Guest Blogger - Ethan Day

First, I must give credit where credit is due, to the list of interview questions for Ethan. All but one was swiped from MLR Press's Authors Blog. Ethan is such a fun guy and these questions are so much fun, I felt they were a perfect mix. So, thanks go to Alex Beecroft for posting them on our MLR Blog and I hope you'll enjoy sharing in Ethan's exuberance!

Ethan is a fellow Loose Id author and has had his first book, Self Preservation, published this year. His next book, Dreaming of You, comes out this May. It's also, as Ethan says, "a romance that’s bent with my style of humor."
So, here's.....Ethan!

How does your hair look currently?
In desperate need of a cut! My hair has gotten way too long and completely outta control.
What’s new in your life right now?
This whole authory thing is really new and thus far been a lot of fun. I love to write and I’m just super psyched and grateful anyone wants to read it.
How many colors are you wearing now?
All the colors of the rainbow! : )
Who was your first major crush and what was the fantasy date/scene you wanted to be with him?
Well let’s see…there was the boyhood crushes, Sean Cassidy & Parker Stevenson from the Hardy Boys series, Kristy McNichol (my first lesbian crush, LOL) & Christopher Atkins…can’t forget him and all his Blue Lagoon glory. I also had a major crush on Mark Hamilton from Star Wars. It would be a few years later before I matured to appreciating the bad boy Han Solo/Harrison Ford types. Early on I was crushing on the ‘good’ guys.
I’d have to say my first big time major crush was Rick Springfield. He was dreamy!! Ahhh, Rick. I desperately wanted Rick to get over Jessie’s Girl and just admit to himself that I was the only one for him. That movie he made, Hard to Hold, I rewound and watched the part where he ran naked over and over and over…there was definitely a worn out section in that VHS tape, LOL.
Are you an introvert or extrovert?
I’m a little of both, I think. When it comes to my love life I’m all shy and stuff. I seem much more laid back and very passive. The average passerby would never suspect the inner ravings going on in my mind. I hide my crazy really well. There are only a few close friends who have seen my crazy. Because of this, they will always be my friends. They know too much for me to allow them back into society completely unsupervised.
Get a few cocktails (or a lot of caffeine) in me and I can become very extroverted. I’m never gonna be a ‘dancing on the bar & swinging from the chandelier’ type though. Been there & done that. The things we do in our twenties, LOL! I’d say for the most part I’m pretty laid back, but I’m not really the type to hide back in a corner either.
What was the last book you read?
I read The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks a week or so ago. I loved it…thought it was great, but I found myself missing Adrien English. I kept hoping he’d stick his nose in at some point and help solve the mystery with his sarcastic wit. I really love that character. Maybe I can whine at Josh until he either writes another book or at the very least has Adrien e-mail me once or twice a month, LOL.
Who is your favorite super hero?
I actually did read a lot of comics back in the day. I’d have to say that Spiderman/Peter Parker was always my favorite super hero. He was really the first superhero that felt real to me. Superman was hot and all…so big and beefy. Oh…the Christopher Reeves of it all. Peter Parker felt like me, though…the kid next door nobody paid much attention to.
I also really loved X-Men and the Avengers. I always knew I was different as a kid. I didn’t necessarily understand how I was different, but I knew I was. Subconsciously, I think I was connecting to these stories and characters on a lot of different levels. Having to hide who you really are being the most obvious, but I think X-Men and Avengers also gave me my first glimpse at the ‘created family’. These people who had bonded together because of their differences? They lived and worked together for a common goal. It made me realize that while you may not be able to choose your relatives, you most definitely could choose your family.
Is there anything that has made you happy these days?
Being an author! Writing a book and having people actually read it. I can’t think of anything that could make me happier. I love, love, love-love doing it. It can be frustrating at times…make me want to pull all my hair out, but writing is truly my first love. To have an outlet for my over-active imagination, the bustling fantasy life, and day-dream believer inner world I reside in half the time. It really is better than sex. Or maybe it’s just that the sex going on in my mind is better than the real thing?
How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
I’m so not going here with you, LOL. There’s only one way anyone’s gonna find out the answer to this question…which of course will now be prefaced with the signing of a non-disclosure/confidentiality agreement.
What was the last story you wrote?
I’ve got four works in progress going at the moment. I have two that are nearing completion, a third Contemporary Rom/Com and a Paranormal/Historical which has turned into a bit longer book than I’d originally planned. These will definitely be out this year…assuming anyone will want to publish them, of course. I’m working on the second book in the Preservation series, though it’s not as far along. And I’m in the plotting/planning & character development for another Contemporary novel as well. I’ll be jumping into these two once I tie up the first two.
What’s the last thing you laughed about?
I like laughs. I laugh all the time…its part of the reason I write romantic comedies. It’s like having my own little party which I eventually get to share with everyone else. I don’t like to delve into the dark and dreary very often. I go there every now and again, but I like to feel good.
I like to know I’ve made other people feel good as well. Readers who’ve contacted me to let me know how much fun they had or how funny they thought Self Preservation was? I love that. Don’t get me wrong…I’m selfish enough to be happy making myself laugh, but I can’t even begin to describe the way it feels to hear that something I wrote lightened someone else’s day.
What’s the last song that got stuck in your head?
I listen to a lot of dance/club music or sugary pop music which tends to help keep me in a peppy mood. I don’t know why, but having the ‘thumpa-thumpa’ going on in the background keeps me giddy, which is generally a good mood to be in when you’re trying to write fun, frothy romance. Some say the ‘thumpa-thumpa’ is the gay mans mating call…if that’s true I must be horny all the time as well. Horny and giddy…this is totally going to have people thinking I walk around my house laughing while touching myself, LOL. I promise that isn’t the case.
Anyway…in answer to your actual question, I don’t usually get stuck on one song since I have a constant stream of music going in the background.
What’s the last movie you saw?
Quantum of Solace. Daniel Craig…now there’s a man I’d be tempted to do time for. I say tempted because honestly those orange prison jumpsuits…so not my color.
I didn’t love Quantum as much as Casino Royale, but to be perfectly honest that probably had more to do with the fact that Daniel Craig wasn’t naked in the second one. : ) Daniel Craig should just stay naked…I know, he’s a really great actor and all…but a boy can dream.
Do you buy or download the movies you watch?
I’m a Netflix baby. I used to buy movies, but with Netflix I can get practically anything I want within a day or two, plus you can watch from your computer.

