Guest Blogger - Lynn Lorenz

Common Powers ~ Lynn Lorenz

First let me say, I truly love paranormal stories. I’ve been reading them since dirt was young. As a young girl, I’d been immersed in them. Not just the usual stories of childhood, but I remember watching classic horror movies and gobbling up every book I could find at the Nix Library on Carrolton Ave, in New Orleans. And although those stories were wonderful, the ones that fascinated me most were the ones about my own family. One of my novellas, coming out in October from Liquid Silver Books, is Second Moon, about a werewolf and a witch, and it’s dedicated to my mother and my grandmother, both dead, and their paranormal influence on my life.

Those two women, both gifted in non-normal ways, were open about their gifts, even while denying they were anything special. My mother did astrology charts and made predictions of the future for members of our family and her friends. I can rattle off the many ones that came true, from the sudden death of an uncle to my own marriage, but let’s just say I’ve never not believed.

As for my grandmother, her dreams told of future events. My mother and aunts would gather at every holiday and invariably told stories about Grandma’s dreams and how they’d come true. I listened to them as a child, but hadn’t really experienced them until, while on a summer vacation in Waveland, Mississippi, at a small remote fishing camp in the marshes, she woke up one morning, declared she’d had a dream and made us pack up and leave with two paid weeks left of vacation. My father was furious, but did it, swearing and fussing as he dragged our boat out of the water and back onto the trailer. We drove home to New Orleans in so a thick silence that even I knew to keep my mouth shut. Two days later, Hurricane Camille hit and the camp was wiped from the face of the earth. My dad went back to find his friends, having grown up in Biloxi, who’d stayed, but nothing was left. There were no survivors.

I can even tell you of my own experiences, with my mother and grandmother’s spirits, or of the many haunted houses I’ve been in while living in New Orleans. So, even though I believe in certain paranormal events, writing about werewolves or vampires, which I do, is different than believing in them. And I find it easier to believe in spirits, premonitions, and hauntings, than UFO’s or alien monsters.

All of that exposure led to my new series, Common Powers. I wanted to write about people, like my mom and grandma, who had a gift. Small powers, perhaps not completely developed or accepted, and how they affected the lives of the men who bore them. In Soul Bonds, Sammi has the ability to hear other’s thoughts and feel their emotions, and for lagniappe, he can direct those feelings back to his lovers, making for some truly erotic sex. He’s searching for the one guy who can hear his thoughts and he finds a soul mate in Mitchell. In Rush In The Dark, my new release, Brian has had premonitions all his life and never quite knew what to do with them, until he becomes a PI. Rush can see in the dark, and has kept it hidden, just like being gay, from everyone in his life. Their gifts can either bring them together or tear them apart. I’m already planning my next book in the series, that will be about a man with the power to heal with a touch and a police chief that needs to be touched.

As much as I love to talk about me, what I want to hear about is your experiences with the other world. Are you a believer?

Lynn's Links:

Website: http://www.lynnlorenz.com/index.htm
Loose Id page:http://www.loose-id.com/searchresult.aspx?CategoryID=402

Blog: www.georgiascrossroadscafe.blogspot.com

Sweet Flag Flash

Inspiration from Whitman's words.
Sweet Flag Flash
Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand ~ Walt Whitman

Whoever you are holding me now in hand,
Without one thing all will be useless,
I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,
I am not what you supposed, but far different.

Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive,
You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be your
sole and exclusive standard,
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting,
The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives
around you would have to be abandon'd,
Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let
go your hand from my shoulders,
Put me down and depart on your way.

Or else by stealth in some wood for trial,
Or back of a rock in the open air,
(For in any roof'd room of a house I emerge not, nor in company,
And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,)
But just possibly with you on a high hill, first watching lest any
person for miles around approach unawares,
Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea or
some quiet island,
Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you,
With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss or the new husband's kiss,
For I am the new husband and I am the comrade.

Or if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus merely touching you is enough, is best,
And thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried eternally.

But these leaves conning you con at peril,
For these leaves and me you will not understand,
They will elude you at first and still more afterward, I will
certainly elude you.
Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold!
Already you see I have escaped from you.

For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book,
Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it,
Nor do those know me best who admire me and vauntingly praise me,
Nor will the candidates for my love (unless at most a very few)
prove victorious,
Nor will my poems do good only, they will do just as much evil,
perhaps more,
For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times
and not hit, that which I hinted at;
Therefore release me and depart on your way.

K.Z. Snow blogging this Wednesday

KZ Snow takes a new look on the HEA ending on August 27th. Sometimes it takes more than two to tango!

Guest Blogging this August 20th ~ Josh Lanyon

Joining us this Wednesday is fellow Loose Id and ManLoveRomance Press author, Josh Lanyon.
Josh has established himself as one of the best known and best loved authors of m/m fiction. Heck, he even has admirers called "fanyons"!
You have to know you've hit the big time when your fans have a name for themselves! ;~D
Make sure to drop in and leave a comment or two!

Kiernan Kelly ~ Sex and Laughter

Kiernan Kelly is a prolific author with her own unique twist to her writing.

Enjoy!

A Brief Introduction

I'd first like to thank Jeanne for the opportunity to participate on the Sweet Flag blog! That said, I suppose I should introduce myself.

My name is Kiernan Kelly, and I primarily write gay romance, having been published for the first time over three years ago. I haven't stopped since, and continue to work with several different publishers.

