Saturday Author Spotlight: Angelique Jurd

 I am so excited to kick off the first Saturday Spotlight here at Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms! Let's welcome MM Romance Author Angelique Jurd, whom I had the privilege of meeting in Melbourne earlier this year! We were rockin' out the kitty cat ears! Angelique writes stories about slightly broken boys falling in love and is simply awesome to sit down and chat with. We engaged in a little written Q and A session, and OMG, check out the answers below. 

Q. What are some of the quirks you share with your characters?

A. Alex from The San Capistrano Series is terrified of spiders because I too am terrified of spiders. I’m not entirely sure why I did that to him other than it has provided some comic moments as Alex is 6ft 5…. Most of my MCs share my love of coffee and whiskey and nearly all of them have pets because I have pets.

(I too am terrified of spiders and think this is an utterly awesome way of adding in comedic moments, especially with a large character)

Q. Of all the characters you’ve written, which one do you like the least and why?

A. Well if we’re talking in general it’s a tie between Blake from Joey: The Complete Unabridged Story and Janice, Alex’s mother, from The San Capistrano Series. They’re both a sadistic, cruel, horrible people who did hideous things to sweet men. Ugh, they’re vile. If we’re talking about MCs – Noah from Daisy, Yellow. Don’t get me wrong I like Noah but he’s a bit spoiled in the beginning, so you know….I had moments when I wanted to shake him and tell him to get his head out of his ass. 

Q. What was your most difficult character or story to write? Why?

A. Definitely Joey from Joey: The Complete Unabridged Story. Joey is the survivor of an abusive relationship that involved a lot of horrific sexual and physical abuse. I interviewed quite a few men who had been raped by partners and it was heartbreaking and horrible and writing it was just as challenging. I hated making poor Joey suffer. 

Q. If any of your books were to be made into a movie, which one would you like to see on the big screen and who would you like to see play your main characters?

A. I think Jesse’s Smile would make a great movie – I mean yeah, I’m biased but Jesse is such an adorable character, I’d love to see him brought to life. For Jesse I think Michael Urie would be perfect but Nicholas Galitzine from Red White and Royal Blue could also do a good job I think. They both have such an innocent yet cheeky look and both have great smiles. But the first choice would be Urie. Drew is a bit more difficult…but Scott Evans is probably my first choice. 

Q. Describe your writing space?  Is there anything you have to have when you write? A favorite type of pen, certain music, a stuffed critter that always keeps you company?

A. At the moment, my office is also my craft room as my daughter and her boyfriend are moving home for a few months. But I have a big desk and I usually like silence or classical music, potato chips, and a lot of coffee. A whiskey later at night sometimes – especially when I’m finishing a book. When I’m in the depth of a project I don’t tidy up in my office and by the time I write The End the place looks like it was hit by a tornado. I then spend a day restoring order. 

(Wow, sounds about like my space and routine, actually. The chaos at the end of a story always feels like a surprise, it's like I can't see it when I'm in the middle of working on something, but as soon as I've finished, the blinders come off and it's like ohhhh crap, time to clean.)

Q. Is there a particular genre that you have always wanted to dabble in but haven’t had the opportunity to explore yet?

A. My first love is horror, followed by thriller and I would love to write a queer horror/thriller one day. 

Q. Is there a particular book that you’ve written that you wish more readers knew about? If so share a little about it here:

A. Probably Belkin Lake – a second chances novella. I wrote it very quickly because I was just driven to get it down and I adore both MCs. It’s written in two parts – the first in Shaun’s POV, and the second in Jason’s. In Part One, both guys are 19 and getting ready to leave for college. Shaun is quiet, nerdy, and lives with his mom and his brother Troy who has mental delays in a loving home. Jason comes from a wealthy, very dysfunctional family. Shaun’s POV takes us through the week they spend together before Jason just … leaves.

 
In Part Two, fifteen years later Jason is coming home for the first time since leaving. He wants to tell Shaun why he did what he did, that he knows he was wrong, that he made a terrible mistake. This time…he won’t run. 

Q. If you were to write a spin-off book featuring one of your side characters, whom would you choose and why? Can you tell us a little about the story you’d like to feature them in?

A. Well…. I can tell you that a spin off is coming from a book that will be out soon but aside from that the one I wish I could do is Maisie from Joey: The Complete Unabridged Story. Maisie is gender fluid, uses they/them pronouns, and becomes Joey’s best friend. I get asked about Maisie more than any other secondary character. Maisie is really complex though and for their story to be given true justice I feel it would be better if it was an #ownvoices story so I won’t be writing it. 

Q. Do you celebrate when you finish writing a book? If so, how?

A. Do tidying my office and starting the next book count?

(Sounds like a celebration to me! Add in a bottle of wine or several shots of whiskey and that's pretty much the same celebration I have at the end of book.)

Q. What are some of the things you wished you knew about becoming an author before you headed down that path?

A. That you will always find a typo the day after you publish. That you will tear your hair out over characters because they never behave. That it’s as simple as sit down and write – and as complicated and difficult as sit down and write. No matter how thick your skin is, one star reviews sting. Some *really* sting; some just in passing. There will always be a book you think you’ve done a great job of and readers ignore – and one you think you messed up that they love. It’s just how it works sometimes.  

Q. If you could have dinner with any author, living or dead, who would that be and what would you like to talk to them about?

A. Can I pick two? Well, I’m picking two. Stephen King and Bruce Springsteen (he has written a lot of op-eds and two books as well as all of his songs). I discovered them both on the same day when I was 12 and fell in love with both. They’re the reason I became a writer. I’d like to know how they do what they do – make me see images in my head with such clarity that I forget my actual reality. Before anyone protests about how they’re both genre/pop culture writers   - so am I. My Masters is in fandom and pop culture. I write genre fiction. Theirs are the views I’m interested in. 

Q. A lot of writers cut their teeth on fan fiction. Has there ever been a book, movie, or tv show that you’ve been so passionate about that you wanted to change certain parts in order to make the storyline go in the direction you’d hoped it would and if so, what changes would you make to it?

A. So my aforementioned Masters in pop culture is focused on Dean Winchester so you can probably guess my answer. Supernatural. Spoiler alert: Destiel is not my ship (no shade at all – I love Cas as much as anyone). I’m not sure I’d be allowed to air my version of SPN …. Just sayin’…

Q. As a writer, what would you choose as your spirit animal or the animal that best reflects your writing style?

A. Chaos gremlin. Squirrel on speed. Same thing. 

(OMG I love it!)

Q. If you couldn’t be an author, what do you think you’d be doing for a living?

A. I used to be a journalist and sometimes I’m tempted to go back to it but in honesty I probably wouldn’t. Maybe a nail technician – I love nail art. Jensen Ackles’ PA? 

Q. Do you attend author events? If so, what’s the most amusing thing that ever took place at one that you attended, or your most amusing experience as an author attending one of these events?

A. I went to my first two events this year (2023). I’m not sure if it’s amusing or not but at the first one I was sharing a table with a fellow kiwi author, Zoe Piper and it was my turn to do the coffee run. I made it all the way back to our table only to drop both cups – on Zoe’s books and tablecloth. I was mortified. I still feel awful – but Zoe was wonderful about it. 

Q. What projects do you have in the works and would you be willing to share a snippet of one of them here?

A. I’m currently completing the San Capistrano series, finishing up Hidden Strom for The Road to Rocktoberfest, and working on Tennessee Whiskey – the first in a trilogy.
Snippet from Tennessee Whiskey – Jackson and Liam are our MCs and Jarred is a secondary character:

Jarred, thinks Jackson, can be a lot to cope with for people who do know him.

As if to underline this the elevator doors open and Jackson finds himself with an armful of quivering, chattering, pink clothed blond.  Before Jackson has a chance to say anything, Jarred, dressed head to toe in pink – where in the hell did he find pink skinny jeans?  – has his arms and legs wrapped around him and his face buried in his neck. That at least has the welcome effect of cutting off the stream of incomprehensible babble, though it somewhat like being hugged by a pink koala. 

Personal boundaries and Jarred Elliot are not on a first name basis; something Jackson has learned to work with.  Drama, on the other hand, is Jarred's stock in trade. Sighing Jackson grips Jarred’s thighs and walks him out of the elevator. Who cares if Mister I’m Probably Here To Give You Bad News sees them? Right now, Jackson really couldn’t care less.

Once out of the elevator, Jarred leans back and starts babbling again.

“He insisted on waiting and he didn’t want coffee, but he asked to use a bathroom, so I showed him where it is and he looks like a big city lawyer and oh my fucking god Boss he is so hot.”  He flutters his heavily mascaraed lashes so hard, Jackson worries he’ll hurt himself.

“Get off me, brat. And take a breath before you pass out. Your eyeliner is smudged.”

“What?” Jarred lets his feet drop to the floor, steps back and drags his fingers beneath his lower lashes. He peers at the tips, then frowns. “No, it’s not. Don’t be mean. You know I'd never come to wo -”

Oh God, so much for distraction.

“Jarred. Focus.” Jackson glances down the corridor toward the bathroom but there’s no sign of Mister Whoever The Hell He Is. “What did he say?”

Jarred taps a pink sparkly tipped finger against his lower lip and shuts his eyes.  Jackson sigh and herds him toward the office.

“He said he needs to speak to you, that he didn’t need coffee, and could he use the bathroom?”

“His name Jarred. Did he give you his name?”

“Liam Bradford." The voice behind him is deep and smooth. Whiskey that's been aged in the best oak; just a hint of heat. 

Pre-order Tennessee Whiskey Here!

Q. What is the worst piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?

A. Write What You Know. Even if you don’t take it literally, it can really trip you up. Well, it trips me up. I know the spirit of the advice is probably sound but sometimes even sound advice can be a minefield. I just try to write honestly now – and yeah I know how that sounds but *shrug* it’s the best I’ve got. 

(Two thumbs up!!!)

Q. If you could spend a week writing anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?

A. Jensen Ackles’ kitchen? Okay maybe not… somewhere warm with a great internet connection, great champagne, coffee, and whiskey, and just me. I love my family but a week of uninterrupted work would be awesome.

Thank you so much for taking the time out to answer these questions and talk more about your books, your process, and what you've got coming out soon! It was a joy to have you on Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms!

Check out Angelique on social media and look for Hidden Storm and Tennesse Whiskey to go live soon!

Website

Amazon Page

Newsletter

Facebook

Tik Tok

Friday Fireworks: when passions flare and things get a little heated...in and out of the bedroom.

 Pretty sure the title speaks for itself. Friday is reserved for fireworks, be they from pissed-off characters or things heating up between two or more of them. Today's fireworks come from the least likely character compared to so many of the others I've written. Aiden is the pure, unadulterated definition of a cinnamon roll, but when he felt like one of his mates was treating the other unfairly, he spoke up in the hopes that the three of them could start bonding with one another sooner rather than waiting until too many feelings had been hurt and stepped on. While it might seem a bit tame, as arguments go, this was a big deal for Aiden, and established him as a strong piece of the relationship, despite the way he struggled to view himself sometimes. 

Fingers tight on the wheel, Gabriel guided the Jeep up the drive, fuming over the conversation with Raine, certain he had ulterior motives for spending time with Aiden. Beside him, Aiden was fidgeting, fingers rubbing the arm of the door as he stared out into the oncoming darkness, a dark pall hanging over their evening before they’d even arrived at their destination. That wouldn’t do. He opened his mouth to say something witty, but the only voice to fill the space between them was Aiden’s.

“I want to ask you something, and I hope you won’t get upset with me.”

“Ask whatever you’d like,” Gabriel told him.

“Fine. Why did you say those hurtful things to Raine?”

“Because I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either.”

“Isn’t it my choice?”

“Of course it is. I’m just trying to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Right now, the only person hurting me is you,” Aiden mumbled.

Bringing the Jeep to an abrupt stop, Gabriel peered over at Aiden, saw the way he was biting his lip, his fidgeting having grown worse. “That was never my intention.”

“It might not be your intention, but it’s what you’re doing every time you ignore him or, worse, say something cruel.”

Tapping his fingers against the window, Aiden seemed to struggle with exactly what he wanted to say. His reflection in the glass was troubled, sad, but there was anger brimming as well. Gabriel could feel it bubbling beneath the surface.

“Why is it such a problem that he joined us for movies? Who was he bothering? Not me. I enjoy having him there. You know what else I enjoy?”

“What?”

“Running my fingers through his fur. How soft it is. The way he nudges, just a little, when I stop moving, to show that he’s actually enjoying it. I love the waves of contentment that roll off him from such a simple thing, and I love that you’re there with us, even if the only one you pay attention to is me. At least I can close my eyes and pretend we’re growing closer.”

Throwing up his hands, Gabriel could feel himself growing frustrated. “We are growing closer. The colors in our bond marks—”

“Show that you and I are growing closer. I’m talking we, as in the three of us. I can’t tell you how awesome the experience was today. The way he had faith in me, even when I didn’t have it in myself. Don’t you think I’d be able to feel if he was being insincere, or do you look at me like everyone else has? As someone completely incapable of anything?”

“Hell, no. I would never—”

“Then don’t treat me that way and don’t use me as an excuse to be unkind!” Aiden snapped, turning toward him with a hint of a snarl. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re jealous. Did you want us to want you, but not each other? I’m just not understanding why you’re trying to drive him away.”

“So he’ll get it over with!” Gabriel growled, sighing heavily and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You know what I find funny?” Aiden asked.

Sighing, Gabriel dropped his hand so he could meet Aiden’s gaze. “What?”

“You waiting for him to leave, while he’s waiting for you to kick him out. You’re frozen in place, with neither of you willing to talk to each other reasonably and rationally.”

“I was trying to be reasonable. He was the one who wouldn’t give a straight answer.”

“No, you just weren’t listening. He told you what he was doing. You chose to believe there was more to it. I think you’re right, but I don’t think it’s what you think it is.”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel asked, trying to figure out what the hell Aiden was getting at.

“If he didn’t want to be your mate, don’t you think he would have told you?” Aiden said. “Instead, he hid.”

“Because he’s a coward.”

“No!” Aiden snapped. “Because he was scared!”

“What the hell did he have to fear? I’m the one who got destroyed fighting on that hill. He was the one who ended it.”

“And stayed with you, keeping pressure on your wounds until help came, isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yeah.”

“There are far more reasons to be frightened than ones that involve physical altercations,” Aiden said. The look he shot Gabriel, one of such utter disappointment, forced Gabe to look away.

“I know,” he muttered.

“Then act like it!” Aiden said. “And while you’re at it, get out of your feelings long enough to think. Fear is a learned response. Instead of being angry with Raine for feeling it, why don’t you attempt to learn the cause?”

“Because he’s bitter and selfish and wanted to have a mate all to himself.”

“Why?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Gabriel growled, glancing at the time and groaning.

“You ask questions. You get the entire story. You don’t make inferences from an event you don’t know the backstory to,” Aiden said. “Now drive, please, before I decide to get out and go back to the house. I don’t think you’d appreciate trying to explain that to your moms, and I wouldn’t want to insult them.”

“Aiden, I…”

Without another word, Aiden hit the button to unlock the door, prompting Gabriel into action.

Waiting for Raine, along with the rest of the Comet Lake Chronicles, can be found here: 

Comet Lake Chronicles

Thoughtful Thursday or what I've learned from reading reviews.

 Thoughtful Thursday

 

So for this first thoughtful Thursday I thought I’d take the time to talk about something almost every author has had experience with. A bad review. And yeah, I know what they say about authors reading reviews, especially on Goodreads, you shouldn’t do it unless you’re prepared for that gut punch that might await you, but as a young author that wasn’t something I was warned about, so like an over excited child at Christmas, I’d hurry to see if any reviews had been put up on my newly released book, and celebrate when I saw that someone had, indeed, taken the time to leave one.

Most times they were good, a few times they were vicious, like the one from my second book that pretty much criticized the cover and the premises and what little bit was able to be read through the look inside on Amazon and then man, that reviewer went for blood. It is still the top review for that book and the one with the most comments and clicks saying that people found it helpful, which, as a newbie, was crushing.

For some reason, that one hit harder than the positive ones that had been left beneath it and left me doubting myself as a storyteller and an author. Fortunately, I’d already given the publisher the next book and we were already in edits and I’d signed a contract so I pushing ahead and trying to push that review out of my mind because writing had always been my dream and I wasn’t going to let anyone take that from me.

Of course, it wouldn’t be the last bad one, but the good have always outweighed the bad and I learned over time that, you know what, not everything is for everybody and not every book you write is going to be the right one for a reader who loved the previous book, that they might get mad when you change tropes or dive into a pair of characters they find difficult to relate too. They aren’t always going to like how an author handles a situation, or the way a character reacts to another character. I learned over the years that certain things just piss people off enough that they do not finish but have to tell you all about why and what you did wrong and why they felt that there was no redemption for a character after that.

Okay.

I get it.

But then I started thinking about one very important fact. They don’t know if they’re right or not. They don’t know if there was redemption, or if the character paid a huge price for their actions, they don’t know if groveling was involved, or if a character had to walk away from someone they realized that they cared a great deal for because they screwed up too badly.

Most of all, though, I had to learn that reviews were for readers.

I had to learn that there were things that could be learned from most negative reviews as well, and I’d like to say that there are certain criticisms that have helped shape me into a better writer, even if it stung to read at first.

I also had to learn that if I was going to go into that reader space and look, that I had to do it in the right headspace. I couldn’t dive in on a day when I was feeling self-doubt or a band case of imposter syndrome. I had to go prepared for the bad, but that also made celebrating the good so much sweeter.

I’ve always believed in sharing the story that the characters gave me, even if it took twists and turns that I knew some were going to look at and respond negatively too. The books I’ve loved writing the most have always been the ones where the words just poured onto the page and I didn’t try to control any of what the characters were doing.

I’m writing a book now that I know isn’t going to be for everyone. There is no slow burn, no build up to the characters getting steamy with one another. They see what they want, they go for what they want, and all that relationship stuff and feelings, have to develop on a little slower level than the physical, when in the past, in many of my books, it’s been the other way around.

Some are going to enjoy it.

Some are going to hate it.

A handful might even fall in love with it.

Those that hate this one might love the next, or they might never give me another chance again. All I can do is keep on doing what I do, what I love, what I’ve wanted to do since I lay in my bedroom with my favorite book, The Outsiders by SE Hinton, and tried to write my own version of the story.

In the time between then and now, there is something else I’ve come to recognize, and it was that they can’t give a review, good or bad, if I don’t put words on the page and produce another story. I can’t grow. I can’t do better. I can’t explore different sub-genres or create new worlds if I don’t sit down in my chair and put words in the document or on the paper. I can’t be afraid of rejection. I can’t be afraid to fail. I can’t give up because dreams die when you stop fighting for them and the only person who is ever going to fight for your dream is you.

So, on this thoughtful Thursday, I think back on those early reviews and acknowledge that good and bad, they made me stronger, they made me better, they made me more determined, and they proved that I could tell a story, which is what I’d set out to prove to myself in the first place. 

WIP Wednesday: A Little Christmas: Ajay's Secret

 What can I say about WIP Wednesday besides it being the day of the week designated for sharing works in progress?  By next week I hope to have graphics made for each of our themed days of the week. At this time, I would also like to extend an invitation to authors who might want to share their WIPs to drop me a line at Layladorine13@outlook.com or message me through Facebook at Author Layla Dorine. We would love to feature your work here at Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms. 

Today I bring you A Little Christmas: Ajay's Secret which will be coming to you on December 1. The A Little Christmas collection is a shared world in which a secret must be revealed as a Daddy and his little come together during the holiday season. 

Pre-order Here

That had been the part that rankled Walker the most. He’d bared his heart to Micha and told him things he’d never shared with anyone else. He’d trusted him, loved him, and been so callously betrayed by him that even now he couldn’t spend time with another without dissecting everything they did, looking for those hidden tells he’d missed with Micha.

Never again.

He would not be led around and made a fool of.

No. You’ll just sabotage a good thing.

Ren’s words echoed through his mind, one part admonishment, the other disappointment. That was fine. He could live with it far more than he could handle wasting his time with another gold digger.

As he crossed the final street before the office, he caught sight of a stunningly handsome young man with purple hair and a shimmering twilight hued guitar. Rising and falling, his voice drew out the final words to Please Come Home for Christmas to the delight of the crowd that had gathered around him. They weren’t stingy with their applause, or the crumpled bills and change they tossed in the open guitar case on the ground at his feet. There was no denying that his voice was beautiful. Even Walker, who abhorred the predictably repetitive carols that haunted the season, was tempted to linger.

Brilliant green eyes met his as the tip of a pierced pink tongue flicked out and ran along the edge of the guitarist’s lips. Had he been on his knees, with all that long, purple hair held tight in Walker’s fist, he’d have called it a fuck me gaze and given the guitarist all he could handle and then some, but out here it just read as a plea for money.

When the guitarist launched into a soulful rendition Silver Bells, Walker froze, the low, sad, mournful request to let them ring, wasn’t a part of the traditional song, but that wasn’t what had stolen his attention. Something in the tone and that voice sent a shiver down his spine as a memory swum up from the depths of his mind.

Cold pavement beneath his knees, damp seeping through the cloth of his pants, his hands, frantic, clutching Eli’s fingers, pressing his coat over the multitude of bleeding wounds that covered him while be pleaded for Eli to hang on. Those eyes, always so bright and filed with joy and life were pain filled and dull, fading as they fluttered open and closed. A song echoed through his mind, unfamiliar words haunting him even now. Someone slammed into his shoulder and staggering he shook his head, trying to clear it of the memory.   

“Get a real job ya looser!” someone bellowed, jarring Walker free from the past and bringing him firmly back into the present. Frowning, he turned away from the sight of the singer, who’d launched into the more cheerful and upbeat chorus of the song, and nearly bumping into a man in an impeccably tailored overcoat in the process.

It took Walker a moment to realize that the voice, and coat, belonged to Greg Chambers, a fellow executive in his firm. The man had been a boil on Walker’s ass for almost as long as he’d been with the company. In the early days, Walker had been drawn into his circle, accepting the back slaps and gregarious laughter until he’d come to recognize the spirit it was done with. Everything had taken on a different context then, and a sense of wrongness coupled with the echo of his mother’s admonishment his head, reminding him that he hadn’t been raised to treat others that way. He’d distanced himself from the man after that, which had resulted in several verbal jabs being lobbed in his direction and the loss of a project he’d hoped to have the chance to lead. They’d had it out over that organic soda account, with Greg coming out the victor, much to Walker’s chagrin. Since then, Greg went out of his way to point out Walker’s few, and often times minimal and inconsequential mistakes, which irked him to no end.

Now, however, Greg was shooting him a sidelong glance that just reeked of something dark and conspiratorial. Whatever it was, Walker wanted no part in it. Not when the man already made his skin crawl.

“What the hell are our tax dollars going for if the police can’t keep derelicts like that from cluttering up our streets?” Greg grumbled as they headed up the steps outside their building.

“He’s not hurting anything.”

Greg snorted and narrowed his eyes at Walker as they stepped into the lobby of the building. “No, just disturbing the peace and expecting descent folks to pay him for it so he can avoid making a proper contribution to society. Do you think he pays taxes on what he collects? Of course he doesn’t, but the rest of us sure as hell have to pony up.”

As much as he wanted to, it was impossible to argue with Greg when he’d had the same uncharitable thought himself at seeing the young man out there on the corner rather than engaged in proper work. Of course, that bright hair coloring and smattering of facial piercings were likely to make it difficult for him to land any meaningful employment. As he took the elevator up to his office, Walker found himself wondering what the young man’s parents thought of his look, or if he had no one to warn him about the dangers of standing out like that. Such a shame, he’d be truly stunning without the dye and bling. 

Tangled Tuesday: Holiday Deception at its finest

 Tangled Tuesday

Oh what a tangles web we weave….

We all know how the rest of it goes. Deception can destroy trust between characters and while it can create for some great tension in a story, it can also be a real struggle to resolve in a believable fashion depending on the level of betrayal and how rocky or solid the relationship was before the big revelation.

There are also times when characters engage in some seriously self-sacrificing behaviors, whether out of necessity, or perceived necessity, they throw themselves on the hand grenade without taking the time to consider the full scope of their actions and those who are going to be affected. How many times have we read a story where one character is absolutely furious with another character for putting themselves in harms way and nearly getting killed in the process. No person, or character for that matter, wants to be left behind knowing that the person that they loved sacrificed themselves to save them without even giving them a chance to come up with a better alternative.

Then there are those rare times when a character is just too stubborn for their own good and the friends and family members in their lives find themselves hatching plots for the betterment of their loved ones. In these instances, the reveal is a pleasant moment where the stubborn character is forced to admit that, yeah, they’d have lost out on something amazing if it hadn’t been for their meddling family and friends.

In one of the holiday stories I’m currently writing, there is a deception at play. I won’t spoil it by saying which category it falls in, but I will share a little snippet of the first meeting between Ryu and Hank. The book, A Daddy for Christmas: Ryu, features the delivery of a present, though in the case Ryu’s story, there is more than one present that will be delivered in time to be unwrapped by Christmas Day. Some may even be unwrapped beforehand, drawing out of the magic of the season in this low angst, steamy as I don't know what, Christmas Story. Stay tuned for the official cover reveal in just a few short weeks. 

Preorder available: A Daddy for Christmas: Ryu

The last thing he expected to see when he snatched the door open was a huge, festively decorated gift basket sitting there with brilliant brown eyes in a tanned face staring up from out of all that packaging. The young man they belonged to looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a slightly curling mop of brown hair streaked through with gold peeking out from beneath a blue and white beanie with snowmen all over it. There was even a shimmering Christmas bow stuck to the top of his head.

“What the hell?” He muttered, peering around and seeing no one else anywhere in the vicinity. “This is a joke, right?”

A pacifier poked from between full lips, a snowman adorning that too. Something told Hank that beneath the wrapping paper that covered the rest of him there would be other snowmen as well. It seemed to be the theme, seeing as how the glittery wrapping paper depicted them too. Two small hoop earrings adorned the young man’s ears, the glow from a nearby streetlight glinting off of them.

In a different setting, he’d have been positively adorable, exactly the type Hank would have sought out in the playroom at the club he used to frequent. Here, unexpectedly crashing his otherwise peaceful night, he was just a mystery.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, nudging the basket with the toe of his slipper, “And who the hell put you up to this.”

The pacifier was the only thing that moved as the young man sucked on it and stared up at him like he was waiting for Hank to do…what? Bring him in? Like that was happening. For all he knew there was a gun beneath all of that packaging, and this was someone’s cleaver attempt at finally ridding the world of him.

Leaning heavily on his cane, he reached for the pacifier and plucked it free, those brilliant eyes widening a little more as Hank scowled at him and snapped, “Answer me!”

“I pressy,” the young man declared, then had the nerve to flash him a bright, cheeky smile. “Merry Kissmas.”

Slapping a hand to his face, Hank groaned and shook his head. If one of the boys down at the club had done this, they had to know he’d kick their ass when he saw them. Of course, that would mean Hank would have to end his self-imposed exile and go down there to deal with them, which might have been the exact result they were hoping for with this little ploy, damn them.

Hank shivered as a cold wind whipped past him, reminding him that he was letting the heat out and he couldn’t afford to warm half the neighborhood. It made the paper crinkle, too, or maybe it was the young man shivering beneath it. Hank couldn’t imagine it to be very warm and hoped he was at least wearing a couple layers beneath the thin paper, ‘cause he was going to be out here a little bit longer while he got to the bottom of this mess. If someone from the club had dropped him off here, well then they’d best get their asses back over here and get him.

“You stay right there,” Hank said, wagging a finger at him. “I’ll be right back.”

Cell phone. Cell phone. Where the hell had he put the damn thing?

He checked the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the top of the fridge and the glass dish beside the door before he found that it had slipped down into the depths of his chair. One of these times he was going to be forced to dismantle the damned thing to get it out. It was a good thing he’d transferred the number into his contacts when he’d replaced the phone he’d broken earlier in the year, or he’d have been forced to call one of the friends he was currently ghosting. As it was, there was the risk of one of them answering the phone and peppering him with questions before giving him the answers he was after.

Fortunately for him, it was an unfamiliar voice answered. “Velvet Illusions, how may I direct your call?”

“Put Callahan on the phone.”

“Yes sir, right away.”

He heard the click of the call transferring and drummed his fingertips on the glossy wood of the coffee table while he waited for Cal to answer.

“Velvet Illusions, Callahan speaking.”

“You should know me well enough by now to know that I hate surprises,” Hank growled the moment Cal stopped speaking.

“Who is this?”

“Who the fuck do you think!” Hank snapped.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking.”

“It’s Hank, damnit, now send someone over here to retrieve the little package you all dumped on my doorstep.”

“Hank…shit, I don’t remember seeing your name on the list. Hang on, let me figure out what’s going on.”

He heard papers rustling in the background, muttering, then Cal speaking to someone else, asking them to find Donovan for him.

“Look, Hank, I’m not sure what happened,” Callahan said when he got back on the phone. “And I can’t find the fuckin’ spreadsheet to try and figure out what went wrong!”

He roared the last part, clearly frustrated with whichever poor soul was acting as his assistant this week. It was a well-known fact that the turnover rate for that position was quite high, as Cal had some pretty exacting standards.

“What does the card say?” Callahan asked after several more moments of rummaging around and clearly producing nothing.

“Card? What card?”

“The one attached to the basket! How else did you know we were the ones to send it to you?”

“I didn’t see any card! I took one look at the boy all wrapped up on my porch and assumed it had to be one of you fuckers. Hang on, let me go outside and check.”

“Outside? Hank, it’s fuckin’ freezing out there you asshole! Bring him in for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, now that I know there isn’t a gun waiting for me under all of that wrapping paper, I will.”

“For fuck’s sake, paranoid much?”

“You should know that by now,” Hank muttered and tossed the phone on the couch so he could go find this card they were talking about. With his bum knee, there was no way he was going to be able to lift that basket, so the boy better be willing to climb out of it, or on the porch he’d remain.

The boy in the basket was right where Hank had left him, only there was no question that he was shivering now and looked quite sad and confused, though his eyes brightened when they landed on Hank and he attempted another smile, despite the way his lips quivered. The light flakes that had been falling when he’d first answered the door had grown thicker and heavier too, the wind whipping a blizzard of them in a swirl across his porch.  

“Come on, I need you to get up out of there unless you’d like to freeze to death,” Hank said, crooking his finger at him.

“Unwrappy?”

Groaning, Hank muttered a litany of curses beneath his breath as he reached for one of the elaborately tied ribbons.

“Yeah, yeah, unwrappy,” Hank muttered, struggling to manage it and the cane. Finally, he just tore at the paper until enough of it fell away that he’d revealed the young man was, in fact, sitting there in a snowman onesie with a polar bear stuffy held in his hands. He found the card too, tucked alongside him in the basket. Sealed with purple wax, it bore the elegant VI logo of the club.

“Come on then,” Hank said once the young man was free. He climbed to his feet unsteadily, clinging to that bear and shivering as he shambled through the entryway. Hank snatched a throw blanket off the back of the couch and chucked it his way before opening the card and perusing the contents.

Here’s a Little something to make your holidays brighter. His name is Ryu. I trust he’ll bring you plenty of merriment and joy.   

Pax

“The card says the gift is from Pax, and that his name is Ryu.”

“Awe, he’s a sweetheart. New to the club too. I hope Pax chose a good match for him.”

“You mean you don’t know who he was supposed to be going to?”

“This whole ‘gift basket’ idea was Donovan’s baby,” Cal explained. “He got the littles to sign up and assigned the daycare crew the task of gifting them to the Daddies they felt would be the best fit out of those who signed up to receive one. Call it matchmaking meets secret santa. Personally, I’m withholding judgement until after the holidays when I can see how many placements actually take.”

Something clattered in the background, followed by the sound of a file cabinet being slammed shut.

“Damnit, it wasn’t in there either,” Cal muttered.

“Check your laptop, for fuck’s sake.”

“I would if I hadn’t forgotten the password again,” Cal grumbled.

“How the hell you manage to keep that place running is beyond me!”

 

Musical Monday: Unforgettable songs and the coming of the Road to Rocktoberfest

Musical Monday

Every Monday, we’ll be featuring a piece of writing either to do with music or inspired by a piece of music. Not only will the musical inspiration be shared, but we’ll talk a little bit about why we found it so inspiring and what motivated the writing of the piece we shared. We welcome other musically inspired authors to drop us a line and tell us about their own musical inspirations and would be happy to feature them on Musical Mondays as well.

 

Rocktoberfest is coming. Fans of Rockstar romances know that October is when we launch the Road to Rocktoberfest series. This year’s collection features 12 authors with 12 unique books all featuring their band’s Rockroberfest journey and the events unfolding in the characters' lives both before, during, and sometimes after the desert festival. This will be the third year season of Rocktoberfest, the first appearing in 2020 and the second in 2022. Plans are already in the works for a 2024 Rocktoberfest lineup with new and returning bands already gearing up to make that desert trek again. The first book of the 2023 season: Rocking Karma by Kaje Harper releases on Oct. 3^rd, to be followed by Axe to Grind by Gabbi Grey on Oct. 6.

The entire Rocktoberfest collection is currently available for pre-order and can be found here:

Road to Rocktoberfest

Like the other authors in the Rocktoberfest collection, I’ve been inspired by music for most of my life. From blues to classic rock, grunge, alternative, and heavy metal, music is a huge part of my daily life and something that is as essential to me as breathing. Need a pick me up – find a song. Want to cry – find a song. Looking to capture or create a particular mood – you guessed it: song. There are songs I will forever associate with particular moments or people in my life, like Pride and Joy, which my old man loved to air guitar and dance through his apartment singing, and Only Women Bleed, a slow, somber Alice Cooper song a friend learned to play on his guitar so we could sing together. The first car wreck I was ever in, Monkey Business by Skid Row was blaring from my CD player, back when you still had to connect a Diskman to a car via the tape deck unless you wanted to drive with headphones on. I still remember the last song I listened to while sitting at my favorite creative writing spot out at West Island Beach just outside of Fairhaven Massachusetts. It was Take it to the Limit, and there were tears streaming down my face because deep down I think I knew it would be a long time before I ever got back there again, and never with the person whose hand I was holding as we watched the sunset.

All of those moments came crashing back, recently, when I was writing the second version of my Rocktoberfest story for this season. In it, the band, Damaged Saints, has brought in a new singer after an accident the previous year left their longtime frontman unable to perform with them. Jagger isn’t used to playing with anyone but cover bands and he’s not used to dropping his walls and being as emotionally invested in a song as they need him to be in order to perform with them, though there is one of the band’s songs he is intimately familiar with. When he is finally left with no choice but to sing it, it becomes the moment when the band members know that with patience and practice, he’s going to be an amazing fit for them.

The lyrics are original, I wrote them as part of a songwriting class last year, when I was trying to process a loss much like the one Jagger will eventually be forced to open up and talk about. For now though, he’s all about the superficial and keeping from having to feel anything too deeply. This song cracks his armor when he has to sing it and the crack only widens the longer he’s with the group and the deeper his connection grows with Kayden, Robbie, and ultimately the rest of the band too.

I was fortunate enough to have someone perform the song I wrote at an open mic night, a song originally inspired by the Black Label Society song In This River. Hearing it live, even if it was more of a country version than a rocker one, at least gave me some idea of the depth of feeling that Jagger would need to pour into it to make it come alive. 

I hope you will check out Damaged Saints when it releases on October 27th and see the hilarity that ensues when these five individuals and two large St. Bernards come together to prepare for the journey out to the desert.  

Pre-order Damaged Saints 

 And here is an exclusive sneak peek into Damaged Saints. 

“So, here’s how this is gonna work,” Robbie said, mercifully cutting to the point. “You’re gonna write down the songs you know and we’ll pick one and work from there. Shouldn’t take more than a handful to see if Johnny was bullshitting about you being good or not.”

Jagger choked back a snarl on the way to the microphone, resisting the urge to spit a retort at him. If Robbie’s point was to bait him then the last thing Jagger wanted was to make it easy on him. Wasn’t easy, but he could keep his mouth shut until it was time to sing, and they could make up their minds from there. He took the notepad Mickey handed him and scrawled the names of the seven songs he knew best, leaving out the god damned ballad he’d choked up on the first time he’d tried to sing it. The damn thing packed a punch, one he wasn’t sure he could deliver they way they’d want him to, so best to not let them think it was on the table, despite knowing it word for word.

Mickey only glanced at the list before passing it to Robbie, who shook his head and cut Jagger a withering look.

“Kinda cliché, only listing the most popular ones.” Robbie said.

Shrugging Jagger rolled his shoulders a little trying to loosen some of the tension there. “Was what the people wanted.”

“And do you only give people what they ask for, or do you have a mind of your own beneath that mop of golden hair,” Robbie shot back, eyebrows scrunching up as he studied Jagger. “That really your natural color or did someone highlight the hell out of it for you?”

“Pretty sure you didn’t invite me up here for salon tips,” Jagger snarled, “and for the record, it’s natural. Now are we doing this, or what?”

Robbie just smirked and swept his hand towards the mic stand. “After you.”

“You sure you don’t need a drink or a few minutes to warm up?” Kayden asked as he headed for his guitar. It was a beauty, with black lines slashed across a purple surface, the Cheshire cat’s eyes and trademark grin prominently featured in the corner.  

“I’ll be warm enough by the second song,” Jagger remarked as he adjusted the height of the stand. Apparently he was a good deal shorter than their original frontman.

Shrugging, Kayden turned his attention to tuning his axe. “Fair enough.”

There was some rustling going on behind his back and what sounded like pages turning, then Kayden launched into the opening chords of a song that Jagger knew damned well wasn’t on the list he’d given them.

He knew it though, and didn’t miss his cue, launching in with all the intensity he could manage while doing his best to mimic the way it sounded on the album. About halfway through the beat changed, throwing everything off as Robbie pounded one of his sticks on the snare drum, his furious No! No! No! bringing the rest of them screeching to a halt.

“Robbie, what…” Mickey began, cut off when Robbie pointed a stick at Jagger and bellowed.

“Sing the fuckin’ song the way you want to sing it, not how you think we want you to!”

Blinking, Jagger stood with his feet rooted to the spot, confusion leaving him hesitant to say anything. Wasn’t the point of him being here that he was damned good at mimicking the singers he listened to, right down to the particular notes they drew out? Hell, he could manage a damned good southern accent when the song called for it, which made fitting into a wide variety of bands and easy thing for him. He’d even filled in with country trio once and garnered some high praise from the guy he’d replaced, not that any of that was helping him in any way right now. Robbie didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed. The brilliant blue of his eyes had darkened to something almost stormy as they glared at one another until Jagger finally lowered his gaze and stepped away from the mic.

“I think I’ll take that beer now,” he remarked, scurrying away from the trio before someone got it in their heads to start playing another song.

Mercifully, the beers had twist tops. He opened two, holding the second while he pounded the first, nearly done with it when he felt someone trying to liberate the second one from his cold fingers.

Kayden.

Go figure.

“I’m planning on drinking that,” Jagger said, refusing to let it go.

“Dude, relax and just breathe for a minute. You down the second as fast as you finished that one and they’re gonna hit like a son of a bitch about ten minutes from now. Don’t think that’s going to work out quite the way you’re hoping.”

“Right. As opposed to how well it’s working out now,” Jagger grumbled, gently tugging the beer away from Kayden so he could drink that one too.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Booze hits different at high altitudes, which you’re about to experience firsthand.”

“It’ll be an improvement, I promise you.”

“Maybe, but what we’ve heard already didn’t sound bad at all, it just wasn’t what we’re after.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Then figure out how to work with it.” Kayden said before grabbing a beer of his own and leaving Jagger to get his mind right before returning to the mic.

“Take two,” Mickey said, only instead of Kayden playing the opening chords to the previous song, Robbie tapped out the intro to an entirely different one. Like the first one, it wasn’t on the list Jagger had given them and he was beginning to suspect that they weren’t going to set him up to sing any of the ones that were.

Kayden had been right about one thing though. That beer was hitting nicely and that ball of nerves that had been firmly lodged in his gut was rapidly unraveling. Truth was he loved the fuck out of the song even if the reason why was painful as hell. It just wasn’t one the beer and vodka crowd ever asked for, considering the harsh reality of the story it told.

Was far too easy to give in to the rage and pain steeped words, the emotions sucking him under until he felt vulnerable and exposed.

We were born dyin’ one minute at a time

First breath, last cry, mere inches from the end

Cliff dive over a sad abyss of hopeless dreams

Broken, frayed now, shredded at the seams.

Restless moments where hopes lie unrefined

We’re still chasing, floundering and blind

Rebels, angels desperate to be free

Always haunted by who we hoped to be.

 

We chased the ghosts of fireflies

On crazy, moonlit suicide rides

 

You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts and glue

Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in the end

You cursed the demons who were your friends

You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and blue

But the one you cursed most…was you.

Was you.

 

You did the one thing you swore you’d never do

Liar, deceiver

Curse me for trusting you!

Into the abyss you leapt without even saying goodbye

No scream, no note, no reason why

 

Metal flesh and blood fusing into one,

Jaded, we cling to mad delusions of purple suns

 

You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts and glue

Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in the end

You cursed the demons who were your friends

You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and blue

But the one you cursed most…was you.

Was you.

 

A broken line divides love and hate

Sweeping me away from you

And every empty war we fought

Was one step closer to the end

You ran away, you quit, unfinished business yet to tend

I’m pissed at you my precious friend

I’m pissed at you my precious friend.

 

You cursed the pain, the thunder, graveyards, ghosts and glue

Those clingy moments, failed races never won but in the end

You cursed the demons who were your friends

You cursed the rain, the summer, purple, spring and blue

But the one you cursed most…was you.

Was you.

 

The one you cursed the most was you.

Was you.

 

The one you cursed the most was you.

 

Tears stung his eyes by the time he was through, the crushing weight of dozens of memories pressed down on him, threatening to drown him in their intensity. Swiping a hand across his eyes didn’t help, nor did holding his breath and trying to count backwards as far as he could before he had to inhale again. Jagger clutched that mic stand like a lifeline, his shaggy hair flopping into his face as he pressed his head against the mic, certain the audition was about to be over. Maybe that was a good thing. At this point the three of them were probably wishing he’d never shown up at their door…either time.

“Now that’s what we were looking for.”

That was Robbie’s voice, coming from somewhere super close and a little to the left of him. Everything was a little bit bleary when he raised his head and tried to focus on him. “I’m sorry. I’ve wasted enough of your time. I need to hit the road before it’s too late for me to make it all the way home.”

“First off, you ain’t going nowhere after drinking those beers, and secondly, didn’t you hear what I just said to you?”

Robbie had a hand on his shoulder now, the weight of it helping to ground him a little.  The fact that they were so touchy feely was kinda nice, actually, even when one of them was trying to detain him or steal his beer. He could easily get used to it, even if that made it harder for him to reign in his emotions.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes at least meant they wouldn’t be able to see the tears that lingered. And he rubbed at them until no moisture remained. By the time he got himself back under control all three of them had surrounded him.

“Damn, dude, do you know how much of a compliment it is to us that our song moved you like that?” Kayden asked, staring at him with this strange mix of confusion and awe. “I got chills listening to you and almost forgot that I was supposed to be playing.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Mickey said. “I’ve played that song so many times I figured I was immune to the gut punch it was supposed to pack, but you nearly knocked me on my ass when you got to the part about the broken line between love and hate.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be any good with the rest of your material.”

Robbie snorted at that and cocked his head to the side like he was trying to figure something out. If the answers would get him away from the piercing intensity of that bright blue gaze, then he’d have happily given them to him. It was sharp and intimate and way too much and yet Jagger couldn’t manage to look away.

“Yeah, it does,” Robbie said. “Only question now is if you’ll stick around long enough for us to prove it to you?” 

And here is another exclusive, in the form of the song as performed at Open Mic Night, country not rock, but I hope it gives a feeling for just how special it is to the band when someone who pours their heart into it performs it live. 

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