Thursday, June 30, 2011

July 2011 Issue...

I'm in it! Woohoo! How freaking cool is that!? My story A Secret King is in the current issue of Penthouse because it was in this smoking hot book.


It's not you, it's me...

I wanted to take a moment to say this in a public venue. And if you are one of the folks I'm referring to, then you probably read my blog (or you should. And i say that in a totally non-stuck-up-pish way). What I mean is, if you are IMing or DMing a writer or someone you don't really know directly, you probably are reading their blog.

Lately, I've gotten a lot of instant messages from folks on various forums. I belong to a lot of them for work purposes as you can imagine, and yes, I enjoy them for fun or boredom or procrastination too. However, if I do not know you through other interactions, I won't directly chat with you in private. If I do not know you, I will not accept you on that yahoo thing that lets you know when I am online. I wish I knew how to disconnect that thing without having to 'reject' people. I don't really want anyone to know when I am online for sure. Though, let's be honest, I am *usually* online, said the addict.

Now, I have met and chatted with many people via facebook (page) and twitter (feed) and even gotten to know some folks who have emailed me and we have had an exchange. Then I would accept a live IM from that person and maybe chat for a few minutes if I had time. But if I don't know you and we've had no contact, I won't. And it's nothing personal. I'm not being snooty, I'm being smart. Basically, I practice the same rules I preach to my kids about online safety. So my suggestion is, if you want to get to know me, do it in any of the venues I have in place. Because if you just IM me, I won't answer you. And it's totally not you, it's me.


Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Our garden(s)

We've had the worst luck with the soil at this house. We have a huge backyard and foresaw big lush gardens before we moved in. Then we discovered poor drainage and clay-riddled soil in the backyard. Many failed gardens later we have three little ones. A front garden and two sides. We are faring a bit better with them. But I swear, next year, I'm doing a raised box garden.

Why don't you grow a pair...heh

No comment

The man's version of anti-bunny patrol.

cheeky little zucchini, growing straight up with his festive flower still attached.


See it...

I'm in it. Isn't it pretty? *sigh* I think this is my fourth year in BWE edited by Violet Blue. And it's an honor every time.

I saw some of my esteemed company in my you made it to the finals email, but it's for them to announce, not me. However, it's no surprise, I'm nestled in amongst some mighty fine writers. :)



Monday, June 27, 2011

So, all I can say is...

A while back I asked folks to post ratings/reviews etc if they had read my work and liked it. If they had read *anyone's* work and liked it. See, it sounds odd, but those little stars and ratings and comments really do make a difference in sales. Those few moments of your time to rate/review do the same for me in the earning department as your emails about your fave works do for my soul. They act as a gauge and a guide to potential readers and are actually priceless if you come right down to it.

I accidentally stumbled over a five star review from a reader for WE KILL DEAD THINGS tonight on Amazon and then fell ass backwards into seeing a five star for Schooling over there as well. So, the only thing left to say is THANK YOU. Thank you, thank you, thank you. To everyone who's not only bought my work but taken the time to post their rating on Amazon or Goodreads or Twitter or their blog.

I appreciate you. And I just wanted to say that. ;)



Wouldn't mind being the cream in an ass-kicker sammich. Just saying...

Now back to my zombies.


Sunday, June 26, 2011

REVISED Call for Submissions: Newbie Writers

What I've decided regarding the newbie call...(and please pass this on if you passed on the original call for subs, thank you! :D )

I think I'm going to open this call to writers who have never been published or have had their first sale (paid or otherwise) within the last year. I've heard from several folks that intended to submit to me and since staring a story they have made their first sale (Mazel, by the way!). So, I sat and considered the length of time I considered myself a 'newbie'. And I can honestly say that I considered myself green for the first year. I was constantly asking questions, fucking up or having some kind person guide me in the right direction or help me fix an error or hone a skill. So, I'll pay that forward and be as fair as I can while still focusing on new writers.

New call will be for newbie writers either unpublished or freshly published within the last year (so let's say June 2010 is the cut-off. If you were published before that, then please wait for my next call). Beyond that, the call remains the same. Which is:

REVISED Call for Submissions

I want newbies, youngbloods, fresh meat.

I am looking to put together another mini anthology. But this time, I want the writers that we've barely (or never) had a taste of yet. Virgin blood. So you may submit to this anthology only IF YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN PUBLISHED OR FRESHLY PUBLISHED WITHIN THE LAST YEAR (please see note at the beginning of this post).

So what next?

