—and then she realized that that was exactly the way life could be sometimes. I love that particular comment because one of the things I try hard to portray in my writing is that nothing happens in a vacuum.

Yes, characters, just like people, meet and fall in love—but the world doesn’t stop turning, life doesn’t stop happening around us. We still have to buy milk, cook dinner, pay the mortgage, and clean out Kitty’s litter box. We have to deal with siblings and friends and parents. So in that respect, there are a lot of threads to Pasha and Daniel’s story. There are the big ones, Daniel’s HIV status and the fact that Pasha is closeted—and even when he does come out of it, there’s a price to pay. His family is very conservative and while some of his friends are supportive, Pasha discovers first hand exactly how not-okay some people are with homosexuality.

There are also lots little things going on in Pasha’s life: difficult co-workers, family fights, dieting (which is really hard because when things go south, Pasha tends to reach for the ice cream.) In short, life is complicated—but as Daniel points out, everyone’s life is complicated; it’s what you do with the complications that count.

Rather than the usual written excerpt, I’d like to invite readers to visit danielandpasha.blogspot.com, where I’ve recorded two excerpts, one from chapter one and another from chapter eleven. (They’re also on YouTube, because Blogger was being persnickety and didn’t seem to want me to upload them directly from my computer to Daniel and Pasha’s page—but as the saying goes, there’s more than one way to skin a computer. *G* Sorry, I don’t like the idea of skinning cats, my computer on the other hand, is occasionally on the wrong end of my temper.)

I also invite readers to comment here—because anyone who leaves a comment on any of the stops along my blog tour will be entered to win the big prize at the end: a signed copy of Hanging by the Moment and a bag of cool swag. Please make sure you leave me a way to contact you.

Pasha Batalov has lived his whole life doing what a good son is expected to do. He dropped out of school to help run the failing family restaurant, and ever since he’s put up with his difficult business partner, who also happens to be his father. And, of course, he keeps his sexual orientation a secret from his conservative, Russian family. After being closeted costs him his first serious relationship, Pasha resigns himself to one-night stands and loneliness.

But a chance encounter with lost delivery-truck driver, Daniel Englewood, has Pasha questioning all of his assumptions about life. Daniel is sweet, funny, smart, drop-dead gorgeous—and for the last six years, he’s been living with HIV. Pasha worries that he won’t be strong enough to help Daniel if HIV turns to AIDS, but he can’t walk away from their deepening attraction. He also doesn’t know if he can be strong enough to face the hardest task that a relationship with Daniel demands: coming out to his family and friends, and risking losing everything else he holds dear.


I’m donating twenty percent of my earnings from Hanging by the Moment HIV/AIDS awareness charities, and it was directly because of the research that I did for the book that I decided to start volunteering with AIDS Partnership Michigan (http://www.aidspartnership.org/). Giving money to something I believe in is relatively easy, giving my time takes more effort and that means something to me.

You can read more about Hanging by the Moment on my website (http://www.helenpattskyn.com/p/hanging-by-moment.html) or at the Dreamspinner Press site (http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4161)


Thanks for stopping by and thanks again to DC Juris for having me!





Thursday, September 12, 2013

How Star Trek Saved My Life

I started writing this post a few months ago, and finished it then. For some reason, I just couldn't press the "Publish" button. Eh... I say "for some reason," but I know very well the reason: you're all going to think I'm nuts.

Anyhow.

I should warn you, this is going to be an incredibly long post. Incredibly. Long. (I'll pause here for the "that's what she said" jokes). I've written and re-written this about a dozen times, and I simply can't condense it down. So I've...given up on trying. You've been warned. When you get to the end, no whining about how long it took to read - after all, you're the one who stuck around.

