Genre

Fire Horse Blurb

Preston Fawkes is ten the first time he meets fifteen-year-old Konrad Schnell at the San Antonio Polo Club.  Captivated by the mystique surrounding the sport of kings, Pres vows to learn the game at the hands of his newly acquired friend and mentor.  The hero worship soon grows into something deeper, but the friends are separated when Preston goes off to boarding school in England.

The relationship that follows is riddled with challenges―their age gap, physical distance, and parental pressure taking precedence over feelings yet to be explored.  Although their bond goes deep, they deal with the reality of their situation differently: Preston is open and fearless while Konrad is reticent and all too aware of the social implications of making a public stand.

Their paths intersect and twine, binding them as tightly as a cowboy’s lasso, but fate may alter their plans.  How will love overcome the divots in the turf as they gallop toward the future—one where obstacles no longer stand in their way?

Link to Buy: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3790

Official Bio

Mickie B. Ashling is the alter-ego of a multifaceted woman raised by a single mother who preferred reading over other forms of entertainment. She found a kindred spirit in her oldest child and encouraged her with a steady supply of dog-eared paperbacks. Romance was the preferred genre, and historical romances topped her favorites list.

By the time Mickie discovered her own talent for writing, real life had intruded, and the business of earning a living and raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing and the inevitable emptying nest, dreams were resurrected, and the storyteller was reborn.

She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.

Mickie loves to travel and has lived in the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East but currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.

You can contact her at mickie.ashling@gmail.com or leave a comment on her blog at  http://mickiebashling.blogspot.com.

Seville, Spain 1983

The next morning, we took a bus to a stud farm in Jerez de la Frontera. We passed the two-hour drive by feasting on the bocadillos we’d purchased at the bar near the hostel. The “sandwiches” were stuffed with salty Iberian ham and goat cheese, and we shared a wedge of cold potato omelet spiked with chorizo. Two liters of mineral water helped to wash down the hefty breakfast, and then we napped the rest of the way. By the time we arrived at Finca Mejia, where the horses were bred and controlled, we were eager to begin our tour.

I’d never seen an Andalusian, although I’d heard about this special breed. Anyone who loved horses knew they existed, but few had the money to own one. Highly prized as a warhorse, due to their speed and agility, their numbers had dwindled throughout the centuries. After reaching dangerously low levels, exportation of mares had been strictly forbidden to give Spanish and Portuguese breeders the opportunity to develop and expand their stock. The majority of them were bred here in the Andalusia province of Spain, thus the name. In Portugal they were called Lusitanos. Universally, they were known as the pure Spanish or Iberian horse.

Kon and I sat side by side with other prospective buyers and horse aficionados, hardly able to contain our excitement. The owner of this particular stud farm was quite aware of the impact his animals made as they entered the arena. There was a collective murmur from the crowd when the string of horses stopped within ten feet of the wooden fence separating them from the audience. They were magnificent! Most of them were gray and averaged fifteen and a half hands. Abundantly thick manes and long flowing tails set low and tight against their bodies, were distinctive features.

Before the animals were allowed to circle the ring so we could admire them from different angles, the owner gave a brief lecture on the origin of this ancient breed. In heavily accented English, he explained that these horses had lived on the Iberian Peninsula for thousands of years. Known for their strong but elegant build, they were prized as a war or cavalry horse until mounted knights began using heavier and heavier armor. They were soon replaced with larger but slower moving draft horses. The trend was later reversed with the development of firearms and the need for a more rapid and agile animal.

“Why were they in such demand?” a visitor asked. “They’re good looking but so is the Arabian.”

The owner of the farm was a white-haired gentleman who sat on a horse like a warrior. The pride in his voice was clearly evident as he extolled the virtues of this particular breed. “These horses evolved in hilly and rugged terrains, señor. Fighting for survival and grazing amidst the rocky landscape led to the development of a strong arched neck, hind legs positioned well underneath the body, with strong hock action, and small rounded hoofs. These attributes make the horse much more agile than the standard Arabian or other breeds, and they are, without a doubt, quite beautiful.”

“I see,” the man nodded.

“But your prices are outrageous,” another person commented. “I can buy two thoroughbreds for the price of one Andalusian.”

“You can also drive a Fiat rather than a Mercedes,” the Spaniard acknowledged haughtily. “Furthermore, your attitude has already cost you one of my animals. I suggest you visit another stud farm if you intend to buy.”

“My money is as good as anyone else’s,” the guy volleyed.

“It’s not always about money,” the Spaniard replied. “I’m very selective about my buyers. I would never sell one of my horses to anyone who couldn’t fully appreciate its value.”

“Bah!” the prospective buyer spat out before standing and blundering out of the arena.

“Shall we proceed?” the Spaniard asked coldly, scanning the rest of us to see if there were other visitors who wanted to join the deserter.

“Yes,” the group begged collectively.

What followed was an educational afternoon, learning about his magnificent animals, their care, their bloodlines, and their availability. We drifted off into small groups, each with a guide, so we could ask questions and take our time without worrying about someone else’s agenda. Our companion was Miguel, a young Gaucho about Kon’s age. He walked and talked with the swagger of ownership, which prompted me to ask, “Are you a family member?”

“Don Alvaro is my grandfather.”

“The old dude?”

“Si.” Yes, he said, nodding.

“Is he as tough as he sounds?”

Miguel laughed. “Tougher.”

“I know all about those kind of men,” I admitted. “My Dad is demanding as hell.”

“Abuelo loves his animals more than anything else.”

Konrad whistled suddenly and we stopped. “Now, that is a beauty,” he said, walking toward a frisky young mare that pranced as he approached. She was dark gray with a snowy white mane and tail. Her oval eyes sparkled with intelligence, and she bobbed her head as Kon got closer, acknowledging his presence with a flick of her tail and a flutter of long lashes.

“She’s flirting with him,” I said, astounded.

“Es una coqueta, a teaser,” Miguel said.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Kon said, stroking her gently. “What’s her name?”

“Dulce,” Miguel said. “It means ‘sweet’.”

“What a perfect name,” Kon said admiringly. “May I ride her?”

“What is your profession if you don’t mind my asking?” Miguel stated, trained to cross-examine potential riders.

“I’m a professional polo player.”

Miguel looked Konrad up and down appreciatively. His eyes lingered a little too long, in my opinion, making my hackles rise. The young Spaniard was just as hot as Kon in a swarthier, dark-haired kind of way. If I hadn’t been so madly in love, I would have paid a lot more attention to the slim-hipped brunet who was staring at Konrad with blatant interest.

