5 Things You Can Do to Boost Your Writing Career Now

As the year winds down, inevitably we begin to assess the old year and make our resolutions for the new. This pause for reflection is -- as Martha would say -- a good thing. At least I think it is. As someone who gets asked a lot for writing and publishing advice I thought I would direct my post today to the writers among us.

I was going to say to the "frustrated writers" among us, but that's a given.

So here they are. Five little things you can do right now with guaranteed results to boost your career and slim your wais--er. Sorry. I got carried away. Five little things you can do that will serve you well in the remaining years of your career. (Now that sounds like the Ghost of Christmas Future pointing a skeletal finger at the headstone...)

Five little things you ca -- never mind. Just read them.


1 - Stop bitching about your writing career.

In public. Key word is public. Knock. It. Off. Stop the kvetching about the bad reviews, the incompetent publishers, the indifferent readers, your selfish and overrated fellow writers. Turn off the faucet, you're wasting water.

What happens when you post these moans on the lists, blogs, and discussion groups you belong to? Ten other equally frustrated writers jump in with their own moans and horror stories. Does anyone EVER have a practical fix for the problem? Any problem? No. Of course not. These things are a fact of publishing life. They are the downside to what is a pretty cool job, after all.

I'm not suggesting you keep a stiff upper lip about the slings and arrows and outrageous misfortune of your publishing career. I'm suggesting you save it for your writer friends. Why? Because a lot of success -- any success in any field -- is about image. If you announce to the world that you're not very successful or not as successful as you want to be...what image do you think you're projecting?

2 - Analyze the data.

You've got data. You've got your royalty schedules, you've got your Amazon sales figures, you've got your website tracking, Facebook and Twitter algorithms...you've probably got more data than you know what to do with.

Well, here's what you do with it. Sit down and study it. You want to see steady incremental growth everywhere. In most businesses, three to five percent annual growth is pretty good. Maybe it's not as fast as you'd like, but it's solid, real growth.

Next, start figuring out what the variables are. What did you do differently on the weak months? Try and narrow it down. It's not just as simple as I wrote BDSM that month and BDSM always kicks ass. Consider titles, covers, who else had a book release that month, your promo efforts, whether you had multiple titles releasing, how close you were to holidays, etc.

Really look at those figures. Make a note of what worked and what didn't seem to work as well. And moving forward, track it. All of it.


3 - Update your website.

I'm as guilty of this as anyone. If you don't offer fresh content, readers won't continue to return, and if they don't return on a regular basis, it could be weeks, even months before they notice you've got a new release out.

Make sure your website is up to date and easy to navigate.

What kind of content should you have on your website? Cover art and excerpts -- and the preorder link as soon as you get it. Review snippets -- and don't forget to reward the better reviewers with name mentions and/or links. If you've got a blog, link it. If you belong to Twitter, put that up on your news page like so. (Actually, it's too far down on that page -- I need to talk to my weblord).

Have a news page where you post where you're appearing and what you're doing -- and update it often.

4 - Stop directing your promo efforts toward other writers.

Yes, we do buy and read and review each other's work, but we are NOT our target audience. Why? Because as much as I love your books -- and I do love many of your books -- in my hardscrabble struggle to survive in this jungle, I don't have the time to read that I once did. I read maybe a book a month. Your average ebook reader (the human kind) reads a book or two or three a week.

Quit talking to the other writers and start seeking out that rarest commodity -- the reader who has no desire to become a writer. This leads us back to 5TYCDtBYWCN #1. Whinging in public. Readers don't like it. They don't understand half of what you're talking about (nor should they) but they do get that you sound negative and angry and frustrated.

Now, lest I be misread, I'm not saying ignore other writers -- thank God for other writers and their friendship as they help keep us sane -- but look at the composition of your Twitter followers and Facebook followers and etc. If they are largely other writers, then those numbers are misleading.

Also misleading (painfully misleading, apparently) are those gigantic lists of strangers that some people "friend." Puhleaze.

You want quality not quantity. I know when I see a lame-ass writer with 3000+ friends that 3000+ people are not buying his books. (Which is why he whines in public about poor sales!) You want to build a focused fan base of folks who really do love your work and really will buy everything you write as quickly as they can afford to do so. Three hundred people who buy everything you write is waaaay better than 3000+ people who are talking at the same time and didn't even notice you had a new book out.

A key way to appeal to readers? Talk to readers about things of interest to readers. Quit showing off for other writers. Quit talking about stuff readers don't care about. And don't...how can I say this kindly. Censor the personal information. I'm sorry you have toenail fungus. I'm sorry your husband left you. I'm sorry your employer fired you for writing porn on company time. But this is not information to share with your reading public. When you're a venerable publishing icon of eighty, do you really want some of these posts dug up? It's like getting a tattoo. Sure, it's cool right now, but once your butt is sagging and your breasts are down to your knees, do you really want that misshapen butterfly as a reminder you were twenty once?

I don't know. Maybe you do. I don't.

5 - Say please and thank you.

Not a week goes by that someone isn't asking for my advice on...you name it. Everything from a definiton of cozy mysteries to my experiences with a particular publisher. And with the exception of the guy who recently asked how I first got published (seriously?!) I always answer to the best of my ability. And do you know how many people bother to thank me for taking time out of my schedule to answer their questions? A handful. What am I? The Encyclopedia Britannica? I've got my own problems, folks. I expect at least a polite, Thanks, Josh!

Manners count in this business as in everywhere else in the world. Yes, I know. We've become a society that blabs our most personal, private business on the phone in public, but manners are all part of networking, and part of how you get ahead in this business is networking. I don't forget slights and I am loyal to my friends.

And I am not unique in any respect.

Don't make enemies where you don't have to. Be polite -- treat others as you would wish to be treated -- and do the obvious basics. Don't demand, ask nicely -- say please. Say thank you. Be patient. Be fair-minded. And when someone wrongs you, destroy them. Wait! That just slipped out. Don't destroy them. Walk a mile in their fuzzy slippers. Cut them slack. We're all busy, overworked and underpaid, we're all worried that we're not where we need to be, we're all...human.

Don't forget the human element in all this. We're none of us perfect, we're all of us learning as we go along. We're all doing the best we can with the tools that we've got. That's probably the number one lesson.

Happy Holidays! Health and happiness to you and yours. May 2011 be a productive and successful year for you.

Oprah Recommends Dickens, I Recommend Loose-Id's Not Quite Christmas

Last week, Oprah selected the 65th book for her insanely, popular book club. Since it's the holidays, I'm sure many of her viewers were expecting a novel that would embody the spirit of the season.

A tome so feel good and belly-achingly heartwarming, every one of her one billion plus viewers around the world would run out and purchase gazillions of copies like so many times in the past.

