Lady in the Lake (film) Review

Lady in the Lake  

Director/Studio/Author: Robert Montgomery/Warner Brothers/Steve Fisher

Original release date: 1946

Format, Genre and length: DVD/Film Noir/103 minutes

Publisher/Industry Age Rating: NR

Overall Personal Rating: ★★★

Private detective Phillip Marlowe (Robert Montgomery) decides to try his hand at writing, in order to supplement the living he ekes out as a shamus, so he pens a story he calls If I Should Die Before I Live. He submits it to a publisher, Kingsby Publishing, and receives a letter from an A. Fromsett, requesting his presence. When he duly presents himself, he discovers that A stands for Adrienne (Audrey Totter) and the lady has something else on her mind besides his story.

Synopsis:

It sees that Ms. Fromsett is more interested in Marlowe’s detective skills than in his ability to wield the literary pen. It seems that her boss, Derace Kingsley (Leon Ames) has a wife that has been missing for a month. A telegram received from El Paso claims that she’s run off to get a Mexican divorce and intends to marry Chris Lavery. Fromsett says she wants to find Chrystal Kingsby for her boss’s sake, but Marlowe quickly figures out she has her own agenda.

She sweetens the pot by adding $300 to the $200 she was going to pay for his story, the additional monies to cover his fees for his services. Kingsby learns of her interfering and lets her know in no uncertain terms that his wife is free to do as she wishes, and that he has no romantic interest in Fromsett.

Taking the case, Marlowe goes to Bay City and visits Lavery (Dick Simmons), a southern boy with a smooth way of talking and a way with the ladies. He doesn’t take kindly to Marlowe’s questions and clocks him. Being a stubborn sort of guy, Marlowe continues to follow the trail and ends up on the wrong side of the Bay City police, especially one Detective Degarmot (Lloyd Nolan).

In trying to figure out who’s who and what’s what, Marlowe has to contend with unfriendly police, a dead lady in a lake, a corpse, a landlady, being set up and jailed, and fighting off feelings for Adrienne. Makes him wonder if perhaps writing isn’t a safer career.

Commentary:

First, I have to say if you’ve read the book and enjoyed it, just pretend you haven’t or you might be confused and/or dismayed at the film translation. Yes, the basic facts are there, more or less. But there are some significant, as well as minor changes. I understand the constraints of film, but if I hadn’t read the book, I think I wouldn’t have had a full appreciation for the film. Which isn’t to say you have to read the book to enjoy the movie, but it helps.

Second, the film employs a technique that was new in its day and I don’t believe ever really caught on, although if you watch the film trailer in the extras on the DVD, you’ll see it was touted at the time as quite the breakthrough. The camera shows the film from the perspective of Phillip Marlowe, a subjective view. You and Marlowe together view everything. What he sees, you see. When he gets knocked out, your world goes dark too. I guess in theory it sounded better than it was. Or perhaps the director didn’t utilize the technique very well. Ironically, Robert Montgomery directed as well as starred in this. But it didn’t work for me, and I actually found it annoying, and felt it slowed down the action. I can see why it didn’t catch on.

Montgomery is the third actor I’ve seen portray Marlowe, the first two being Bogart and Dick Powell. I rank him third in my list of who did the best job, with Powell at the top. That doesn’t make him bad, just not great. Besides, he doesn’t spend as much time onscreen, because of the filming technique. Maybe that’s a good thing.

There are minor changes with names and spelling. In the book, there is no Kingsby Publishing Company, and Marlowe deals with Mr. Kingsley, rather than his subordinate, A. Fromsett.  You may remember the actor who plays Kingsby as the father in Meet Me in St. Louis. Jayne Meadows appears as Mildred Haveland; she was married for many years to comedian Steve Allen. Lloyd Nolan plays the prickly Lieutenant Degarmot. He’s done many things over the years. I think of him first as the kindly doctor in the TV series Julia.

On the whole, I enjoyed the film, but I think it could be done better. They really missed the boat in not even going up to the lake where the lady in the title is discovered, and we don’t meet Bill Chess at all. Those could have been interesting scenes, especially the discovery of the body. Plus it’s in the title—Lady in the Lake—but we never see the lake. I think the book could have been adapted better. But, taken as it is, it’s a solid watch, although flawed, and if you enjoy Marlowe and want to experience it all, book and film, then it’s worthwhile watching.

