Thursday, March 27, 2014

Tease Me Thursday #3: Revelations

Hello and welcome to Tease Me Thursday!

Today, I'm going to give you a little taste of Revelations, which is my alternate history m/m romance story about Judas & Jesus.


Today's excerpt is from Jesus' POV. He and Judas have argued, and Jesus is upset and confused.

            Judas, why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you simply be happy with what we have? Why do you have to be this way?
            Sometimes I don’t understand that man. I admit it—he confuses me. I’m not perfect, although I do strive to perfection. I’ve a long, long way to go before I get there, and I realize it.  I’ve so very much to learn.
            Judas, why cannot you love Mary, love everyone? You seem so very…angry. I wish I knew how to please you, to bring a smile to your face. Your very lovely face. I try my best, and sometimes I do succeed. But not nearly often enough.
            Tell me what to do, tell me how you feel, really feel…
            Father, I’m so very confused. Why does Judas confuse me like no other? What am I supposed to do here, how can I make things right between us when he isn’t even speaking to me?
            I understand that being your son comes with grave responsibilities. But you’ve counseled me that I’m also a man, like other men. Is this where the confusion arises, from these feelings I don’t understand? Please send me some sort of sign, tell me what to do, how to feel. How to deal with my feelings.
            Father, please counsel me. I know this is a selfish request, when so many others are in need of you, but perhaps a moment of your time? A father/son thing?

Available in ebook and paperback at Amazon and MuseitUp Publishing.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Wednesday Briefs: Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Ten

I think Spring is trying to arrive, little by little. We had a flurry of snow yesterday, but not much to speak of. And it was almost 40 when I left work, so yay! Happy Wednesday! Time for some more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers!

Last week, Dallas confided to Campbell about everything - Wonderland, Samuel, Quentin - and Campbell wants to not only help Dallas get back, but go with him! But how to get there? More plottage in this week's chapter of Dallas in Wonderland II. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. And be aware  - we have a FLASH VIRGIN!  Enjoy!

Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Ten

First order of business—where?

That was actually a no-brainer. For what they had in mind, no public place would do. Not even a dive like the Rusty Heifer. So Dallas’ apartment it was.
The when was trickier. Dallas wanted to do it on a night when neither he nor Campbell worked. How embarrassing to have to leave in the middle of one’s interrogation.

Sorry, dude, gotta work. To be continued.

So they had to postpone their plans, to Dallas’ chagrin, until their schedules meshed for longer than an hour or two.

Most important of all was the what. What were they trying to get out of Dallas’ smarmy ex? The answer to that was the secret of how to get into Wonderland. Or back into Wonderland, in Dallas’ case. And to do it without giving Quentin the impression Dallas wanted to sleep with him, God forbid.

They regularly met in Campbell’s apartment, depending on their schedule. Dallas had actually taken to sleeping there more often than not.  He found that when he slept with Campbell, he didn’t have any of his usual nightmares, and slept much better than in his own bed.

He wasn’t on the couch any longer. Campbell had insisted he share the bed, and Dallas didn’t argue with him. He was grateful for the warmth of the other man, even knowing that sleeping was all that would happen, there could never be anything more between them. He needed a friend like Campbell in the worst possible way, and he was grateful for the support he offered, support that had been sorely lacking in Dallas’ life.
Oz was a child, much as he loved his nephew. And as for Paris... sometimes he wondered just whose side she was on. But he tried not to think about it too much.

“We have to pretend to be nice to him,” Campbell pointed out. “But not too nice. We don’t want him to become suspicious.”

“That’s for sure,” Dallas agreed.

They sat together in their usual spot, on Campbell’s couch. Dallas had just come off another rotten shift at the Rusty Heifer, and Campbell had worked long hours at the hospital. They took turns rubbing one another’s feet. At the moment, Dallas’ feet lay in Campbell’s lap, and he was enjoying the way Campbell massaged his soles.

“What does Quentin like to do?” Campbell asked.

“Anyone he can,” Dallas said wryly.

“Oh honey, you don’t need that kind of trouble in your life. You’re better than that.”

Dallas sighed, relaxing into Campbell’s gentle touch.

“Yeah, I should have known better, but he had me fooled. Lot of that going around.”

“Hush, don’t talk like that. You just need to quit kissing frogs and get to the prince.” He gave Dallas a half-lidded look that was an open invitation. One Dallas couldn’t quite bring himself to accept.

“Does he like to drink?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Dallas muttered. “His favorite activity is getting drunk. Well, after fucking anything that moves.”

“How well does he hold his liquor?”