Ethan is a delightful guy. And, if you can imagine it, he has still more to share! Surf on over to his Addiction to Fiction Blog and his website to learn about his contests, read excerpts, check out more info on his books and his wips.
And, please, leave a comment here on The Sweet Flag so Ethan will know for sure that "you like him. You really like him!" ;~D

Guest Blogger - Alan Chin

The Sweet Flag welcomes Alan Chin, author of Island Song to share some tidbits of his life and writing with us.
Thank you so much for being here today, Alan. Here is the blurb for Island Song from your website:
"According to the tenets of Buddhism, life is suffering, and suffering arises inexorably from desire. In my meditative novel, Island Song, the interplay between craving and pain creates the thematic backbone of this story in one man's journey from desire, to anguish, to a metamorphoses. Like most South-Sea romance stories, Island Song envelops all that is unique to Hawaii, the distinctive people, the fertile land, the mythical history. Yet it stands alone by the way it reveals a rare and dignified portrait of a gay couple struggling to satisfy love within an environment that rages against them."
Jeanne: When and where did your interest in Zen philosophy begin? What was it about Zen that called to you?
Alan: I became interested in Zen back in the ‘80s while living in San Francisco and hanging out with drug-happy people who were searching for spiritual meaning in their lives. I didn’t take it too seriously until the early ‘90s, when I gave up the drugs and began to study and practice Zen philosophy in earnest.
What attracts me to Zen is that it’s not about worshiping any kind of “God” or following a list of “thou shalt nots”. It’s about living a pain-free life. The Buddha didn’t profess to believe in a God, or even a spiritual world after death, and he didn’t consider himself a deity. The Buddha’s first law was that life is painful. The rest of his “laws” and his path is devoted to bringing a person to a place where they can live life without the pain that spawns from greed, envy, hatred and a host of other human emotions. It’s about being in balance with nature, with yourself, with the universe. And of all the different forms of Buddhism, Zen seems, to me anyway, to be the most straightforward approach.

Jeanne: In reading your website biography, you wrote that you wanted to incorporate poetry into your stories. I'm curious about this aspect of your writing. Could you elaborate a bit and perhaps share an instance of this? And, also along these lines, do you write poetry?
Alan: I’ve always admired poets, how they coin a world of meaning, imagery and beauty in a few simple lines. I try to do that with my prose, but it usually comes across as florid description, sometimes pretty good description, but I confess it falls short of being categorized as poetry. I wrote poetry a dozen years ago, but not since I started writing novels. Truth be told, I’m a pretty poor excuse for a poet (that’s not false modesty. If you read my poetry you would agree). I will spare you by not including any examples here.

Jeanne: I am envious of anyone who can travel freely. Of the places you've visited what place was the most exotic; the most fun; the one you've returned to the most often?
Alan: The most exotic was Bhutan, a rather small Himalayan country sandwiched between Tibet and Nepal. It is the last Kingdom where the Government is run by Buddhist priests. In an attempt to hold on to their traditions, they only let 2,500 visitors into the country per year. Each tourist pays $200 dollars per day just to be there above the cost of hotel and food. The country has one airport, and only two planes fly in and out of it. There were no paved roads until 1995. It is like stepping back in time a thousand years. It’s how I think Tibet was before being invaded, first by the Chinese and then by tourism. The landscape is spectacular mountains surrounding golden wheat fields in deep valleys. The people are simple, devout, and loving.
The most fun was going on safari in East Africa. Going out over the African landscape to study the million different animals in their habitat was thrilling. I’ve been so close to a male lion I could have reached up and grabbed his ear. And I got close enough to a Black Rhino that I did touch his horn. I was in a tree house when a giraffe walked up, stuck its foot-long tongue out at me, and then butted my head, knocking me down. I had no idea why he didn’t like me. Maybe he simply didn’t like writers?
The place I’ve returned to most often is Thailand. I love it there. In fact, I just got back from a four and a half month trip to SE Asia, and three of those months were spent in Thailand. I love the hill country in the north around Chang Mai and the Golden Triangle, the beaches on the islands in the south, and also the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. Thailand has everything: great spicy food, warm people, hot sunny beaches, and it’s dirt cheap. My husband and I can stay at a three star hotel for $25.00 per day and eat for less than $10.00 per day. You can’t beat that.

Jeanne: You mention that you're working on a "gays-in-professional-sports story about a gay coach and a straight teenager trying to make it on the straight dominated professional tennis tour." Can you share a bit more about this story? I think the character mix is exceptionally interesting.
Alan: The back story is two tennis professionals who were drummed out of the professional men’s tour because they were lovers and were outed. Years later they are both still lovers and living in San Francisco; one works as a tennis pro at a posh golf and tennis country club, the other is an alcoholic that give private tennis lessons to gay men. They’re both a bit miserable because they can no longer compete with the big boys. Then one of them is approached by a teenaged tennis prodigy and his overbearing, homophobic father. The teenager has a great game but is too mentally fragile to be able to make it on the men’s tour. But what will happen when an openly gay coach decides to buck the homophobic, straight-male dominated sport of professional tennis a second time to teach this boy how to compete? It will surprise you, and hopefully make you examine your own life, your goals, and what you’re willing to do to achieve those goals.

Jeanne: You've been with your partner for over twelve years -- longer than many "straight" relationships. When I interviewed Dorien Grey, one of his wishes was "that more writers...especially straight writers...[would] incorporate stable, monogamous gay relationships into their books." Do you think having such a stable relationship has enhanced your writing? And, for this hopeless romantic, could you share how the two of you met?
Alan: We’ve been together nearly sixteen wonderful years. Durning that time, Herman has been my foundation. I write, and he takes care of everything else in my life. I could not have finished even one novel without his support. Writing for me is hard, it takes all my energy. He takes care of all those little mundane hurdles that life keeps tossing at us, so that I have the time and space to devote myself to my writing. I often feel that both our names should appear on the covers of my books.
How we met? We had the same series at the San Francisco Opera, every Tuesday night. The first opera of the 1994 season I saw him from across the crowded room, and couldn’t breathe for a moment, to the point I became dizzy. He noticed me staring, hell everyone in the room noticed me staring… We didn’t speak that night, or the next week or the next. We just kept staring at each other. You see, he was always in the company of two other men and I assumed he was in a relationship with one of them. It was during the last opera of the ’94 season, the last intermission, our last chance to make contact, and I saw him marching across the room directly to me. I held my breath as he walked up, handed me his card and said, “If you’d like to have coffee sometime, give me a call.” I called the next day. We had dinner two nights later.

Jeanne: Last question. What one thing would your readers be surprised to know about you?
Alan: I’m a romantic softy. The day after gay marriage became legal in California, we marched down to the Civic Center and became the first male/male couple to be married in Marin County, California. I’m very proud of that. Not so much proud of being the first couple, but of being in the front ranks of that movement, and being able to make that social statement about our relationship. And I can tell you that even after living with Herman for over fifteen years, I got choked up while repeating the vows. It was a very emotional experience.
The other thing I’d like to share is that people can find out more about my writing at my website http://AlanChin.net and my writer’s blog http://AlanChinWriter.blogspot.com You can also read about Herman and my travels at http://HermanAndAlan.blogspot.com
Thank you for the opportunity to share with you and the people who visit your blog.
Thank you, Alan. I loved having you visit. Next time, please bring the photo album. :~D

Guest Blogger - Alex Beecroft

Guest blogger, Alex Beecroft, author of wonderful gay historical fiction shares her thoughts as
M/M Romance takes on the World!

