Great opportunity from Muse it UP

As I've mentioned before, I'm now an editor at Muse it Up Publishing, and loving it. Recently they've come up with something new, an idea I've never seen before with another publisher. I think this is a great idea and I'm going to promote it here. If you order a print book from them, they'll send you the e-book free so  you can start reading right away, while waiting for the print to come. It's a win-win situation!

Check it out here.

I'll be bragging about my Muse authors as they're published. Take a gander around the site, and see what interesting books they have! Make Muse your place to shop for books!

Guest Blogging today at Jana Down's place, and other stuff

Happy President's Day, to those of you in the US! Being unemployed, holidays don't have quite the same feel. In fact, this one's keeping me from going to the post office as well as the unemployment office! Oh well, tomorrow's another day.

Today I'm visiting at Jana Down's blog, talking about historical crushes. Why don't y'all join me there?

Then mosey on over to Ginger Simpson's blog, 'cause my friend Lorrie Struiff is talking about a monkey named Beggar, who's quite the handful, as well as her upcoming release, A Heap of Trouble. I'm here to tell you it's one heck of a good book. I know, because I had the honor and privilege of editing it. So stop on by and say howdy to Beggar and Lorrie.

What are my President's Day plans?

Started the day by making Snickerdoodle Muffins as a surprise for Sarah. I'm working on a flash fiction for the Bigger Briefs anthology. Have I mentioned that before? It's like an offshoot of the Wednesday Briefs, except the stories run from 2 to 3k, and they're going to be assembled and published by a publisher in the UK. How awesome is that? I'll keep you updated on it as it progresses. Actually, there will be anthologies - one m/m and one m/f. I've already written a story for the m/f, now working on the other. The theme for the first anthology is voyeurism.

I'm also considering an open sub for Dreamspinner, we'll see how that works out. And editing a book for Muse. So quite the full day ahead.

Tomorrow I'll probably discuss stuff like The Walking Dead, Californication, and the return of The Sandwich King. Going to do some writing now!  Have a great day!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

DIY is the Better Way to Go

This morning, I found myself facing a small dilemma. Nothing major as problems go, rather more annoying than anything. The taskbars at the top and bottom of my screen refused to stay in position, no matter what I did. Now I knew that if I asked my daughter Sarah, she'd be able to help me out of my situation, even if she grumbled about it because I'm pretty sure she's told me how to do it before and I'd forgotten. But she was asleep, and I sure as Hell wasn't about to wake her to ask her. I prefer to live, thank you.

So I did the most logical thing - I googled the problem. Found an assortment of answers, some of which were germaine, some not. The most relevant involved locking my taskbar, not auto-hiding it, etc. I tried their suggestions, and still nothing worked. I was getting frustrated, but I didn't give up. I kept looking and looking, and then I noticed a small box which was checked - I think it said exit full screen.

Durp. I unchecked the box and problem solved.

Now, my point wasn't to show you how computer illiterate I am (although sadly true), but to show you the satisfaction of figuring out a problem yourself. I felt like I'd won a victory, albeit a small one, because I'd applied actual logic and perserverance and found a solution. Of course, not everything in life is that easy. But then again, who wants it to be? People who have things that come too easily to them tend not to appreciate them, and take such things for granted.

Money is a great motivator. In its pursuit, we become damn creative at times, doing what we can to keep afloat. If you're born with it, the motivation isn't always there, as is evident if you check out the infamous scions of wealthy people. They're not all bad, of course  not, but some of them are just plain wastes of space. They think life consists of pleasures and having fun. Their idea of reality is not real at all.

I get annoyed with some of the people on a particular FB game I play because they're always whining - I need this, give me that, blah blah blah. While I don't mind helping people with extra items if I have them, I think these people are missing the point. Didn't they start playing in order to enjoy playing the game? Looking for the items is part of that play, and if you get everything too fast, then you end up not having anything to play.  It's not the destination, folks, it's the journey that counts.

One of my favorite mottos comes from a Chinese gentleman named Lao Tzu:  "Give a man a fish; feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish; feed him for a lifetime".  