Dirty stories from 2,500 and up (nothing over say 5K please) are eligible. Topics are open except the standard no-no's. Which I will spell out since you are new.

~~~~>No sex with the underaged (under 18), animals (shifters don't count), dead things or people (barring undead supernatural creatures). No scat. No snuff.

FORMAT: Word .doc or .rtf format if you must, double spaced, Times New Roman, 12 point, set at .5 indentation for first line of the paragraph only. PLEASE DO NOT USE HARD TABS.
*If you do not format correctly, I will skip reading your entry no matter how good it is. Why? Because I'm super busy and if you sub to a publication, you need to follow the rules. Capiche?

Here's the most important part: PLEASE POLISH YOUR WORK. Read it, put it away. Read it again and put it away. Then read it out loud to yourself. Seriously. Your ear will hear your errors. Do I expect it to be perfect? No, said the woman who once put "He stroked her cheese" instead of "He stroked her cheek." I do not. But I do expect you to make it as close to perfect as you can.

DEADLINE: August 31, 2011. Release date is up in the air. If that bothers you, don't sub. This (as of right now) will be an ebook put out by my little press December Ink.


I'll be using 10 stories max. December Ink takes 25% of the cut, the remaining 75% is split evenly among the ten contributors and each will receive an ebook copy (print too if it ever goes to that). You could make a bunch of money. You could make hardly a thing. I ask for 3 months exclusivity and then you are free to go ahead and sell your work elsewhere.

Your work stays in the book as long as it's for sale, and that means you receive royalties as long as it's for sale.

Submissions should be sent to marked SUBMISSION: [YOUR TITLE] BY [YOUR AUTHOR NAME]
In your email please put:
Your name
Your pen name
Your mailing address
your contact email
A short bio

Good luck! Any questions can be sent to the same email addy. :)

And now I really and truly am going to bed. I was under the weather, then climbed back on top of it, and now it's winning again. Damn weather.



Out this week from December Ink, Sugar, a lovely little spanking story that hits my sweet tooth and my bad girl tooth. See, you didn't know you had a bad girl (boy) tooth, didja?

p.s. also on Bookstrand, Smashwords, 1 Place for Romance and Kindle...

Let's talk about this newbie writer call, people...

I have one submission. Lot's of chatter but one submission. So...would we all feel better if I broaden the spectrum somewhat? Such as, if your first sale (paid or otherwise) has been within the last year you can submit? Would that open it up? I'd like to focus on new writers, but I'd also like to be fair and to be um...full. I would like an antho of at least ten stories.

So what do you say? Any opinions? Speak up here, on twitter or on facebook. Once I get some feedback, I'll make a decision and put up a revised call (or not, depending on what I hear!)


No choice in the matter...

I woke up with the next book totally running like a movie in my head. I guess it's time to get on it, then. Sitting here with page three going and a cup of coffee. I figured I'd come in and share some good reviews while I'm thinking of it.

Tomorrow, I hope to be feeling up to stealing off to the local beach for a bit with the kiddos. It would be nice to push my toes into some warm sand and watch the water just...water...for a bit. :) Hope your Sunday is great and lazy.


We Kill Dead Things rec'd 4.5 stars from NOR. How great is that?

I want to know what happens with all four of these fighters, and I hope Ms. Marsden keeps them as likeable and smart as they are here.

Read the whole review here.

And Blank got four kisses from Top 2 Bottom Reviews. Mmm. We love kisses! The real kind and the chocolate kind too.

Blank is a short and powerful story, permeated by a sense of despair that is skillfully translated through Sommer Marsden’s prose.

Read the full review here.

*Thanks, as always, to reviewers for taking the time to read me. :)

Saturday, June 25, 2011

I've been saving this picture...

that I took back in May. I took it in our area right after a pretty brutal thunderstorm. I didn't know what I was saving it for, but now I do. A rainbow arched over a church steeple. How awesome is that? Bravo, New York. I guess this picture was for you.

I've been under the weatherish, but had to pop in and say that. Now I shall pop back out.


Thursday, June 23, 2011

Thanks weird quiet shuffly lady on my run today...

I might have had a minor [major] twitter tantrum last night. I might have had a pisser of a week. I might have gotten so torqued up this past weekend that my jaw has been in spasm and I had to go to the dentist today. Oh, and my heart has been doing that floppy fish thing that runs in my family (Oh joy!). And I might be so wound up that three weeknight in a row (!) sex sneak attack post dinner quickies have STILL left me a bit...Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! strange, quiet shuffly woman who just looked so very odd to me while I was out running this morning have given me my next zombie exterminators book idea and that...well, that makes me very happy.

I might have to launch my own post dinner sekshul sneak attack tonight. And my heart feels better. And my jaw...well, that's what pain killers are for. You can't solve all my problems, now can you?

Zom...(that is a zombie om)


first stories, bad advice and zombie parts

The fabulous Cassie Exline has me over at her blog today. I'm stoked! I've known Cassie since my Ruthie's Club days, so we've known each other for about *cough*--x years! Wow!

We talk about first stories, bad writer advice, Wanderlust and zombie parts. I mean, parts--as in excerpts--of both of my zombie exterminator books. There's a little bit of reading over there for all who might be interested.

And now the day is going to kick my ass, spank me, drain me dry, eat my braiiiiiiiiiiiinz. It's looking to be a busy one.


Wednesday, June 22, 2011

over and out

I'm going to get a few quick things done (OVER) and then I'm running about with the girl for the day (OUT). Hope your day is full of bright and awesome stuff!


Tuesday, June 21, 2011

5 of 5 for 10

What do I mean? You know I suck at math, so I know you're asking. So, I'll tell you! Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction got 5 of 5 stars for our fab 10 stories from Rebecca Bond. Totally rad, baby. :)


It's nice to not feel all tied up...

with a book at he moment. Yay! I finished the book that never ended yesterday. Woohoo! *cheerleader kick* Today, I'm just kind of puttering around with a few shorts I've promised various people. And I have to say, it's very pleasant after so many books back to back. Just sort of writing a few hundred words here, and a few hundred words there, and knowing it will all be said and done very soon. Ah, nice.

So, I feel like my blog has suffered a bit and become very quiet after Wanderlust ended. Anyone want to tell me what super secret projects you are working on? Anything good? Exciting? Infuriating? Maddening? Dirty?

Heh. That last one was a trick question. ;)


Monday, June 20, 2011

Awesome Reviews...

For us...4 stars for Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction from Manic Readers. Yay us!

And yay! 4.5 stars for Poppy and the boys (and the zombies) from a reviewer at Bookwenches who has...ahem...great taste in music if I do say so myself. Woohoo!

Now, I am a gnat's ass away from finishing this novel and spent the last few days so stressed out my entire jaw is in spasm. I wish that was a joke...but it isn't. So a) finish book (soooo close) and b) take a pain pill and sprawl on sofa and try to breathe. The run I took this morning helped me feel human for about 40 minutes. Not long, but sold!


Saturday, June 18, 2011

Father Knows Best...

What kind of smut he likes to read. So today (Saturday, June 18) and tomorrow (Sunday, June 19th), send me your preference and I'll send you a pdf of any of my titles*. This offer runs on US/EST time so at midnight tomorrow night, it's over. The fat lady will have sung. She's so noisy. I keep calling the cops on her...

So if you are a dad, about to be a dad, or working on becoming a dad...or an honorary dad to someone, then what do you have to do?

1. Email me at hot4sommer[at]yahoo[dot]com with DAD GIVEAWAY in the title line. Inside tell me what title you'd like on pdf and where you want me to send it. Also include your second choice should there be a problem.
2. Remember one title per customer.
3. Have a great Father's Day!

That's all you have to do.

Now off to finish some errands and then make and Angel Food cake.

*There are a handful of titles with restricted numbers on giveaway.

p.s. how much do I love that ancient ad? It speaks to the spanking lover in me. It was in a bunch of ads my aunt sent me under the heading YOU'LL NEVER SEE ADS LIKE THIS ANY MORE! boy there are some real doozies in there...
p.p.s. Which also reminds me I cam across a boon of vintage magazines lately and scooped them up. For fun I sent a handful to Alison Tyler. She said, "Oh, I loved them. I learned I should cover everything in seashells while I smoke!"...seriously, every other page was an ad for cigarettes!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Double Whammy

First, bits 12 and lucky 13 of my upcoming sexy-ass paranormal novel. Cover by the immensely talented Willsin Rowe. Jigsawing of said cover, also Willsin Rowe! :)

And now that final snippet from that final M/M novella from the HARD LESSONS anthology.

I expected this particular novella to be the worst selling, least noticed. As usual, I was totally wrong and it's the most rated, garnered me some awesome emails and was the best stand-alone seller of the four, kind of running neck and neck with Blank. Hunh. See, I have no gauge. No gauge at all, I say!

TGIF. I have a bunch of Father's Day running to do today. Hope your Friday rocks!



From Unexpected
by Sommer Marsden

Giovanni was thrashing around to death metal when I first saw him. I’d pulled flush to his broken down, beat-in white pick up truck and he was pounding out an imaginary drum solo with his left arm in a dirty white cast. I laughed and in the back seat Annabel responded to my laughter.

Something made him turn. Something made him swivel that lean taut face my way and grin. I wondered briefly if he was a crack addict or some kind of addict. He had that tense rubber band feel of someone running two speeds faster than everyone else.

But no, that was just Giovanni.

‘Like, I cannot believe you motioned me over,’ he said.

‘It was a little unlike me.’

‘I bet. I don’t peg you for the pick up kind of guy. Why’d you do it?’