I've never been secretive about my childhood and the things I went through. I've talked candidly about the emotional, mental, and sexual abuse. I've never held my tongue about my attempted suicide. I've always thought that if everyone would just open up and admit their feelings and what they were going through, the world would be a better place. We'd learn we weren't as alone as we often feel. Being public with things like that spurs a lot of questions - people want to understand the thought processes, the emotions, the actions. I've had people ask what it was like to contemplate suicide - what was it like making the decision, how had I planned to do it, why had I chosen that method, etc. I have, of course, answered them. For the most part, I'll answer anything.

But there's one question I've been asked over and over, which I've steadfastly refused to answer, and that's the question of "how did you cope with what happened to you, when it was happening on a daily basis?" How did I deal with the emotional, physical, and sexual abuse dolled out by my parents?

I've never answered that question.

Part of my reasoning is that I'm not sure anyone would really take the answer seriously. The other part - the larger part - is because for years that coping mechanism was my shield. It was the one thing that protected my mind and my heart, the one thing that kept me sane.

I've kept my closely guarded secret - clutched it close for all these years. But now, it's time to talk about it.

Why?

Well, for one, everyone who knows me is aware of my motto of "If you can help, you should. If you can and you don't, you're part of the problem." I can, maybe. Maybe someone will read my story and pass it along, and it will help someone else.

And two... I owe two people a long, long overdue "thank you," though those words hardly seem enough in the face of what I have to be thankful for. I'm bound and determined to find some way to let them know.

William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy saved my heart, my sanity, and my soul - they saved my life.

I lost my father when I was eighteen. Now, I know you're confused about that, because if you know me at all, you're thinking "Wait a sec, you were well into your twenties!" And you'd be right - my *biological* father died in... Hell, I don't even remember what year he died. But I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about the man who claimed my heart the first time I saw him. I'm talking about Captain James T. Kirk.

Now, I know what you're thinking. But quit rolling your eyes at me and don't stop reading. Just, please, bear with me. I promise, I'll make it all make sense.

I remember the first episode of "Star Trek" I ever saw - "The Devil in the Dark." For those not in the know, that's the one where they discover the Horta - the alien that can move through rock. Anyhow, I was hooked. Not just on the show concept, but specifically I was hooked on Kirk. The more episodes I watched, the more I became convinced that the people I knew as "men" in my life, the people who claimed to be "men", couldn't hold a candle to this character. He was strong, passionate, caring, gentle, kind, handsome, loyal - everything I wanted in a father. Everything my father wasn't.

Captain Kirk never would've hurt me, never would've reveled in my tears. I was captivated. Hook. Line. Sinker.

So... and here comes the part where you'll question my sanity... I created this fantasy in my head where I was Captain Kirk's daughter.

In real life, I learned to raise my left eyebrow. I went around saying "fascinating." I tried my hardest to suppress my emotions - to try and not let people get to me, to not let them get a rise out of me. I failed at that a LOT.

When my father would come home and get drunk and trash the house, screaming and yelling at my mother and I, I'd retreat into that fantasy. I'd listen to the voices in my head, rather than his. It didn't matter what happened in real life - in that fantasy world, things would always be okay. My "dad" and "uncle" would always swoop in and save the day. I could go there anytime, and I would be accepted and loved. The things that made me less than worthy in the real world - being sick, being - later on - queer - wouldn't matter at all to my "real" family.

When I heard my father's footsteps in the dead of night, approaching my bedroom door, I'd retreat into that fantasy. I'd imagine myself waking up in my room on the Enterprise, and Captain Kirk would be there, telling me it was all a bad dream - that I was safe, and to just close my eyes and go back to sleep.
When I couldn't get to sleep for worrying about what might happen after I closed my eyes, I'd lay there an imagine my "Uncle" Bones reading me a story, or my "Aunt" Uhura softly singing me to sleep.

And when the all too real touch of reality brushed me, I'd ask myself "What would Kirk do? What would Spock do?"

Kirk would rally till his last breath. Never giving up, he would make his enemy take what they wanted - he'd give nothing freely, never surrender, never make it easy.