How true, how very true. I'd rather learn how to fish and be able to apply the techniques for myself, then have someone give me a handout.  The same holds true for the things you know, that you teach to other people. If you're going to tell someone they're wrong about something, explain why, so they can avoid such an error in the future. I strive to do that with my editing. Of course, I'm not perfect. But I do welcome questions, and if you ask, I'll give you my reason for what I said.

I think some of the biggest problems in my life have come from waiting for someone to do something that I need done. I went without heat for three winters because of promises made by different people, offers of assistance that never came about. The sad thing about being poor is you can't afford certain things, and this was one of them. So we stayed cold. Very cold. But finally, in the third winter, a suggestion from a friend led to getting heat and hooray for warmth, cause it's wonderful! I ended up boosting the process, instead of sitting back and waiting for it to happen. I'm very glad I did.


I think from now on when issues arise, I'll google them and try to find solutions online that I can apply. There is a wealth of information on the Internet, and generally help on any given topic. If you're willing to look, and if you're willing to apply yourself. I may not be a plumber, but by golly, I'll learn some of their tricks to help me fix things. Nothing too major, of course. I'm not stupid enough to think I could wire my house, or put on a roof (that also has to do with a fear of heights).


But I'll never know what I can do unless I try. Although, I'm also wiling to accept help, if offered.

DIY - better than give it to me any day. 


And what I learn, I'm more than willing to teach so you can do it yourself too!


Until next time, take care!


♥ Julie

Ouran High School Host Club Volume 11 Review

Ouran High School is about to hold its first sports festival! Tamaki and Kyoya are on opposing teams, a highly unusual situation. Which one will prevail? And what effect will it have on their friendship. Kyoya is the strategist, while Tamaki operates on sheer emotion. Will Kyoya over think the situation, or has he pegged his friend perfectly? But what other forces are in play that might have a hand in what is happening?

Hikaru and Kaoru are also on opposite teams, which makes them uncomfortable with keeping secrets from one another. But there’s more to their estrangement then that, if only they could put their finger on what that something is. Or is it someone?

By the time the first half of the festival is over, Tamaki’s Red Team has proven itself to be its own worst enemy, and it seems that the White Team will handily take the day. Is there any way to turn things around?

When it comes down to the relay race, Tamaki and Kyoya make a private wager between themselves—if Tamaki wins, he gets a free year-round use of Kyoya’s kotatsu passport, but if Kyoya emerges triumphant, then Tamaki  has to greet customers the following week wearing only a fundoshi.

The Host Club is wearing kilts—all except Tamaki, who’s in his fundoshi and complaining about it (although the customers certainly aren’t). Haruhi buys him a superball to keep him occupied; it works a little too well, leading to the discovery of a mischievous tanuki whose behavior becomes a bit extreme.

The class trip is coming up, and the destination is France. Tamaki doesn’t let on to the others, but he confides in Kyoya that he isn’t going. Meanwhile, the twins are discovering new things about themselves.

In a bonus story, we get a look at Hunny’s brother, Chika as he fights against his attraction to cute cuddly animals.

There’s a lot going on in this volume, and we get some real indepth looks into the characters and their motivations, although Haruhi’s appearances are rather minimal. It’s more about the relationship between Tamaki and Kyoya, and Hikaru and Kaoru.  The sports festival stories are enjoyable and fun. In one episode, Ranka and Misuzu and Mei make a brief appearance.  I wish there’d been a host club in my high school. How much fun would that have been?

Another great volume of Host Club, can’t wait to see more!

Follow Friday and the Winners of the With Love VDay contest

Happy Friday to you all! Before I ask this week's question, I'd like to announce that I chose two winners of the With Love Valentine's Day Blog Hop. Thanks to all who entered, and be sure to come back for Hoppy Easter! And now, drum roll if you please...... the winners are:  Norma and Lisa! I will be contacting both of you to choose which book from my backlist you'd like!  Congratulations to you both!  Now, on to this week's question!

Q:   I like unique names for characters and am looking forward to coming up with some when I start writing. What’s the most unique character name you’ve come across?

A:  I've seen a lot of unusual names, and I have to agree that Renesmee from Twilight is one of those. Horrible, horrible name. Sookie Stackhouse is unique and memorable, and I like that - especially the way Bill says it. It's hard to define unique, though, because constant usage takes something that was unique and makes it commonplace. Everyone and their brother jumps on the bandwagon and there you go. These days, romance writers are overusing names like Jayden so that you get tired of seeing them. Real people have common names too. 