Personally I think her current pick, a special-packaged edition of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations and Tale of Two Cities, feels sort of like a lump of coal. And I think many of her loyal readers will also question if they've been naughty or nice.

Book length aside, Dickens' plots aren't the happiest. Who could ever forget an orphan pickpocket's iconic request for more gruel? I'm flumoxed by her choices because it's not as if Dickens didn't pen several Christmas-themed stories, including the holiday favorite, A Christmas Carol. Instead, she choose one of the two most depressing stories from the Victorian writer's catalogue and two stories that have nothing to do with the season.

Am I missing something?

Maybe there's something in these two tales featuring angry mobs, a mentally and physically abused orphan, an unfortunate spinster who sits around in an old wedding gown, and prisoners locked up because of the family they were born to. Or maybe I'm just over-analyzing this and it's just an ill-informed recommendation by a social icon who's never read anything by Charles Dickens. Me thinks it's the latter.

Fortunately, the season isn't over. You still have time to salvage your holiday reading list by curling up with Loose-Id's special collection of holiday themed romances, Not Quite Christmas! So save Dickens for another day. You won't be sorry. Each story in the collection is scorching, they embody the spirit of season and they won't bumb you out with convicts filing off a limb and threatening innocent children.

Enjoy and happy holidays!

Not Quite Christmas Collection

So, what do you think of Oprah's holiday picks? Any Not Quite Christmas book you really love so far?

Posted by Koko Brown
My Loose-Id Titles

The Eleventh Hour Ice Prince, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Serendipity

Hi, I'm Jessica Freely, and my new release, The Ice Prince, wasn't always The Ice Prince.

It was originally entitled Out of the Box, which went great with the story I thought I was going to write when I proposed it in June. You know how these things go. You do a little research and you find out that your fabulous idea for how to solve a story problem just isn't going to work, and then you come up with something new and the story goes in a different direction than you'd planned.

Out of the Box was like that. When I zigged, it zagged, and as a result, I did a lot of work on it in the revision phase. In fact, at one-thirty in the morning of the day it was due, I rewrote a crucial scene and finally achieved the sense of emotional catharsis I'd been aiming for all along. Talk about bringing it in under the wire.

I won't spoil things by telling you which scene it was, but I will say that once I wrote it, it became obvious to me what the title of the book should be.

The Ice Prince is just out from Loose Id today:
http://www.loose-id.com/The-Ice-Prince.aspx

Below is a never-posted-before excerpt from The Ice Prince. But first, you might also like to know that I have a free ficlet about the main characters, David and Seth, entitled Raspberry Chocolate-Chip Scones, available exclusively on my newsletter group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jessicafreely


Blurb:
Together David and Seth have forged a life full of love, friendship, and scorching hot sex. But secrets from David's past could turn it all into a frozen wasteland unless he can break his habit of silence. The Ice Prince is a sequel to Hero and Rust Belt.

Excerpt:
Haverstock Bookshop was dead. All morning long, not a single customer entered the store. As the minutes ticked by, David fancied he could hear the money for the shop’s overhead -- the heating, the electricity, hell, his salary -- trickling down the drain. He surfed the Internet, looking at Web sites for other small independent bookstores, hoping to glean some pearl of wisdom that would enable him to save this place. It wasn’t much help. A lot of the sites were antiquated, even by his standards, and several were defunct.

“This is too depressing,” he muttered and exited the browser.

He felt like he needed to move around, so he started cleaning. While dusting, he found a loose shelf in the romance section. He went into the back room to find a hammer and nails.

It was Mr. Haverstock’s day off. David's footsteps scuffed on the concrete as he walked down the aisle between the tall metal shelves, trying to remember where he'd last seen the toolbox. He found it resting on an empty box near the hinged steel door that opened onto their loading dock.

He opened the toolbox. There was a box of nails and one of screws, and a screwdriver and a wrench, but no hammer. Huh.

David went back to Mr. Haverstock's office. He searched the file cabinet and the coffee area without success and then went to the desk. He opened the top drawer but only found a hodgepodge of pens and pencils, erasers, a ruler. No hammer. He tried the next drawer. Ledgers and notebooks. The third one held, inexplicably, a coffee can full of old matchbooks. He pulled open the final drawer, one of those deep ones made to double as a file cabinet. Inside sat a brown paper bag with a bundle of cloth in it. No hammer.

"This is pointless," he muttered. "He must have taken it home for something, I'll just fix the shelf tomorrow." But then, just as he was about to shut the drawer, something in the bag caught his eye. The gleam of metal.

He put his hand on the bundle of cloth. It was red. Thick red wool. He lifted it out of the bag and unfolded it. It was a letter jacket for Finney High. The metal he'd seen was from a pin. A little tack pin with a crest and the words Class of 1956. It sat on the breast of the jacket, just above the letter, which was for track. On the other breast, the name Carl was stitched in cursive writing.

Finney was where David had gone to school and his parents before him, as well as, evidently, Mr. Haverstock. Wow. The thought of Carl Haverstock running track boggled his mind. But he'd been a teenager once too. Huh.

So why did he have his jacket stashed in a grocery bag in his desk drawer? Why wasn't it at home in his closet, protected by mothballs?

That was none of his business. David was suddenly aware he was going through Mr. Haverstock's stuff like a snoop. Never mind he hadn't started with that intention. He was snooping now. And snoops always got what they deserved. They found out stuff they didn't want to know. In a hurry, David folded the jacket to put it back in the bag.

And froze.

Scaramouche stared up at him from the bottom of the bag.

Or more precisely, the image of Scaramouche looked up at him, darkly handsome, hand-painted, and visible through a cutout in the finely tooled leather of his father's collector's edition of the Sabatini novel of the same name. Feeling as if he were floating above his body, watching, not controlling events at all, David reached in and took the book out.

The other two were there as well. The Sea Hawk and Captain Blood. All fine-quality collector's editions over fifty years old and handed down to David from his dad. The books David had given Mr. Haverstock to sell in order to pay for Seth's lawyer.

He hadn't sold them.

Be Truly, Madly, Deeply Romantic

Hey all,


Merry Christmas and an early Happy New Year. It's been a great year and I'm going to start up 2011 with a bang. It's great...it's wonderful...it's awesome...it's...

A FREE READ STORY A WEEK!!!


That's right... COMING JANUARY 2011


Truly Madly Deeply Romance Authors

A brand new FREE READ endeavor put together by myself and 25 special friends. A brand new, never before seen complete short story each weekend just for your viewing pleasure.


Our goal is to write FREE READ stories that, in the words of the awesome Savage Garden song, Truly, Madly, Deeply, will...



Be your dreams, Be your wishes, Be your fantasies
Be your hopes, Be your love, Be everything that you need

Truly, Madly Do...



