Frothing Author: New Releases at MLR Press

Frothing Author: New Releases at MLR Press: New Releases week ending 09-23-11 at MLR Press

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) I

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) I: The winner is up for the last round of slot 1, and now Elisa begins Round 2. The first group of book covers is posted for viewing and voting...

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round One Winners

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round One Winners: Yes, the first round of the Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest has ended with six finalists selected. You can see them at Elisa Rolle's Live...

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XX

Slot 19 has a winner, and new covers are posted for viewing and voting. See the artwork for Slot 20...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings - Rainbow Awards Cover Contest

Plethora of Art XIX

Slot 18 has a winner. New covers are posted for Slot 19. Time to view and vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Elisa Reviews Furlough Bridge

Frothing Author: Elisa Reviews Furlough Bridge: ELISA ROLLE has read and reviewed my World War II Christmas manlove tale, Furlough Bridge.

Here's part of what she has to say:

I...

New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XVIII

Package of book covers number 17 is done. Open the page for slot 18, a new set of covers awaits your vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

frequently felt*: 100 Whores

frequently felt*: 100 Whores: A buyer went to the St Marks Bookshop in New York's East Village and chose my 100 Whores to read, far out! (scroll down)

via Marty After ...

frequently felt*: 100 Whores

frequently felt*: 100 Whores: A buyer went to the St Marks Bookshop in New York's East Village and chose my 100 Whores to read, far out! (scroll down)

via Marty After ...

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid: Pittsburgh native Billy Conn first boxed professionally in 1935 at age 16. He lost that one and a couple more, but by 1937 had developed...

Frothing Author: JJ Said 082011

Frothing Author: JJ Said 082011: Jasper's the pen name I use when writing hetero fiction with female dominants. In my tale from the old American West, The Black Pouch Crusad...

Plethora of Art XVII

Round 1's Slot 16 of the book cover contest is over. Time to vote for a new group of covers...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Imagination Is Intelligence With An Erection: Thompson confronting the object of his contempt - ...

Imagination Is Intelligence With An Erection: Thompson confronting the object of his contempt - ...

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome: "From the Urban Dictionary : Carnal Tunnel Syndrome - A tingling or numbness or a sharp, piercing pain shooting through the wrist as a di..."

Frothing Author: JJ Say 081311

Frothing Author: JJ Say 081311: "Sorry for my absence the past few days. Took a little vacation time from webbing. Maybe this will make it up to you. A snippet from ..."

Plethora of Art XVI

Slot 15 has a winner. Now, view the next group of book covers and vote for you favorites. Time for Slot 16.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

frequently felt*: Mr. Tambourine Man

frequently felt*: Mr. Tambourine Man: "Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
..."

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XV

Slot 14 has a winner. Slot 15 needs one. Time to vote for book covers...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

GET BUSY!

Hey, Did You Happen to See

the most beautiful pose in the world?

He makes movies at BOUND GODS.COM

Meet MLR Press Authors

An Evening of Gay Men's Romance at Giovanni's Room

Philadelphia, PA (August 12, 2011) Join MLR Press at Giovanni's Room for an
up close and personal book signing featuring the award winning authors of some of the best in contemporary gay fiction.

The evening will include readings by: Victor Banis, Ally Blue, James Buchanan, Z.A. Maxfield, William Neale, and Rick R. Reed. Selections from their current releases will showcase a variety of heat, from sweet romance to scorching erotica, and genre ranging from horror through mystery, BDSM, humor and more.

Giovanni's Room, founded in 1973, is the oldest gay bookstore in the US.
Housed in historic buildings from the 1800s, Giovanni's intimate setting and comfortable ambiance allows readers and authors to connect one-on-one, providing a unique experience. Attendees can mingle with their favorite author or discover new books and authors.

Owned by best-selling, award-winning author Laura Baumbach, MLR Press offers the highest quality stories to readers of gay fiction and erotic romance.

MLR Press titles include multiple award-winning and Lambda nominated books such such as the Donald Strachey Mystery Series by Richard Stevenson and The Golden Age of Gay Fiction edited by Drewey Wayne Gunn, a Benjamin Franklin Award winner. Books from MLR Press take readers on amazing adventures through the creative minds of a small, select group of bright, uniquely talented authors and artists.