Alex:
LOL! Perhaps I'm inclined to overdramatize there, but that's a little what it feels like to me today.
Today is the release date of my new book, 'False Colors', conveniently subtitled "an m/m romance" by the publisher so that nobody will think the two good looking young men on the cover are sailing off in search for brides.
Actually it's conveniently subtitled because it is one of two new releases coming out today from Running Press which are being packaged and promoted as mainstream romances. The other book in this new series is 'Transgressions' by Erastes, set during the English Civil War, with an equally gorgeous cover, and also with the helpful subtitle "an m/m romance".
What is going on here then? Well, simply this; Running Press are making a bid to make m/m romance mainstream – to make it as respectable as m/f romance. No more confining m/m fiction to a little ghetto on the internet where the uninitiated can remain ignorant that it exists at all. No more being treated as second class citizens by RWA and Romantic Times because we don't fit their notion of what is a 'traditional' story about people falling in love with one another.

It's an all or nothing attempt. These books are only being released in print, and their tasteful covers are partially there to make it easier to pick one off the bookshelf and take it to the till without feeling self-conscious. Easy to read on the train or in the dentist's surgery (I've tried this myself, with an author's review copy, and not one person looked at me oddly! Result!)

It's… quite a bold move, I think. The publishers (and I too, I admit) are hoping they will succeed like Brokeback Mountain, because the thirst for m/m romance is out there among a lot of women who don't yet know the m/m publishing business exists. But is the world ready to treat same sex romance as if it's the same as opposite sex romance? As if the love stories between hero and hero are as 'normal' to write about and as 'normal' to read about as love stories between hero and heroine? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

I hope it is ready, not only because this is my book and I want it to do well. Not even because if this succeeds it will open up new opportunities for m/m writers, readers and publishers that we haven't had before. But mainly because I want to be part of a world in which gay romance and lesbian romance and bisexual romance and transsexual romance is there on the bookshelf next to heterosexual romance. I want to be part of a world that values all people's love stories equally, and I see this as a small first step towards that world.

After all that, you might want to know what False Colors is actually about! So here's a quick run down:

Blurb
For his first command, John Cavendish is given the elderly bomb vessel HMS Meteor, and a crew as ugly as the ship. He’s determined to make a success of their first mission, and hopes the well-liked lieutenant Alfie Donwell can pull the crew together before he has to lead them into battle: stopping the slave trade off the coast of Algiers.
Alfie knows that with a single ship, however well manned, their mission is futile, and their superiors back in England are hoping to use their demise as an excuse for war with the Ottoman Empire. But the darker secret he keeps is his growing attraction for his commanding officer—a secret punishable by death.

With the arrival of his former captain—and lover—on the scene, Alfie is torn between the security of his past and the uncertain promise of a future with the straight-laced John.

Against a backdrop of war, intrigue, piracy and personal betrayal, the high seas will carry these men through dangerous waters from England to Africa, from the Arctic to the West Indies, in search of a safe harbor.
Excerpt
Eighty pairs of eyes watched John as he came up the side and strode stiffly to the Météore’s small quarterdeck. Taking off his hat, he turned to face his crew, noting the slack, bruised faces of men with scurvy, the nose-less, crusted features of those whom pox was slowly consuming from within. The Master was barely being held up by his mate, his linen drabbed with wine-stains. The single midshipman picked his nose as he slouched by his division, then spat over the side. Only the new lieutenant stood straight and alert, in newly laundered dress uniform, his wig powdered, his buttons gleaming and his pale brows arched a little in amusement as he watched John struggle with hat and paper in the increasing wind.
John fumed inwardly at the slackness, the disrespect as well as the waste of lives. Opening Admiral Saunders’ letter he read it aloud in a firm, positive tone, reading himself in as captain, telling them whence his authority came and warning that he had the right to govern and punish as he saw fit. Some of his anger wound its way into his voice, making it snap like the cat, and the more alert members of the crew stood straighter by the end of it.
Hoping to find at least one other person aboard competent to do their job, John was about to quiz the volunteer, when his thoughts were instantly dashed as the huddle of warrant officers parted to reveal the modest black dress and white lace bonnet of an elderly lady. John bowed over the twigs of her fingers, reeling. ‘The Doctor’s wife, Mrs Harper’, a voice informed him, and ‘charmed’ he said, mechanically. They’d sent a woman on board! In God’s holy name—knowing what they knew—they’d allowed not merely a woman, but a lady on board! The blood drained from his face, then returned, thundering and stinging in his ears. A victim. Are we to put up a plucky resistance and then be sunk, so that the outrage may provide an excuse for war? So that the First Lord may say ‘see, we don’t scruple to spare even our women in the pursuit of this menace?’ It was despicable.
His head throbbed suddenly, pain winding up from his clenched teeth to lance through his temples into his eyes. Giving orders to set sail, to clean the decks, and paint a properly anglicized Meteor over the name on the stern, he waited until the life of the ship around him settled into its routine, then ducked into the captain’s cabin to think. But the ruin he found seemed to mock him. The French captain’s cot lay slashed on the floor, stern lockers and all the chests broken open and ransacked.
“A right fucking pig’s ear they’ve made of this, sir,” the voice of his steward grated along his spine, making him straighten up, instinctively. Turning, he found Japheth Higgins looming behind him with John’s portmanteau propped against his hip and his sea-chest dragged by one handle from the other hand. An orange brute, Higgins had a tendency to appear out of random shadows, like the Borneo wild man.
“I thought I told you to stay on the flagship, Higgins.”
“You was having a little laugh, though, right sir? ‘Cos you wouldn’t leave me behind, not was you Admiral of the White.” Higgins dropped the sea-chest by way of final punctuation and scratched his ginger sideburns with a tobacco-stained finger.
John laughed around the queasiness in his throat. An unusual fairy godmother Higgins made, to be sure, but it was true. Assigned to him as a sea-daddy on his first ship, set by the captain to teach the infant young gentleman the ropes—and to make sure he was not too homesick, too lonely, or too much picked on—Higgins had been with him ever since. Now he couldn’t even say “I was trying to keep you safe, you fool,” without spreading rumors he did not need the rest of the crew to hear.
“Not a very good joke, I’m afraid,” he said instead. “I’m sorry Higgins. I’m glad you’re here. See what you can do to sort this mess out, would you? I’m going for the tour.”
Choosing not to notice as he passed the Master retching into a bucket, John paced the length of the gun-deck. Lighting the lantern he had taken from the midshipmen’s berth, he descended to the lightless lowest deck, past the carpenter’s workroom and the gunner’s stores, and so back again to the grated area where the anchor cables were laid to dry. Trying to calm his mind, he strode out nervous and filled with a lightning of energy he had to out-walk before he could think.
On the cable tier, absolute darkness pressed inwards around the circle of his light. Water trickled, glistening, down the Meteor’s flexing sides, the sound of it sweet in the silences between waves. A stench came from the hold, seeping up through the holes of the deck. Below the latticework of planks on which he stood, the ballast of gravel below stirred with a great hiss, like the tide rolling over a beach. Not all the anxiety in the world could prevent him from making a note to order the pumps set working at once.
Around him, on either side, the anchor cables lay coiled, water dripping from them, falling as an indoor rain through the gratings to join the water in the hold beneath his feet. Footsteps knocked on the deck above him but, down here, dark, quiet and solitude calmed him. Breathing in, he sighed, the spring of his anger easing enough to allow thought. It was too early to despair. Somehow, he would complete this mission and return as the hero Saunders described. Or at the least, he would complete the mission while keeping his crew alive, from the old lady to the youngest powder monkey. Here in this waiting space, this space between worlds, as he thought of it, it was easier to believe.
Straightening his back even further, an ache like a fist between his shoulder blades, he picked his way back through the coils of hawser. They rose like cliffs on either side and, as he walked, his lantern light mingled with a growing brown gloom that spilled in from the doorway. There, in the narrow gap between John and the main companionway, stood the volunteer--Lt. Donwell, he reminded himself from the orders--with his wig off and his bold eyes glimmering gold as John raised his lantern to look at him. Walking forward, John expected the man to yield, to step back and let him out. Mere inches separated them by the time it dawned on him that Donwell was not going to move. Confusion striking through him, obliterating even the dread from moments ago, he pulled himself back from a collision only just in time. The skirts of their coats brushed, sending a jolt of invasion through him from thigh to shoulders. What the devil?
His mouth dried as a wave of prickly embarrassment swept over him, bringing guilt in its wake. Yet what had he done wrong? It was Donwell who should flinch, who should feel guilty, who should not be smiling so! John could not wrench his gaze away from Donwell’s face. Limned with gold, it was perfectly nondescript; round, pleasant, and completely lacking in self-conscious guilt. Donwell’s mouth quirked up at one side into a slow, charming smile. And his presence! It was extraordinary. It beat on John’s skin like strong sunshine. He fought the urge to close his eyes and bathe in it. His pulse picked up, waiting, waiting for something....
Returning sanity hit him in the face. He snapped, “Get out of my way! Don't you know who I am!”
Donwell’s smile only broadened. John thought the man would at least salute, but he just passed a hand through the loose blond curls of his hair and stepped away. “I’d know you anywhere, sir.”
“I’ll have a little more respect from you in future, Mister.”
“You may have whatever you like.”
Speech deserted John once more. Aware he should act now to regain the initiative, he had no idea what to do. Instead he pushed past, feeling the man's gaze on the back of his neck like warm breath, and tried to tell himself that he made a dignified exit. But if the truth be told it was a flight, spooked as a partridge from the covert

