Z.A. Maxfield's Blog, page 28

Normally, I do a Casual Sex Friday Post with a snippet of something — a bit of flash fiction — just because I like to sharpen the skill set, but gosh darn it real life just keeps happening.

I’ll be heading to GayRomLit next week, and as if that weren’t enough, not one, but two sets of major edits hit my inbox this week. So I’m working as hard as I can to get books out, because we all know what you really want is new ZAM titles on the shelves at your favorite ebook retailers.

(Plus, there’s all kinds of laundry and swag mailing and packing and that crack team of aestheticians who need to make me presentable before I’ll even get on the plane to an event like GRL…)

So allow me to apologize for this week and last when I failed in my Friday duties, and also, allow me to announce the winner of this weeks Tuesday Teaser….

DRUMROLL… Antonia!

Antonia will be receiving an email shortly, as she correctly guessed this weeks snippet came from Ethan In Gold, by the lovely and talented Amy Lane!!!

Please join me next Tuesday when our featured Tuesday Teaser author is NONE OTHER THAN Damon Suede…!

Check out Ethan in Gold at your favorite ebook retailer today!

Evan Costa learned from a very early age that there was no such thing as unconditional love and that it was better to settle for what you could get instead of expecting the world to give you what you need. As Ethan, porn model for Johnnies, he gets exactly what he wants—comradeship and physical contact on trade—and he is perfectly satisfied with that. He’s sure of it.

Jonah Stevens has spent most of his adult life helping to care for his sister and trying to keep his beleaguered family from fraying at the edges. He’s had very little time to work on his confidence or his body for that matter. When Jonah meets Ethan, he doesn’t see the hurt child or the shamelessly slutty porn star. He sees a funny, sexy, confident man who—against the odds—seems to like Jonah in spite of his very ordinary, but difficult, life.

Sensing a kindred spirit and a common interest, Ethan thinks a platonic friendship with Jonah won’t violate his fair trade rules of sex and touch, but Jonah has different ideas. Ethan’s pretty sure his choice of jobs has stripped away all hope of a real relationship, but Jonah wants the whole package—the sexy man, the vulnerable boy, the charming companion who works so hard to make other people happy. Jonah wants to prove that underneath the damage Ethan has lived with all his life, he’s still gold with promise and the ability to love.

Available from Dreamspinner Press
Available from Amazon.com

Let’s have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome to Guest Authors! 

From now on I’m asking your favorite authors to stop by and share snippets of their work for our Tuesday Teaser Game. Try to guess the book!

My guest TODAY needs NO introduction, But here’s one anyway: Amy Lane dodges an EDJ, mothers four children, and writes the occasional book. She, her brood, and her beloved mate, Mack, live in a crumbling mortgage in Citrus Heights, California, which is riddled with spiders, cats, and more than its share of fancy and weirdness. Feel free to visit her at 

www.greenshill.com or www.writerslane.blogspot.com,

where she will ride the buzz of receiving your e-mail until her head swells and she can no longer leave the house.

PLAYERS: Here’s how you do it! 1. Guess the title of the Amy Lane book this teaser comes from. 2. Email me with the title of the book at zamaxfield @ zamaxfield (dot) com.  3. Put Tuesday Teasers in the subject line!

You could win an ebook copy of the book in question or another book from Amy’s backlist. Be sure to give me a valid email address so I know where to send your ebook. The 9th person to email me with the correct title WINS!

“Didn’t your mom ever throw you a birthday party like that?” ***** asked, laughing. “I mean, even after *****, my parents made sure I got a party that was all me. We’d go all sorts of places—that was my day.”

“Uhm, not since I was five. After that, we had a quiet party in the house, family only.” A small ice-cream cake, one or two gifts Mom had approved of. Vaguely, he remembered his fifth birthday party with his entire class, but that had been once, before the bad thing, and he hated remembering that time because it just made him angrier at himself that he ever mentioned the stupid fucking school employee and his molesting penis.

“Why?” ***** asked, finishing off his second fajita. “What happened when you were five?”

“Are you done? I’m done. I really want something sweet—hey, they’ve got a fudge factory down by that comic-book place in Old Town. Want to go there for dessert?”

*****’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widened, and his mouth—a soft, pink little bow of a mouth, not full but ripe—compressed into a flat line. “Uhm, I’ve got another fajita to go.”

