Wishing on a Blue Star ed. Kris Jacen

How much impact can someone have on your life if you’ve never met them face to face?

In this electronic age of E-mails, electronic publishing, and social networks, quite a lot.

Through his emails, stories and blog, author Patric Michael has touched numerous hearts, minds and lives from the start of his career and further as he now takes us along on his journey to battle cancer.

Along the way, Patric shows us a side of life that not many truly see-- how we are all a part of something larger than just ourselves, and how we are each touched by others for the betterment of all.

Now, those that have been touched by Patric and his words have joined together to give something back, to him and to us all through something he values highly – words.

In this compilation, gay short stories, poems, and anecdotes combined with excerpts from Patric's blog and a few entertaining, educational group posts reveal, and celebrate, the man who has touched so many hearts and minds.

This collection, sometimes erotic, sometimes irreverent, and always poignant, is a gift from all our hearts to celebrate Patric and give strength (and a little levity) to others. The price reflects this; no one is receiving royalties or payment from the sales. Use it to celebrate life, celebrate words, and possibly inspire someone who needs it.
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I won't presume to rate or judge this book, deeply affecting though it is. It left me cycling for days between hope and despair. Don't read in one session --it's too intense, and if it is that for readers who do not know Patric Michael, how much more for those who have the privilege to know him? He does not flinch for showing us his struggles, and I can only salute him. For sharing, for triumphing, for still standing when each day is done. For those who added stories here, I salute you, too, and thank you all for letting the light shine into the dark spaces.

Share the stories here.

A “Thousand Word Thursday” Story from Eden Winters

I posted this picture on Thursday, wondering what kind of thoughts it would spark and it turns out that Eden Winters had all kinds of ideas! She wrote a little ficlet for us!



The little cafe had long been their secret place, a haven where no one judged, no one cared. The burly owner smiled, holding out a hand in greeting. His wife stepped up, an elderly matron with kind eyes. "My boys," she cried, kissing both on the cheek.

"Don't my boys look dashing tonight?" she asked her husband when Dirk and Walter stepped further into the establishment, an hour before closing. Few people loitered this close to curfew, and none raised an eyebrow at Dirk, still in dirty, factory worker clothes, walking in with the sleek and polished Walter. They took their normal place in the corner, and Dirk watched the wax from the candle in the center melt and pool onto the scarred wooden table, casting nervous glances occasionally at Walter, who ordered two mugs of beer. A strained smile crossed his handsome face.

Do I look now, memorize his face, or do I save myself the pain, knowing how badly seeing him like this, knowing he'll soon leave,  will hurt me?

Walter's long, graceful fingers reached across the table, beckoning. Dirk folded his fingers to hide dirty nails, placing his rough, callused hand palm down on Walter's. Their fingers laced together. "Everything will be all right," Walter said. "Before you even know I'm gone, I'll be back."

Dirk latched onto the words, holding on for all he was worth. Walt had never lied before, so if he said he'd be back, he would, right?

"Think of me?" Walter asked, pouring on the charm that had stolen Dirk's heart long ago. His normally seductive smile failed to reach his eyes.

"Of course I will," Dirk replied. How can I ever think of anything else?

A lights-out siren sounded, causing Dirk to jump. Walter remained stock still, the candle casting shadows across his face as the cafe owner dimmed the lights. They drank their warm beer without speaking, staring at each other from two feet -- and an immeasurable distance -- away. Overhead, the droning of enemy planes caused Dirk to shiver. Again, the reminder of a world gone mad had no effect on the tall, composed Walter. "C'mon," he said, pulling Dirk to his feet.

The small cafe where they'd first fallen in love looked far different now than in those hazy, happier days, when they'd nothing better to do than study in the university by day, prowling the bars and cafes late at night until they returned to their shared rooms to make love until dawn. Now, rough-hewn boards shielded the windows, and the once well-stocked bar now sported mostly empty shelves. Even the fine linen tablecloths were gone, taken to a hospital somewhere to be used for bandages.

Not just the building appeared different; the lovers, too, had changed. The outset of war pulled them in opposite directions. Dirk toiled from sunup to sundown, building exploding "we will not be defeated" messages for the enemy.  Walter delivered them.

