2/14/2015

Welcome to the World of Pulp Friction 2015: Altered States #mmromance #serial Releases Feb. 15th


Pulp Friction 2015: Altered States

Jack of Spades #1

Drawing Dead

By

Lee Brazil


The world hasn't been the same since the preternaturals came out of the closet. Much to many people’s chagrin, strange beings of all kinds are making life tricky for the "normals."
Physics professor Dr. Sabine Brusilov has been obsessed with ghost hunting since he was eight years old.. He's gathered a wealth of knowledge, but can't produce a shred of scientific proof.
One hundred and seventy-five years of death haven't done riverboat gambler Barton Montoire a damn bit of good. He's still rash, impulsive, and prone to fits of temper and bouts of melancholy.
You'd think that when fate brought the two of them together, Bart's lonely spirit would be calmed, and Sabine would have the proof his heart desires.
In a world where mythical beings are real, love is still the most elusive… and treacherous myth of them all.

EXCERPT
“Mrs. Carew, I apologize. Tell me about the paranormal problem again?” Sabine brushed back over his shoulder the dark hair that his mischievous boyfriend had loosened. Normally he kept it in a ponytail, a queue, as Bart quaintly called it, because it tickled his face when loose. He always ended up pushing it back and getting smudges on his glasses in the process.
He frowned at Bart’s glimmer…the sort of ripple in the air that reminded him of the way heat looked rising off a highway in the dead of summer. Sneaky bastard.
“It’s my new upstairs neighbors, Dr. Brusilov. Before they even moved in they installed dark blinds on their windows and I never see anyone coming out during the day. Not even at the mailboxes. But all night long… The thumping and the bumping and the shrieking. I’m sure they’re vampires up there murdering innocents.”
Sabine tapped his pencil on the desk and watched Bart coalesce into something resembling a solid shape in front of his office door. “Being a vampire is not illegal, and you’d have to have proof of murder, Mrs. Carew.” He explained as patiently as he could.
Six years earlier he’d investigated a haunting at Mrs. Carew’s church…and had received bi-weekly phone calls about hauntings ever since.
“Well, couldn’t you come out and investigate it?”
“That’s not the sort of paranormal I investigate, Mrs. Carew. Here at Dead Men’s Tales we only investigate hauntings.” He glanced at his watch. Thursdays were generally light, but tonight happened to be poker night, and as luck would have it, it was his turn to play host to the gathering.
“You mean ghosts, like at the church, right?”
“Exactly, just ghosts.” His brows shot up and his lips twitched as Bart began an elaborate strip tease accompanied by high knee kicks and spins. The cancan had been popular with students when Bart was at university, nearly two hundred years earlier. It was Bart’s idea of risqué…and Sabine bit back his laugh.
“Those are real, too?”
“Yes,” he sighed, setting the pen down and rubbing his temple. “Ghosts, vampires, werewolves…you name it, I imagine it's real.” The world had changed so much, people like Mrs. Carew who’d once been considered crackpots were thrown even more off balance. Learning that the world as you knew it was never really…well, the world as you knew it, had been devastating for some and inspirational for others.
The vampires had come out first…then the wolves.
Just Sabine’s luck that the supernatural beings he’d spent the last fifteen years trying to prove existed—scientifically and irrefutably—were still shy and in hiding. Except Bart. He glanced up at the semi-transparent and now fully nude ghost that had haunted him for the better part of the last decade. And Bart was just stubborn enough to refuse to share any relevant information with him.
“You know what, Mrs. Carew?” he straightened in his chair. “I’ll come by on my way home. Maybe if I just knock on the door and ask them to be a little quieter at night, it might help.”
“I’ll make cookies.” The elderly lady sounded delighted, and Sabine was glad he’d made the offer as he hung up the phone.
“You”—he narrowed a level glare at his boyfriend—“are incorrigible.”
Bart stopped his high knee kicks, put his hands on his hips, and stood, bits dangling, an indignant expression on his face though his dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “That is exactly what old Father Peter used to say.”
“The old sod was right! How could you distract me while Mrs. Carew was on the phone?”
Bart jiggled and thrust his hips, and his prick bobbed and twirled. “She’s a waste of time. The old bat’s crazy as a loon.”
“She’s lonely.” Sabine rose and went around to the front of his desk. Bart immediately flashed, then reappeared centimeters from Sabine, close enough that Sabine could feel him…a warm current of air that grew hotter as the passion that drew them together intensified. In his pocket, the gold watch grew warmer as well. “You remember what that’s like, don’t you?”
Bart bounced back, instantly reclothed in the dark jacket and trousers, the brocade vest and frilled shirt that he’d died in. “Why do you have to keep bringing that up?”
“Because you’re remarkably intolerant of human needs for someone who…”
“Was alone at the bottom of the Mississippi for, what did you say? A hundred and seventy-five years? That’s right. It’s 2015 now, isn’t it? I hardly think the few paltry years your Mrs. Carew has been alone count for a pittance in a pisspot compared to that. I need your company. She can find her own.”
Sabine dug his hand into his jeans pocket and closed it into a fist around the gold pocket watch he’d found in Barton Montoire’s steamer trunk when he’d excavated it from the depths of the river more than a decade earlier. “I was going to take you with me, but given this attitude…” He pulled the watch from his pocket and set it on the desk.
“Don’t you…” Bart flashed again…appearing across the room, by the windows. A splinter of light disrupted his eyes… Sabine caught his breath.
Most of the time Bart was good-humored, fun, and a pleasure to have around. He was an educated man and an excellent companion. Other times…the handsome face could appear menacing, and this was one of those times.
“Don’t leave me here,” Bart repeated. This time he took the time to walk across the room to Sabine, and his body had solidified to the point where his boot heels actually made noise as they struck the tiled floor.
Sabine shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t trust you, not in this mood.”
He’d learned the hard way that Bart’s morality was highly questionable, whether that was because he was a gambler or a ghost was in dispute. Certainly, he’d been considered a criminal in his own day, and his death proved that integrity and honor were malleable concepts for him.
“I’m not going to do anything to your old lady.” Bart flickered, and he was so beyond control that in some reappearances, the gunshot wound that had torn apart his chest before he’d been thrown overboard from the Delta Queen was clearly visible, gory and dripping with blood.