Silver Shorts: Curing His Performance Anxiety

Welcome to Week Seven of the Silver Shorts Flash Fiction. We were given several prompts to choose from, I chose to use: "You can't judge a book by its cover..." You can download the entire anthology for free here. Enjoy!  Also, come back tomorrow when I'll make an announcement concerning my recent Valentine's Blog Hop contest!

Curing His Performance Anxiety

Wade Berdeaux was a fully-loaded pistol, and the quickest way to trip his trigger was to call him a dumb jock.

Just because he was Du Bois High’s starting quarterback, and just because he’d been scouted out by several sports-conscious universities, didn’t make him stupid by any means.

No, his grades alone did that. But God help the man or boy who told him that to his face. Chances were they’d live to regret it rather quickly. Wade was prone to punch first, think things through afterward.

Wade wasn’t stupid, far from it. In fact, he considered himself to be rather intelligent. But there were some kinds of smarts that didn’t show up on standardized tests, and his was one of them. He knew things, he understood the subjects he took. But when it came to putting those facts down on paper, he quickly became mired in his own discombobulation.

Don’t anyone dare say performance anxiety to Wade’s face.

Still, grades were the litmus test which would decide whether or not he’d be able to pursue his dreams. Grades and test scores. To be more specific, the test scores received by the taking of certain college placement tests, aka the ACT and the SAT. Once upon a time, colleges would help their less academically proficient athletes, more concerned with winning games than furthering their players’ education, by enrolling them in throw-away classes which didn’t challenge their intelligence, allowing them to acquire much-coveted sheepskins.

Those days were gone.

Wade was expected to attain a score of at least 25 on the ACT for two major reasons. One being in order to obtain admission to the college of his father’s choosing, the second being to avoid his father’s wrath should he fail to obtain goal number one. His father had made it painfully clear to him that he had to buckle down and study, or the consequences would not be pretty. Jefferson Berdeaux had plans for his son, and no excuse extant would be sufficient should Wade fail live up to his expectations.

His father also had quick fists. Painful fists.

The trouble was, Wade had failed the test already. Twice. He’d studied for it diligently, but when push came to shove and he was faced with the reality of the paper and pencil before him, he froze. He was about to take the damn thing for the third time on Saturday. For that reason, his father had hired a tutor for him. Which in itself was humiliating enough, but to make matters worse, he’d hired the biggest geek in Wade’s class.

Garland Gilburt.

Just thinking about the boy made Wade shudder. The opposite of Wade in every way, he was thin, non-muscular, non-athletic, near-sighted in a distinctly nerdish way, badly dressed, and lacking in every imaginable social skill. What the girls referred to as a pity date, except Wade was pretty sure he’d never found anyone who’d date him. At least not in Wade’s memory.

To add insult to injury, they were studying up in Wade’s room, as if even his father didn’t want to be burdened with the sight of the geek. To lessen the chance of distraction, his father said, hijacking his cellphone for the duration of the study session. Probably afraid one of Wade’s friends might call and distract him. Or, heaven forbid, plot to free him for his academic captivity. Now that couldn’t happen.

The first two nights of studying had not gone well. Garland had basically talked to him the first night, like a broken record, pounding in facts, figures, dates and events ‘til Wade thought he’d puke. The second night, he’d brought sample tests he’d prepared himself, based on the four parts of the ACT. Wade had scored badly on them, of course, choking up at every question.

Tonight was the last night. Now it was do or die. Wade sure as hell didn’t want to die. But he also didn’t see how he was gonna do it, either.

He sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on yet another test, not seeing it. Wishing it would go away. He ran a thick hand through his short brown locks and groaned. 

“Can’t we take a break?”

“No, are you kidding?”

Wade swiveled his head to regard the speaker. Garland looked every inch the nerd. He wore a white button down shirt, and dark pants that would have benefited from a belt to cinch them about his slender waist. A bow tie wouldn’t have appeared out of place, Wade thought, but he didn’t voice his opinion. As he watched, the dark-haired boy pushed his glasses further up his long, pale nose, glaring at Wade with piercing blue eyes. Wade fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, stretching cramped muscles.

