Coffee cock, Guilty Indulgences, Forbidden Secrets #writestuff #caffeinateme

Good afternoon friends! Hope everyone is enjoying this gorgeous Saturday. It's pancake day here, and I've been standing over a hot stove frying up batch after batch. will probably end up with some in the freezer, which is just fine. My grandpa used to call them panny cakes, which made us laugh when we were kids, and my other grandma made hers with cornmeal, which I really miss. Going to have to look up a recipe for cornmeal cakes.

After I get done with the blueberry and chocolate variety I have to fry up a batch of potato pancakes, which my mom used to make for us all the time when there were left over mashed potatoes. Have to confess, those I love and will probably save for my own consumption, a guilty indulgence, like Werther's Original candies, and olives. Oh my god I have SUCH an olive addiction! Not just the fancy ones either- I'll go through a jar of plain old Manzanilla Salad Olives just as fast as can be.
*coughs* Okay enough with the confessions.

Well, except maybe one more.

I love twincest stories. So much. I can't even really explain it. But anyway, Hank Edward's turned me on to some new stories form Wilde City. This one is my reward for getting the word count down this weekend. How's that for incentive?

So… on that note… note? Oh yeah, there's music involved, naturally! This is an all-time fave. Lots of chair dancing and spinning going on. Styx_ Renegade 

Best get on to work now or I won't let me read that new book…

Y'all have a great weekend! 


Rainy Day, Inspiration Absent, Remmy Duchene #writestuff #caffeinateme

Good afternoon everyone. I ran out of the house at the crack of dawn this morning in order to get my shopping done before the rain began. I thought it would be a win-win, because the cupboards are bare, and I usually get quite a bit of plotting done while I'm driving. It's a good forty-five minutes to the nearest shops, so… that can be quite helpful.

Unfortunately, not only did I not beat the rain, but there was so much traffic I wondered if the zombie apocalypse was upon us and I just didn't know about it. Things weren't quite as bad as the Atlanta Highway graveyard of cars shown in The Walking Dead, but it was a close call.

I survived the shopping expedition, even though it was without inspiration. Inspiration or not, I have to write today. I need a few thousand words on a few different projects, and so this will be a quick howdy-do and I'll run off to work.

First, the estimable writer, Remmy Duchene visited me yesterday to discuss a new release. Here's the link to that interview  Crawl in Bed with Remmy Duchene and Love Me Harder.

And the wonderful Cat over at M/M Good Book Reviews had some very kind things and a 5 star rating for Dead Man's Hand. That review is HERE .Thank you Cat and all the other readers out there who are enjoying the story of Sabine and Bart. I’m currently working on the final book in the series, Dead Money. That's a hard deadline of October 15th for release, so naturally, other stories are taking a back seat right now.

So that's where I'm headed. I'll leave you with this… Journey's Separate Ways

And This…

Y'all have a great day! 


Crawl in Bed with Remmy Duchene and Love Me Harder #malexmale #crawlinbed #authorinterveiw

Crawling Into Bed With Remmy Duchene
And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?: Cotton. Are you kidding? I live in Toronto – The weather here sucks in winter time…But in summer I don’t want anything touching me because it gets so hot—dang it…Cotton! Yes, that’s my answer!

*nod* Cotton. Got it. What are you wearing?: *giggles* um… nothing *blush* What? It’s hot in Toronto!

*waggles brows* It sure is! What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?: Jalepeno Cheetos  - Just don’t rub your eyes. Those things stink like hell!

Oh… uh. I'll pass thanks. That orange dust on those things is impossible to get off. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?: Gift cards that may or may not be empty, gum, a small notebook, a few pens and earrings that I lost one of the pair.

*shuts drawer* Okay do you ave a drawer with more exciting things in it? Just kidding! Don't… Uh… wow. Okay. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?: In the summer time I kick them off. I don’t like things touching me when it’s hot. In the winter time I pile them high and burrow under them.
Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?: Um…Sure, but only cuz you’re good lookin’