Guest Blogger Rose Anderson

Please welcome author Rose Anderson to Full Moon Dreaming! Today she is going to talk about her book and its sequel - Loving Leonardo, and Loving Leonardo the Quest. And she's going to talk a bit about some interesting people, namely the Victorians! While I pour the tea, would you care to begin, Rose?

Those Surprisingly Sexy Victorians

I’ve just finished my sequel to Loving Leonardo—my unusual bisexual, poly-amorous, Victorian love story with a touch of reader-interactive art history. It’s called Loving Leonardo—The Quest, and continues the tale of Nicolas, Ellie, and Luca. In this romantic part two, as the last, the main observer is Nicolas Halstead, a man of means forced by society to wear a disguise. He’s the narrator here and it’s through his perspective that we see and feel his world. An art historian by profession, Nicolas can’t help but compare life to art. Because of this, he leaves many references to artists and artworks scattered throughout the pages. I designed the book to be reader interactive. Peppered throughout are artists and art references. Should the reader care to look them up, they’ll see exactly what Nicolas sees when he makes those references. Think of it like a full-color story book for adult readers. :)

When we think Victorian, we often get an image of tight corsets, sexual-repression, and strictly adhered-to codes of behavior. While researching the details for Loving Leonardo, I found that Victorians seldom lived up to their stereotypes. In fact, I came across an account that said Queen Victoria herself liked to draw and collect sketches of naked men. One of which was a gift to her husband. That was the first of many surprises.

There was an interest in neoclassical Hellenism at that time, and many Victorian artists and poets sought to recreate the perfection of the classical age. This led to other studies of ancient Greece, particularly in the area of pederasty that promoted an erotic relationship between an older man and a younger man as an advantageous male bonding. It’s quite possible that this pursuit of the classics pulled the curtains back on same-sex relationships because the late Victorian era also spawned the Decadent movement in literature.

Decadent writers used elaborate symbolism to discuss taboo topics such as death and deviant sexualities. As far as this symbolism goes, it’s interesting to note that the word Decadent with its uppercase D held a different meaning from the lowercase use of the word. The lowercase d represented a decline of morals of the like seen just before the Roman Empire fell. Conversely, the symbolic D shouted to the world that followers of the Decadent movement took pride in their opposition to everyday morality and social mores.

In London in my novel’s time period of 1897, there was a distinct same-sex subculture—a shadowy Decadent underworld of secrets, clubs, codes, and body language. The notable persons of the day leaning toward that decadence with a D were Oscar Wilde, E. M. Forster, Somerset Maugham, Edith Cooper, Edith Somerville, Prince Edward, Lord Alfred Douglas, and on and on. Though no longer a crime worthy of the death penalty, homosexuality was still considered a punishable offence. Oddly enough, the same did not apply for lesbians. Queen Victoria declared this particular sexual inversion to be “impossible”, or at the least, a “French vice”.

To the horror of the moral enforcers of the day, same-sex relationships were moving into the light, thanks in part to the highly publicized trial of Oscar Wilde and the charges of sodomy and gross indecency against him. And just like Halley’s Comet gave birth to the sale of “Comet Pills” to keep you safe, a whole slew of medical treatments, barbaric procedures, and wild contraptions arose to stem the tide of deviant sexuality. Nonetheless, curiosity was piqued.

There arose a scientific study of human sexuality or “sexology” as it was called, and it attempted to classify “normal and perverse” behaviors. From this study, a third classification of human sexual behavior appeared—the Sexual Inversion. In other words—Homosexuality. Social reformers of the time came up with a label of their own to categorize what they deemed a curious state: Uranian. The name itself implies a lack of female involvement, for according to one mythic view, Aphrodite was born of Uranus. Uranianism went on to encompass the female homosexual and soon softer language borrowed from the Greek myths appeared—Lesbian and Sapphic.

Loving Leonardo
The Blurb:
Bound by limits dictated by society, Art Historian Nicolas Halstead lived a guarded life until a tempest in the form of Elenora Schwaab blew into his world. At first Nicolas can’t decide if the audacious American is simply mad or plotting blackmail, for not only does she declare knowledge of his homosexuality, she offers him a marriage proposal.