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2/13/2015

Story Orgy Presents: Like A Wolf Part 4 #mmromance #storyorgy




Good morning all! Sorry for my tardiness; I had a difficult deadline, but it's passed. Catching up on other things while I wait for edits.  Welcome back to part four of Like A Wolf, my version of Little Red Riding Hood. Are you hungry?
I know someone who is!  





Like A Wolf

A Little Red Riding Hood Story In Which the Wolf Must Choose Between Innocent Red, and the Seductively Skilled Hunter He’s Been Toying With For Years

Feb 9: Some mornings he felt like hell.
      
The kitchen was scrubbed down. Every station stood ready for action. Every bit of chrome gleamed, the stainless steel appliances glinted… even the trash can reeked of pine-sol. Menus and prep lists for tomorrow were all in place. Produce lists were updated after tonight’s service.
There wasn’t a damn thing left to do in here.
The time clocked ticked loudly away by the back door, interrupting the hushed kitchen with its regimental demand. Tick. Shhh. Tick. Shh. Tick. Shh.
And yet Hank lingered, long after the rest of his crew had departed, sitting at his desk in the back and snarling at his domain. It felt foreign, for the first time ever, big and empty. Like the hollow pit in his stomach that had been growing ever since he’d told the shyly flirtatious Red that he’d meet him at the bar.
His grandmother. It was just too boyscout. Red showing up at his catering gig with an elderly sweetheart, charming her friends and flirting with his staff…. He growled under his breath over that. Chuckie was lucky he’d kept his job.
And that possessive reaction right there told Hank he was risking getting in over his head with the cute diner owner.
Wolves devour their prey. They didn’t moon over young men and fatten them up as though they were Hansel in the witch’s kitchen.
“That’s right. This wolf is hungry… on the prowl. Little Red better watch out.” He pushed his chair back, sending it clattering into the wall.
That was it. He’d go to Toro. They’d have a few drinks, loosen Red up, they could both get off, he could get blue eyes and pouty red lips out of his mind, and …
And Red could learn a lesson that he badly needed in life.
Life’s no fairy tale, Red.
The wolves of the world are not to be played with.
Besides… Red would enjoy it. Hank could make damned sure of that. Then he could concentrate on food again… on food that wasn’t so sensual it was embarrassing to plate it.
Mind made up, he pulled a red scarf off the hook by the back door and wrapped it around his neck. He’d chosen it that morning without thought, and every time he entered the kitchen his glance went straight to the brilliant red scarf… the same color as the red hoodie Red had worn at the diner, the same color as the …
For Christ sake. He broke off the dopey train of thought. He owned exactly two scarves, one in an emerald plaid wool that was way too hot, a gift Hunter had sent from a trip to Scotland, and this one. Which he’d owned for at least a dozen years before he met Robert Redding, so associating the two of them was ridiculous.
And Hank Wolf might be a lot of things, but ridiculous wasn’t one of them.
***
For a bar named after a bull, Toro was surprisingly elegant. Black leather, touches of scarlet… which did not make him think of Robert Redding, and soft, muddled light in intimate booths, bright, flashing colorful lights on a crowded dance floor. It was a place for picking up strangers and having fun, for forgetting the cares of the world and letting go.
The fact that Robert had chosen this place, was apparently familiar with it, reassured Hank that what he was planning wasn’t so wicked or evil after all. You couldn’t consider the wolf to be evil, if the prey wanted to be eaten, could you?
Relaxing a little, he scanned the crowd more closely, seeking the auburn hair and pale skin in the crowd.
He expected to find Robert Redding shyly holding down a stool at the bar, maybe nervously glancing around, too shy to flirt, too awkward to dance. HAnk circled the room, exchanging smiles and glances with other men, but never stopping long enough for more than a greeting, He had a mission, and a man to get out of his system.
