stuff 'n' nonsense · Wafflish

Stuff ‘n’ Nonsense

Hiya 🥰

I’m so sorry I still haven’t finished the epilogue, my hands are a bit too battered to type away to my hearts content. I tend to rest my inner wrists on the edge of the laptop when I write…this is what they look like:

I took it unto m’self to tackle a huge project in my garden. Ivy had swallowed my house—all of it—windows included. And some of the roof. On accounts of being a dunderhead. Matters had possibly reached Maleficent proportions, so I set about beridding myself of it.

I am an itty bit clumsy, I must confess.

During the last few weeks I’ve broken a couple of ribs, dropped the shears on my foot (which broke a bit and went blue) dislocated my toe and trod on a thorn. My arms look as if they’ve been through a shredder. I’m too used to m’self to take a lot of notice, but the bee sting was insult to injury, it must be said.

By the time I stagger indoors after hacking my way through said shrubbery I’m a smidge too sore to rustle up a fitting finale for our miscreants. Nevertheless I am almost done (in) so with a bit of luck, unless I fall off the ladder—

I should stop there. Tempting fate is so not a cunning plan…

Last week, another thorn got lodged in my palm, so I yanked it out and forgot, as y’do, figuring that it would stop bleeding soon ’nuff. Then, carried on clipping until my son’s belly prompted him to pop outside and ask how I was doing.

I may have swiped my hair out of my face at some point. That seems the best explanation for the fact that he went quite white, the poor little mite. 🙈 I p’raps looked as if I’d taken a trip through a windscreen.

I am delighted to report that I’ve almost defeated the beastie hell-bent on devouring my house, so all being w—😨 Oops, time to quit, whilst (I have) ahead…

And finally…

(this is the bit at the end of the news where they wheel out the 115 year old birthday girl who drinks like a sailor and smokes 40 a day…)

❤️🤍💙 Thank you, truly, Stateside folks ❤️🤍💙

I’m a smidge stunned 😳

Wafflish

Beast of Bodmin: Free

Hiya,

I hope you have a wonderful weekend 🥰

I’ve made The Beast of Bodmin Moor free for five days if you’d like a copy…

Blurb

Two years ago Jake McCain encountered a compelling stranger at the Glastonbury festival. Two days later his life, as he knew it, was over. Enter Jack. They have…cohabited ever since. Much to Jack’s despair, Jake has remained dogged in his bid to be the most bloody-minded human a jackal ever had the misfortune to manage.

Phin Finley has embarked on a magical mystery campervan tour of Cornwall. Free to potter about, doing as he pleases for the first time, he wants to prove he can do just fine without having a fatal mishap. Or causing one. Or losing his trusty bicycle clips. Even if he is a tad too…Phinish for most folk’s comfort, his mum’s peace of mind and dad’s constitution.

Theirs is a tale about finding your (happy) place in the world, making (foxy) friends, and the legendary Beast of Bodmin Moor.

*This is an #ownvoices story. Phin’s reality reflects my own*

Review by the brilliant Penny Blake

💙 Her blog 💙

https://blakeandwight.com/

💙 where magic is weaved with words 💙

***

US

UK

Guest · New Release · Release Blitz

Guest: Release Blitz – Evan J. Corbin

Hiya,

I haven’t broken anything for a few days, so I’ll have a bash at writing the last part of My Way over the weekend. 😁 I’m truly sorry for the delay. In the meantime, I’d like to welcome my guest, Evan J. Corbin. I found the title of his new release far too irresistible to pass up…

RELEASE BLITZ

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Book TitleAtonement Camp for Unrepentant Homophobes

Author: Evan J. Corbin

Publisher: Atonement Book, LLC

Cover Artist: The Book Cover Whisperer

Release Date: September 3, 2020 for the print book and September 17, 2020 for the eBook.

Genre/s: Contemporary LGBTQ Fiction; Speculative Fiction; Humour

Trope/s: Fish-out of water comedy

Themes: Coming out, cultural assimilation

Heat Rating:  2 flames

Length:  70 600 words/ 283 pages

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited and Paperback

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

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Atonement Camp.

Pastor Harris is only going to save his career.

But while he doesn’t want to be there, a change of heart may be just what he needs…

Blurb

The oldest translation of a Gospel is returned to the world by a secret society long dedicated to its preservation.  In it, Jesus explicitly condemns bigotry and homophobia. In a new world in which LGBTQ passengers receive preferential boarding for flights and the United States has elected its first lesbian President, Pastor Rick Harris is stalwart, closeted preacher who doggedly holds onto his increasingly unpopular convictions.

When an incendiary sermon goes too far and offends an influential family, Rick makes a painful choice to keep his job:  He attends an atonement camp run by drag queens for society’s most unrepentant and terminally incurable homophobes.

Atonement Camp is immersion therapy for Pastor Harris, and it might be working. An open bar with pedicures, a devastatingly attractive roommate and an endless supply of glitter help him manage to make new friends. Soon, Rick and his cohorts learn the camp may hold its own secrets.  Amid the smiling faces and scantily clad pool boys who staff the camp, a clandestine group plots to discredit the New Revelation and everything it stands for.

If Rick has the conviction to confront his own hypocrisy, he might be able to uncover the conspirators with help from his adopted flock—and find new truths within himself.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Northern Syria

It was just after sunrise. The call to prayer from the nearby city’s rooftop loudspeakers receded as Dr. Michael Donahue’s driver left a familiar road for the makeshift trails that led deep into the desert. One faith bridged to the next, he thought. Before long, he wouldn’t need the light jacket, but he wore it anyway. It was a mysterious quest, and he tugged the jacket tight around his chest.

