Company at Vastine's...Welcome, Joylene Nowell Butler!

 Hey, sugars!

 Today I’m honored to welcome a guest who’s been one of the most influential persons in my writing adventure. Author Joylene Nowell Butler.

Lordy, I could talk your ear off all day about this woman, I truly could, I admire her that much and I cherish her friendship and support that much.

I met Ms. Butler at the very, very early stages of my writing. The days when I had not goal in mind, I was just writing for fun…but…but…beginning to dream of that big what if? What if I really wanted to do this seriously? What if…?

And I met Joylene. She read lots of my work. She critiqued lots of my work. Looking back at my pitiful lack of knowledge, I now can be humbled by her patience.

Joylene encouraged me, always. And she still does. On top of all that—she’s am extremely gifted, multi-published author. 

But let me shut up and turn the floor over to her. She’s sharing a new experience in her writing career—her first venture into writing…Steampunk!

So, take the floor, Ms. Butler! I’m dying to hear about this!

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Never Say Never, has always been my motto. That doesn’t mean there aren't times when I wonder what the heck was I thinking!  

March 8, 2012, author Pat Bertram asked if I’d like to join her and 8 others in doing a collaboration on a steampunk mystery.  

I said,”Sure," then quickly googled the term steampunk. I’d never heard to it. 

Wikipedia’s definition (condensed) says, Steampunk is a sub-genre of science fiction that typically features steam-powered machinery, especially in a setting inspired by industrialized Western civilization during the 19th century….

I have one better. When people ask me, I say “Think Sherlocks Holmes.”

To which they generally reply, “Gotta.”

What they don’t know is, try writing a book about a subject you have to look up on Google. Hence the reason we began the project March 8, 2012 but it wasn’t published until May 1, 2014. None of us knew what we were doing. Well, three did, but they dropped out within the first year. The rest of us debated every six months or so whether we should give up. 

It was tough going. I know there were moments when I wanted to shout “I quit!” Why I didn’t is mostly stubbornness. I find it difficult to give up. 

Welcome to Break Time, a collaborative steampunk anthology written by seven authors from four countries—USA, New Zealand, Canada, Australia—who have never met. The year is 1966. Steam still reigns. Oil never became king. Coal is used to heat water to create steam to run engines, and because of it, pollution is a serious problem. The last war was the Great War. World War II never happened. There was no Korean Conflict, and no build up of troops in Vietnam. Despite what might be idealistic times, not everyone is happy. Alexander Giston, 64 years old in 1966, invented a machine that broke time and allowed him to return to the past and save his wife and son from the train wreck that took their lives. Heeding his advice, they agreed to travel by aeroship instead, and were lost when the aeroship went down. A third attempt failed to keep them from dying. Al promised himself he wouldn’t again attempt to save his wife and son. Instead he decided to go to the past to kill steam, the means of their death. But some who live and prosper because of steam will do anything to save their way of life, even to kill Al as often as they need to.

Still, I suffered. I pulled a lot of hair out of my head trying to determine what motivated the novel’s antagonist. I eventually figured out what my character, Dakota David's motivation was. Like me he was confused most days. I knew I could work with that. But when it came to incorporating his story with the novel’s lead character, I was completely in the dark. Had it not been for the patience of our lead author, Pat Bertram, we’d all still be at it. 

Now, after struggling, wondering what the heck I was thinking when I agreed to do this anthology, and trying to finish the hardest piece of writing I’ve ever done, I’m thrilled with the results. When someone asks me what’s an anthology is and what it feels like to work with six other authors, I say, “Think Sherlock Holmes,” then add, “then write a short story using the same antagonist six other authors are using.” 

That’s about the time I receive the “Huh?” reply. 

Here’s a sneak peek from Dakota David’s section:

Grandfather also saw the wolverine. He looked back at David. “The bear hunts the wolverine. Yet he comes to you to prove that rage can be controlled. He is warning you that your gift has purpose. One day, many years from now, a man will approach you, coveting the suppressed rage of the wolverine’s enemy. This man will be prisoner to the past yet present to the future. It will be your gift that sets him free . . . if you choose to help him.”

Present to the future; what the hell did that mean! “What if I don’t want to help him, Mushom? What if I can’t?”