At the present, I have four full novels available, a contemporary romance, Riding Heartbreak Road, two historical romances, In Bear Country, and its sequel, The Barbary Coast, and a paranormal, Seti's Heart. In addition, I have a plethora of short stories and novellas available from Torquere Press, Starbooks Press, Cleis Press, Aspen Mountain Press, Coscom Press, and coming soon, MLR Press, the titles of which can be found at my website, www.KiernanKelly.com.

Inspiration comes from everywhere, at any time. I've been given inspiration from my husband (who gave me the idea for a mummy in Seti's Heart), my kids, my friends, the strange-looking man at the carwash, the front page headlines of a newspaper – even a single word or phrase can catch my attention and send my imagination spiraling out of control.

Although I've written in nearly every genre, from contemporary to shapeshifters, vampires to angels and demons, I seem to have garnered a reputation for extremely odd situations and characters, usually written with a clear tongue-in-cheek flavor. For example, I wrote a short story about a satyr (Satyr-Day Night Fever) who was a porn star and who fell in love with the film's straight assistant director. I had a recent flash fiction piece included for release in Bits of the Dead, which starred a zombie goldfish named Cletus.

Curses are often a common theme in my stories. I've written cursed fairies (Fionn of the Fae series), cursed Egyptian kings (Seti's Heart), and cursed Vikings (A-Viking) and cursed just-about-everything-else. In addition, I've written holiday-themed shorts where I turned Jack Frost into Santa's lover (Just a Touch of Frost), and had Kris Kringle working as a detective in New York investigating a serial killer (The Naughty List).

I've written superheroes whose weakness was having an orgasm a the most inconvenient times(A Dirty Job, in the Unmasked: Erotic Tales of Gay Superheroes), miners doing the horizontal hula six hundred feet underground (Sandhogs, in the anthology Hard Hats), and have even delved into military BDSM (Take it Like a Marine, in the anthology Don't Ask, Don't Tie Me Up).

I'm not entirely sure of why I pick such peculiar themes, except to say that not only do I find the strange and bizarre fascinating, I also have the attention span of a gnat. I couldn't stick to a genre without a hefty dollop of super glue.

Truthfully, as a reader, I've always enjoyed reading diverse subject matter. I love horror, romance, historicals, sci-fi, and fantasy. Everything from Stephen King to JRR Tolkien has found its way to my bookshelf, so I never felt the inclination to stay within one theme when writing.

Humor feels almost as good as sex to me, so it's only natural for me to combine the two often in my writings. Some folks don't believe there's room for humor in erotic romance, but I respectfully disagree. I'm human - I like to laugh, I like to have sex, and sometimes I like to do both at the same time. J

Musical Period Pieces

When I researched The Sweet Flag I often fell back on my knowledge of and training in music. The music mentioned in the story were not only time appropriate, but were selected to subtly reinforce the themes of the story.
Set up: Jacques Offenbach was of German-Jewish origin and one of the most feted composers of operettas during the 1850s and 60s. I was fortunate to perform in his last great opera, The Tales of Hoffmann. The farce mentioned in this excerpt is one of Offenbach's most well-known works, Orpheus in the Underworld, with libretto by Ludovic Halévy, librettist of the opera, Carmen. In this first excerpt, Ron tells Brandon of what transpired when Clermont, deMonde's former lover, brings news of the new operetta to Matthew and deMonde.
First Excerpt:
“One day, Clermont brought the latest rumor to them. He always knew what was going on in the musical community and shared every bit of gossip. He had great news. Offenbach was mounting a new production. A madcap retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice. Matthew and deMonde greeted his information with mixed feelings, both of them recalling the night they’d met, when Matthew compared deMonde’s voice to Orpheus.” Ron paused. “Was it fate that this farce should drive a wedge between them?
“The next time he visited, Clermont brought the sheet music with him. They went through the parts, singing the female roles in falsetto and bringing Matthew to tears of laughter. But when they sang the male arias, he quieted. The vocal part of Jupiter was for a baritone. It was perfect for deMonde’s voice. Clermont noticed how quiet Matthew had become while deMonde read the music and damned himself for a fool. He loved the two of them, had not one jealous bone in his body. He wished them to remain as they were ‑‑ the epitome of romantic love in his eyes. And now, he had become the snake in their little Garden of Eden.”
I butted in. “And they knew this how?”
Ron sighed. “Wait. You’ll see later.” He sipped some more of the tonic and leaned back against the couch, sliding closer to me and playing with my hand. He brought my palm to his mouth, and I waited for his kiss.