Dallas thought back to the times he spent watching Quentin get loaded. Back when he thought everything Quentin did was cute. That thought along made him want to gag.

“He gets goofy and he giggles a lot. Wants to do crazy things. Like pissing off the back porch. Or going to the convenience store and stealing something. I’m surprised he never got caught. Probably gave the clerk a blow job afterward, once he put me to bed. Bastard.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” Campbell commented. “Anything else?”

Dallas snorted, remembering something else. “Yeah, sometimes he’d get drunk and we’d go over to Paris’s place and he’d steal some of her clothes and bring ‘em back and play dress up.”

“Sounds like that boy is a closet queen.” Campbell flipped one hand in the air. “And we spell that d-i-v-a around here, you know?”

“Could be,” Dallas agreed, yawning. “I’m not sure how that helps us, though, do you?”

“Just thinking out loud, sugar.” He tried to stifle a yawn of his own, but failed.  “Come up here, and let’s cuddle for a minute. It’s a little chilly in here.”

Dallas started to remind Campbell it was June, almost July, and certainly not chilly. On second thought, why not? He rotated himself on the couch until he was pressed up against Campbell, and Campbell put his arm around him, drawing Dallas against him. Mmm, this felt good.

“Maybe you can get him drunk, and I can knock him around a little bit,” Campbell was saying. Dallas’ eyes were drooping. He was too comfortable to respond with more than a grunt, although he did appreciate the offer.

“Or we can borrow some of your sister’s clothes and let him put on a drag show?”

That produced a muffled snort from Dallas. His hand began to creep beneath Campbell’s scrub shirt. To keep warm, he told himself. Nothing else. Campbell’s skin was firm, and deliciously warm to the touch.

“He can be Queen for a Day,” Campbell continued, as if unaware of what Dallas was doing, although he had to know.

Campbell’s words darted through Dallas’ brain, although his second brain seemed more intend on what his hand was doing, as he softly stroked Campbell’s belly. So good. So very good.

Queen, queen, queen reverberated in his mind. Suddenly, he heard a shrill voice. “Off with his head! Off with his head!”

He sat up with a jolt, losing the warmth of his contact with Campbell, producing a sigh from his friend.

“What if we make him think he needs to go back to play queen again?” Dallas was thinking furiously, trying to form a coherent thought in his tired brain when he really wanted to curl up in Campbell’s lap and sleep.

“Tell him it’s for the good of Wonderland?” Campbell ruffled Dallas’ hair softly.

“Something like that, yeah. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea. Let’s sleep on it.”

to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers have got in store! It's bound to be good!

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Guest Blogger JC Wallace

Please welcome friend and fellow author/Briefer JC Wallace, who's here to talk about her first book release,
Curiosity Killed Shaney. Have a seat and make yourself at home, JC, while I find something to drink. Go ahead and start, why don't you?

Hi, everyone! I want to thank Julie for inviting me to the blog. Curiosity Killed Shaney is my first published novel and I am thrilled to share this story with all of you.

This blog tour got huge fast! There are awesome prizes to that will be given away at the end of the tour. At the end of this post, you will find a link to enter!  Check in at for links to all of the blogs in the tour and you can enter as much as you like!


You’re marooned on a small island with one person and one item of your choice—who is that person and what item do you have?

My one person would be my personal cabana boy, Stephan, who performs any and all tasks at my whim. My one item would have to be something to write on. Since it’s a small island, I’m sure there is no power so my computer would be out. Oh! How would I ever survive without my computer? I guess Stephan would need to comfort me.

Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scene using them:  license, hymn, shoehorn.

Okay, I am going to be a little cheesy here! LOL

Joseph eyed the beautiful man who stalked across the room as if he had prey in his sights. Joseph pushed his palm against his bulging erection surreptitiously hidden beneath the table. If his cock got any harder, he’d need a shoehorn to get it out of his pants. Those broad shoulders, bulging pecs, and square jaw were all too much. The walking god should need a license to carry so much lusciousness in one package and be that hot. A quick gaze in Joseph’s direction from those blue eyes and he swore he heard angels singing hymns of praise.

You’ve just been let loose in the world of fiction, with permission to do anyone you want. Who do you fuck first and why?

Oh, that would be Sam Kage from Matter of time by Mary Calmes. So large and sexy and manly, and in charge...Grrr! I have the first two stories on audiobook and, if it were possible, they’d be considered worn out by now!

What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?
At the moment, there is no significant other in my life, but I can tell you what I envision as a romantic time. We’d be at home lying on a nice bed of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace. It would be night so only the glow of the fire would light the room. There would be low music, definitely fruit and chocolate, and something nice to drink. Talking, touching and, well, whatever else we could think of to entertain ourselves.