The jeep bounced over the rough terrain as Dr. Donahue carefully poured hot water from his thermos over his yerba mate leaves. His second mate would be less bitter than the first. Each time he made a fresh tea, the leaves lost more of their bitterness to the boiling water. The same leaves could be used again and again any given morning. It reminded him of his profession. Archeology was the sober study of the forgotten—people who lived, laughed, suffered, and died, their history diluted by each passing year. Dr. Donahue was determined to learn as much as he needed to reanimate their past with subtle detail, adding context to what would otherwise be merely more than a list of dates and details for his undergraduates to memorize before a test.

As promised, a man stood by the still-empty dig site. He was dressed in a Western style—no keffiyeh or other head dressing. With short sleeves and rugged boots, his attire was more practical than fashionable. Dr. Donahue always appreciated utility and function above much else. He acknowledged that his estimation of the man’s credibility was thus-far unearned, but he nonetheless felt more comfortable in the company of the familiar.

The site had been Dr. Donahue’s home for most of the past year. His team would return after Ramadan. Dr. Donahue’s research specialization centered almost primarily around the early Christian era. He took a certain guilty pleasure in casually admitting his atheism each semester to the newest crop of freshman at his university in Washington, D.C. Like all things, he saw it as a learning opportunity. One is not excused from understanding something just because they don’t agree with it, he’d remind them. The site itself was an early Christian refuge under the Roman Empire. Forgotten by time, but now rediscovered. Painstakingly, he and his team would uncover artifacts and consider what stories they told about the people who made them. Dust from the jeep’s tires made a gritty fog that enveloped the air. Dr. Donahue squinted, his eyes already dry. He coughed and plodded through the sand to the man silently awaiting his arrival.

“Dr. Donahue.” The professor extended his hand to the stranger.

The man took his hand and smiled. “Thank you for coming. Your research associate mentioned your name last year when he worked with us, and we immediately knew we needed to meet with you.”

Dr. Donahue fanned the remaining traces of the sand from his face. “We?”

The man flashed a half smile. “Consider us like yourself, Professor. Archeologists.”

“I would assume, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

The man chuckled. “By the end of the day, I expect that to change. Come. Follow me,” he beckoned.

Still confused, the professor followed the man down the makeshift stairs to the dig site.

“We’re not certain where it was found,” the man said, waving his arm over the site, “but this is likely close and as good a spot as any.”

“What, exactly, was found?”

The man frowned. “Technically, it was never lost. Let me be more precise. This is where it will be rediscovered.”

The professor felt his frustration growing. “What, and by whom?”

The man turned to face the professor, still smiling. “The oldest copy of the Gospel of Mark ever discovered. I’m what we refer to as a Custodian—a group of people committed to protecting this draft as we have done for more generations than our history may account for.”

The professor’s jaw dropped. He looked for answers in the man’s eyes to questions he could not manage to formulate.

“Every truth has its season, professor,” the man said, lowering himself to sit next on an empty crate near an assortment of digging tools. “This region has been plagued with war. We fear that if the artifact is not returned to the world now, it may never be.”

If his research associate hadn’t already vouched so strongly for the meeting, the professor was certain he would have already left the madman in another cloud of obscuring sand. Instead he asked: “Why have you kept it in the first place?”

“It contains a passage not found in any modern text. What’s the American expression? ‘One man’s waste is another man’s treasure’? That’s how our forefathers saw it. They saw something worthy of protection until the world was ready for the message. That time is now.”

Dr. Donahue smiled. His birthday was the following week, and the realization that his research associate might have set this up as an elaborate practical joke began to seem like the most likely explanation. It wouldn’t be out of character for him, he thought.

“So, where is it?” he asked, playing along.

The man pointed to a black chest. Taking the bait, Dr. Donahue carefully lifted the lid, expecting some puppet to pop out and exclaim “Happy Birthday!” Instead, the heavy lid creaked open to reveal a scroll bound in plastic and wound over on itself. His smile faded. Even without the aid of his radiocarbon dating equipment, he could tell the document was old. Very, very old.

***

About the Author

Evan is a member of the LGBTQ community who fancies himself as a playboy socialite, living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  Between work and lucid moments of sobriety, he writes a little.  His debut novel is a light-hearted work that still manages to confront religious hypocrisy and contemporary LGBTQ struggles to balance their loss of culture with new-found civil rights.  His friends say the book is great!  Hopefully, you will as well.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |   Instagram: @atonementbook  | Newsletter Sign-up

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Guest · Reviews

Guest: Brenda Murphy

Hi…I hope you’ve had a great weekend.

I’m sorry I’ve been so tardy in completing My Way. It will be on its way as soon as I feel better, but I’ve been a bit blighted by injuries of late. All of which have left me in no fit state to give Mac & Joe a fitting ending. On the plus side? The list of things I can’t do have freed me up to do one of the things I love best of all. I read more novels last week than I have for months; authors both new-to-me and firm favourites.

I’d love to share a few of those with you but first and foremost… I’d like to welcome an author from the latter category and celebrate her 2020 Goldie Award for Erotica and the release of her latest novel: On The Square.

My special guest and most beloved f/f author…the brilliant Brenda Murphy.

On The Square by Brenda Murphy

Series: University Square, Book One

Heat Level: 3

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 64400

Website: http://blog.writingwhiledistracted.com/

💜💜💜💜💜

Blurb

Dropped from her television show after a very public split with her cheating ex, celebrity chef Mai Li wants nothing more than to reopen her parents’ shuttered restaurant and make a fresh start in her former hometown. So what if twenty years of neglect has left the building in need of a major renovation?

Seduced by Mai’s charm and determination, hard-edged contractor Dale Miller agrees to take on her renovation project.

After a spring storm causes significant damage to the building and renovation costs exceed Mai’s budget, Dale offers her a deal, but is it a price Mai is willing to pay?

My Review

There is but one way to begin this review. A cards on the dinner table declaration: I loved this novel.

