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.

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.

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.

The Roadside Motel - Guest Post by L.C. Chase

One of the things I love about road tripping is hotels and motels. I don’t know why. Even if I’m only in a hotel room for nine hours—eight of which I’ve slept through—it still somehow feels like an adventure, a vacation from the routine. In another way, it’s like when you’re a kid and being on a sleepover at a friend’s house, and they have all the movie channels you don’t get at home. You get to stay up late eating junk food and watching silly TV—or TV you’d be grounded for if you were caught watching. *g* Either way, its an escape from regular life.

Another thing I love about motel rooms is the stories they hold. I oftentimes find myself wondering who’d been there before me, where they were headed and why. Were they just traveling from point A to point B? Were they running from their past, from the law, or to their future? Were they lovers secreting a few hours together? If those walls could talk…

In Riding with Heaven, Evan McGrath spends a couple of nights in motel rooms while traveling across the country with his rideshare driver, Lucas Briscoe. On one of those two nights they share a room, and the moment they enter it Lucas begins a thorough inspection. Which makes Evan wonder why. I like to check my motel rooms too—lock the door and close the curtains, flick on some lights, and do a quick walkthrough. But Lucas does it with the diligence of someone making sure the room is secure for their safety from some unseen threat, or perhaps, the way someone on the run from the law might to make sure they hadn’t been followed. 

And therein lies Evan’s problem. He doesn’t really know Lucas, but he sure as hell wants him—whether the man turns out to be an escaped serial killer or not.

Riding with Heaven is available now at Loose Id. 

The Blurb:

When his flight home for his brother’s birthday is canceled due to a Category 5 hurricane on the Eastern seaboard, art major Evan McGrath places an ad on Craigslist for a rideshare from Colorado to South Carolina. He hadn’t expected an immediate reply, nor had he expected to fall head-over-heels for the handsome and mysterious driver, Lucas Briscoe.

As the miles disappear behind them Evan grows more and more attracted to the enigmatic Lucas, and the desire is mutual. The only problem is that a serial killer dubbed “The Domino Slasher” has just escaped a federal prison transfer, and funny little coincidences keep pointing toward Lucas – who looks like Heaven incarnate, but who could be the Devil in disguise.

The Excerpt:

“Oh. My. God.” Evan gasped and sat up straighter in his seat as Maddy steered her trusty Subaru wagon into the near-empty gas station lot just outside Denver city limits. “I have just seen Heaven, and he wears distressed Levi’s and mirrored Oakleys.”

Only one vehicle was parked in the lot: a spotless black Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows and black utility rims. The kind of vehicle the government or secret agents or mobsters would drive. Big, menacing, mysterious. The driver stood outside, leaning casually against the passenger door with one booted foot rested over the other, arms crossed in front of a broad chest. A chocolate-brown leather aviator jacket covered a gray hoodie and gave him a slight bad-boy vibe—just enough danger to entice the wee little mouse into the lion’s lair. Stylishly mussed blond hair reflected the bright morning sunlight in shimmering threads of gold and auburn, and day-old stubble hugged a strong, square jaw and slightly cleft chin.

“If that’s your rideshare, you’re staying here, and I’m going with him,” Maddy said in her take-no-prisoners voice.

“Not on your life, sister. That man’s mine.”

“No way.” Maddy had yet to take her eyes off the man in question. “He’s totally straight.”

“Eyes on the road,” Evan teased. “And he’s totally not.”

Maddy laughed. Long, red-streaked blonde locks brushed her shoulders when she shook her head. “Always so damn argumentative.”

“Because I’m always right. You should know that by now.”

She harrumphed and parked the car a couple of spots from the SUV and then turned to face him. Laughter gone from her honey-colored eyes, she worried at her bottom lip.

Evan sighed. Almost two years younger than he but so dead set on being the mother hen. “It’s going to be okay. I mean, look at him. He’s gorgeous. This could be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I don’t know,” she said, shooting a quick look over her shoulder before leaning in closer to Evan. She dropped her voice low. “He could be a total nutcase for all we know. And you’re going to be alone with him in the middle of nowhere for three days.”

Evan wiggled a salacious eyebrow at her. “If there’s a God, you better believe it.”

Clearly not amused, she smacked him on the arm. “Come on, Ev. I’m serious. I’d lose my marbles if anything ever happened to you.”

His best friend and roommate of six years, Madison Jervis—or Maddy, as he’d called her from the moment they met when he literally ran into her his first day on campus—hadn’t been keen on his plan from the start. Evan loved that she looked out for him, but he had to get home. He’d promised, and come hell or high water—or hurricane—that was one promise he would never break.

His flight out of Denver International had been canceled when Hurricane Rex had been upgraded to a Category 5, and all flights in and out of the entire Eastern Seaboard were grounded. That it happened two days before a busy Labor Day weekend didn’t help matters any. It would be a minimum of three to four days to reschedule his flight, and that would be after the runways were cleared to reopen.

The next best thing? He placed an ad on Craigslist in search of a rideshare headed to Charleston. Evan knew from his life experiences that things always had a way of working out, one way or another, no matter how bad they appeared on the surface. Sometimes shitty things happened to good people, but in the aftermath, the reasons generally became clear. Even if he could never accept some of those reasons. And as luck would have it, he’d received an e-mail that morning from a fellow traveler headed in the same direction.

Now that he had a look at his cross-country driving companion, he knew it couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. Three days riding with Heaven. Or, if he was really lucky, three days riding Heaven. Not that he was one for hookups. Ever. But damn…

Evan grinned, threw his arm over Maddy’s shoulders, and pulled in her close. She tucked her head under his chin with a defeated sigh.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be careful. I’ll call you every time we stop or if anything starts to feel hinky, okay?”