I told the truth. ‘You made me laugh out loud.’

He worked at a home improvement store, I handled remodels. He liked Italian and I liked Asian food. But we both agreed the other had a valid point. We’d run through some niceties while we ordered our treats.

Giovanni licked at the shaved ice in its white paper cup and something warmed low in my belly. He caught me staring and he stuck his tongue out further to me. A blue raspberry-stained offering of slick muscle surrounded by dark blue teeth.

‘Caught you, Charlie,’ he said.

I laughed again. Something about Giovanni made me laugh. Made me feel light in the centre of myself where I’d felt heavy and tense for way too long. Again Annabel gave a sharp little cry – a little bubble of joy bursting in the late fall afternoon.

‘Yes, you did. You caught me. Good?’ I nodded to his shaved ice, changing the subject.

‘Good.’ He settled his intensely clear brown eyes on Annabel and said, ‘So, are you gonna tell me who this cutie is?’

Intuition reared up and I tapped his cast with my fingertip. ‘I’ll tell you about little Miss Annabel if you tell me about this.’

There was a flash of unease over his handsome face and my body hummed with interest. Interest in him, interest in his story. Something told me that he had not gotten that cast playing air drums.

‘Fine.’ He bit into his shaved ice and it made my teeth ache just to watch it. I shivered and he winked. ‘But you first.’

‘This is my daughter.’ I shrugged and licked my lemon ice as if to say end of story.

‘And?’ He rolled his hands at me to carry on. His mouth was wide, his eyes flashing. He was a ball of energy lit by some unseen generator. ‘I’m going to guess you might possibly be a … oh … homosexual?’

I snorted at his tone and his goofy facial expression. ‘Correct.’

‘And most of the homosexual men I know do not have kids. Unless they’re older and did the whole denial deal. Or adopted maybe.’

‘No denial here.’

‘Well, how did …’ Giovanni leaned in and touched Annabel’s’ nose and she squealed at him, ‘this doll baby come to be?’

I blew out a sigh, setting down my lemon ice. Suddenly cold sugar and syrup didn’t sound so good. I had to get used to this. Every guy I flirted with, every guy I talked to, every guy I potentially wanted to fuck would want to know about my daughter.

‘Ready? Because I’m going to do it fast like a band aid.’

‘That bad, man?’ Giovanni asked

‘Not bad. Just … it was unexpected.’

Giovanni gave a brisk nod. ‘Got it. So … go!’ He tickled Annabel’s toe and she wiggled in her carrier.

‘Annabel’s mom is my best friend. For most of my life Mariah’s been my rock. So, when she came to me and asked if I’d …’ I waved my hand.

‘Knock her up?’

I blinked at him but then nodded. ‘Yeah. She wanted a baby, couldn’t afford invitro fertilization. Didn’t have a guy in her life she wanted to, as she put it, spread a gene pool with. So she asked me. “Let’s get drunk, fuck and I’ll have a baby. You can be Uncle Charlie and I’ll be mom and the kid will be none the wiser”.’

‘Sounds very modern and reasonable,’ Giovanni said.

‘I thought so too.’

‘So what happened?’

‘We got drunk and we fucked.’

‘Who’d you picture?’

‘Andy Garcia,’ I said.


‘Thanks. Anyway, we actually had the stars aligned and it worked. She got pregnant on the first try and Annabel was born.’

‘Cutie too,’ Giovanni said and undid her strap. My heart stilled for a moment and then beat wildly in my chest. But he seemed to know what he was doing even with the cast. And Annabel, all agog over a new person, grinned and drooled and cooed like she’d known him forever. ‘I have a niece not much older than her in case you were wondering.’

Air flooded my lungs and it was only then that I realised I’d been holding my breath. ‘I was. Sort of. Not a lot.’

It’s amazing how fast you can go from unwilling father to overprotective worrisome dad.

‘Liar. So go on,’ he said to Annabel but was addressing me. She squealed and bashed him in his blue lips with pudgy fingers. At six months old my daughter was a featherweight boxer.

‘She developed PPD – post partum depression,’ I said. I said it slowly as if tasting the words. Then I flicked the edge of my shaved ice cup so that it scooted across the wrought iron table inch by chilly inch.

‘And she bolted?’

I sighed before I could catch myself and ran my hands through my hair. Dark hair fell across my eyebrows, into my eyes. I needed a haircut but I kept forgetting to get one. I forgot damn near everything but what Annabel needed at any given moment. I usually remembered my remodelling appointments, so that was good.

‘She bolted. You guessed it. It was too much for her. She didn’t want the meds, she couldn’t handle the baby. The crying, the sleep deprivation, the post partum itself. It was the perfect storm. She just left one night. Asked me if I could spot Annabel so she could go on a date and poof! The next thing I knew I was getting a phone call from her and she was in California staying with friends.’

‘Cali’s a long haul from here.’

‘I know.’

‘Her family?’

‘No interest. Her mom’s pretty much a drunk. And they’re both hardcore practicing Catholics who think babies born out of wedlock are a sin.’

‘And babies born with hom-ee-sex-shul daddies. Dear Lord.’ He drew his words out in the ways of a fire and brimstone preacher and bounced Annabel so she gurgled.

‘Right. Bingo. Give the man a cigar.’

That’s when Giovanni turned to me and said quite bluntly. ‘I don’t know about a cigar but I bet daddy deserves a blow job. We’ll see what we can do later when little ones are down for long naps.’

I swallowed hard, coughed, felt the surge and thump of blood in my veins, my cock. When was the last time I’d felt my heart stutter and my stomach roll over with that excited, almost sick feeling? Too long to remember.

For one brief heart-stopping second, I touched the small dark hairs on the backs of his fingers. His cheeks went rosy and his eyelids sort of dropped like he was stoned. ‘Dude.’

‘Shush,’ I said. ‘Now tell me about the arm. What happened there?’

He handed me the baby so fast I feared I’d drop her and his face changed in the span of a heartbeat. ‘It’s nothing really.’

‘Yeah. I bet. Convince me of that.’

‘I fell down the steps.’

‘Ah, see, I suspected maybe you walked into a door.’

He grinned at me, changed his mind and took Annabel back. It was like a game, Pass the baby! But I gave her over easily. Giovanni’s teeth were still blue and slightly crooked in the front. Just crooked enough that I wanted to lean in and kiss him. The baby bopped him in the face.

‘That’s a black eye, anyhow. Not a busted arm.’

‘Do tell.’ I picked at a small hole in the knee of my jeans. This is when I would have lit a cigarette. But I’d quit. For me and for Annabel. No smoking around the baby! I could hear my mother in my head.

‘Do we really need to do this? We just met. This borders on water torture.’

‘Do you trust me?’ I wasn’t sure why I’d asked that. It would be perfectly understandable if this man said no.

Giovanni cocked his head, his long dark shock of hair falling in his face for an instant. ‘Yes.’

My heart staggered a little in my chest but I said, ‘Then tell me.’

‘My ex did it. There. But you knew that, didn’t you?’

I gave one short nod so as not to spook him. ‘Glad to hear he’s your ex, though.’

‘Well, damn. I’m slow to leave when I think I’m in love. I’m not stupid, though. I won’t stay with someone beating on me.’ He pulled his head back fast, realising maybe just how much information he’d just given away.

Annabel was staring, transfixed at this stranger, a hunk of his coffee coloured hair caught in her pudgy hand. She yanked hard like she was trying to rein him in. I winced but Giovanni didn’t.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Don’t be. He was an ass. When he hit me so hard my knees buckled you’d think that would end it.’ He shrugged his thin shoulders and bounced my child on his leg. ‘But no. He always was an overachiever, my John. So he kicked me down the stairs.’

Rage, hot and swift, filled my chest and my hands bunched into fists. Hitting the likes of funny, kinetic, sexy Giovanni was beyond my scope of thinking. Hitting his ex seemed totally doable.

‘What the fuck?’

‘I know! What the fuck? But that was the wake up call I needed. They say all addicts have to hit rock bottom before they get it. I was addicted to that man. And when he did that and then stepped over me to leave the house and go out and party with the boys, I knew that I, Giovanni Rustici, was spread out over my rock bottom. And I was bleeding on it too. So for the time being I‘m living with my sister.’

‘Can I take you out?’ I blurted.

He blinked at me. His warm brown eyes unbelievably trusting for someone who was still wearing a fresh cast. ‘We are out.’

I shook my head, losing my battle not to smile. ‘On a date. A proper date. Just the grown-ups,’ I said and watched Annabel start chewing on his stubbly chin. ‘Sorry. She’s teething I think.’

‘Dude,’ he said, grinning. ‘My face is totally clean.’

I walked him to his truck, Annabel cradled on one hip, goggling at a group of kids who were rushing toward the shaved ice stand.

‘You seem like a very good dad. Maybe a wee bit overprotective,’ he said.

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘But good.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But stressed.’ He stared at me.

‘I won’t necessarily argue that. It’s been a bit intense this year.’

‘But you’re doing it and that means you’re a good man. You’re pulling your shit together. For her.’ He nodded to the baby who was still watching the big kids with a determined kind of concentration.

‘I’m trying.’

‘So when do we go on that proper date …?’ He pushed a card in my pocket. My cock responded by twitching with want and blood. A huge rush of need slid through my veins and I tried hard to breathe. ‘We’ll see what we can do about giving Daddy some stress release, yeah?’

He kissed me. It was soft and fast, but his warm pink mouth touched mine. His tongue twitched out and electricity coursed over my skin and into my bones. My twitching cock became my hard cock and I realised that I wanted this man with an aggression I couldn’t recall feeling before.

And he came along when my life was a ball of chaos rolling perpetually toward an uncertain destination.

‘Yeah?’ he demanded again, breaking the kiss.

I was powerless to do anything but say, ‘Yeah.’

‘Good,’ he said and patted my cheek before climbing in his shitty truck and tearing out of view.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Big bald Daddy was probably straight or taken...