When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?
Whatever comes to mind first. I’ve had stories grow from one word, or one characteristic I would like a character to have, or one event that I imagine happening to someone.  My prompts come from EVERYWHERE. I love to take prompts and do “What ifs...” For Curiosity Killed Shaney, I did “what ifs” from the phrase “Someday your curiosity will get the better of you”....What if your curiosity always got you into trouble? What is people were tired of your curiosity? What if your curiosity someday killed you?

Thanks for stopping by! Tomorrow, the blog tour will visit the blog of RJ Scott. Hope to see you there!

Available at   
R&P Publishing      Amazon       Barnes and Noble
ARe       BookStrand

Blurb: Shaney's curiosity is always getting him into trouble, including stumbling into a ritualistic circle and being imbued with an energy that will eventually tear him apart. He soon finds out that Hudson, a man he cares for deeply, might be responsible for his misfortune. Add in the betrayal by his best friend Todd and the desire of a demented occultist named Silas to control the energy inside of him and there seems to be no way out. Can Shaney find a way to rid his body of the nefarious energy before he dies a horrible death?

Shaney peered cautiously around the aisle of junk peddled on late night television as items that that no one could live without. Yeah, right, Shaney snorted to himself. With anything but suave subtlety, he looked for his target through the open racks of clothes and tall shelves filled with shoes. Well, tall for him. Yes, he was short for a man. Hell, he was short for a pre-pubescent teenager. And in one of the cruelest twists of fate, at five feet six inches, Shaney was the shortest of his three siblings—three sisters, actually. Oh, yeah, as if that hadn’t been a wonderful childhood.
He sighed, reminding himself that he’d long ago come to terms with his lack of verticality—sort of. Silently, he slipped around the end of the shelf, moving slow and smooth, like the aforementioned cat. He worked his way toward the first rack of haphazardly piled shoes. Of course, he should straighten those up later. He stopped about ten feet from the rack, not daring to get any closer. As he peered through one of the shelves, he caught just a glimpse of his target’s red shirt. The man was rifling through the rack of sweatshirts.
If he could just get a bit closer, get a better look…
Shaney froze as the man—and, oh, what a man he was—walked out from behind that rack of shoes, a black sweatshirt in hand. Maybe if Shaney remained still, he wouldn’t be spotted out there in the open, drooling, because that was what he did when faced with the most gorgeous specimen of man known to humankind. The hunky man’s spiky black hair was longer on top and shorter on the sides. He had a five o’clock shadow at ten a.m. covering a strong jaw with—oh, hell—a dimpled chin and intense crystal blue eyes centered by the straightest, most slender nose ending over mouth-watering lips that were just waiting to be sucked and nibbled. That red T-shirt covered wide shoulders and biceps. Black jeans hugged a slim waist and caressed every single muscle with each confident, I-own-the-world step he took in black work boots. And talk about tall!
Shaney stopped breathing as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hunky came down his aisle. The man’s blue eyes scanned the store looking from something or…someone?
Time ceased and the world narrowed as those eyes penetrated straight into Shaney’s soul, connected with his very essence, and awakened Shaney’s cock within his pressed chinos. Those forceful eyes were staring and, wait...frowning, as the man came straight at him! Panic seized Shaney’s body. Oh, fuck! He saw me staring and now he’s going to kill the cat! Damn, Todd for being right! Unable to break from the intensity of that unyielding gaze, Shaney started to scramble backwards with no regard for direction—just away from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Angry.  Shaney sprinted in reverse as the man raised his hand and pointed a finger.
“Hey. You.”
Even faced with imminent death, the man’s voice vibrated through every nerve in Shaney’s small frame. If he had to die, let his death be at the hands of this god.
Every cell in Shaney’s body followed the forceful order, but not before Shaney slammed into the shelf behind him. He gasped, the breath knocked from his lungs. He grasped for anything solid to hold onto as the useless treads of his sneakers slid on the waxed floor. Items rocked on the shelf, some toppling, others just threatening.
This is gonna hurt, Shaney thought and cringed until his hand finally grasped a shelf, and his other hand found purchase as well.
The enormous display shelf settled as Shaney struggled to steady his feet. He closed his eyes, sucking in large quantities of air. His hands vibrated against the steel of the shelf, unyielding in their death grip. The whoosh of blood in his ears cocooned him in silence and he almost forgot about…Shaney’s eyes popped open, and he jumped back in surprise to see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Angry right in his face. And next, as is standard humor in classic Saturday morning cartoons, something heavy fell out of the sky, landed on Shaney’s head, brought him to his knees, then flat on his face. The only thing missing were those annoying little chirpy bluebirds circling his head. He’d have to settle for stars.