***** nodded and shoved half of his last fajita in his mouth in one bite. “Olkay, affer dat,” he said through his full mouth, not even grimacing when he crunched into a hot pepper.

***** nodded and compressed that sweet pink mouth. “Yeah,” he said before taking another slow, deliberate bite of his fajita. “Sure. We can go there when we’re done at the comic-book store, *****. Nothing’s set in stone.”

***** smiled and nodded and finished the other three swallows needed to get that bite down. His next bite was smaller but just as quick, and he wondered how fast he’d have to talk when he was done to avoid any questions like that.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” ***** said calmly before he took a sip of his soda.

***** paused after swallowing. God, this was a good fajita—spicy and wine flavored. He hated having to shotgun it like this. “About what?” he asked and shoved the rest of the thing in his mouth. He wiped his face while he was still chewing and got ready to get up and bolt to the bathroom, all the better to have an excuse to change the motherfucking cocksucking come-whoring subject.

“You, trying to scare me off with what a slut you are and how you’re all okay about your family. It’s not rocket science, *****. Just because I wear my own family on my sleeve, that doesn’t mean I can’t see that you’re trying to hide big parts of yourself under fajita.”

Tuesday Teaser by AMY LANE  

I’ve always wanted to find a way to ask a few of my favorite authors over for a nice, leisurely Sunday brunch, and that became the idea for this blog.

Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! All commenters will be entered into a drawing, so don’t be SHY!

This weeks question is:

What is your spirit animal?

My spirit animal, hands down, is Mario from Glove and Boots. http://www.gloveandboots.com He’s the red guy with a beard. The joke at our house is that I”m Mario and my daughter Anna is Fafa (the groundhog). Mario is always ranting and melting down over something and declaring things “this is the best! This is the worst!” while Fafa is logical and factual. 

What I love about Mario is he acts how I often feel inside. If I were red, bald, and bearded, maybe I’d be able to let my id run amok like that, but I’m me, so I button up. But man, inside, I’m all red. I think my favorite part is that Mario is also gullible and slightly clueless. I’m that too — Author Heidi Cullinan

Buy Love Lessons:

AMAZON    B&N  ARE


My spirit animal is Martha Stuart.

I knew Martha Stewart was my spirit animal when I was listening to a radio show one Sunday morning as I drove through the LA area on my way home from grad school for the last time. She was referred to as the spiritual leader of not only Connecticut but all of New England and at that moment, something WASPy vibrated down to the very roots of my being.

I have disappointed her ever since.

Sure, there were acceptable votive offerings like my living room, a pleasing room sunk in Chinoiserie and designed around a six-foot tall, six-panel lacquered screen featuring semi-precious stone mid relief-work. Of course it’s the focal point of the room; there’s no way to hide something like that, so you might as well put it on display. Besides, my husband inherited it, so I’m stuck with it. I balanced it with a Roy Lichtenstein print, “Landscapes in the Chinese Style.” Old with modern (actually, pop art), reds and mauves with celadon, dimensional with flat. We even pulled the room’s colors from the two pieces and painted the walls just so.

But even that disappoints her now, I can tell. I mean, patterned paint treatments? That’s so 90s, and no one paints the ceilings of rooms anymore.

We will not even discuss the Stripped Bathroom Walls incident.

I thought perhaps I’d earned my way back into her good graces during my Mercury Glass Craze, but no. It brought only further disappointment and clutter.

Mercury glass was big a few years ago. Pottery Barn thinks it still is, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I went on a rampage across eBay and acquired a few charming mercury-glass pumpkins with the bright idea of slicing small circular holes in the felt on the bottoms, just perfect for the insertion of those clever little battery-powered tea lights.

Does that not sound like the perfect fall centerpiece? Does that not sound like something Martha would do? Okay, it’s something she’d toss it off in between color coordinating all the jets at JFK or making sure all the leaves on all the trees at Turkey Hill were pointing in the same direction, but I have to start somewhere, right? I have to earn my way back into my spirit guide’s good graces somehow.

Alas, this project, too, foundered in the face of parenting and all the other day to day details. I gave the small glass pumpkins to my mother. She likes Halloween as much as I do. I can see the last pumpkin from where I’m sitting as I type this. Actually, I can’t. It’s buried under a pile of my son’s outgrown clothing I’ve yet to take to the thrift shop.