And I am baaaack, for a taste of my third M/M novella from Hard Lessons. REPORT FOR REPAIR is available alone or snuggled up amongst its cohorts in steamy hot gay goodness (print or ebook, we try to please everyone :D ).

Happy Hump Day!


by Sommer Marsden

Report For Repair

Chapter one

Chance blew out a sigh as the mechanical voice cooed to him, ‘Please continue to hold …’

‘Where else am I gonna go?’ Chance growled.

‘Here at Sunshine Gas and Electric your business is important to us. We have a staff of highly attentive operators at your disposal. Most waits are under two minutes …’

Chance glanced at his watch. Six minutes had passed. As he waited, his bedroom was already starting to grow warm. He paced to the huge picture window that overlooked his backyard. Below, his nemesis had dropped another limb, once again successfully knocking out the power to his home as well as the rest of the block.

‘I cannot fucking believe that assho–’

‘Good morning, Sunshine Gas and Electric. This is Maria, may I please have your phone number starting with the area code?’

Chance recited it by rote. At this point he should ask for a direct line to his own personal highly attentive operator.

‘And what’s the problem this morning, Mr York?’ Maria chirped. He could picture her all smiling and happy with pink lip-gloss and bright eyes. For some reason that image pissed him off.

‘The tree behind me has dropped another limb,’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

‘I see. I’m sorry to hear that, Mr York.’

Chance ground his teeth together and pulled his T-shirt away from his chest. Already he was starting to sweat. ‘Me, too, Maria.’

‘I see by our records that this has happened before.’

‘Three times.’

‘And the house is still unoccupied?’

‘Yes, that jackass has it up for sale. But he won’t take down the tree.’

‘I’m putting in a report, Mr York One of our employees should be there within the next three hours to reconnect your service.’

Chance blew out a sigh. Three hours. Three. Hours. It was August. It was ninety degrees at nine in the morning and the humidity was about a billion per cent. But three hours was better than four or five or more. ‘Look, Maria, is there any chance they can send a cherry picker and a guy with a chainsaw to just lop the top of this damn thing off and call it a day? It would save us all a hell of a lot of time.’

‘I do understand your frustration, Mr York, but that is not our responsibility. It’s the homeowner’s responsibility to have the tree removed.’

‘I know. But that dip shi … sorry. That person is not in the house and really doesn’t care if his decrepit dead tree keeps knocking out my air conditioning.’


‘I’ve put you at the top of the list, Mr York. You should have air conditioning within the hour. I hope that helps some.’

‘I will take it, Maria. Thank you.’

‘I wish I could do more, Mr York.’

‘I’m sure we’ll talk again,’ he sighed. ‘Unfortunately.’

Chance disconnected and went to make a pot of coffee. He could still boil water and he had his grandmother’s old drip percolator in the china cabinet. It was something. He could pass the time until the tech arrived by watching his coffee drip slowly through the filter. The old fashioned way. ‘Then I can eat beef jerky and hard tack for breakfast and pretend I’m a fucking cowboy.’

‘Oh well thank you, Maria.’ The man was tall and broad. He reminded Chance of a brick wall in Dickies. A bald, goatee-sporting brick wall. The tech’s eyes were hidden behind black wraparound sunglasses. He shimmied up the utility pole like an ape man and Chance took a deep breath to stave off his lust.

It didn’t take him long to reconnect the downed wires. MacGruder’s dead-ass tree was basically hollow with dry-rot. But the limbs were heavy enough to knock down the small lines that fed power to the homes.

Chance held his breath, watching the man hover so high above earth to hook the wires up. Then the man held the pole with one hand, turned slightly and eyed the tree. He shook his head, lips pressed in a tight seam of disapproval.

‘Yes, sexy, that tree is totally fucking dead,’ Chance whispered.

The guy reached out with his free hand and swatted a small branch that promptly dropped to the backyard below. Like rotten fruit dropping to the ground, wood rained down and Chance shook his head. The pieces the tree dropped weren’t necessarily heavy but they sure as shit wouldn’t tickle if one fell on you.

He sipped his bitter almost cold coffee and when the man on the pole turned to eye him, Chance choked. It looked as if the guy was looking right at him. When the man tipped a finger salute and nodded to him, he knew he had.

‘Damn damn damn.’

The guy pointed and held up his finger as if to say, ‘Stay there. I’m coming.’

‘Fuck,’ Chance breathed.

Elvis sauntered in to see who his master was talking to. All 17 lbs of stout miniature dachshund waddled as he walked. ‘That hunk of burning love is coming over here, Elvis,’ Chance said.

Elvis snorted. He had sinus issues.

Chance’s cell phone rang. ‘Chance York.’ He hadn’t even read the display.

‘I need you to… ’

‘I’ll have to call you back, Rebecca. I can’t right now.’

‘But you are …’

‘I know. I know. I’m your personal assistant. That’s what you pay me for. And you let me work from home. Blah, blah, blah …’ Lucky, he thought, that they were also friends.

Dead silence.

‘Chance …’

He could tell she was trying to keep her cool. Chance played the pity card. ‘Look. That monstrous tree dropped another limb. I have no power and I have to go deal with the electric guy.’

‘Oh. But Chance later can you just …’

‘Text me!’ he yelled and hung up on her. The doorbell had just bing-bonged and his heart was going erratic in sympathy.

‘Now we deal with the electric guy,’ Chance said to Elvis. Elvis just snorted again. ‘And I’ll have to buy Becca a whole damn basket of Ruby’s gluten free pecan muffins. To make it up to her.’ His phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew it was the text he had requested, OK, demanded. He promised her, mentally, that he’d do her bidding cheerily for the rest of the week. Surely she’d forgive him.

The doorbell dinged again and Chance put a hand to his heart to still it. ‘Mister Impatient,’ he muttered, taking a deep breath. Then he tugged the door open to find tall, bald and surly standing there. And his heart promptly resumed its erratic state. ‘Hi there.’

‘Hello, sir. I’ve gotten your line reattached.’ The guy stepped up onto the door sill and Chance took a step back instinctively.

‘Thanks. It’s really become a pain in the ass,’ he blurted.

‘May I?’

May he what? Chance thought for a moment and then he nodded. ‘Oh, of course. Come in Mr …’


‘Mr Todd. It’s really hot out there.’

‘No, it’s just Todd.’

‘Oh. Right. Todd. Can I get you a soda or some water?’

The guy looked torn which was comical, it was only a drink. Then again, Chance didn’t know Sunshine Gas and Electric’s policy on fraternizing with the clients. And what if he lost his mind and his manners and just kissed this guy? Begged him to do things he knew, just by looking at him, that he could do. What was the policy on that?

‘I’d love a soda if you have one.’

‘I have a ton. Come on in. This is Elvis.’

The fat wiener dog yawned and lay his head down on the hardwood floor. He looked very unimpressed. Elvis was the Zen-like calm to Chance’s fidgety nerves.

‘Elvis,’ Todd said and followed Chance into the kitchen, his work boots leaving fine bits of grit on the floor. Somehow that grit was sexy, at least Chance thought so. Chance poured him a soda with extra ice and handed it over. He watched transfixed as Todd’s throat bobbed once, twice, three times and the soda was gone. It begged the question what else could that mouth and throat do?

Chance cleared his throat, blushing like a whore in church. ‘That tree is a nightmare. And I know you can’t do anything about it legally, but my God, I’m ready to go over there with an axe and just start doing my Paul Bunyan routine.’

Todd’s stern face broke into a crooked grin and Chance felt his heart turn over in his chest. He also felt his cock spring to life in his pants. He started running through his list of errands and chores for Becca. No use embarrassing himself in front of the help by getting a raging hard-on over a smile. Big bald Daddy was probably straight or taken or just not interested in the likes of skinny, pale, blond Chance.

‘I’d like to see that. If you crack and go all caveman on it, let me know.’

Chance saw his opportunity and said, ‘And how would I do that? Call SGE and report myself as a crazed neighbour with an axe.’

Todd fished in his coveralls and pulled out a business card. ‘You could. Or you could just call me and save yourself some time.’

Chance’s cock became more demanding. Jesus. This man up close was a dream. Big, imposing and bald as Mr Clean. He smelled like summer air and hot tar and man. He smelled like fantasy sex and salty kisses and carnival rides. Chance had to force himself to stop sniffing. Even Elvis was staring at him. Their fingers brushed for an instant and his skin tingled with mild electric zings and pops.

‘I could do that.’

‘Good. Now about that tree.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, it’s dangerous, but not so dangerous.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Chance stared out at the towering oak. Once majestic and gorgeous now it was dry and gnarled and ugly. A tree from a Halloween movie or a horror flick.

‘It means it’s dead. So it is definitely a bad thing. But the limbs it’s dropping currently are pretty dry rotted and eaten out by bugs. They weigh nothing. I was tossing them like kindling. Now I did break a rule …’ Todd broke off and stared at the toe of his work boot.

Somehow the small boy gesture made Chance that much more smitten. ‘How so?’

‘I tied the one really treacherous branch to the asshole’s chimney.’

Chance blinked and snorted out laughter. ‘You did what? Why?’

‘Because he has to know how dangerous that thing is and I guess since he isn’t living there to deal with it, it’s no big deal. It could really do some damage, that big one. So if it does some serious damage, it’ll do some serous damage for him.’

‘Gosh,’ Chance said, cringing at his goofy school boy choice of words. ‘I hope you don’t get in trouble.’

Todd took a sudden step in, crowding Chance. Chance liked it. His heart raced and his hands shook just enough to give him a jolt of want and arousal. ‘Gosh, we’re told to secure locations like that to the best of our ability. If the homeowner isn’t living up to his responsibility, we aren’t required to remove the tree but we can secure it, cut it, top it even.’

Chance swallowed hard. At the word top he had a vivid pornographic mental flash of this big, bald man tying him to a bed and spanking him until he babbled. Then fucking him slow and sweet until he wept with his release. He shook his head. ‘Top?’