Grandfather closed his eyes, lifted his chin to the heavens. The smooth lines in his face softened, and David knew he was speaking to God.

He’s praying for me, Great Spirit. Please listen.

After a time, Grandfather looked back at him. “I don’t know that you will help him. It’s a choice to make then, not now. All future can be changeable, Nosisim.”

It hadn’t been the answer David hoped for and he raised his arms to the sky and called out to the Great Spirit. “Manito! Thank you, but the gift isn’t wanted. Please don’t make me take it. Honour someone else . . . !”

“. . . And that’s my story,” Al Giston said, startling David from his reverie. “Will you help me?”

When David looked at Al, he saw a desperate man, a man who felt justified by his insane request.

Or am I the one who’s insane. I’m talking to a matchitehew from the future.

“You have my deepest sympathies, Al, but I can’t help you.”

Kindle Buy Link:  http://www.amazon.com/Break-Time-Pat-Bertram-ebook/dp/B00K33N9NE

Paperback Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/Break-Time-Pat-Bertram/dp/1630660612

Ms. Butler’s Blog:http://cluculzwriter.blogspot.com

Her Webpage - www.joylenenowellbutler.com

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That’s chilling, Joylene. And now I’m awfully curious to see how this is all put together, who the other characters are. And quite an interesting undertaking…a collaboration with so many other authors. Not an anthology, mind you, but a story. Fascinating. But, knowing you, my friend, it’s worked out splendidly! Congratulations!

Thank you so much for visiting with us today. It’s been a pleasure and an honor!

Company at Vastine's...Welcome, Angel Martinez!

Oh, sugars. Trying not to gush and grin but it's damn hard. Because today Author Angel Martinez is visiting!

Most of you know Ms. Martinez, I'm sure, as she's established herself as a very gifted storyteller. To me, there's also the delight in her elegant prose, her ultra delicious characters.

And...speaking of characters. It just so happens she's sharing one of my very, very favorite characters of hers----FINN. Who is a Pooka. And, no, dolls, I am not going to spill the goodies. You'll have to read the book, Finn: Endangered Fae 1. 

So, before I gush myself silly, let me move over and make room for Ms. Martinez...

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Deferred Dreams, Untaken Roads, and a Pooka

“I want to squash the dream my child carries in her heart, to snuff out that one true light inside her” says no parent, ever. Yet…and yet…we, as parents, do this all the time. With well meaning advice, with hopes that our children will do better than we did, make more of themselves, not have to struggle as much.

Screw doing better than us. Our children should be happier than we were.

My parents were good parents. They listened to our interests, provided a well-rounded, intellectually rich environment, and nagged us to practice the piano. They tried to instill in us the importance of hard work, of perseverance, of being honest and compassionate. These were all good things. But in little ways, lots of little ways or which they were probably unaware, they tried to steer us toward that elusive goal – success.

Success – as in being independent and owning your own house, as in having a family and being able to bring said family up in a good neighborhood with good schools. To stray from this path was fraught with unseen peril. They worried for us. They wanted us to do well in life. So writing fiction was not a career choice. Oh, you could write fiction in your spare time from within the walls of academia, sure. But as a career? No.

To be fair, there were many voices echoing this pronouncement – teachers, professors, guidance counselors and so on. All right, I was a smart kid. I would be…a veterinarian. No, a biologist. No, wait, a high school teacher. The confusion resulted in a less than stellar undergraduate experience and a lot of shifting and changing of majors and classes. I ended up with a degree in English Lit and all the previous voices screaming at me that I must go to graduate school or I would destroy my life! At this point, I was so beaten down and unhappy with academia, I certainly couldn’t see myself spending my life there.

Did I find success? Of a sort. I worked at a long string of ever-changing jobs and finally fell into banking, working up from teller, to loan officer and eventually into a corporate office with one of those meaningless job titles and a ridiculous salary. We had the money to buy the nice house in the nice neighborhood with the good schools and money left over to save for son’s college and our retirement. Success. So why was I so miserable?

Because I had ripped my heart out to achieve it. Abandoned writing, abandoned storytelling to live what was, for me, someone else’s life. Generally, if you keep something under too much pressure in too small a space, there will be an explosion of one sort of another. Luckily for me, (and all the people around me) when the explosion came it was a creative one.