* * * *
Please check Alex's presence on the Internet at the following links:
website: http://www.alexbeecroft.com/Adventure_and_Romance.shtml
Her LiveJournal: http://alex-beecroft.livejournal.com/
Her Blog: http://alexbeecroftblog.wordpress.com/
Buy Link: False Colors
Buy Link: Transgressions

Guest Blogger - Dorien Grey

"The Man Behind the Curtain"
I read your blog. I read reviews, excerpts, your books, poetry and finally, I said to heck with it and threw away all my formal list of questions (when did you decide to become a writer; when was your first book published; where do you get your ideas ) and just toss out what came to my mind as I was exploring the world of the "Man Behind the Curtain".
Jeanne: Of all the poetry you've written across the years, what are three of your favorites and why?

Dorien: Books and poems are the children of the writer's mind, and I love allof mine. But I can pick two which reflect the very core of my being."Playmates", which is dedicated to my now-long-dead partner Ray Lopez, who the passage of time, which blunts the sharp edges of reality, now tells me was the love of my life. "The Boy With the Poppyseed Buns", which addresses my deep sense of irony. A third I especially like is "Dreams of a Calico Mouse" which points to the fact that there are two sides to every coin. All are in my chapbook of poems, "The Poems of Dorien Grey" available as a download from GLB Publishers (www.glbpubs.com). Dreams of a Calico Mouse can be found at the end of Dorien's interview.

Jeanne: You wrote: "Nostalgia requires distance." Your non-fiction Navy memoir, A World Ago is slated for release later this year and in reading your blog, you often turn to your life in the Navy. Could you share just a few moments that, in retrospect, impacted on your writing? Dorien:Ah, I wish it were possible to do so, but it isn't...not for me, anyway. Life and Time are the same river, constantly moving toward the sea, and I cannot take a knife and cut it into specific pieces or point to a specific spot and say "here is an example of what made me who I am." I write because I have to write, and every experience I have ever had has contributed to it. I have any number of memorable moments, but to say they influenced me more than, say, a half-remembered dream or someone memorable I encountered briefly on a bus is really impossible.

Jeanne: Okay, I had to ask a book related question because The Angel Singers, your latest Dick Hardesty mystery (an even dozen!) centers on the world of music, a subject near and dear to my heart. (Well, okay, the question isn't quite book related, but music related.) What music inspires your writing? When you were writing The Angel Singers, besides "I Am What I Am", are there any songs that you find particularly meaningful?
Dorien: As an unabashed romanticist, I find that I react to some songs like a tuning fork reacts to being struck with a small mallet, and the effect on me is the same. Anything that moves me deeply, be it a song or a book or a movie or a personal experience, resonates long after the experience has ended. In "The Angel Singers" I very carefully and deliberately chose the songs for the program Jonathan and the chorus perform. Every one of them is, in its own way, an anthem of pride and hope, and those two words sum up my entire view of life.
Songs from the concert include: "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret,"You're a Grand Old Flag," "God Bless America", "I Hear Singing" from Call Me Madam, "Somewhere" from West Side Story, "Oklahoma", "What I Did for Love" from A Chorus Line, "Battle Hymn of the Republic," "Consider Yourself" from Oliver, and "This is My Country." Again, all songs of power, empowerment, and hope for the gay community.

Jeanne: Well, here's another "book related" question. Here you are writing wonderful mysteries with a well-beloved cast of characters, and then "Calico" appears. What prompted his appearance?

Dorien:Truth be told (and I think I'm telling this particular truth here for the first time), "Calico" was the first book I ever had published. I was working for a publishing house in L.A. that needed westerns. I always hated westerns, but the saving grace in them was that they were not quite so blatantly heterosexual as other genres. (The cowboy often rode off alone on his horse, which he seemed to prefer to the heroine.) So I wrote an on-the-surface "straight" western which I called "Calico" (the publisher for some unfathomable reason changed the title to "Stagecoach to Nowhere" which had absolutely nothing to do with anything in the book). That it had a barely-concealed gay sub-theme seemed to elude the editors. After the copyright expired and reverted to me, I rewrote it the way I wish I could have originally done it...as a gay love story.