When I lacked that kind of strength, either emotionally or physically, I'd ask myself "What would Spock do?"

Spock would examine the logic of the situation. Would his resistance matter, or would the torture ensue regardless? Would it make more sense to expend energy in struggle, or save it - take the punishment with quiet dignity, understanding that he was not the sum of the situation?

There were many times when I took that route. Many times, indeed.

The older I got, the more I realized just exactly how different I was - bisexual and (at one point) transgender - the more I identified with my "uncle" Spock. Neither of us fully accepted by either of the societies to which we belonged (he Vulcan and Human, myself straight and queer - the bisexual hate I encountered was overwhelming at times) - but both of us unconditionally accepted by Kirk and the crew. At least, I thought I would be. I knew I'd fit in on that ship. I just...knew it.

Along the way somewhere, my parents must've noticed my obsession, because I stared getting bombarded with "it's just a show" and at one point my father broke my television with his bare fists because he was angry over always hearing about television. (It should be noted here, that I lived an hour from town by car, and was allowed no friends and no social life. I'm not sure exactly what he expected me to do, other than watch TV.)

Of course, I always knew it was a fantasy. I never actually thought I was someone else's daughter. I'm the spitting image of my father - something my mother was always far too happy to pound into my head. I knew I'd never board the Enterprise, never play 3-D chess with my Uncle Spock. Hell, I can barely get through a game of regular chess! But I kept my security blanket with me in my mind.

When I was eighteen, "Generations" came out on VHS - or as I refer to it "The Movie That Shall Not Be Named."  I eagerly watched it, but toward the end, the plot became clear. Kirk...was going to die. (I knew the initial scene with his "death" couldn't be real, because he couldn't go out that easily, so, though worried, I kept watching and waiting for him to reappear.) But when I finally realized what they meant to do... I remember turning the VCR off in a frenzy. I sat there, starting at that blank screen, unable to move, unable to breathe. He was going to die. The single most influential man in my life was about to die right in front of my eyes and I was powerless. This wasn't like when my Spock had died, and I'd just grabbed the next movie and *poof* there he was. This...was final.

Insane? Crazy? Childish? Probably, on all counts.

For a week I avoided the movie. I avoided the TV in general. I wouldn't go near it. I began to feel guilty, though. This man had been there with me through so much, I'd drawn on his strength so many times. Didn't I owe him mine? Shouldn't I be by his side for those final minutes, shouldn't I bare witness to that?

Yeah, I know. Very melodramatic.

I resumed the movie where I'd left off. I cried and cried. I bawled my eyes out. I had no idea how the movie actually ended. I was too focused on my loss. How would life be in the next few minutes? In the coming hours, days, weeks, months, years? What would I do without that guidance, that strength? I sat there well after the credits had ended, still crying. Bereft. Like being in a rowboat tossed on an ocean in the middle of a hurricane, with no way to find land.

::nods:: Uh-huh. I know it's all ridiculous. Dead or alive, a character is a character. A make believe person who doesn't really exist. Try to remember, though, I was still a kid, really. A kid who'd never had any support, a kid who'd been tortured. Literally. Tortured. A kid who'd been forced to grow up too fast, who tried to put up a bravado, but underneath it all, I was still just a scared kid.

To this day, I can't watch that movie.

To this day, I still stop and ask myself, "What would Kirk do?" and then "What would Spock do?"

Sometimes, I still fall woefully short of living up to *either* of them.

And to this day, when someone says something on the order of "it's just a show," I feel the angry desperation of that little kid I used to be. For me, it's not just a show - it never was, and it never will be. 

But there you have it. My coping strategy, in a nutshell. Of course, none of the characters nor the people who played them were perfect. I never thought they were. Everyone is flawed. But they were supremely less flawed than what I had to work with.