Garland had been pacing behind him as he wrote, which didn’t help Wade’s situation; he’d been tempted to order him to sit, but thought better of it. He paced across the room in long strides, stopped, pivoted and headed back. He looked at Wade again, sighed, and took a seat on the bed.

“I think I need a new strategy,” Wade heard him mumble to himself.

You think?

“Wade, you need to relax more. Your problem is you let the test frighten you, but you shouldn’t. There’s no reason to be scared of it.”

“That’s what you think.”

“No, that’s what I know. Answering questions shouldn’t be painful.”

“You don’t know my dad,” Wade muttered.

Garland plopped onto Wade’s bed, chewing thoughtfully at his lower lip. A few moments of silence elapsed between them. “C’mere,” he said at last, patting the bed beside him. “And bring one of the tests.”

Wade pushed back from his desk, lumbered to his feet, and lurched across the room. He flopped into the space indicated, giving Garland a wary look even as he handed him the paper. What was this guy up to?

“You’ve got to get over the idea that test are scary, so I’m going to teach you to associate them with something else. Something more pleasurable.”

“What do you mean?” Wade gave him a baffled look.

“What I mean is that I’ll show you that taking tests can be fun.”

Wade snorted. “I don’t think so, ‘cause it’s not.”

“You’ll see. Pavlov 101. Take off your shirt.”

“What? What the hell for?”

Garland gave him a wide-eyed gaze. “To relax you, of course. Your tension’s running all through your muscles. Let me loosen them a little. I know something about massages.”

Wade was pretty sure that no proctor at the ACT site would be willing to go this route, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a reason why not, so he pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

Garland quickly kicked off his tennis shoes, then crawled onto the bed, positioning himself behind Wade. The next thing Wade knew, he felt Garland’s hands on his shoulders, rubbing them. His touch was surprisingly nice. For being a boy, that is. And a geek.

“Pick up the paper,” Garland commanded.

Wade obeyed, careful not to move away from the aegis of that soothing touch. “Now what?”

“Read the first question, and then answer it.”

Wade obeyed, giving the first response that came to mind.

“That’s correct,” Garland said, his hands moving down along Wade’s spine, kneading the solid flesh. “Go on.”

Wade answered the next question correctly.

“Good boy,” Garland cooed, his hands curling around Wade’s waist, continuing with his ministrations.

Encouraged, Wade continued to read and answer the test questions. When he didn’t know the answer, or guessed wrong, Garland would withhold his touch. But oh, when he got it right, then he was treated to the soothing hands he was thoroughly coming to enjoy.

They reached the end of the first test, and for the first time since they’d started studying, Wade passed most of the questions. Not a perfect score, but he didn’t really need a perfect score, nor did anyone expect it from him.

“You deserve something special for that.”

Wade turned his head at Garland’s words, wondering what he meant, wondering what that something special might be. He watched as Garland removed his glasses, setting them carefully on the bedside table. His eyes were even bluer without the obstruction of the spectacles. Somehow, up close and personal, he seemed less geeky to Wade too.

Before he could ask, his unspoken question was answered when Garland pressed his mouth against Wade’s and kissed him. Wade’s first instinct was to push him away, even as his brain went what the fuck. But he didn’t. Not right away. And the longer the kiss went on, the harder it got to think about breaking it off. Sure he’d been kissed before, and he’d kissed people back. But this was way different. Especially the part where Garland was a guy and all.

When they finally came up for air, they were both panting.

“You did good, Wade,” Garland praised him. “Let’s go on. With the test, I mean.”

“You mean if I keep doing good like this, I’ll get more of that?” Wade’s eyes widened, his cock involuntarily hardening at the thought.

“That and more,” the brunet assured him. “In fact, why don’t you lose the pants now? Save time?”

Save time for what?

Wade didn’t bother asking stupid questions. He was a horny teenage boy who wanted to pass the ACT more than anything else, and if this is what it took, then who was he to argue? He stood, quickly toeing off his own tennis shoes, before unzipping his jeans, and pulling them down over his muscular legs, followed by his underwear. He left the socks on for good measure.