When he’d made his way back around to where he’d started without finding Red, he was as relieved as disappointed. Deciding on a drink before heading home, Hank inched his way to the bar and waited for the busy bartender- a smiling, dark haired young twenty-something who seemed to be really into his job- to attend him. The man flirted, smiled, mixed drinks with a theatrical flourish reminiscent of Tom Cruise in Cocktail, and pocketed phone numbers from men and women alike with a sexy grin. Hank studied him for a few minutes… debating adding his number to that collection, but the practiced flirtation and blatant sexuality of his hip bumping performance seemed… tawdry after Red’s innocent charm.
“What can I get you handsome?”
“Spanish Red.” Having placed his order, Hank turned to watch the crowd, dismissing any attempt on the bartender's part to flirt before it had become more than a white toothed smile.
“Coming right up.” The man could take a hint, clearly. He’d become all business as soon as Hank’s back was turned.
Hank watched the people on the dance floor, wishing he hadn’t bothered, more than a little annoyed that Red had chickened out on him. Glass clinked on wood.
“He’s pretty good, huh?” The chatty bartender was trying it on again.
“Who?” Hank picked up a stemless wineglass half full of a deep red beverage. It had a decent color, as far as he could see in the darkness, and the scent was appealing.
The bartender leaned in next to him, so close that Hank could feel the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne overpowered the wine. He pointed at the dance floor. “Him. Robby. You’ve been staring at him, I thought--”
Hank jerked upright, sloshing his wine. “Robert Redding?” He picked up the fluid movements of the figure he’d been idly watching on the dance floor. Darkness and flickering lights hid his face, his figure was a little on the plump side, but his dance moves were stunning, sexy.
“Yep… Robby is a regular here.” The bartender hovered for a moment, but when Hank didn’t pay any attention to him he moved on.
“Well, well, little Red isn’t so innocent after all.” He sipped his wine without noticing its fine flavor. All his attention was now focussed on the dance floor, where Red gyrated and moved to the beat of something Hank could barely classify as music. It wasn’t that he was graceful… or even skilled. It was the enthusiasm with which he threw himself into the dance. Hank… and probably a dozen other men on the dancefloor or just watching… couldn’t help wondering what the enthusiasm would translate to in the bedroom, if Red made love with the same energy and simple joy he exhibited under the flickering lights.
The music came to a halt; men flowed onto and off of the dance floor. “A bottled water, please.” Hank threw over his shoulder, catching the bartender before the thirsty dancers thronged the bar.
“Ice cold and only three dollars.”
Hank picked up the bottle and his own glass, tossed a bill on the bar and moved to intercept Red, who seemed to be veering off to the side instead of following the rest of the dancing fools to the bar.  
“Here.” he offered the bottle to the younger man, who accepted it with a smile. “You’re quite good out there.” He lifted his glass toward the dance floor.
Red flashed another quick grin then popped the cap on the bottle. “I’m not, but thank you for trying.” He took a swig from the bottle then swiped it over his damp forehead and the back of his neck. “It’s hot out there.” He licked a bead of sweat from his upper lip in an unconsciously sexual gesture. His gaze dropped shyly to the floor and he peeked up at Hank through fuzzy red gold lashes. “I thought you’d stood me up.”
Ignoring the wishy-washy nature of his eventual appearance, Hank grinned wickedly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
After another long swallow of water, during which Hank took a moment to imagine the soft, plump lips wrapped around something other than a plastic bottle, Red blinked slowly at him. “It’s hot in here.” He said again, as though it was all he could think of.