Curiosity Killed Shaney Blog Tour Giveaway!!
Shaney is so excited about his story being told that he is giving away some great prizes!
P.S. He’s really excited to give them away!
1- $25 Amazon Gift Card
2 Curiosity Killed Shaney Ebooks
2 of Maximus’ “Duct Tape” T-shirts
3 “Freeze Warlock” Coffee Mugs
2 $5 Amazon Gift Cards

You can enter daily along the blog tour, as often as you like!

About JC Wallace

I have been writing all of my life, however it was just this year that I ventured out to be published. In my day job, I am a behavior analyst. At night and on the weekends, I write about all things men. I believe there is nothing hotter than two men finding and loving one another, whether for a night or forever. An avid reader of M/M romance, I love a good twist of a plot, HEA, HFN, or tragic ending.

I am owned by three kids, one grandchild and one on the way, two dogs and one cat. I live in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains in Northern NY

Thanks for stopping by, JC! Come back again soon!

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Tease Me Thursday #2: Yes He's My Ex

Welcome to week 2 of Tease Me Thursday. Today, I'm going to tease you with a little bit from my upcoming Dreamspinner release, Yes He's My Ex. It comes out April 2nd, and it's available for pre-order now.

Sonny is Tim's ex, but you wouldn't necessarily know it. He shows up whenever he wants, walks into Tim's apartment like he owns the place. And he knows how to push Tim's buttons, even if he doesn't realize he's doing it.

Don’t ask me why I did it. Not why I pushed Sonny off the couch—that part I understand. That’s because he’s an insensitive lout who can be totally clueless at times. No, I mean why did I, after heaving him off me as hard as I could, do a complete turnaround and not only help him up but allow him to place his head in my lap, in an utter reversal of our previous position, despite all the alarm bells going off in my own head?
Maybe it was the whimpering. I hate to hear a grown man cry, you know? All right, maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was because deep, deep down inside, I really can’t find it in myself to hurt him, no matter how many times he’s hurt me. I’m just too soft for my own good, and I know it.
“Tim-tim, why are you mad at me?” He’s turning those doe eyes on me, those sweetly sad puppy eyes that make my insides turn into meaningless goo. Like caramel, but less tasty.
“Sonny, when will you get it into your thick head I’m not in love with you anymore? We aren’t together, and it’s time you moved on? Read my lips, Sonny. I… don’t… love… you…. Capisce?”
For a moment, nothing is said between us, as if he’s actually mulling over my words.
“I’ve told you this before,” I add. My voice sounds weak, even to me.
“Tim,” he says at last, his momentary deliberations at an end. “It’s funny how your eyes always look away when you say that.”

Don't forget to be teased by the other incredible authors in our blog hop!

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Virtual Book Blast: Patriot Priest

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Patricia will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift card to one randomly drawn commenter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. Remember, the more you comment, the better your chances to win.

Patriot Priest tells one man's personal experience over several epochs and areas of history. It is also, in part the story of one unique individual, author Patricia Daly-Lipe's great uncle, Msgr. William A Hemmick. Born in Pittsburgh, PA, and raised in Europe, he became fluent in five languages. When the First World War broke out, he felt committed to help the troops. After the war, he was proclaimed the Patriot Priest of Picardy by the Army and Navy. After years spent in Paris, William Hemmick was asked by the Vatican to come to Rome. Ultimately he became the only American Canon of St. Peter's representing the Knights of Malta to the Holy See.

It was he who performed the nuptials of American film star Tyrone Power and Linda Christian. He also converted the future Queen Astrid of Belgium.

Enjoy this excerpt:

In 1944, when the bombers of the 8th Air Force were attacking synthetic fuel plants, another German wrote, as a boy, that despite the raids by American bombers, We Germans never feared the Americans. When the Americans arrived, "the soldiers were friendly and approachable. Their generosity toward children was constant." But all too soon, the Americans pulled out. It was now the Russian troops taking over occupation of East Germany. "We feared the Russians," he wrote. And, although the officers were European, in the beginning, the troops were Asian. Soon, however, the Asians left and just the Europeans remained. "The Russian soldiers (and the Asians when they were there) … were especially dangerous if they had been drinking. Since they were nearly always armed, alcohol made all of the Russians very dangerous.