Friday, August 12, 2011

5:30 to 7:00 pm

Giovanni's Room

345 S. 12th Street

Philadelphia, PA

Also attending and signing books: Laura Baumbach, Kimberly Gardner, Ethan Day, Jet Mykles, Diana DeRicci, Taylor Donovan, Liz Strange, DH Star, David Juhren, and Karenna Colcroft.

For additional information:
GIOVANN'S ROOM

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

frequently felt*: Daring Beth

frequently felt*: Daring Beth: "I love this picture because I rarely see women with my body type - bigger (but not SSBBW) with a double belly in pornish/nude type photos...."

frequently felt*: 'Show me your nuts'

frequently felt*: 'Show me your nuts': "Woman to face trial over fake testicles The police chief of a small South Carolina town will ask a jury to decide if a woman broke the st..."

Plethora of Art XIV

Round 13 - toast. New covers fresh and primed are posted for your view and vote. It's Round 14 of the Rainbow Awards Cover Contest at...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art XIII

Slot 12 is history. New covers are up for viewing and voting. GO!

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Friday New Releases!

MLR Press book releases this week include my 1938 ghostly manlove tale, GREEN RIVER.

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen Reads Jardonn

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen Reads Jardonn: "Two books in one week, as a matter of fact, and it's always rewarding to get the perspective of a man who has read thousands. First up, Da..."

HOT SUMMER DAYS for m/m romance readers

So over on Goodreads, I am a member of a readers/authors group, a private group specifically made for those who enjoy m/m romance, aptly called "M/M Romance". The mods of the 3000+ member group got together and come up with a Hot Summer Days contest where members could write an open letter to the authors on the group requesting a story centered around one of their fave erotic photos the group has in a folder. They could even set up the scenario if so desired. The stories are being put up on the group daily since July 1 and by the time they're all posted, the combined word count will come close to 1 million words. Afterward, the stories will be combined into one anthology and made available for FREE.

I accepted reader Jacqueline's challenge to write a story based on this photo and with the instruction "...this man is his muse" and qualifications: HEA and more story over sex.

Here's a snippet of my story:

Tags: short story, deaf, m/m, gay fiction, gay romance, fantasy, anthology

Genres: Fantasy

Content Alerts: N/A

Alipio by Bryl R. Tyne

(He who suffering does not affect)

For Jacqueline

Blurb: Incapable of wooing this man, I stand in awe of his presence, hoping to one day carry myself half as regally, for he has the self-worth of a majestic oak, the harmlessness of a feather, and the heart of a lion. His name is Alipio...and I am hopelessly in love.

Excerpt: Alipio. Every Tuesday afternoon since that first day, his name had rolled off the walls of my mind, blanketing me in peace, guiding my artist's hand. His master called him Alipio. I called him perfect.

No god possessed finer lines...or eyes more soulful.

I was sure of my assessment too as I strained the edge of my charcoal, and felt the energy transfer from Alipio's stare into my own. My left shoulder tensed, tapping that power, feeding it along my arm to fuel the creativity of my hand as it moved in sweeping motions across the canvas.

Coming to myself minutes later, I stepped back from my work in progress, looked toward the front of the room. Alipio remained motionless upon the ladder. I caught the briefest flicker in his irises, and his sure but questioning gaze met mine as if to ask, "Is it done?"

I dropped my stare to my canvas. What I saw there fed my insatiable thoughts of inadequacy. No, I was far from finished...and from the rough lines that I'd gone over at least a hundred times and still not gotten right, I determined the drawing would never be. Surely, my hands could never do justice to one as fine as Alipio. Heat drew my attention upward, my own or the burn of another's stare, back to the face of my muse. Jaw tense on that face of stone, I noted one corner of his perfect mouth crook higher, by just a touch...a smile meant just for me. Cool air from the studio's one open window crept across the back of my sweat-dampened shirt. I shivered, wondering what his master would do to him if he discovered Alipio's unfaithfulness. It was then I realized that I would never be happy until I had Alipio for my own.

I'd been in the market for a new slave for some time, give or take a couple of years. For the longest time, none had satisfied me enough to lead me to purchase any of them. All had left me bereft of emotion, save frustration. Not since my days as a much younger man had I allowed loneliness to guide my decisions. Of course, thirty-three was by far not "old," not by any means. The air left my lungs, dissatisfied, hollow. Alipio had ruined me; I would blame him. Since first setting eyes on the man who belonged to another, I could not recall one happy moment in my life...

