Saturday, October 31, 2009

Exclusive Preview from My New Horror Novel, THE BLUE MOON CAFE






I have written lots of horror, lots of stuff about vampires, serial killers, ghosts and things that go bump in the night. I have never written a werewolf story.

Until now.

I am hard at work on a new book called The Blue Moon Cafe. Set in my current home, Seattle, it's part horror, part romance, part erotica, and all can't-put-it-down. I hope it will be a draw not only for readers who like my horror, but for ones who like a good love story as well.

Here's a little taste. I hope you'll leave a comment and let me know what you think. Intrigued? Want to read more?



He’s hungry. He eyes a full moon above him through a caul of blood red. Its light is like the illumination of the sun: warming and energizing, heightening his senses. He sees with all of his senses and smell predominates. Before him, the streets of Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood stand out in sharp detail, silvery and shimmering from the moon’s light. Crisp; easy to track. And in the air, everywhere, are scents: the smell of beer, cigarette smoke, the pale fishy tang of Elliot Bay to the west, car exhaust. But what underlies all of this is sheer bliss—he lifts his snout to savor it: the smell of human flesh…and blood. Blood pulsing in the bodies of hundreds of carousers out for a Friday night revel, coursing in and out of bars, heedless and unwary, celebrating the beginning of the weekend. Their heat, movement, voices, and—most of all—aromas give him a paradoxically hungry and deliciously tingling feeling of anticipation deep in the pit of his gut.


His leathery black nose quivers, pulling the scent inside him, where he can savor it. His pale gray-furred ears point up to the moon, alert, listening for the sound of one alone, one that’s ripe. He wants to howl, but knows that such displays will draw attention to him as he sits, panting, in an alley behind a Vietnamese restaurant, shuttered for the night. Already a pair of men clad in jeans and tight T-shirts have wandered by and peered into the shadows the alley provides for him, wondering about him.


“Jesus!” One of them said. “Would you look at that? What is that? Some kind of dog? It’s huge!”


His friend had leaned over, further into the alley, far enough for the creature to catch the scent of the man’s sweat underlying the cologne with which he polluted himself. It had made his mouth water, his stomach growl, eager to pounce… But he knows he must be patient. The night affords plenty of time to hunt. Reward must always be balanced by a careful calculation of risk.


“Yeah, dude. I think it’s a German Shepherd…or a Husky. Somethin’ like that. Come on, let’s get to the Cuff.”


“I thought we were going to Neighbours.”


“The Cuff has hotter guys.”


The men had hurried off, unaware of how appetizing they were, how close they edged to their own demise. He licks his chops and stares up at the moon as a cloud passed over, partially obscuring its radiance.


But he has time to wait. Time to let the scents, sounds, and sights of the lively August night ramp up his hunger, his need, making the resulting feast all that much more succulent. There are practical reasons too for his patience. In the wee small hours of the morning (as the song went), there would be fewer witnesses to his impromptu al fresco supper of flesh and blood. The few people out—his prey—were more likely to be intoxicated and careless of heading down an alley just like the one in which he now crouched, waiting, every sense on alert.


Intoxicated…before dawn crept up over the Cascade Mountains, he knew that would be what he would feel. That, and a sense of utter satisfaction.


He circled a few times and lay down beside a Dumpster.


***


He has dozed off. When he awakens, the air is cooler and the night is quieter. The sounds of traffic, laughter, and voices have diminished to almost nothing. The rush of wind ruffles his fur as he gets to all fours, raising his snout to test the air.


Yes. There are humans close by. Two of them. He smells their perspiration and beneath that, their blood. Their warmth rides to him like a delicious current on the night breeze. He stands quietly, heart rate quickening, muscles tensing, tracking them. They are just outside the alley in which he waits and they are making noises, not talking. But there are definite sounds. He moves forward, silent on black paws, to the alley’s mouth. What is going in, a darkened doorway, is the sound of some kind of human mating. There are grunts, groans, and sighs. He sniffs, calculating: there are two men, one of them older, not as healthy, one young, vigorous.


Boldly, he trots out of the alley and crosses the street to watch from between two parked cars. The men do not even notice, they are so absorbed in what they’re doing and he’s so full of stealth that he might as well be a shadow gliding through the night.


The pair occupies the doorway of a storefront, cloaked in shadow. Human eyes, passing by, would not even register their existence. But he can see them: the younger one, the healthy one, the one he for whom he is already licking his chops, stands before the older one, jeans pushed down to his knees. His shirt is pulled up over his shoulders and behind his neck, exposing exquisite musculature and a constellation of inked skin. Throwing his head back, he whispers rapidly how “fuckin’ good” it all feels, while the older man kneels in front of him, his head bobbing up and down at his crotch.