Now is the time to stock up — http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_395

As I planned the story I thought it would be a short story or a short novella, something focused on the hot summer these two boys would spend together after running away from their small town. Something light and fun, something about joy and freedom. Wow, was I wrong about the story Matt and Shane needed me to tell.

I tried twice to get started on the story, but I’d get a few thousand words in, and it would fizzle. I was missing something, but what?

Finally when I returned to the story, Shane told me he was part werewolf. He was adopted and his parents had hidden the possibility that he was a shifter from him. He was messed up over it, unable to even tell Matt the truth. I realized then that the story would be longer than I’d planned and much more serious.

As I started to write, I remembered a conversation my husband and I had while hiking near the Pisgah Inn. We joked about how it would be the perfect business for a werewolf pack, the forest setting, plenty of on-site staff quarters. I’d been waiting for the right time to use these ideas in a story. And I realized the pack Shane would become part of needed to be right there in the Pisgah forest.

This story turned out to be harder to write than any of my other stories, not harder in terms of making the words come, but harder emotionally. I felt wrung out by Matt and Shane’s struggles, but in the end I was so glad I’d listened to the voice that told me my original idea wasn’t quite right. Their story needed to be told, and after all their struggles, they were so much more deserving of the happiness they ultimately found.

Denying Yourself by Silvia Violet

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3809

Matt and Shane both have secrets. Matt never believed he was anything but straight, yet he’s increasingly attracted to his best friend. Shane is comfortable with being gay, but when he discovers he’s part werewolf, he hides that part of himself, fearing Matt’s reaction. Suffocated by his uptight parents and conservative hometown, Shane begs Matt to run away with him.

But starting over doesn’t help. Matt still denies his desires, and Shane abuses alcohol to dampen his wolfish urges. When Matt breaks down and kisses Shane, the pent-up passion proves too much for Shane’s self-control, and his wolf gets free. Horrified, Shane flees—into deeper trouble. Before they can hope to accept each other, Shane and Matt must accept themselves.

Part One: Denial

Chapter One

The first time I let myself hope Matt was interested in me as more than a friend was his eighteenth birthday. We’d been friends for almost a year by that time.

My family moved from Raleigh to Dunford, a little town south of Greensboro, the summer before my senior year of high school. I expected it to be hell since I had no intention of hiding the fact that I was gay.

The town proved as dismal as I’d expected and as bigoted. But I had a lot more power in my lanky frame than anyone anticipated, more than I should have had. When I pushed back at the first asshole who tried to shove my head into a gym locker, I sent him flying across the room. A year before, I’d started a part-time job with a construction crew, but I didn’t do anything else in the way of strenuous physical activity. Despite that, I’d been growing stronger and stronger over the last year. I was almost as strong as a shifter now. My adoptive parents had refused to tell me anything specific about my origins, but surely they would have warned me if I had the potential to turn into an animal. Besides, shifters usually gained their animal form at the onset of puberty. I’d turned eighteen last fall, so I was well past the time the first change should have occurred. There had to be some other explanation for my superior strength.

When Matt Dawson, a farm boy and member of the football team, exactly the type of boy I expected to hate me on sight, walked over to me before school one day, I braced myself for a fight. Instead, he introduced himself and sat down beside me. For some reason I’ve never understood, he wanted to be friends. By the time the year was half over, I wanted more than that.

Several times that spring, I caught him looking at me with more interest than most people have for their friends, but I told myself again and again that he was straight and completely off-limits. He was the one guy who was willing to hang out with the school’s token queer, and I wasn’t going to fuck that up. But sometimes, I thought I might die from wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. By spring, I was more and more restless around Matt. I felt something strange inside, some wildness I couldn’t define, like I might come out of my skin, like wanting him was changing me, like it was going to make me come apart.

At first, I thought it was just the intensity of lust with no outlet. But it went on for months and finally got so bad my hands shook every time I was around Matt. I started to worry that something was wrong with me. I started cutting class, because I truly could not sit still.

My mom knew something was up with me, but she didn’t ask me about it. And when I tried to talk to her about what was going on, she acted like I was exaggerating everything and tried to pass it off as normal teenage restlessness. I was convinced I was either sick with some horrible disease or losing my mind.

A few times I almost told Matt, but I chickened out, because I was afraid if I started talking about whatever was stirring inside me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from telling him how I felt about him. I fantasized about him more and more, and the restlessness grew worse, like something inside was trying to claw its way out.

I’d avoided Matt for several weeks before his birthday, because I started to scare myself. I couldn’t hold my temper. I was dreaming about Matt all the time, and the dreams had grown increasingly violent. In those dark fantasies, I ripped his clothes to shreds, bit him, scratched him, and held him down. I would never really hurt him, at least not if I was in my right mind, but still, I was afraid.

He called me the day before his birthday. I let the call go to voice mail and told myself I wouldn’t listen to it, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to hear his voice.

Shane, I miss you, man. My mom’s making a special dinner for me tomorrow, but after that, I was hoping to hang out with you. Maybe we could go down to the river. Call me.

I hit the button to call Matt back without even thinking.

He answered on the first ring. “Shane?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry. I’ve been…. Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’d like to hang with you tomorrow. Just call me when you’re done with your family thing.”

He waited a few seconds to respond. “You could come for dinner if you wanted to.”

“Nah, I… I just can’t.”

“Okay, but after. I want to see you.”

“I want to see you too.” And I did, desperately, no matter what happened. I had to see Matt. We’d be graduating in a few weeks, and I didn’t plan to stay in Dunford. I needed to make these last weeks with Matt count.

Dinner at Matt’s house would’ve been delicious. Matt’s mother was an awesome cook, and so was Matt after all the time he’d spent learning from her. The food she made was hearty and comforting, not like the trendy food my mother prepared, weird stuff that never filled me up. But while Matt’s mom was truly a Christian woman who bubbled over with generous love for everyone, even those whose beliefs didn’t align with hers, Matt’s father had counseled his son against “running around with that damn fag.” I was thankful Matt had ignored him and pleased that ultimately Matt’s father had let him choose his own friends. Still, I didn’t want to sit across the table from the man.

***

The next night, Matt and I drove out to a spot by the river where we’d often gone fishing and even more frequently gotten together to drink beer and talk. Or I’d drunk beer, anyway. Matt wasn’t quite a teetotaler, but he rarely had more than one drink. I drank like a fish, because alcohol was the only thing I’d found that calmed the restlessness inside me.