~***~

Stories are being posted daily and group membership continues to grow. So hop on over to Goodreads and request to join the M/M Romance group so you too can enjoy Hot Summer Days!

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Amber Quill Press. Check out Bryl's bi-monthly column: My Way   Find out more about the author at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio, Bryl R Tyne's Blog, and Defying Description.

Friday New Releases!

Friday New Releases! at MLR PRESS

Plethora of Art XII

Slot 11 has a winner. Slot 12 needs one. Go view all the book covers and vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

frequently felt*: I Can See Boobies

frequently felt*: I Can See Boobies

frequently felt*: Dildo sport

frequently felt*: Dildo sport: "Dildo Sport from Paulilu Productions on Vimeo ."

Frothing Author: It's New Release Day at MLR Press

Frothing Author: It's New Release Day at MLR Press: "Two short story ebooks from William Maltese and his Boys Reformatory Series. Alan and Joey Gay erotic fiction, Maltese-style. Hot!"

Plethora of Art XI

Round 10 is a dead horse. New covers for round 11 are up and kicking. Go view. Go vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and Furlough Bridge

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and Furlough Bridge: "Yes-sir, looks like Amos Lassen is on a Jardonn kick of late. His review of my short story ebook, Furlough Bridge tells the world that Wilt..."

frequently felt*: Welcome!

frequently felt*: Welcome!: "- and the Frequently Felt family continues to grow: let's have a firm, wet, arousing welcome to two brand new editors and contributors:   J..."

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and GRIT

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and GRIT: "I'm always happy to see when Amos Lassen has read and reviewed one of my books. This time, it's GRIT, the Dirty Thirties, erotic manlove nov..."

Plethora of Art X

Round 9's winner is announced... a new set of covers are posted. View and vote... time for Round 10.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art IX

Slot 8 has a winner and new collection of covers is posted for your voting pleasure.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Gladiator Cheated

This from LiveScience via Yahoo News: Just goes to show that referees on the take is nothing new and that history is constantly being modified.

Roman Gladiator's Gravestone Describes Fatal Foul

An enigmatic message on a Roman gladiator's 1,800-year-old tombstone has finally been decoded, telling a treacherous tale.

The epitaph and art on the tombstone suggest the gladiator, named Diodorus, lost the battle (and his life) due to a referee's error, according to Michael Carter, a professor at Brock University in St. Catharines, Canada. Carter studies gladiator contests and other spectacles in the eastern part of the Roman Empire.

He examined the stone, which was discovered a century ago in Turkey, trying to determine what the drawing and inscription meant. [Top 10 Weird Ways We Deal With the Dead]

His results will be published in the most recently released issue of the Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik(Journal for Papyrology and Ancient Epigraphics).

Tombstones talk

The tombstone was donated to the Musee du Cinquanternaire in Brussels, Belgium, shortly before World War I. It shows an image of a gladiator holding what appear to be two swords, standing above his opponent who is signalling his surrender. The inscription says that the stone marks the spot where a man named Diodorus is buried.

"After breaking my opponent Demetrius I did not kill him immediately," reads the epitaph. "Fate and the cunning treachery of the summa rudis killed me."

The summa rudis is a referee, who may have had past experience as a gladiator.

The inscription also indicates Diodorus was born in and fought in Amisus, on the south coast of the Black Sea in Turkey.

Though Carter has examined hundreds of gladiator tombstones, this "epitaph is completely different from anything else; it's telling a story," he told LiveScience.

The final fight

The story the tombstone tells took place about 1,800 years ago when the empire was at its height, its borders stretching from Hadrian's Wall in England to the Euphrates River in Syria.

Gladiator games were popular spectacles, many of them pitting two men against each other. Although deaths from wounds were common, the battles were not the no-holds-barred fights to the death depicted by Hollywood, said Carter.

"I believe that there are a number of very detailed rules involved in regulating gladiatorial combat," Carter said.

Though the exact rules are not well understood, some information can be gleaned from references in surviving texts and art.

For starters, most, if not all, of the fights were overseen by the summa rudis.

Among the rules he enforced was one in which a defeated gladiator could request submission, and if submission was approved by the munerarius (the wealthy individual paying for the show), the contestant could leave the arena without further harm.

Another rule that appears to have been in place was that a gladiator who fell by accident (without the help of his opponent) would be allowed to get back up, pick up his equipment and resume combat.