The act takes fewer than ten minutes. The scent of sweat and semen hang in the air. The older man rises, looks around himself and stuffs himself back inside his pants and zips. He glances around again, although the creature can’t imagine why; there’s no one else to witness anything, and takes his wallet out. He digs in it, pulls out a few bills, and hands it to the younger man, the one with the shaved head, the bulging muscles, and the tattoos. The younger man snatches the money away and smiles. “Thanks.” He stuffs the money into his jeans pocket.


The older man begins to walk away and the younger one grabs his arm. “No kiss goodbye?”


They both laugh. The older man pecks the younger on his mouth. At the same time, the younger man pulls him closer as if to embrace him and reaches back, smoothly pulling the wallet from the older man’s pants. The other man, unaware, hurries off into the night, toward downtown.


“Muscles” counts the money, chuckling, then rifles through the wallet. He hears him whisper, “What story will you make up for wifey about how you lost your wallet?” He throws back his head and laughs out loud at the thought. He pulls the remaining cash from the wallet, extracts a couple of credit cards, and tosses the wallet to the ground.


The monster takes him in with all of his senses. He’s perfect.


He tracks him through the streets, uphill. He is beginning to question whether luck will be on his side when his prey ducks into an alley. He follows, amused that, after all these blocks, he has never once noticed the creature behind him. He watches as he pulls out his dick and sprays a bright yellow stream on the brick wall before him. He can smell the piss, ammonia-like, but it’s part of the man's essence and his heat. Mixed in with the smell of it is also the scent of his semen, left over from his prior business transaction.


Drool runs from the creature's mouth. He can wait no longer. He pounces, and without a howl, without a growl, without even a bark, he is upon him.


Tearing.


The man doesn’t even have time to scream.

Friday, October 30, 2009

NEW AND NOTABLE (TV) Modern Family


One of my must-records this year is the new comedy, Modern Family. It's unlike anything I've seen television do before, but it's real, funny, and has a gay couple (with a baby) at its center. The performances are uniformly excellent and the whole thing has the improvised feel of a Christopher Guest movie.

The LA Times says: "Just when we were thinking it couldn't be done, ABC's "Modern Family" has single-handedly brought the family comedy back from the dead. Astute in a way we haven't seen since, oh, I don't know, "Family Ties" or maybe "Married . . . With Children," "Modern Family" is sharp, timely and fresh, complicated enough to be interesting but with a soft, sweet center because, and I'm speaking loudly so even cable channels can hear, there is nothing wrong with that."

Look for it in ABC on Wednesday nights.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

10 Silly Questions with Welsh/Irish Writer Deirdre O'Dare


Caught up with Deirdre O'Dare at an Irish pub on the south side of Chicago, where she was in town on a book tour. Over many pints, we hammered out the best way to answer my wee 10 silly questions.

1.  If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?  
Well not my guest as that ain't kosher unless of course they will go that far on the first date...

2.  Who do you think you are? 
No, I was not Cleopatra in my last incarnation. Actually I was most recently drowned on a Navy ship sunk in WWI while my best bud went down in a plane, probably shot by the Red Baron. Still can't swim... This time I came back in the other sex again which is okay too.

3.  What’s your problem?
Problem? What problem? I'm living my dream so what could be better than that? (Writing sexy stories from excellent research!!)

4.  If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
Probably if you needed it real bad as I am a sucker for sad stories.

5.  Where you at? 
Under my head and over my feet, right here.

6.  If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
Vice Admiral? Vice President? Gee that is a tough decision. Maybe even a vice cop...

7.  What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
Stiraboot--good old Celtic oatmeal made from steel cut oats. No brand, it comes in unmarked cans to get thru customs.


8.  When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
The Wicked Witch of the West. And hey I really am a wicked step mother. Just ask my kids.

9.  Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?  
Well I do know my a$$hole from an ant hill...no gravel and no ants. I think I know Jack Shitte too.

10.  Do you have anything you’d like to plug? 
Besides that hole in the --err, maybe the O-zone? Oh,  we were not discussing that were we? Maybe my latest anthology published by Amber Allure, Canine Cupids which features some really neat dogs and the guys are not too bad either.



Deirdre O'Dare is (in this life) a gabby Welsh-Irish gal, a true believer in Romance and a big fan of cowboys, cops, and Celts. She loves dogs and admits to a sly sense of humor and a sunny outlook on a shady life. Check out her work here and here.


Saturday, October 24, 2009

NEW AND NOTABLE (Books): The Bear by P.A. Brown


Who would have thought crime writer P.A. Brown had it in her to craft a very saucy erotic tale about shapeshifting gay men? Her little ebook gives whole new meaning to the gay term, "bear."

Synopsis
Scott Thompson discovers a dead bear, killed by poachers in the parkland he calls home. He is charged with investigating this tragedy and trying to bring the poachers to justice. Then a second bear shows up. Or so he thinks. But when Scott calls in his boss and mentor, a sturdy dark mountain man named Luke Stadler, to assist him, the “bear” turns out to be a naked man, seeking shelter in Scott’s barn, shot in the leg and seriously injured.