This was what the children in Germany were subjected to after the war ended: irrational and often brutal behavior. Daily, the children lived under agonizing situations including hunger, cold, and fright. Yet they had resilience. Reading their stories in Wolfgang W. E. Samuel's book, The War of Our Childhood, Memories of World War II, it is awe-inspiring how that generation of German children was able to emerge from such debilitating conditions and become sane and productive human beings as adults.

Twenty-five years after the end of World War II, Adam B. Ulam wrote: "A study of the history of the past twenty-five years …can suggest which of our hopes and fears are realistic and which are not …" (Ulam's preface to The Rivals, America & Russia Since World War II) Although today (2013) the Cold War (the theme of his book) is over, the fear of a global conflict still exists. My point is that the past, and our understanding of it, enhances our ability to understand the present. Today's events take on a new interpretation in light of what came before This is what is known as historical process. This is not a search for answers; it is a search for perspective and questions. Your perspective is formed according to your source of reference: the scholar, the statesman, the politician, the military, the businessman, or, in this case, the life and time of William A. Hemmick [or my interpretation resulting from extensive research.]

In 1953, in predominance was the Soviet-U.S conflict. Some said it was not an isolated moment in history, but a natural evolution of a struggle that began in the past as we saw with Germany. Nations seeking power fall in competition for prestige and security, sea lanes and natural resources, markets and even empires. And so, some asserted in the fifties, it was precisely in this context that the Soviet Union justified its position. George F. Kennan, Secretary of the American Embassy in Moscow in the middle thirties, wrote in an article for Foreign Affairs (The Source of Soviet Conduct, 1947).

About the Author:
Dr. Patricia Daly-Lipe, is an Author and Artist. She has written six books, all different genres. She is winner of the San Diego Book Awards, Best Books Finalist, the JADA Novel Contest, Finalist, 2009 2nd place in poetry by the Virginia Writers Club, Inc, and 2013 winner in historical fiction at the Annual Royal Dragonfly Book Awards for 'A CRUEL CALM, Paris Between the Wars and 2013 winner for her short story by the Virfginia Writers Assn.

Although born in La Jolla, California, Patricia spent equal time in Washington, D.C., home of several generations of her mother’s family.

She has taught at colleges and writing centers, written for magazines and newspapers (including the Evening Star in Washington, DC, La Jolla Village News, The Georgetowner andUptowner), and her paintings have been accepted and sold in Juried shows, art galleries, and private homes. Two of her books feature her paintings on their covers. Patricia served as President of both the La Jolla and DC Branches of the National League of American Pen Women. Patricia now lives in Virginia with her husband, Dr. Steele Lipe, three dogs, three horses, and two cats. For years, Patricia raised, raced, and showed Thoroughbred horses. Now she rescues them. She is the mother of three and grandmother of six children.

Buy the book at Amazon.

Wednesday Briefs: Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Nine

Happy Wednesday and welcome to another edition of the Wednesday Briefers! If it's Wednesday, it must be time for some flash fiction, right?

As you'll recall in last week's episode, Dallas' ex tantalized him with the idea of returning to Wonderland and then ran out on him. What's a guy to do? Find out in this week's chapter of Dallas in Wonderland. Then see what the other Briefers are up to, their links follow my tale. And look for the FLASH VIRGIN this week.

Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Nine

Dallas’ eyes snapped open, even as his back began to protest. Eerie shadows floated in front of him, shapes that bore no resemblance to anything found in his bedroom. A scream formed in his throat, growing larger and larger, demanding exit. But just before he released the unholy sound, memories of the night before flooded his brain, and he closed his eyes, working to re-orient himself.

He wasn’t at home, he was in Campbell’s apartment. Sleeping on Campbell’s couch. The screaming had actually taken place in the wee hours of the night. A confusing jumble of images flooded his mind: tentacles and hatchets and blood red eyes and soft tender lips. Campbell had rescued him from the nightmare, calmed him into quiet, and insisted on bringing him home with him. Dallas had been in no condition to argue, and he didn’t.

More than a week had elapsed since Dallas’ unsatisfying conversation with his ex at Chaucer’s. Not a word had he heard from Quentin, not so much as a syllable. He half expected to find him lurking in the hallways, whenever he went for his sessions with Samuel. But every corner he looked around was bereft of Quentin’s presence, leaving Dallas even more depressed than he’d been before.

Clink, clink.

What was that? Dallas sat up in alarm. The blanket Campbell had draped over him fell to the floor. Dallas’ heart beat fast, until his brain played catch-up with his imagination and he realized what he’d heard was the sound of a spoon in a cup. He smelled the fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee, his nostrils flaring in anticipation. Moments later, Campbell appeared, a cup in each hand.