Hank surveyed the rosy red cheeks, the damp brow and dewy upper lip. “Would you like to sit?” He glanced around, then shrugged helplessly. “Or something.”
“We can sit in the restaurant if you want. My friend Saul works here. You met him the other day at your restaurant.” Red tipped his face at a slight angle, looking up at Hank, and biting into his lower lip. “If you want that is. The tapas are good. Organic ingredients… Saul’s a good chef.”
Hank chucked the soft, rounded chin, liking the feel of stubble on his fingers. “I could sample some tapas.” He raised his glass, “Maybe another glass of wine…”
***
Some mornings he felt like hell. Then coffee came to the rescue. This morning he almost didn’t need the coffee. Almost.
His muscles ached from pleasant physical exertion. His inner self was at peace. But the coffee… Hank sniffed the air, inhaling the delicious aroma of dark roast nectar of the gods. His eyes snapped open, going instantly to the pillow next to his own.
It was empty of course… no plump sweet-cheeked boy lying next to him, no overly long tangle of red hair on the white pillow case, no …
Who else would have made the coffee?
Hank pushed himself upright and let his feet hit the floor. Sunshine poured through an open curtain, lighting up the room. It would be a beautiful day to walk through the farmer’s market. Whistling softly, he rose from the bed and gave the sheets a hasty twitch so they settled into place. He’d reached for a robe when the door swung inward.
Red appeared in the opening, balancing a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of biscuits in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “You’re awake. Here, take this.”
Red showed no ill effects from their night of dancing, drinking and rich food. “You’re very lively for someone who couldn’t drive last night.”
“Are you implying I was drunk?” Red
“No. I”m saying you passed out in my bed.” He took the tray and set it on the bed. “It wasn’t quite how I thought the evening would end.”
Red flushed, but he lifted his head, a charming teasing glint in his eyes. “My grandmere said to never put out on a first date if you expect a second call.”
“And you want a second call?” He lifted one of the mugs from the tray and sipped the aromatic brew. “I did wonder if you might be convinced to visit the farmer’s market with me this morning.” The idea was growing on him. Red was an inspiration to him in the kitchen already… what fantastic heights of culinary excellence might he achieve with Red strolling the farmer’s market next to him?
“Well, technically speaking,” Red perched on the side of the bed. “I haven’t even gotten a first call yet, but I thought that might have been an oversight… so I left my phone number on the whiteboard in the kitchen… you know. Just in case you missed me later.”
Again the disappointment. It wasn’t a feeling he relished. Surely he’d no cause to be so reactive? “Does that mean you won’t shop with me?”
Red swallowed the last of the coffee in his mug and stood up. He was so shiny and bright, in his tight jeans and club shirt… emerald green cotton so soft and fine it had felt like silk under Hank’s touch the night before. “I can’t. That’s why…” He waved at the tray and the coffee.” I didn’t want to just leave without saying good-bye, and I have to work. The assistant manager had the early morning shift, and I need to go in to cover lunch and dinner today.”
“Oh.” He set down his own cup. Some of the sunshine seemed to fade from the room, from the day. Good. He needed the darkness… it was what gave his food the edge that kept it fresh… kept customers coming back for the Hungry experience. Dark… ideas started churning… of blood red wine sauce reduced from Spanish Red wine, earthy mushrooms and rich pickled beets… “I’ll drop you off on my way then.”
Soft laughter greeted his statement. Hank raised an enquiring brow.
“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” He cast a significant glance down.
Hank followed his gaze and stifled a curse. “After I dress. Fifteen minutes. You can wait that long right?”