Garland looked him up and down, nodding his approval. “Very nice,” he commented. “Next question.”

Eagerly, Wade resumed his position on the bed, Garland kneeling behind him, pressed against him. He read out the next few questions, then answered them. For the first correct response, Garland placed his hand over one of Wade’s nipples, brushing over it with the palm. Wade moaned.

He moaned even louder when Garland twisted his body and took that same nipple into his mouth and sucked on it.

And when Garland’s head began to bob up and down in Wade’s lap, sucking with all his might on Wade’s very hard cock, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

He came quickly, without having time to warn Garland of the fact, but the other boy didn’t seem to mind. He lapped it up, like a contented cat with a bowl of cream, gently kissing the head, before he sat up again, taking the test paper back.

“All done, I see,” he commented, to Wade’s disappointment. “I think you’ll do just fine tomorrow, Wade. I think you’ll get at least a 25. Maybe higher.”

“Really?” Some of Wade’s anxiety returned, hovering about the edges. “But how do you know? I mean, you won’t be there, and you won’t be… doing this… So, how do you know?” He couldn’t afford to freeze up, not now. And he sure wasn’t about to ask the proctor to suck his cock in order to relax him.

“Because you have another reward coming when you’re through.” Garland smiled.

“Oh? And just what would that reward be?” Wade stared intently into Garland’s big blue eyes, waiting for his response, his breathing becoming more and more intense.

Garland rose up on his knees, crawling closer to Wade. He placed both of his pale, slight hands on either side of Wade’s face, and pulled him in for a long, hard kiss, one that left them both breathless. Placing his lips against Wade’s ear, he whispered, “Because after the test, if you do good,  I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

Wade’s body shivered, frissons of anticipation skirling through every nerve ending he possessed. “I’ll do real good on the test,” he promised, his whole opinion of and attitude toward Garland Gilburt having just done a complete backflip. From nerd to sex buddy.

Whodathinkit? Just went to show, you sure couldn’t judge a book by its cover…

Wade was gonna pass that test, or else. And then… and then… Oh, then…

Thanks for stopping by, and don't forget to get the entire anthology for free at the Silver Site and see what the other authors have done!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs; Dallas in Wonderland #13

Happy post Valentine's Day! Hope everyone had a wonderful day of love! It's time for some more of your favorite flash fiction, aka the Wednesday Briefs. Here are this week's prompts:   I have no self-control where (blank) is concerned.  The alternate prompts are:  use any type of Australian animal or  lollygag, job, psychosis or 

Pringles, Asia, guava  or  use a haunted house.

In this week's episode of Dallas in Wonderland, things get really strange. Like they weren't before, right? Well, seeing is believing, although Dallas is seeing and not sure he's believing. See what's up, then be sure to visit all the other Wednesday Briefers. Their links follow my story. We're welcoming a Flash Virgin this week - M.C. Houle!

Dallas in Wonderland #13

As Dallas fluttered back to consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a great deal of warmth beating against his eyelids, trying to force them open.

He gapped first one eye, and then the other. Damn, that was bright. Quickly he threw up a protective arm against the overly bright glare from the…

…the sun?

He sat up abruptly, instantly regretting that he’d done so. His head throbbed, conga drum painfully. He threw his hands to either side of him for balance, his fingers digging into the thick grass.

What the hell? Where was he? And why? And where was Samuel?

Think think, think , he exhorted himself. What was the last thing he remembered?

The ache in his cock reminded him. He’d been dancing with Samuel. In one of the university houses. He was house sitting there or something.  He remembered the heart-stopping kisses, taking his clothes off—with Samuel’s assistance— and spinning…  Yes, Samuel had asked him to spin, so he had, receiving his approbation. Admiration.  Confabulation.  Spinning, and spinning…

Eyes. He remembered seeing the eyes behind Samuel.  Gleaming… dangerous… terrible eyes. Watch out, Samuel.  But he couldn’t get the words out, no matter how he tried. Then nothing but darkness.

So where was he now?

“Quit moving.”

Dallas jerked his head in surprise. Who was there?

“Models are not meant to move, they are meant to sit quietly and look pretty and allow us to get on with it.” The voice sounded exasperated, as well as critical, but why? Who was he speaking to?