This FREE READ is slated to start the second weekend in January. Every week a different author will have a complete quickie short for you to read. Different genres, different heat levels, but all with one thing in common...

Truly Madly Deeply Passionate Romance

So get ahead of the game and become a follower early. You'll receive weekly updates as soon as it goes live! Do so by visiting the blog HERE.

For more information join my CHAT LIST or NEWSLETTER LIST. And don't forget my holiday contest at my WEBSITE. Just click on Freebies & Fun Stuff and then Contests!

And I have a short Christmas story in my newsletter this month. But, as a Christmas FREEBIE for all my friends, fans and readers, no subscription is necessary. I'll be announcing in on the Loose Id Community list when it goes live!


I'll be back next month with more fun and maybe even a few games! *grin*

Blessings,

CJ England

Follow Your Dreams

http://cjengland.com/warrior/morethanawarrior.htm

http://cjengland.com

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CJsaysFollowYourDreams/

Wondering About Shorts

Something I’ve been wondering lately: do readers of m/m romances/erotic romances like reading shorts? No, not the ones some hot guy is wearing…I mean short stories.

I enjoy writing an occasional short story. They take me more time than I’d like since I tend to rewrite more than I write, but for the most part I enjoy the freedom of putting together something shorter than my normal work. Something where I can try a new character without committing to a longer story arc. Where I can play with a sex scene that might not fit any of my other characters. Where I can take a kernel of an idea and run with it, rather than worry whether a plot has enough meat to carry any entire novella or novel-length book.

I’ve got a couple of free stories available on my website. My hope was that they would give potential readers a sampling of my work before they invested in a new author’s first book. But now that I have two books out, I’m debating if I should write any more shorts. I have at least one more I need to finish editing. But after that, I'm wondering if I should write another if the muse strikes. Do readers enjoy an occasional short story from authors (either as a freebie or for sale) or would you prefer authors spend their time working on longer stories? Any authors out there care to share if your shorts are doing well with readers?

Do you enjoy reading shorts at all? Why or why not? Do you find they are usually representative of an author’s other work? Or are you frustrated and wish an author would stick to one length (either shorter or longer)?

I’d love to hear what anyone thinks on the subject of shorts (even if you just want to comment on the pics of the guys in shorts I shared).

For anyone interested, you can check out my website for my free m/m erotic romances.

Thanks for listening and for any opinions you’d like to share.

Sloan Parker
www.sloanparker.com

Why Do You ALWAYS Write the Prequel Second?

By Brenna Lyons

This is a question I hear often, and it seemed like a good time to address it.

I think it’s safe to say that I don’t always write the prequel second, though it sometimes seems like I do. That said, there are two important factors here.

The first is that the only reason the word prequel exists is because people write the ‘story before the story’ often. If everyone wrote a world in order, there would be no need for the word prequel. Everyone would write their worlds in chronological order, and additional books would always be serials to or sequels to the ones that came before.

But writers don’t write so neatly. I certainly don’t.

To understand why the prequel comes after another book so often, you have to understand my writing process. I meet a character or group of characters, and they tell me a story. In the case of CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN, I met Aleeks Daahn and Miri Johns, and they laid out the story of CETH for me.

Somewhere in the back of my head, other books in the world are in various stages of completeness and competing for my attention. They compete so vehemently for my attention that sometimes other books hit the active writing process and then the printed page of an earlier book without me noting they’ve done so. An example would be Aleeks comparing sating the quickening with Miri to the same occurrence between his younger sister Zondra and her human mate, Evan Duncan.

Mind you, I suspected then that Zondra and Evan would eventually have a story of their own, but a check of the active memory banks later... No, it wasn’t available for the conscious mind to tap into yet. So, I kept writing CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN and resigned myself to the fact that Zondra and Evan would tell me their story when they were ready to.

Before the end of CETH, I realized that I had a forward-moving series that would include books about children of the Daahn nest and possibly even grandchildren of the same. But I realized I also had a backward-moving series that would include Zondra’s book and even a book for Daahn the Elder and his mate...and a sideways moving series that would include books about other Xxanian families. The threads woven into CETH led in all directions, and the picture would grow around the first book, necessitating prequel books.

In their own ways, characters in earlier books hint to me that certain events -- past, present, and future -- will be important in a larger world view. If I’d waited to publish CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN until I’d written and published the prequels in chronological order, I might or might not have made it into the all the other books from the Xxan War world I have in progress now; the impetus of edits on one book in a series sometimes jogs the mind into high gear on other books in the same series.

In this case, I’d already started writing Zondra and Evan’s story (MATING SEASON) before I hit edits on CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN, but in editing MATING SEASON, the muse kicked me in the head and pointed the way to two more Xxan War works that are screaming at me and hitting the active writing process with a vengeance. Those two are SUBDOMINANT and CROSSBRED SON. Both of them direct the readers to other Xxanian nests that are closely allied to Daahn’s nest and set concurrent to or closely after CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN.

In some cases, I don’t even realize the weaving is set in place for a new story. In the case of CROSSBRED SON, it grew out of a subconscious game of what-if that started with an unanswerable question posed in MATING SEASON. I didn’t even realize I intended to answer that question, let alone in detail, at the time the question appeared in MATING SEASON.

But my brain is something of a pattern matching algorithm in motion. It hates an unanswered question, so the question percolated in the subconscious. Two characters stepped forward, tentatively raised hands, and said: “We know the answer to that one. Do you want to know?” Whether I want to or not (and I’m curious, so I usually do want to know), the muse wants to know, and she and her whip will not rest until the answer is in print and smiling up at me.

Available now from LooseId! MATING SEASON, the second book (but a prequel) in the Xxan War series.

Or cut your teeth on the first installment, CLOSE ENOUGH TO HUMAN!

Steamcon II

This weekend I'm at Steamcon II in Seattle. I had the privilege of attending Steamcon I last year and had a great time so I'm happy to be back this year. I'm also happy to report that the con has improved and is even more fun. It's a steampunk convention. For those who don't know what "steampunk" is, I highly suggest you look it up and take a gander at some of the many and varied images available across the net. It's great fun. Kind of sci-fi, kind of fantasy, kind of historical but not really any of them. As long as you adhere to a few basic principles, steampunk can be almost anything.

In fact, I have a steampunk story myself. When Sursein Judgment came out in '09, I was afraid to give it the full label of steampunk so I called it "steampunk-ish". Since then, I've learned more and I'm pretty sure the label is apt. The one thing that's off is that it doesn't take in our world. But it is a Victorian/Wild West type of setting complete with steam trains, revolvers and gas lighting.

Thanks to this weekend, I've started to develop some real ideas for a sequel to Sursein Judgment. I won't be able to work on it until the end of next year at the earliest, but it's cool that some ideas are finally solidifying.