But there in the semi-darkness, they held each other for what might be their last waltz, remembering those carefree times. Walter hummed a merry tune, once heard on a victrola in this very room.  Pulling Dirk close, he swayed from side to side, to the sound of air-raid sirens in the distance. Dirk's tears soaked the insignia of Walter's uniform. "Promise me. Promise me you'll come back to me," he pleaded, hands falling to his sides as his lover withdrew.

"I promise," Airman Reynolds declared, brushing his lips softly against Dirk's. "With every ounce of my being, I promise."

One more kiss and he was gone, slipping into the shadows and out of Dirk's life.
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Sigh. Sniffle. That’s what Eden’s stories do to me every time, and she has lots of chances to do it because she has lots of short stories and three novels out

and a fourth novel, Settling the Score, is coming in March!

Find out more from Eden herself at her blog, and get any of her stories here.

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So everyone knows, Thousand Word Thursday pictures will be a regular feature here, and if anyone is moved to write a ficlet about the story and send it to me, I will post it with links and pics for you.

A Giant's Friend by MD Grimm

Can love flourish in a time of war? Friends since childhood, Jeth and Kodie now lead an army and guard a mountain pass against the invading Carpathians. Jeth's father was half-giant, and he has always been persecuted because of his lineage. His mother died due to the bigotry of villagers, unleashing the giant’s rage inside him. Jeth has found his purpose in war. When Kodie admits his feelings of love, will Jeth find a new purpose in life?

Before they can find out where their feelings might lead them, Kodie is caught in an avalanche and Jeth must find him before the enemy does. With war all around them, can these two friends find peace that only a lover’s arms can give?
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Problems from the start with this one, and I did read the excerpt, I just thought that the choppy style, full of fragments, was meant to be a slice of thought process. It's actually an accurate reflection of the other 127 pages. What isn't fragmentary is passive or muddled, and I considered abandoning this book several times over.



The author seems to have put next to no thought into her world building, starting with something as basic as names. Everyone has something recognizable in the English speaking world, plus or minus some mangling. The Carpathians in the blurb are what happens in your head because of it -- in the text they are Carpathyns living on the world of Terrya, and fighters such as Johhn and Freedricks have to stand up to them. The Sennicians have one mountain pass to defend against invaders who will dominate the world if they win, but they don't trouble to build a proper garrison -- after three years of active warfare on top of however many years of uneasy coexistence they are still living in rough camp.

So many things are thrown in or mentioned because they would be nice to have at just that moment. A carrier eagle is conveniently available to send a message for a man traveling alone, avalanches come when called, a hot bath for a large man can be filled with snow-melt and no one counts the fuel cost. A horse large enough to carry a man "exactly eight feet tall, with a shoulder width equal to four regular men and a large chest" and a relative lightweight who's only six foot five gets mentioned at the exact moment it's called on to carry double.

If he's exactly eight feet tall, I'm not anticipating any flights of fancy in the rest of that sentence, which makes the shoulders kind of startling -- my shoulders are about 18 inches across, so a regular man's would be bigger, which makes his shoulders six feet across, or more. Huh? Jeth's hung to the same standard, which rendered some of the sex scenes painful to read.

The scenes were all painful to read, actually. Even without being able to know from moment to moment whether this is a trained army or a rough militia, the war duke being seen pouncing on the commander who spends his men foolishly, by random messengers not once but twice, is going to create a morale problem. Is pouncing uppermost in the war duke's mind after an exchange that boils down to "I wasted some of your most precious and irreplaceable assets because I want you"? Both war duke and commander agreed this was a bad plan, not a good plan that didn't work out, so if Kodie is the best commander as we're told, the Sennicians are in trouble.

The battle scenes did not have any relationship to the physics of swinging a broadsword or shooting a bow, but that's pretty much forgivable compared to shattered bone and compound fractures that heal enough to travel in just a few days, without magic. A man who's so badly broken that he'd realistically need a couple of amputations if he couldn't get magical or surgical repair is not a good candidate for sex. If he's hurting bad enough to wish he'd pass out, he's not getting it up.