Thing is, I think about how things might have been different, but I’m not certain they would have been better. If creative writing had been an acceptable college major back when I was in school and I had begun early, would that have been better? Probably not. I had no life experience, no real roots in the world’s songs and I do think a storyteller needs those roots or the stories will be shallow. If I’d gone to graduate school, would it have been better? Again, it’s doubtful. I would have been caught up in the politics and the gamesmanship of academia, my creativity slowly drained for the sake of conformity. If I’d woken up earlier in my varied and strange work career and started writing sooner? No. Again, no. Everything I’ve seen and done has made me what I am. Every cent of blood money earned I claim so that now, now I have a chance to evolve.

I’m finishing my half-century year. Yes, I turn fifty in June, but it is the end of my fiftieth year (we Westerners have that all screwed up.) I quit my day job last week and have now settled in to the full time business of writing. Yes. It’s wonderful. Thank you for asking. I’m taking morning walks, working in the garden, getting some reading done, and writing. I even baked cookies this week. I feel oddly whole again.

And the pooka? Getting to that…

Early in the years while I was still working for the banks and writing in hurried spurts of free time, I feared that I would never see anything published. I nearly gave up because no one was interested in my stories, not even a nibble. Romance, everyone told me, you should try that. It’s a completely different world. There are e-publishers! (What? E-publisher? What the hell is that?) But I had no romance stories. I couldn’t write the boy meets girl stuff. So I started to look through things I had on folklore…and there he was.

The pooka. Finn. Just sitting out on the lawn, grinning and waving at me. You know you want to tell my story, he said. He has been with me ever since, whispering in my ear, laughing at my jokes.

As imaginary friends go, he’s been a damn good one, and was there when I needed him most.

Finn: Endangered Fae 1

MLR Press

Amazon

All Romance

Blurb:

When Diego rescues a naked man from the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, he just wants to get the poor man out of traffic and to social services. He gets more than he bargained for when he discovers Finn is an ailing pooka, poisoned by the city's pollution. To help him recover, Diego takes him to New Brunswick where Finn inadvertently wakes an ancient, evil spirit: the wendigo.
While they struggle to find a way to destroy the wendigo before it can possess Diego or kill nearby innocents, Diego wrestles with his growing feelings for Finn. Kill the monster and navigate a relationship between a modern man and a centuries old pooka. Piece of cake.

Excerpt: PG-13

The ordeal of the shower seemed cruel, but Finn was filthy and smelled like a dumpster during a garbage strike. Diego placed one of his plastic kitchen chairs in the middle of the shower and installed Finn there, but he only slumped against the chair back, eyes closed, face turned into the spray.

Too exhausted to even flinch.

Diego fought down the little shiver of revulsion at the stench, stripped to his boxers, and stepped into the stall with him. He attacked the tangled mass of hair first, positioning Finn so his head hung back over the chair. No lice—a good sign. He might have been homeless, but he probably hadn’t lived on the streets too long. The nest of midnight snarls unwound under the caress of water and shampoo. If Finn stood, his hair would reach at least to the top curve of his butt. A strange blue-black iridescence shone in it, his natural coloring as far as Diego could tell rather than bottled special effects.

The rest Diego washed with a loofah, shoving away modesty out of a need to get Finn to his rest. An ache lodged around his heart to see how malnutrition had ravaged what probably had been a lean-muscled frame. An athlete, perhaps, before he went off the deep end, an impression reinforced by the absence of almost all body hair. Waxed or electrolysis-denuded—only Finn’s crotch sported a black thatch of soft hair. Swimmer, perhaps. The Olympic competitors often shaved it all off for every small gain in streamlining.

He turned off the water and tugged at Finn’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. You can’t sleep in the shower.”

Finn staggered to his feet and Diego all but carried him to Mitch’s room. The spare room, he corrected himself. He usually kept the door closed so the stark, unfurnished space wasn’t glaring at him.