‘Chop the top right off. But that’s extremely rare that they let us do that and even if I could, I don’t have a crew today. Plus, I’m hoping jack wipe, over there, will man up and take responsibility.’

Chance snorted again. ‘You clearly have never met Mr MacGruder. He’d eat his own toenails before he’d pay for something he could get someone else to pay for on his behalf.’

‘We’ll see. But I wanted you to know because the main branch. The big one that has heft is angled so that it’s most likely, barring a huge windy storm, going to come down on your fence out there.’

Chance watched Todd’s lips move. Heard how he said bigun instead of big one. Watched how his sunburned skin crinkled in certain spots when he smiled. And he almost leaned in and kissed him. But Todd leaned in fast and surprised him so much he gasped like a girl on a soap opera. His cheeks flooded with colour again and he bit his lip.

‘OK,’ was the only thing he could think to say.

‘I’m telling you so that you can get help if you need it. And so you don’t go too near that thing or, perish the thought, stand under it. This is thunderstorm season. It could drop chunks at any time.

He’d moved his weathered face in closer until Chance felt sure he might have a heart attack. ‘OK,’ he said again.

Todd flipped his sunglasses up on his head and his eyes were startling blue. Cool and nearly translucent like water. ‘Good. I’d hate to see you get hurt, pretty boy.’

‘Pretty boy?’ he stammered. Chance considered himself a lot of things, pretty wasn’t one.

‘Yeah, to me you are. You look like getting clocked with a branch might dent you. Break you even.’

There it was – another pornographic flash of being whipped. His body bowing under his new lover. His face a contortion of pain and pleasure. And then the mounting from behind. Fucking like animals. Kissing and sucking and biting and … ‘I doubt it,’ he said, trying to sound brave and strong.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Todd said and pushed a finger to his bottom lip. Chance stilled, tried to breathe. ‘I’d kiss you but you could sue me,’ Todd said and turned on his work boots and crossed the room in three big strides.

He turned, Chance still staring, moving slow, dumbfounded. ‘Remember, Pretty Boy. Just call to report for repair.’

He shut the door when he left, his boots banging across the cracked concrete front porch.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me out? Kiss me? Do fucking something about this?’ Chance touched a finger to his hard cock. But no one was there to hear him.

No longer naked on Amazon UK

I have a cover. Mmm. What a cover...


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

So are you like a handler, or what?

As promised, a nibblet from the second M/M novella Ferryman found alone in ebook or in the anthology of four novellas HARD LESSONS...

by Sommer Marsden

‘So are you like a handler, or what?’

Charon noticed his eyes underneath were smudged with what looked like kohl – fitting for a rock star – but he quickly realised it was simply fatigue. ‘Perhaps. A bit. Not really.’

Graham Cooper of Big Fuel was reported to be surly, ornery, possible alcoholic and drug addicted, rude, crass, and a sexaholic. He was reported to be a pansexual, unisexual, omnivorous, voracious and aggressive sexual hunter. Charon stared back as the younger man stared him down.

‘What the fuck does that mean? And what’s with the suit? And what kind of name is Charon?’

‘Shall I start with the first question?’

Graham dropped like a tall lean stone to the ugly green sofa and flopped a denim clad leg over the arm. ‘Go for it, dude.’

Charon frowned. Dude. He’d have to get used to that. ‘What that means is your record label wants someone to be at your … disposal should you need it while you’re on leave.’

‘Leave!’ The young man snorted. ‘Is that what they’re calling it?’

‘You’re to regroup, Graham. Find out what you want. Your becoming a spectacle over and over again isn’t good for anyone. Not you, not your label, not your fans.’

‘Whatever. I’m here in my hometown USA and I’m going to try to get my shit together. For me, though, not for them. Let’s move on. What’s possessed you to wear a fucking suit?’

‘I like suits. They suit me.’

Graham chuckled and then grimaced when he realised that the man hadn’t made a joke. His choice of words had been deliberate and sober.

‘Ohhhh-kay,’ Graham said. ‘And Charon? That’s a made up name, right?’

‘No, sir.’ Charon shot his cuff and straightened his tie. ‘It was the name of the ferryman on the river Styx. You gave a coin and he ferried you across the river to hell. It was said that those who couldn’t pay wandered for all eternity.’

Graham clapped. ‘Awesome. I pay you and you’re gonna take me to hell.’

‘Your company pays me and I’ll watch over you. And help you. I have no intention of taking you to hell, Graham. But I will be here as a resource if you need me and please call me Aron.’


‘I prefer people not use my full name. It’s a thing.’

‘You have a thing?’ Graham asked.

‘It seems I do. Now what can I help you with, Graham? Anything? Now that you’re back in your home.’

‘Haven’t been here since my mom died,’ the younger man said, and for just a second Charon saw a small bubble of insecurity and fragility in the cocky man. Something in him stirred at that, but he did not mix business with pleasure. And though he found Graham Cooper both beautiful, intriguing and arousing as hell, he wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. He fondled one pearlescent button on his suit and waited for Graham to answer.

‘Did you hear me?’ he asked.

‘I did,’ Charon said. ‘My condolences, sir.’

Graham rolled his dark brown eyes and blew out a sigh. ‘Fine. Whatever. Bring me a girl. Curvy and shapely with huge tits and plump lips. And a boy. Who looks like me. Got it?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.’

‘Do better than that. Just get it done. Aron.’

‘Sir,’ Charon said, and left as quietly as he’d come.

It was a quick phone call. Charon had handlers who had handlers who had handlers. It wasn’t so much of an escort service as someone who could find young men and women willing to fuck a rock star for free. Or for tickets, as the case were. Graham was still spread artistically across his sofa when they arrived.

Charon studied the girl, an almost plump, large breasted creature with lagoon blue eyes and rose petal pink lips (natural) and long dark hair that brushed the waistband of her skirt as she walked. Her eyes flew huge and she started to jump up and down like a teeny bopper when she saw Graham. Her voice hit unnatural pitches as she squealed, ‘I thought it was total bullshit! Total bullshit! But OMG, here I am and here you are.’

‘Sit down and shut up,’ Graham said not unkindly and she dropped her shapely ass in an easy chair as easily as a well-trained dog at the word “heel”.

‘This is Tonya, Graham,’ Charon said.

‘So I see. And this is?’ Graham nodded to the pretty young man with spiked black and blue hair. His eyes were rimmed with smoky grey, his lips almost true red in comparison with his pale skin. He was poured into skinny leather jeans and a red T-shirt that showed a wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. A black Edwardian vest and high top Chuck Taylors completed the uniform of the disenchanted.

‘This is Freddie.’

‘Freddie.’ Graham rolled the word off his tongue as if tasting it. He nodded and patted the sofa next to him. When Freddie moved forward like a wraith, Charon stood and waited. The boy seated himself next to Charon’s employer and sat frozen like a gorgeous statue. ‘You sure are pretty.’

Graham leaned in and stroked the leather jeans like he was petting a house cat. The boy flushed, his pale cheeks turning blush coloured in the span of a heartbeat. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed.

Charon didn’t know if the boy was gay or bi or just didn’t care either way. A sexual vulture, perhaps. But he saw that he was at least turned on by Graham’s touch because a hard-on rose under the constricting leather pants like a hump. Charon had to hold his breath, bite his tongue, list chores in his head and count when Graham leaned in and licked the boy’s lips. ‘Kiss me,’ he said and Freddie parted his lips and allowed Graham to slide his dark red tongue inside.

‘Hey, what about me?’ Tonya asked, crossing her arms over her huge breasts and frowning. A petulant child, a pouting minor in demeanour. She couldn’t be more than 19 and as pretty as a china doll.

‘We’ll get to you in a moment,’ Graham snapped at her. Charon watched her seal her lips shut and roll her eyes.

‘Can you get it up for girls?’ Graham asked the boy.

Freddie nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Good boy,’ Graham said, and patted the boy’s supple cheek.

It has threesomes! And mortal terror! And romantic entanglements!

This totally doesn't count as working because it's not me, but one of my favorite people blogging about her zombies. I was never here. Look away. Actually, do not look away. Read the blog!! :) Take it away Charlotte...

There’s nothing quite like having a partner in crime. And whether she wants to be or not, Sommer is my zombie partner in crime. Mainly because of some dumb reason I made up in my head, like “HOMG we got our zombie books accepted and published almost at the same time, we must be zombie soulmates etc etc”.

Only you know. None of our limbs are falling off and we don’t cross oceans of time to be with each other and we almost never snog. Well, we snogged that one time when Sommer was asleep and didn’t realise I’d crept into her bedroom, but we’ll just draw a veil over that.

And talk about zombies! Hooray!

So I know you’ve read Sommer’s orsum book. And I won’t try to fool you by saying that my book is just as orsum. Because no-one is just as orsum as Sommer. I mean, her book is about zombie exterminators, for God’s sake. It’s fun, it’s sexy, it’s full of fun sexiness.

But my book is pretty swell. I promise. It has threesomes! And mortal terror! And romantic entanglements!

Look here:


June has spent the last two years of her life trying to avoid death at the hands of murderous psychopaths and ravening zombies. So when Jamie turns up on the scene, careless, still whole and promising her safety on a little paradise island, she isn’t quite sure she can trust him. Especially when he tells her that it’s just him, and his equally big, burly, handsome friend Blake.