In the months before Matt’s birthday, I’d been drinking more and more. Some of the wilder kids at school didn’t care that I was gay as long as I scored them some beer or liquor. In my house, there was always an ample supply of both, and my parents seemed to have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about my drinking.

Matt, on the other hand, hated it when I got drunk with those assholes, but he came with me to their parties anyway. He said someone had to look after me, since I wouldn’t look after myself. He’d brought me home more than a few times. Once he’d even stripped me out of my beer-soaked clothes, taken them home himself, washed them, and brought them back so no one would notice. I was disappointed I’d been unconscious when his hands were on my body, but if I’d been awake, I wouldn’t have been able to resist showing him exactly what I wanted from him.

The night of Matt’s birthday, I lay in the bed of his truck with a raging hard-on. I hoped he wouldn’t notice or else he’d think I was fantasizing about someone else, but there wasn’t anyone else for me. Since I’d met Matt, no one else had held my interest. I’d been told there were a few boys at school who weren’t averse to some mutual cocksucking though they’d never identify as gay. And another boy who’d apparently do anything on a dare. I hadn’t gotten that desperate yet. I sneaked up to Greensboro a few times and talked my way into some clubs, but while I was with the boys I hooked up with, I pretended they were Matt.

Matt reclined beside me, his head resting on a stack of blankets, his perfectly sculpted arms folded underneath his head, his legs crossed, thigh muscles stretching his jeans. I tried not to look at the bulge between his legs, but I couldn’t help myself, and I almost choked when I did. He was hard too. Was he thinking about some girl, like that slutty Nina Hayes who was always coming onto him? Had it just been so damn long since he’d been with anyone that he was perpetually horny? As far as I knew, Matt hadn’t so much as made out with anyone in the last year.

I sat up, trying to act casual, and pulled his present out of my backpack. I handed it to him, taking care to keep my gaze on his face. “Happy Birthday.”

He frowned as he took the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to.”

He opened the simple paper bag and lifted out a small wooden horse I’d carved for him. His eyes widened. “You made this?”

“Yeah.”

“Shane, it’s amazing. It’s even better than the tree you made a few weeks ago.”

Heat filled my cheeks. “You think?”

“Absolutely. This is what you should be doing, carving. I know you could sell these.”

I shook my head. “It’s just something I play around with.”

“It could be more.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I guess I could try, but not here.”

Matt looked up. “What do you mean?”

I avoided his question. “Do you really want to stay here, in Dunford, after graduation?”

“I guess so. What else would I do?”

I studied him. His thick black hair had been recently buzzed in an effort to combat the record heat and tame the curls that drove him crazy. They drove me crazy too, but in a very different way. His hazel eyes looked more brown than usual in the waning light. “What would you do if you could go anywhere, do anything?”

Matt started to say something, but he hesitated. “Nah, man. It’s dumb.”

I shook my head. “Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Unless you’re about to tell me we should go on tour as drag queens, then I think I can restrain myself.”

Matt grinned. He lifted a leg and kicked it out in a mockery of the Rockettes. “Somehow I don’t think we’d get very far with that plan.”

I laughed, but my chest constricted. How was I going to live without him? Could I stay here, confined, pressed in from all sides? “Tell me.”

“I’d open a restaurant.”

Matt was a great cook and good with people and completely organized and detail-oriented. Owning a restaurant would be perfect for him. “That’s exactly what you should do.”

He shook his head. “My family needs me here.”

“You need to be yourself.”

He frowned. “What more is there to me?”

I hurt for him. Did he really not know? “So very much.”

“I… I can’t.”

Was he saying he couldn’t leave his family, couldn’t open a restaurant, or was he talking about what was happening between us?

I’d pretend it was the easiest of the three to talk about. “You could. You’re an amazing cook, and when you put your mind to something, you do it. No one thought you’d break that wild colt last spring, and now he’s one of the best horses your family’s got. You make things happen, Matt.”

“You think so?”

I nodded.

“If only….” Matt’s shaky voice trailed off.

“What?”

Matt stared at me, and something in his eyes stopped my breath. He reached out and pushed my bangs off my forehead. The brush of his fingers sent shockwaves straight to my cock. “Why don’t you cut your hair so it doesn’t do that?” he asked, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

I shrugged. Before I’d moved to Dunford, my hair had reached my shoulders. I’d cut it last summer but kept the front longish just to be different from all the country boys with their ruthlessly short hair.

With a lock of my hair still in his hand, Matt smiled. “If you keep working out in the sun, your hair will be white by the end of the summer.”

I nodded, unable to speak with his hand on me. He let go of my hair, but he took my hand in his and squeezed it. He lay back, but he didn’t let go. We stayed like that, holding hands in silence until the sun sank below the horizon and the fireflies danced around us.

My pounding pulse echoed in my ears. My dick strained against my shorts, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to mess this up. Matt was telling me something in the only way he knew how. He might not even know what the look in his eyes and his grip on me said, but my heart heard it, and I wasn’t going to let him go.

About Silvia Violet

Silvia Violet writes erotic romance in a variety of genres including paranormal, contemporary, sci fi, and historical. She can be found haunting coffee shops looking for the darkest, strongest cup of coffee she can find. Once equipped with the needed fuel, she can happily sit for hours pounding away at her laptop. Silvia typically leaves home disguised as a suburban stay-at-home-mom, and other coffee shop patrons tend to ask her hilarious questions like “Do you write children’s books?” She loves watching the looks on their faces when they learn what she’s actually up to. When not writing, Silvia enjoys baking sinfully delicious treats, exploring new styles of cooking, and reading to her incorrigible offspring.

Website: http://silviaviolet.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/silvia.violet

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Silvia_Violet

Lets kick this off!

I’ll go first.

Patrick Darcy showing off his balls

[Patrick Darcy] So big boy, have you ever played rugby, or only those sissy sports like US football?

Charlie: LOL, I actually had the desire to play when I lived in Nashville and made it through one practice. My asthma was gonna be a challenge, but I was ready. Then I signed my exclusive adult film actor contract and they asked that I avoid activities that could cause bodily injury and bruising, so rugby was definitely out. I did gain a huge appreciation for the athletes who play though, both on the pitch and the one’s I’ve had in the bedroom!
[Charlie Harding]: So what about you, what drew you to the sport? I assume you play?

Patrick: The Nashville Grizzlies right? Rugby has been my second passion since I was a kid. You can imagine what my first love is! I started playing at 11, and I’ve been kicking ass ever since. There nothing better in life that tackling a big strong man. I’m sure you can relate to that? Rugby is all about the physicality. You need the heart of a warrior. That really appeals to me, together with the camaraderie. It’s a real shame that they won’t let you play, I’d like to see you a little ruffed up and dirty…. Bruises look sexy on a man. You with a black eye and covered in mud and dirt? Hot!