Death of Diodorus

It's this last rule that appears to have done in Diodorus. Carter interprets the picture of the gladiator holding two swords to be a moment in his final fight, when Demetrius had been knocked down and Diodorus had grabbed a hold of his sword.

"Demetrius signals surrender, Diodorus doesn't kill him; he backs off expecting that he's going to win the fight," Carter said.

The battle appears to be over. However the summa rudis — perhaps interpreting Demetrius' fall as accidental, or perhaps with some ulterior motive — thought otherwise, Carter said.

"What the summa rudis has obviously done is stepped in, stopped the fight, allowed Demetrius to get back up again, take back his shield, take back his sword, and then resume the fight."

This time Diodorus was in trouble, and either he died in the arena or Demetrius inflicted a wound that led to his death shortly thereafter.

This event would have happened before a crowd of hundreds, if not thousands, of people in a theater or in part of an athletic stadium converted into a sort of mini- Colosseum.

After Diodorus was dead, the people who created his tombstone (probably family or friends) were so upset, Carter suggests, that they decided to include some final words on the epitaph:

"Fate and the cunning treachery of the summa rudis killed me."

Suspicious Diagnosis goes E

As in Electronic. Ebook formats include Kindle compatible and sell for $5.99 USD at the publisher's web site, MLR PRESS.

You'll find an excerpt to read there, AND, the ebook has a new cover. See?

Another text excerpt and an audio mp3 from the book can be accessed from my web site here: Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com

Speaking of excerpts, here's a shortie:

I blame him. I thank him. I love him because he makes me secure. Hate him because he makes me vulnerable to my loving him so much. I shudder at the thought of losing him. Tremble with the notion of him leaving me. For upheaval. For a change of scenery. For anything, or another. I recognize fear as the price for keeping him, but I'd prefer to use plastic. A credit card, a pay-as-you-go, a lay-away plan, a time share. Time erodes doubts, but never fully eradicates. My only consolation is my suspicion that he suffers same as I do. I hope he suffers.

Plethora of Art VIII

Slot 7 results are in. Slot 8 covers are now posted for viewing and voting...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art VII

Round 1 Slot 6 is a wrap. New covers are posted for viewing and voting. It's Slot 7 at...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Love Hurts...

Or so the 1975 song of the same name claims.

Of course, by definition, it's not really the love that does the hurting, but rather one's reaction to it. As the timeless lyrics of the Nazareth song suggest though, love can leave one with more of a mess to sort through than he arrived with. In my latest release, Rite of Passage, novelist John Ashley Price deals with such adversity.


In love, he did what many of us do or have done and trusted blindly, and he ended up in the aftermath of love gone wrong. Broke, penniless, and with nothing but his name, John now suffers from anxiety so strong anytime he gets near anyone "interested," he doesn't know how to cope with the adverse reactions. Just to be around a man who shows interest sends John's body into instant fight or flight mode--a panic attack.


Many of the following physical reactions are known to be felt when one experiences a panic attack:

palpitations
slow heart beat
dizziness
difficulty breathing
shaking
fear of losing control or dying
sweating, chills, hot flashes
racing thoughts
stomach pain
numbness in limbs

And John get to experience them all. I put the poor man through the wringer in Rite of Passage. But he'll learn that not all love hurts before the book is through. Take a chance. Go along with him on his journey.

 Rite or Passage by Bryl R. Tyne
 Dreamspinner Press

ISBN-13:	978-1-61581-926-3
Pages:	80
Cover Artist:	Dan Skinner/Cerberus Inc.

Blurb:


Forty-one-year-old John Ashley Price was a Western writing superstar until his accountant stole his heart—and everything else he owned. Now, unable to write and suffering from debilitating panic attacks, all he wants is to start over someplace where dropping off the radar is the norm. Someplace he won’t meet anyone. A place where writing should come easy. Hence his relocation to Divide, Colorado.

Of course, John didn’t count on Pat Smith—or Pat’s determination and raw sex appeal. Pat has his sights set on winning John’s heart as well as his trust, and he’s making serious headway… until John learns the truth. Just how does Pat know so much about him?



Excerpt:

BELLY full, I carried in enough wood to start a good fire, ran myself an extra-large glass of water, added a few ice cubes, and headed back upstairs to write.

Well, Sheriff Chad Hardy, where were we? I got comfortable, noticing the late afternoon sun out the room's single window.