Luke and Scott tend the wounded man during a raging blizzard that traps all three of them in Scott’s isolated cabin in the mountain forest. During their forced confinement, Scott and Luke succumb to their mutual attraction and unleash a passion that burns hot and bright.

But what is the secret of the mysterious man who ended up in Scott’s barn? Where did he disappear to and where did he come from? Scott and Luke discover the answer to the riddle and stumble across a secret that hides in the isolated forests of the Rocky Mountains.


BUY The Bear

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Mystery Author Anthony Bidulka and Ten Silly Questions

I conducted my silly questions with Anthony on the lovely tropical island of Bora Bora. We dangled our toes in turquoise waters, imbibed extravagantly on Mojitos prepared by Anthony himself (he muddles mint like nobody's business) and in general, had a lovely time.

It helped that we were naked throughout the interview.

Here's Anthony's responses:

1.  If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
Breads, cheeses, pate, chutneys and dips, some smoked salmon, some fruit and nuts, and lots of wine. Tasty, communal, easy food where we could focus on the conversation rather than whether the rice is burning.

2.  Who do you think you are?
I’m a writer, a husband, a friend, a party-giver, a guy who likes to putter in the backyard, a son and brother, a traveler, an art-lover, a volunteer. Not necessarily in that – or any – order.

3.  What's your problem?
I have a problem with people who are self-absorbed.

4.  If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
If you had a good reason to have it.

5.  Where you at?
Becoming who I was always meant to be.  Happy. Grateful.

6.    If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
Too much wine.

7.  What's your favorite brand of cereal?
Fibre 1 Honey Clusters.

8.  When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
Benicio del Toro, but not in a good way.

9.    Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
Easy. One can go into the other. But not the other way around.

10.  Do you have anything you'd like to plug?
Why else would I agree to do this interview?

Anthony Bidulka’s Russell Quant mystery series tells the story of a half-Ukrainian, half-Irish, gay, ex-cop, Canadian prairie, world-travelling, wine-swilling PI living a big life in a small city. The series is a multi award nominee, including for the CWC Arthur Ellis Award, and winner of the Lambda Literary Award.

Monday, October 19, 2009

MUTE WITNESS Now Available


Just wanted to share the exciting news that my latest novel, Mute Witness, is now available in both paperback and ebook formats.

Mute Witness is a special book to me because, although it's a thriller with paranormal elements, it grew out of a very personal trauma: the fear of losing my son during my divorce several years ago simply because I was gay.

Purchase ebook.
Purchase paperback.
Purchase Kindle version.

Here's what Mute Witness is about:

Sean and Austin have the perfect life. Their new relationship is only made more joyous by weekend visits from Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason.

And then their perfect world shatters.

Jason is missing.

When the boy turns up days later, he has been horribly abused and has lost the power to speak. Small town minds turn to the boy’s gay father and his lover as the likely culprits.

Sean and Austin struggle to maintain their relationship amid the innuendo and the very real threat that Sean will, at the very least, lose the son he loves. Meanwhile, the real villain is much closer to home, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.


To whet your interest, here's the first few pages:

    It was one of their rare lazy evenings. Summer, and the evening air was fresh and clean after an afternoon thunderstorm, with just a hint of a breeze. Normally, Sean and Austin were so busy that if they weren’t trying to change something about the little Cape Cod on the Ohio River they had bought a year before (adding a deck, putting in a new kitchen, stripping away years of white paint from the woodwork downstairs), they were too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and pass out, usually before eleven o’clock. Lovemaking, since they had bought the money- and time-sucking house, had become relegated to weekend afternoons and the occasional early morning.
    But today, Thursday, had been an easy one. Austin had called into work, the Benson Pottery, where he was a caster and taken a mental health day. Things had just been too damn busy lately and he needed the break. Waiting until Saturday was out of the question. Sunday seemed farther away than the next millennium.
    Sean, a reporter for The Evening View, the local thrice-weekly compilation of ads sandwiched in with a little editorial, had had the day off. The couple had spent the day in Pittsburgh, at the Andy Warhol museum, then had an early dinner at The Grand Concourse (the best Paella on the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers), beat the brutal thunderstorm home, made love (acrobatically, in the kitchen, atop a Butcher’s block), and now the two were curled up in front of the TV. Sean had rented Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and, after a bowl of Jamaican and a couple of vodka and tonics, the two were teary-eyed with laughter.
    Sean looked over at his younger boyfriend and thought how lucky he was to have found Austin, especially in a town the size of Summitville, where the population hovered just above ten thousand. Even better, Austin was his fantasy man, with a broad, beefy body that his mother and her friends would have called strapping, sandy blond hair, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. When Sean had first met him, he thought Austin’s eyes had to be fake: enhanced by those tinted contacts that never looked real. But he found quickly that the young man was simply blessed with arresting eyes to go along with his broad shoulders, dimpled chin, and infectious smile. He wore that smile right now, coming down from a fit of inappropriate laughter after hearing Elizabeth Taylor tell Richard Burton, “I’d divorce you if I thought you were alive.”
    A sick sense of humor was yet another thing the pair had in common.
It was what they both would have agreed was a perfect day. Well, Sean might have had one more item to add to the “perfection” list. Having his son, Jason, around for at least part of the time would have been all it would have taken to make the day ideal, but these days, Jason was for the weekends only.
In any case, this was close enough to nirvana. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back on Austin’s shoulder.
    Sean was just thinking about slowly undressing Austin and then leading him into the bedroom for round two when the phone rang. Its chirp startled both of them out of the cocoon of warmth that had surrounded them, a cocoon built from good sex, supreme relaxation, and the afore-mentioned Jamaican weed.
Austin: sleepily from under Sean’s arm on the couch, “Don’t get it. Please don’t get it. Just let the machine pick up. I don’t want to talk to anyone. And I don’t want you to, neither.” Sean eyed the little answering machine next to the cordless, wondering when they would enter the 21st century and use voice mail like everyone else. But, unlike voice mail, the machine did allow them to screen calls and for two men who appreciated their privacy, this feature had voice mail beat all to hell.
    Sean let the phone ring its customary four rings, although his tendency would have been to answer it. But if this would make Austin happy, then he was willing to do it. Especially since he had things in mind for Austin that did not involve the telephone. Things that would erase their fatigue and perhaps keep them up the better part of the night. Sean grinned.
    On the fourth ring, Sean pressed the pause button on the remote control and sat up straighter to listen.
    “Whatever it is, it can wait,” Austin whispered in Sean’s ear, flicking his earlobe with his tongue and giving his crotch a playful squeeze.
    And then the moment shattered.
    Shelley’s voice, almost unfamiliar under the veneer of tension that made it higher, quicker, came through. Shelley and Sean had been married once upon a time and their union had produced Jason, the best little boy in the world. As soon as Sean heard Shelley’s voice he thought of his son, who shared his dark hair, green eyes, wiry frame, and his fascination with stories.
    “Sean? Sean, I hope you’re there. This is important. Please pick up.” There was a slight pause. “It’s about Jason. He...”
    Before she could say anything else, Sean sprinted for the phone in the entryway. “Shelley? Sorry, I was...”
    “Jason is missing.”
    “What?”
    And then Sean heard her begin to sob and the relaxation in all of his muscles vanished, replaced by a tightness that felt like steel bands snapping taut across his muscles. Blood rushed in his ears; his heart began to pound. A queasy nausea rose up in his gut.
    “Jason never came home tonight,” Shelley sobbed. “I don’t know where he is. Please say he’s with you.”
    Sean sat down on the little oak chair in front of the desk. Well, collapsed into the chair was more like it. “Shelley, I’m sorry, but he’s not here. Don’t you think I would have called if he had come here? How long’s he been gone?” Sean rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth curiously dry. He glanced out the window at the complete darkness.    “I went to work at six and he wasn’t home yet.” She blew out a sigh. “But, you know, we just thought he was horsing around in the woods or something and lost track of time. Then I called Paul and...”
    “Wait a minute, Shelley. It’s a quarter ‘til eleven.”
    “I know. I know.”
    “Why didn’t you call sooner? You mean to tell me you’re just starting to look? Christ, he’s eight years old.”
    “I thought he would’ve come home while I was on my shift. Paul was here and he fell asleep and...”
    “Paul. Great.” Sean rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs.
    “Please Sean, it’s not the time. I fucked up. Okay? Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I need some help finding our son.”
    She was right. In spite of the thoughts running through his head, most of them centering around how he and Austin would have been better parents, but the courts couldn’t see that, all they could see was a little boy growing up under the wings of two queers, Sean knew she was right.
    This was an emergency.


Purchase ebook.
Purchase paperback.
Purchase Kindle version.

To win a FREE, signed copy of the book, simply leave a comment below with a way to reach you. I will contact the winner tomorrow, October 20.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Dark Scribe Gives BASHED a Great Review


I'll consider Dark Scribe magazine's review of my gay hate-crime novel, Bashed, an early Halloween present. I was thrilled to get a thoughtful thumbs-up from what is fast-becoming a very respected horror publication, with up to 6,000 unique visitors monthly.

Reviewer T.E. Lyons said, "Reed is an established brand — perhaps the most reliable contemporary author for thrillers that cross over between the gay fiction market and speculative fiction..."

Read the rest of the review here.

Purchase Bashed paperback
Purchase Bashed ebook

Friday, October 16, 2009

New and Notable (TV): GLEE

I'm rarely excited by a TV show, let alone one on FOX, but this season, the network has come up with something that prompted me to set my DVR to "record series".

Glee is pretty much what the title implies: a show about a high school glee club and its struggle for excellence. It's funny, over-the-top and always seems to keep in mind something near and dear to my heart (and own personal memories): the outsider. Glee should capture and hold the attention of anyone who knows what it's like to be on the fringes in high school...and even some who don't.

The show is fresh, original, and brilliantly written. Its comedy is character-driven and laugh-out-loud funny, without a laugh track to prompt you. Its musical numbers are inspired and often flights of fancy that manage both to entertain and to propel each week's story forward, or to define character. And it has the amazing Jane Lynch as one of the fiercest cheerleading coaches you will ever come across. She's mean, she's politically incorrect, she's scheming and conniving...and you can't help but guffaw at the bizarre, cruel things she says. Her character has no internal censor and Lynch plays it to the fullest. She is one of the show's most winning assets.

But Glee also has an amazing ensemble cast that combines the best and worst of high school society. And it gives them all depth beyond their particular defining characteristics, whether it's prom queen, gay, handicapped, overweight, jock, heartthrob, geek, or any other personality found in just about any US high school.

And it's set in Ohio. What more could you want?

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

10 Silly Questions with Silly Author Ed Williams


I met with Ed Williams at a local sauna, where we debated over whether he should have that thing on his rump looked at. I told him, "Man, it could be cancer." He told me, "Man, it could be your dinner...if you don't shut your meat hole."

I changed the subject and plied Ed with my 10 Silly Questions. Here are his responses.

1. If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?

Well, it'd be fast food, something like Krystal cheeseburgers, if I were eating with a famous dead person as I imagine their deadness/dankness would get to me pretty quickly. No need for a seven course meal whilst holding your nose, you understand. If I were eating with a famous alive person, it'd be the classic adult film star Kay Parker, and I wouldn't really give a damn what I was eating as long as I could ogle Kay. She jangles all my good stuff!

2. Who do you think you are?

Ummmm, Ed Williams with a vengeance?

3. What’s your problem?

Right now, short-ass questions that make no sense, but I'm getting there. Slick Rick, you are not cut from the wax sandwich personality cloth, that's for sure!

4. If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?

Of course, I'd just wish for anything I wanted anytime I wanted it. Then, I'd toss you a wish for giving me the opportunity in the first place. Make good use of it, cause after that I'd be tossing out multiple wishes involving Atomic Fireballs, Bachman-Turner Overdrive concert tickets, a 51% ownership stake in the company that manufactures Pooter Tooters, and Kay Parker/Honey Wilder/Desiree Cousteau all employed as maids at my coastal Georgia home. And a lifetime supply of Viagra!

5. Where you at?

If I told you where I'm at, den I'd wanna know where you at. And you ain't said dat. So, no point to give out where I'm at, cause dat's dat, and some would say youse a nosey cat!

6. If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?

Horniness so intolerable that you'd have to constantly do something about it. Breeding is so basic, everyone understands it, and most everyone enjoys it. Those who say they don't are either lying or shouldn't be allowed to live anyway, so it's all good from what I can see.

7. What’s your favorite brand of cereal?

Captain Crunch, it's truly the Elvis of cereals. Gold, bold, in milk that's cold, it rocks! [RR: Fast Fact: In these interviews, CC has been named far more than any other cereal.]

8. When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?

A kinda slobby lookin' Rick Reed. My drooling and runny nose is spot on, although I have to admit my hair looks a lot better. [RR: He means Rick Reed, the baseball player.]

9. Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?

Of course I do, and here's how I know. If I try to kick the hole in the ground I'll trip and fall over, if I kick my own ass I'll yell. Anyone knows that.

10. Do you have anything you’d like to plug?

I have a wild azz, Juliette, Georgia country boy Christmas story coming out in November of this year called, "ChristmaSin'". It's basically a Christmas story involving red clay chunk wars, cock fights, and loose women that ends up folded into a Christmas message. Of course, it's told by the seventeen year old version of me, so y'all can just about guess how mature and suave it is. Y'all can visit me at my website or on my publisher's website if you wanna!

Ed says this about Ed: I'm a Southern Outlaw Author, I've had two books published. One was called "Sex, Dead Dogs, and Me: The Juliette Journals," the other was called "Rough As A Cob: More From the Juliette Journals." A story of mine, "Sally the Screamer," recently appeared in the Southern humor anthology, "Southern Fried Farce." I wrote a column called "Free Wheelin'" for several years and have spoken to groups all over the southeast. And, I've just signed a contract for my Christmas novel, "ChristmaSin': A Juliette Christmas Epistle," it's coming out this November. I guess I'm kinda like the Forrest Gump of Literature.

Monday, October 12, 2009

New Review of M4M


Hi All,

Just wanted to share with you a great new review of my book, M4M, a decidedly more romantic turn for me, that just appeared today on OUT IN PRINT: QUEER BOOK REVIEWS.

In part, reviewer Jerry L. Wheeler says:

"M4M isn’t the roller-coaster ride Rick R. Reed fans are used to, but instead turns out to be a refreshing change of pace that shows his versatility and his talent for making us cry as well as scream."

Read the rest of the review here.

Buy your copy of M4M here.

Thanks for reading!
Rick

Saturday, October 10, 2009

PARANORMAL ACTIVITY: A Quick Review


Okay, so I ducked out yesterday afternoon to see the much-hyped--"the scariest movie of all time!"--new movie, Paranormal Activity. It's in limited release and playing in only a few cities. Lucky me, I live in Seattle, where I could walk to one of the three theaters where it's being screened. The hope is Twitter buzz will bring wider distribution.

Made for only $11,000, Paranormal Activity is short on plot and character development. But the filmmakers were smart. A la The Blair Witch Project, they worked the low budget limitations into the story, making the use of a home video camera central to the story. (By the way: PA is much better than BWP). It makes sense and gives the simple story an immediacy. The movie can be summed up easily. A couple is experiencing paranormal activity. He buys a camera to record it. We find that she is the object of a demon's affection and it has been following her sporadically for years. Will the demon get her? Him? Both? There's lots of time-elapsed footage of the couple in bed asleep while creepy things happen around them.

That's about it. Oh, except for the truly shocking ending...

But I am of the mind that scary movies are like funny ones: they really have only one criterion. If it's supposed to be a funny movie and makes you laugh, it's a success. If it's a scary movie and gives you chills, it's a success.

Paranormal Activity gave me chills. I do not say that lightly, since I'm about as jaded as they come when it comes to horror. I don't scare easily. But this movie unsettled me and left a residue of dread and terror deep within me after I left the film. Sure it's low budget and looks it. But these seem like real people and the paranormal manifestation has the earmarks of something real, evil, and horrifying.

Is it the scariest movie of all time, as the posters claim? Hell no, but it gives you real scare bang for your buck, just in time for Halloween.

Watch the trailer.

Friday, October 9, 2009

NEW & NOTABLE: The Golden Age of Gay Fiction

Every Friday, I want to take a look at what's, well, new and notable on my radar. It will probably be mostly books, but I might throw in movies, TV shows, toys, and who knows what else.

Whatever it is, I'm excited about it and I want to share it with you.

This week I want to call your attention to a groundbreaking new book just released by MLR Press, The Golden Age of Gay Fiction. This is a beautiful, passionate, and thoughtfully considered collection of essays about gay fiction from a time when books like these were sold on drugstore revolving racks and magazine outlets...and hidden under the bed when you got home. These are the books which we now refer to as pulp fiction. They were written mostly by gay authors for gay people.

The essays--written by some of the foremost names in gay literature and history--make this book a true piece of history. And the collection of cover art makes its hefty price tag still a good value.

Here's what Victor J. Banis, a gay literary icon himself, and one of the contributors had to say about the book:

"Since so much of our gay history, and especially the history of gay publishing, has ended up on the societal garbage heap, it is a true joy to see this significant chapter reclaimed, and done so in such fine style. I don't think in my nearly half a century toiling in the vineyards that I have ever been prouder of anything than I am of my inclusion in The Golden Age of Gay Fiction. I'm proud beyond words of Laura Baumbach, who has stated all along that this was not about making money, that she was doing it because it needed to be done; and of Wayne Gunn, who conceived of the idea and worked for months to bring it to fruition, and whose unimpeachable standards made us all determined to give our best. I'm proud of every one of the contributors, and what an A-list they are! And of those who worked so hard at MLR to make the book as good as it could be – Deana Jamroz, Kris Jacen and Judi David come to mind at once, but I know there were others and I am sure they are as proud of the result as I am.

To attempt to catalog everything in this jam-packed volume would take practically another book. Popular mystery writer Josh Lanyon takes a look at Joseph Hansen's early novels written as James Colton, an all but forgotten treasure trove, and Nowell Briscoe writes a lovely and touching essay about his friendship with Lonnie Coleman, another all but forgotten name from the golden age. Earl Kemp, legendary editor at Greenleaf Classics, offers an amusing and eye-opening piece on what it was like in those storied halls, and William Maltese offers his own experiences as one of the early pioneers. There are authoritative and entertaining looks at gay westerns, gay detectives, and gays in the military, and another on homosexuality in the genre of science fiction. For some, the generous collection of that great pulp cover art (in themselves an important factor in the gay publishing revolution) would alone justify the cost of the book. For first time all of those fabulous covers from my Man From C.A.M.P. series are collected in one volume, and all in living color, and if they don't get a smile out of you, you're wearing the wrong shade of lavender. Plus, for the serious scholars, there's practically an entire reference library of titles, publishers, additional sources et al.

For all of us, this was a genuine labor of love, and I sincerely hope that everyone who reads the book will share in the love and pride that went into it. And to all those forgotten and neglected heroes of our literary past who are no longer here to hear the applause, I offer a silent and heartfelt salute. I'm humbly proud to have been among them, too – if only, as I have said elsewhere, as a little man in a very big cause. We changed the world. Damn! Who wouldn't be proud of that?"

Buy your copy.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Carl Brookins Is A Silly Man and My 10 Questions Proves It


I caught up with Carl Brookins recently at Heathrow International Airport, where he was waiting to board a flight to Amsterdam, to promote his latest book. Carl explained that he needed some time to unwind every once in a while and that Amsterdam was the perfect place to blow off steam. He then detailed just how he accomplished "blowing off steam" and I can't share any of that here.

What I can share is his delightful answers to my ten silly questions. Read on:

1. If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?

Roast Side of Beef with local greens from the banks of the river Avon. Willy was poor enough he didn't get much carnivorous protein.

2. Who do you think you are?

A middle-class, ordinary white guy still striving to be a player.

3. What’s your problem?

Doctor, I have this hip/back pain that really interferes with, with, with my err---um--intimate relations. [RR: TMI! And I am, by no stretch of the imagination, a doctor. Although I have played with one.]

4. If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?

No! Why on earth would I ever do that? [RR: Because my wish was to give Carl Brookins a billion dollars, the Pulitzer Prize for Literature, and the ability to be sexually irresistible, but it's too late now!]

5. Where you at?

I'm about two/thirds of the way to my grave, but I still got hope! I'm still walking upright and breathin' on my own.

6. If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?

Define "vice."

7. What’s your favorite brand of cereal?

Anything with lotsa oats. I once was in a study.......ah, you don't wanna hear about that. [RR: Once again: TMI.]

8. When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?

The ghost of Christmas Past.

9. Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?

Of course I do! You've heard the expression, "Go pound sand?" Have you ever tried? Then there's gravel....

10. Do you have anything you’d like to plug?

Is that an offer? What do you know about plumbing? I have this shower drain that's been giving me all kinds of trouble. Oh. Wait. The ale's leaking out of that old keg again....

Carl Brookins sums his life up thusly: "I'm a Minnesota boy with multiple academic majors. My careers have spanned public television, cable TV, higher education and freelance photography. Now I write crime fiction: a sailing series, a P.I. series and a traditional series in a non-traditional college. The Case of the Deceiving Don is my latest."

Visit his website.

"The classic detective story is alive and kicking in Carl Brookins' The Case of the Deceiving Don... A fun and satisfying romp through the suburban underbelly of the Twin Cities."
— Pete Hautman, author of The Prop

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Rainbow Awards


Hi All,

I’m honored that five of my books are in the running to become finalists for the brand-new Rainbow Awards, an award especially for GLBT fiction. The books are:

Bashed (Paranormal/horror)

A Face Without a Heart (Paranormal/horror)

IM (Paranormal/horror and Mystery/thriller)

NEG UB2 (Contemporary)

VGL Male Seeks Same (Contemporary)

If you’ve enjoyed these books and think they deserve a place in the finalist round (which is a judged competition), I’d be very grateful to you if you’d take the time to vote for them…and with any other recently-published favorite GLBT books.

I have to tell you, voting is tricky. You must have an OpenID or a LiveJournal account to vote. If you have either of these, just sign in to your account with username and password, click on the links below and vote. If you do not have a Live Journal Account, it’s easy to create one (and free! Although they will try to sell you an “upgraded” account…just say “No, thanks). It only takes a couple of minutes.

Here are the links to vote for the books above. Thanks in advance if you decide to help me out.

To vote for Bashed, IM, or A Face Without a Heart, click here

To vote for IM as mystery/thriller, click here

To vote for VGL Male Seeks Same or NEG UB2, click here

Friday, October 2, 2009

MUTE WITNESS Preview


My latest full-length novel, Mute Witness, will debut this month in both e-book and trade paperback formats. It's a serious one, but ultimately hopeful and redemptive. I wanted to give you a sneak preview...

Synopsis

Sean and Austin have the perfect life. Their new relationship is only made more joyous by weekend visits from Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason.

And then their perfect world shatters.

Jason is missing.

When the boy turns up days later, he has been horribly abused and has lost the power to speak. Small town minds turn to the boy’s gay father and his lover as the likely culprits. Sean and Austin struggle to maintain their relationship amid the innuendo and the very real threat that Sean will, at the very least, lose the son he loves. Meanwhile, the real villain is much closer to home, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.



Preview (from Chapter One)

It was what they both would have agreed was a perfect day. Well, Sean might have had one more item to add to the “perfection” list. Having his son, Jason, around for at least part of the time would have been all it would have taken to make the day ideal, but these days, Jason was for the weekends only.
In any case, this was close enough to nirvana. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back on Austin’s shoulder.

Sean was just thinking about slowly undressing Austin and then leading him into the bedroom for round two when the phone rang. Its chirp startled both of them out of the cocoon of warmth that had surrounded them, a cocoon built from good sex, supreme relaxation, and the afore-mentioned Jamaican weed.

Austin: sleepily from under Sean’s arm on the couch, “Don’t get it. Please don’t get it. Just let the machine pick up. I don’t want to talk to anyone. And I don’t want you to, neither.” Sean eyed the little answering machine next to the cordless, wondering when they would enter the 21st century and use voice mail like everyone else. But, unlike voice mail, the machine did allow them to screen calls and for two men who appreciated their privacy, this feature had voice mail beat all to hell.

Sean let the phone ring its customary four rings, although his tendency would have been to answer it. But if this would make Austin happy, then he was willing to do it. Especially since he had things in mind for Austin that did not involve the telephone. Things that would erase their fatigue and perhaps keep them up the better part of the night. Sean grinned.

On the fourth ring, Sean pressed the pause button on the remote control and sat up straighter to listen.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Austin whispered in Sean’s ear, flicking his earlobe with his tongue and giving his crotch a playful squeeze.

And then the moment shattered.

Shelley’s voice, almost unfamiliar under the veneer of tension that made it higher, quicker, came through. Shelley and Sean had been married once upon a time and their union had produced Jason, the best little boy in the world. As soon as Sean heard Shelley’s voice he thought of his son, who shared his dark hair, green eyes, wiry frame, and his fascination with stories.

“Sean? Sean, I hope you’re there. This is important. Please pick up.” There was a slight pause. “It’s about Jason. He...”

Before she could say anything else, Sean sprinted for the phone in the entryway. “Shelley? Sorry, I was...”

“Jason is missing.”

“What?”

And then Sean heard her begin to sob and the relaxation in all of his muscles vanished, replaced by a tightness that felt like steel bands snapping taut across his muscles. Blood rushed in his ears; his heart began to pound. A queasy nausea rose up in his gut.

“Jason never came home tonight,” Shelley sobbed. “I don’t know where he is. Please say he’s with you.”

Sean sat down on the little oak chair in front of the desk. Well, collapsed into the chair was more like it. “Shelley, I’m sorry, but he’s not here. Don’t you think I would have called if he had come here? How long’s he been gone?” Sean rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth curiously dry. He glanced out the window at the complete darkness.

“I went to work at six and he wasn’t home yet.” She blew out a sigh. “But, you know, we just thought he was horsing around in the woods or something and lost track of time. Then I called Paul and...”

“Wait a minute, Shelley. It’s a quarter ‘til eleven.”

“I know. I know.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner? You mean to tell me you’re just starting to look? Christ, he’s eight years old.”

“I thought he would’ve come home while I was on my shift. Paul was here and he fell asleep and...”

“Paul. Great.” Sean rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“Please Sean, it’s not the time. I fucked up. Okay? Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I need some help finding our son.”

She was right. In spite of the thoughts running through his head, most of them centering around how he and Austin would have been better parents, but the courts couldn’t see that, all they could see was a little boy growing up under the wings of two queers, Sean knew she was right.

This was an emergency.

Mute Witness will be out later this month.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

10 Silly Questions with AM Riley

I caught up with the tireless AM Riley at Walgreens, where I was stocking up on enemas, or M&Ms, or something like that.

Anyway...Ms. Riley was just delightful and very patient for putting up with my silly questions. She did not, however, offer any advice to me for anal cleansing.

1. If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?

First thing that popped into my head was 'Ding Dongs'. I'm going to go with that. Well, unless I invited Chopin, and then the answer would be Chopin.

2. Who do you think you are?

It's Thursday, right? Well, then, I must be Paris.

3. What’s your problem?

No problem, man. It's ALL good.

4. If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?

Depends. What would you wish for? We might be able to work something out. [RR: I would wish for Depends, so I think this is gonna work.]

5. Where you at?

Here. Where you?
[RR: Right now, luxuriating in a hot bubble bath and hoping I won't get eloctrocuted.]

6. If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?

Hahahahaha

7. What’s your favorite brand of cereal?

Honey Nut Cheerios. You can eat them one at a time for hours while sweating and fretting over an impossible chapter.

8. When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?

Like Martin Brodeur after the goal that lost them the quarterfinals in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Well, not really, but I FEEL like that first thing in the morning.

9. Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?

This one has always bothered me. I mean, who has an ass that even remotely resembles the ground? Covered with grass? Muddy? Now that's a visual. Anyway, I did what I always do when I don't know the answer, I googled it. Here's what I got, from the UPI Stylebook: "A burro is an ass. A burrow is a hole in the ground. As a journalist, you're expected to know the difference."

10. Do you have anything you’d like to plug?

After that last question? Oh, you mean a book? I have two in the works at MLR press, and an urban vampire book, "Immortality is the Suck" which is available here.

AM Riley is a film editor and slam poet with a passion for erotica, myths, legends, heroes, and vampires. She will lick anything in a hockey jersey. You think she jests. She does not. She grew up in the Midwest from which she escaped at an early age to avoid imminent lynching. Moved to Los Angeles with the rest of her ilk and loves it there. She can be found meditating on the quintessential perfection of the La Brea tar pits at least one Sunday a month.
she's been lucky enough to have some of these published. Visit her website.