Dallas dove for the blanket with a murmured apology. To keep Campbell from tripping on it, he spread it across his lap. Okay, maybe it was also about warmth, not just safety

Campbell handed him a cup, before taking a seat beside him.

“You’ve touched my heart... and my stomach.” Dallas tried to keep his tone light, to show he was fine. 

Maybe it was himself he needed to convince the most.

Campbell took Dallas’ free hand in his own, clutching it while he searched Dallas’s eyes. Dallas tried not to flinch from his scrutiny.

“I know something’s troubling you. I’m worried about you, Dallas. What can I do to help?”

What indeed, Dallas wondered, almost bitterly, wishing for the umpteenth time he could have met Campbell first, before Samuel. But the heart wanted what it wanted. And what Dallas’ heart wanted was Samuel Levi. Dr. Samuel Levi, he reminded himself with a grimace.

He turned his head, afraid of what Campbell might see there. Such as the truth.

At Campbell’s next words, Dallas jerked his head around so quickly, he considered himself to be a candidate for whiplash.

“What does Wonderland mean to you, Dallas?” Campbell’s voice was soft and soothing.

Something in Dallas’ eyes must have warned Campbell he’d hit the nail too close to the head. He tightened his grip on Dallas’ hand.

“I don’t mean to pry, honey, honestly, but you kept saying it in your sleep. After I... well, after you came over here last night.”

“What else did I say?” Dallas fearfully asked. Did Campbell now think he was loopy too? He couldn’t bear to lose the only real friend he had left. Not counting Samuel. Could he actually count Samuel as a friend? He wished he knew.

“Something about tarts, I think. And maybe your doctor’s name. Isn’t Samuel your doctor?”

Dallas gulped and nodded.

He raised the cup to his lips, surprised that his hand was as steady as it was, took a long soothing sip. The warmth and the caffeine fortified him as it slid down his throat.

“I’m here for you, Dallas,” Campbell murmured, and every resolution Dallas had ever had melted in that instant.

He began to speak, as if a dam had burst, baring his soul, spilling his secrets, both old and new. And never once did Campbell interrupt or comment, listening with a solemn expression and trusting green eyes.
When he was done, Dallas laid the forgotten coffee cup aside, releasing a shuddering breath. The next moment, he felt himself enveloped in Campbell’s warm embrace. He made no move to disentangle himself, his head on Campbell’s chest, content to listen to the rhythmic beat of Campbell’s heart thudding quietly against his ear.

Then Dallas heard the words he’d been longing to hear for so long, those precious words he never thought would be directed at him.

“Dallas, I believe you.”

He raised his head, his brows drawn together as he searched for answers in Campbell’s steady gaze. And everything he saw indicated Campbell meant what he said. He relaxed his face, felt the first tears as they slipped from his eyes. Campbell brushed his thumb across Dallas’ cheeks and caught them.

“I want to help you get back there.”

“You do?”

Campbell nodded solemnly. “Not just that. I want to go with you. Make sure you’re safe.”

No one had ever tried to make Dallas feel safe before. Samuel had promised... what had he actually promised? Dallas couldn’t remember. Samuel’s words tended to dissipate once spoken, leaving only residual heartache behind.

“I don’t know how to get back,” Dallas confessed, feeling helpless at this unexpected onslaught of emotion. “Much less take you with me.”

“Your ex knows, doesn’t he?”

Dallas nodded.

“Then we’ll get him to talk. He was almost ready to tell you, wasn’t he? Before he was interrupted?”

Yes, Dallas was sure Quentin had been on the verge of confession. Damn phone call ruined everything.

“Do you think he’d hurt you?”

At first Dallas, thought Campbell meant Samuel, but then he realized they were still talking about Quentin. He thought for a moment.

“I don’t think so.” Hope not.

“Then invite him over and we’ll loosen his tongue.” Campbell smiled.

Dallas arched his eyebrows, but held his questions inside. Hope blossomed like a flower in his heart.

to be continued

Now go visit with the other Briefers!

Monday, March 17, 2014

Virtual Book Tour: Apocalypticon

Please welcome author Clayton Smith, who is here to talk about his newest release, Apocalypticon. Clayton will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning. To see where the other stops are, go here.

by Clayton Smith



Three years have passed since the Jamaicans caused the apocalypse, and things in post-Armageddon Chicago have settled into a new kind of normal. Unfortunately, that "normal" includes collapsing skyscrapers, bands of bloodthirsty maniacs, and a dwindling cache of survival supplies. After watching his family, friends, and most of the non-sadistic elements of society crumble around him, Patrick decides it's time to cross one last item off his bucket list.