You like sunsets, Chad Hardy?

He didn't, and he cemented the fact by whipping his horse around, effectively placing his back to a horizon of reds and golds.

Not even in the end? I had to ask, I mean, most cowboys rode off into the sunset at the end of my books.

No? Not even in the end. He didn't believe in sunsets.

I couldn't blame him…

…And closed my laptop, stood, stretched, wondering how in the hell Carol had gotten this desk up here. No doubt, my “neighborly neighbor” had a part to play in it. I lifted the front left corner and carried it forward and to my right until I could sit peacefully with the setting sun at my back. Less than a minute later, I was typing away.

Words turned into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and so forth until I had two pages of what I considered “good words.” I leaned back in my chair, feeling rather smug. Fingers laced across my chest, I caught movement in the mirror opposite the room's solitary window and felt the frown that I was sure creased my forehead as I honed in on the streak of movement in the reflection….

I was on my feet, before I could think to move, and looking out my window.

Thunk!

Tracking the only movement I could see through the trees, I watched the wood split—the axe stick—he lifted the entire getup, block of wood and all, and swung it over his shoulder, then back to the stump. Three even pieces toppled to the ground in different directions.

Shirtless, the man kept a rhythm. Judging from the force and repetition of his swings, if I was closer, I was certain I would've noticed the sheen of sweat coating his skin. Through a hundred-plus yards of thinly populated trees, I spied, mesmerized.

Corded muscles drawn taut. The swing. The snap. The release. The quiver….

Okay, okay. I could see his ripped form in my mind's eye only, but I was no less content to lean on that sill and watch my neighbor from a distance. His intention was clear—at least, to me—grab the new guy's attention and keep it. I mean, who in his right mind chopped wood wearing only jeans and a cowboy hat in fifty-degree weather?

Exactly.

I broke my concentration to glance over my shoulder at my laptop, but in the next heartbeat, I was back at that window with my mind fathoms beneath any gutter.

“Well, Sheriff Hardy, looks like you've met your match.”

Sweat beaded at my temples, accumulated across the back of my neck. I adjusted the shrinking fly of my jeans, ran my tongue over dry lips; but sandpaper never moistened anything. With only one thought in mind, I leaned harder on the sill—definitely been awhile since any man’s held my interest.

Sadly, the last one I could recall by name was Mark. The excitement left my lungs in a single, solitary sigh; I even gained a bit of slack in the crotch of my jeans at the thought.

How deflating.

The more I dwelled, the tighter my chest got, and I turned away from the window. Wasn't bad, per se, that I thought of the man, but he'd affected my actions… and my reactions. Bastard had no right.

I pulled myself together, reminded myself the fewer complications the better. “Looks like you win, after all, Chad Hardy.” Time to concentrate on the one man in my life who hadn't given me a shovel full of shit.

I retook my chair, placed my fingers on the keyboard, and waited. Within seconds, I was once again typing away. Seemed all my character needed was some competition to spur him into action.

Like most of my attempts to write lately, though, this one proved a lost cause, also. I hadn't gotten a full page down when my mind drifted back to the scene outside my window. By the shadows cast on the far wall, the sun had all but disappeared, and the wood chopping had ceased a good while ago. I closed my laptop and hung my head, debating—Jim Beam or Jack Daniel’s—which one was the quickest route out of misery?

Purchase Link

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Amber Quill Press. Check out Bryl's bi-monthly column: My Way   Find out more about the author at: bryltyne.com

 

This post is X-posted at The Rainbow Studio, Bryl Tyne's Blog, and Defying Description.

 

Plethora of Art VI

Slot five over. Slot six now... HERE!

Elisa Rolle My Reviews and Ramblings

View and vote.

Danube Divide is Free

This week's free e-book read at MLR Press is Danube Divide, my homoRoman historical set in the Eastern Empire of 378 CE.

There's an epic battle between Goths and Romans, a mass migration of refugees crossing the Danube, a pretend crucifixion for purpose of mansex, a real crucif... WTH is wrong with me? IT'S FREE! No need to pester you with my sales pitch.

Get Danube Divide now until Sunday June 5th at the MLR PRESS SITE.

Look at top of MLR's page for a small picture of this big picture:

Right click on the little picture, save the file to your hard drive and it's yours forever.

Ride the Machine: While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbe...