If there was one point in this book I can wholeheartedly approve of, it's the philosophy at the end.

This had the seeds of a really good story in it, but between the cavalier handling of physical issues, world building that wasn't there, the hand-waving that accompanied the more interesting plot points (how did Jeth approach the other giants?) and a style that was probably meant to reflect simple, uneducated men but actually felt like it was geared to children, it hasn't come to pass. One marble.

Buy here.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

I've decided that Thousand Word Thursday is going to be a regular feature here -- it lets me post and still have time to read a longer story. Some really good stuff has come my way lately. Also... well, that's a post for another day.

If I find a picture that tells a story, I'll use it here. If you have one you think is particularly inviting, send it, please! It has to be something that Picassa or Photobucket won't kick. :D

And if anyone is moved to write a little ficlet, or a drabble even, using Thursday's picture as a prompt, I would so love that! To the point of featuring it, if you don't want to post it as a comment. I'm at CryselleC AT gmail DOT com. It doesn't have to be anywhere near a thousand words, drabbles are usually 100.

What do you think of the dancers? What's their story?

Suffer the Little Children by Tracy Rowan

When Victorian private investigator Nick Romney’s step-father, an Anglican bishop, is murdered, Nick refuses to get involved. At the urging of his family, though, Nick and his lover Davy step in to investigate. Together they uncover the truth of the bishop’s involvement in the dark and horrifying world of child prostitution, the reason why he was killed, and the shocking identity of the murderer.
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The setting and the protagonists, 1890 and two men, one of who writes the accounts of the other's detecting, will call to mind Sherlock Holmes and his Watson, something not lost on the author. To quote:

I had only recently read a story entitled "A Study in Scarlet" about a fictional detective, and much as I had enjoyed it, I harbored the suspicion that Romney was twice the detective this other chap was and not nearly as annoying.

I love a well done pastiche, and this novel is not only an echo of that but a well done story in it's own right. Nicholas Romney is no Sherlock Holmes -- he's brilliant and moody, but a more pleasant companion even at his worst. He's far more human, perhaps because of his difficult past, which rises up to poison his present: his horrid stepfather has been murdered and his brother has confessed.

Nothing is ever that simple though, nor should it be -- it would make for a short book! Instead, Rom and his lover, amanuensis, and partner David Fitzhugh Malvern have to assist the police in teasing out the mystery, which brings to light both family secrets and secrets that powerful men and the church would like to keep hidden.

The title is a clue -- much of the misery centers on things done to children and kept hidden, though mercifully the author keeps the deeds off-stage, much as the Victorians did with anything deemed coarse. Light is a cleanser -- Rom's willingness to discuss what others would hide is almost as powerful a tool as his forensic knowledge and deductive powers in solving the murder and more foul crimes.

Rom and Davy have a charming ability to play together, as well as to work together -- if Davy's knowledge of bloodstains is not encyclopedic, his familiarity with the movers and shakers of society and the ways of a churchman are also crucial to resolving the crime.

These two love each other deeply, it shines off the page, even if they do have to spend a certain amount of time looking over their shoulders and worrying that law and mores will land them in jail. That was a good touch -- while Davy's family is accepting, though prone to euphemize, the author doesn't try to rewrite the tenor of the times.

Not everything works out perfectly in the end, a good solution; what isn't neatly wrapped is recognizable as reality.

There is a trifle of deus ex machina with a handy legacy appearing when it's most useful, and Rom doesn't really contribute a great deal of specialized knowledge of matters outside his family to the solution, but I never really believed in calling snakes back with a whistle anyway.

A fine read. 4.5 marbles


Buy here.

First Impressions by Josephine Myles

 When ugly socks attract.

Surly artist Jez just can’t help staring at the brightly colored socks of the businessman who sits opposite him on the train every day. He weaves a whole history for the mysterious stranger in a vain attempt to stave off his attraction, but it only ends up feeding his bizarre obsession. Then one hot morning, Jez finally snaps and starts sketching…

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My first impression of this story involved cleaning coffee off the keyboard, because that blurb is so damned catchy.

"When ugly socks attract."