Showboat
When I needed a dramatic piece of music supposedly performed by deMonde, I chose to use the musical/operetta written by Jerome Kern for several reasons. First and foremost was the music, of course. Considered by many to be among the most powerful and the first true piece of American musical theater, Showboat shocked many contemporary audiences in 1927, because of the story's non-too subtle message against prejudice. The character of Julie La Verne is a mulatto passing as white, illegally married to a white man. When they are about to be arrested for the crime of miscegenation, he cuts her hand and swallows some of her blood, thus giving him one drop of "colored" blood, making him a mulatto, too. How could I not select this musical? As a personal note, all the talented people involved with this work - the book, the music, the libretto, even the producer - were all Jewish.
Set up:
While Brandon waits for Ron to prepare some food, Ron puts on a special recording for Brandon to listen to.
Second Excerpt:
“Don’t strain yourself, mon ami. The key is not there. If you’re looking for a way out, try the front door.”
Shit, that bastard moved like a ghost.
I turned around and faced him. Like myself, he was barefoot and shirtless. His jeans were still unbuttoned, and the fly partially zipped. He shook his head, zipped up his fly, and buttoned his jeans while I stammered like a choirboy caught sucking the choirmaster’s cock.
“I was looking for some food. There’s bloody nothing to eat in the fridge.”
He laughed without mirth.
“And so you thought to find something in the desk or the basement?”
He’d seen me from the minute I’d gone back into the parlor.
Why the hell hadn’t I seen him?
“Silent?” He shook his head and tsked. “If you had checked the cupboards more carefully, you would have found tuna fish and instant coffee. In the freezer are some steaks.” He sighed. “I haven’t had a chance to shop for a while.”
I didn’t buy his explanation ‑‑ who could resist cooking in a kitchen like that? ‑‑ but I couldn’t think of a better one. I wondered if tuna, coffee, and steak would be the only things I’d find if I looked.
“I’ll open the tuna, and you can have some with bread. I’ll put the kettle on for the coffee. I’m sorry I have no milk. The last of it turned sour, and I dumped it.” He went over to the antique Victrola and unlocked the cabinet, chose a recording, and placed it on the turntable. “While I prepare the food, why don’t you sit back and enjoy some music.” He stood there for a moment, his eyes shut, listening in delight, then opened his eyes and walked without another word into the kitchen.
The tinny sound couldn’t completely disguise the quality of the baritone voice issuing from the speaker.
I recognized the song ‑‑ Jerome Kern’s “Old Man River” from Showboat. A former lover had been a dinner theater waiter. Three months of heartburn and four operettas and musicals, but I did develop an interest in classic American shows. The period of history in which Showboat was set was fascinating, and the story was a cut above anything before it.
I recognized incredible singing when I heard it. The performance was done as a solo with piano and included an introduction and arrangement I’d never heard before. The recording came to an end, and I went over and lifted the needle from the record while the disk continued to revolve silently.
“Did you enjoy the song?” Ron’s voice drifted back to me. I heard the kettle whistle, and then he came into the room, carrying a tray with the tuna fish artfully arranged on a bed of lettuce on a china plate, a chunk of bread, some butter, the carafe of amber liquid and a glass. The copper kettle sat on a trivet with a jar of instant coffee and a single mug. He set the tray down on the hassock and gestured for me to join him. He poured a glass of tonic for himself and sipped it before speaking again.
“You didn’t answer me. Did you like the performance?”
“The guy has a great voice. Who’s the singer? There was no label on the record. I’ve only heard modern recordings of the show.”
“DeMonde.”
“Yeah, right. Do you think I’m an idiot? Showboat was written in the nineteen twenties, assuming deMonde was still alive, he would have been in his nineties!”
Ron laughed. “Of course he would have been in his nineties. I just wanted to tease you. Eat.” He leered and twirled an imaginary handlebar mustache. “You’ll need the strength when I have my wicked way with you.”
“Join me, m’dear,” I retorted in my best imitation of Snidely Whiplash. “We’ll both need all our strength.”
But he didn’t join me. He watched me eat and urged me to share his drink with him, holding the glass to my mouth and doling out the liquid between the two of us. And when the glass was empty, he set it aside, leaned back against the arm of the couch, and watched me expectantly as my eyes traveled the length of his body.
The dark swirl of hair on his chest arrowed to his waistband, and I knew exactly where it led.
He narrowed his gaze while I reached out and unbuttoned the jeans’ brass fastener and pulled down his fly. His penis nestled in the dark curls, thick and heavy and already semi-erect.
“What are you waiting for? I can smell your arousal.” His voice was calm.
It pissed me off until I dragged my eyes from his erection and looked up at his face. His nostrils flared, and his mouth was a slash in his face.
I smiled.
“I can’t smell yours. I’ll have to get closer.”
I lowered my face until my breath moved the fine curls of his bush. Taking my time, I licked him from base to tip.
He groaned.
I spread his pants open wider, and he lifted up as I pulled the denim down below his buttocks, leaving his legs restrained. His dick was hard; a drop of precum glistened on the crown. My mouth still hovered by his groin as I breathed in his scent. He’d moved his legs until they were half off the couch, his knees nudging mine, and I could feel them trembling ‑‑ my knees and his.
“What are you waiting for? Merde, what are you waiting for?” There was desperation and need in his voice.
Just what I was waiting for.

JM Snyder :: Other speculative fiction

Other speculative fiction
When Jeanne first asked me to participate at her blog, I didn't think I would have much to contribute because I don't consider myself an author of paranormal stories. However, I do write a lot of speculative fiction. My first stories with most all of my publishers were spec fic:

• Operation Starseed (iUniverse) is a sci-fi novel in which a team of star-mappers discover a lost colony ship.

• Trin (Aspen Mountain Press) is set in a dystopic future where one young man longs to meet the run-gunner of his dreams.

• Persistence of Memory (Amber Allure Press), also set in a dystopic future, has one man scrambling to recover memories the government took away.

• World Enough and Time (Torquere Press), again with the dystopic future, only this time the world is on the brink of destruction.

Sense a theme?