Loved it like Haagen Dazs Pralines ‘n’ Cream with hot fudge sauce and nutty sprinkles. Warm walnut shortbread. Freshly baked bread. Whiskers on kittens. Those are a few of my favourite things…another? This story.

As the blurb covers the plot, I’ll focus on a few more favourites instead:

1. The characters. Always my clincher. The plot doesn’t matter to me as much as people it revolves around…but this book is a buffet of both. A feast of treats; beautifully written with fantastic characters. I adored Mai. Loved her. She’s as hot as hell and as passionate in her beliefs as she is in the bedroom. The sort of woman who would rather surrender everything than the courage of her convictions. Who loves harder than she’s had to be, in order to survive. I’d marry her in a heartbeat. This woman can cook. She’s feisty and fabulous and has dress sense t’die for. I may be a meeny mite in love with her.

2. Dale is the perfect foil for Mai. The sparks that fly at their first meeting set up the story and the start of their relationship wonderfully well. The sexual tension sizzles as fabulously as a flambé. I very much enjoyed the fact that Dale – the lushly curved, femme character – was more dominant than Mai. How I love a tenderhearted butch, but they are oft so few and far between in fiction; where sass takes precedence and attitude is all. I like my badasses with a soft centre. Mai’s is cherry brandy. Rich and luscious with a kirsch kick. Irresistible.

3. Life has been harsh to our heroines. When we meet them they are badly bruised, without being embittered. Dale has been betrayed and her finances decimated by her last long-term lover. Mai has forever suffered a double dollop of discrimination; for being both visibly butch and mixed race. I adored that she not only expressed her anger when treated despicably, but stood up for herself in shovelfuls. Not only that, she took Dale to task for failing to understand the fury she had every right to feel, and did so while retaining her dignity. She was magnificent in her rage, an utter goddess. I loved this woman. I may have mentioned that.

4. This tale has so many more treats to bring to the table. It was splendidly seasoned by the delightful duo of Noah and Eli; Dale’s son and father. Noah is a gem, the story is enriched by his very presence. I adored that Mai was able to connect with him in addition to drawing him out through their mutual love of cookery. He was a joy to spend time with, as was Eli – a fabulous old cove with Cpt. Jack plaits in his beard who tells it like it is – in that wondrous way older folks delight in doing so well.

While Brenda’s writing is always as emotionally rich as it is erotic, it was a real treat to have the former brought to the forefront in On The Square. I relished this more romantic story telling; it was Bailey’s Irish Cream after Tequila Slammers. Both delicious but serving the senses with their own distinct charms.

As hitherto mentioned, Ms Murphy is an award winning writer of erotica. She has always crafted fascinating women as diverse as they are deserving of the happy ever afters she gifts them. In this – the first novel in her new University Square Series – she proves that her characters can whip up a family soufflé as superlatively as they wielded a whip.

💜💜💜💜💜

AMAZON US: https://www.amazon.com/Square-University-Book-ebook/dp/B08FR64BTY/ref=sr_1_1?crid=P8C6I8W5OXRQ&dchild=1&keywords=on+the+square+by+brenda+murphy&qid=1600036471&s=digital-text&sprefix=on+the+squ%2Cdigital-text%2C310&sr=1-1

AMAZON UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Square-University-Book-ebook/dp/B08FR64BTY/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=On+the+Square&qid=1599979054&s=books&sr=1-1&tag=x_gr_w_bb_uk-21

Guest · New Release · Release Blitz

Guest: Remember My Name by Laurencia Hoffman

Hi🥰

A warm welcome to my guest, Laurencia Hoffman with her new release ‘Remember My Name’.

I’ve been reading a lot of thrillers and suspense novels of late; an added dash of mm romance proved irresistible.😻

RELEASE BLITZ

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Book Title: Remember My Name

Author: Laurencia Hoffman

Publisher: Encompass Ink

Cover Artist: The Illustrated Author Design Services

Release Date: September 4, 2020

Genre/s: M/M Romantic Suspense

Trope/s: Second Chance, Soul Mates, Exes to Lovers, Dark Secret Keeps Them Apart

Themes: Love, Survival, Death, Injustice

Heat Rating: 1 flame

Length: 58 582 words

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon  US  |  Amazon UK 

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Suffer in silence or live to regret it.

Blurb

Dark and twisted secrets mar Shane Coulter’s skin, and darken his fragile heart. Yet he keeps his nightmarish truth hidden from all those he holds dear with a smart mouth and abrasive attitude.

His first love, Callan Reid, refuses to accept Shane’s tough exterior. Convinced something truly horrific lurks beneath Shane’s defenses, Callan vows to uncover the truth.

But some things are better left buried. As darkness from the past threatens to be brought to light, there are those who would kill to prevent it. Can Callan break down Shane’s walls? Or will digging into the past come with deadly consequences?

Excerpt

Heaving an exasperated sigh, he stood in the waiting area and listened to the cheesy music. It was just like Troy to be late, leaving Shane to fend for himself in a crowded and uncomfortable area. If they weren’t best friends, he’d be getting a lot of shit for it.

He kept checking his phone, trying to appear busy since some of the patrons were shooting him looks. Shane didn’t own just-in-case clothes, so he didn’t have anything appropriate to wear to a restaurant like this. If he had known, he would have borrowed something from Troy.

Shane didn’t care how he looked most of the time. It wasn’t that he was lazy or didn’t try, but he didn’t care to carter to the judgments of other people. His comfort was the most important thing to him.

His eyes flicked upward to settle on a familiar face. He would have sworn that his eyes were playing tricks on him, yet, when he blinked and returned his gaze to the tall, handsome blond, he was still there.

The blond was laughing and patting one of his friends on the back. Shane didn’t recognize the people he was with.

For a moment, he was frozen. This seemed like a dream, a nightmare, or a hallucination – anything but reality.

And then those sparkling blue hues spotted him, and the blond’s face turned white as a ghost.