Charlie: Yes it was the Grizzlies. That was during my quick 6 months of living in Nashville, just before I moved to Atlanta. I’m actually trying to decide on some athletic hobbies other than weight lifting that I might get back involved with, but can’t seem to find the time to dedicate to them!

[Charlie Harding]: What about you, what other sports were you a part of?

Patrick: Well Charlie you know there is a gay rugby team in Atlanta. I played against them. So if you ever decide to man up, and risk that pretty face of yours…. Rugby has always been my main sport, though I do love cricket. It’s like Baseball but a lot more posh. Have you ever thought about wrestling, mmmm. Charlie Harding in a wrestling leotard. In a head lock between my thighs… Sorry Charlie , what were you saying again?

Charlie Harding (Photo credit: Edwin Pabon)

[Patrick Darcy]: Oh yes, Talking about ‘special interest movies’, what’s the craziest thing you have done on film?

Charlie: I’ve done a bunch of fun things, but I think the craziest was being the second half of a double penetration, and my other top “partner” for the event was a police night stick. Little Johnny Rapid seemed to enjoy it! We also did some very acrobatic positions during that scene…

I tend to be a very aggressive person during sex, hence my nickname of “Daddy.” If you’ve seen my movies, you notice I’m always the one in charge, leading the action, no matter how many people are in the scene!

[Charlie Harding]: So you write some super hot scenes involving rugby players… Where do the ideas come from? Are they directly from your personal experience?

Patrick: I think I need to watch more of your movies, for inspiration of course. What can I say? I love sex. So my mind is full of all sorts of depraved sex fantasies. I should really plead the Fifth Amendment but I will confess, you don’t want to use the ice machine on any floor I’m residing on! Or maybe you do? I’ll add this, we Irish know how to fuck!

Charlie: So do I, and I have some Irish in my background…

[Charlie Harding]: So what’s it like being a gay man in Ireland? I’ve been to Dublin very briefly about 12 years ago…

Patrick: I’d like to think you’d want a bit of Irish in you!
Anyhow, Ireland has changed so much in the past ten years. We’ve had huge social change. The laws are finally catching up with the people. We‘re a pretty easy going bunch, so anti gay laws just have no place in Ireland. We live in liberating times.
As for Dublin, it’s an amazing city to live in. Dublin has many ‘sexy’ distractions. That’s the great thing about the past ten years. The city has become so much more cosmopolitan. We have a little bit of everything. Latino’s, Eastern Europeans, Asians, and Yanks of course. You will have to come visit me. You will be guest of honor in my bedroom!
Charlie: I’d love to visit! Scotty and I were just talking about wanting to take a trip to Europe and tour around a little bit! Ireland will definitely be on the list and I know you’ll make for an expert host and tour guide!

Patrick Darcy’s …. assets.

[Patrick Darcy]: What kinda guys most floats your boat?
Charlie: I like masculine men, usually a shaved head, tattoos and facial hair. Middle Eastern and Mediterranean or Spanish step to the front of the line… Hence my super sexual attraction to my partner Scotty Rage, he’s mostly Spanish and Irish with a touch of Native American… and you?
Patrick: I have to admit I love fit men. You can be fit and muscular or fit and lean. But you need to be fit! Having said that, I do love big muscle tops that are really just repressed ‘bottoms’. I’m sure you know the type? I can just imagine pinning their big tattooed bodies down and teaching them to embrace their inner power bottom…
[Patrick Darcy]: OK, Spot quiz: Rugby guys or US Football guys?
Charlie: Definitely rugby. The shorts are shorter, there’s less equipment to hide the sexy bodies and they tend to be rougher around the edges.
Patrick: Of course, I agree with you, rugby players are way hotter. Smarter too. Rugby is all about the brain.
[Charlie Harding]: What other sports do you think have the hottest participants? Ice dancing? Ping Pong?
Patrick: LOL Charlie you ride! You know I love spending my weekends playing ping-pong on the ice! But now that you mention it, Greco-roman wrestlers. They are hot!! Great bodies, full contact, aggressive. Did I mention great asses? I used to wrestle as a kid, you and I should grapple some time. I promise not to hurt you… much.
[Charlie Harding]: When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?
Patrick: Actually, only last year. I’ve been writing poems pretty much all my life, but only started erotic short stories recently. However, I’m an avid reader of sexy short stories. But I was struggling to find the type of stories that I really enjoy. So I thought what the hell, I’ll write my own! My preference is short, intense, vivid, explicit stories. Just a one hour read that is really visual. Something that makes me hard. You’ve read my work. How hard did you get? Kidding!
Charlie: You’re stories are very intense and aggressive! They definitely get my horny going! I’ve always been an avid reader, and written articles for magazines and such, so I decided it was time to try and get more creative. Given my industry expertise, I knew I wanted to write and be involved with stories that pushed boundaries in a sexual manner and ones that were especially intense with sexual energy.

Charlie Harding (photo credit: Edwin Pabon)

[Patrick Darcy]: Though, that can get you in trouble. I remember reading a ‘bonkbuster’ on the beach last summer. I was at ‘full mast”! Have you ever had a moment at totally the wrong time?
Charlie: I’m a very sexual person, so I’m “up and down” a lot. It never seems to fail, usually on airplanes, just as it’s time to deplane, I pop wood. Sometimes at the gym in the locker room, the scent of men, nakedness all around, guys glancing at each other, checking out the merchandise…
[Charlie Harding]: So what’s next for you? More Rugby stories? Any other scenarios you just can’t wait to write about?
Patrick: There will be 5 rugby stories in total. You’re going to hear a lot more about the two main characters, ‘Conor and Sean’. They are a real love/hate duo. It’s going to get messy!
After that, well I’m looking at writing a BDSM tale involving priests in a seminary and I have a story idea involving GAA players. You have no idea what GAA guys are, do you? The GAA is hurling and GAA football. All you need to know is that they wear tiny shorts and have amazing asses. I’ve seen your work. I know you’re a man who appreciates a fine ass!
Charlie: Those sound super fun! I can’t wait to read them.
[Patrick Darcy]: What about you? What more can we expect from Mr. Charlie Harding?
Charlie; Well, I’m exploring a few different creative opportunities right now including singing a couple of tracks and selling them on iTunes, my partner Scotty Rage and I just launched an artistic line of shirts we’re calling RAGE T’s available at www.charlesworld.com/store and I’m writing some fiction and erotica myself! I can’t wait to have you read it and see what you think! All that plus my business management for my mainstream entertainment industry clients keeps me full on busy! I’m also writing articles again for a few publications, so be on the lookout for those!
OK, enough chatting, it’s time for you to get back to sending me dirty pics…

Confessions of a Gay Rugby Player, book 1 – May 15^th

http://www.wildecity.com/books/gay-erotica/confessions-of-a-gay-rugby-player/#.UZFNk8rZ-wA

Star Irish rugby player, Conor Murphy, lives and breathes rugby. He spends his weekends playing rugby, drinking beer, and singing songs with his teammates. There is only one thing he loves more than rugby, and that is hot rugby players. But after the final whistle sounds, the real competition begins: the hunt for the hottest men.