If you ever get a chance to check out Steamcon, I highly recommend. If nothing else, you can spend a few lovely hours watching the terrific costumes.

BLOOD HEAT by Josh Lanyon

I forgot what I was blabbing about around the time of my last release -- I think perhaps the release fell between blogging dates -- ennnywhoooo (as my dear old gran used to say) I'm in that headlong rush to meeting a deadline and I thought I'd be a slacker this morning and just plug my latest LI release, Blood Heat.

Blood Heat is the third book in the Dangerous Ground series. That's the one about the two DSS agents who find their partnership and friendship endangered when one of them decides he's in love with the other. Matters come to a head (NO, don't say it) during a camping trip in the High Sierras.

It's the "hot tub story," in other words.




Dangerous Ground was followed by Old Poison AKA "the phone sex story" also known as "the cobra in a bottle" story (and that is NOT a sexual reference, for the record). I find in this genre that books are often referred to by...uh...specific scenes of intimacy. I'm sure that's just for convenience sake.

Not sure how readers will refer to Blood Heat. The "speeding bullet story?" The "flash flood story?" Certainly there are plenty of speeding bullets and a flash flood. Anyway, book three finds Will and Taylor on the run again. I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing!

978-1-60737-869-3
Genre: LGBT Action/Adventure
Length: Novella
Series: Dangerous Ground; Previous Book: Old Poison
Price: $4.99

BLURB:
Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Taylor MacAllister and Will Brandt have been partners forever and lovers for three months, but their new relationship is threatened when Will is offered a plum two-year assignment in Paris.

Will believes the posting only means postponing what they both want. Taylor fears that kind of separation will mean the end of their new and still-fragile relationship. It’s a bad time to find themselves in the middle of the New Mexico wilderness responsible for the health and welfare of a suspected terrorist. Especially when everyone else they run into seems determined to see their prisoner -- and them -- dead.

EXCERPT:
According to Taylor’s watch, it was after six in the morning by the time they started down the far side of the mountain and found the black SUV mired in mud up to its custom rims.

By then the rain had stopped and the water had receded considerably. The canyon road was a knee-high swamp of debris and water, but the danger was past.
“It could be anyone’s vehicle,” Will called as Taylor splashed through the water to peer through the tinted side windows.

“Sure,” Taylor said. “Who doesn’t go on vacation without taking their leg irons?”
Will joined him in the water-filled ruts at the side of the road, making a frame for his face and trying to see inside. “Are you sure?” He could just make out a baseball bat, what looked like a military utility bag, and, yes, metallic links that appeared to be leg shackles. “Hmm. You just might be right.”

“I guess someone could have kinky tastes.”

“You ought to know.”

Taylor grimaced.

“Which is one of the things I like best about you,” Will added.

“Just a born diplomat, aren’t you? No wonder you’re climbing through the ranks.”
Will had no reply to that. They sloshed through the water and clambered back to the relatively dry area of the hillside.

A flash of blue caught Will’s eye. A blue jay landed on the branch of a pine tree and greeted the morning with its harsh song. The sun was rising, and it was already growing warm. The receding floodwater had a dank, unhealthy smell to it.

Taylor wiped his forehead. “Which way do you think they went?”

“Assuming they aren’t lost or didn’t get swept away, they’ll be heading the same direction we are. They need food, water, and shelter, the same as us.”

“Hedwig couldn’t climb these mountains. Could she?”

Will shrugged. “I guess if she had to, she would. I’ve seen pregnant weight lifters. In magazines.”

“She didn’t look like the athletic type to me.”

“Maybe Nemov carried her. He looked like he could.”

“He looked like he could carry his SUV. I don’t know why he didn’t.” Taylor had his BlackBerry out and was clicking away and frowning at the results. Or lack of same.
“You’re not going to get any reception down here.”

Taylor muttered something uncomplimentary, though whether to the national forest or Will was unclear.

They began to walk, continuing at a brisk pace until the sun appeared over the trees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Pine needles glistened and sparkled in the pure sunlight.

“You have to admit this is beautiful country,” Will said, shading his eyes and gazing up at the distant snowcapped mountains.

Taylor opened his mouth -- though it was unlikely he was going to admit anything of the kind -- when something big, mottled brown and gray burst out of the brush and took wing, gobbling in fright.

He jumped a foot and gazed openmouthed at Will. “Jesus. What was that?”

Will dropped against a tree trunk and tried not to laugh. He didn’t really have the breath to spare, but Taylor’s half-alarmed, half-offended expression struck him as hysterically funny.

“Wild turkey. A hen, I think. You should see the size of the toms.”

“No thanks. I prefer my turkeys on a Thanksgiving platter.”

Again, Will had to struggle not to laugh.

They resumed their hike, having found what looked like an old track. Possibly a former stagecoach route. It paralleled the highway for a time and then led up into the hills. It was Will who spotted the two sets of footprints in the mud. One large, one smaller.

“That answers one question. They both made it out of the flash flood.”

Taylor nodded. He looked as relieved as Will felt. “They’ll have holed up somewhere ahead of us on the trail. No way did he drag a pregnant woman up and down a mountainside in the middle of a rainstorm at night -- even if he wanted to. She’d never have made it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need her to make it.”

Taylor stared at him, thinking it over. He shook his head. “In that case, I think he’d have taken advantage of the flood to arrange a fatal accident. Plenty of opportunity. Especially if he left her handcuffed. Get her halfway up the slope and then give her a little push. Oops.”

“You worry me sometimes.”

“Good.” Taylor grinned a brief and dangerous grin.


Buy from Loose Id

http://www.joshlanyon.com/
http://jgraeme2007.livejournal.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/JoshLanyon
Twitter: @JoshLanyon

New Release: Breathe by Sloan Parker

Breathe
by Sloan Parker

Genre: LGBT Suspense (m/m)
Length: Novel Plus
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs



Available now at
Loose Id

BREATHE is the story of two small-town strangers who meet and discover an undeniable attraction only to learn a little too late they never should have met at all. Or so they think.

One man’s wife was killed in a car accident a year before the story begins. The other man is the one who caused the accident that took her life. They are (hopefully) two very likable guys stuck in an impossible situation.

For me this story is about forgiveness, love, and the power of both to make a huge difference in our lives. I hope anyone who picks up a copy enjoys Lincoln and Jay's story. I had a wonderful experience writing it.


BLURB

Lincoln McCaw lost everything -- his home, his job, his partner -- after he caused a fatal accident. A year later, he's drowning the guilt and despair in whiskey, but he needs to move on. His sister and her kids are counting on him. Then he meets a man who ignites a passion Lincoln thought he’d never find. Too bad one night is all they can have together. Now he needs to figure out how to turn away from the only person who makes him feel alive…before whoever is
sending him threats decides Lincoln needs to suffer more than he already has.