After Ellie tells him of a previously unknown work of Leonardo da Vinci, a book of erotic love poems and sketches dedicated to the artist’s long-time lover Salai, Nicolas joins her in a race to save the book from destruction. Along the way they encounter Historian Luca Franco and discover a comfortable compatibility that comes to redefine their long-held notions of love. The trio embarks on an adventure of sensual discovery, intrigue, and danger. Little do they know Leonardo da Vinci’s book is far more than meets the eye.

The following is a very Uranian snippet:

The ladies took their sherry as ladies do, and the men headed to the lounge for cigars and port. Of course, wherever men congregate, politics and finances are on everyone’s mind; that, and the Queen’s upcoming Jubilee. The century would be turning shortly and industry and modernization were keen topics alongside investments and instability in South Africa. Queen Victoria’s bellicose grandson Wilhelm had recently alienated public opinion by his interest in the Cape Colony of South Africa. More than one man in the room felt the foreseeable future held a second Boer war. I found I didn’t have much to say, my thoughts otherwise occupied by my body’s surprising reaction to my wife, and the way the blond Dutchman rolled the end of his cigar between his lips.

          I was certain Ellie would retire when she’d had enough small talk. From the little I knew of her progressive attitudes, small talk of hats and fashion weren’t topics to hold her interest for long. I was unversed in American politics but I doubted half the men in my own House of Lords were as well versed in Britannia’s policies as she was in the politics of her country. My wife wanted the vote. As wise and learned as she was, America was wrong to deny her. In quick order, I found myself lost in thoughts of her. Under a newlywed’s pretense, I downed my port, made my goodnights, and took my thoughts to the deck where I became momentarily captivated by the moonlight sparking upon the water. It was an image that brought to mind the dappled water of Pierre-Auguste Renoir, coupled with the hazy quality of Ivan Aivazovsky’s Moonlit Night.

          Although his invitation had been crystal clear, I was nevertheless surprised when the Dutchman walked up and stood beside me. We talked about sea voyages, Lord Byron, and the feel of a fine Cuban cigar over your tongue. His description was such that I asked him to show me what he meant. He “just happened to have one in his cabin,” he said, “a fine hand-rolled Havana, the same sort that Britain’s own Prince Edward enjoyed.” Primed with innuendo, needless to say, I followed.

          The cabin was dimly lit and private from his sister. After he closed the door behind us, he made no move to light the lamp. In a flash he was on his knees before me. It wasn’t a Havana he wanted rolling over his tongue, but then I never thought it was. He kissed his way up my thighs, switching from one to the other as his fingers deftly undid my trousers. Pulling them down to my knees, he closed his hand around my now hard cock, while his other hand freed his own. This would be no long coupling. It would be short and hard and infinitely satisfying.

         My eyes closed and I held my breath as his warm mouth enveloped me. A man knows what feels good, and my Dutchman treated me as if he sucked himself. He laved my shaft until I was sloppy wet. I couldn’t help but sink my hands into his golden hair to guide him, and my fingers coated with his spicy Makassar oil. He gagged, he slobbered, and he sucked me hard. All the while, the whapping sound of his hard-handed abandon filled the quiet space. I knew his delicious act drove him over the edge, and he made little sounds of surrender as I held him fast and fucked into his mouth; plummeting along tongue and teeth, while my balls slapped against his chin. The groan was unmistakable and I knew he shot his spunk by the feral scent in the air. I gave him the rest in quick short jabs. An instant later my floodgates opened and I pumped into him, thrilling to the carnal duet of his muted gags and straining gulps. He was glorious.

About Rose:
I love words and choose them as carefully as an artist might choose a color. My active imagination compels me to write everything from children’s stories to historical fiction. As a persnickety leisure reader I especially enjoy novels that feel like they were written just for me. It’s hard to explain, but if you’ve ever read one of those, then you know what I mean.  I tend to sneak symbolism and metaphor into my writing and always write in layers. You might say it’s a game I play with myself. It’s really a kick to have readers email to say they’ve found something or to ask if I meant what they think I meant when they read a portion and their brain goes, hey wait a minute… I want people to feel the story was written just for them and these hidden insights are my gift to my readers.