Conor’s muscular body and roguish good looks ensure he can have his pick of the sexiest players. But what happens when this alpha male meets his match on and off the field?  Who will come out on top when he meets the horniest rugby players from the USA? Can two alpha males have the night of their lives?

Confessions of A Gay Rugby Player, book 2 – June 12^th

http://www.wildecity.com/books/gay-erotica/confessions-of-a-gay-rugby-player-2/#.UZFNzcrZ-wA

Rugby—it’s all about scoring, whether it’s on the field… or off.

While on tour in Copenhagen, it seems nothing is going to stop the Irish from bringing home the trophy and taking the spoils of victory. And while teammates Conor and Sean work up a sweat on the field to claim their prize, the real competition begins after the whistle blows, as the lads discover that Copenhagen is full of hot distractions.

To be sure, there is nothing rotten in the state of Denmark! In fact, Danish men are ripe for the picking. They love sex, have no inhibitions, and they want Irish meat.

But as Conor and Sean put their friendship aside in the pursuit of the hottest Danish players, the question is, will their friendship survive the real sport of man hunting?

About Patrick Darcy

Patrick Darcy, author with Wilde City Press

Hi, I’m Patrick Darcy. Rugby player, Irishman and writer of full strength gay erotica. By day I’m a young advertising executive, living in the beautiful city of Dublin, Ireland. Working for an international media company takes me all over the world and lets me get up to all kinds of mischief! For me, sex should be passionate, intense, sweaty, dirty fun and a no holds barred affair! That’s what I try to capture in my writing, and that’s where I like to take the reader. The reader should be in the heart of the action, to smell, feel, touch and taste. To be totally immersed in the eroticism of the story. Not all my stories are set in Dublin, but they all follow my heart’s desires. There are two big passions in my life: great sex and rugby. Quite often, these are combined! I love the thrill of competition, the power, the intensity, the brotherhood of rugby.

Oh, and I love being naked.

http://patrickdarcybooks.com/

https://www.facebook.com/patrick.darcy.75685

https://twitter.com/PatrickDarcy01

About Charlie Harding

Charlie Harding (photo credit: Edwin Pabon)

Charlie Harding joined the ranks of adult performers in February 2012. He came into the industry as an exclusive model for Falcon and Raging Stallion, and has since also filmed for Lucas Entertainment and men.com. During his time starring in porn, he has won multiple awards including “Best New Cummer,” “Best Daddy,” and “Best Ass Eater 2012″ and has been nominated for three Grabby awards (results to be determined as of this writing).  Charlie has also put his multiple college degrees to work building network of business ventures including event coordination and party promotion, a T-shirt line (RAGE T’s available at www.charlesworld.com/store), is recording vocal tracks, is sought after for appearances and has launched www.charliehardingpresents.com (his own line of personally selected gay erotica).  Charlie lives in Atlanta, Georgia with his partner and fiance, Scotty Rage.

blog http://charlieharding.blogspot.com/

website and store www.charlesworld.com/store/

As I said, I got pissed. So I did what I do when I get angry, I channel that anger and energy into a story. I changed details to fit my story, but at the heart of The Fight for Identity is a basis in fact. Pe’ Sla does exist. It is a real place. I took some liberties in its description, but it is sacred to the Sioux, and it was for sale. I’m happy to report that the auction was cancelled and I believe the land owners and the tribes have worked out an agreement for the purchase of the land. In this quest to retain some of their identity, the tribes have come up winners. But the fight goes on.

Blurb
Will Martin’s racist father, Kevin, hates Native Americans and wants to keep them off his property, never mind that part of the ranch land is sacred ground for the Sioux. When they request access for prayer, Kevin refuses—but Will doesn’t share his father’s views. Ever since he first saw Takoda Red Bird during one of the Sioux sacred ceremonies, Will has been fascinated. He grants the tribe access.
Takoda defies Kevin on a regular basis. He often sneaks to the sacred site on the rancher’s land for prayer and knows Will has seen him there. When, out of spite, Kevin places the land up for auction, Takoda knows it is time for action and bands together with Will to stop the sale.
In the fight that follows, Will gets more than he expected. He starts out helping the tribe preserve their identity… and ends up finding his own.
Purchase from Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3804

Excerpt:
When Will opened his eyes again, movement caught his eye. A lone man sat cross-legged on the ground, gently swaying back and forth. He didn’t seem to be wearing a shirt, his skin almost providing a type of camouflage against the red-brown land. Slowly, Will led Midnight down the far side of the rise, closer to where the man sat. As he approached and dismounted, the man’s posture stiffened, but he made no move to get up.

“If you’re here to kick me off, you can just go about your business,” the man said in a deeply rich voice.

“Why would I do that? You aren’t hurting anything,” Will said. He didn’t come too close. “You might get trampled by the cattle if they wander this way, but that’s the only kicking anyone is going to do.”

The man opened his eyes, and Will stared into the deepest set of brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

“I know you, and I know this horse,” the man said, and he slowly unfolded his legs and stood up, tall and proud. “I saw this horse and probably you a long time ago.” He met Will’s gaze. “I was coming to say hello when your grandfather pulled you away.”

Will swallowed as his gaze traveled over the man’s body before quickly returning to his face. He didn’t want to be too obvious, but damned if this guy wasn’t some sort of god come down to earth. “I remember you,” Will said, his mind conjuring up the memory. “I was watching the ceremony when I was a kid, and I remember you on your horse, riding bareback. I wondered at the time if I could ride like that on Midnight here, but I never tried it.”

“How do you know it was me?” the man asked.

“I remember the scar on your shoulder. The boy I saw had the same one, but it was fresher then. Now it’s an old wound, but not then.” Will met the man’s gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“Praying,” he answered. “This place is very special to me and my people. I come here sometimes to pray to the gods to help my people, but they don’t listen.” He sounded angry. “Instead, they let your father keep us away from this land and bar us from coming here.”

