Announcement – New Book Soon to be Released

My latest book explores the relationships a gay man has — one Mateo Velasquez, working as a massage therapist (not a euphemism for “sex worker”) at a gay resort in Arizona: a friendship that’s closer than close with Edie Newsome, the transgender receptionist in the spa area of the resort; the bond with his companion, Raveneye, in walking the peyote road, though since Raveneye is an actual raven with whom Teo unites his spirit, “flying” the peyote road would be more accurate; and Dusan Sokolov, a straight client who’s Bulgarian, and unbeknownst to Teo, an assassin. Dusan is also apparently immortal, but that too he keeps to himself, until circumstances force him to reveal all to Edie in an effort to regain any chance of success in the developing student/master relationship he has with Teo.

Dusan seeks answers to his own origins, since he is obviously not like the people around him; Teo seeks answers to his questions about walking the peyote path, and whether or not it’s possible for him to have the kind of love he desires with a man whose life is wrapped up in ridding the world of undesirable villains. Each man believes the other is following, through no fault of his own, a false path, though it doesn’t take long for them to realize that error is in the eye of the beholder.

Misunderstandings abound, but it’s the sudden revelation of Dusan’s past, what he’s done and who he knows, that bring things to a standoff between the two men. Only the help of Raveneye can help them, and even with his help, it’s not certain they will all come through this alive.

If this sounds like a book you’d enjoy reading, and if you’re not offended by adult situations, actions, and language, be watching on October 24th for the release of Raveneye.


This beautiful cover was created by Rebecca Poole, my cover artist from Dreams2Media. Check out her talent and her other art at

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Breaking the Silence

I’ve been quiet — OK, silent — for quite a while. There are many reasons, mostly due to health factors, factors that were mental and physical. Though you may run when I tell you, I’ll say that depression is a parasitic dragon which has the power to kill. Yes, kill. Literally. I’m obviously not dead, but I came damned close. A little more than a year ago, the depression became so bad that I stopped eating. A bite of toast one day, a spoon of oatmeal the next. I dropped 130 pounds in seven months and ended up spending 5 weeks in the hospital, three of which I have no memory whatsoever of.

I’ve back on my feet (again, I’m speaking literally) for a couple of months, but only now do I feel strong enough to truly begin my life again. I’m writing again and going places with my family like Rock City in Chattanooga. That’s where the photos are from. Unfortunately, my phone died before we got to the really spectacular spots, like Lover’s Leap.

I know my silence has alienated a lot of folks. I apologize. I’m deeply sorry, but that’s all I can do: apologize and go on. I hope you’ll rejoin me on this journey. I can’t promise to post every day, though that is the eventual plan. Until then, I’ll post as I can, as I have something to say (and in the US, having something to say isn’t difficult at this particular time). I’ll be posting again, with an announcement, shortly. Enjoy the pics of Rock City in Chattanooga!









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The Poppies and the Lilacs

papaveri-1 IMG_7060


For Memorial Day and the Glorious 25th of May, for those who fought and died, in this world and in Discworld, the creation of Sir Terry Pratchett.


The Poppies and the Lilies

The ones who fought, the ones who died
Defending soil and freedom, home and truth,
On the barricades, snarled on barbs of no-man’s-land,
Red mist of caustic sand rupturing,
Etching man into memory,
The ones who stood, the ones who gave no ground
And those who, stumbling, died in headlong flight,
Those impaled by the hook and claw of revenge,
They scrambled across the beach, into the rubble,
Leapt from the bulwarks toward bow and blade,
Hope ripped away by turncoat and not foe,
Facing death and life, not knowing which—
Cascading into darkest light.
The poppy and the lilac bloom to silent speak again,
A task at hand, a job to do, and nothing more,
The heroes’ shades proclaim,
While round about the living still,
The scent of Remembrance remains.

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Lost and Found, by Aaron Speca (posted with permission)

Flashie Friday/Saturday/Sunday Challenge contribution

Lost and Found

Autumn Stone Bridge

old stone bridge, Scotland, autumn


He didn’t blink. He didn’t dare, because what he was seeing was impossible and he was afraid she would disappear. Dripping and shivering, he stood ankle deep in the center of the stream looking through the stone arch over which he had climbed so often as a child. All those times, he had never really looked before, even when his sister had disappeared ten years ago to the day. Now, peering back at him through a shimmering veil behind which lie what had to be another world, was a woman he would recognize at any age. He reached out towards her even as she extended her hand to him. His fingers tingled with static electricity as they approached the wavy distortion, and with a sudden flash, he vanished.