I mourned Gene Roddenberry's passing in 1991 (just two days after my birthday) keenly because he had given me my family - not just my imaginary "dad" and "uncle", but all my "aunts" and "uncles". I loved every last one of them as if they were my own kin. Oddly, Gene Roddenberry was kind of like a God to me. Not "GOD" (don't go all "blasphemer!!!!" on me now), but in a way... he really kinda was, if you think about it. And it really kinda makes sense for a kid growing up the way I did to deify him. Which is *really* ironic, considering his views on religion in general.

I once wrote a letter to Gene Roddenberry, thanking him for making Star Trek, and telling him how important it was to me, and gave it to my mom to mail. I was around 10. I don't even know if that letter went into the mail or the kitchen trash can, and even if it did go zinging off to Hollywood, I've no doubt it ended up with an incomprehensibly large heap of others, which never had any hope of being read by any normal human being.

When the word lost DeForest Kelley in 1999, and then James Doohan in 2005...God Lord. Don't even get me started on how much I cried...for days and days. They'd passed before I'd been able to tell them what a difference they and Star Trek had been in my life.

And even now, my gratitude will probably never reach its destination. I plan on attending some conventions, but let's face it - time with actors is limited, and Leonard Nimoy no longer attends them. I could Tweet this to them - maybe I will. Odds of it being seen are pretty low, though.

But, to the point of writing this whole thing, even if it's never seen, here goes:

I'd like to say thank you. They're two of the simplest words, but they're all I have, and I hope the emotion behind them comes through.

Without Star Trek, I'd surely have lost my grip, however tentative it sometimes was, on reality. Without that shield, the abuse would've overtaken me, claimed my heart, soul, and mind as it often did my body. I haven't done many monumental things in my life, but the things I've done I've enjoyed and cherished, and that's all because of Star Trek.

So to Mr. Shatner and Mr. Nimoy - you saved my life. You will never truly know the impact you had on me. You will never know how your presence - fictional though it was - made the cold, dark nights bearable, and made the long, endless days of fear something I found the courage to live through. You will never know how that terrified little kid I was looked up to the characters you portrayed. You will never know the joy I felt sitting and watching the one bright thing I had in my life. You will never know how my heart skips a beat even now when I see Kirk or Spock. You will never know how it hurts when people insult Trek.

I know stories of people who became engineers because of Scotty, or doctors because of McCoy. I didn't do anything as grand as that, but I am who I am, however flawed, because of Star Trek.

More Than Just a Kiss Blogfest

First, I have to give a MAMMOTH apology to anyone who has looked for this hop on my blog. I *completely forgot* about this one. I know I'm late - I'm really quite distraught over it, I assure you!!



Here's the blurb and my scene from my m/m romance, "Pudding Jones." It's not a traditional kissing scene...but then nothing about Pudding is traditional. For my prize in the hop, I'm offering up a free pdf copy of "Pudding Jones" to one lucky winner. Just leave a comment with your e-mail.

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****



Blurb:  Award-winning reporter Emmer Richfield is the kind of guy who covers wars, the kind of guy who asks the hard-hitting questions. He is not—and he’s certain about this—the kind of guy who does sappy human-interest stories about homeless people. But his newest assignment is not just any human-interest story, it’s a mandate from the mayor: convince the people of Dodson that Foxton Industries’ plan to build a mall—and oust the homeless population—is a bad idea by way of a feature on a homeless man named Pudding Jones. But Pudding quickly goes from just another story to a man who changes Emmer’s life. The question is, can Emmer return the favor before it’s too late?

Scene:

Pudding kissed the back of my neck. "We'll go away from here soon," he whispered. "Then you won't have to be afraid anymore. I'll find you a place to be. A safe place. You believe me, right?"

I nodded. His voice had changed again. Not the hard-edged slang, or the precisely enuncinated, clipped tone. This was different.Childlike, almost. It hit me then--the boy Pudding had fallen in love with, the boy who'd been beaten--had that been his brother? I reached back and patted his hip.

"I believe you." I barely got the words out past the thick lump in my throat. What the hell had he and his brother gone through?