 But Jamie and Blake are even better than her wildest dreams—sweet and funny and charming. And worst of all: sexy as hell. Though they're trying to be gentlemanly with her, all she can think about is how much she wants to get tangled up in them, and forget the nightmare the world has become. She's waiting for her reawakening—back to life and happiness and love.

 And they seem like just the right sort of men to wake her—body and soul.

And if that wasn’t enough, an excerpt:

All June could think was—Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead—while the image of the ravening hordes feasting on Kelsey’s body played behind her eyes. She tried to shut it off, keep it down, keep running before they got to her, but Kelsey’s blood was still wet and all over her right arm.

And if Jamie hadn’t shot Kelsey—right as she was still screaming, and begging for help—she’d be one of them, now. That’s what happened. Once they bit you or bled on you or hell, spat on you, you had maybe thirty seconds.

Before you turned.

She needed to stop, just stop for a second. Lean against something and catch her breath. But Jamie had somehow led them into this building and he just kept running and running—only up instead of out.

June didn’t even know if Jamie was really his name, or if he was leading them right into a dead end. But he kept going, none-the-less.

She could hear the hordes, busting through the door below. He’d barred it, but they were coming in anyway, to this place that was an almost total deathtrap. The staircase was narrow and blanketed in darkness, one winding section after the next. Even if she dared to pause and look over the railing, she wouldn’t be able to see them until they were almost on her.

“Jamie, wait!” she shouted, but not because things would be easier if he had hold of her hand or was there to comfort her in this dire hour of need. She’d made it this far, on her own.

Or at least, she’d made it this far, with Kelsey.

No, it was just that—if he kept going, eventually they’d be trapped, on the roof. And she couldn’t have that. That was one of her and Kelsey’s rules—don’t run to someplace with only one exit.

Only it was just her rule, now. This guy, this Jamie…he didn’t seem to have any rules. He’d decided to run to the roof of a twenty story building then potentially wait outside until the hordes pushed through a probably very flimsy fire door.

Kelsey had said to her. She had said—wait. He’s as crazy as they are. A safe island? He’s nuts. We can’t go with him. He’s probably an insane apocalypse rapist.

And she’d been right, God help her. Maybe not about the insane apocalypse rapist part, but even so and besides—there was still time for that. He could be anyone, be into anything. He could have planned this all along…Kelsey’s death, the run to the roof…hell, maybe he had a whole party of insane assholes up there, just waiting to do horrible things to her.

Even if that was as nuts as he now seemed. Why would he trap himself on the roof, just to have a little fun with her? Nothing in her head was functioning in quite the way it should. Connections had been lost. Wiring had come loose.

She still called out to him again, when they got to the level before the last one. Her voice came out hoarse and breathless, burning lungs making everything difficult, Kelsey in her mind making everything worse. But somehow the words emerged.

“Jamie, stop. Take the nineteenth floor exit, okay—we can go back down on the other side of the building—answer me, fuck!”

He did, then. She heard him call out over her own shrieking breaths, the pounding of her sneakers on stone, and the sounds of the once-were-people below, slathering and barking like animals.

There were two cracks, like he’d fired her gun into the stairwell. Though she couldn’t see where he was shooting or at what. Then—

“Just keep following me, June-bug—come on!”

Only it sounded more like come own, because of the Texan twang Kelsey had sworn up and down was fake. And he’d called her June-bug again, because he was crazy, he was crazy, oh dear Lord he was probably leading them to their deaths.

This was all just some final mad hurrah. He was suicidal, and this was how he wanted to go out. Death by stairs or death by zombies—because they were zombies, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise—or even worse, death by roof.

Was that what he was going to do? Hurl himself off? Plummet to his untimely end? She didn’t know. All she could really think about was how close the first ravening cannibal was getting, and how unfit she really was. She’d started believing all the cardio was really beginning to pay off, but as it turned out, eighteen flights of stairs and she was out for the count. Her heart clawed at her ribcage. Her thigh muscles screamed and screamed.

While her zombie pals kept coming and coming, as though the stairs were nothing, really. Why, leaping up eighteen flights was like a morning stroll to them! They could have climbed these stairs forever and still had the wherewithal to eat her innards, once they got their claw-like hands on her.

She hit the fire door to the roof just as one of said claw-like hands brushed the back of her shirt.

It made everything inside her leap, including the heart she’d thought had escaped. Whenever they got really close—that was when you realized just how terrible they were. How awful the world had become. How much it wasn’t like a movie at all, but like a constant and unbearable pressure against your sanity, always threatening to make you go over.

She felt like going over, when the door wouldn’t close on them. For a second of pushing and heaving with their hands coming through and all over her, her mind tried to fly away. It told her to start screaming uncontrollably, while clawing at herself—that doing so would really be her best bet. No more running constantly. No more pain over Kelsey—and before Kelsey, Joanne and Pat and the old lady whose name she never learned.

Just peace, finally. One moment of agony, then peace.

Only it wouldn’t be, would it? No, it wouldn’t be. If she stopped pushing at the door and jamming it at them and just God, let the door snap their arms, let it crush them, let it kill them all forever, if she stopped…they’d turn her into one of them. And no matter how much she tried to let it hurt her that Jamie had pointed the gun and shot Kelsey between the eyes, it didn’t. It couldn’t.

Being one of them was worse. After all, it could have been that they’d caught a disease. It might have been that they were infected with something—like in 28 Days Later, rather than Night of the Living Dead. But part of her wondered whenever she stared into their hollow, ink-black eyes, if they’d simply lost their souls.

He looked like it. The one who’d managed to squeeze his mottled face into the crack she was struggling to close in the door. He had no pupils, no irises, no whites to his eyes. It was all just blackness, empty and weirdly unseeing, as though they operated on no more than a bloodlust now. Like upright land sharks roaming the land, blindly searching out prey.

She wrenched the door from him for just an instant then smashed it back into his face. It was a risky move, but oh so worth it. Worth it for the satisfaction, worth it for Kelsey, worth it for everything these things had taken from everyone. People’s souls hadn’t left. These things had stolen them.

And when it slithered away and the door quite abruptly shut, the idea didn’t go with it. It stayed, and festered—so much so that she wanted to open the door for one mad moment, just to smash it back in their faces again, and again, and again.

She wanted to, but Jamie was calling to her. And other sounds were starting to flood through her now, too, other big, big sounds that she should have noticed ages ago.

At first she thought it was some kind of weapon. That he’d found a chainsaw or a pneumatic drill or a wood chipper. Something he’d known was up here all along for them to use against the enemy.

But then the wind whipped up and she turned to see something far more incredible than a zombie eating wood chipper. It was so incredible that she forgot the zombies battering on the fire door, for a second. They’d bust through it soon enough because although they couldn’t figure out handles, the sheer pressure of them would figure out the release bar.

Though it didn’t seem to matter. For the first time in these two years of hell, it didn’t matter. She found herself laughing out loud, high and probably hysterical.

Jamie had only gone and gotten himself a helicopter. And not only that, but he apparently knew how to fly a helicopter. The rotors were going. They were kicking up the fine gravel that lined the roof of whatever building this was, and he was yelling to her—

“Come on, June-bug, get your ass in here!”

She thought of him talking about the island. About his buddy who was waiting for them. How they’d just wanted to find survivors, and populate their safe haven, and how crazy that had sounded when he first started yakking about it.

Then she ran to him.

And you can buy it here:

On ARe

At Resplendence Publishing

Thanks for having me, Sommer! You were tender but forceful, and I loved it.

Monday, June 13, 2011


If at the time your story is submitted you have not been paid as a writer, then you have not been paid as a writer. If you are paid after you turn it into me but BEFORE you hear from me, then it's cool.

Nutshell: When you hit send have you been paid? No? Good. Then you can hit send.


Call For Submissions: New Writers

Call for Submissions

I want newbies, youngbloods, fresh meat, green around the gills

I am looking to put together another mini anthology. But this time, I want the writers that no one has had a taste of yet. Virgin blood. So you may submit to this anthology only IF YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN PAID FOR YOUR WORK.

What does that mean? Money! Have you ever received money for your work? If yes, then no matter how laughably tiny the amount, that means you may not submit. And PLEASE no fake pen names pretending to be newbies. I'm holding the established writers on their honor.

(Update: due to a flood of quesitons, here is the update~ money equals money. If you've won a contest, does not count. If you've been paid to insert a link into your blog, does not count. Has someone paid you X amount of dollars or cents for your words? Then that DOES count. As for "What if I have not been paid when I sub but get paid while you have my work?" Well...if you have not been paid when you send your submission to me, then you can go ahead and hit send. No one can control the future, not even me. No matter how hard I if you fit in that niche, send away.)

So what next?

Dirty stories from 2,500 and up (nothing over say 5K please) are eligible. Topics are open except the standard no-no's. Which I will spell out since you are new.