He’s going to Disney World.

This hilarious, heartfelt, gut-wrenching odyssey through post-apocalyptic America is a pilgrimage peppered with peril, as fellow survivors Patrick and Ben encounter a slew of odd characters, from zombie politicians and deranged survivalists to a milky-eyed oracle who doesn't have a lot of good news. Plus, it looks like Patrick may be hiding the real reason for their mission to the Magic Kingdom...


Ben ripped off a fresh, cleanish strip of blanket and wrapped it around the hand. Patrick whimpered as he pulled it tight and tied it off. “Next time the world ends, let’s make sure we’re stocked up on peroxide and bandages,” Ben said.

Patrick glowered at the first aid kit, which lay open on the hood. Its contents included, and were extremely limited to, six Band-Aids, four cotton swabs, a bottle of Tylenol, some nail polish remover, a packet of Midol, a travel box of Clorox Handi Wipes, and a roll of Tums. “Who packed that thing?” Ben asked. “Pee Wee Herman?”

“The really scary part is, that’s the kit we had in a house with a five-year-old. Criminy. We’re lucky 20 fold-up accordion snakes didn’t pop out when we opened the lid.” He picked up the Tylenol with his good hand and struggled with the lid for a while before turning it over to Ben. “Help. It’s childproof.”

He couldn’t tell if he really had a fever, or it if was a phantom sickness, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The most benign injury could turn fatal without basic medical supplies. And a half-inch hole through the hand was not a benign injury. If the alcohol didn’t kill the infection, he’d lose his hand. That’s a surgery he didn’t want to think about undergoing with full sedation, much less in the backwoods of Mississippi while buzzed on a bottle of Canadian Mist with Ben as his surgeon. He checked the bandage and made sure it was tight. The wound seemed to have stopped bleeding, at least, though he seemed to have lost feeling in his three middle fingers. He didn't take that for a good sign. “We need real medical supplies,” he said. “Because I am not letting you cut off my hand.”

“What’s the point of even having a machete if we’re not gonna use it?” Ben complained.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Clayton Smith is a sometimes-writer, sometimes-napper based in Chicago, where he uses neither his bachelor’s in journalism nor his master’s in arts management. He is often calamitous, and good at bacon. He lives with his impressively tolerant wife.

Clayton’s previous works include Pants on Fire: A Collection of Lies and the comedic play Death and McCootie, which debuted at the 2013 New York International Fringe Festival.


Friday, March 14, 2014

Guest Blogger Chris T Kat

Guess who's back to visit us? It's my good friend, fellow Briefer and fellow Dreamspinner author, Chris T.
Kat. She's going to talk about her newest release, The Wolf and his Diva, and deleted scenes. I was lucky to be able to read this book already, and it's just fabulous! I'm so excited for her to be here. Chris, make yourself at home, I'll get the coffee. You can go ahead and start!

Scenes that work in the story and scenes that don't

Julie, thank you very much for having me. I'm here to talk about my new release, The Wolf and His Diva, a m/m shape-shifter romance which was published by Dreamspinner Press on March 12th.
The Wolf and His Diva started its life as a free story early in 2013. At that point I joined a group of flash fiction writers (you can find us at and the story was called “To Love a Fox”. I had to stop writing the story because of several books in the production line as well as an increased workload in real life.
But—irritating how there's always a but, isn't it?—the story wouldn't let go of me. So, in only a few weeks time, I wrote the whole story. When other people gave me their opinion on the first draft, I had to admit that some scenes didn't need to be in the story. They didn't move the plot forward, and after a long struggle, I cut some paragraphs or scenes. Sometimes, it's no bother to cut because when I think about a particular scene it becomes obvious that it's not necessary.
Other times, it almost hurts physically to cut a scene from the book. Anything I had to rewrite or change in The Wolf and His Diva hurt me because I adore George and Billy together. Billy in particular holds a very special place in my heart. He's such a fun (and flamboyant) and loving character that I wanted everything to stay exactly the way I'd written it.
In the end, I did change certain parts. In chapter eleven, there's a scene in which Billy wants to clean but the scene isn't doing anything for the plot. However, it helps to give you a sense of how Billy works, how his relationship with George works, so I saved the deleted scene. In case you're interested to read about Billy turning into a cleaning demon, I invite you to read the deleted scene below.