“I’ll wash the dishes.”


TO BE CONTINUED 

If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 

Cover Reveal: Lissa Kasey : Inheritance #mmromance #coverreveal #pridepromotions



Inheritance
Series? Dominion
Release Date: March 3, 2015
Author Name: Lissa Kasey
Publisher: Lissa Kasey
Cover Artist: Simone Hendricks
Blurb(s):
Seiran Rou's life is complicated—he's the only male in the world allowed to take magic classes in a female-dominant society, his vampire boyfriend, Gabe, is hinting that he wants more, and his mother is demanding a grandchild.  But when a co-worker turns up dead on his doorstep, Seiran realizes his problems are only beginning.

With the police dogging his steps, a stalker-like bartender watching his every move, and a magic groupie following him around, Seiran is finding it hard to hide his power—a power that if revealed could get him killed. The Dominion, the ruling body of elemental magic, seems to have started a deadly game to control the rare magic he possesses.

Someone is pulling strings, murdering witches, and gathering power. When Seiran finds himself next on the hit list, he doesn’t know whether to run and hide or prove himself to be the powerful witch he is. If he stands up and fights, he’ll have to decide what is more important—hiding his power or protecting the ones he loves.


Categories: Alternate Universe, Contemporary, Fantasy, Gay Fiction, M/M Romance, Mystery, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy

Excerpt:
Professor Wrig gestured to the stump. “Seiran, if you will demonstrate, please?”
Rose looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “I can show them how it’s done, Professor,” she said.
“I’m sure you can, Miss Pewette. However, I already asked Mr. Rou.”
I took a deep breath and stepped up to the stump, wondering if I was allowed to actually focus with the earth this time. “Can I kneel?” I asked Wrig quietly.
“Whatever you feel is necessary.”
I knelt and waited for instructions.
Professor Wrig explained, “As Mr. Rou is showing you, he is putting himself in close contact with his element. He will be pulling power from the earth. Should he accidentally pull too much, he can give it back without causing damage to us or the surrounding area. He will take the time he needs to focus his power, and then he will place his hands to the stump. All witches with a measurable level will make something grow. A level one will produce moss or ivy. A level two will create flowers or even a small bud of a new tree. His level is set by what grows. Whenever you’re ready, Seiran.”
“Try not to kill any of us,” Rose sneered from behind me.
I sighed, closed my eyes, and left all their scattered whispering behind. It didn’t matter that Rose didn’t shut up or that Blond Hair looked at me like he was imagining what sex with me would be like. The earth and I knew each other well. I let it flow through me, like I was nothing more than a pebble in a lake to be shaped and guided by it. Each breath brought renewed life. I set my hands to the stump, remembering the last time, when I’d made wildflowers burst forth from the dead tree. This time I didn’t even look. The earth would grow what it wanted to with me as its conduit.
The power flowed through me in natural peaks and waves. The crowd gasped. The wood shifted and moved beneath my hands. I let the earth move as it wanted until the final wave subsided. Letting go, I opened my eyes and stared at a giant oak tree, leaves growing to a rich, vibrant green. No wildflowers this time. I smiled at the tree and patted its strong, new trunk, which split the old stump in half.
“Very good, Mr. Rou,” Professor Wrig told me. She offered me a hand up. I stood, dusted off my pants, and went to the back of the line. “Next,” she said.
And so began the testing.