Jay Miller is surrounded by grief and misery until he finally gives in to all those years of sexual fantasies about being with another guy. Realizing he’s ended up in the arms of the man who caused his wife’s accident, he tries to pull away. But how can he give up a friendship he needs more than anything -- a friendship and a love that could save him? He may not have time to make the choice before someone else destroys it all.

Read an excerpt and purchase at Loose Id

On Becoming a Reader

A few weeks ago on Twitter there was a question going around that asked what books from your childhood made you a reader. I thought of a few children’s books that I loved reading over and over, but one of the authors who really stood out for me was Stephen King.

If you asked my mother what one word described me as a child it would probably be “scared.” I had terrible nightmares throughout my early school years, which (along with a vivid imagination) left me scared to go to bed at night for about three years. My mom banned me watching any movies or television shows she thought would feed the monsters in my head.

But she didn’t say I couldn’t sneak into my brother’s room and read his Stephen King novels. My mom was a librarian, after all. I don’t think telling us we couldn’t read something even entered her mind.

So I did.

I wanted to do anything that my big brother did.

He was a huge reader. Still is. And he was also my childhood hero. (Here’s a picture of us as kids). I adored him. (Even if he was a pain sometimes.) I’d follow him around and do whatever he asked me to do. It was kinda crazy, but hey, I was a kid growing up on a farm. Not much to do in the middle of a couple of corn fields.

My bro’s all-time favorite author then (and now) was Stephen King. I wanted to love King’s books too. Which of course meant I needed to read them.

I never had much time sitting on the floor of my brother’s room, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall. In those days, I only managed to read a few chapters here and there, but the memory of those reading experiences stayed with me.

I’m not sure if it was doing something like my big brother, the few descriptions that I was able to sneak a peek at before my brother got home from basketball practice, or my family’s love of reading that shaped me into a reader. I’m just grateful something did.

So what made you a reader? Any books or authors from your childhood that hold a special place in your heart?

Sloan Parker
www.sloanparker.com

Sexcapades and Stories

Hey all,

It's been a great month since we last met.  I've finished up several stories, gotten a bunch of fantastic guests scheduled on my blog through the middle of next year and settled in for good over here in Macau.

I've begun work on my hottest story yet.  I mean, I'd been in the mood for a lot of hot sexy interaction and this newest book is all of that.  I won't give anything away, but let's just say one fire extinguisher won't be enough. 

Now, I love to write all kinds of stories and if sex isn't a part of one, that's okay too.  It depends on the tale I'm telling, the characters and my mood. 

One of my best selling series started with a book with no sex at all.  It  wasn't until the end of the second book that the couple finally got together and only when the STORY called for it.  I've written Christian stories, sweet romance, sensual tales and straight erotica, but all have one thing in common. 

The story is what is important.

When I start out to dream a new book, I never know what's going to happen.  And I often am surprised at what I come up with.  So, when I started this new one and it turned out to be highly erotic, I had to pause and consider.  Why this story more that any other?

Well, like I said, I hadn't done one that was really erotic for awhile.  And my mood lately has been down right naughty.  So maybe that's why the dreams are all a little different.  Why I'm thinking more is better.  And luckily my characters have been okay with that.  

So now each day I sit down to write, I wonder just what sexy dream will come my way.  And what fun I will have doing the research for it.  *grin*

And I invite you all to join me.  Check out my WEBSITE and see what stories I have available.  You can tell the really hot ones by the number of fire extinguishers it has.  And if you want a sample, you can try out my FREE READS.  Two on my website's FREEBIE page one ongoing one on my NEWSLETTER and my twice a week read on my FREE READ BLOG.  All will give you an idea of how I write and the different heat levels I write in.

But I'm always looking for ideas.  And many of my stories are dedicated to the readers who shared their awesome ideas with me.  So, now is your chance.  Tell me a sexy story idea you've always wished you could read about.

And if I use it, I'll not only dedicate the book to you, I'll give you a FREE copy when it's published!  Use the comment box below and let's see where your dreams and imagination will take me!

Blessings to all,

CJ England

Follow Your Dreams

http://cjengland.com/warrior/morethanawarrior.htm

http://cjengland.com

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CJsaysFollowYourDreams/

The Nobleman and the Spy

Summer Devon and Bonnie Dee present another m/m historical, The Nobleman and the Spy. We've enjoyed writing these and sure hope you enjoy reading them.

They once faced each other on a battlefield. Now soldier-turned-spy Jonathan Reese must keep watch over the man he’s never forgotten. A close encounter reveals Karl von Binder, the count’s son, also recalls the day he spared Jonathan’s life. Sparks fly between the former enemies and Jonathan begins to lose perspective on his mission. He knows he must maintain distance because the heat he encounters in Karl’s touch stirs him far too deeply for his own good. He can’t keep away--especially when he suspects someone is trying to kill the nobleman.

The spy becomes a protector as Jonathan guards the man he’s begun to care for. Together the men try to puzzle out who would benefit from Karl’s death—and how much they’re willing to trust each other when a torrid sexual fling threatens to become an affair of the heart.

Excerpt

Toole had told Reese to use whatever methods worked. It hadn’t occurred to Reese to simply state a portion of the truth, but why not?

He’d have to pick an answer that didn’t reveal too much, of course. After almost a week of following Binder, he could tell the man all sorts of truths. He might tell him that he’d spotted someone -- a foreigner from Binder’s own country, perhaps -- following the count’s son.

Or Reese could spill even deeper secrets. That his dried-up twig of a soul felt an unfamiliar flicker of life every time he saw Binder laugh. That he’d listened in on the conversations Binder held with his underlings and had grown to admire the way he treated his servants and staff. That he lay awake at night and thought of what it would feel like to put his mouth on Binder’s lips and other parts of his body. He might admit that, in a crowd, he’d drawn too close to Binder more than once just to see if he could smell the man.

Except Reese had excellent self-discipline. He’d released the guard on his impulses only once in his life and had lived to regret it. He sure as hell didn’t welcome this attraction to an enemy from the past, this very dangerous man.

Still, one truth would do no harm, and perhaps he’d be able to learn the answer to the question that had nagged him for years. “You’re right. I was at Sevastopol. Why do you think you remember me?” He didn’t add for I recall you too.

Binder’s blue eyes glowed, and he smiled as if Reese had admitted something wonderful. “I don’t understand it myself. That day of the battle. God.” He shuddered, and Reese felt a ghost of that same response in his own body. “There were hundreds -- thousands of us -- and it was a blur of bodies and pain and fear. My horse was slain under me. I was injured.”
Reese shook his head. He hadn’t known.

“Much of it comes back when I close my eyes. I expect it does for you too,” Karl went on. “But one of the most vivid images of that day, of that whole bloody, pointless war, is of you. You’d lost your cap, and you were covered in blood. I was looking for more…” He cleared his throat. “For the next to kill. I was filled with that lust. You know the feeling.”

Reese couldn’t answer. He knew and loathed the primal killing instinct that overtook him whenever he’d had to dispatch another man. He shrugged.

“And then I saw you watching me.”

Reese leaned forward, his entire being at attention. At long last it seemed he was going to receive an answer to the intolerable question -- why me? Of all the men in the field that day, why had this stranger passed him over like the angel of death in Egypt?

“Yes, I admit I recall seeing you. What of that?” he asked with feigned casualness. Amazing he could sound so nonchalant when his heart was racing. “Tell me this. Why did you spare me?”

Binder inclined slightly toward him too and lowered his voice as he answered, his throaty rumble sending lust spearing through Reese. “Because I saw your eyes. I saw…” He shrugged broad shoulders.

Reese tilted his head to show he listened, and Binder went on. “I saw so many things. I saw myself when I watched you. So self-centered, eh? Angry, passionate, and ready to die. But I also saw a man who’d suffered too much. And, well…” He rubbed a blunt finger over the lace tablecloth. Reese watched those hands, large with golden hair on the back of his wrist, and he was almost too distracted by the sight of them to hear Binder’s next words. “I saw what a bloody monster I’d become.”

He stopped speaking, and for once, Reese wasn’t patient enough to let silence linger. “We were all bloody monsters in war.”

He should not allow his thoughts to venture in that direction. Curse the man for rousing the emotion of unwelcome memories. With one long, deep breath, Reese suppressed the ripples of disquiet disturbing his calm. He looked straight into Binder’s face, but the other man didn’t appear to notice. His blue eyes seemed sightless as he gazed at something else, those days in Sevastopol, probably.

Reese could examine him at leisure, a pleasant task. Even with Binder’s large, Germanic features, there were touches of grace -- the way his throat rose from the high collar, the line of his jaw, and the well-brushed, gleaming, wheat blond hair.

His enemy’s low voice woke Reese from a fantasy of touching that hair, stroking it, seizing it, and gripping it while he drove into the heat of the man’s mouth. His carnal fantasies about this man were getting out of hand.
“Ah. But your face, your eyes.” Binder at last met Reese’s stare. “Do you know the word tzadik?”

Reese knew German, but this word was unfamiliar. He shook his head.

“It’s Yiddish. It means ‘one who acts righteously.’ Back then I didn’t know the word. I’m not Jewish.”

Reese knew that. He’d read the details of the man who’d been born to an English mother and a German Catholic father and who had been brought up in the Church of England.

“After the war, I heard a bit of the definition -- just a little -- and at once I imagined you. That day on the battlefield, your eyes sent a burning arrow into me. If a man’s eyes could do such a thing, you would have killed me -- a part of me -- with that look. I saw the righteous judge who’d witnessed my failure as a human. I couldn’t face you, and I certainly couldn’t kill you.”

His explanation was weighty and far more truthful than Reese would have expected.

“All that from a look,” Reese said sardonically, though he felt slightly dizzy. Through all these years, he’d also vividly recalled Binder, as if that scene were a fresh memory.

A moment later, Binder grinned suddenly, and his laugh lines showed Reese the man’s natural face -- lighthearted, almost mischievous. Reese had already seen evidence of his mercurial nature, but this jump from grim to delighted was sudden, even for Binder.

“You are amused?” Reese asked.

“Now that I consider the matter, I wonder if I simply liked your appearance, blood-smeared and all. It was an impulsive decision to spare you. Shall we call it that?”

Jesus God, was this man admitting to physical attraction? Reese suppressed the urge to look around and see who might be listening. He was no green lad who would blush at bawdy suggestions -- even those of forbidden practices -- but this was no place to mention them. He smiled blandly but didn’t answer, as if he’d heard no suggestive meaning -- and perhaps one had not been intended.

“So, tell me why you are following me,” Binder demanded, abruptly changing the subject.

Don't it Make My Brown Eyes Blue

I joined Twitter the day before yesterday. Tweet Yeah, me. After I said I'd never add my voice to ever increasing volume of white noise that surrounds us.

So what changed my mind? A couple of things. I think maybe first and foremost, my sibs are on Twitter and when I was expressing my dismay over this fact, they came back with, "In your business you're crazy not to be on Twitter."

In your business.

Oh yeah.

THAT.

Like all writers I know, I spend a lot of time (when I'm not wracking my brains for a new way to say the same thing after already saying it thirty plus times) wondering about the best way -- or any way -- to reach new readers. New target readers. Meaning the kind of reader who will actually read a gay erotic mystery or adventure and enjoy it. Targeting all mystery readers or all erotic reeaders or all readers is a common mistake of newbie (or desperate) writers. I know I need to focus my efforts, but how and where?

And so I experiment. And Twitter is one of those bubbling green fluids in my brimming test tube.

The other thing that changed my mind -- or at least opened it -- was when I started thinking of Twitter as a news feed as opposed to merely yet another social network. Not that social networks aren't fun, but these days I need to combine my fun with business. That's just how it is at this stage of the game.

When I saw the organizations and people I could subscribe to (AKA "follow") I admit I was kind of excited. I'm currently following Food and Wine magazine, The New Yorker, the Smithsonian...and a lot of my fellow writers. And...well, it's fun. More fun than I thought it would be, as a matter of fact.

Oddly enough it feels even looser and more friendly than Face Book, and its short format makes it easier to chat and share passing random thoughts about everything from what I'm hearing on the news to what I'm working on. It's...well, interesting. And it's yet another way to network and promote, which is what I need. What we all need to succeed in a very competitive field.

But that started me thinking how vital is promotion? Is it possible to network and promote a dog of a book into a bestseller? I used to think not, but evidence seems to indicate otherwise. I can see that it might work for a book or two, but can you promote your way into a successful writing career even if you can't write?

Is it possible to over-promote? I think so. There are writers I refuse to consider merely because they get so much acclaim and I just think...well, I don't like them and I probably wouldn't like their work. I mean, I don't know them, chances are I would like them since everyone seems to, but it's an example of how promo and marketing can backfire. I actually prefer it when certain things I love are mostly undiscovered except by me and a handful of folks in the know. Is that a weird thing? Probably.

Or is it all so subjective that really everyone can write, and there's no such thing as a bad book, and maybe it's all just me? That particular book just isn't for me? (I don't believe that, for the record, but YMMV.)

Enywhooooooo, inquiring minds want to know. And since it's a while since I've done a giveaway here at Loose Ends, I'm offering a free cyber set of the Dangerous Ground books -- Dangerous Ground, Old Poison, and the brand new release Blood Heat -- to a randomly selected commenter. So comment! Share your thoughts.

