Santa Reading Kindle Papyrus

Secrets and Charms is live at all the usual retailers. It's the second book of the "Secrets" series but not truly a sequel. Charms tells the story of Olly, who was a supporting character in Secrets and Ink. However, to those who enjoyed Ink, Charms delivers a similar package: humor, romance, smexy times, and a dash of mystery. Plus a highly fictionalized take on the movie business.

Writing this story I had a good time making up fictional movie titles for various genres from slasher flick to Oscar-bait. But my favorite is Olly's beloved gay porn flick from above. I put real research into this. No, I don't mean watching gay porn! Not this time, anyway. What I mean is, that I had to use math (!) to figure out when the movie was produced, then look up the popular mainstream movies of the time to come up with a spoof title. (The research probably ended with me either watching gay porn or youtube videos of cute animals. I don't remember, but that's how most of my researches end.)

The next Secrets book, Secrets and Bow Ties, is scheduled to come out in May. In it we'll find out more about the "plot" of Dildo Menace, and Brian Rockwell's anatomy.

Vintage Monday: Lifeguards

Continuing with the beach theme, here are a couple of lovely lifeguards. This was a Pinterest find. On a side note: apparently, in 1949 lifeguard was two words. Just comes to show you that language is a living thing.

Release Day

Spirit Sanguine is finally alive! If patience is a virtue, I'm clearly a sinner. The last week especially was a torture.

This book grew out of my frustration over vampires always being so mopey. I only planned one short story originally, but it got a little (much) longer. As I was fleshing out the characters, I had to not only figure out what they were like, but also what made them that way. The events and mysteries of their past shaped not only their personalities, but also had an effect on the plot.

Spirit Sanguine is a blend of mystery, suspense, and humor. A paranormal story in contemporary setting. I hope the readers will enjoy it.

For now here's an excerpt:

It was Gabe’s thirteenth straight perfect summer night in Chicago since he’d arrived back from Budapest. He left his cheap hotel in Rogers Park and headed downtown. The air was as smooth as fine red wine, and the moon hung in the sky like a fat lump of Camembert. It felt strange being back home after all those years. The city was essentially the same as he’d left it, but he’d changed and no longer fit in. The odd sensation of being a stranger in his hometown made him restless.

As it was Friday night, the streets of River North were teeming with tourists and locals. Gabe popped in and out of bars, not staying long anywhere. He had a few beers, but it would’ve taken something stronger than alcohol to fill the void inside him. He stalked the streets at night because he didn’t know what else to do. Coming home had been a logical and necessary step, but he had no idea what came next. To make things worse, he hadn’t gotten laid for far too long. Not that there was a shortage of willing bodies. Gabe knew he didn’t stand out in a crowd, but he had no problem attracting guys, especially ones who liked a bit of rough trade. Dark-haired and sturdy, he had the physique and air of a man who could give that to them. So there were plenty of interested men, just none of them “lit his fire”. Truth be told, he was in the granddaddy of all funks.

Gabe would never in a million years have expected to find someone to answer all his yearnings at once. The young man who bumped into him in the crowded bar murmured hasty apologies and walked away. As collisions went, it seemed as innocuous as the first contact between the Titanic and the errant iceberg, yet at the moment of contact, Gabe’s heart hurled itself at his rib cage, sensing the impending disaster. As they parted, he stared after the other figure: short, slender, dark-haired and undead. A killer combo. It was unfair; the most fuckable ass he’d come across in who knew how long, and it belonged to a vampire.

Gabe had a sixth sense for these things, quite literally. In the proximity of a vampire, his skin prickled and the short hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. At the same time, an invisible compass in his brain zeroed in on the creature. Oddly, in this instance the sensation was as faint as the brush of a spider web, yet still unmistakable. To clinch it, Mr. Killer Buns was several degrees too cool to the touch.

Finding and slaying vampires was Gabe’s special skill, one might even say calling, although he’d been having second thoughts about that as of late. The current situation was most disturbing; thoughts of sex and vampires had never before occupied his brain at the same time. The undead he and his uncle had been hunting across Europe for the past several years hadn’t inspired such notions. They’d been a revolting bunch that without fail had tried to rip out his throat. Not one of them had worn tight jeans showing off shapely buttocks.

“The only good vampire is a dead vampire,” Uncle Miklos used to say. So Gabe sent the carnal thoughts packing and concentrated on the task ahead. It had to be done. Pity.

When his mark left the bar, Gabe followed at a prudent distance all the way to the El station. Since he saw no trains coming, Gabe waited a minute before walking up to the platform. He spotted his target at the far end, so he stayed back. It wasn’t yet time to make his move. He was going to follow the vamp back to its nest where there might be more of its kind. Minutes ticked by. Gabe took a few casual glances at the creature. It seemed oblivious, chatting on a cell phone. Gabe wondered who was on the other end of the line. The bloodsuckers he’d had experience with were neither particularly social nor technologically savvy.

The train finally arrived, and they got on. A good twenty minutes later when the vampire got off, Gabe followed, waiting till the last minute to jump off. The vamp had already walked down the stairs and out of sight, but Gabe could still feel its presence. He tracked it on deserted, dimly lit streets. He tugged down the zipper of his leather jacket and slipped his hand inside. Three wooden stakes sat on each side in their custom-designed holders. Old habits died hard.

Gabe caught a movement in the shadows from the corner of his eye, but it didn’t alarm him much—the only undead in the area was half a block ahead. The sudden sharp sting in his posterior took him completely by surprise. After a moment of confusion, he yanked the dart out and stared at it. Why would somebody shoot him with a dart? As his knees turned to jelly and the world faded away, he understood he’d probably made the last mistake of his life.

Gabe came to in an empty, windowless room, lit by a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The mold-stained walls amplified the low-budget-horror-flick ambiance. The one thing out of synch was the bloodsucker crouched in front of him—it looked at him with concern morphing into relief as Gabe clawed his way back to consciousness. Now that he got a closer look at it, the vampire proved to be even more intriguing; its features were an appealing fusion of Asian and Caucasian. The eyes staring at Gabe were brown around the iris, blending into green. It was, without question, the most attractive vampire Gabe had ever seen. But that wasn’t saying much.

Gabe knelt on the cold concrete floor, propped against the wall in an uncomfortable position, but when he tried to move, he realized he was expertly bound—ankles together, hands behind his back, and all tied together, so he couldn’t even stand up.

“You’re a slayer, right?” the vampire asked, more curious than accusatory.

Gabe had no intention of giving in that easy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was walking home when you kidnapped me. It’s a federal crime, you know.”

“And you simply happened to have six very sharp wooden sticks on you. Or were you just happy to see me?”

For the first time ever, Gabe witnessed a vampire smirk. It perturbed him more than a vicious scowl would’ve. Looking down, he also became aware of not wearing his jacket anymore. Well, the gig was up. Still, he wasn’t going to make this any easier for the bastard; he clamped his jaws together and said nothing.

The vampire sighed. “Don’t be a grumpy pants. Let’s say we agree you’re a slayer.”

“And you’re a soulless bloodsucker.” Gabe produced a scowl appropriate for the circumstances, but he started to get a strange feeling that they weren’t working from the same script.

The vampire wasn’t bothered. “Sticks and stones. Tell me, where did you come from? You’re new here, right? We haven’t had a slayer around here in ages. What brought you here now?” It looked at Gabe as if he were the Easter Bunny.

Gabe figured it made no difference, but he might as well make up some pretty lies. “Fine, you got me. My buddies and I are new in town. I was supposed to meet them. They’re probably looking for me.”

The vampire cocked its head sideways and studied him for a second. “Nah. You’re lying.”

Gabe shrugged as much as the ropes allowed. “Maybe. Or maybe not.”

The vampire chewed on its fingernails while studying Gabe silently some more. “You’re a pain in the ass,” it said.

Gabe stared back in his best Bruce Willis impression, but inside he felt flummoxed. He’d been insulted by vampires before but never so benignly. Threats of getting ripped from limb to limb were more along the line of what he’d been expecting. This was a strange fucking night.

The vampire leaned forward and put a hand over Gabe’s heart. Its eyelids drifted closed, and its curvy lips parted slightly, as if in a trance, creating a positively sensuous picture. It almost made Gabe regret what he was about to do. Almost. Putting all his strength and weight into it, he launch himself forward and head-butted the vampire. Having been knocked back on its pretty ass, it looked startled for a nanosecond, but then in a flash it was in Gabe’s face, fangs bared, eyes burning with amber fury. It put a hand around Gabe’s throat and squeezed while sliding its other hand under Gabe’s shirt, fingers digging into naked skin.

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t disembowel you?” the vampire hissed.

Monday Men: Sexy Sailors

I picked up a couple of these old beefcake magazines at the flea market. They smell kinda moldy.

Monday Men: Kaftans

So very eighties. This photo was a rare find at the flea market.

First Lines

Books on writing invariably will advise you to hook your readers from the very start. It's a good advice. The first version of my first novella—or short novel, depending on whom you ask—started with a chapter-long exposition. It was terrible. Fortunately, my beta reader told me so. The second version was marginally better, but only in the third did I manage to start with the action, instead of the backstory.

Now that I have few titles out and a few more in the pipelines I figured I'd make a compilation of first lines of my novels and novellas in chronological order, just for fun. Here they are:

I woke on a lumpy futon, tangled in my sheets and a dilemma: what was I to do for the next two days? (Hanging Loose)

It’s hard to talk with your mouth full of cock. (Academic Pursuits)

The first light of dawn slashed through the darkness, spilling the new day over the unsuspecting land. (Last Stop)

It's the randomness of things that scares me the most—not knowing what fate or blind chance have in store. (Dead in L.A.)

It was Gabe’s thirteenth straight perfect summer night in Chicago since he’d arrived back from Budapest. (Spirit Sanguine)

Dying sucked hairy monkey balls. (Dead Man and the Restless Spirits)

Karma cursed me because I called her a bitch. (Secrets and Ink)

The naked man came out of nowhere. (Werewolves of Venice Beach)

The last four are in various stages from soon-to-be-published (Spirit Sanguine) to the barely-started (Werewolves of Venice Beach). The latter aims to be a short story and that line might even change, but what the heck, right?

I'm thinking of making a similar list of my favorite books.

Will You Be My Vampire?

(Art by AdroVonCrow – DeviantART)

While the word vampire is only a few hundred years old, it's predated by a wide variety of myths around the world of spirits and demons feeding on the blood, flesh, or life force of the living. The current popular image came from east European beliefs, however it got a facelift along the way.

In Slavic, Romanian, and Romani (Gypsy) folklore vampires are hideous monsters with ruddy complexion and crude manners. They were believed to rise from the bodies of witches, criminals, and suicide victims, or alternately, those of who died violent and untimely deaths.

It was the writers of fiction who gave vampires their pallor and sexual magnetism. The monster became a Byronic hero, alluringly dark and mysterious, and not to mention moody.

"It was evident that he was a prey to some cureless disquiet…" (Lord Byron, Fragment of a Story)

If brooding were an Olympic sport, the children of the night would win every medal. Angel, Edward, Bill…they'll glare at you with their dark, smoldering eyes and tell you that you should run from them, they're cursed, will make you unhappy,  and so on. If it were me, I'd run. All that sulking is such a drag.

I mean, seriously, they're practically immortal, don't age, have cellulite or high cholesterol, and don't even have to go to they gym. What is there to sulk about?

I wanted to write story, something short and sweet, about a vampire with a sense of humor and appetite for (un)life. Just to get it out of my system. Naturally, my intended novelette turned into a full-blown novel of over 70,000 words. The protagonists are Harvey, the spunky young vampire and his love interest, Gabe, the conflicted slayer. Spirit Sanguine will come out at the end of April, but is available for pre-order on Amazon and at the Samhain store.

May and December

As my favorite fictional hero, Gillibran Brown would say, “I feel a chunter coming on.”

My short story, Wintertide, in the Winter Warmers anthology features two guys who are pretty far apart in age. A couple of reviewers commented on the chances against such a relationship lasting. I totally see their point. “Opposites attract” is probably the most erroneous adage outside of the world of electrically charged bits of metal. In reality, people tend to get along best with those similar to them. Some gay couples take this to the extreme by even looking like they came from the same cloning factory.

However, there are exceptions. To write such a relationship I was inspired by the story of Don Bachardy and Christopher Isherwood. Isherwood was a British writer who moved to the US before WWII. He published novels and worked in Hollywood. He also was openly gay when homosexuality was even less accepted than it is now.

Isherwood met Bachardy when the latter was sixteen or eighteen (accounts vary) and Isherwood forty-eight. They stayed together for the next thirty-three years until Isherwood’s death.  Of course, they had their ups and downs, like everyone else. The story is told in a movie, Chris & Don: A Love Story.

 In the end, the May-December relationship in fiction, like several other themes -- rent boys, D/s, etc. -- hits the kinks of some readers, but turns off others.  I’m not trying to make anyone like what they don’t, only explaining why it works for me. I have plans for a sequel that would pick up the story maybe six months later.

Since we’re here, I have a few Isherwood related movies to recommend – all with a gay angle, of course.

In 1931 Isherwood went to Berlin “for the boys.” Much later, in the seventies, he wrote about those times and the young German man he fell in love with.

In 2011 the BBC adapted those stories into a TV drama, starring Matt Smith of Doctor Who fame. Christopher and His Kind is an interesting and enjoyable movie that gives a slice of history from a particular angle. It doesn’t exactly have a traditional story arc, but there are a few joyous and unabashed (gay) sex scenes.

Cabaret (1972) is technically the same story, as it is based on the Broadway musical that was adapted from the same stories, however it is a more fictional, more stylized version of them, with a well-rounded story arc. Nonetheless, it still has a sharp bite. I can wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone, even if they don’t like musicals.

Cabaret has a great cast: Michael York, Joel Grey, and Liza Minelli in unarguably the best role of her entire career. Cabaret was directed by the legendary Bob Fosse. It’s one of my all time favorite movies.

A Single Man is a far more recent film, directed by - of all people - fashion designer Tom Ford. It’s an amazing movie, slow but powerful, like an ocean tide. Colin Firth, who is one of my favorite actors anyway, gives a beautifully nuanced performance. By the way, Isherwood wrote the novel about ten years into his relationship with Don Bachardy. They hit a rough patch at the time, it’s the story of Isherwood imagining his life without Don.