“Allow him to stretch his muscles, and do not be so critical.” Another voice. This second voice sounded familiar. Very familiar. Achingly familiar.

“Harrumph.” That was the first voice, the grumpy one, apparently subsiding into some sort of acquiescence.

Samuel!

Dallas twisted himself, searching for the source of that second voice. As he did, he became aware of a few things… first among those the fact that he was completely naked, and very… hard.

He lay on the ground in the middle of a group of people, maybe half a dozen or so, both men and women. Each stood before an easel. Each wore a floppy green beret and a paint-smeared blue smock. Palettes in hand, they eyed him critically, looking between him and the canvas before them, assiduously touching their brushes to the medium and judging the result.

Standing behind them in a long black coat was Samuel. Blue-tinted spectacles with small octagonal lenses hid his eyes from Dallas’ view.

“Bellissimo!” he commented, his words not directed at any of the artist,s but rather toward Dallas himself. Dallas shivered, but not with cold.

Collecting himself, he threw his hands awkwardly over his crotch, shielding it from view.

“Be a love and move that, will you dear? I hadn’t quite got that part done.” The speaker was a middle-aged woman with dark curly hair, and overly applied lipstick. “Come on now, not like we haven’t all seen what you’ve got. Give us some cooperation, will you? No time for lollygagging, we’ve a job to do, don’t we?”

Dallas blinked. Did they?

“Let’s take a break, shall we?” Samuel suggested.

He clapped his hands, and suddenly the artists soundlessly froze in place. As Dallas watched in horrified fascination, each one began to melt, from the top down, coalescing into a liquid rainbow, each artist puddling onto his or her palette.

And then they were alone.

Dallas blinked up at Samuel , who stood above him.  When had he moved? The doctor reached down, offering his hand, and Dallas grasped it. An electrical surge poured through Samuel’s hand into his as he was helped to his feet. Removing the black coat, Samuel offered it to Dallas. He accepted it, shrugging into it. It fit snugly; he felt like he’d just been given the quarterback’s sweater.

“Samuel…” Dallas didn’t know where to begin, too many questions crowded his brain. Before he could ask any of them, he felt the now familiar lips claim his, and he warmed at his touch. Mmmm, he felt so good. So very good.

Dallas thought he could kiss Samuel Levi forever and a day. Anytime, anywhere.  He wanted to feel the other man inside him, so badly.  He’d never wanted another man the way he wanted Samuel. He slid his arms about the doctor’s neck, straining to reach him, standing on tip toe to do so. Even with that, he couldn’t quite reach him…

How odd. Since when had there been such a different between their heights? In fact, he could have sworn that he was maybe a smidge taller than the doctor?

His head was spinning again. Opening his eyes, he felt himself swimming in the long, dark coat. It hadn’t seemed so loose a moment ago. And the hands which he’d felt Samuel place on his ass were not simply caressing, they seemed to be holding him up, so that their lips continued to connect.  A frightened Dallas pulled back, and looked down toward the ground—it seemed so far away. And he felt as though he were shrinking, although that stopped the moment he stopped…

Samuel smiled at him, before claiming his lips again. So good, so good… stop, no, stop, don’t… stop…

He wrenched out of Samuel’s grasp, thumping onto the ground. To his dismay, he seemed to be about the size of a small boy. Oz’s size. How? Why? His confusion was only multiplying, along with his terror.

Samuel pulled a large pocket watch from his pocket, pulling down the blue-tinted glasses, before turning his topaz eyes toward Dallas.

“Oh dear, it appears my time management skills are somewhat lacking today. I’m late. I must leave you, dear boy, but we shall meet again, never fear. ” He snapped his fingers above his head, changing into a suit so white it was almost silver, matching waistcoat and jacket, and form-fitting pants.

“Ta ta for now.”  And then he was gone.

What psychosis was this?

 to be continued

Check out the other Wednesday Briefers, see what fun they're up to!

Elyzabeth VaLey   m/f

Sara York    m/m

Nephylim    m/m

Scarlett Knight     m/f

Victoria Blisse   m/f  

MC Houle     m/m    **FLASH VIRGIN**

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie