Edit: I'm doing triple duty today! Besides enjoying Michael's company here, I've got Lucifer with me at my friend Nephy's blog, talking about Revelations, and I'm at the IRM blog, talking about chocolate, and The Belgian Chocolate Remedy (and having a contest!)
Thanks, Julie, for inviting me to talk about my
first novel, Until Thanksgiving, now
available from Dreamspinner Press. I’ve included an excerpt and the blurb,
below, but first, let me answer the questions you sent.
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?
2) Which
musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that
musical are you?
3) Take
these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them: combination, broadcast, closer
He rolled the tumbler, leaning in closer, listening
for the click that would broadcast he’d finally reached the last number of the
combination. And I have 77 words left.
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?
5) What
is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?
Well, at the moment, I find myself between my fourth
and fifth husband, a man I haven’t yet met. At least, not as far as I know. If
any of your readers think they know him or that they might even be him, my
contact info is below. Act fast—I’ve never been single for more than a year,
and it’s already been three months.
6) When
you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?
Hmmmm. You ask some really tough questions! I can
start out with either, but usually have a vague idea about both. Neither is
very well defined until I get a page or so into the outline. They kind of grow
together. And yes, now I outline. I haven’t always—Until Thanksgiving came together one chapter at a time. Adding a
bullet point or some detail to an outline is a lot easier than revising a
finished chapter.
7) If
they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you?
8) Who’s
your favorite horror villain and why?
What does it say about me that this was the hardest
question to answer? After I drew a blank, I Googled “best horror villains” then
looked over half a dozen different lists and still came up empty handed. I
skipped the question and came back to it with the same result. I’m going with
Dracula, the grandfather of the horror genre.
9) Do
you have an historical crush and if so, who is it?
10) Is
there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to
receive it?
I might have thought so, once upon a time. Now I
know better. Sure, there are lots of people out there who aren’t ready for m/m
romance or paranormal fantasies. But the world, for the most part, embraces a
good story, even if everyone isn’t ready for it—and judging from some of what’s
popular, it doesn’t even have to be that good.
Your readers can find me at my blog (http://rupured.com), on Twitter (@crotchetyman),
or the Dreamspinner Press site (http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3456).
Hot men wishing to vie for my attention and others with a desire to say hello
can contact me at mrupured@gmail.com. I
look forward to hearing from you!
Blurb:
Though DC has its share of troubles,
specifically in the form of a murderer targeting gay men, Josh soon discovers
its charms as well. Unlike his old home, DC is crawling with men who want to
date him—apparently he's not as overweight, out of shape, or over the hill as
the man he once loved made him believe. In particular, Josh would love a chance
with relocation expert Thad Parker, but Josh is sure Thad is seeing someone, so
he looks for love elsewhere. He tells himself he and Thad don't have anything
in common anyway.
Then Josh learns Thad really is
available. Maybe they can work it out after all. Suddenly the future seems
bright again. Of course, Josh doesn't know he's the murderer's next target....
Excerpt:
Josh
Freeman left the Bar Complex well before last call. Except for the hustlers
that prowled the streets behind Lexington’s one and only gay bar, nobody
noticed him leaving. A rough-looking kid in a tank top and jeans sized him up
and walked toward him.
“Looking
for some company?”
“No,
thanks.” Josh kept walking. The gravel crunching under his Justin Ropers didn’t
cover the laughter the boy got from the other hustlers. Josh wasn’t hard up
enough to pay for sex. Yet. The cold shoulders at the bar had been bad enough.
He
unlocked his red Toyota Celica. Gay life in Lexington, Kentucky, had changed.
The bar crowd that evening was nothing like the good old days, when the place
overflowed with good-looking, readily available men—before AIDS and the siren
call of gay meccas like Atlanta, San Francisco, and New York. That school was
out for the summer didn’t help. The class of ’97 had moved on, and the class of
2001 hadn’t yet come to town.
Going
to the Bar had been a mistake. Josh hadn’t talked to anyone and nobody had
talked to him. He wasn’t surprised. Unless he needed help crossing the street
or had fallen and couldn’t get up, the college boys shaking their stuff on the
dance floor had no cause to talk to him.
He
started the car and headed to Jerry’s Restaurant for a late-night snack,
smoking the rest of the joint he’d left in the ashtray. Smoking pot kept him
from feeling so lonely. These days, he smoked so much he didn’t really feel
anything.
“Table
for one?” asked the waitress, chomping her gum and tugging on a severely
strained bra strap.
“Table
for one” sounded like a life sentence. Absent enough money to justify the sugar
daddy label, he had slim to no chance of finding another lover.
“Here
ya go, darlin’.” The waitress plunked down a food-stained menu and a glass of
water. “Can I get ya some coffee or something to drink?”
“Water
is fine, thanks.”
“Ready
to order or do ya need a few minutes?”
“I
can order. I’d like a J-Boy plate.”
“Sure.
I’ll be right back out with that for ya, darlin’.”
A
tiny spark of hope still glimmered, enough to get Josh off the couch earlier
that evening and into the shower. By ten o’clock, he’d whipped his hair into a
look, fingered through some gel, squeezed into his best jeans, and donned a
Polo golf shirt for a solo night out on the town.
The
waitress returned with his food, interrupting his thoughts. She set the burger,
coleslaw, and mountain of crinkle-cut fries down in front of him. “Ya gonna
save some room for hot fudge cake?”
Josh
was tempted to say yes. He could eat whatever he wanted now. What difference
would it make if he got big as a house?
“No,
thanks. I’ll be doing good to eat this.”
“Well,
just let me know if ya change your mind.” She left the check on the table and
headed to the hostess stand to seat a group of punk rockers that had just
arrived.
Josh
glanced at his watch and noticed it was after one o’clock. The bars had closed,
and a line waiting for tables had formed just inside the door. He wolfed down
the rest of the burger, finished off the slaw, and made a noticeable dent in
the mountain of fries. After leaving two bucks on the table for the waitress,
he picked up the check, settled with the cashier, and returned to his car.
The
J-Boy plate had filled him up, but left him feeling just as empty as before. Instead
of going home where he belonged, Josh headed for the bookstore.
He
parked under the trees at the very back of the parking lot, smoking a cigarette
and watching guys coming and going through the bookstore’s rear entrance. A
steady stream of cars cruised slowly through the parking lot. Now and then the
cars paired up, driver’s side to driver’s side, for quick conversations. If the
drivers connected, a two-car convoy headed to a secret rendezvous for a hookup.
More often, both cars returned to the parade circling the bookstore in search
of a hot encounter.
After
seventeen years with Ben Dixon, Josh was single. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done
everything right. The idea of cheating never even occurred to him. As far as
Josh was concerned, once you decided to move in together, death was the only
way out.
He
thought Ben agreed. In a way, he did. Ben didn’t want the relationship to end,
either. Not the relationship with Josh or the relationship Ben had on the side
with his coworker, twenty-five-year-old David Hicks. That Josh considered David
to be a good friend added insult to injury. In one fell swoop, he’d lost two of
the most important people in his life.
Oh well, Ben is
history. No more lies. No more worrying about what’s going on behind my back.
But
the absence of gnawing paranoia was a small comfort in the face of reality.
Josh knew his best chance for finding the love of his life was now behind him.
Downhill was the only direction left for a single, middle-aged gay man.
He
locked his car and made for the rear door of the bookstore. When he crossed the
threshold, the scent of Pine-Sol punched him in the nose. There wasn’t enough
cleanser in the world to cover the smell of all the sex that went on in the
cubicles making up the dim back half of the store. The brightly lit front of
the establishment featured dirty magazines, an eclectic collection of
pornographic videos for sale or rent, and a wall of dongs, dildos, and other
sex-related paraphernalia.
A
dozen small cubicles with coin-operated video players featured an assortment of
porn. Scattered throughout the dark maze connecting all the cubicles lurked
maybe a dozen horned-up men. Some were married and popped into the booths for
the blowjobs their wives refused to deliver. Most of the rest were there to oblige.
The way they leered made Josh uncomfortable.
Never
a lurker, Josh stepped into a cubicle and dropped some quarters in the slot to
watch some gay porn. On the screen, an obviously bored African-American plowed
the ass of a homely white dude who tried to act like it hurt. Neither performer
was likely to win any acting awards. Josh pushed the button and the scene
changed to a blond frat-boy type blowing a hairy, muscular white guy.
Fearing
what he might sit in, Josh ignored the wooden bench seat and remained standing.
The black plywood walls of the booth were riddled with holes of various sizes,
none part of the original construction. Smaller holes allowed for spying on the
action in the neighboring cubicle. Larger openings served more illicit
purposes. Every few years, the police raided the place and the owner would
board up all the holes. New holes reappeared in days.
Watching
the action on the little screen gave Josh a hard-on. When a finger appeared
through a baseball-sized opening on the right side of the booth, beckoning, he
figured what the heck. Getting off was getting off. He went over, lowered his
pants to his knees, and stuck his cock through the hole into the warm, wet
mouth waiting on the other side.
Josh
concentrated on the video, imagining the frat boy sucking his dick instead of
one of the leering men he’d seen outside the cubicle. He dropped more quarters
in the slot, then focused on the video and the mouth milking him through the
glory hole. Soon Josh was pounding the wall with his hips. The sound attracted
bystanders to the holes in surrounding cubicles to see what the noise was all
about.
Josh
felt the beginning of his climax tingling in his balls and groaned. The hot
mouth working urgently on his throbbing cock quickly produced the desired
result. On still trembling legs, Josh zipped up his pants and headed home to
his empty bed.
Thank you so much for being here, Michael! Please come again!
Until next time, take care!
♥ Julie
.JPG)