*preens* Why thank you! What are we reading?: Love Me Harder – Now at Loose Id,  

He tried going back to what he was doing, but the man’s voice stopped him.
“Asher Mulgrew—my name.”
“What? So now you think I owe you? Is that it?”
Asher smiled. “No. Nothing like that.” He took a drink from his glass. “Okay. I’ll start calling you—um—Bob. You look like a Bob.”
Mathew shook his head.
“I heard the other guy call you, Matt,” Asher began. “Okay, Matt…”
Asher smiled. It was a slow spread that left a ray of sunshine across his beautiful face and lush lips. “So your name is Mathew. I tell you, you don’t look like a Mathew.”
“You one of them brothas that think all black guys should have a name like…Lequan or something equally stupid?”
Asher laughed. He laughed so hard he doubled over with his forehead on his arm on the bar. When he lifted his head, his brown eyes shimmered beautifully. The techs behind them were testing the microphones, but the noise didn’t seem to disturb what was happening between him and Asher.
“Lequan? Damn, Mathew.”
Mathew cocked a hip.
“I just want to make pleasant conversation,” Asher said. “That’s all. I’m not hitting on you or anything quite so typical.” He drained his glass and set it on the counter. He then pulled money from his wallet and dropped it on the counter. Asher rose and removed his sunglasses from his head. “I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll see you around.”
Mathew watched him leave, and suddenly he felt like an ass. Then when he saw that Asher had left a twenty dollar bill and not asked for change, Mathew felt like an even bigger ass. The door clanged closed behind Asher, and Mathew unglued himself and rushed for it. When he got outside, however, a Corvette sped by him out of the parking lot, and he tossed his hands up.
Why wouldn’t Mr. I’m-too-sexy drive a sexy-ass Corvette?
He went back to work.”

Twitter: @Remmyduchene

Sexy Amazon Author Pages help keep readers connected. #amazon #authorpage

Just sharing the hot, sexy new author page Amazon has put together. 
It's gorgeous and functional.

Click on over and take a look, and if you are of a mind, click on that little "favorite" button there (I circled it in red), and I believe you'll get updates direct to your in-box when new releases become available!


Winner Announced, Longmire, Quality vs. Quantity #writestuff #caffeinateme

A very happy hump day to you all! The glow of the sunrise has just faded from the tree line, and it is looking to be another absolutely stunning fall day here. This is the best weather for cooking- warming the house and filling it with cozy, enticing aromas. Not sure what's on the menu today, but a nice pot of soup sounds like the ticket. Maybe a hearty stew would be nice. What do you think?

Thank you to everyone who participated in my Keeping House blog tour and giveaway. Will at Pride Promotions emailed me the name and contact information of the winner yesterday, and I want to say congratulations to Milica, and your prize has been sent.

As promised, Jae has sent me the first round of edits for Telling the Truth, which is book #2 of the Truth or Dare series. This one is the story of Terry Blake, and the Hyatt twins. This story is a mĂ©nage, with a bit of a twist, what with the twins and all. I'd call it twincest, but well… Amazon doesn't like that. It will be interesting to see if Amazon will allow me to put it back up there. Yesterday I started my final Jack of Spades book for the year, Dead Money. By started I mean I set up the docs and wrote the first draft of the blurb, at Havan's urging. Today I'd like to get the first chapter done.

Are you a mystery fan? The SO and I have been watching what used to be an AMC show called Longmire about a Wyoming Sheriff. Well, now it’s a Netflix Original show, and I have to say they did a pretty decent job of continuing the show. The only thing is, each season is only ten episodes, so we watched the whole fourth season in about a week.  And they hardly resolved a thing. Now we have to wait an entire year… A YEAR! To find out what happened to Henry Standing Bear and Walt. Talk about cliffhangers.

Yesterday I shared some Wendig with you.
Well, today I found more Wendig in my email. This time it was about prolific authors. There's a school of thought in the publishing world that less is better and you cannot produce a quantity of work and still have that work be of superior quality. Yet in 23 years of writing Shakespeare wrote 37 plays and 154 sonnets and still had time to be a businessman and an actor. This article by Stephen King enumerates other prolific authors including Agatha Christie and John D. MacDonald.

I cannot debate quality or quantity, or what comprises either one. Is four books a year too many? Six? Eight? A dozen? As for quality- well, that's as amorphous a topic as you could choose isn't it?


By what scale or tape do we measure that? Certainly you can't measure it by popularity. I mean… seriously. Some of the novels that sell millions of copies are lacking in quality. I've read New York Times best sellers that are riddled with typos, plot wholes and unbelievable devices. And I've selected random books from the shelves of the library that left me just spellbound.

It seems the problem with art is that everyone feels they have the right to critique it.
And go beyond that and tell you how to do it.
Or how not to do it.
Is it not art if you paint five canvasses a year?
Is it not art if you throw six pots a month?
Why do people think they get to decide these things?
I have no idea. But I'll tell you, in this I am with Wendig and King.
Write as much as you like.
Tell your stories, your way and find your audience.

When you find them, they'll be glad that you sit at your desk and work hard every day to produce more for them. They'll wait for each new title, they'll cheer each release. And they'll most likely demand more.

Do it. Go. Write. Feed the artist in you, and let those who would count every word and eye each release with pursed lips and lowered brows worry about themselves.