Oh, er, and don't forget to follow me on, er, Tweet.

Slow-Motion Sex and a Headache Chaser

I spent part of yesterday writing an intense, sexual encounter between two old friends. It was the first time they had touched each other intimately in years. The words flowed, and it was an enjoyable scene to write (and not in a dirty enjoyable way. Sheesh. Well not that much, anyway). I usually like the writing of sex scenes, but this was the first time writing one gave me a headache. I think I had ratcheted up the tension so much that I was feeling it in my brain or something. Perhaps it had something to do with the non-completion of the act for the characters. Maybe I ticked myself off as much as I did them by not seeing it through.

I hear some writers say they dislike or dread writing the sex scenes. I’ve never really read much on why that is which got me to wondering if maybe it gives them a headache too. I don’t know.

I have to say I occasionally skip a sex scene or leave it purposely vague the first time through, but it’s not because I don’t want to write it. I’m either not in the right frame of mind or I’m not deep enough into the story to really get a handle on what I want the characters to be feeling in that moment.

There are a few things I have to be able to do to keep writing the scene:

1) Slow down the action.
I watch the scene unfold in my mind in slow motion, taking note of every movement, every touch and how each character responds, utilizing the ones that change the dynamic each step of the way.

2) Put myself into the scene, into the character’s mind and body.
Once I have an idea of how I want it to go, I get inside the POV character and describe it from his perspective. I can practically feel the anticipation, the tension, the touches. It’s an intense way to write but has proven effective for me as a writing technique.

3) Utilize as many of the five senses as I can.
This is true for most scenes but are especially true for intimate moments. Smell and taste are hard ones for me to describe, but I try to pull them in when I can.

4) Know what the characters need to gain or learn from the experience.
Sometimes I know a sex scene is the next logical step in the progression of their story, but I’m just not sure how they are supposed to come out of it. Since I’ve been outlining everything I’m writing these days, I usually have these details identified before I write the first full draft which helps me write the scene.

So tell me (for research purpose only, of course) who are some authors that you think can pull off amazing sex scenes that put you right into the moment? If I haven’t yet, I’ll probably want to check out their work…and possibly ask them if they get a headache while writing their scenes too.

Oh, and before I go...check out the cover art for my next release, BREATHE, coming from Loose Id next month. The artist was Valerie Tibbs. Isn't it gorgeous?



Sloan Parker
www.sloanparker.com

To Sleep...

My first professional writing job was to adapt the novel Dracula into a stage production for a theatre festival. I spent weeks delving into the lore of the vampire, reading and re-reading the novel and doing my best to dig the latent Victorian sexuality from between the lines. By the time the play was up and running, I’d pretty much had it with bloodsuckers.

So… Fast forward. I’ve got this silly idea for a character…a vampire with insomnia. Like I said, it seemed pretty silly. I shelved the character idea until last spring when a call came from Loose Id. They wanted stories to celebrate Coming Out Day in October. I really didn’t think about writing anything for it until a certain someone encouraged me to submit a proposal…three days before the call closed. (Thanks Treva!) That’s when I remembered my poor insomniac vampire and the silly idea suddenly became rather poignant. That’s when Oliver Bleu was born…selfish, romantic and doomed by his inability to slip into the oblivion of the undead.

Sleep is such an elemental, basic survival need. We need those hours of dream state, not only for our sanity, but simply to stay alive. Before his tragic death, actor Heath Ledger complained of insomnia. I’ve suffered with it for years, almost every summer. I’ve used sleep medications, self-hypnosis, and behavior modification. I’ve also self medicated with drugs and alcohol. Finally, I reached a crossroads. I decided to submit to the demon and see where it took me.

Yes, I still suffer insomnia, but no longer feel like its killing me. If I can’t sleep, I get up and continue on with my day. I sleep when my brain and body are both ready for it. If I go to sleep at midnight and wake at three in the morning, I get up and work. As it generally doesn’t continue more than a month or two, I can manage with frequent naps and deep relaxation. I am very fortunate, because I remember the feelings of despair that came from watching the clock.

Now imagine a vampire, locked into his sleeping place during the hours of daylight. He’s unable to sleep, unable to move or speak or even take a breath. It would be a living hell. Every sunset Oliver Bleu rises weaker than he was when he lay down for the day. He’s fading slowly. His light is dying.

And then he meets his salvation…

Blacque/Bleu is available at Loose Id, LLC

www.belindamcbride.com

www.belindam.blogspot.com

A Most Awesome Cool Excellent Feeling

Hey all,

It's been a great month here in Macau.  I'm finally a little more settled and I've been able to really get back into my writing. To my great joy, my imagination didn't suffer with the short hiatus I had to endure as we moved around the globe. Instead I've now got so many ideas rolling around in head I'll be writing until I'm a hundred and sixty four!  LOL

So is having all those ideas a most awesome cool excellent feeling?  

Darn right it is.  Sometimes I get so excited when a new idea pops up I can hardly stand it.  I'll dance around the house like an idiot until I'm sure my head will explode if I don't get the idea written down.  Sometimes the plot for a book will emerge fully formed, and all I have to do is write it down.  Other times I'll see something...a person...a place or an action that gives me an awesome idea and voilà!!!  A story is born.

The other day I was working on my latest WIP, and I hit a place where the words just flowed out of me. It was like watching a  rushing river.  I didn't stop writing for three solid hours and when I was done I had done over 5,800 words.  I was bloody amazed.  And I wondered why I couldn't write like that all the time.

So was that speeding tide of words a most awesome cool excellent feeling?

Oh, yeah!  And even better, when I went back to edit it, it was really clean.  A few typos here and there, but for the most part what I wrote as I rode the river is exactly what I will send it to be edited.  A nice extra for a 180 minutes work!

Yet for an author there is another most awesome cool excellent feeling.  One that we all look forward to...yet in a way are saddened by.  The finishing of a book.

For me, the hardest part of writing is a book's ending.  You are saying goodbye to characters you've spent weeks and sometimes months with and have come to love,.  Plus, you want to make sure the readers who have spent time in your world can put your story down and be completely and totally satisfied with what they've read.

No pressure, right?  *snort*

But even with all that, finishing a book IS a most awesome cool  excellent feeling.  Since I rarely know how the book will end until I write the last page, I'm just as surprised as my readers at the finale.  (My husband still thinks it amazing that he can come home from work and find me weeping over a scene I'm writing.)  So for me it is extremely rewarding to pull together those last loose ends, give my characters that necessary "Happily Ever After", and finally write THE END.  Why, you may ask?

I want to know what happens, too!!!! 

Anyway, all this leads to one unmistakable fact that I'm sure many people in my profession will agree with.  Being an author is...