“Shane,” he whispered.

Lifting his chin, he looked the man up and down as if he had only just noticed him. “The one and only. How long have you been back, shithead?”

The man’s cheeks flushed pink and he excused himself from his group of friends. As he took a step closer to Shane, Shane took a step back.

“Just a couple of weeks. I’m here for work.”

“Of course you are. I’m not sentimental enough to think that you’d be here for me.” Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Shane folded his arms.

The older man swallowed hard. “Do you think we could talk outside?”

“Oh, sure. Wouldn’t want your friends to think I ever meant something to you, right?”

The blond gave him a stern look. “That’s not fair.”

Heaving a sigh, he obliged the man by exiting the restaurant and standing to the side of the entrance.

“What the fuck do you want to talk about, Callan? How you broke my heart, and abandoned me, forever tainting my view of love?”

“Did I really?” With a sigh, Callan shook his head. “I thought you might have forgotten me by now.”

“Unfortunately for the both of us, I didn’t.” He wanted to say so much more, like how the six months they had spent together had changed his life in good ways and bad. But he didn’t want to give Callan the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he’d been affected by their time together. “What’s with the entourage?”

His features brightened, happy with the change in subject. “They’re my colleagues, actually. I’m sure you remember my love of photography.”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I’m dabbling in journalism now. And I’m able to provide my own pictures.”

“Good for you.” He wanted to grumble something about how he’d never doubted Callan, but thought better of it. “What are you working on?”

“Just a piece about some of my favorite places.” He paused. “I could include you if you want.”

Shane’s first instinct was to say yes. Callan had been his first – and only – adult relationship. At the time, he had been convinced that he would never need anything more, that Callan was the one and only person for him. And when that had fallen apart, he’d been devastated. Did he want to open himself up to the possibility of being hurt like that again?

“Why, because I’m one of your favorite places?”

“Well, of course.”

He rolled his eyes. “A person can’t be a place.”

“They can be if that person is home.”

Shane’s nostrils flared, furious that he had the audacity to say something like that after the way they’d left things. “I don’t think so, Cal. Maybe if we were strangers…”

“Why can’t we be?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“You want a clean slate?”

It was something to consider. In their six months together, Shane had managed to keep all of his secrets, including his health. He had fallen hard, and fast, and he didn’t want that to happen again. If they were even going to consider speaking to one another, it needed to be on his terms.

“Okay. If we’re going to play that game, it’ll be by my rules.” When Callan didn’t protest, he went on. “I’ll text you a time and a place and we’ll meet for the first time all over again.”

Callan smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Are you now?” Shane lifted the cell phone in his hand. “Things have changed since the last time we saw each other. I’vechanged. And you’re going to be treated just like anyone else.”

He furrowed his brow before nodding. “Okay…are you going to tell me what that means?”

“I guess you’ll find out. Or maybe not. Is your number still the same?”

“Yes. Do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember it, you idiot.”

After checking to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, Shane walked through the parking lot, waving his hand in the air.

“Good luck!”

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About the Author

Laurencia Hoffman is the author of several novels and novellas and co-author of The Wages of Sin series. She specializes in horror but loves to dabble in other genres including fantasy and romance.

When she’s not writing, she also enjoys making her own line of natural products, satisfying her sweet tooth, and watching films.

Author Links

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Instagram

Newsletter Sign-up  |   Pinterest

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Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

a $10 Amazon Gift Card.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Blog Tour · Guest · Interview

Guest Post: Abstract Love by Sara Dobie Bauer

Hiya,

Today, I’m delighted to welcome my guest, Sara Dobie Bauer with her new novel, Abstract Love. The moment I saw its cover I was hooked. I’m so looking forward to reading Sam & Donovan’s story. 

Special thanks to Sara for being kind enough to be interviewed too. I couldn’t agree with her more about what makes a great story…and very much suspect Abstract Love will prove itself a portrait of exactly that.

 

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Abstract Love

Author: Sara Dobie Bauer

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Release Date: September 4, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary MM romance

Trope/s: enemies-to-lovers, age gap, co-workers, office romance,

bisexuality, businessmen, artists, bondage, comedy

Themes: sexual awakening

Possible triggers: depression, suicidal ideations, biphobia

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 71 000 words

It is a standalone book.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

I hate Sam Shelby. So why do I want to kiss him?

 

 

Blurb

 

 

Sam never expected to move back to Cleveland.

Donovan never expected to be attracted to a man.

Well, shit happens.

After high school, Sam Shelby moved to New York. Eight years later, he returns to Cleveland and lands a job at the best ad firm in town. It would be the perfect gig, if his boss weren’t such an ass.

After his wife leaves, Donovan Cooper questions everything. The arrival of a young, arrogant, gifted graphic designer at Donovan’s firm is the last straw.

Tempers flare over office gossip, and following a nasty argument and scathing kiss, Donovan flails away from heterosexuality while Sam struggles to keep his “no relationship” rule intact.

Despite ugly socks, fiery fights, and their best intentions to not fall in love, these bullheaded coworkers can’t deny their chemistry. Donovan seeks happiness while Sam seeks success, but is there room for more?  

💙

 

Interview with Sara

 

Do you use images to develop your character’s looks?

Oh, for sure! I ROUGHLY base my characters on actors I love. In Abstract Love, for instance, Donovan is Daniel Craig and Sam is Timothee Chalamet. (Yes, the characters are ROUGHLY based on these men, but Sam’s fashion choices are actual outfits Timothee has worn in real life, for better or worse.) In the past, I’ve used Benedict Cumberbatch, Alexander Skarsgard, Armie Hammer, Tilda Swinton, and more.

Are your characters based on people you know?

Not usually, but in the case of Abstract Love, yes. Monica is very much based on my beautiful friend Keri.They have the same hair, tattoos, glasses, and style. They’re both sassy, smart, confident women. I love women who stand out amongst the masses and embrace their identities without fear. That’s Keri.