He kissed my neck again, and down to the edge of my T-shirt, which he pushed aside so he could nibble on my shoulder. He moved his lips back up my neck and I tried with all my might not to lean my head to the side in invitation. I lost the battle, though, and tilted my head forward and down, to give him more flesh to work with. Pudding kissed and licked, nibbled and nuzzled, and I lay there, wrapped in his arms, my eyes squeezed closed, wishing he was in the present, wishing he knew it was me he was giving his attentions to.














Wednesday, September 11, 2013

NSFW Backlist Feature: Sundae Surprise

Content Warning: Food play 

Blurb:

Dean learns the true meaning of the words "playing with your food" when his hot and hunky roommate, Rick, interrupts his plans for some solo Sunday afternoon fun. Human sundae aside, Dean discovers a kinship with Rick that he never knew existed, and a basis for what promises to be a delicious relationship. But when Rick overreacts to Dean's nonchalance after their first time, can Dean convince Rick that what they have is real?


Excerpt:

Dean stood at the kitchen counter, restlessly tapping his left foot on the tile floor, barely able to contain his excitement as he emptied out the plastic grocery bag. Nice, ripe cantaloupe—check. Bottle of Red Cat wine from his last trip to New York—check. He grabbed a pewter goblet down from the cupboard above the counter next to the sink and poured himself a drink before he went about the rest of his preparations. He had seen this idea on a masturbation website a cou- ple months ago, and had been dying to try it ever since. What better day to treat himself than today, a lazy Sunday afternoon. Even think- ing about what was to come, no pun intended, made his cock hard and his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He’d felt a little silly asking all the women at his office what he should use to make a hole in a cantaloupe, but his explanation of turn- ing several of them into candleholders for a summer party had been absolute genius. Of course, now he would have to remember to make the damned things if he ever did have a party!

“Measure twice, cut once,” he muttered, as he carefully made a hole in the melon, using the corer and the v—shaped cutting knife he’d ordered from his sister’s Pampered Chef party. Oh, if she’d only known!

All smiles, Dean headed to the living room with his cantaloupe and glass of wine. He pulled out his favorite porn flick: the one with the longhaired guy who bore a striking resemblance to his roommate Rick. He popped the DVD in, doffed his t-shirt and jeans, and frowned. He wasn’t too fond of the so—called ‘vintage’ couch, but Rick would kill him if he got any stains on the thing. He didn’t know if cantaloupe would show up on orange, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He pulled a tan velour blanket from off the back of the couch and laid it down over the cushions, then settled.

He let the movie play for a few minutes, watching it through la- zily lidded eyes while he sipped his wine. Porn Guy A, the delicious Rick look—alike whom Dean liked to call ‘Porn Rick,’ pushed his part- ner—Porn Guy B— down onto the bed with a little shove and dove on him, running his hands up and down Porn Guy B’s body. Dean felt a twinge of jealous inferiority; he was nowhere near as muscular and built as either of these guys, and his short, nearly shaved—off hair wasn’t as sexy as their long, luscious locks. As always, though, any rational thoughts fled and his cock hardened painfully when it got to the part where Porn Rick went down on Porn Guy B. Dean took his cock in hand, stroking it in rhythm with the bobbing of Porn Rick’s head.

“Mmm...Rick...yeah...suck me....” With his other hand, Dean slid the cantaloupe onto his throbbing cock. Perfect. Fit. Dean gasped and rocked his hips as he closed his eyes, imagining the flesh of the fruit to be that of Rick’s mouth. “Yeah...feels so good, Rick...”

“What the hell are you doing?” Rick—the real Rick—boomed.

Dean’s eyes popped open and he fumbled with the melon, even- tually dropping it onto the wood floor with a splat—thud. “Um... nothing.”

“Are you jacking off with a cantaloupe?” Rick stood just inside the living room, arms crossed, a grin the size of Texas splitting his face.