~~~~>No sex with the underaged (under 18), animals (shifters don't count), dead things or people (barring undead supernatural creatures). No scat. No snuff.

FORMAT: double spaced, Times New Roman, 12 point, set at .5 indentation for first line of the paragraph only. PLEASE DO NOT USE HARD TABS.
*If you do not format correctly, I will skip reading your entry no matter how good it is. Why? Because I'm super busy and if you sub to a publication, you need to follow the rules. Capiche?

Here's the most important part: PLEASE POLISH YOUR WORK. Read it, put it away. Read it again and put it away. Then read it out loud to yourself. Seriously. Your ear will hear your errors. Do I expect it to be perfect? No, said the woman who once put "He stroked her cheese" instead of "He stroked her cheek." I do not. But I do expect you to make it as close to perfect as you can.

DEADLINE: August 31, 2011. Release date is up in the air. If that bothers you, don't sub. This (as of right now) will be an ebook put out by my little press December Ink.


I'll be using 10 stories max. December Ink takes 25% of the cut, the remaining 75% is split evenly among the ten contributors and each will receive an ebook copy (print too if it ever goes to that). You could make a bunch of money. You could make hardly a thing. I ask for 3 months exclusivity and then you are free to go ahead and sell your work elsewhere.

Your work stays in the book as long as it's for sale, and that means you receive royalties as long as it's for sale.

Submissions should be sent to marked SUBMISSION: [YOUR TITLE] BY [YOUR AUTHOR NAME]
In your email please put:
Your name
Your pen name
Your mailing address
your contact email
A short bio

Good luck! Any questions can be sent to the same email addy. :)

This is worth sneaking in and posting for...

Gritty is #1 in paid anthos on ARe as we speak. I had to say that. I had to! Calming down and putting no pressure on self for a few days or not. There. I have said it. Yay us!

Now I am off to run errands and plot Father's Day. I went for a run this morning. My first in a while. The thing I now remember about running is: once the urge to vomit passes, you feel pretty durn good.


Saturday, June 11, 2011

The Perfect Storm...

That's what today was. What started as a possibly great day just smacked my ass and called me stupid. I ended up a pile of girl goo for many hours where it was then gently suggested to me by a wise man (that I was smart enough to marry ages ago) that maybe...just maybe working 12 hours a day 7 days a week had become a bit overwhelming and maybe a few days of doing nothing would be brilliant.

I am dumb enough to work my ass off all day every day (it's still work even if you love it...hey! I just learned that), but I am also smart enough to listen to sage advice when I hear it. (And when I've gone through a whole box of Kleenex in a day).

So, yay! We did get a new bed and yay! after it is delivered tomorrow, I am going to lie on it for two or three days and do nothing at all but that which I choose to do. As slowly as possible.



He's a ghost of emotions past..

I never did do snippets or proper crowing of Hard Lessons, I believe. I think this year has been such a rush of project releases and fresh trying-to-beat-them deadlines, I often forget to give my books the stroking they truly do deserve. :) Yes, that was a dick joke.

Anyway, I plan to do a little nibble of each of the four M/M novellas in my book HARD LESSONS over the next week. I recently received the nicest email about this book from a very kind man and that made me realize, I needed to give this book a little sunshine. Here we go. From novella one...


Chapter One

The trick really is to blank out the face in your mind. To go above and beyond the call of duty to erase the thought of your obsession. Drugs, booze, sex, running, sleeping, fighting. All of the above would help to lessen the pound of a memory on your brain like a fist. Every single one of them could fuck you over, too.

I touch the boy’s face and close my eyes. My mind wants to supply Jason’s face there. I push the thought aside; focus on the sensation of him sucking my middle finger into his hot wet mouth. I think of him as a boy because he, at nineteen, is a good decade younger than I am. If you consider life experience, probably two. His youth and beauty and innocence almost make me feel guilty for what I am about to do. Almost.