Do you use your experiences in your books?

I’d say I use my feelings more than my experiences. As a theater minor in college, I used to channel my emotions into my performance on stage, and I’ve transferred that catharsis into my writing. So, nope, you’re not going to see anything autobiographical here, but the emotions—heartbreak, joy, fear—come from a place that is very, very real.

Do you ever get writer’s block?

Nope.

What do you think makes a good story?

Strong, complex, believable characters with chemistry. The plot doesn’t much matter to me if I’m spending time with characters I love. Especially characters with a great sense of humor. I have a weak spot for snarky protagonists. 

Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Energize. More than anything else in my life. Except maybe sex. (My mom isn’t going to read this, right?)

What has been one of your most rewarding experiences as an author?

I released Handsome Death in April through Carnation Books. Due to the pandemic, we weren’t sure what kind of sales we might get. The night of the book’s release, my publisher messaged me freaking out. She couldn’t believe the sales numbers. We broke that publishing house’s record that night. I couldn’t sleep. I was so pumped, I stayed up, watched Clue, and drank absinthe. It was such a dark time for me and for the world; Handsome Death’s book birthday was an unexpected bright spot.

What do your friends and family think about you being a writer?

They think it’s awesome … but don’t really understand what it means to be “a writer.” (My hubby is an engineer, so it’s the same when he talks about work. Since his words don’t make sense, I just focus on how hot he is.) My friends and family celebrate new releases and read my books, but my day-to-day existence is a great mystery of the universe to most people. I like it that way.

What do you do when you’re not writing?

Bartend and practice yoga to stay healthy and sane. Oh, and I read. So much reading. 

Do you like music or silence when your write?

SILENCE IS GOLDEN.

Thank you.

 

💙

 

ABSTRACT LOVE 2

Excerpt

Donovan sifted through a few hand-drawn logos on the desk and froze when he found a crudely drawn sketch of himself. Sam must have done it during a meeting at some point, capturing Donovan’s faux hawk, wide jaw, and severe expression.

Jesus, was this what other people saw when they looked at him? Did he really look so miserable?

“Make yourself at home?” Donovan dropped the picture and stood straight at the sound of Sam’s voice. He leaned against the doorframe, with one ankle crossed over the other.

“It’s really bullshit when people say that, you know?” Sam said. “Make yourself at home. No one actually wants their friends to take off their pants, drink all their beer, and binge The Great British Bake Off.” He paused. “What are you doing in my office?”

“I didn’t mean to snoop.”

The office door closed as he stepped inside. “Sure you did, or you wouldn’t be in here, so what’s up?”

Sam circled the desk, so Donovan circled the other way, although he noticed it was true what coworkers said: Sam did smell good—like clean laundry and cedar.

“I think we started off on the wrong foot.” Sam snort laughed and flipped through some files on his desk.

“More like wrong continent, man.” When he found what he was looking for, he tapped the file’s corner against his palm. “I can handle guys like you, you know.” Donovan shifted back on his heels.

“Guys like me?”

“Hmm. Corporate assholes. All you see are dollar signs. You take no pleasure in your work. Advertising is money to you, not art, but without the artists, there wouldn’t be advertising, so…”

He sucked his cheeks into his mouth, a momentary fish face.

Donovan wanted to tell him it wasn’t true. Donovan loved art. He used to love art.

Sam continued, “I know I look like a six-foot-two Disney princess, but you’re not gonna rattle me.” To prove his point, Sam got right up in Donovan’s personal space until Donovan took a step back. Again, he was not used to dealing with someone his own height. “And I’m right about the Great Lakes ad campaign. If you’d pull your head out of your ass, maybe you’d notice.” He turned away abruptly.

“Sam.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Ouch, that hurt coming out.

Sam’s rebuttal: “Prove it.”

“Excuse me?” He rested a hand on the desk and cocked his hip out—the very picture of young attitude.

“Listen to me in meetings.”

“I was listening.”

“Nope.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his unkempt, unprofessional hair. “No, you were hearing. I need you to listen. There’s a difference. And I know I’m just some fucking kid to you, but I ruled the New York City advertising scene. I know what I’m doing, Donovan, so let me do it.”

“Fine.” He’d had enough. He’d apologized, okay, so he’d done his Monica-enforced duty. He didn’t owe Sam anything else.

He didn’t run for the door, but he definitely moved with speed.  

 

💙

 

About the Author

Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film.

 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Private Facebook Group

Twitter | Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | Freebies

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

 

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts, interviews, and reviews here

 

💙

 

Wafflish

My Way – Epilogue Pt 1

Hi,

I’m so sorry it’s taken a wee while. It’s getting a mite out of hand, so I’ll post the lastest part soon…

 

My Way

 

 

 

Epilogue (Pt 1) 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday: 2 days later

Mac

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Gnhh…” Mac stirred, adrift in the half-way world where dreams and awareness merge. Heavy with slumber, floating too freely to surface when consciousness couldnae compare. “Hmmh…”

Warm…slither-soft, moist… Dangerously so. As if Mac needed reminding exactly why he’d written this off as a ‘gateway drug’ he couldnae afford to indulge in for…far too long. Far, far too… Hmmm…

“More…?”

Joe. Mac snapped his eyes open, halting whatever the fuck his spine was hell bent on pulling off. Bent? Damn thing was concave, shoving his arse towards the source of such contraband bliss. No. Fuck no. Nooo…Mac’s bones were melting. 