Just a few of oh so many links!

Loving Leonardo Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009LS3H6Q

Main Blog: http://calliopeswritingtablet.com/

Satellite Blog: http://calliopeswritingtablet.blogspot.com/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rose-Anderson

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/FollowTheMuse/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rose.anderson  

Youtube: http://www.youtube.com//MusesWritingTablet

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/roseanderson_

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

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #17 and Winners

Happy Hump Day to you all! Welcome to another edition of Wednesday Briefs, your weekly dose of flash fiction! This week I chose to use a picture prompt, which is unusual for me

First, the winners, as I promised. Two from each Blog Hop.

The winners of the Vampire Bite Blog Hop are:

Sue Adams and Angela Dawson!

The winners of the Swept Away Valentine's Day Blog Hop are:

adoFFae6 and Sherry!

I'll be contacting the winners by email to pick a prize! Congrats to all the winners and thanks to everyone who came by!


Last week, as you'll recall, Stan and Ollie took the pause that refreshes while waiting for Egbert to arrive at the park so they could talk to him about his late fiancee. Now - the talk. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale, and see what is up with them!

Enjoy!.

Stan and Ollie #17

Egbert looks between us, brow furrowed, eyes baffled as he tries to make sense of my words. And when their meaning penetrates his awareness, his eyes grow wide in disbelief. “No, no, no.” He shakes his head and pulls away from our joint grasp. “Consuelo isn’t dead. I know she isn’t. She can’t be. I’d feel it… I’d know.”

 He paces back and forth, obviously agitated, wringing his hands. Ollie and I stand helplessly by. His reaction is not unexpected and this is not the first time we’ve had to give such tragic news. All we can do is wait out his reaction. Until he gets past the initial shock, he won’t be willing to listen to anything else we have to say.

I slide my arm about Ollie’s waist, feel his slight tremble. This is harder on him than he lets on, but I know him too well not to realize it. I’ve never met a more compassionate, sensitive man. Every day it amazes me how he ended up with someone like me. I know he tells me it was meant to be, that he knew before he came here that I was the one for him. His mate.

That still blows my mind.

Egbert stops pacing suddenly and takes up a stance in front of us. I look into his eyes. I can see he’s no closer to believing what we’ve told him. He raises one hand, points an accusing finger between us.

“Where is Consuelo?”

It takes me a moment ‘to realize he thinks we’ve kidnapped her or something.

“I told you before, Bodean isn’t very worried about her. He won’t pay to get her back. I don’t have the money he does, but whatever it is, tell me and I’ll find it. Somehow.”

Ollie sighs. He reaches out for Egbert in an attempt to calm him but the other man takes a step backward.

“We’re not kidnappers,” Ollie insists. “Please, I’m so sorry… I know it’s not easy to hear. But Consuelo… she came to us. She’s lost, and we’ve come to find her.”

“Lost? But you said… I thought… Gah, why should I believe you? What proof do you have?”

“We have no physical proof,” I interject. “That’s what we’re looking for. We want to find Consuelo so she can be at peace…”

“At peace?” Squeezing his eyes shut he wails, a mournful sound that cuts right through me.  “At peace?”

Ollie breaks from my grasp and pulls Egbert into a hug. The stunned man holds himself stiffly for a moment before he suddenly breaks and begins to sob on Ollie’s shoulder, great racking sobs. And I know he’s accepted the reality of the situation.

I stand there, keeping an eye on them. This is the part Ollie does best. He’s more of a tea and sympathy kind of guy. I’m here to make sure no harm befalls him. Some people don’t react as nicely as Egbert. One tried to blow Ollie’s head off. Turns out he knew about his wife being deceased, because he was the one that killed her.

When I’ve decided Egbert’s had enough time, I speak up. He lifts his head and sniffles, looking at me.

“Egbert, we need your help to figure out who did this to Consuelo.”

“Did this—? You think someone h-hurt her? Deliberately?”

“Yes,” Ollie says gently. “In our experience, those who do not go peacefully are the ones that seek us out.” I’m the one that insists he says us not me. I don’t want anyone to single him out, just in case.

“But who?” He sniffles again, pushes his glasses up his nose. “Who would want to harm her? We-what did she tell you?”

“She is concerned about you. She loves you, very much.”

A long shuddering sigh ripples through Egbert. “I was thinking—”

But whatever his thought might be, the sound of a car engine cuts it short, as a black compact car pulls into the parking lot. The owner parks near to the church. Egbert rushes toward the newcomer. I take Ollie’s hand, and hurry after him.

“Egbert, I came…” The man is tall and slender, with high cheekbones, a wide mouth, and dark eyes. He’s comfortably dressed in a brown heavy knit sweater and dark slacks. Something about him reminds me of some of the politicians I’ve met—that air of affability and confidence. He eyes us curiously.

“Pastor Robinson, thank you.” Egbert waves toward us with one hand. “These men have brought news… of Consuelo…” His voice breaks.

“Oh?”  His eyes seem to flash, and a chill runs through me, but the next moment the illusion is dispelled.

“Yes. Oh God, she’s dead. She’s dead, Will, what am I going to do?”

“Now, now, Egbert,” he soothes him. “Why don’t we go into the church and discuss this there? Gentlemen, you are—?” He gives us an expectant look.

“Our names are Stan and Ollie,” I offer and wait for him to reciprocate. I’m none too pleased with the interruption. And neither is Xylina, who has followed us from the car. She hisses at the stranger. For once, I agree with her.

“This is Pastor Robinson,” Egbert supplies the name. “Will.”

“Won’t you come in, gentlemen?” he invites us. Before we can respond, he adds, “Egbert, come.” He drapes an arm about the other’s shoulders and they head toward the church door.

Great, now what? I guess we have no choice but to follow.

Ollie stands rooted to the spot, staring at the church. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Take my hand,” he whispers and I clutch it, feeling my anxiety level rise for no discernible reason. “Close your eyes and look…”

I obey, almost fearfully. At first, nothing. Darkness. But then an image… blurry at first, then more distinctive… It appears to be a country road… tree lined… desolate.

“Lost…” Ollie whispers. “Lost…”

“Ollie? What do you mean? What is it?”

And then he faints.

to be continued

Now go visit the other Wednesday Briefers to enjoy their flash fiction offerings!

Nephylim   

Victoria Adams      

Chris T. Kat  

Lily Sawyer      

MA Church      

MC Houle      

Cia Nordwell       

Tali Spencer    

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Guest Blogger Pinkie Rae Parker

Please welcome author Pinkie Rae Parker today! She's going to answer my infamous Rick Reed questions and talk about her story that has just been released in a new Dreamspinner anthology! Make yourself at home, Pinkie! Ready to begin?

The Questions

1.      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?

Oh, my, my, my. If I was trapped on a desert island with a single person, I think I would pick James Marsters (Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel). He is, at least, the first one who came to mind. Tom Hiddleston (Loki from Thor/The Avengers) came in a very close second. Something that the two of them share is a love of the theatre and of learning, and I can imagine that either one of them could provide endless opportunities for discussion on all manner of topics, such as the works of Shakespeare, history, etymology, and string theory. I would never get bored! There’s also the added eye-candy bonus. Why not choose a brainy bel homme?

As to the item, I think I’d pick the biggest pack of soda (preferably Cherry Coke) that I could carry. That may be cheating, but I have a serious addiction to caffeinated sugary beverages.

2.      Which musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that musical are you?

            My gut instinct is to say The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and, as much as I’d like to be as awesome as Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry has the most amazing legs), I’m probably Columbia, tragically fangirling my life away while wearing rhinestones and Mickey Mouse ears.

3.      Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them:  customary, ethical, ran

           

            For most people, mornings meant commuting to work, seeing the kids off to school, or catching breakfast with friends. For Colton, however, it meant getting to the park for his customary jog. This part of his morning routine had nothing to do with fitness or health. No, Felix ran because he loved the thrill of catching up to other runners, surpassing them, and making them attempt to regain their lead. He would always let them win, but it was hardly ethical. Felix just wanted to watch the runners’ little shorts ride high on their thighs when they got worked up.

4.      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?

           

            I actually had to go to my bookshelf and weigh my options. I think I’d pick Harry Dresden from Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files series. A six-foot-plus wizard with a lot of love to give? Yes, please!

   5.      What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?

            Cuddling with lots of skin-to-skin contact is pure bliss.

  6.      When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?

            Normally, I begin with a character in one way or another. For my recently released short story “Curtain Calls,” I came up with one of the main characters while I was drawing in a notebook. I randomly sketched a doodle of a young man with freckles. I thought, “Who is this?” The plot came about when I was trying to figure out who this random fellow in my sketchbook was. All the details-- his name, his personality, his job-- derived from a few graphite lines on paper. I love getting the opportunity to create a whole world in that way.

7.      If they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you?

            If Ruth Wilson was available, cast her. If not, throw a wig on Nathan Lane. I need someone with the right level of sass (and pizazz).

8.      Who’s your favorite horror villain and why?

            Freddy Krueger. Claws down. He is my absolute favourite. I believe he was the first “monster” I was ever afraid of as a child. My parents were video rental shop-crawlers in the 1980s, and I somehow saw a part of A Nightmare on Elm Street when I was very, very young (specifically I saw the scene of Johnny Depp being sucked into his bed and a giant geyser of blood shooting up). I was terrified of Freddy after that! Then, when I hit my teenage years, I started to love horror movies, and I always came back to the Nightmare franchise. I think Freddy stood because he wisecracked. He wasn’t the silent masked slasher type. You laughed along with his jokes, but he’d slice your heart out. Plus, I met Robert Englund a few years ago, and he is a very sweet man who obviously adores the role that made him a household name.

9.      Do you have an historical crush and if so, who is it?

            Where to begin? I do historical research as my not-writing-fiction job, and I’ve come across some real cutie-pies! Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec does have a certain appeal (if you ignore the syphilis). Maybe I’m just adore men who give good art.

10.  Is there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to receive it?

            There is a story I’m dying to tell, and I haven’t tried to publish it, but not because the world could not handle it. I have been working on a fantasy novel for over a year, and I worry that in a world with Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Game of Thrones what I’m writing might seem a little old hat. I think I need more confidence in myself to get over that fear.

        

    My short story “Curtain Calls” appears in Dreamspinner Press’s recently released anthology Snow on the Roof.

Anthology Blurb: "Just because there's snow on the roof, doesn't mean the fire's gone out in the furnace." There's something to be said for maturity and experience, and in all of these relationships, at least one of the lovers is over forty. Whether it's a May/December romance, a second chance at love, or finding a soul mate later in life, these stories prove that it's never too late for love.

“Curtain Calls” Excerpt:

At fifty-six years old, Kitt Holbrook had spent the majority of his life on the stage. He had been much leaner and much hungrier in the early days. He spent every waking moment clawing his way up the rung of the theatre hierarchy until he finally received his break-- being cast as Ferdinand in Pleismann’s run of The Tempest in 1976. The reviews for his performance made him a sought after name in the West End and even landed him a few film and television roles. Ferdinand, however, remained his signature role and, like many other British stage actors, he returned to the part at various times afterwards. In three weeks, Kitt would do so for the last time, saying goodbye to Ferdinand in a final grand send-off.

Leaning back in his chair, Kitt scrutinized his reflection for several moments. He supposed he was aging gracefully enough. Long ago, the bright copper sheen of his hair had faded into a dark brown that, in time, turned grey. Hair dye returned some of the luster with just enough pigmentless streaks at his temples for Kitt to appear distinguished. Though his lips were unfortunately thinning, the deep-set lines around his mouth and eyes gave him a rather grim expression, so he often tried to keep his eyebrows elevated to look less prickly, even though that made his forehead resemble a cracked pavement in the muggy heat of summer.

Leave plastic surgery to the young, Kitt thought. It’s too much effort to fix what nature’s already wrought.

Buy Links:

e-Book: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3561&cPath=55_767

Paperback: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3570&cPath=55_767

Author Bio: Pinkie Rae Parker is happy to use the moniker passed down from her great-grandmother. Born and raised in the southern United States, Pinkie Rae is currently a cultural historian and graphic designer. She enjoys researching fashion and design in Europe during the eighteenth century and studying French. However, writing fiction is a passion that she has had since she was a teenager, and she now hopes to pursue writing for publication (outside of academia) as a full-time career.