Ride the Machine: While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbe...: "While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbeast 's creatures/vehicles are able to walk only using the wind and wind powered pneumatics..."

Plethora of Art V

We have a winner from slot 4, and we have a new batch of covers over which to ogle and vote... here:

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art IV

The winner from slot 3 is announced, and book covers for slot 4 are now posted. Entertain your eyes and your brain, and then vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Furlough Bridge and Forrest Barton

Seeing those service banners, that's what made me vulnerable. A blue star banner hanging in the window means somebody from that household is serving overseas in the armed forces. A gold star means somebody gave their life while serving. Either way, it is not possible to look at one of those banners without feeling something.

Back in December of 1944 what I felt was frustration. I couldn't hang one of those blue star banners in my window to honor my Ernie. Never mind that he was somewhere in Europe with the U.S. Third Army. Never mind that one week prior the Germans had launched their offensive in Belgium, known to history as the Battle of the Bulge, and that Ernie soon would be, or for all I knew could have already been, in the middle of that fight -- I could not display a banner to honor him. Jane Doe could hang one for her husband John or son Jim, but Forrest Barton could not do the same for Ernest Surbaugh.

Technically, I suppose I could have, but just think of the questions. "You're a widower with no children, so who's the banner for?"

For the man I love, that's who.

Now, there's a 1944-vintage proclamation made to raise a few eyebrows.

No, all I could do was listen on the radio and read the newspapers for the latest reports. I could fret. I could be proud, and I could honor him in my own way, nice and private.

The first stage was planned. My Christmas tradition, I laid a wreath at the base of the memorial honoring my war, The Great War, or if you wish, World War I. My prayer was for men who served with me -- those who came home; those who didn't -- and because the ongoing German offensive in Belgium so effectively surprised those of us on the homefront as well as Allies on the battlefield, I asked the men who served with me to send their strength to the men currently under siege.

Prayers offered, I strolled to the chest-high wall fronting the memorial. Down below less than half a mile away, the Union Station train depot was a buzz of activity. It was the night before Christmas Eve and trains waiting to depart or having just arrived filled every terminal. From that moment forward, nothing that happened to me was planned.

My bladder needed relief. Union Station was the nearest building with facilities open and available. A soldier in green Army coat standing next to the wall at the last urinal in a row resembled, in profile, Ernest Surbaugh. My Ernie.

Sure, there was no way in hell Ernie could have been in Kansas City that night, but this was one of those "seeing what I wanted to see" things -- one of those "hope against hope" deals, and I had to know for sure. That's why I struck up a conversation with the soldier who turned out to be Vernon Gower. That's why I believed his story that he'd missed his connecting train home. That's why I drove him in my automobile the one hundred miles to get him there. That's why I kept driving even as his story, little by little, fell apart, and despite my faltering faith in him, I continued driving all the way until we were parked in front of his little matchbox house in Lexington, Missouri.

I did it because he looked like Ernie. I was vulnerable. The service banners made me so, but for good purpose.

Pvt. Vernon Gower made it home for Christmas. His corpse was lying frozen in a Belgian field, but his wife and children got his gifts nonetheless, courtesy of me. I bought them. I delivered them, and then I plucked his family from the squalor in which they were living and drove them to Kansas City so they could start their lives anew.

Maybe you don't believe in ghosts. I'm okay with that, and you can call me crazy if you like, but I attest to having seen two spirits in my lifetime. One living under a river bridge in 1938 at the WPA camp where I first met Ernest Surbaugh. The other a victim of the Malmedy Massacre who needed a man of this world to give his family some sort of Christmas.

And what was my reward for my good deed on Pvt. Gower's behalf? Just before leaving for his wherever destination, just after midnight on Christmas Eve, 1944, Vernon Gower assured me that my Ernie was all right. Ernest marched with Patton's Third Army in a dash toward Belgium to break the German lines and relieve the Allied soldiers under seige.

Pvt. Gower's gift to me far outweighed anything I could and did do for his wife and children. Vernon Gower gave me peace. I clinged to what he told me. Believed every word, and around the time Soviet soldiers entered Berlin, May of 1945, I received my first letter from Ernie since Vernon Gower had said what he'd said. All was confirmed, and soon afterward, Ernie came home for good.

My next Christmas, and all those which followed, were spent with a man of this world. One I could touch, hold, breathe in and taste. A man I could keep as mine until the end of my days. My soldier. Ernest Surbaugh.

by

Jardonn Smith

MLR PRESS

Read excerpt HERE.

