Know When to Run

naked guy cardsAh, irony: I’ve spent like half the morning thinking of a long-winded and eternally sunshiny way of saying that two things I’m trying to work on when it comes to my writing are concision and conflict.  Not everything that ever happens needs to be rambled on about in a novel, and a happy ending at the end of a long, happy story about happy people can lack a certain punch.  My favorite little format, the 100-worder, keeps it simple, but still gives you room to mention his hot body, so everybody wins.  I reckon the term Flash Fiction refers to the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nature of these quick snippets, but fiction can flash the way floods do, too:  a few words, a handy journal, and watch out!  Next thing you know you got a story comin’ at ya from out of nowhere.  So roll up your jeans: here’s this dude in 100 words.  I hope you’re having a better Sunday than he is.

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He always was lucky.  Good grades, never studied; great body, never worked out.  One of those guys, you’d say, “I hate you.”  Meaning, “I want what you got.”  Really meaning, “I want you.”  Always been lucky in Vegas, even, which is of course how he got here: falling off a stool in a shitty casino at the state line, dizzy, drunk, and desperate, knowing he’s gonna win it back.  If not this hand, the next.  Catch up on the rent, Jace would have to come back.  Twenty-one, all is forgiven.  Twenty-two, he’s fucked.  He orders another cocktail. Burps, “Hit me.”

He came up with an idea for a short story while he was passing through the Vancouver airport. What happened next will blow your mind wide open!

OK, maybe it won’t, but according to my Facebook newsfeed, this is how we’re titling posts these days.  And I did want to get your attention to tell you this: JMS Books is having a 40% off sale this weekend on ALL eBooks, and we’re releasing my brand new erotic short two days early so it can get in on the action.  It might not blow your mind, but it is sexier than some of my other stuff, and I’m excited to welcome it into the world today.

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Henry Kavalauskas spends a ton of time at the Vancouver airport.  He works there; he hangs out there; he knows the world is bigger than his fast-food job and his parents’ living room, and he wishes he could find a guy to take him out into it.  Someone to shepherd him through its teeming cities and sleep beside him in its fine hotels.  Someone like Zack Hoffman, to be quite specific, although Henry’s first encounter with this short, sexy business traveler seems destined to be his last, seeing as how it takes place in an airport men’s room.

But Zack’s long-haul flight cancels, and when their paths cross again quite by chance at Henry’s job — and Zack produces the key to a hotel room — Henry seizes the moment.  The room’s gorgeous, Naked Zack is gorgeous; it’s a dream come true for Henry.  Until Reality barges in, chases Henry half-naked back into the airport, and raises some questions about Zack.  “Is he who he says he is?” is one of them, sure, but the one that really nags at Henry is “What if I never see him again?”

Part super-sexy love story, part mash note from a flight attendant to his favorite airport, You Again? can be yours, all yours this weekend (through Sunday the 20th) for 40% off!

Is your Michael P. Thomas Collection incomplete?  All my other eBooks are 40% off this weekend, too!

A Little Romance

The other night, prompted by something or other he’d seen on Facebook, my husband turns to me and asks, “What’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever done for you?”  Easy, I think, because obviously the most romantic thing he’s ever done for me will leap to the front of my memory and right out of my mouth.  An awkward silence ensues, followed by hemming and hawing, until eventually, and visibly disappointed, he says, “Well, whatever it was, it must not have been that romantic.”

popeyes biscuitsIn truth, our daily life is not exactly a series of Grand Romantic Gestures.  And your friend who acts like hers is?  She’s lying. But I find romance in the little things.  In the occasional springtime bouquet of irises he’ll bring me, which he knows are my favorite flower because they are purple.  In coming home from a trip to a candlelit apartment and a glass of wine.  Hell, I think it’s super romantic when he brings home Popeye’s without me asking him to and he gets my order exactly right; for a writer of gay romance, I’m not especially hard to wow. Continue reading