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Here to There, by Morgann Peters (posted with permission)

Flashie Friday/Saturday/Sunday Challenge contribution

Here to There

Here to There

Here to There

He paced, whining, the width of the stone bridge from one side to the next. Beneath him, water chuckled evilly.
He didn’t *have* to go over the bridge, which stank of Man and something worse. He could go back.
Why had he come out here? Why had he left the sanctuary of the Pack, and come to this awful bridge that stank of awful things? If he thought his Pack would have heard him, he might have lifted his muzzle to the sky and howled his fear. Would gladly have given into the shame that would come when they had to rescue him because he, a great wolf, could not cross even the most sluggish of streams without scenting it with the high stink of his fear.
Oh, whyyyy had he come here?
“You are a silly wolf, aren’t you? Come on this way. Yes, I know – you can smell the hurt. But it’s only for a second. Like pulling a prickleburr’s quill out of your nose. One, two, and done.”
*That’s* why he had come.
Because She had led him here.
And if She had crossed … well, then he could do it. She had led him on a merry chase, but she had always left more than enough of her scent – and her desire for him – to keep him coming, no matter how many twists and turns she had taken. He had come this far.
And She was there.
He scented the air, catching the woman-musk of her. Soon, the moon would rise, and they would hunt.
And run.
And mate.
He felt no pain at all when he crossed that little bridge, leaving his world behind. What need had he for magic now, anyway?
She was all the magic he had ever needed.

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Bridge Closure, by Laurie E. Boris (posted with permission)

Flashie Friday/Saturday/Sunday Challenge contribution

Bridge Closure

Golden Chains

Golden Chains

Contractions like an army of fists punched Andrea’s uterus, and she dug her fingers into Dave’s upholstery. Three assaults ago, she’d figured out that her screams did nothing to part the red sea of brake lights stretching from one shore of the Hudson to the other.
When her child took his own foot off her internal accelerator, she pulled sweaty hair from her neck and asked Dave to at least open the window. “Can’t,” he said. “Police orders. Lock vehicles, keep windows closed. The guy’s armed and dangerous.”
“I’m gonna be armed and dangerous soon. Open the fucking window or I’m busting out of here. I am NOT having this baby in a goddamned car in the middle of the goddamned bridge.”
He cracked it a half inch. “Happy?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’d rather get shot by some bank robber on the loose? Yeah. Awesome. Love you, too.”
“You’d rather sit here with the windows closed while this puddle of amniotic fluid bakes in ninety-degree heat and OUR CHILD falls out of me and onto your Yosemite Sam floor mats, which I don’t think you’ve cleaned in…forever? OWWWWW!!!!”
“How long was that?”
“Bite me.”
“Not a measurement of time.”
“Not helping.”
The whup-whup of a police chopper flew overhead. Andrea considered jumping out and flagging it down, but Dave had the goddamned childproof locks on. “I hate you.” She pressed her lips to the centimeter of space at the top of the window. “HEY! WOMAN IN LABOR HERE!”
Her plea resulted in a ruckus of shouting and honking. Then a soft tap on her door. Andrea peered over. A young, scared-looking man crouched next to the car. When their eyes met, they softened with kindness. “My sister, she had four kids,” he whispered. “I helped deliver two.” Something metallic flashed in the waistband of his jeans. “Look. This was all a big misunderstanding. If I help you…will you help me?”
“Open the door,” she told Dave.
Another contraction threatened. She dug her feet into Yosemite Sam’s face. “Open. The. Door. Now.”

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Dragon River, by James Lee Hard (posted with permission)

Flashie Friday/Saturday/Sunday Challenge contribution.

Dragon River

Here to There

Here to There

The river stretched for a thousand miles, into what used to be dragon territory. Nobody had seen one of the formidably beasts for a century but the land still bled fiery, orange fumes every nightfall. Some believed this was an omen of things to come, that someday the dragons would return, born from the ashes and blood of violence and war. Superstitious fools. Nobody knew exactly why the sky was that faded reddish in that part of the world. The only thing they knew was the land was silent. Life, it appears, had abandoned those forsaken grounds and had not returned, not even when the Druids tried to muster the energy of the land.

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