Maddy nodded. “Okay. But I’m still sneaking a photo of him and his license plate. And if you don’t call me at least twice a day, I’m going to freak out and call the police and the FBI and SWAT and—”

“I get it!” He laughed and kissed the top of her head. Her strawberry-scented shampoo tickled his nostrils. “I promise I’ll call.”

Appeased, she straightened up and chucked his chin playfully before unbuckling her seat belt and exiting the car. Evan unfolded his long frame from the compact vehicle, gathered his bags from the back, and made his way over to Heaven and the black chariot, praying he didn’t trip over his shoelaces and fall flat on his face or something equally embarrassing. That wasn’t the kind of first impression he was keen on making, though usually did.

He couldn’t see any more than his own distorted reflection in the man’s dark sunglasses as he approached, but Evan had the distinct impression of being sized up, weighed, and measured. A little charge of excitement danced in his chest, instead of the usual discomfort at being the subject of a stranger’s scrutiny—especially when this particular stranger could make angels swoon.

“Lucas Briscoe?” he asked. His breath puffed out in a swirling cloud in the cool early-morning air. A hank of hair drifted over his left eye in the crisp breeze. He flicked his head to clear the obstruction.

Lucas nodded, pushed off from his leaning post, and stuck out a hand. “And you would be Evan McGrath.”

Robbed of words by the smooth, low pitch of Lucas’s voice, Evan could only nod. A warm hand engulfed his and held it firmly for an extended beat. Or was that wishful thinking? Lucas released his hand and, after holding his gaze for a second longer, turned to open the back door of the vehicle.

“Toss your stuff in there. Lots of room.” He motioned to Evan before heading around to the driver’s side but not before Evan sneaked a sideways glance at his retreating backside. Nice.

Evan placed his backpack and one suitcase on the backseat as directed, then took off his black sport coat and tossed it over his bags. He closed the door and turned to catch Maddy slinking around from behind the SUV, stuffing her cell phone into her jacket pocket. He shook his head and grinned. She shrugged.

“Please be careful,” she whispered against his ear when he pulled her into a hug. He gave her a squeeze and stepped back.

“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” Evan teased. “No wild house-wrecker parties.”

Maddy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

She hesitated a second; then with a quick glance at his driver, she turned and walked back to her car. Evan watched until she’d climbed in, fastened her seat belt, started the little red Subaru, and backed out. He returned her wave with a confident smile while a little seed of doubt drifted through his mind, looking for purchase. He abruptly swept it away. Nope, he had nothing to worry about. I mean really, how much trouble could there be in Heaven anyway?

* * *

Artist by day, author by night, L.C. Chase is a hopeless romantic and adventure seeker. After a decade of road tripping on three continents, she now calls the Canadian West Coast home. When not writing tales of beautiful men falling love, L.C. can be found designing book covers of said beautiful men, reading, drawing, running the trails with her goofy four-legged buddy who, if he were human, would be a stand up comedian, and fighting her root beer addiction.

Find L.C. on her website, Blog, Goodreads, Twitter and DeviantArt.

It's Alive!

Release day is when the author goes bonkers, climbs on the virtual rooftops and starts shouting like a mad man. Look at me! BUY! BUY! It's called promo. It certainly has its uses, but when done in excess, it tends to annoy the very people you're trying to attract. I'll try to keep my rooftop—aka guest blog—appearances entertaining at least.

For now I want to talk about Gin Wigmore. You probably never heard of her, but that's because she's Australian. My first exposure to her music was during the end credits of the season four finale of Weeds. It sounded a bit like Amy Winehouse, but the lyrics were unfamiliar. After a little search I found out it was Hey Ho by Gin. (It's such a great name. I wish my name was Gin. Or Ginn.) I liked the music, so I bought her album.

I especially liked Too Late For Lovers, partially because it seemed to fit the novel I'd just started working on. The song has one of those nonsensical lyrics that could mean anything, yet it had an eerie resonance with the POV of Jay--one of my protagonists. So Too Late For Lovers became my theme song. It even helped me to with the title. I took Last Stop from a frame of the video (3:02):

The neon sign made my its way into my story too. By the way, I've photographed the diner from the video, so I know the sign had been added by the film crew.

Looks far less romantic, even with that billboard there, doesn't it? I'll have to go back one day, and shoot it when the light is better.

Right. There's something I'm supposed to say here… Oh yea, Look at me! BUY! BUY!

Turning Tricks by Anne Tenino

One thing you can be sure of when picking up an Anne Tenino story: It'll be hot. This sequel to 18% Gray doesn't disappoint.


Blurb:

James Ayala thought life would be smooth sailing once he escaped from a Red Idaho reeducation camp and returned to Blue Oregon. He was supposed to get answers about the biocybernetic chip that made him empathic, face the man who implanted it, and then ride off into the sunset with his new boyfriend, Matt Tennimore. Life, however, has other plans: the bad guy dies without giving them any answers, they left their horse in Idaho, and Gramma Anais finds a parasite on James's implant—one that forces James into isolation.

Matt just got James back to Oregon where he wanted him, and extraneous brain hardware or not, he has no intention of letting him go. But James hesitates to move in with him. Despite his hurt, Matt has to man up and do his job, leaving James behind, while the rest of the team struggles to find the real mastermind behind the implant and the parasitic "Trick"—before it takes over James's brain. But will it be too little, too late to save him?

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.