He sat Finn down against the wall, brought him a pair of flannel pajamas, soft with age, and went out to the front closet to retrieve the air mattress and vacuum. Six boxes lay stacked against the wall; all that remained of Mitch’s things. Diego ran a hand over one, and then shook his head against the temptation to open the top and look at its contents. When he returned, Finn hadn’t moved from where he sat, naked and dozing in a patch of sunlight.

“You might want to put those on.” Diego toed the pajamas closer as he dragged the air mattress into place. When Finn’s only response was a long sigh, he added, “We need to get you warm. I don’t want to have to take you to Emergency.”

With a puzzled frown, Finn unfolded the material and managed, after looking back and forth between the pajamas and Diego’s jeans a few times, to pull the bottoms on. His efforts with the top, though, were sabotaged when the vacuum roared to life. He startled and scuttled sideways, wide-eyed and panting.

Diego hurried to switch it off. “Sorry. Should have warned you.”

“Is it some sort of small dragon?”

For a moment, Diego stared in blank surprise before he caught himself. At least the nature of Finn’s delusion was becoming clearer. He might even share his history later when he had the energy, perhaps some tragic story of an exiled prince. For now, Diego thought it best to play along.

“Not a dragon. Just a machine. It blows out and sucks in air with great force.”

“Ah.” Finn seemed disappointed, but waved a hand for him to continue.

Mattress inflated, Finn dressed and installed in bed, Diego thought he should get something in him before he drifted off. He tried tap water first but Finn jerked his head away, the color draining from his face.

“Tainted,” he gasped. “Great Dagda, it reeks.”

Diego sniffed above the glass, puzzled. New York City water, piped in from the mountains, was cleaner than most but it was treated. Chlorine. Fluoride. Maybe Finn had an allergy to one or the other.

Bottled water produced a less violent reaction. Finn smelled it, nose crinkled, but he downed half the bottle in desperate gulps before Diego could take it back from him. Hydration, at least, wouldn’t be an issue.

The hurdle of food remained. Starvation often did terrible things to the body’s ability to accept nourishment. Not the best time to offer a hamburger and fries. Diego decided he should start with the foods one was supposed to give sick kids: bananas, rice, applesauce and toast, minus the applesauce, since he didn’t have any.

Finn wouldn’t touch the boiled-in-tap-water rice. He nibbled a corner of the toast and set it aside with murmured apologies. The banana completely stumped him. He turned it over and over in his hands and finally tried to bite through the skin.

“You eat these?” He handed it back to Diego with a grimace.

All right, so his reality doesn’t include New World fruit. Diego peeled the banana for him and handed it back. “You don’t eat the skin. Try the inside.”

Finn took a careful bite and his eyes widened. “That’s not bad.”

Diego could only watch anxiously, praying his guest wouldn’t choke, as the rest disappeared in three bites. With a contented sigh, Finn handed the peel back, gathered the covers into a circle in the center of the mattress, and curled into a tight ball inside his nest. By the time Diego brought an extra comforter to cover him, Finn was fast asleep.

Clean and at rest, his face had a childlike quality with his hair tucked behind one finely-curved ear. Diego wasn’t certain it was a handsome face, almost unearthly in its delicacy, and though Finn stood six inches taller, he had the odd feeling he could scoop that long frame up in his arms without much effort.

He backed out and closed the door as quietly as he could, confident Finn wouldn’t die on him. Tomorrow he would see about finding the right agency to take his guest, preferably one that wouldn’t hand him right over to immigration.

A few hours of peace while Finn slept should let him at least get through the current chapter he was writing.

The moment he sat ready at his desk, fingers poised over the keys, the phone rang.

About the Author:

While Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres, she writes both kinds of gay romance – Science Fiction and Fantasy. Currently living part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware, (and full time inside the author's head) Angel has one husband, one son, two cats, a changing variety of other furred and scaled companions, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.
For more information on Angel’s work, please visit:
Website: Erotic Fiction for the Hungry Mind
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martinez.author
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1010469.Angel_Martinez
Email: ravenesperanza@yahoo.com

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 Angel, thank you so much for visiting! I thoroughly enjoyed your words and, as a parent, related so to them. And, in a completely different way, related as an author as well. And I can't tell you how good it was to re-visit Finn. You know he's one of my favorite characters. Just one of those characters one always remembers. 

Company at Vastine's...Welcome, Mary Wehr!