Jez sits across the aisle of the train from a suit who's only apparent non-conformity is owning an enormous collection of garish socks -- he's always got his head in a stack of papers. Making up stories about this man becomes nearly a full time occupation -- half the story goes by before Jez gets up the courage to approach, done in a very cute and artist's way.

Then once they meet, all those stories, beautifully crafted though they are, come apart to reveal truth after small beautiful truth. Being wrong has never been so right.

The original sidesplitter reaction doesn't carry into the story, it's more of a constant low level amusement, which is harder to sustain, I think. Jez knows he's obsessing, fights the obsessing, and then enjoys his obsessing, and then -- OMG has to find out the reality of Steve. The reality is wonderful. This is the first story I've read by Ms Myles, whose language is beautiful, descriptive without being dry, and economical -- this author gets a lot of nuance into every phrase. Just look at this:

He probably had one of those old-fashioned
wardrobes with labeled shelves for shirts, vests and
sundries, and a little container on the back of the door
for cuff links, just like Granddad used to have. He'd
come from the kind of family where you learned how to
dress properly and knew your way around a formal
dinner service before you were out of your nappies. My
school had been full of them, and they always knew how
to put you in your place when you were there on a
scholarship.

That is a huge amount of information in a little space -- we now have a very good idea of Jez's place in society, Steve's, or what Jez thinks it is, something about Jez' family, and a lot about what Jez thinks about other people, his childhood, and his resentments. All from wondering where Steve keeps his socks. *is blown away*

Just in case you wondered, everything that happens once Jez stops drawing is as good or better -- you can feel the breeze in your hair from the whoosh of him falling in love. Go read. 5 marbles!

Buy it here.


There's a free read with these two on the author's website, and it's fun, too!

72 Hours by Clare London

Tanner Mackay and Niall Sutherland were once far more than just fellow intelligence agents. But then a mission went horribly wrong and everything fell apart, sending Tanner into hiding and splitting the team and their affair wide apart.

Now an unknown traitor is threatening the team, and their ex-boss is determined to reunite them before it’s too late. She finds Tanner in a run-down trailer park, bringing with her a most unwelcome refugee in need of temporary sanctuary: Niall, the man he thought he'd never have to face again. The man he's sure feels exactly the same in return.

Trapped in a situation that’s both claustrophobic and highly dangerous, Tanner and Niall will have to revisit their past and reconsider their perceptions, their loyalties—and their desires—in order to survive, let alone forge a future together.

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The shadowy agency that Tanner Mackay and Niall Sutherland work for is under attack, leaving all the agents separated and out of touch, and Niall in need of a safe house. They're both in disgrace after their affair slopped over onto a mission, and Tanner's disappeared to a disreputable trailer park to wait out his suspension. Now, he's the best safe house available, even though closeting Niall in a small space with Tanner is a recipe for sparks flying -- there's a ton of unresolved issues between them, and the attacks are escalating.

The main action takes place over the 72 hours of the title, though the important backstory comes in flashbacks, a chunk here, a chunk there, and exposing their incendiary relationship and break-up. The two are violently ill at ease with one another, and they spend a lot of their time working out the problems between them, both personal and professional (considerable overlap :s), since they have large chunks of time where they are waiting for someone to bring the fight to them.

As a relationship under duress, this story works very well -- the men have a LOT of issues, and do manage to work through enough that you can see a future for them, and it's hot. A sequence where they manage to have sex while waiting for the bad guy, in spite of violating most good sense and even giving that violation a nod, still works well. Not good craft, sure, but the same impulse that made people have sex in bomb shelters during air raids. Tanner and Niall know that, laugh at it, and go at each other anyway, and I cheered them on.

As a thriller, this story doesn't work quite so well -- as a spy/security/troubleshooter agency, the outfit seems singularly unable to find its backside with both hands, starting with personnel and going on to operations. A more competent agency would have been facing some very different threats -- this one, and it's various complications, would have never arisen.

This story has three parts, back story, current romance, and the external threat, and two of the three work well enough to overshadow the third if you are willing to let it, which unusually for me, I am. I can see putting on my suspenders of disbelief (they're red elastic) and reading this one again.

Disclaimer: I won this book through a Desert Island Keepers giveaway.


Buy here.