‘Why won’t you look at me?’ Matthew says. His name is Matthew. Something Irish for the last name but it escapes me.

‘I am looking at you.’ I push my pointer finger past his lips and watch it sink into oblivion, trapped between two plump perfect lips the colour of early summer roses. ‘See me looking at you?’ I can hear the arousal in my voice and my cock is harder than it has been in a long time. That’s mostly because this boy is so close to Jason physically. His voice has almost the same timbre. His cologne is even close. Something faint with a touch of sandalwood and leather and sunshine.

Matthew, he of the beautiful big green eyes, sucks my finger harder and there is that invisible tug between finger and dick. It’s as if my cock is on an unseen string that Matthew with the Irish last name can control with his wet, wet tongue. I press my shoulders back into the green sofa cushions and he kneels on the floor. His rug is the colour of tomato juice. He presses his lean, hard self between my thighs and leans into me. Kisses me. His tongue is like an electric spark when he touches it to mine. My hips rock up and my cock rubs his. This should stop.

‘Will you look at me naked?’ he asks, kissing over my jaw. His fingers are pushing my polo up just a bit, thumbs rubbing softly along my flanks. It almost tickles, but mostly it just makes me want to take him down. Flip him and fuck him because he is paying for Jason’s sins today.

I want him because he could be a stand-in. I hate him because he could be a stand-in. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.

‘If you insist.’ I try to keep my tone light but it rumbles out of me with a hint of anger. Matthew catches it and stops, big green eyes searching mine. I force a smile.

‘You don’t like me?’

‘I do.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ I touch his face. I force my hand to be gentle. I stroke. ‘Nothing at all.’ Again, my mind supplies Jason’s image. His face when he’s laughing. His face when he’s angry. His face when he’s coming. My throat shrinks two sizes too small and I try to swallow.

Matthew nods, seeming satisfied. My eyes are watching him work my belt and my fly but my ears hear only the tick of the clock on the wall and the slam of my heart. When he bows his head and runs his tongue over me, takes me in his mouth, his profile is so strikingly familiar I feel insane. Have I finally gone and lost it?

‘Do you like that, Kyle?’ he asks, his mouth full of my cock.

I nod, my breathing rushing in and out like I might die. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’

‘Show me.’ He pushes my thighs hard to the sofa. Pinning me. He’s not big but he sure as shit is strong. But my hips fly up all on their own, blindly seeking to sink deeper into his throat. His eyes tilt up to study me and he smiles around my shaft.

‘Brat.’ I laugh when I say it, but I mean it. If he keeps that up, I’m going to come. And I don’t want to come yet. I want to stay trapped in this mind-fuck, this bittersweet remembering. The place where if I close my eyes it’s Jason sucking me: Jason holding me down: Jason kissing me and wanting me inside him. And even when he’s being an asshole, Jason loving me. My throat shrinks again and I just wonder in passing, a casual thought – can you die from a broken heart? It sure as fuck feels like it. Then the anger rushes in, red and wet and messy and I growl at the kid, ‘Let’s lose the pants, Matt. Let’s see what you’re packing.’

I don’t care what he’s packing. I want to fuck him and call it a day. My little plan has become too much and I want to run home and lick my wounds. But first, I’ll give him what he’s expecting.

He is everything that haunts my thoughts – long legs, wiry with muscle, a Celtic tattoo along his calf. A perfect ass, perfect cock, jutting to the left so that I had to turn my head a bit to catch up with it. His hands are big and they slide under my hair and across my scalp like a rush of warm air. I sigh, forcing my lips further down. Forcing my tongue to still and my lips to a perfect “O”. I force myself to breathe and take in the scent of him. Force myself not to cry when he says my name and his voice sounds so much like one from my past.

This is entirely Hazel’s fault. Entirely. I know that when I slide a condom on and work my fingers into him. I curse her when he touches my dick with only the tips of his fingers so I shiver. I hate her when I rock into him on that first perfect stroke and his long-lashed lids slide closed over his gemstone coloured eyes and he arches up under me, taut smooth belly fluttering with pleasure. The muscles rippling with his movement like a human wave. I watch him and then when I am about to come, I close my eyes. Because Matthew isn’t Matthew any more. He’s a ghost of emotions past.

Each novella from this collection is available at your fave retailers in ebook form. Or the whole collection as HARD LESSONS is available in ebook or print form on Xcite's site and Amazon (US and UK). If you want to see some nice words about BLANK, just scroll down.

p.s. Off we go to a busy day of running about. I pray there is a new cozy bouncy needs-to-be-broken-in bed in my future.

Friday, June 10, 2011

*I predict great things for this book's future*

Heh. Alison Tyler swears I'm psychic. She even called me the other day and said so. Want to know how psychic I am? Go here. Pretty freaky-awesome-cool, yes?

So yesterday I decided I had not really given COUPLING its fair shake and it was all nekkid and whatnot on Amazon so I put out a call and asked for ratings and ended up handing out a handful of pdfs for review to interested parties. And then last night this--which was totally unrelated to my blog!: 4 hearts!

Ha, ask and you shall receive, build it and they will come, or in this case moan that you want more reviews and they shall spring up like wildflowers in June.

Ta and da! Awesomeness. Thanks to SHBR for reviewing!


Thursday, June 9, 2011


Coupling is my best seller at the moment. For a few weeks, actually. In fact, I was tickled pink to send out some nice royalties to the authors I share that cover with this month. That always makes my week.

I have seen my baby in Violet Blue's Fast and Easy Book Club as seen through the eyes of Alison Tyler herself (one of our authors, yay!). I have pimped it, adored it, buffed it and shined it and received nice emails about it. Comments and Kudos. And is naked. Naked! on Amazon.

If you've read it and enjoyed it, will you pop over and give it a review? Give it a rating? Toss a scarf or a pair of pumps or even an itty bitty negligee over its nekkidness?

Haven't read it? Want to so maybe you too can clothe my naked book? Shoot me an email at hot4sommer [at] yahoo [dot] com. I have a handful of pdf's I'll send out if you're willing to rate/review.


Have I mentioned I am a small part of some...

Geeky sexy goodness? In the form of Gee/k/ink along with Del Dryden, Daisy Harris, the unrivaled Charlotte Stein and Christine d'Abo? Look for me every third Thursday. I'll be there writing about sexy geeky awesomeness. Woohoo!

p.s. can you believe that banner?? That would be Del's handiwork. whew.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

the zombies are coming!

Early it seems! I was slotted to have the release date of 6/29 for this hot and sexy (hexy?) book. But here it is three weeks early :) Tada, No Guilt, book #2 in the Zombie Exterminators series. I swore I'd never do books with sequels and here you see...I am a liar.

Anyway, I must've been a good girl and Santa made a special summer trip to bring me my new shiny book. With my new shiny cover. And look! A new shiny blurb~~~~~~~~>

Poppy has a lot to feel guilty about. Or so she thinks. The hand she had in the death of her father, her inability to save her mother, the urge she has to have just a bit more than the love of a good man. That bit more being a threesome with their friend and fellow zombie exterminator, Cahill. And it doesn’t matter that Garrity, Cahill and even Noah are fine with it. Deep inside, Poppy’s wrestling with herself.

It’s all Poppy can do to keep her focus on their latest case—hunting a creeper who keeps returning to the same spot like some undead homing pigeon. The exterminators have made it their mission to help the neighborhood where the zombie’s been spotted time and again. Under it all, Poppy’s trying to help herself accept her emotions and her needs. But she keeps coming back to guilt.

It’s sort of eating Poppy alive. Which is ironic given they hunt dead things that eat folks alive, the dark humor isn’t lost on her. The thing Poppy never really realized about guilt is yes, it eats you up on the inside, but it’s not just that. If you don’t overcome it, guilt can be deadly.

Woohoo! Makes for a hell of a hump day.