Plethora of Art III

The highest number of votes received in Slot 2 was for Black Gold, cover by P.I. Nunn.

Now, time to vote in Slot 3 and your link is here:

Elisa Rolle - My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art II

The next group of book covers are now posted at Elisa Rolle's site for viewing and voting. Anyone can play. All are welcome. Link is here:

Elisa Rolle's Rainbow Awards Cover Contest

NEW RELEASE: Class Distinctions at 35% Off This Week Only!

I'm pleased to announce my latest release, a romantic ebook short from Amber Allure (the GLBT imprint of Amber Quill Press) called "Class Distinctions."

This week only, the story is available for a 35% discount from the publisher for all ebook formats (for Kindle, choose .prc). Click here to get your copy.

"Class Distinctions" will be available soon for Amazon Kindle, Nook, and other ebook readers.

Here are the details for "Class Distinctions":

Kyle and Jonathan were perfect for each other, the two halves that, once together, made a whole. And then one snowy night just before Parents' Weekend on the campus of Hamilton University, Kyle drops a bomb: he's breaking up with Jonathan.

Class Distinctions follows the couple through the stormy (in more ways than one) night that ensues. Why has Kyle suddenly decided to throw away something so precious and good? The answers lie in their backgrounds, and will gradually come to light as a winter blizzard rages around the young couple. Their tortured paths bring them to the covered bridge where their love had come to life on a hot summer day. But will the warmth of that memory and the heat of the love they once shared be enough to outclass the storm, and more importantly, bring them back together?

Excerpt:
...He had come to the bridge almost without thinking about where he was going, but when he arrived there, he knew his feet had had a purpose in bringing him to this place. The snow swirled around him and pitted against his face like needles. He watched as the flakes vanished into the rushing water beneath him.

The bridge was a special place for Jonathan and him. It had been where they had shared their first kiss, back in August, shortly after they had met. The bridge had been a different place, almost of a different world, in August. The sun was bright, beating down relentlessly, bringing the temperature of the day into the mid-nineties. The air was thick, like a damp cloth thrown over one’s skin. Mosquitos hummed…and the leaves on the trees whispered whenever an all-too-infrequent breeze came along.

Jonathan had led him to this bridge, after they had spent the morning hiking the woods surrounding it. The two of them had forged a path along the creek that ran below it.

“You have to see this…it’s really cool.” Jonathan took my hand and led me through a copse of trees to a clearing. He gestured grandly as the vista opened up before us—the weathered bridge, with its stones and faded boards, rose up against the brilliant blue sky like an ancient treasure. On either end of it, weeping willows sagged in the heat.


There wasn’t a soul around us.


Jonathan took my hand in his own and the touch was electric, almost like a jolt, as it coursed through me. It was the very first time he’d touched me and I think that simple pressure of palm against palm and fingers intertwining let me know I was in love with this boy. It also opened the door to a hunger for thousands more touches from him, ones as simple as grabbing my hands and ones a lot more complex.


We fought our way up through cattails growing along the shoreline and further up the rise, brambles, but at last we reached the planks that would lead us inside the covered bridge. Its shade promised cool.


Jonathan pulled me into the darkness and turned to me, smiling. “Isn’t it something? I wonder how old it is?”


I looked in his robin’s egg blue eyes, amazed I could still make out their pale color even in the shade of the covered bridge. “It’s great. Thanks for bringing me here.” I let go of his hand so I could reach up and touch his face. “But it doesn’t compare to you, to just being here with you.”


I leaned down then and kissed him. Even though he had taken my hand, I wasn’t sure until that moment that Jonathan was even gay. We had started the morning as buddies, classmates, fellow students at Hamilton University on our way out on a hot Saturday for a hike. But when he lifted his face and parted his lips slightly to meet me, I knew not only that he was gay, but also that my feelings were reciprocated.


And that filled me with an inexpressible joy.


The kiss lingered for what seemed to me like a half hour, but was really only a minute or two. My tongue probed the inside of his mouth, which tasted sweet, slightly of cinnamon. He reached up and laid his hand on the back of my damp neck to twine in my curls and pull me closer to him. Our sweaty bodies meshed.


It was a moment of pure, undiluted happiness. It was a moment I would never forget...

Click here to get your copy.