Jeanne: One more book question. I mean, after all, you "are" an author. Seems that your devoted fans will be seeing number thirteen in the Dick Hardesty series with The Secret Keeper. Can you share a snippet or a brief blurb?

Dorien: Delighted to. Jonathan is hired by an elderly millionaire to help with the old man's garden. When the man is found dead, apparently a suicide, Jonathan...and the man's gay grandson...refuse to believe it, sending Dick off in search of the truth and who, among the man's greedy and dysfunctional family, may have resorted to murder.

Jeanne: Massachusetts, Connecticut and Iowa and now Vermont have all passed same sex marriage laws. Do you think more writers will incorporate this into their story lines? Would Dick and Jonathan marry if they had that right?

Dorien: I certainly hope that more writers...and especially straight writers...will incorporate stable, monogamous gay relationships into their books. As to Jonathan and Dick's taking advantage of the right to marry, I'm not sure. Probably, if Jonathan insisted on it, and also probably if by doing so Dick could share legal custody of Joshua. But as Dick says, "A piece of paper doesn't make a very strong glue."

Jeanne: And last do you have any questions you'd always wanted to ask your readers?

Dorien: I'm endlessly fascinated by my readers' reactions to each and every book, to the characters in them and to both the issues the books address and the way in which they address them. There is nothing I (or any writer that I know of) loves more than to hear from a reader.
Jeanne: Thanks so much, Dorien.

Dorien: And thank you, Jeanne, for the opportunity to talk to your readers. I truly appreciate it.
* * * *
Dreams of a Calico Mouse

In a quaint little cottage, a calico cat

naps by the hearth on a calico mat.

Contented and warm in the heart of the house,

it purrs in sweet dreams of a calico mouse.

In a garbage-strewn alley, where scrap-paper ghosts

dance in the wind ’round graffiti-scrawled posts,

in a box by a trash bin, a calico cat

trembles in dreams of a calico rat.
* * * *

Dorien's Links:
http://www.doriengrey.com/

e-mail:doriengrey@gmail.com

http://www.doriengreyandme.com/

http://www.doriengrey.blogspot.com/

Guest Blogger ~ Nica Berry

My guest blogger today is fellow Loose Id author, Nica Berry. Nica's work is, to quote, "Queer Science Fiction and Fantasy". Her upcoming novella for Loose Id is -- ready? -- steampunk/Inuit M/M/M! Well, I just had to find out more, so, without further ado: Take it away, Nica!
* * * *
Thanks to Jeanne for letting me stop by!

My latest books have, in a way, been experiments in working with particular cultures and crafting a story within those restrictions. And, of course, basing a story in a particular era or culture means--you guessed it--research.

Sometimes, it's actually easier to write within these confines, and it's actually a bit like writing fanfiction in that you have the world already made for you and you just have to decide what you want to do in it. There's a specific time/area to look at, and a set of rules and expectations already in place. But the same restrictions can also be a pain, from limitations on food, clothing and transportation to trying to keep in mind what words may be anachronistic because of their roots.

There are plenty of ways to add magic to a historical era, the easiest being to work off the myths already in place. I did this in CONSORT, just released from Loose Id in January, which is a re-imagining of Greek myths. That one started when I bought a cicada-shaped ring, got curious, and started looking up cicada myths. I stumbled onto a site about cultural entymology and somehow misread "gay" somewhere in one of the Greek myths mentioned. So my brain fixated on, "Oooh, boys with insect wings!" and I figured out a story from that.

My story ideas often change and improve with the more research I do. I hadn't really looked at any Greek myths since sixth grade, so the more I researched, the more I used. What Greeks considered "acceptable" sex between males became a focal point (they liked it from the front, between the legs; from the back was considered degrading.) I found and used drinking games, food, rituals, and I spent way too long finding a Greek butterfly to use as a symbol of death. And of course there were the various gods and goddesses; Pan and a posse of satyrs, Thanatos and his brother Hypnos, and the muses. Euterpe, the female muse of music, became Euterpius, a male muse, because after all, this is a gay love story.

HART AND SOUL, from Torquere, is pseudo-Native American with shamanism and animal magic. The idea for that came from a short story I wrote for the Clarion SF/F workshop in 2005. Research included lots of library books about shamanism, a handy flyer about totem animals I picked up in Albuquerque, and watching YouTube videos of deer mating and rutting. And, yes, I even did research for the infamous lizard story, in that I wanted to make sure the lizards were, um, anatomically correct.

My new novella, NORTHERN LOVE, is due out from Loose Id on April 14th. It's M/M/M with a mix of steampunk--that is, a sort of alternate, Victorian-era history in which inventions and technology are largely steam-powered--and an Inuit-like culture with shapeshifters. This first idea for this story began with now what is the second scene in the book when two lovers are reunited after one commits a terrible betrayal. And it was cold, in a palace of ice. So I had to figure out what happened for Jerek and Emmanuel to get where they were and why, which grew to include steamships and an Inuit-like people. So I went to the library and brought back piles of books on steam ships and how they worked. I researched Inuit names, lifestyles and rituals, then rented the movie "Atarnajuat" ("The Fast Runner", a movie written and performed by Inuit actors in their native language) and got ideas from that. I enjoyed the research, and I had a lot of fun writing NORTHERN LOVE.

So--if you chose a historical era to base a fantasy novel in, what would you choose, and why? How would you add your fantasy or SF element?

I've had fun in all of these worlds, so for me, it's hard to choose a favorite.

And do feel free to visit me online at http://www.orossy.com/nicaberry

But, before I go, here's a blurb and teaser from NORTHERN LOVE, coming next month!

BLURB: Jerek had long dreamed of finding the mythical citadel of ice with his strong, handsome lover, Emmanuel. Their search led them to years of enslavement aboard a steamship with only each other for comfort until Emmanuel committed a terrible betrayal and left Jerek to follow his dream alone.
Now, three years after escaping the ship, Jerek has found the citadel and a northern lover: mute, shape-shifting Piaktok, who teaches Jerek a new language of love and lust. They’re content until desperate, snow-blind Emmanuel finds his way to the citadel and reignites Jerek’s desire.

Despite their mutual attraction, Jerek cannot forgive or forget the past and unleashes his anger on Emmanuel. Piaktok, in turn, treats Emmanuel with tenderness, sparking love between them. Emmanuel tries to tell Jerek the truth about his “betrayal,” but Jerek refuses to listen. One last fit of rage sends Emmanuel and a gravely injured Piaktok fleeing from the man they love.

Too late, Jerek realizes his errors. If he can find a way to melt the ice around his heart, the three of them will have a sexual and spiritual bond unlike any other. If he can’t, Piaktok will die, and he’ll lose Emmanuel forever.