“He did that?” Will asked. Not that he was surprised. Thinking back, his father had probably stopped them from using the land as soon as Grandpa died. Even now, Will didn’t know why his father hated Native Americans so much, but he’d found out that the man he’d thought his father was through young teenage eyes turned out to be far different from the man Will saw through adult eyes.

“Yes. He stopped my people from coming here two years ago. Now I’m the only one who comes. Your father would call the police if he found me, but I don’t care. It’s more important to practice my people’s beliefs than it is to obey the wishes of some small-minded, hard-hearted white man.”

Will didn’t move, but Midnight began to stomp and pull on the reins. He was getting impatient. “My father isn’t so bad,” Will said.

“Then why does he keep my people from this place? We do no harm, and we only commune with nature and establish a connection to our heritage and customs. This place is sacred, and it figures into one of our earliest stories.”

“I know. My grandfather used to tell me the stories he knew. He said he had a friend who was Sioux, and he shared the stories with him. I think that’s why Grandfather understood and didn’t interfere with you.” Will began to move to appease Midnight. “He told me the day I watched you that you’re coming here was the same as us going to church.” The man nodded. “Then I give you and your people permission to come here and to hold your ceremony.”

Will led Midnight farther away and got ready to mount, but stopped when he heard the other man laughing. “I know it’s your father who owns the land, or thinks he owns the land. But no one can own nature or the land. Not even you.”

Will stomped over to where the man stood, knowing Midnight would stay. “Look, you can play the stereotypical stoic Indian all you want. But I meant what I said. I happen to believe you should be able to practice your beliefs. So you can either act like an ass or say thank you.” Will stared at the annoying man, wondering why he was bothering at all.

“Native American,” the man said. “I’m Native American, not Indian, and why should I say thank you for allowing my people to practice beliefs we’ve held and passed down for thousands of years?”

God, the man was a smartass. “Okay, then don’t practice your beliefs and stay away. It’s no skin off my nose,” Will said as he climbed back into the saddle. “I was trying to help.” Will turned Midnight’s head toward home and clicked his teeth to start the horse moving.

“You were,” the man said, and Will pulled Midnight to a stop. “I should be grateful. At least my people will be able to come here for the ceremony this year.” When Will nodded, the man extended his hand and said, “I’m Takoda Red Bird.”

“Will Martin,” he said as he shook the offered hand, once again looking the man over. He had to stop that, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“You know your father is going to raise hell if he finds out what you said,” Takoda added. “You don’t have to do this. Your father has something against my people, and none of us knows what it is, but you don’t have to provoke his temper. Your grandfather was a good man, and I believe he understood, but your father doesn’t. You don’t have to put yourself in harm’s way for us.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Takoda. I’ll deal with my father.” Will nudged Midnight, and he started up the rise. It was the right thing to do, and what his grandfather had done. When they reached the top, Will raised his hand in greeting, and Takoda did the same. As his grandfather would say, his dad would have two strokes and a hemorrhage if he found out what Will had done. But it was still the right thing to do. Too bad he had forgotten that no good deed goes unpunished.

In the land of womanizing men and swooning heroines, would there be a place for those of us know had no heroines? I write gay romance novels. My boys are sweet, smart, and beautiful though most are lost and hurting. They’re not what the New York Times is looking for in a best-selling romance. In fact, most people outside our LGBT family don’t know novels like ours exist.

So, why spend so much of my hard-earned royalties to attend such a conference?

Because the tide is turning.

Read the rest of the article on Queer Magazine Online.

So of course I have giveaway contests when I’ve got a new book releasing, right?  Everyone likes free stuff.  T-shirts, books, you name it.  Leave a comment, enter to win.  Last week, I got a very interesting comment from one reader on my website about the second book in the series:  “Just finished The Melody Thief, and I loved it! Even though I have no musical background, this story brought it all alive for me.”  Of course, I’m thrilled when I hear directly from a reader that they enjoyed it.  Even more that they have no music background and loved the book.

Which got me thinking (dangerous thing!)…  What is it about music that connects with people?  What is it in my books they can connect with?  I think Prelude answers both questions.  I hadn’t thought about it really, not at that level, when I was writing the book.  Let me explain.

I’m a former professional musician (violinist and opera singer).  Music is in my blood, in my bones, and my gut.  I hear music and I get an ear worm.  You know, like when you hear “It’s a Small World” at Disney and the stupid (yes stupid!) song repeats over and over ad infinitum in your mind?  Yep.  That’s me.  The protagonist in Prelude is me times a thousand.  David Somers, the fictional conductor of the Chicago Symphony, hears music in every person he meets and in every deep emotional reaction he has.  And that’s the key.  Music=emotion.

That’s what makes you get excited when your favorite song plays on the radio.  It’s what gives you goose bumps when you sing in a choir, perform in an orchestra, or just crank the volume up on your stereo and listen to the latest release from your favorite indie band.  It’s what chokes you up when you hear the national anthem played.  Emotion.  And that’s the connection I’m trying to share in the Blue Notes books.

You may not be able to read a note of music.  You may be tone deaf (my dad is tone deaf, but he still loves to listen to music).  You may love rock, classical, hip-hop, or rap.  Doesn’t matter.  The way humans connect to music is through their hearts and souls.  That’s what Prelude is all about.  David looks at Alex Bishop for the first time and sees only his tats and his rough exterior.  But when Alex plays his violin, David hears the music of Alex’s soul, and it forges a connection between them that’s strong enough to give David the courage to take a chance on getting hurt again.

The Blue Notes books aren’t about music.  Not really.  They’re about human emotion and the connections humans form.  Music as sex (yes, explicit sex, by the way).  Music as pain.  Music as joy.  Music as promise.  Music, as the bridge between human beings.

Want to read an excerpt from the first time David sees Alex? Click on this link (my website) and scroll down to the excerpt tab.-Shira

PS:  Want to win some Blue Notes swag?  I’ll be giving away winner’s choice of a paperback or ebook of one of the Blue Notes novels as well as a Blue Notes Series t-shirt (winner’s choice of cover) at the end of the Blue Notes blog tour.  To enter, comment on this post and the other blog posts to win!

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Prelude by Shira Anthony and Venona Keyes – available from Dreamspinner Press

Summary:  World-renowned conductor David Somers never wanted the investment firm he inherited from his domineering grandfather. He only wanted to be a composer. But no matter how he struggles, David can’t translate the music in his head into notes on paper.

When a guest violinist at the Chicago Symphony falls ill, David meets Alex Bishop, a last-minute substitute. Alex’s fame and outrageous tattoos fail to move David. Then Alex puts bow to string, and David hears the brilliance of Alex’s soul.

David has sworn off relationships, believing he will eventually drive away those he loves, or that he’ll lose them as he lost his wife and parents. But Alex is outgoing, relaxed, and congenial—everything David is not—and soon makes dents in the armor around David’s heart. David begins to dream of Alex, wonderful dreams full of music. Becoming a composer suddenly feels attainable.

David’s fragile ego, worn away by years of his grandfather’s disdain, makes losing control difficult. When David’s structured world comes crashing down, his fledgling relationship with Alex is the first casualty. Still, David hears Alex’s music, haunting and beautiful. David wants to love Alex, but first he must find the strength to acknowledge himself.

NOTE: Each Blue Notes novel is a standalone story and books in the series can be read in any order.

Want to buy the Blue Notes Series books? You can find them all here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=54_673

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In her last incarnation, Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira can be found on:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

Jamie Mayfield comes to Harmony Ink

My fallen angel, Jamie Mayfield, has finally turned his life around. After leaving the Sunshine Center and being rejected by his family, Jamie spent some time on the streets that had a profound effect on his life. Though happily married and safe, he wants to help other kids like himself who are struggling with being gay, being bullied, or even tossed out on the streets for something they didn’t choose. Because of that desire to help, he has started writing for Harmony Ink (the Dreamspinner Press young adult imprint).

Video Announcement of Jamie Mayfield

His first few books will be versions of the Little Boy Lost series and Aaron edited for a YA audience. The Little Boy Lost series, condensed to three novels, has been retitled Waiting for Forever. Aaon has been retitled A Broken Kind of Life. They will have new beautiful covers and include a line in the blurb that they were in fact adapted from existing JP Barnaby novels.

Waiting for Forever: Choices — coming June 2013 from Harmony Ink

Waiting for Forever: Destiny — Coming July, 2013 from Harmony Ink

Waiting for Forever: Determination — coming Aug 2013 from Harmony Ink

Why re-release existing books?

While I was writing the Little Boy Lost series, a guy emailed me and told me if he’d read the series as a teenager, he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself. Another told me the story of his own tree house and stint in a “pray the gay away” camp, and how Little Boy Lost helped him feel less alone. The best way to get these books into the hands of teenage boys who might be helped by their message is to put them in libraries and other channels where they have access. Harmony Ink is doing that.

How does this help kids?

I’ have worked out a deal with Harmony Ink that all of the Jamie Mayfield royalties are donated to an LGBT youth charity which helps find safe shelter for homeless kids, just like Jamie.

About Jamie Mayfield:

Jamie Mayfield and his fictional husband Brian McAllister on their wedding day.

A survivor of the ex-gay residential institution The Sunshine Center, fictional author Jamie Mayfield went on to find his voice in novels. Always a great lover of books, Jamie found his passion as he began to pursue a liberal arts degree in creative writing. An avid reader, he’s a fan of gay romance, suspense, and horror – though not all in the same novel.

Jamie lives in San Diego with his fictional husband, Brian. He writes YA fiction as a way to let kids know that they have an entire LGBT family all around them. Above all, he wants them to know that they are not alone. It does get better.

Jamie Mayfield is a fictional character from the acclaimed Little Boy Lost series by female author J. P. Barnaby.

Website: http://www.JamieMayfield.com

Facebook: http://www.Facebook.com/JamieMayfieldYA

Tumblr: http://jamiemayfieldya.tumblr.com

Twitter: http://www.Twitter.com/JamieMayfieldYA

Some of my favorite m/m romances are based on fairy tales—stories like Rapunzel (Locks of Love by Jordan Castillo Price), Beauty and the Beast (The Truth in the Dark by Amy Lane), The Little Mermaid (Blood in the Water by Megan Derr), Cinderella (Sinders and Ash by Tara Lain), and The Ugly Duckling (Duck! By Kim Dare and Fugly by K.Z. Snow).  The classic fairy tales have been told time and time again, in countless settings, with characters of every gender, race and sexual identity. It seems there’s always room for one more one my virtual shelf and at the top of my TBR list.

When I had a chance to come up with my own fairy tale themed story for a Torquere Press anthology, I couldn’t resist.  I spent several days thinking up with ideas and discarding them as ‘already done’ or ‘not interesting enough.’  The key to writing a fairy tale story is not just to try to find some new spin on the story but to find the dark, erotic heart of original tale and revisit that place.

I’ve always found the tale of Sleeping Beauty frightening.  There’s something so discomforting about the idea of being trapped in sleep, unable to awaken, stuck in an endless nightmare.  We’re all had times where we wanted to wake up from a dream and couldn’t.  That’s a horrible feeling.  Of course, normally it doesn’t last very long, but… what if it did?  What if you were truly trapped there?

“Before I Wake” is the story of a young man lost in a coma in a modern hospital.  Thanks to his love of movie The Lord of the Rings, the form Michael’s mind shapes around that nightmare is that of a deep dungeon filled with threatening shadows—another echo of the fairy tale theme.

To his rescue comes a glowing Gondor knight—Jonesy.  In the waking world, Jonsey is only a nurse’s aide, a big galoot with a tough exterior and a soft heart who’s befriended Michael’s sleeping form after he is abandoned by family and friends.  In Michael’s nightmare, though, Jonesy takes on epic proportions.  Can Jonesy help Michael escape the dungeon?  Since this is a romance you can probably guess the answer to that.  J

This story is short (8000 words) but I think, I hope, it packs a lot into those 30 pages.  I would love to hear from anyone who reads it.

Before I Wake by Eli Easton

Nurse’s aide Jonesy is drawn to Michael, the comatose victim of a hate crime whose homophobic parents have rejected him. Jonesey sits with Michael, reads to him, and encourages Michael to wake up. Jonesy may not be the smartest guy in the world, but he knows Michael needs him. And if he also thinks Michael is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, well, Jonesy knows better than to hope for things that can never happen. Michael is lost in a dungeon, a dark and terrifying place. His only comfort is the sound of a man’s voice. Can Michael come back? Does he want to? Maybe Jonesy can convince him that some things are worth living for.

About Eli Easton

Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, an organic farmer and a profound sleeper, Eli is happily embarking on yet another incarnation as a m/m romance author. 