“Stooop…” 

“Up?” Huge hands clamped to Mac’s hips, hitching his arse higher, high enough for that far too talented tongue to dart between his cheeks and…dapple. Mac clenched his butt muscles, trapping it. Briefly. “Now you’re just teasing me…” The miscreant blew a stream of cool breath across damp skin, a sensation so persuasive that Mac’s treacherous cheeks staged a sodding mutiny. Goddamned arse would’ve slapped out the welcome mat if it could. In darted that demonic tongue, flickering like a fucking firefly, dead set on demolishing every last scrap of Mac’s sanity. Swirling…oh, so slowly…purgatory. Paradise. A world of black-shot-scarlet bright behind his eyelids. Brighter than the sun. Too intense to insist on…whatever the hell Mac should. Soon. 

“Nooo…” 

“No? Oh, okay…” What the…? Plush heat vanished, about a silent shriek of protest before Mac found himself tilted off balance before being flipped onto his back, to lie blinking up into daylight. A retina searing sight eclipsed by a streak of alabaster and mop of platinum hair when Joe straddled his hips. That face. Moonbeam pale, beyond beautiful, swooping to meld their mouths for an all-too fleeting moment. Shattered, when slick fingers closed around Mac’s cock, about a snatched off breath before Joe sank down—impaling himself hilt deep and Mac in a devastating scorch—with a sigh so sublime it was obscene. It damn near finished Mac off. 

“Gaarrhhh!” Tight hot, white-hot heat as acute as being flayed alive. Mac gritted his teeth against the need boiling his blood, battling it back, fighting to get a grip, when the grip was eye-watering elsewhere. A stillness serrated by his ragged breaths that felt as if each was hauling a steel-trap after it. Mac’s body was leaden, stupid with bliss, saturated in sweat. Brain shot to shit. The self he’d so assiduously constructed, snatched from his clutches and tossed to the wind like candy floss. Decimated with a twirl of demonic tongue and (quite possibly) a ‘wee sit down’.  Even Joe’s imaginary mind was monstrous. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Mac managed to groan. “Later…” 

“‘Kay…” Joe smiled, midnight eyes ablaze with knowing. Far, far, too much. “I’d better distract m’self for a bit then. Take my mind off the trauma…” A sage nod as the monster started rocking his hips, as if he were settling in for the duration. 

“You’re…” Mac couldnae think of a thing that could begin to cover it. 

Not ‘entertaining myself’ on your cock. Nor, using you ‘to abuse’ myself…” Joe leaned forwards to murmur “…’cept with pleasure.” at Mac’s lips before catching the bottom one between tender-sharp teeth. He wasnae lying. He’d prepped. Fucknows how long Joe had been awake. If he’d even been to sleep. He’d also clearly had his ‘breakfast’. Then recovered enough to be way too coherent at stupid o’clock and repeat Mac’s words from a lifetime ago, t’boot. Words he’d uttered in a last ditch attempt to protect himself, far too late. 

Who the fuck is this and what the hell has he done with Joe Fitzgerald?

With those eyes…? Pinned so wide he’d bypassed ethereal en route to unearthly. Impossibly beautiful. Mine. Whoever he is.

“Joe…” Mac croaked, “Please move…”

Hmmm…” Joe’s sigh was the most mind-boggling expulsion of air Mac had ever heard in his life. Coupled with an expression that could convey more than most could proclaim with a soliloquy. ‘Move’ swiftly morphed into finding himself cut adrift, lost to a rolling rhythm so inimitable only Joe could have rendered it. How wrong Mac had been. Far from ‘entertaining himself’, Joe might’ve been putting on the performance of a lifetime...if Mac could credit such a travesty of truth.  He watched, rapt, as Joe rose and sank; as unselfconscious as a creature of the Fae flitting through the trees. Flicker-frame flashes of liquid midnight and rosebud lips, head tipped back, baring the superlative arc of Joe’s throat to Mac’s greedy gaze. He was extravagance personified, gift wrapped in porcelain skin, pearlescent in the light filtering through the French windows.

“Will I be…enough?” Words Mac couldnae suppress with the onset of the tour looming so large. Joe was his. Mac didnae share…with anyone. For anyone. Not even Joe. Particularly not Joe.

The moment he sensed that his miscreant was done with him, Mac would be gone before dawn…but while Joe still wanted him? Mac couldnae abide another bastard laying a finger on him. If they so much as tried, he’d break a helluva lot more than that. It would probably be the last thing Mac ever delighted in doing. 

He didnae expect an answer, but Joe blinked, focussing on Mac’s face with irises too dark to discern how pinpricked his pupils were. “Yesss…” Joe gasped, “H-how could you…doubt it? Unless…” His gaze softened, smudged. Imploring. “Please d-don’t leave me, Mac…”

Leave you? Fuck no.” Never had a concept seemed less possible. Or more ludicrous, when nailed by need as compelling as the ever-building pressure, hovering on the precipice of unbearable bliss. 

“Mac!” 

“AGHH!”  A god-awful racket clawed Mac’s throat when Joe upped the ante, pace, undulation of his sprite-like self, as if dead set on driving Mac demented before he was, indeed, done. It was all Mac could do to close his fist around Joe’s tremouring cock and watch, rapt, as he rode the waves sweeping him to the edge of everything and beyond. Mesmerised by the perfection that was Joe on the precipice of paradise; realms away, yet never more present. It was with a sharp cry that his tufty head rocked back when Joe shuddered with a spasm of inner muscles that blazed through Mac in blitzkrieg of bliss.

“Hmm…” A sound matched by the beatific smile with which Joe sank forwards in a slick and sticky smear of skin. Mac would crawl over broken glass for one last glimpse of that expression. He would do far more than that. Right then, he couldnae think of a thing he wouldn’t do to merit that smile. Nor summon the will to worry about it. “Hmm…Mac…?”

“Aye…?” 

“Did you mean ‘fuck no’ the way it sounded?” 

 How the hell had Mac said it? He had a sneaky suspicion that he knew damn well. As if it was the last thing he might ever do, perhaps?  Too emphatically to suggest a single marble might be left rattling around in the bottom of Mac’s Bergen?