EXCERPT:

King Jerek’s steward, Suluk, prostrated himself before the dais. “My liege? We’ve found a person of interest.”

“Oh?” Jerek hardly looked up from the clockwork dog with which he played. His guards had brought him several “persons of interest” over the past few years, and none of them had been the one man he’d hoped to see. Several had fit Emmanuel’s basic description -- dark haired, brown eyed, skin near the color of pine bark, but none had been him.

Piaktok, leaning against the side of the throne, regarded Jerek with the doleful black eyes that mirrored his Seal form. The metal dog awkwardly ambled forward along the arm of his throne. Piaktok caught it when it fell off. He cupped the toy in his hands as if wanting to crush it, but he didn’t.

So, if this turned out to be Emmanuel, Piaktok wouldn’t be happy about it. Jerek had taken no other lover for the past year. Jerek wished he could have reassured the Seal that he had no intention of replacing him, but they couldn’t talk now. Not here.

The steward spoke again. “This one babbles, my liege, in the Southerner’s tongue.”

This peaked Jerek’s interest. “Where is he?”

“Just outside, my liege. The Bears found him.”

The king allowed himself a small smile at that. His Bears, Inuq and Nutaaq, were superb trackers, far better at finding the living than ordinary men.

“He’s alive, then?”

“Yes, my liege, and well enough except…” Suluk paused, obviously fearing Jerek’s wrath.

“Go on.”

“He’s…snowblind.”

Blind. At least for a while. The bright light on the snow could be brutal indeed to those unprotected. He took the dog back from the unhappy Piaktok and wound it up again. “Does he know where he is?”

“No, my liege. We’ve said nothing to him.”

“Good. Keep it that way. No one is to speak to him without my permission.”

The steward bowed. “Aye, my liege.”

“Bring him in. I want to look upon his traitorous face.”

Suluk left the room. Piaktok placed a hand on Jerek’s knee. “It’s all right,” Jerek told him. “I only want him because he’s done me harm. It’s time he paid for his wrongs.”

Piaktok’s mournful expression didn’t change. He watched the dog as it ambled along the throne. This time, he made no effort to catch it when it fell. It clattered to the stone floor. After a couple of mechanical seizures, it went still.

Jerek didn’t have time to worry about it. Suluk returned, accompanied by two Bears supporting a bent, struggling figure. It wore a thick, hooded parka of caribou hide, decorated in the style of the tribe that lived near the shore. The clothes were stolen; no one of the tribe would have given a visitor clothing laboriously designed for a hunter. Jerek’s derogatory opinion of the man dropped even lower. He didn’t tolerate thieves in his land.

The two Bears, dressed in parkas of the same white fur as their ice bear counterparts, looked to their king for direction. Jerek waved his arm in an impatient gesture. As soon as Inuq and Nutaaq let go, their prisoner dropped to his knees. He fought again when the Bears stripped him down to a pair of ragged undershorts, but exhausted as he was, he was no match for the two powerful men. Sweat glistened on his bronze skin. Black hair hung in clumps to obscure his face. Iron rings surrounded his ankles and neck. His shoulders drooped in defeat.

The Ice King’s heart skipped in his chest. Could it be him? At last? He couldn’t be sure at this distance. He kicked the dog aside and took the dais’s stairs at speed until he stood before the prisoner. Jerek grabbed the man’s chin and wrenched it upward. The prisoner’s sightless red eyes blinked profusely. He jerked his head in a failed attempt to loosen Jerek’s grip.

Emmanuel. Jerek mouthed the name but did not say it aloud. Angry as he was, he hadn’t actually expected to see his former lover, much less Emmanuel’s weakened, ravaged condition. Lash marks corded Emmanuel’s back, and he’d lost most of the muscle he’d gained while working aboard the Tophet. The skin beneath the iron collar and fetters was raw and bleeding. Jerek’s free hand went to the scars at his own neck. He knew full well what the iron collar meant. He’d worn it himself for a time.

The old Emmanuel would have been full of solid support and love, always aware of what Jerek needed. Then Jerek had been the weaker of the two, easily exhausted by the labors aboard the privateer ship while Emmanuel had been the stronger. Strong enough to betray him.

Now they’d traded places. This Emmanuel looked to be little more than a madman. He was filthy and scarred. And, like the steward had said, he babbled in the Southern tongue.

“Let me go, whoever you are,” Emmanuel said, voice raspy as if his throat was raw. “I’m looking for someone. I have to find him. Have to. I won’t give up until I do.”

Jerek held his breath. Looking for someone. Him? Possibly. Hopefully. The frigid mountains had a way of twisting a man’s greatest need into reality. Jerek said nothing, wishing to draw out Emmanuel’s anguish as long as possible.

“Captain?” he asked, tentative. “I’m sorry I ran. I had to.”

The mere mention of the captain made Jerek’s anger flare. Nails dug into his palms as he made tight fists.

The silence frustrated Emmanuel. “I won’t be your slave any more. At least give me an honorable death instead of letting me die like a mongrel in the street.”

Tempting as the offer was, Jerek refrained. Torturing him for his betrayal was going to be far more fun. At last, he let go of Emmanuel’s chin. He spoke in Suluk’s ear, too quiet for Emmanuel to hear. “This is the one I’ve been waiting for. Get Tupilek to see to his needs. Make him comfortable. Ensure that he feels safe. I will see to his punishment in time.”

“And the collar, my liege?”

“Leave it on for now, but take off the ones at his ankles.”

The steward bowed again. He gestured to Inuq and Nutaaq. They hauled the man to his feet. This time, Emmanuel made no move to resist.

The parka lay where the Bears had dropped it. Jerek crouched beside it. He felt Piaktok’s eyes upon him. This wasn’t betrayal. It was revenge, something the Seal wouldn’t understand. Lifting the parka to his nose, he could smell the musk of the caribou and, mingled with it, the scent of the man he’d been craving for the past year.

Emmanuel.
* * * *

Thanks again for visiting, Nica. Can't wait for Northern Love to come out!

Guest Blogger ~ ZA Maxfield

I'd like to welcome Z.A. Maxfield today as my March MLR Press guest author. She has a new work coming that involves several of my favorite things: Vampires, alternate history and antiquities and Italy! We also shared participation in the I Do Anthology and that story involved one of my favorite spectator activities: the Tango!
Welcome, ZAM!

I want to thank Jeanne for the opportunity to be here today. I’m fairly new to the blogging world, in fact, I’m fairly new to the writing world! I’ve been published as Z.A. Maxfield since last July (Bastille Day) and it’s been a very exciting ride! I have three full-length novels out, Crossing Borders, The Long Way Home, and Drawn Together, one novella, St. Nacho’s, one stand alone short story, Burning Up, and I participated in two anthologies, Artistically Yours, and the I Do Anthology, (whose proceeds go directly to Lambda Legal Fund for marriage equality).