Whoo. Sorry got a little ranty there. *dashes off to YouTube* There… some Petty will take care of that! 

Y'all have a great day. 


Lady Stardust, Wolfman's Nards, Wendig the Cheerleader #caffeinateme #writestuff

Good morning everyone! After watching a lovely sunrise this morning I am feeling inspired! Raced right over to YouTube to pull up some of my favorite music. It's really a David Bowie kind of day. Speaking of, my absolute favorite is this one: Lady Stardust. What's your go to inspiration music?

Again, thank you to all the French readers who have been purchasing La Vieille Buvette.  It is currently doing very well at Amazon France. Merci Beaucoup to you readers, and to Jade and Valarie at Juno.

In other publication news… my editor tells me that Telling the Truth, Truth or Dare #2 will be ready for publication at the end of this month as planned. I'm in consultation with the cover artist right now, the fabulous Laura Harner, and she says the same. After the gorgeous Keeping House cover she created, I cannot wait to see this one!

What do you call a hairy beast that’s lost? 
 A where-wolf! 

Guess what movie we watched last night? Go on… guess… That's right! Monster Squad. I remember this movie from when it first came out way back in the eighties. It's a feel good, warm-hearted movie that is great for a few spooky thrills and laughs. That right there is one of the best lines of the movie, and probably one of the most quoted movie lines of the decade. If you haven't seen and don't mind not being grossed out by gore, give it a watch.

Found this link in my email this morning. Are you a writer? Give it a read. Yes, it's Wendig and he's a bit… off color? You know, a touch of foul language and er… colorful metaphors and all, but he says things we writers need to hear.

I know that there are times when I struggle with motivation. Sometimes I lose the battle and end up doing one heck of a lot of house cleaning and laundry rather than putting words on a page. I figure that's okay, because as long as it all evens out, it's all good right? Give it a read. I guarantee you'll come out of it all rah rah sis boom bah and ready to write. I did. And so… I'm off to the WIP pile to throw some words at the screen and see if any of them stick.


Story Orgy: Creature Feature Mum's the Word #storyorgy #malexmale #creaturefeature

Good morning friends and readers!
Welcome back to Monday with Story Orgy. Ready to see what happens next?