Seriously though, I have more spec fic in my resume than most authors who also write contemporary fiction. There's a story about merrows, which are Celtic mermaids (in my case, mermen), a tale about a man who uses virtual reality to create a lover more real than he knows, and a whole series about Vic and Matt, my 'superhero' characters, whose lovemaking imbues Vic with comic book powers. The positions in which they have sex help determine which powers Vic will get. I'm finishing up a 12-part series with these characters, entitled The Positions of Love, and a paperback collection of all twelve stories should be released in December (Amber Allure Press).

For more information on all my writing, please visit my website at http://jmsnyder.net. There are free stories and book excerpts for you to enjoy. I also have a separate page set up for Vic and Matt, at http://www.vic-and-matt.com.

Thank you, Jeanne, for having me here! And thank you everyone who commented! E-mail me at jms@jmsnyder.net for a prize :)

Werecats and the American Civil War

Introduction
I am J.M. Snyder, author of gay erotic/romantic fiction. I began self-publishing with iUniverse in 2002 and while I still enjoy the amount of control I retain when publishing my own books (which I do infrequently through Lulu Press), I now work with Amber Allure, Aspen Mountain, and Torquere Presses. My short fiction has appeared online at Ruthie's Club, Tit-Elation, and Amazon Shorts, as well as in anthologies released by Aspen Mountain Press, Cleis Press, and Alyson Books.

I will keep this post at the top of the page while I'm chatting here. Scroll down to read the latest entries!

Between States
Today I'd like to talk a bit about my e-book series, Between States, which is about shapeshifters. Currently there are two stories available in the series: Under a Confederate Moon and Beneath a Yankee Sky, both published by Amber Allure Press.

If the titles of the first two don't clue you in, the stories are set during the American Civil War. Caleb Chilson is a soldier in the Confederate army (for those who may not know, that means he fights for the South). Brance Brenneman is a Union soldier, fighting for the North. Once a month for a few days while the moon is full, they shift into bobcats and spend their nights hunting in the woods. By morning, they return to human form and rejoin their respective armies.

In the first book, Under a Confederate Moon, told from Caleb's point of view, the two meet in shifted form. Brance is wounded, and Caleb has never met another like himself. After assisting the older bobcat with his injury, Caleb refuses to leave him, though when morning comes, he realizes they fight on opposing sides. When he returns to his unit, Caleb is brought before his commanding officer on charges of desertion. To save himself, he blurts out the location of the Yankee camp. Fighting ensues, and Caleb must decide what matters more to him ~ the war raging between humans or the undeniable attraction he feels for a fellow shifter.

In the second book, Beneath a Yankee Sky, readers get an inside look at the elusive Brance. The son of an Amish preacher, Brance knew the simple life on a Pennsylvanian farm wasn't for him and he left home at an early age. By the time this story opens, he and Caleb have deserted the War Between the States, choosing to forge their own path together. However, trappers in the woods threaten their safety, and when the hunters see the two shift into bobcat form, Brance knows they're in trouble. A cleverly placed trap snares Caleb, and Brance must fight to protect the life ~ and the man ~ he's come to love.

Coming up
Later this fall, a third story will be released, entitled A More Perfect Union, and in early January 2009, a paperback collection of all three stories will be available, entitled Between States. Both will be published by Amber Allure Press.

Thanks for taking the time to read my posts, and thank you, Jeanne, for having me here today! I'll post two excerpts later in the day, one from each book in the Between States series, and will be giving away a copy of both e-books to one lucky winner who comments on any of my entries.

JM Snyder :: Under a Confederate Moon

Book 1 of the Between States series

Bitten as a teen, Caleb now suffers through a painful transformation from human to bobcat a few days each month. As a bobcat, he leaves behind his camp and fellow soldiers to explore the night. But a gunshot and the bright scent of fresh blood draws him to a clearing where he learns that he isn't the only one of his kind.

Wounded and hurt, Brance is a loner by nature, gruff and grumbling, who doesn't want anything to do with Caleb ... at first. The younger bobcat prevails, and starts to win Brance over, until they turn human again and find themselves on opposite sides of the American Civil War.

Publisher: Amber Quill Press (July 2007)
ISBN: 978-1-60272-075-6

Excerpt

The scent of man enveloped him. Each tree he sniffed, each branch, each bush, carried the smell of humans and their artillery. Dried blood and disease mingled with the smell, painful scents Caleb didn't like. The shirt on his back only confused his sense of smell, but once the camp was behind him, he took a moment to wiggle out of the torn material. He sniffed it, curious, then left it among the leaves as he hurried away, the growl still tickling the back of his throat. The sound warned anything away from his vicinity, and helped keep his mind off his churning stomach, or the bloodlust that filled his veins.

On four padded feet, Caleb crept through the forest as silently as a house cat stalking its prey. He hunted half-heartedly, not quite ready to sate his appetite and call it a night. At some point he scared up a large hare, coming onto it from downwind, but the creature caught his scent moments before he pounced and darted just beyond his powerful jaws to disappear into a hole too narrow and deep to dig in for long. Abandoning the prey, Caleb kept moving, always keeping the men and their smoke-filled camp at his back. He heard no more gunshots, and felt no urgency to hurry through the night.

Around him, the woods were alive in a way the human in him would never see. Small rodents raced over the forest floor, skittering through the moss and lichen, raising whiffs of fresh meat in their wake. Occasionally one would catch Caleb's attention and he'd give chase, toying with the frightened mouse until it disappeared into a crevice of tree roots too small for his paw to fit through. He caught a couple, nothing large, and let each one go after playing a bit. He wanted something larger, something worth the effort of a kill. Something ...