A Most Awesome Cool Excellent Feeling.

I'll see you next month with another blog about who knows what and why!  Have a great rest of your October and a safe and shiveringly spooky Halloween!

Blessings,

CJ England

Follow Your Dreams

http://cjengland.com/warrior/morethanawarrior.htm

http://cjengland.com

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CJsaysFollowYourDreams/

Letting go

Sorry I'm a day late on the blog! Life has been extremely busy lately.

There are times when you just have to let go of things, be it kids, anger, your novel.

My children are getting to the age where they are move independent. It's a good thing. I'm struggling with that fine line between being too laid back and letting them find their place in the universe. It's an ongoing process. But I know the time is soon coming when I must step completely and let them meander through their path on their own. Not like tomorrow, but it is coming.

Anger is something that if you hold onto it, it burns you up inside. It will consume you from the inside out. You have to let it go before it does.

Books are something you have to let go of, too. My first novel, Blood Kiss, was one that I held dear to me and didn't want to let it go for a long time. After all, I didn't want it out there. It was precious to me and someone might hurt it (me because I was so connected to it). Unfortunately, the only way to move from being a writer to an author is to SHARE. There's still a part of me that screams, "Take it back!" whenever I submit. But I know you have to let go.

What are some other things you have to let go of? What have you let go recently?

Mechele Armstrong
www.mechelearmstrong.com

EXCERPT: Indigo Knights: Squire

Released September 7, 2010 from Loose Id
Pairing: m/m
Available in ebook from Loose Id

BLURB
Rabin Squire is on top of the world. At long last, everything is going his way. He’s about to go into the studio with none other than Brent Rose to put together a new album for his band, the Indigo Knights. Okay, so there’re currently only two members of the band, but with Brent’s help, that’ll soon change. Things are looking up.
Then there’s Izzy, Brent’s cousin. Rabin’s never been interested in a guy before but he can sure tell when one is gorgeous, and Izzy is that. He’s also funny, and sweet and…sexy as hell.
Since he’s not gay, Rabin never expected to have a fling with Izzy. But Izzy says their having sex doesn’t make him gay. Rabin’s not so sure about that but if Izzy’s good with it, what harm can come of it? Izzy agrees; no one else needs to know.
Then an even bigger opportunity means that Rabin has to move away. So if the thing with Izzy was no big deal, why does it hurt when it comes to an end?

************************
© 2010 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved
He followed Izzy up the porch and into the darkened house but felt oddly reluctant to head to his room. He’d been having a good time with Izzy.
“Want a snack?” Izzy stood, just a silhouette in the entrance to the kitchen, backlit by the moonlight from the bay window.
Given an excuse, Rabin decided it was just that. “Nah. I think I’m just going to head on up to bed.” Bed. The word had a charge to it that made him look away. Even if he was feeling attraction — and that’s probably what it was, strangely enough — he wasn’t going to do anything about it. It was a weird night. One that should end before anything happened. “’Night.”
“’Night.”
Izzy didn’t move as Rabin headed up the stairs. It was a relief to walk into the darkness of the hallway. Rabin walked into his room, closed the door, and didn’t bother with a light. There was enough moonlight coming through the open window to see just fine. Besides, the chancy dark went with the feeling that he was missing something. It wasn’t even sex. It was… He shook his head, unable to come up with anything. Maybe he should head down to Brent’s studio and play for a while. Brent had told him he was welcome, and the guitar often helped him to make sense of his thoughts — or at least calm them. Yeah, do that.
But first, he needed to change. The leather pants and boots were stylish but not all that comfortable. His shirt was off, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes and socks when the knock sounded at the door. He froze.
“Rabin?”
Don’t answer. Stupid. Izzy knew he was there. “Yeah?”
Without waiting permission, Izzy opened the door, a ghostly blue figure draped in the shadows that were his loose hair and dark jeans. His shoes were gone. He stared at Rabin, expression blank, unreadable.
“What’s up?”
Izzy approached, and Rabin had to force himself to remain seated, torn between equally strong desires to stand up and flee, or stand up and reach for the smaller man.
Izzy stopped at his knees and tried a smile. Long, thick fringe mostly hid his eyes. “Thank you for tonight.”
Rabin summoned a smile back for him. Nothing out of the ordinary here, nope. “You’re welcome.”
Izzy searched his face — for what, Rabin tried not to know. “Rabin, I…”
Rabin frowned, forcing his gaze from Izzy’s. “Look, Iz, we should call it a night.” He’d stay in his room; he’d go to sleep and not go downstairs. He’d do that as soon as Izzy left.
“You’re right.” A palm cupped Rabin’s jaw. “You’re right.”
Startled by the touch, Rabin tilted his face back up. Izzy was right there, swooping down like a falcon catching a meal. Lips. Soft lips. Eager lips. Pressed against his own. At first, Rabin’s eyes stayed open in shock, but the blurred sight of Izzy’s long eyelashes caressing the soft ridges of his cheeks was too much to focus on when sensation ruled. He opened instinctively, his tongue seeking more. With a soft, happy moan, Izzy invited him in, tongue caressing tongue to coax Rabin to explore. So sweet. Rabin forgot he was kissing a guy and just concentrated on the mouth that easily melded with his. When Izzy straddled his lap, it was only natural to take hold of slim hips to pull that warm, solid body close. He fit so well, his slight weight perfect. Rabin slid one hand around back, teasing up the shirt hem to caress soft skin, encouraging gorgeous little moans he could barely hear. Fingers tightened in his hair, that little bit of pain egging him on to tilt his head and open wider. His blood heated with a fine tremor of pleasure.
Slowly, as the kiss calmed, proper brainwave function reasserted itself. Rabin opened his eyes and tilted his head back, but not far enough to lose the little nips and licks Izzy gave his lips. Rabin’s cock was rock hard and uncomfortable in the leather pants, and Izzy’s body pressed warm and willing against him didn’t help matters any. “Wait.”
Izzy didn’t stop, his fingers warm against either side of Rabin’s neck. His hips rocked forward.
Rabin dug his fingers into Izzy’s waist and turned his head. “Wait.”
“No no no.” Izzy’s breath caressed his lips, fingers tight on his skull behind his ears. “Don’t think. Please…just…” They were kissing again. God, it was fantastic. How could Izzy taste so good?
Wait. “Izzy, no. This is –”
“This is fine.” Tender kisses along his jaw. “It’s okay.”
“No. I’m not –”
“It’s fine. I promise. Just this — no promises, no expectations, I swear.” Finally dark eyes focused on his from inches away, pleading. Izzy was trembling — not a lot, but when he was pressed this close, Rabin could feel it. “I need to be close to…someone tonight. And I think you do too.”
***********************
Click here to keep up to date on Indigo Knights: Squire