Mum's the Word
Chapter Seven
This Was Not About You

“Professor Gregoire?”
The dark haired man lifted his head from a notebook he was studying. “Yes?”
“Can we have a minute?” Izzy gestured to himself and Owen. “We… uh… found something.”
Interest flickered in the dark eyes. “What is it?”
Izzy nudged Owen, who cast him a mutinous glare before dropping the shoebox on the professor’s desk. “This. Letters.”
“I’m afraid that letters aren’t going to be very helpful to me in creating any exhibits.” Thick lips curled in a sneer.
“These letters… We took them home. Read through them. I’m sorry, I know we shouldn’t have.”
“My dear boy, take as many musty letter boxes as you please home to look through. They hold no interest to me.”
“This one is about a collection that a man wanted to donate to the library. A collection of Egyptian artifacts.”
The professor’s thick black brows rose. “Does it say that the items were donated?”
“Not… exactly. This correspondence is inconclusive.” Owen interjected.
“Well, we don’t have time to waste on possibilities. Find me something concrete that I can use.” He didn’t hand back the box though, and Izzy couldn’t help but be a little disappointed by that.
“Yes, professor. We won’t let you down.” Izzy nodded, furiously, tugging on Owen’s arm. “Thank you for not…”
“Shut the door behind you.” The professor dismissed them quickly, returning to his ledgers.
In the hallway, Owen yanked his arm away from Izzy. “What the hell was that? You apologize for me like you’re my mother?”
Izzy stamped out the flame of anger. He knew about Owen’s pride, had stumbled over it often enough in the last few years. “This isn’t about you, Owen. It’s about keeping these jobs so I can quit cutting grass and still pay the rent.”
Owen frowned a little, then nodded abruptly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. But hey… he didn’t fire us. So let’s go see if we can find these things.”
“I thought it was inconclusive?”
“The arrangements were made. He was leaving the items in question to the museum in his will. There is no actual document in that box indicating that he ever really did so.”
“You lied to the professor?”
“Not at all. I just told him the strictest interpretation of the truth.” Owen ducked his head, as though acknowledging the truth of his lie, then muttered. “I just want to find this… We found those letters, he’s not even… trying to find anything.”
“He’s taking a different approach, going through the donation logs. Other stuff.” Izzy defended the professor, though to be honest he too felt the burden of their labor. “Anyway, he kept the letters, so there’s not much we can do.”
Owen glanced left and right down the hall, then grabbed Izzy’s hand and half pulled half dragged him to the stairwell that led to the musty, dusty basement storage rooms they’d been searching through diligently for the past week.
“That’s not strictly true, either.” He held the door open impatiently for Izzy to precede him.
“What did you do?” Izzy demanded, trepidation slowing his footsteps. It had been awful having to go confess their sins to the professor, to face the prospect of disappointing the man and losing their jobs. “So help me, Owen…” Unable to think of a threat or consequence to complete his sentence, his voice trailed away.
Their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty stairwell as they continued to descend, into the dimly lit basement. Ahead of them a single bulb, dusty and dim lit the central hall. Izzy shivered a little, fancying he saw a shadow flicker. Shaking off the hallucination, he picked up his pace a little. At the bottom of the stairs was a switch that would illuminate the hallway… most of it anyway.
“Hmph.” Owen walked so closely behind him that he could feel his friend’s breath on the top of his head. Some of his anger dissolved. Owen was a warm, reassuring presence that tempted Izzy to lean back and seek comfort. How could he be mad at Owen for wanting something he’d kill for himself? He just didn’t have the guts to break the rules, and that would probably hold him back his whole career.
Damned ethics and manners.
What a legacy his parents had left him.
Too bad they couldn’t have left him an adventurous spirit, or a taste for danger.
“I didn’t do anything. Just snapped some pics of some of those letters.”
Owen reached over his shoulder and hit the switch, exhaling loudly. Izzy smiled. He wasn’t the only one who found the basement and its warren of halls and tiny rooms creepy. “Good thinking.” For just second he let himself do it, sway back and rest against Owen’s sturdy frame- not long, just enough to warm himself in the fire of his friend’s spirit… and just enough to feel that unmistakable ridge hidden by Owen’s black athletic pants.
Owen’s breathing hitched, and Izzy knew that spontaneous reaction wasn’t about the creepy hallway, and his insides went all soft and warm as his blood thickened, and arousal threatened.
“Well,” Owen sounded a little breathless. “We finished the first hall last night.” He pointed to a dingy brown plaque on the wall that indicated the hall they’d finished was A 1-12. “Should we tackle B?”
Izzy glanced down the long hall. There were at least six more wings, each containing who knew how many rooms, closets, and cubby holes. “Maybe we should split up.” He offered reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to be alone down here. The place had serial killer written all over it. As soon as they split up they became targets. He shoved his hand in his pocket and closed it around his phone. Targets without cell service.
“Nah. It’s boring enough as it is, without you I’d go nuts down here.”
Stupid. Stupid to feel so happy about such an awkward, back-handed, not quite compliment. “Okay, so we stick together.”
Owen’s blues flicked over him, his gaze almost a tangible caress, rough and hungry. “Always.”
Izzy blushed… which given how long he and Owen had known each other… been intimate with each other, was kind of … well, he wasn’t embarrassed but that glance made him think longingly of their upcoming lunch break. “Okay. So B wing it is.” He started forward, but Owen caught his shoulder, spinning him around. Heart tripping, Izzy glanced up at his friend, curious. “What?”
“This.” Owen muttered, glowering a little. Then he lowered his head, blocking out the dim overhead light.
Instinctively Izzy’s eyes closed, throwing him into darkness. Owen’s cologne… some cheap Axe or Old Spice variety he bought at Walmart teased his nostrils. He didn't  have time to think before Owen’s mouth settled over his, as hard and stubborn as Owen himself, unyielding, insisting on having this kiss his way, sucking Izzy;s lower lip, biting down, stealing his breath and giving it back.
Izzy clutched at Owen’s shoulder with one hand, grabbed for his ass with the other.
Yeah. Owen had a great ass, firm and muscular…
The loud cough startled Izzy, and he jerked away from Owen to lean dazedly against the wall and hope that his erection wasn’t visible through his chinos. “Professor.” He managed to acknowledge the man’s presence but his voice was horribly husky and that one word was the most he could compel his scrambled senses to produce. He flicked a desperate glance at Owen.
“Can we help you?” Owen seemed to recover himself much more quickly, and didn’t even seem to care that his athletic pants clung to the outline of his cock as though they were made of latex.
“That is what you’re being paid to do, isn’t it?” The professor’s thick black brows scrunched down over his nose, becoming an almost solid disapproving line. “Do I have to separate you?”
“No!” Izzy found his voice. His chest was tight and tension made his stomach churn. “It won’t happen again. Sorry, Professor.” Somehow, the professor, whom he’d found quite handsome and attractive in an urbane, sophisticated way, made the threat sound not just punitive but downright dangerous.
“I will be locking the doors at five, as I have an important engagement with the dean. Please make certain that you are out of the building. That is all.”
His footsteps going up the stairs were so loud, Izzy wondered how he’d managed to not hear them coming down. When the professor was out of sight he sagged into the wall, shaking a little.
"This is perfect."