Today's visitor is a gal who's dear to my heart. One of those folks you meet while doin' that thing...you know...Facebooking...and you just adore them from the get go. And that lady is Author Mary Wehr. 

One thing I loved---and appreciated---about her was her writing. I read her novel, A Heart's Endeavor, and I was impressed that she dealt, in a very down-to-earth and very human way, depression. The heroine of the story, Melanie, suffered from depression and I admired that Ms. Wehr chose to address this very common, often hush-hush condition. And---okay, okay---I also crushed on the hero of the novel, sexy state trooper Jack Horan. So, yes, the author writes an awfully nice male character. 

Well, I could go on and on, but instead I'll go take my seat and let Ms. Wehr take over.

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Thanks for having me on your blog, Vastine. I'm delighted to share a short blurb and excerpt from my first book with Blushing Books Publications, Just Right for Me. Hope you enjoy:)

                                         

BLURB:

          Mia Adam’s disapproved of her sister’s Domestic Discipline marriage, but when her old flame comes back to town and suggests they give domestic discipline a whirl she changes her mind.  She still regrets the day she had lost her temper and sent Ross Garrison running for the hills.  She’d do anything for a second chance.

          Ross Garrison returned to Pennsylvania to attend his aunt’s funeral and hopefully get a second chance with the woman who had stolen his heart so long ago. Mia possessed a temper to rival the devil and had a penchant for jumping to conclusions, but Ross was no longer the young man who avoided drama as much as possible. He had matured during his stint in the Marines and was quite capable of taming his wildcat with a good old-fashioned spanking or two.

          Mia’s childhood lacked love and discipline and the uncle she thought would always be there for her had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Could she put aside her trust issues and allow Ross to know what was good for her even though her bottom would more than likely suffer the consequences?

EXCERPT:

Who would have thought she’d be sitting here considering a Domestic Discipline relationship with the one man who had walked out on her so many years ago. Ross had sounded so sincere, Mia almost believed him. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe he didn’t cheat on her with Kelly; she had always been a troublemaker. Mia sighed. She had prayed for a second chance and here it was, sitting in her kitchen. All six foot four of him, wrapped nicely in a pair of faded jeans and black cotton T.

Despite her protests concerning her sister’s marriage, Mia’s insides were all quivering. How would it feel to be turned over Ross’s lap and spanked? Would he spank her over her clothes or demand she take off her pants and panties? Flustered at the direction her thoughts were going, she got up from her chair and wandered over to the sink. She swallowed hard. “Is spanking included as punishment?” She heard the scrap of a chair and soon felt his presence directly behind her, scorching her backside. 

“So, you’re familiar with Domestic Discipline and what that entails?” His breath stirred the hairs at the back of her neck and she shivered. His big hands slid up her arms to cup her shoulders and squeeze as he occupied his mouth by dropping light kisses just below her earlobe.Her breasts ached and her nipples tightened. Ross had always been an attentive lover, taking his time as he played with her body. Mia relaxed her stance and allowed herself to rest against his hard body. Ross slid a hand down to her navel and splayed his fingers wide anchoring her close so she could feel his hardness prodding her ass. She tilted her head to the side in order to give him more access to the sensitive area adjoining her neck and shoulder. Ross immediately set his mouth upon her and covered her skin with kisses.

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” He nibbled his way back up to her earlobe, suckled the flange of flesh and then stuck his tongue in her ear. “What do you know about Domestic Discipline?”

His raspy voice was like an aphrodisiac and Mia’s knees nearly buckled. “Not much, just what I read about it and from Becky.” Only the strength of his iron clasp pressing into her belly kept her in place, otherwise she would have been on the floor in a puddle at his feet. The other hand traveled to her breast. He thumbed one nipple, then the other.

“Hmm, if you agree to this type of relationship, spanking will most definitely be involved.”

His touch, his voice made it impossible for Mia to think. She broke away from his hold and moved over to the kitchen table. Ross was here, suggesting they give their relationship another try, but what about Connie? “How does Connie fit in all this?”

He heaved a sigh. “Connie left for California yesterday. There hasn’t been a woman as special as you in my life.”