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George Owens is comfortable with his life just the way it is. A wolf- and fox-shifter, George leads a reclusive lifestyle with his energetic and diva-ish mate Billy, a fox-and squirrel-shifter.
George has no desire to take over leadership of the pack, despite his father’s wishes. Edward Owens is feeling his age and wants to make sure the pack is in good hands should he not be able to win his next challenge. However, George is adamant that he wants no part of it.
But events rock George from his complacency, and he realizes he has to take a stand and fight for what he cares about. If he remains in the past and cannot change in order to do what he must, he risks losing everything he loves.

Deleted scene from chapter 11:
Around noon, George decided to take Billy out for lunch. He endured several threats to his manhood because he dared to interrupt Billy's cleaning spree, but he stood firm in his decision.
“But George!” Billy whined. “Look at me! I'm all sweaty and unpresentable and there are only two cupboards left to do. I can't stop now!”
George grasped Billy's hips, lifted him from the highest step, wet cloth and soapy hands included, and kissed the tip of his nose. “I'm hungry and you won't let me set a foot into the kitchen right now, hence we're going out for lunch.”
“Ah! I hate that word.” George grabbed the cloth from Billy's hand and threw it into the sink. He turned around, with Billy in his arms, and marched him away from the kitchen.
“The cupboards will still be waiting for you when we get back.”
“B—um, I'll have lost my drive and won't finish and then I'll be unhappy because the kitchen is only half-finished and then I won't be able to stop thinking about it and that inevitably will lead to me having a major meltdown!”
“You're having that meltdown right now. Come on, hop under the shower and get dressed.”
George moved them at a steady pace toward the bathroom, realizing Billy didn't put up a real fight.
“This is only a hint of a meltdown. You'll feel sorry for yourself if you don't let me finish now. Did you hear me? You'll feel very sorry.”
“As long as I can feel sorry with a full stomach, all is well in my world.”
Billy stopped abruptly and turned around. He put his hands on his hips, opened his mouth to say something, but George thwarted every attempt at speech with a thorough kiss. A couple minutes later, Billy relaxed in George's arms and his stomach grumbled loudly.
“Shower, then lunch,” George said.
“Yes, dear.” Billy tilted his head sideways and accentuated his coy attitude with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes. With a dramatic air, Billy spun around and rushed into the bathroom, leaving George with a silly grin, an empty stomach, and a good feeling.

They had lunch in one of their favorite restaurants, a small Italian family business, and took their time. Afterward, they drove home and Billy immediately claimed he needed to get back to his cupboards. George couldn't understand why Billy became so restless, and even twitchy, as soon as they reached their home.
He needed all his persuasive power to get Billy to agree to a walk before they went inside. At first, he thought he'd regret that he'd been successful, but after walking for ten minutes, Billy mellowed considerably. He stopped chattering, but interlaced their hands and occasionally looked George's way, always wearing a smile.
George could feel Billy's contentment through their bond and did his best not to overload Billy on his emotions again. This was what he loved the most—those quiet moments with Billy, just the two of them, basking in a state of complacency.
The sereneness evaporated as soon as their home came back into view. Then Billy turned back into the cleaning demon from hell again. George had just unlocked the door when Billy rushed past him.
George hung up his jacket and put away his keys when Billy came back, changed into his cleaning clothes, a look of utter concentration on his face. George watched him empty the bucket and fill it anew, whistling as he waited.
George walked to Billy, cupped his face in his hands, and asked earnestly, “Having fun, babe?”
Billy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then sighed. “You think I'm nuts, don't you?”
“I think you're adorable when you become the cleaning demon.”
Billy dove forward until his forehead thumped against George's chest, and groaned, “Aw, shit! You do think I'm crazy. I can't help it, really. It just... drives me crazy to leave it unfinished.”
“Just because I don't understand what's pushing you doesn't mean I think you're crazy. I'm just bewildered, that's all,” George said. He pushed Billy off his chest and kissed him soundly. “When will I get the real you back?”
With a grin, Billy glanced at the kitchen clock, shrugged, and answered, “An hour? Two tops.”
“All right, I'll be waiting for you with open arms.”
George stepped away from Billy and was already on his way to his laptop when he heard Billy add softly, “Thanks, George.”

Chris T. Kat
Chris T. Kat lives in the middle of Europe, where she shares a house with her husband of many years and their two children. She stumbled upon the M/M genre by luck and was swiftly drawn into it. She divides her time between work, her family—which includes chasing after escaping horses and lugging around huge instruments such as a harp—and writing. She enjoys a variety of genres, such as mystery/suspense, paranormal, and romance. If there's any spare time, she happily reads for hours, listens to audiobooks or does cross stitch.


Thanks for stopping by, Chris! It's been a pleasure, as always!