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

Kindle Unlimited, Tomato Soup, NCIS #caffeinateme #writestuff

Good morning everyone! Happy Monday in which I am tardy with just about everything. Except this. There's about sixteen hours left to enter the gift card giveaway HERE . And I'd like to thank all the French readers who have been purchasing LaVieille Buvette.  It is currently doing very well at Amazon France. Merci Beaucoup to you readers, and to Jade and Valarie at Juno.  

Where do mummies go to swim?
The Dead Sea!

Today's foremost project is finishing up that Story Orgy post to get up today. Then I have to do some work on a compilation or two. I recently removed all my titles from the Amazon Kindle Unlimited program. I found that I was being paid about half a cent per page read, and earnings were not very much. Well, most of my stories are pretty short, and that's exactly what this KU payment plan change was aimed at: reducing payments for short stories and increasing payments for longer ones. That's awesome for longer stories; I have some friends who are doing very well with their longer works and with compilations of shorter stories. When I removed the shorts from KU I thought I'd get some compilations- I have a few ready already- up there. Just never got around to it. So part of today is going to have to go to starting that process.

Last night I started watching NCIS. Yes. Netflix has 12 seasons of this show, and I've never seen it. We ended up binging and watching four episodes. I find it a little slow moving in parts and in the very first episode, a bit more than my brain could accept. What kind of terrorist, having an opportunity to get to the president, and a proven poison, would opt for stealing a gun from a locker and shooting instead? However, the show was attention getting, and clearly habit forming. And I'm not just saying that because Mark Harmon is pretty to look at. Okay, not so much pretty as compellingly handsome.

It's chilly and fall like outside, and I have a dozen ripe tomatoes, so I think dinner tonight will be grilled cheese and homemade tomato soup. That's always a favorite around here. Tomato soup is so easy to make, too. I can't believe I used the canned stuff for so long. Today, I'm using a crockpot recipe version. Haven't tried it before, but how can it go wrong?

Time for some Petty. - *turns up the music* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxpPpjuZCj8.   "I'm going down to the house in the woods…"


Mummy Vacations, Sleepy Hollow, Words on the Page #writestuff #caffeinateme

Happy Sunday morning everyone! Once again we've enjoyed a lovely fall weekend with temps for the next week predicted to soar back into the eighties. It's perfect fair weather, unlike previous years when our little fair was blessed with multiple torrential downpours. I'm heading out later today to work my final shift before everyone packs up and departs.

Why don’t mummies take vacations?
They’re afraid to relax and unwind!

Which means I've got to get the words down this morning to make up for that lost time this afternoon. The first project of the day is Mum's the Word, my Story Orgy Prompt. That gets posted to the blog tomorrow. Then I owe the lovely Havan 1000 words on our joint project, At the Heart of Christmas. And can you believe it? Tomorrow is the 14th. That means on Tuesday I have to start work on the final book in the Jack of Spades series with Pulp Friction. I'll tell you what, time sure flies between Pulp Friction episodes!

Since I finished the Walking Dead, and season five won't hit Netflix until the 27th, I've been kind of scattered with the television viewing, but I have found some real gems to occupy my time. For instance, we watched Sleepy Hollow with Johnny Depp. I've always been a fan of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I saw a version of this movie when I was very young, and it was just the right amount of creepy and scary and happily ever after to stay with an impressionable kid. The Johnny Depp version, however much it may deviate from the Washington Irving version I grew up loving, does justice to that original. It's creepy, haunting, slightly gory, love story that raises all sorts of questions about science and magic and myth and how they mingle. While the movie takes many liberties with the original, it does raise the story from mere ghostly tale to something more. We enjoyed discussing how Ichabod turned to science to quell his broken heart after the incidents of his childhood, and how it took both science and magic to resolve the mystery of the headless horseman. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend Sleepy Hollow. (Interesting notes abut Sleepy Hollow HERE.) 

Meanwhile, there's still time to enter the gift card giveaway HERE  to see a complete list of tour stops and find the raffle copter for the giveaway. And one last thing… Take Time  is on sale for $1 at Smashwords with Coupon Code: BL83X Expires: October 9, 2015. Pick up a copy today!

Yes, yes I should. Time for some Petty. - *turns up the music* *sings off key* "said I dig you baby but I got to keep movin'"  Have a great day everyone.  

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