Off in the distance, along in the direction he was heading, he heard a gunshot. He stopped, ears trained on the sound, his whole body rigid and tense. Men, he thought, the word anathema to him in his current state. He waited for another sound, a second shot maybe, or raucous laughter in the night, but nothing seemed to follow. The tip of his tail twitched, waiting.

Then a volley of shots rang out, three, maybe four, all at once. Caleb dropped into a crouch and heard a wounded yelp cry out, a primal sound that tugged at his instinct. Another cat, he knew—a large one, by the sound of it. That damned growl of his started up again, and he sniffed the air, trying to smell powder or blood, but nothing came to him on the wind.

Could be Yanks, the still-human part of his mind whispered. Sensing an unprecedented opportunity, Caleb sat down on his haunches and licked one forepaw as he mulled over his options. Race ahead, get shot like the other cat. Or no, sneak in and sneak out, but learn enough of the enemy camp to bring back to his commanding officer in the morning. Major Pennock would want to know how he came about the information, but if they ambushed the Yanks, would it matter how he knew?

With a decisive flick of his tail, Caleb leapt away. On strong legs, with sure strides, he ran through the forest, dodging undergrowth, vaulting over fallen logs and large stones, climbing low trees to jump from their quivering branches when it suited him. The wind raced him, whipping around his ears and flaring his nostrils. His fangs were bared to the night, allowing him to catch the faintest of odors. Before long he found the scent of man again, and gun smoke, and blood.

He skidded to a halt. Like a knife, the blood pierced his mind and stirred his senses. Nosing around, he found a drop of dark lifeblood on a deadfall, still warm. His tongue licked out, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. A heavy scent like wet fur clung to the wood. Picking his way carefully over the rotten limbs, Caleb climbed the deadfall and, on the other side of the forest floor, found another bright patch of blood, a clump of fur clinging stubbornly to the edges of a paw print. Another bobcat, just as he'd thought. Wounded.

He wouldn't get far.

With his animal senses, Caleb could easily discern the cat's path through the woods -- here the grass bent in a certain direction, there a few branches were snapped as if pointing the way. Caleb padded on, cautious. Every now and then he paused to sniff around. The trail led to a thicket of tall grass, tamped down in the center. As Caleb approached, he heard a low growl issue from the grass in warning.

He sat back. Cocked his head to one side. Ventured another step and received a breathy hiss as a reward. In the darkness he could see two golden cat's eyes staring back at him. A guttural voice spoke in his mind. Another step and you die.

Under a Confederate Moon
E-Book Price: $4.00
Buy from Amber Quill • Buy from Fictionwise

JM Snyder :: Beneath a Yankee Sky

Book 2 of the Between States series

Brance Brenneman is used to harsh conditions -- the eldest son of a stern Amish preacher, Brance was bit by a werecat as a young boy, and managed to keep his secret from his family until he was old enough to leave them and their religion behind. Years later, when the nation is divided by the American Civil War, Brance finds himself enlisted in the Union army. By sheer chance, he meets Caleb Chilson, a Confederate soldier who bears his same shapeshifting burden.

Together they leave the war behind to forge a new life in the wilderness of Pennsylvania. But trappers near their camp are hunting bobcats, and they don't much care if Brance and Caleb are only in the fur part of the time. Brance finds his peaceful existence shattered, and he has to fight to defend the life -- and the bobcat, the man -- he's come to love.

Publisher: Amber Quill Press (September 2007)
ISBN: 978-1-60272-027-5

Excerpt

Caleb nodded against Brance's back and stood, then leaned down to whisper, "I still want that fuck."

"Later," Brance conceded.

Behind him Caleb stretched again. Brance risked a quick glance up and saw a glorious sight -- his lover's balls nestled in fuzzy hair, and the tip of his dick pointing down at Brance like a single sightless eye winking in temptation. If it weren't so late, and the change so imminent ... if only they had world enough and time ...

A foot nudged the small of Brance's back. "I see you looking," Caleb said again. "Two minutes, I'm telling you ..."

Sudden discomfort flickered across Caleb's face as one hand clutched his lower belly. "God," he gasped, a look of sickness on his young face. Turning on his heel, he raced for a low thicket nearby. Brance heard him retch as he disappeared into the underbrush.

It was nothing more than the moon on the rise but when Caleb cried out in pain, Brance stood and half-turned to follow his lover into the trees before a cramp in his own stomach doubled him over. Clutching his abdomen, Brance fell, breathless, to the ground. His skin began to burn, as if flames lapped his body -- pain slashed through him, radiating from his belly up through his chest, shooting down both legs, crippling his arms. In the cataclysm of change, his joints popped as his bones crunched down, reshaping themselves into a familiar feline form. Burnished hair erupted over the back of his hands, along his legs. As he writhed on the ground, his fingers fumbled to unbutton his shirt. His breath came hoarse and close, ragged to his own ears. Over the sound he heard the brook muttering to itself and, beyond that, Caleb's quiet sobs.

With nerveless fingers, Brance managed to extract himself from the shirt. His hands changed as he struggled to undress -- his nails lengthening, curving, sharpening; his fingers retreating into padded paws. The last vestiges of humanity fell away as he kicked off his underpants -- the legs that slipped from the shorts drew up to Brance's body, feet dissolving into paws, ankles straightening, knees bending back as his thighs reformed into haunches.