Links:

https://www.facebook.com/PinkieRaeParker

http://pinkieparker.tumblr.com/

http://pinkieraeparker.wordpress.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/pinkieraeparker
http://www.amazon.com/Pinkie-Rae-Parker/e/B00BEGMYCQ/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_2

Thanks for stopping by, Pinkie, come back any time!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Guest Blogger Jordan Castillo Price

Today, I'd like you to please welcome author Jordan Castillo Price. She's going to talk to us about her Turbulence series. I have to tell you it looks fascinating, I can't wait to read it myself. Jordan, make yourself at home. Ready whenever you are!

Before I forget, I'd like to say that I'll be announcing the winners of both blog hops on Wednesday. And if would like to see a little more of Lucifer, he's at Nephy's blog, bedeviling her! Although I don't hear her complaining lol

I’m thrilled to announce the release of the Turbulence Collection. The Turbulence Series was written to evoke the feeling of a suspenseful TV series. Each month when my newsletter came out, I’d also release an “episode” of Turbulence that would take about half an hour to an hour to read. I made these episodes available either free or pay-what-you wish at various e-tailers in hopes of enticing new readers to give my work a try. This month marks the final episode, and along with that standalone ending, I’m offering a collection of the entire series in both ebook and paperback.

Turbulence is set in the Bermuda Triangle, a stretch of the Atlantic off the east coast of Florida. Since my main character is a pilot, I decided to look into flight lessons for my research. Not that I wanted to actually learn to fly a plane, but that I thought it would be valuable to have the experience of being in a cockpit, hearing the terminology, and just getting a general feel for things.

Flight lessons are more affordable than you’d expect! I called a local aviation school thinking I’d need to make an appointment and wait weeks, but they said, “How about tomorrow?” I then booked the appointment before I could talk myself out of it.

The strange thing is, I took away a lot more from that lesson than a knowledge of how to taxi, take off, steer, and land. And heaven knows, I was so terrified as these things were happening, it’s all a bit of a blur. I got to walk around parts of the airport I’ve never been in before. And I got to observe what types of people teach aviation. And what types of guys are trying for their pilots’ licenses. And by guys, I do mean men. I was the only woman there.

I wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Actually, the first thing they asked me when I walked in was, “Are you here for the exam?” and I thought, “Tee hee, they think I know how to fly a plane!” But the general atmosphere of the flight school definitely informed my portrayal of the world a gay pilot has to navigate.

Let’s put it this way. One of the students had two cans of chaw with him. When one can isn’t absurdly macho enough….

Of course the actual experience of performing the pre-flight check, feeling the yoke in my hands as we took off, and staring at the runway on my approach was a heck of a lot richer than anything I could glean from a flight manual. 

I hope my sense of adventure in undertaking this series comes through in the writing. Turbulence is tense and funny, satisfying and surprising.

Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. She writes paranormal, horror, and thriller novels from her isolated and occasionally creepy home in rural Wisconsin. Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.

Find the Turbulence Collection ebooks at JCP Books, Amazon and B&N, and the paperback at Amazon.

http://jcpbooks.com/ebook/turbulence.html

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BFIR4UK/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00BFIR4UK&linkCode=as2&tag=psycop-20

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1114342330?ean=2940016340562

paperback http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1935540599/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1935540599&linkCode=as2&tag=psycop-20

Blurb

The foundation of superstition is ignorance. First Officer Paul Cronin has no use for magical thinking—he’s a logical guy, a skeptic who only believes what he can see. When a new assignment on Flight 511 takes him directly through the legendary Bermuda Triangle, he’s not concerned about losing his aircraft to supernatural forces. He’s busy trying to hook up with handsome flight attendant Dallas.

Dallas seems eager to oblige at the airport, but his ardor cools quickly when he finds out he and Paul are now on the same crew. Then the turbulence hits, and Paul soon discovers there’s more to the Bermuda Triangle than made-for-TV movies.

While trying to decipher his cryptic predecessor’s notes and guide Flight 511 around the Triangle phenomenon, Paul attempts to piece together a relationship with Dallas. It seems that forces—both paranormal and mundane—are stacked against them. Can Paul navigate a successful course through the turbulence while he finds a way into Dallas’ heart?