Tour Dates: February 13, 2015
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Sales Links: http://www.amazon.com/Inheritance-Dominion-Novel-Lissa-Kasey-ebook/dp/B00TA6BN9C/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1423268659&sr=8-4&keywords=lissa+kasey


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Author Bio:
Lissa Kasey lives in St. Paul, MN, has a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing, and collects Asian Ball Joint Dolls who look like her characters. She has three cats who enjoy waking her up an hour before her alarm every morning and sitting on her lap to help her write. She can often be found at Anime Conventions masquerading as random characters when she's not writing about boy romance.
Find Lissa on
Facebook Author Page: www.facebook.com/AuthorLissaKasey
Twitter: parisbvamp
Other: google.com/+LissaKasey


2/12/2015

Crawl in Bed With Jude from Havan Fellow's M/M Drama Judging Jude #mmromance




Crawling Into Bed With Jude
And a Good Book Judging Jude

*crawls in bed* *Fluffs pillows* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
They’re that cotton t-shirt material shit. Oh, and I even used the sheets without the rips in them…you’re welcome.

*blinks* Um… thank you? What are you wearing?
Something wrong with your eyes? Dude, I’ve got my boxers on.

*narrows eyes* What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Let’s just say I’m not much of a munchies guy anymore so let’s skip the snacks.

*grumbles ad shoves gum in mouth* If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Lube, condoms, dildo and gum. Whenever I’m jonesing for anything gum comes in handy. Well gum or the dildo…guess it really depends on what I’m jonesing for.

*jaw drops* er… This isn't Jerry Springer, you know! Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
How the hell do I know? I’m asleep at the time.

*snort* Well, you can usually tell by where the covers are when you wake up. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Let’s not and go with that.

Good thing I brought socks. What are we reading?
Well, believe it or not I used to be a lot worse of a bastard than I am now. Yeah, if it weren’t for a stubborn best friend, a surprising doctor and a pervy hot guy I’d probably be dead right now. Everyone is going to judge you in your life, it’s human nature…but no one can judge you as harshly as you do yourself. I was the worst one when it came to Judging Jude.

EXCERPT 

Suddenly the rumble of music stopped and muffled screamed counting began.
Ten…
"Yet, you never took the hint." Jude turned slightly to keep eye contact.
Nine…
"I didn't like what you hinted at." Another step.
Eight…
"And you just always have to have your way?" Jude took a small step backward.
Seven…
"Not always." A larger step.
Six…
"You don't even know me." Jude bumped into the chair.
Five…
"I know more than you think." Billy diagonally stepped around another chair.
Four…
"People don't like me." His feet froze on him.
Three…
"I do." He stood in front of Jude.
Two…
"What do you want from me?"
One…
"A New Year's kiss."
Happy New Year!
His lips lightly brushed over Jude's, moist as if he'd just licked them. That damned sensual mouth came back for a repeat, but this time pressed harder. Jude closed his eyes and tilted his head up a little bit for more pressure.
Just when Jude opened his mouth, preparing to take the kiss he kept telling himself he didn't want to the next level, Billy pulled away.
"Happy New Year, Judas."

Hey all…Havan Fellows here. *waves* Um…not that I want to take credit for Jude’s attitude but yeah…he’s definitely something. So what do you think? Do you believe you can look past his sarcastic armor and get to know the real Jude? Or will you also fall into that habit of judging Jude? Now’s the perfect time too…in honor of getting to watch Jude climb into bed with the wonderfully hot and talented Lee Brazil…Judging Jude is 25% off for the next week. 



2/11/2015

Reader's Group Reminder! #mmromance #fun


Hello friends!
Just thought I'd take a quick moment to invite you all Crawl in Bed with me. *gasps* I mean, to join my Face Book Group. It's become increasingly difficult with Face Book to reach readers via the Author Page I set up. Some kind of pay per view system seems to be in place. I wouldn't mind paying, but even when I paid to promote posts, it seemed like the people genuinely interested in my work weren't the ones FB was targeting.
I pondered for a while, but finally established a Face Book Group. It's where I plan to do most of my posting in the coming year, host a few contests, and goof off in general. The blog will still be here, and hopefully be seeing a bit more action than we managed this year, but…
Please click over to Face Book and join if you're inclined to communicate on a more personal level. You can hear my favorite music, see what I'm reading, and working on…and share your own faves as well.


See you there! 

Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955