Around him, the night came alive with sights and smells and sounds the human he had been could not appreciate. Brance lay on his side, panting, as he allowed himself to remember the feel of this body, its weight and power, the strength now flowing through his veins. The thrashing in Caleb's thicket had stopped, as well. The stench of man filled the clearing but Brance recognized it as his own scent, mingled so heavily with his lover's that the two became one.

A sudden roar split the night. It flashed like lightning through Brance, igniting his blood. As he rolled into a sitting position, the trees nearby shook -- he watched a bobcat trot from the thicket, amber eyes trained on Brance's face. Before he could react, the cat came right for him without hesitation. Its cold nose wrinkled as it sniffed over Brance's forehead -- he closed his eyes, waiting.

Then a choppy purr filled the night air, and the bobcat butted its head against Brance's. What about now? the other cat mused. It turned, raising its short tail into the air to expose its anus. A heady scent blossomed between them, a randy, wild smell that eclipsed all others and made Brance's claws knead the soft dirt beneath him, eager. Caleb's voice spoke into Brance's feline brain. Will you fuck me now?

Beneath a Yankee Sky
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JM Snyder :: Why Bobcats?

Why bobcats?
The most common question I get about my Between States series is, why bobcats? My tongue-in-cheek response is, why not?

The first thought that comes to mind when you say 'shapeshifter' is werewolf and, in my opinion, they're just a little overdone. I've written the obligatory werewolf story myself (it's entitled "One of Us" and appears in my short story collection, Shorts), but when I first came up with the idea for the Between States stories, I wanted something different. Something that would stand out. The first story was written with the original intention of submitting it to shifter anthology (which I decided against, in the end), and I knew every other story in the slush pile would be werewolves. I needed something all my own.

To be honest, I'm not much of a dog person and have never been "into" wolves. I have, however, always been owned by at least one cat (at the moment, two very spoiled kitties take care of me, Jelly and Jono, who have shared my life for the past twelve years). I know feline behavior intimately ~ I'm the first person called whenever a cat expert is needed among my family and friends. I know the way they act, the way they play, the way they move ... I know their purr, their meow, their walk. The flick of their tail when they're pissed, the flattening of their ears when they're mad, the head bump and rub when they're pleased.

In short, I know cats. And if I wanted my characters to feel real to the reader, in both human and shifted form, then I would need to play on my strengths and write what I know. You always hear that, "Write what you know," from writing instructors and books and magazines, and I've heard a lot of argument from people who write spec fic (fantasy, sci-fi, horror) who say they can't write what they know because magic doesn't exist, or elves aren't real, or vampires are only works of fiction. Maybe so, but there are elements you do know, which you can write about with authority, and which will make your writing stronger and your story believable. In my case, here, I wrote about cats.

I picked bobcats for several reasons. One, they're felines, of course. Two, they're very prevalent in the United States, specifically in the woods of the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania, where these stories take place. They're also known as lynxes, FYI. And finally, a full-grown bobcat can be large enough to shift back into a human.

This last point was very important to me. Some authors of shapeshifting fiction don't think about the logistics of shifting. A human has a certain amount of body mass which just doesn't disappear if/when they shift into another form. Or rather, wouldn't, assuming this were something that could really happen. All the bones, the muscles, the sheer weight of a human male has to go somewhere, don't you think? To me, a bobcat solved that problem nicely, being a creature which could conceivably contain that body mass without looking grotesquely over-sized for its species.

Maybe I'm too anal in my approach, but even with spec fic, I like it to ring true.

Authors who run with Wolves

Wolves have a way of appearing in my stories. In one incomplete fantasy novel I write: “…she saw Lord Blunt approaching. His small stature was more evident in the growing crowd, but so was his menacing grace as the crowd parted naturally before him like deer making way for a sauntering wolf.”

In another folder I have fragments of non-fiction articles about old myths where the werewolf is a hero, modern wolf totemism and our changing attitudes towards wolves: “Try to keep an open mind because you do not choose your totem, you discover an affinity that already exists for both parties. If your totem is the sheep she may be offended if you have fixed your vain heart upon the wolf.”

In a dusty folder of fan fiction I find this, from some Sherlock Holmes/Dracula slash: “It was almost as if his memories were brought to life when he heard the soft strains of a violin muted, but clear, in the darkness … The song called out like his soul's voice in its isolation and loneliness. Crying not in desperation, but in resignation to a long and loveless fate. Like a wolf howling in the wilderness, not expecting to be heard.”

Where wolves are not found their parts may still appear: “She met two sets of startled eyes. Two male bodies lay intertwined with a blanket made from wolf pelts draped about them. One lay beneath, upon his back with long dark hair in disarray, the other stooped over him, one leg pushed forward with knee bent, his hair in braids seemed lighter and was woven with pierced coins that glinted by the light of a low fire.”

One of my short stories is available online here. The Wolf’s Forfeit of the title is the only wolf that appears in this story, but I wonder how many people work out what I mean by it. And I recently posted my short story Father Winter on my blog —a few wolves in that one too.... ;)

And of course there are my M/M werewolf books at Loose Id (Eclipse of the Heart, Wildest Dreams), at Torquere (Son of a Bitch) and my latest at Samhain: Wolfkin. Wolfkin is partly the result of my New Year’s resolution, to write a book featuring wolves, and donate the royalties to a charity so that the wolves can benefit a little from my writing—although it could never really match the way my writing benefits from the wolves. Full royalties from this title go to Wolf Mountain Sanctuary.