Even though Mia felt better, thinking about him and Connie as fuck buddies didn’t sit too well with her either, but she hadn’t expected him to live like a monk. She had dated throughout the years, but there wasn’t a man who made her pulse leap as Ross had done.

BUY LINKS:

us: http://amzn.to/1fyHH96

uk: http://amzn.to/1g14yeu

http://www.blushingbooks.com/index.php?l=product_detail&p=2734

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/just-right-for-me-blushing-books/1118827789?ean=2940149275168

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 No, that's not me in the shower, steaming up the joint. It was that excerpt! 

And, ay-ay-ay, that was mighty tempting!

Thank you so much, Mary, for visiting with me and friends today! Congratulations on the release, and thank you so much for sharing that teaser with us!

Company at Vastine's...Welcome, Jean Joachim!

 Hello!

Today I have the honor of sharing the house with one of the classiest women I know who just happens to be ultra talented as well. Her name and her work are well known in romantic fiction. She's romance royalty. Her stories of the dazzling world of New York aren't just imagination and beefing up on Wikipedia. Ms. Joachim IS New Yorker and her knowledge of the Big Apple is first hand. Fascinating woman!

Today she's giving us a peek at an upcoming release, Shine Your Love On Me (#3 in the Manhattan Dinner Club series). 

And---stick around, sugars, because at the end we'll be drawing a lucky commenter's name for a free copy of Shine Your Love On Me when it is released! 

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SHINE YOUR LOVE ON ME (#3 in the Manhattan Dinner Club series – but a stand-alone book)

A bit about the book:

Brooke Felson had a hot career on Madison Avenue, hot boyfriend and a place near Central Park. She lived the good life until, piece-by-piece, her world collapsed. Shattered and rootless, Brooke seeks direction from her past. Will grandmotherly wisdom and a handsome writer help her find real love and rebuild her life? 

Thank you for having me here today, Vastine.

Here’s a little sneak peek of my newest book, up for preorder and due to release on May 9. It’s Called SHINE YOUR LOVE ON ME. In this scene, Preston Carpenter, the hero, is trying to get noticed by Brooke Felson. Pres is friendly with Brooke’s grandmother. They are at her house and he’s doing his best to make a good impression. Do you think it worked? Guess you’ll have to read the book to find out.

 

Excerpt:

“I’m sure he has other dogs to walk, Nan. We shouldn’t keep him,” Brooke said, spreading cream cheese on half a bagel.

“Actually, Ruth’s are the only dogs I walk…” Pres said.

“Hope your business picks up.”

He shrugged and sighed. She’s not listening. Why do I bother? She’ll never notice me. A heaviness lodged in his legs, but he forced them to move. Ruth accompanied him to the door. He stopped for a second to watch Brooke. She was standing at the window, munching on her food. His gaze roamed over her body. At six two, he preferred taller women, like Brooke. He guessed her to be about five foot seven or eight. Short girls made him feel like he was dating a little kid.

Her dress bunched slightly around her breasts. His fingertips tingled when he looked at them. He gauged they’d be a good fit in his hands. The neckline revealed a little cleavage, making his groin tighten even more. She leaned slightly, raising her hem. Long, lean legs. Perfect. And a rear end that wasn’t too small or too big. He sighed. Making love to her would be a dream come true.

As if she sensed his stare, she turned and shot a small smile his way. He could feel a blush steal into his cheeks. Being caught gawking at her like a teenager with a boner. Smooth, Preston, real smooth. He lifted his hand in a feeble wave before he headed for the elevator with Buddy in tow.

Pre order here: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=873&zenid=99dbb2cfd239de42cb2db5dab778186b

This series, The Manhattan Dinner Club is about four women who meet on Pug Hill in Central Park in Manhattan. They become friends and meet once a week, with their pugs, for dinner. They share their triumphs and tragedies. They support each other, laughing, breaking bread and sharing wine.

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Jean, the excerpt! I love it! And---aha!---so the girls in the series meet once a week and bring their pugs! That explains the cutie pug on the delicious cover!

And you guys out there! C'mon and comment for a chance to win this book when it becomes available. It looks like it's going to be wonderful!

I SO enjoyed your visit, Jean! Congratulations on the upcoming release and for all your fabulous works!

Thank you for hanging out with us!