Everything I’ve done has been some sort of flight of fantasy for me, whether it’s contemporary, romantic suspense, historical romance, or paranormal. I don’t think I’ve found a niche or a voice yet; I’m still exploring and letting my writing take me wherever we can go. To that end, it’s been hard to categorize my work, except to say that you’ll probably find a relationship between two men who are going to fall in love, and there will be a positive ending. Maybe I don’t always write a ‘happily ever after’, but at the very least I can’t stop writing unless I’m hopeful.

One of the newest I’m working on is Notturno, my very own vampire novel, in which Adin Tredeger, an expert in antique documents, is lucky enough to find the well-preserved journal of an obscure Italian petty noble which details a long and passionate love affair between two men.

Tredeger is delighted. He’s gay, the document is beautiful, and having it for his University collection puts him on the top of the food chain personally and professionally. He’s handsome, young, arrogant, wealthy, and now, the envy of all his academic colleagues. The only problem is that the man who wrote it, Nicolo Pietro di Sciarello, now calling himself Donte Fedelta, wants it back.

Now that it’s resurfaced after an almost seventy year disappearance, he has the money to buy it. When he’s prevented by a computer glitch, he knows he can take it from the man who bought it. First he tries seduction and trickery, then reasoning with the man. Donte is certain that once Adin learns who is truly on top of the food chain he’ll get his book back. He doesn’t count on enjoying the process, or admiring the mortal, who at the very least doesn’t seem to be suitably impressed.

Then someone else enters the picture, taking the journal from both of them. Donte plans to find it, Adin is determined to fight for it, and in the meantime, their growing attraction for each other creates a whole new set of problems, including terrible danger that nearly destroys their fragile bond forever.

Here’s a little excerpt of Notturno, due out soon from MLR:

“Caro,” he heard a voice say behind him. He was looking at the light panel on the elevator, watching the floor buttons fire up in a chaotic, random way that made him think of science fiction movies from the ’50s. He jerked forward to step off the elevator again but was prevented by the hand holding his arm. He felt the whisper of Donte’s breath against his ear.
“I’ve called you and called you, yet you only just now come to me. Stubborn.”
“What do you want?” asked Adin, refusing to turn.
“Only that which belongs to me.”
“And what would that be?”
“What do you think, Adin? Of course I want my journal back. And yet…I wonder if you recall how completely you gave yourself to me.” Donte’s sigh lifted the hair on Adin’s nape. “Perhaps I would like that back as well.”
Adin watched the blinking elevator lights and concentrated on thinking clearly. He kept his voice even. “Does this kind of thing work for you?”
“What kind of thing?” Donte stiffened.
“This whole, I am Donte.” Adin affected the accent, giving it a little more Bela Lugosi than was really, strictly necessary. “Come to me, caro, and your blood will sing in the moonlight.”
“Now, I know I have never said that.” Donte put a hand on Adin’s shoulder.
“It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure.”
“I fear it loses a little of the oompah if you are not looking at my face.”
Adin snorted. “I gathered.”
“Turn around, caro,” Donte ordered.
“Nope. When I look you in the eye, things happen inside my head that I don’t necessarily like.”
“I promise I won’t use mind tricks on you right now.” Donte tugged at him. “I am a man of my word, if nothing else.”
“I can tell when it’s happening; it’s no use anyway.” Adin turned.
“You would be foolish to assume that in the future. Just because you can tell it’s happening doesn’t mean you can stop it.”
“What is it, anyway?” asked Adin. The lights on the panel had stopped blinking maniacally, but the elevator moved at an impossibly slow speed, giving the impression they were hovering, floating in the glass-enclosed space.
“What? Oh, I don’t know, a kind of hypnosis, maybe, a push of thought that takes root in someone’s mind because they are weaker.” Donte leaned against the steel railing that surrounded them like a skeleton inside the glass car.
“I see.”
“You don’t like to think of yourself as weaker. I understand, but Adin, you cannot hope to prevail against me as you are.”
“You can’t have the journal; I bought it with proper provenance, but you may try, if you like, to dispute it in a court of law.”
“Yes, well. That presents a problem, though, doesn’t it?”
“Do you really expect me to believe the impression you have been constructing? The biting, the mind control, the Vlad the Impaler accent.”
“Vlad— I’m Italian.”
“Do you expect me to believe that you are…? I can’t even say it.” Adin raised his brows. “The undead. A creature of the night. The prince of darkness.”
Donte pursed his lips. “I believe that was Satan.”
“Yes. Well. Do you?”
Donte’s eyes met his, and he was relieved to feel only an attraction, not a confused jumble of painful desire and fear. “I don’t care whether you believe it. Your belief doesn’t alter the facts. The journal is mine; I drew it. I illustrated it. I lived it. It belongs to me, and I want it back.”
“You will have a hard time proving that in court.”
Donte looked out over the city skyline. “Did you ever hear the story about the brothers who were camping in the woods when a bear crashed into their campsite, enraged, and began to chase them? The first brother says, ‘I must outrun the bear,’ and the second says, ‘I don’t have to outrun the bear. I just have to outrun you.’” He shook his head. “You know I cannot take this to a court of law, caro.”
Adin looked out at the city and the darkness beyond it. “Fair warning?”
“Yes.”
“I like you a lot better without the glamour, you know? Whatever causes it.”
Donte’s teeth shone even and white as he smiled, and Adin wondered about that, Age of Enlightenment dentistry being what it must have been. Looking at Donte, he wondered about a lot of things. His most immediate question, which he framed with a smile of his own, crowded out all those other thoughts.
“So, how long do we have the elevator for?”
Donte’s bark of laughter caught them both by surprise. “Caro, you imp. This is almost as unseemly as that airplane bathroom. There are cameras…”
“Then in the morning we can Google ‘gay elevator sex video’ and see if we get a hit on ourselves.” Adin approached Donte, which seemed to be the last thing he expected, and touched their lips together lightly. “I find I very much like tight spaces if they have you in them.”
“This is a glass elevator,” Donte countered, kissing him back hungrily. “I think you should know that whatever you have planned needs to be accomplished before we reach the tenth floor or everyone in the lobby court will be witness to our passion and subsequent arrest for indecent exposure and lewd conduct…”
Adin snorted. “I think you might be that quick off the mark, at your age, but—”
“Invite me to your room,” whispered Donte.
Adin froze. “Ah, yes, well.” He backed up, regret in his eyes. “Sorry. I can’t do that.”
“Superstitious? I could make you do it.”
“Actually, I don’t believe you could.” This seemed as good a time as any to test it. If Donte could get Adin to do anything he wanted, then the game was over before it began anyway. He felt a tremendous wave of emotion wash over him, deep fear, which crawled over his spine like a vine. It was an interesting sensation, but because he expected it, he found he could remain distant from it, acknowledging it and exploring it without letting it touch him. Adin searched the fear, probing it like a sore tooth. At its core, he felt a desire to reach out to Donte for protection.
Donte watched him curiously.
“Hey, nice,” said Adin. “If you could make people think they’d eaten you’d be a remarkable diet aid.”
“I am the very apex of the food chain on this planet, Adin. Try to have a little respect.” Donte’s mouth quirked, the beginnings of a smile forming on his luscious lips.
“Nevertheless, it isn’t going to work on me now that I can feel it coming.” Adin smoothed a hand over Donte’s jacket and tie. Adin’s own tie, which Donte took from him on the airplane. “The color suits you,” he remarked with asperity. “Trophy tie?”
“You spent on my tie, Adin. I’m having it cleaned.”
“Ah.” There didn’t seem to be much more to say. Adin looked back at the numbers.
“Well. This is awkward,” said Donte.
“Give me a minute. I’m warming up to asking you out for dinner.”
“Really?”
Adin looked up at Donte, “Yes.” Donte’s perfect mouth formed in a small O of surprise.
“If I go with you, does that qualify as takeout for me, I wonder.”
Adin laughed again.
“You seem remarkably calm in the face of what could be a very short, very frightening night on the town, do you realize this?”
“Yes, I realize. You could probably kill me, then rent my room, then get your manuscript back. But you haven’t, yet. Instead you’ve turned on your enormous personal charm and turned off your mojo, so I have to figure I stand a chance, at least, to greet the dawn alive.”
“You think my personal charm is enormous, do you, Adin?” asked Donte, leaning in.
“As if you didn’t know you are every month in my Undead Playmate Calendar.”
“I like you, Adin,” said Donte warmly, and the elevator moved again.