As a final word, one of my few--and probably ill-advised--sojourns into poetry:

The Riddle of the Arrow

The ascent of our so-called love was rapid;
I thought the line between us a bond,
then realised it was an asymptote.
I would love you more and more forever,
but never reach you, quite.

Like in the new zoos
where you cannot see the subtle bars,
yet cannot walk up to the animals.

You wander unmoved by me
as distantly vivid, as dangerous
as the wolf, as our unbridgable proximity
to the unpolluted idea of love.
That tiny and absolute difference
between perfect love, and no love at all.

That is the riddle of the arrow:
The distance between archer and target,
halved and halved again but never had...
love will always fall short.

Coming this Wednesday ~ Emily Veinglory

Where to begin?
Emily Veinglory's imagination cannot be fenced in. She has a wonderful post for The Sweet Flag Blog this Wednesday.
The subject is a favorite of paranormal readers and writers, but of course, Emily puts her own special twist on the familiar!
Join us on Wendesday, July 30th when we wave the flag!

Kayelle's Tales of the Chosen - Jawk

Some of you are wondering why the series was called Tales of the Chosen. Here's what Chosen means:

CHOSEN

Called to serve

Honored to protect

Obedient to the vow

Safeguards of the truth

Enablers of life

Neutralizers of threats

They protect immortals who must sometimes move suddenly, even during the middle of the night. Unknown to some of the immortal Sempervians, the Chosen keep Chronicles which are handed down, generation after generation, sometimes male to female, and vice versa. When needed, the info on their Sempervian is appended to the end of another Chosen's set of Chronicles. One Chosen usually serves one immortal -- but not always.

Laura Givens also did this cover - and there's a story behind it. For a high def picture, go the file section of my yahoo group, Romance Lives Forever. You can download it and see every detail.

For example, Jawk is in the foreground wearing a tux and has a white towel across his arm. This scene takes place on his second day at Batchelors, a hip gay nightclub in the Top Tier section of Tarth City. He's the first Kin they've ever hired. Feline, with claws hidden beneath human nails, he also has a Kin nose, a fairly cat-like mouth and cat's ears. His pupils are vertical slits and the various movements of his ears give away emotions. Straight back means trouble, forward is curiosity, and drooping sideways means shame or embarrassment. One forward, one back is like a human raising one eyebrow. Their ears move individually and Kin can also speak to each other (esp females) without humans hearing them. It's handy for warriors on hunts, but since 99% of all warriors are female, few males ever learn the trick.

In the background, Luc Saint-Cyr is seated at a booth and Wulf (in the purple) is leaning against him, trying to soothe Luc's jealousy over his time with others. They've been together 5 years, and he trusts Wulf, but Luc's jealousy is dividing them more and more. On the other hand, it's not uncommon for Luc to bring home a third male to pleasure Wulf while Luc watches. He then likes to punish him for enjoying it -- it's one of their kinky sex games. Jawk will be visiting with them after work tonight.

In the far background, there is a veiled man. Who is he? Remember the burka-like "veil" all Betters were required to wear in Alitus?
Just who he is will be the subject of quite a bit of research on the part of Empress Destoiya, who sets Alitus on the path of helping Luc find out where Wulf is spending his free time. As the newly appointed Minister of Imperial Intelligence, Alitus has access to idBot security cams all over the city, and his fond remembrances of meeting Wulf tempt him to take full advantage.

Who is watching who do what? Luc is watching Wulf, Alitus is watching Wulf, and Jawk is watching Luc. But for whom? Each man has his own agenda.
Do any of them coincide? Here's the blurb:

===

Jawk, Tales of the Chosen
Pleasure. Trust. Possession. Is a betrayal of the heart forever?

Jawk Brighton works at Batchelors, a hip restaurant/club in the Top Tier district of Tarth City, where he meets the immortal Luc Saint-Cyr. When Luc offers Jawk a deal too good to pass up, one night showing him and his Chosen, Wulf Gabriel, a good time in exchange for eight times his usual pay, Jawk takes it. All three have secret agendas. The question is, will Jawk's keep him in Luc and Wulf’s shared bed, or tear apart the alliance of the immortal and his Chosen -- forever?

Content: M/M sex, M/M/M sex, voyeurism, multiple partners, alien sex, more M/M sex - and a heated and softly padded dungeon floor for those "tender" moments...

Kayelle's Tales of the Chosen - Alitus

Alitus, Tales of the Chosen
Passion. Addiction. Loyalty. Can true love bare its heart forever?

Alitus Vivaldi is a Better, an enhanced human. He moves from the Conqueror's favorite pleasure slave to her personal assistant by learning the key to her heart is passion, love, and loyalty. When political upheaval forces the Conqueror to strip her favorite of his freedom and rights, Alitus forsakes his identity and pride, surrendering himself to his darkest fears. But will what he becomes save the Tarthian Empire and its Conqueror, or rock them both to their crumbling core?

===

In some ways, this is my favorite Chosen book. Luc is featured in books 1 and 3, and only has a small part in this one, but Alitus touches on so many secrets that it's almost impossible to understand the rest of the series without this one. Although it is rated as GLBT, there is one very minor lesbian scene, and a few scenes of the two immortal women (Rheyn Destoiya, the Empress - pictured, and Erryq, another immortal who is a shapechanger) sharing the beautiful blond Alitus. He's more than up for the task, but before this point, he has only been Rheyn's lover.

Protecting him when his parents were killed in a security operation gone bad, she came across the older teen being held down by several of her hulking Praetorian guards, about to be raped. She bid Alitus come to her and helped him gather his ripped clothing around him, covering him with her own cape. She then went out to speak to the near-rioting crowd and vowed that none of her troops who mistreated residents of the world would go unpunished. She forced all 5 Praetorian to their knees and summarily shot them in rapid succession. It quelled the riots immediately.

Alitus, she sent off to be educated properly in another of her strongholds, and when he turned 18 had him brought to her. She seduced him and he has been her favorite ever since. However, because he is a Better, a generation of genetically enhanced humans, his pheromones affect her. Those outside her protective circle of loyal Praetorian and cabinet call him Destoiya's Dog. His loyalty is abosolute. So is his love for her. There is no artifice in Alitus. He doesn't serve in order to gain. His nobility and loyalty endear him to her.

However, changes in the empire are bringing out the fear of Betters - whose pheromones can kill without a touch. The empress succumbs to the wishes of her Parliament and orders all Betters to be veiled in a burka-like garment to prevent their pheromones from escaping. Pride set aside, Alitus obeys, but not without making it public that he hopes to see a day when true freedom will be granted to all citizens once again.

The Empress considers whether to make him her Chosen, something she has avoided for four hundred years (since her previous one died protecting her). To qualify, the leader of the Sempervian immortals decrees he must pass a test, facing his most intimate fear. He must have sex with a male.

The empress trusts Luc, her dearest friend and fellow immortal, and Luc's Chosen, Wulf, is presented with the task. Will Alitus balk, submit, or embrace the sexual act in a way none of the Sempervians ever foresaw?

For excerpts, buy links, and a better image (full size), go to my books section.

When I return from an appt later this afternoon, I'll post the last trilogy info, and give you a sneek peek of the manuscript I just submitted elsewhere (and was asked for a full just yesterday).

I'll aso have a free gift for everyone who posts a comment to any of these blogs! The only requirement is to post, and then email me.

Off to the appt - Thanks Jeanne. Hugs! See you all in a few hours.

Guest Blogger - Kayelle Allen

Jeanne has sweetly invited me to post on her blog -- I immediately accepted, since she's so faithful to come and hang on my Yahoo group, Romance Lives Forever. She suggested I tell you a bit about my Tales of Chosen series, which is GLBT Romance.

Someone asked me last night if I had to assign a rating for this series, what would it be. I said R for the sex, and X for the really good sex. In other words, Rx - just what the doctor ordered.

First up is Wulf - This is an interracial love story in more ways than one. The gorgeous deep brown color of Luc's skin appeals to Wulf on many levels - and because Luc is immortal, Wulf has known him since he was a child. Wulf's father was Luc's "Chosen" a human whom Luc trusted with as many of his secrets as he could. If an immortal (they call themselves Sempervians) had to flee because humans discovered what he was, his Chosen would let another Chosen in his new area know what to expect and what his particular needs might be. Wulf is the sixth generation of his family to serve as Luc's Chosen. Only rarely are the Chosen lovers -- most often they are companions and trusted friends. But Luc has fallen deeply in love with Wulf, and wants to win his heart and make him not only his Chosen, but also his lover.

However, the story doesn't start out with the two men already in a relationship. Two decades of bad blood separated them. Wulf's father was killed twenty years before, when Wulf was ten, and he has blamed Luc ever since. How they overcome that barrier - Luc's guilt at not being able to protect them, and Wulf's for knowing deep in his heart that it was not Luc's fault yet blaming him anyway in anger -- that is the true romance of the story.

The cover is by Laura Givens, who ended up being a character in the last book of the series. More on that later.

Here's more info on Wulf. Excerpts and buy links are available on my site. You'll also find much larger pictures of the cover so you can see more detail.

Wulf, Tales of the Chosen

Lust. Power. Forgiveness. Can a romance live forever?

To survive, superstar Wulf Gabriel must depend on the one man he swore he would never trust again - the most powerful and feared man in the empire - the Harbinger. Saving Wulf is simple; gaining his trust will take reaching into the Harbinger's own dark past and facing a truth he's avoided since the night Wulf's father died. Because of him...

This book was nominated for 2007 Gaylactic Spectrum Award

OT, maybe Cat shapeshifters

We rescued three kittens on our June 27th anniversary. Two are brother and sister littermates, one is a red and white bobtail mix. Watching them and getting to know their individual personalities has offered us hours of entertainment.
And naturally, I've been thinking about writing a cat shapeshifting story.
I've found three brief references to Celtic cat myths and one of them may just be the one I'm looking for.
So many stories, so little time!

Why a new Blog - this one's for the guys!

Because I've started in a new direction with my writing. Now that I've written my first m/m romance, I wanted to create a special place for my new obsession.
So, from this point on, news, interviews, reviews, trivia, excerpts referring to gay romances in any genre or genres and news relating to this interest will be posted here.
I hope that this Blog will be an interactive one.
I'm looking forward to sharing!