“Aye…” he repeated with a rueful smirk, instead.

“Will you say it again? ‘Twas hellish sexy,” Joe murmured, lifting his head to unleash the lashes.

“Fuck off,” Mac snickered.

“That’s very distracting, Mr Chuckles. Please…for me?” Rapid blinking. Pity-me-pout. Monster.

“Phhhh…” Mac hmphed. Trouble’s lips just twitched, knowing damn well that he was about to be obliged. Oh why not…what the hell. Mac couldnae be any more buggered. Unless he was, surely?  “Fuck no Growled, with a steely glare. Mad bastard.

“Hmm…” A happy hum of sound succeeded by a question from left field. Of course. “Mac, how long is ‘fuck no’ for?” Big round eyes beseeched, impossibly innocent.  Oh...for about as long as it took for Joe to finish one of them off? At least.

“Until you’re bored…and/or start finding your diet rather…restrictive, shall we say?”

“You can say it, if you like, but I sure won’t. The latter wouldn’t cross my mind, let alone leave my lips. I don’t find anything restrictive when I’ve shackled myself to it, you daftie. I’d get miffy if someone else told me what I must do, eat, say, for fifteen minutes, let alone forever. But never if I chose it myself. Beats me why folk have kiddies if they get fed up of stuff in five seconds flat. Scary that. Weirdos.”

If there was an answer to that? Mac wasnae likely to fathom it before he’d had his first smoke of the day. A stiff drink wouldnae go amiss, either…

“Mac…are you miffy?” Joe asked, hot on the heels of Mac’s silence. Unless, of course; the miscreant knew damn well why that might be. 

“Should I be…?” Mac raised his head, arching a wry eyebrow

“Sorry…? Um, it ‘wasnae a wandering digit‘ to break…the terms? Or feed to the dog?” The face Joe donned was best described as ‘all eyes and teeth’.  Like a cartoon character caught red handed.

“You broke the spirit of the terms—as well you know it—or you wouldnae be asking.” Mac informed him, with a lofty sniff. Far from ‘withering’, but about the best he could muster, when really. Joe was impossible. It was like trying to scold Pootle Flump. Okay. You’re really showing your age now, you old git. Baby Groot? He’d do. More to the point…scold?

Five days with who the fuck is Joe Fitzgerald and Mac had mutated into a badass grandma. 

Five days? It felt like five minutes and forever, Joe Mean Time. Meanwhile…in real time? The weekend in Marlborough had been followed by two rehearsal days in London. The second of these—Tuesday—had unfolded in much the manner as the first, except Joe had been the one to take Adam aside to ‘fine-tune some stuffs’. Apparently. The misreant had seemed untroubled when he’d emerged, so Mac hadnae pressed for any details. He could not micro-manage Joe and his own manager. His own control-freakery had started to freak Mac the fuck out. In his own indefensible defence…? Fear was a cruel taskmaster. One he was so unaccustomed to serving that Mac’s instincts had snatched up the proverbial sledgehammer with which to crack the nut. 

Overcompensation? Guilty as charged, but underestimating Joe really wasnae an option. There was no middle ground to scope out. Mr Fitzgerald avoided that as if it might incite a plague on his person. 

Every song had been sung as if for his last supper, performed with a focus so transfixing Mac would’ve been hard pressed to tear his gaze away had the drug squad stormed the room. Joe’s band had burned through every track like men on a mission to fight fire with fire, lest they be left stranded.

Adam had been right, he could have filmed those rehearsals…and promptly sold ‘Junkie Joe’ down the river. Made a mockery of every word scripted for him with such pitiless derision by poisoned pens. Mac almost wished that the conniving bastard had done just that, lest—  

He couldnae go there. It was a horror show waiting to hook its claws into Mac and shred his ever flimsy façade of civility. It’d wind up about as effective as a clingfilm flack jacket if—when—the shit hit the fan.

Mac couldnae afford to fool himself. He sure as hell had not come armed with a magic cock that could wave Joe’s demons away. Particularly when the miscreant made Mac feel as if he could. Not literally, of course (he had retained a modicum of sense), but metaphorically. Letting those eyes persuade him otherwise might well prove his fatal flaw. Joe’s life depended on that. If it was the last thing he ever did, Mac would make damn sure that Joe wanted to live it. 

 

*

 

tbc…second and final part to come.

Wafflish

Cover Poll

Hi,

I hope your week is being kind to you. 🥰 Thank you so much for voting in my poll, the results thus far are:

Cover 1 – 30%

Cover 2 – 20%

Cover 3 – 50%

Apart from the first vote (for number 2), number 3 has been the leader all along. So, unless we have a flurry of votes that pips it at the post, this is the cover you’ve chosen:

fotojet-1-1

lucas-filipe-ihlPKC7P0gE-unsplash (1) (4) (1)

FotoJet (4)

lucas-filipe-ihlPKC7P0gE-unsplash (3)

Epilogue coming soon…

.

Guest · Release Blitz

Guest & Review: The Lucky Cat by L M Somerton

Hi,  

Today I’d like to welcome my guest, L M Somerton with her wonderful new release ‘The Lucky Cat’. I was fortunate ’nuff to read a preview copy and have included my thoughts below…

 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Lucky Cat

Author: L M Somerton

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Cover Artist: Louisa Maggio

Release Date:  September 1, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, thriller/suspense, light BDSM

Heat Rating:  4 flames    

Length: 60 343 words/ 241 pages

It is the first book in a new series.

Goodreads

 

978-1-83943-066-4 _TheLuckyCat_Email Banner

Buy Links

First for Romance  |  Pride Publishing 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Antiques and ammunition do not mix well.

Blurb

 

The antique trade is not known for its life or death excitement and Landry Carran is happy that he has to contend only with furniture polish, woodworm and his irascible boss. He gets all the thrills he needs at his favorite BDSM club, Scorch.