Excerpt

It was day four of Dallas Turner’s weekly ordeal. Flight 511 ran like clockwork, Monday afternoon through Friday morning, Fort Lauderdale to Bermuda and back again, and Dallas managed the passengers of that flight with the precision of a drill sergeant and the sensitivity of a burn unit nurse. Now it was Thursday, and the final trip to close out the week was just about to get underway. With his whole weekend spread out before him, Dallas could pretend the creep of anxiety he felt across the back of his neck and in the pit of his belly was nothing but a mild curiosity as to which pizzeria he’d order in from when he got back home Friday, and what might be new and exciting on pay-per-view.

The unease was so negligible, in fact, that it vanished entirely when he stepped into the crew lounge restroom and found a tasty white man bending over the sink in a pilot’s jacket and a pair of briefs.

“Ever heard of gravity?” Dallas teased. “Even coffee’s got to abide by its laws.”

The pilot’s head snapped up and he met Dallas’ eyes in the mirror. He blushed, pink on porcelain. “No coffee. I, uh…had a run-in with a brake line.”

And even better…judging by the lilt in his voice, the pilot in his drawers was gay. Contrary to popular belief, male flight attendants were not all big, flaming queens—though Dallas had served shoulder to shoulder with his share of gay FAs. Gay pilots, though? Not as many in the rotation as Dallas might have liked.

He treated himself to a longer look at the pantsless pilot. First Officer’s stripes on his jacket. Slim. Glasses. Clean-shaven. Rusty brown hair tousled with a bit of product. But the blush? That was the clincher. Adorable. Dallas had only dated a handful of white men, but their appeal wasn’t lost on him.

It was a lot harder to make a black man blush like that.

He parked his rollerbag beneath the hand dryer, sashayed up to the sink, and pinched a feel of the trouser’s fabric. “Wool and hydraulic grease, hm?” He met the pilot’s eyes again—still in the mirror, since the mirror seemed to make the fact that one of them was clothed and the other in his underwear okay. And since it allowed Dallas to be more flirty than he would have dared otherwise. His flirtiness was not lost on the gay pilot, whose smile went slightly coy. Good to know some things you never lose the hang of. “A scrub in the sink won’t get that out for you, baby. You need a good dry cleaner. I can recommend a local business…what did you say your name was?”

“Paul.”

“Dallas—that’d be me, not the city. I know a place, here, in Fort Lauderdale, not Dallas-the-city. If you’re going to be here long enough to use it.”

Paul dropped the pants leg he’d been scrubbing with a frustrated humph. “I have no idea. Right now my flight’s grounded, but Scheduling hasn’t cleared me to go back home, so it might only be delayed.”

Time enough for a quickie.

Prior to joining the crew of Flight 511, Dallas would have acted on that impulse. But that was before he was forced to confront The Meaning of Life head-on. Besides, Paul didn’t strike Dallas as the type of lay who would press for something so quick n’ nasty…although given the way his gaze kept wandering back to Dallas’ reflection, he probably wouldn’t refuse the offer. Tempting. But not the best idea. What good was a set schedule, anyway, if you didn’t take advantage of it and actually try to get to know someone instead of just sucking him off in the toilet stall? “Where’s home for First Officer Paul?”

“DC…when I’m there. I keep a crash pad in Boston, too.”

Major hubs, unlike Fort Lauderdale. Flight crew tended to get involved in a transient sort of way, but with the set schedule of Flight 511…well, a man could dream. Couldn’t he? Dallas was just about to ask Paul for his card when another idea entirely occurred to him. “I take it from the fact that you’re standing here at this sink that you’re on your last pair of pants. What are you, a thirty-two? Just so happens, Mr. Dallas Turner flies prepared.” Exactly like the rest of Flight 511’s crew, right up to the weight limit, since you never knew what you might end up needing.

“I couldn’t take your—”

“Oh, but I insist.” Dallas whisked a pair of black AVA uniform slacks out of his rollerbag in the blink of an eye, then held them up with his pinkies extended, and said, “Besides, I’d be crushed if I thought you didn’t want to get in my pants.”

Thanks for stopping by, Jordan!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie