Samhain Reflections & Author's Pride...

Happy Samhain...Happy Hallow's Eve...Happy Halloween!

 (yes, that is one of my kiddos' pumpkins. lol)

Have you all carved your pumpkins? Bought your candy? Decorated your windows and primed your porch light?

Good! Me too.  ;)

**serious blog transition alert**

And if that doesn't surprise you, maybe this will: 

While I was doing all the busy-bee things this week like party planning, karate classes and traveling for work...I took a few minutes to contemplate the season and its meaning. 

Samhain is a Pagan holiday celebrated with as much reverence as Christmas is for Christians. We look around us, taking in the sights and smells of Fall turning to Winter, enjoying the reminder that the goddess is both the supplier of life and bringer of death. We understand that the Samhain is the beginning of shorter days, longer nights. And we understand that it doesn't only apply to the trees and flowers. It applies to us as well.

So, I looked back over the previous year at what I had accomplished, how I had grown. Turns out not much, writing wise. I had a couple of releases with my publisher but I haven't been consistent, and I haven't kept on top of promo like I should have. However, even despite my quiet year as an author, my big achievement came in my personal life when I finally admitted this year that since my youngest was born, I've had issues with controlling my moods. PMDD they call it. (Think PMS x's 10). I'm on medication for that, and now my family is back in the forefront of my existence as they should be.

I admit I have struggled to gain perspective in other areas - I have let down my friends and fans, my fellow writers, those who are aspiring writers and asked for help. I have let myself down. Not completely. But enough. I developed what I think of as "Author's Pride" - that frame of mind where you are a wonder in your own eye, can only go up (ha!), and have lost sight of what else is important.

Like learning about the craft of writing. Becoming a better author, person, friend, mentor. Apologizing for those letdowns. Receiving inspiration. Giving back.

As a result, the storytelling in my head went quiet for a while. A long while. Only now is it beginning to rumble back to life, now that I've settled some and can see that I was my own obstacle. Once again I have projects in the "pot", simmering, coming to a boil...like a great recipe, waiting for the moment for all the components to gel together into one amazing dish. Into a great story that people can't wait to read.

It's close. I can feel it.

Because on Samhain it is always best to remember that though the goddess has ushered in the final season, has shown her willingness to wither the beautiful things we see during Spring and Summer...she also is a wonderful deity who shows her power with regeneration and rebirth. Resilience and fortitude. Love and hope.

And, after all, isn't that the perfect recipe for romance?



*Hugs* to all. Have a safe Halloween and save the Dots for me. ;)
~Em

No flashing or dirt this time, but a new release on the horizon...

So I wasn't sure what I should blog about today – Hank wanted me to do a flash and a whole buncha people wanted the dirt on my fellow SO writers...hehe...but then a most wise and handsome person (um...that would be Lee *winks*) reminded me that *head thumps* Duh! You have a release coming out this week by the name of Judging Jude!

Not sure if ya'll remember a little story I did with the Monday prompts...started it in January of 2012...and now it is finally finished and coming to you hopefully *crosses fingers...toes...and legs* wow—that's a new experience for me...hopefully coming out this week!

So here is a snippet (hey Hank...it is close to a flash...lol) and I promise the next time I'm up on the blog I will bring you updates on all your fave writers...I love digging around in their drawers for info...um...*looks around and winks* oh yeah... :)

So without any further delay

...for your reading pleasure...

Judging Jude

"Happy fucking New Year to me," Judas mumbled to the empty apartment. He plopped down on his leather sofa, a rip in the material stabbing at his skin, again. "Son of a bitch!" He popped back up and grabbed the dark green duct tape from a water-warped hutch's drawer. He had bought the durable tape specifically for this purpose.

Judas put the roll on his wrist like a bracelet and ripped a length off, mending the dilapidated furniture. When finished, he tossed the roll to the ground and surveyed his work. The duct tape was becoming more prominent on the couch than the leather.

Sighing, he took his place back on the sofa and reached under it for the flat, sandwich-shaped plastic container he kept his smoking accessories in. He should probably grab the want ads and circle job offers with his trusty red pen, but what for? He wasn't qualified for anything, and his present job, though shitty as it was, at least kept his pipe filled with spice and, oh yeah, a leaky roof over his head.

You would think working at a doctor's office would be cool and profitable. Yeah, not if you cleaned the exam rooms and toted out the garbage. Sure, they let him keep his piercings in—both ears and an eyebrow—and they didn't give him a hard time about his tats—namely because they were good tats, not that shit that people get from a hack or when they're drunk...but, he only made a whole two bucks over minimum wage. At just under thirty hours a week, Jude smoked that up faster than his checks got cashed. No, the real money landed in the job's fringe benefits. It amazed Jude how much people would pay for a few blank prescription papers with the doc's signature stamp on them. He never took a whole pad; they were always locked up anyway. But between the three doctors, Jude could walk out of there on a good day with at least a couple dozen ripped off pages. Getting them stamped proved the easy part, none of the doctors locked their desk drawers during the business day, and it was his job to clean the offices.

That plus the free samples he pocketed on the rare occasion those cabinets weren't shut down tight and he just barely got by. He might have been a thief, but he played it cool and careful like. He never went after anything they kept strict count on; the records for the free samples were never up-to-date. The pads were inventoried, but once a doctor pulled one out, the papers on that pad were fair game.

He packed his pipe with the last of his Mr. Swell Guy spice and took a hit, grimacing when it burned going down. He still preferred the real deal to this crap, but at least this crap was legal right now and didn't show up on drug tests. Well, legal to buy, but illegal to smoke—he never understood how that worked.

Placing the pipe to his lips, he flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply. A banging on his apartment door caused him to jump while simultaneously hacking on the smoke as he dropped the pipe.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled, then coughed out as loud as he could, "Go the fuck away!" Not a person on this planet existed that he wanted to see right now. Hell, there wasn't anyone he wanted to see later either.

"Open the fucking door, or I'll knock it in. And, Jude, you know I will!"

The universe hated him, he realized as he listened to his ex-best friend's voice growling on the other side of the door.

"Go the fuck away, Wally! I thought I told you I didn't want to fucking see you around here anymore!"

Louder banging this time. Jude could actually see the door bowing in its frame. "Damn cheap-ass building." He quickly threw everything back in the plastic container, cringing at the last of his spice that spilled out of his pipe to imbed itself in the stained old carpet. He wouldn't be able to make any money for another four days to get more, and even then only if he could snag some script papers from work and contact his buyer.

"I'm not leaving, so you might as well open this door, or you could let your neighbors call the cops on me and deal with that mess," Wally shouted to him.

"I'm coming, you big oaf!" He snapped the container shut and tossed it under the couch, then placed a dingy throw pillow on the spice dusted carpet with plans to pick it out after he got rid of his unwanted guest.

"Don't try to sweet talk me. Now, open this damn door!"

"Hardy har har, asshole." Judas unbolted the door and swung it open. "Didn't I tell you to take a fucking hike the last time you sniffed around here?"

His back slammed against the wall as Wally pushed past him and surveyed the room, inhaling deeply. "Christ's sake, Jude. You work in a doctor's office, you should know better than to smoke that shit."

"You ain't my mother. What the fuck you doing here anyway? It's New Year's Eve, don't you have a party to go to or something?" Jude noted the flat-front chinos, blue pin dot button down shirt, and leather bomber jacket. Oh yeah, this would be a short visit. Wally definitely had his prowling clothes on tonight.

"Yep, so that's what you're wearing?"

Jude shook his head. "Huh? I ain't going nowhere with you." To cement his point, he walked to the fridge in his studio apartment and grabbed a can of beer, popping the top then drinking half of it down in one swig. "Ahh."

"That's impressive; you gonna flex and belch next? You have two choices here. You either get changed into what you want to wear or you go with me in those stained, frayed jeans and tank. Do I need to remind you that it's forty degrees outside and those jeans passed sexy five holes ago?"

Wally walked his way. At six feet three inches, he beat Jude's own five-nine on the formidability scale.

"You want to test my word, Judas? Give your neighbors a show while I drag your ass out to my car? Twenty bucks says not a one of them will interfere because that would mean they would have to talk to the cops. We both know no one who lives here would openly volunteer for that."

Jude backed up until his ass hit the counter. "You just said they would call the cops if you kept banging on my door." He pointed out Wally's contradiction.

Wally shrugged and stopped only inches from him. "You opened the door, didn't you? Sue me for lying. Now, what's your choice?"

"Why's it so important to you? We aren't even friends anymore."

Wally grabbed him by his shoulders, jerked him around, and pushed him toward his closet. "Much to your dismay, dipshit, I'll always be your best friend. I'm not the type to just ditch someone because he wants to flush his life away. Now change into something nice; it's New Year’s! Tonight's the beginning of the rest of your life."

"Whatever. But I was just gonna hang out here for New Year’s and bum around."

"And that is why you need to get your ass out of this godforsaken place."

Ready for a tease?

Good morning Story Orgy readers! Lee here today.  Hope this Monday finds you all well and warding off the chill! Brr. It's a nippy out there today! I've got a fresh pot of coffee and a newly baked batch of muffins, sit down and stay a spell. The good news is, our latest anthology is up on the coming soon page at Total E Bound! Check it out HERE. These are five awesome stories based on songs that readers suggested to us back in November, about a year ago. We're all really excited to see what you think of our efforts, and this time around, as you can see, we've mixed it up some by adding Silvia Violet and Angel Martinez to join us.

This morning I've got  bit of a flash for you- or really, probably I'd best call it a tease, since it might just grow into something more.

Insomnia 

copyright 2013 Lee Brazil

           "I can't sleep." Zeke yawned and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand as he noticed his host's eyes narrowing. Of course, his modesty would have been better served clutching his shirt closed over his thong underwear, but since he couldn't sleep…

"Maybe," Frosty disapproval echoed in Jordan's voice and his eyes were cold enough Zeke had to resist the urge to shiver. "You're just used to having someone else in bed with you."

And now he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's big brother's prudish attitude. "I don't think that's the problem, Jordy. I sleep alone plenty." Where the hell had Jordan McIntosh gotten the idea he was some sort of slut anyway? "I"m not a slut; I just play one on tv." The insouciance of his tone pleased him.

"You forget I had the pleasure of being your next door neighbor for three years," Jordan's lips curled in a sneer. "The parade of men in and out of your door…"

Blinking, Zeke sipped the whisky in his tumbler and remembered those days. During college, he and Perry had lived in a duplex that Perry's parents owned. The unit next to theirs had been occupied by Perry's older brother Jordan, who had been ordered by his father to keep an eye on the young boys and keep them out of trouble. "That wasn't just my door." He pointed out calmly. He could say more, but the truth of the matter was that if Perry hadn't told his brother about his gay adventures during their years of schooling, then it certainly wasn't Zeke's place to do it.

"Oh, right. Perry is straight, or have you forgotten he's getting married next weekend? Which is why you," This was accompanied by a derisive, assessing glance that left Zeke's skin tingling, "are sleeping, alone, in my guest room."

"Whatever. I can't sleep because I'm too keyed up. It's been a hell of a week. I thought a drink might help, but you're right. A good fuck might turn the same trick. Are you offering?" He threw the last bit in just for shits and grins, and because he was annoyed with his friend's brother's judgmental attitude. Not like he didn't know damn well that Jordan McIntosh had been promiscuity itself until an HIV scare in his last year of college had reformed his habits.

""I'll pass. I’m not desperate enough for release to fuck just anyone." His distaste was clear in the way his head lifted and his nostrils flared. Or was it?

Zeke set his tumbler down and stretched his arms over his head, relishing the relief to his tense muscles as much as the flutter of Jordan's nostrils and the white line that bracketed his mouth. Smiling the sexy smile that made a million hearts throb on his daytime soap opera, he couldn’t resist teasing a little more. "But Jordy, Perry swore you'd take care of me." He let his lashes flutter, peeked at the six foot mountain of stoke broker in front of him from under them.

And found himself crushed between the marble counter top and what had to be at least two hundred pounds of hot, hard muscle. This time his eyes closed for real and he dragged in a breath, trying to jumpstart his heart after the foolish organ stalled with the contact. "Fuck." He breathed, feeling a branding iron of steely cock rubbing against his groin.

"That's all it would be, movie star." Hard hands closed on his shoulders. Jordan bent forward, and Zeke retreated, leaning back, struggling to unpin his arms. The movement brought their grins into even closer contact, and Zeke's cock made its own preference for resolving the sleep issue with sex instead of alcohol clear.

"Who needs anything else?" He wormed his arms out of Jordan's embrace and made the most of his freedom by wind his fingers in Jordan's thick, dark hair and dragging his mouth down for a kiss.

Jordan jerked his head back with a wordless snarl. "No kissing. Kissing is for lovers, and this is most definitely not going to be any of that romantic drivel you put on for the world."

The nearly hysterical urge to laugh at that little bit of prunes and prisms was overcome by dwelling on the fact that it made it sound like Jordan actually watched his show. "That's not me, it's script writers. I can give up on the kissing, as long as it's only mouth to mouth you're saying no to." He let his gaze drop, inventorying places on that hard body he'd like to kiss. The man wore pajamas, for Christ sake, silky green fabric that matched his eyes, clung to his body and did absolutely nothing to conceal the length and breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his belly, or the mouthwatering stretch of cock tenting the fabric.

"Yes…you can kiss me anywhere else you like…" The sentence ended on a groan as Zeke took immediate advantage of the permission, latching his lips onto the fabric that covered Jordan's nipple. Dampening it with his tongue, he fancied he could taste the man through the silk, and twisted his hips. His cock pulsed, and he shuddered, liking the feel of the silk.

"It would be better…" Zeke pulled away, breathing hard, "naked." He finished, sliding his hands under the silk and lifting. Jordan took over, stripping the shirt over his head and tossing in on the black marble counter top. He stepped back and holding Zeke's gaze, hooked his thumbs in the waist band of the pajama pants.

"Go on," Jordan's voice had lowered, roughened, and the husky new tones conveyed a desire that encouraged Zeke to shake off any doubts. Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders and let his own shirt fall, leaving him standing in his thong while Jordan looked him over hotly.

Pouting slightly, he lifted a brow. "I'm still ahead of you here, McIntosh."

The pajama pants fell to a silken swirl around Jordan's feet and Zeke's gaze followed them. He kept his glance there, trained on the pool while he got his breathing under control. He was suave, debonair, a heart throb. He was experienced, this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, or on stage, or up to bat or whatever fucking metaphor you wanted to fill in the blank with.

Just because Jordan McIntosh had always been the unattainable fantasy, the image he'd jerked off to for the first time at thirteen, the crush who'd never known he was alive, was no reason to act like a virginal idiot. And he knew he'd waited too long to look back up, because  Jordon was forcing his chin up, searching his eyes and all Zeke could do was swallow and close his lids against the intrusion of that pale gold gaze, to hide everything he shouldn't be feeling.

"Fuck."

The kitchen door slammed, and Zeke crossed his arms protectively over his chest.  Fucking whisky. Now he'd never sleep. And, he'd be lucky if he didn't find himself shuffled off to some hotel in the morning despite the way the press hounded him at every sighting.

Sighing, he tossed back the last of the whisky and returned to his guest room, lying on the bed and feigning sleep when he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. The sound stopped, as though someone stood outside the door, then continued, fading into the darkness, leaving him alone in a strange bed, with the fear that had originally sent him to the kitchen, and a healthy dose of humiliation in case that jittery someone's watching you feeling ever faded enough.

Hope you liked Jordan and Zeke- you might just be seeing more of them at a future date. 

Meanwhile, have you checked out my latest release? You can find Centurion, the latest in Pulp Friction's Heated Exchange line, at All Romance eBooks and other fine ebook retailers. 

 "Can I be yours?"

Centurion Gaius Priscus has had his fill of war and death but knows no other life. When he meets the captive Salicar's gaze after battle, months of stringent self-denial catch up to him in a blazing rush of need.

Salicar is a healer, an educated man unused to battle but with his own experience of death. He should prefer death to captivity, but cannot find the courage to make it happen.

Will the hardened warrior, tired of death and destruction, deny his captive's plea?

Thanks for dropping by! you all have a fabulous day, and we'll see you next week! Take care and stay warm!