Detective Gage Roskam is hunting stolen jewels taken from a Tokyo exhibition then shipped to Seattle. Mired in a deadly race involving the Yakuza, an enigmatic Englishman and too many indecipherable clues, he doesn’t have time to indulge in Dominant fantasies.

When their worlds collide, neither Landry nor Gage expects things to get quite as complicated—or dangerous—as they do. When Landry steps into the path of some powerful, ruthless people, it’s up to Gage to protect him. Along the way they might just discover what they both need.

 

INSTAGRAM

Review

The Lucky Cat is a delightful story, witty and warm with a twist in its tale. It has an atmosphere that evokes a 1960’s crime caper; pairing a kooky hero(ine) with a gruff alpha male along the lines of Charade. Landry and Gage may well have been Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant reimagined; their banter was one of my favourite things. The antiques shop itself was the other, depicted so wonderfully well I could almost smell the beeswax.  

Landry’s inner-dialogue is a treat to read and I adored his observations and tongue-in-cheek takes on the other characters along the way. The antiques shop setting lends this story a charm as unique as Landry’s own. I adored the store and the foibles of its owner—the irascible Mr Lao—described with such incorrigible aplomb by Landry that his boss felt very present, despite the fact he wasn’t.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the mystery, the unfolding of the plot is p’raps more important than the solving of it. As the key to unlocking this story’s secrets is telegraphed from the start, I doubt that a reader will remain in the dark until its denouement. That said, discerning its location didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the book one bit. It was spending time with the characters that made this story hum along so well, rather than the cogs clicking into place aspect of it.

I’ve promised myself that my reviews will be honest, so I must confess two things:

1) My only quibble is something very specific to me. My catnip is intensity, so I suspect you could read this novel and wonder what I’m waffling on about. Nevertheless, it is the maple syrup that tickles my taste buds, so I feel its absence keenly. If only the intensity had been ratcheted up a tad—the passion made more passionate, the peril more perilous, etc—I would have given The Lucky Cat a five star review. My own proclivities aside, if you prefer a great caper to indulging your egregious emotions in a feel-fest,  I highly recommend this story.

2) I am not the best judge of intensity levels. My base camp is the summit of Everest. If you’d rather embark upon an enjoyable adventure with great characters, this Lucky Cat will make an excellent addition to your collection.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

***

Excerpt 

Sometimes there were advantages to being vertically challenged. Landry, his ass sticking out from under a seventeenth-century folding card table, paused to contemplate other occasions when his five-feet-six-inch stature had been of benefit. Not when attempting to get served at his favorite leather bar, though getting squished between all those black-clad hunks was always bearable. He snorted. Not when reaching for his preferred brand of chips at the market, which were always on the top shelf. Put there, he was sure, by the snotty assistant manager as revenge for Landry turning down his offer of a quick blow job in the staff restroom. As if. Never at family meals when he got to sit between his older twin brothers like a blond munchkin between two extras from Vikings. He reversed, wiggling his back end to avoid a willow-patterned platter balancing on a brass coal scuttle. His knees ached and he’d banged his elbow on a cast-iron fireguard, but he had rescued the battered cannonball making an escape attempt beneath teetering piles of stock.

“Well, there’s a pretty sight.”

“Hey!” Landry went for indignant rather than flattered. He tried to get up too soon and banged his head on solid, woodworm-free oak. “Fuck me!” He finally made it to open air and scrambled to his feet, rubbing his already messy hair into further disarray.

“Is that a request?”

Landry looked up…and up…into a pair of twinkling pale-blue eyes. The customer, because that was who Landry guessed the newcomer must be, was drop-dead, my-ass-is-yours gorgeous and he was grinning. Well, smirking.

“Funny man. What can I help you with, sir?” Landry gritted his teeth and remembered that Mr. Lao, his boss, would swat him like a bug if he snarked at a potential patron. Though, on this occasion, it might be worth it to mess with the man.

“Another leading question.”

Landry rolled his eyes. Black hair, blue eyes and a stubbled, chiseled chin did not equate to a free pass. “The massage parlor is three doors down, just before St. Peter’s. You can get a full-body whatever then confess all in the space of an hour.” He made an ineffective attempt to brush dust from the knees of his ripped black jeans. Blue Eyes reached into his jacket and produced a wallet, which he opened to display a Seattle PD badge and ID card.

“Gage Roskam. Is your boss around?”

Landry was more turned on than intimidated by the badge. Cop plus handcuffs equaled sexy time. Every cop he’d ever met had had a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude and a natural bent for control—just the type of man Landry liked to mess with. He batted his lashes. “And what makes you think I’m not the boss?”

“You’re not a sixty-eight-year-old Chinese guy by the name of Jian Lao?”

“Very observant, Officer. All that training paid off.” Landry put an extra bit of swing into his hips as he walked toward the cash desk at the rear of the shop.

“Putting your tax dollars to work, brat.”

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to call me sir, what with you being a public servant and all?”

“In your dreams, and you should show more respect for law enforcement.”

“Gonna make me?”

“You’re lucky I’m on duty or I’d bend you over the nearest flat surface and give you the spanking you’re begging for.”

 

About the Author 

Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

 

BLURB

Social Media Links

Pride Publishing Page  |   Blog/Website and newsletter sign-up   

Facebook  |  Twitter   |  Pinterest    |   Amazon Author Page

Queer Romance Ink  |   Instagram   |   MeWe Group

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

 

poll

Cover Poll

Hi…I hope you have a wonderful weekend. 🥰

I’ll be writing the epilogue, I’ll post it as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ve designed a cover but can’t decide which font to use for my name. I’ve narrowed it down from 5 to these 3…and wondered if I might ask you to pick your favourite…?

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2
3

📷 Lucas Filipe on Unsplash