As an avid reader of such, she is tinkled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor, melting hotness and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story.  She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time.  She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, three bulldogs, three cows and six chickens.  All of them (except for the husband) are female, hence explaining the naked men that have taken up residence in her latest fiction writing.

Her website in www.elieaston.com

You can email her at eli@elieaston.com

Tom Wolfe with one of the horses

Usually, I write about my adventures with lots of gory details about experiences with porn stars. This post won’t be like that. First, because I didn’t spend the weekend with “Tom Wolfe”—in fact, neither “Tom Wolfe” nor “JP Barnaby” were anywhere around. It was just Trish spending time with her friend, the guy behind “Tom Wolfe”, who in many ways is nothing like his bad ass leather and chains porn persona. He’s a wonderful, kind, big-hearted Midwestern farm boy who is quick to smile, quick to laugh, and quick to wrap you in a hug when you need one. Second, and more importantly, because this weekend was very personal and he lets very few people into that side of his life, and his home, I won’t betray his confidence by talking about it.

I tell people that I’m shy, but my close friends—the ones who know me as Trish instead of “JP”, understand that I have social anxiety disorder. I control that at events by becoming a different person. It became much easier to dissociate myself from Trish and become “JP” with the addition of my good friend Drake Jaden, who I like to use as a role model. Drake loves “JP”—she’s fun and flirty and fearless, just like he is. As one person on Facebook put it (to my utter shock, actually) “JP is the rock star author with the porn entourage”. Trish is nothing like that. At all. I’ll never forget my mom telling me that I should watch Big Bang Theory, because I WAS Sheldon. The first time I saw it, I thought to myself – Jesus, is that really how people see me? It really hit home when they started playing chess on a Star Trek 3D chessboard that was sitting in my closet. With Tom, as we hung out, I spouted off all kinds of geeky shit that right now I don’t even remember. It was something about quantum mechanics and the size of a person’s head in relation to their intelligence. Seriously, in my head, I guess if I can’t be cool or funny, at least I can be smart. Yes, I’m a geek—I’m a total spaz—and nothing proved that better than this weekend when I was forced into a social situation by a well-meaning friend without the cloak of “JP” and found I had a complete inability to cope despite how wonderful and accepting his family was, or how beautiful and amazing the farm was.

Cute little calf

To someone who isn’t shy, or who doesn’t have an issue with social anxiety, I’m sure I appeared rather challenged. Which is funny since my IQ is in the top 2% of the nation—a fact that I try to console myself with when I have to have a conversation and absolutely nothing will come out. When I’m around strangers with no one to buffer me, I have a real problem talking. When I’m upset and confronted head on about something, I can’t even speak, I can’t make eye contact. It’s frustrating and humiliating. For anyone who hasn’t experienced it—my brain kind of locks and responses just won’t come. What you’ll get from me is a nod, a shake of the head, or “I’m fine”, just so I can get out of the situation and try to make it stop. If it gets bad enough, I’ll actually begin to cry uncontrollably.

So, why talk about it?

People who meet “JP” at author or porn events or see my pics and posts on Facebook probably can’t reconcile my social anxiety issues with the person they’ve met. So, why shatter the illusion? Why shed light on yet another one of my psychological disorders? Because talking about them helps—it helps me, and it helps the people who read my books and the posts on my psychological dysfunctions and say – hey, that’s me. The dedication of A House of Cards speaks to the monster in my head that dozens of people could identify with, and they made contact with me to tell me that knowing they weren’t alone helped. So, maybe if I talk about the social anxiety and how I cope, it will help other people to cope. I have to take comfort that the shit in my head will help someone—that all the crap that’s happened to me in life to make me what I am had some Goddamned purpose.

So, what do I do?

1. When I can, I have someone with me, who I trust, to buffer me from strangers. Someone to calm me down when I start to panic. Those closest to me know, sometimes intuitively, not to leave me with strangers. At GRL, I have Rowan and Jodi who both understand about my anxiety. At events like Hustlaball and Grabbys, I have guys who get me (Howard or Drake, usually), and that helps.

2. I become a different person. “JP” can sit in front of a standing room only Q&A and answer questions somewhat intelligently. Trish would have been in the bathroom in tears. It’s not easy, and I’m usually exhausted and emotional when the event is over. I don’t know why it works, because essentially “JP” is still me, but it feels like if I make mistakes, if I fuck up – “JP” would take the blame, not Trish. It’s just another psychological game I play with myself in order to get through life, I guess.

3. To be perfectly blunt, alcohol helps. I had several before climbing on stage (flanked by Jodi and Drake) to present at Grabbys last year. I had a six-pack of at a bonfire Tom threw for me while I was there. So that when he finally came over and took my hand to lead me over to the fire and hang out with his friends, I could actually move. If you’ve met me, you know I don’t tolerate alcohol well, so in that quantity, I was surprised I could even walk.

4. I sit in the corner and read. When I can’t become “JP” or have no one around to hold on to, I dissociate from the situation and read on my phone, keeping my mind focused on something other than panic.

When I’m unable to do any of those things, I hide—physically. I remove myself from the situation. Usually, by that time, the uncontrollable crying is right there, and I try to get the fuck away from people before it starts.

Bonfire

Has it gotten better? Yes. With a larger group of friends than I’ve ever had before, I’m almost always with someone who I can focus on. As “JP” gains more friends and fans, her confidence grows and she’s more equipped to get through events. For example, the first GRL in NOLA, I never left the hotel. I didn’t go to LaFitte in Exile, I didn’t sign up for events, mostly I stood in the corner and begged people not to talk to me. GRL in Albuquerque was different. I’d learned how to become “JP”, downed a couple of drinks, donned that purple corset, and danced with the gogo boys—because that’s what “JP” does. In all honestly, RT will be the real test. Thousands of strangers, the biggest romance authors in the world, and a conference where no one’s ever heard of JP Barnaby or gives a shit about what she writes or who she hangs out with. I don’t envy my sweet Jodi that weekend. Not one little bit.

So, for those of you who read this post and say “Jesus, that’s me”, I get you. There are ways to cope with it, you just have to find the right tools for your arsenal, hone them, and use them as effectively as you can. If you can’t cope on your own, there are drugs and therapies that you can try. The drugs make me sluggish and slow. I can’t effectively promote myself and my books on them, so I had to find another way to deal.

Please remember that no matter what your issue—shyness, social anxiety, the aftermath of sexual trauma, depression—there is someone out there who goes through it too. If you were alone, these diagnoses would have no names. There are enough people who live through the same things you do for there to be an entire classification for it.

You are not alone.

Xoxox,

JP Barnaby