Notturno by Z.A. Maxfield, coming soon from MLR press. Thanks a bunch for inviting me I’m glad to be here! You can find my weblog, my books, and my links, as well as some free short stories at my website, here: http://zamaxfield.com/.

Special Guest Blogger ~ Lev Raphael

First of all, I'd like to thank Lev for sharing some time from his busy schedule with me. Lev is the prize-winning author of nineteen books in genres from memoir to mystery and has seen his books translated into a dozen languages, some of which he cannot recognize. ;>) He escaped academia to write and review full-time and has done hundreds of reviews for the Washington Post, Jerusalem Report, and the Detroit Free Press where he had his own mystery column. Lev has also spent almost ten years on public radio as a guest reviewer and host of his own book show.

I found Lev last year when I was looking for fiction with gay Jewish characters and discovered Nick Hoffman. As Lev states on his website: "Who says academia isn't the real world? It's got the vanity of professional sports; the hypocrisy of politics; the cruelty of big business; and the inhumanity of organized crime. A perfect setting for murder and satire! That's why I started the Nick Hoffman series, set at the fictional State University of Michigan at Michiganapolis. Nick is a composition teacher there, which makes him low man on the totem pole in his Department of English, American Studies, and Rhetoric (EAR). And being involved in murder doesn't help his chances for getting tenure -- or does it?"
Nick is a great character and the Nick Hoffman mysteries -- seven at the moment -- are a delicious blend of mystery, murder and mayhem. Of course what drew me at first was Nick, who is gay (sort of) and Jewish (sort of) and his partner Stefan Borowski. Stefan originated in Winter Eyes, one of Lev's more mainstream books.

So, finally, here's my first question -- in two parts:
You write in several very distinct genres, how do you juggle them? Is there one genre you prefer more than the other?
LEV: I've always read across genres and that's how I write--whatever interests me at the moment is what I work on. It's actually mentally refreshing to be working on two books at the same time in different genres--each book is a great break from the other. They're all great. Each has its challenges and demands, promises and problems.
I started the mystery series because I was aware that some of my work was very dark, and I wasn't really drawing on my mostly comic vision of life in my writing. Academia is a world I knew well, and I picked someone who's a total outsider--a gay Jewish bibliographer who likes teaching freshmen!--because outsiders make great commentators and observors. It's been wonderful for me as a writer to go into and out of the series as a break from other more serious work. My devotion to craft is identical with the mysteries, but the spirit in them is lighter.
I really believe it made your mysteries even more intriguing when you brought in Stefan to Nick's world. Reading the mysteries and learning more about Nick and Stefan's relationship adds an extra dimension to the stories.

Next questions:
Not all writers draw as much on their own life as you do in your mainstream works. You call these books, "Second Generation". Can you explain what this term means? Do you think being a second generation child has impacted your work more than most American Jewish writers? Do you think it can be more difficult for someone who has had little experience or knowledge of the Shoah (Holocaust) on a personal level to understand your characters?
LEV: Whether it's obvious or not, all writing is biographical since we write out of what concerns, moves, and troubles us. Anyone who says their work isn't autobiographical has something to hide. :-)

"Second Generation" is the term for children of Holocaust survivors and there's no difficulty relating to characters like that since they're human beings with their family crises, emotional woes, love lives, etc. It's just like reading a Russian novel or science fiction or anything else: all that's required is an open mind, and a willingness to enter a different world than your own.

Being the son of Holocaust survivors has definitely impacted my work--how could it not? It's part of my inheritance, my material, my "word horde" as the Anglosaxon poets called it.

I know reading your essay, "Writing a Jewish Life" on your website brought back a very early memory relating to a girl I knew when I was only about seven years old. My family rented the first floor of a two family home from her mother and father, Holocaust survivors. Hannah was only a year or two older than me and so we became reluctant friends. One day right after she had lunch with me in my parents' kitchen, I saw her stuff a peanut butter and jelly sandwich inside of a napkin into her pocket. When I asked her why, she said her parents had told her to always make sure she had extra so she would never starve. When I asked my mother what she meant, she explained that Hannah's parents had suffered terribly in the War that had killed my Uncle Jackie and I should be very nice to her.
I tried, but it was difficult. Hannah was not a nice child. She was bigger and bullied me. It was only years later after we had moved away, that I realized how difficult it must have been for Hannah. When I was seven I wasn't able to enter her very different world.

One more question:
Besides being a child of survivors, you are also a gay Jew. What differences, if any, has been your experience being part of two minorities?
LEV: That's a big question and I've written several books to answere it, most reecently a collection of memoir essays called Writing a Jewish Life. Being any kind of minority gives you insight into the majority, whatever it is, that the majority doesn't have. It gives you a unique angle, which is excellent foddder for writers.

And of course, there is one question your fans always want to know: What's in the works for you?
LEV: I've just published a book about Germany in my mind and in reality, a kind of memoir/travelogue: My Germany. And I'm working on a historical Jewish novel, so that's new territory for me, and very exciting.
I'm really looking forward to that one. I love historicals.

Thanks so much for being with me today, Lev.
To learn more about Lev, please visit his website http://www.levraphael.com/
Lev is the author of My Germany due April 2009 in the U.S. & September 2009 in Germany