See? A disappointment. Wait. I make my own soap. Does that count? — Author Christopher Koehler

Buy link for Rocking the Boat

Dreamspinner  AMAZON 

 

 

 

 

Let’s have A big Tuesday Teaser Welcome to Guest Authors!

I’m asking your favorite authors to stop by and share snippets of their work for our Tuesday Teaser Game. Try to guess the book!

My first guest needs NO introduction, But here’s one anyway: A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including the Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction and a Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery. Josh is also the author of the definitive M/M writing guide Man, Oh Man: Writing M/M Fiction for Kinks and Ca$h.

Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist — and lives in Los Angeles, California.

PLAYERS: Here’s how you do it! 1. Guess the title of the Josh Lanyon book this teaser comes from. 2. Email me with the title of the book at zamaxfield @ zamaxfield (dot) com.  3. Put Tuesday Teasers in the subject line!

You could win an ebook copy of the book in question or another book from Josh’s backlist. Be sure to give me a valid email address so I know where to send your ebook. The 11th person to email me with the correct title WINS!

Last Week’s Winner is (having correctly guessed My Cowboy Heart): Natalija !

Tuesday Teaser by Josh Lanyon

The card was wedged under the brass 17 on my apartment door when I got back from my morning swim. For what felt like a long time I stood dripping on the welcome mat, staring at the slightly crooked number and the colored rectangle beneath.

Finally, I removed the card, examined it. A castle in flames, a man

and woman plummeting to the cliffs below, and the words The Tower.

Not good. Even if I turned it upside down so that the man and woman

seemed to be doing handsprings through the clouds and lightning, it

still looked pretty ominous.

I told myself that someone was playing a joke on me.

Funny stuff.

Only a handful of people even knew I was writing a book about the

Aldrich case. For that matter, who would care if they did know? It

was dead news in every sense.

I stuck my key in the latch and stepped into my apartment, eyes

adjusting to the gloom. Dusty sunshine poured through the arched

living room window. Everything looked just the way I’d left it an

hour ago. In the kitchen alcove the old dishwasher was steaming,

stereo lights flashed from the entertainment center, and the screen

of my laptop, which sat on the coffee table, offered a gently rolling

view of star-lined outer space.

I walked through to the bedroom. The bed was stripped, sheets piled

for laundry in the doorway. The mirrored closet doors were shut. I

got a look at my face as I moved to open them, and was irritated to

see that I looked worried: hazel eyes narrowed, tanned face grim,

body tense — Jesus. The last year had turned me into an old woman.

I slid open the closet doors, jumping back as a box of photos tumbled

from their precarious perch on the shelf above and dumped snap shots

across the carpet.

A photo of me — in a gold-sequined sombrero no less — and ****

celebrating my thirtieth birthday at Don Cuco’s landed by my bare

toes.

I stepped over the pictorial retrospective of my life, and moved on

to the bathroom, poking my head inside. Another glimpse of my

frowning face in the cabinet mirror — and, by the way, I really did

need a haircut, I reflected, momentarily distracted by the wet spikes

of my chlorine-bleached hair. The shower dripped noisily. I yanked

back the curtain with a plastic rustle.

Nothing.

Okay, bathtub ring, but otherwise nothing sinister.

Of course nothing sinister. Nobody had broken in. Why would they?

But why would someone leave a tarot card on my front door?

I went back to the kitchen, poured a glass of OJ and drank it slowly,

studying the Tarot card.

Was someone trying to tell me something? Was it some kind of clue?

More likely it was just some kind of weird coincidence. Right?

And even if it wasn’t a weird coincidence…what was I supposed to do

about it? It wasn’t exactly a lead that I could follow up. And I

couldn’t picture myself going to the police over something so…vague.

There was no defined threat and I had absolutely no suspect in mind.

I could always talk to ****.

I stared out the window over the sink at the row of second story

apartments, red doors and turquoise railings glimpsed through the

tangle of ivy and bougainvillea.

**** was a homicide detective with the Glendale PD. We’d gone

out a couple of times. Slept together once. We were still on friendly

if distant terms.

The blinds to ****’s apartment were up so it looked like he might be

home.

I was thrilled to see My Cowboy Heart was on the list of Honorable Mentions for the Rainbow Awards! Check Elisa’s blog post HERE

I’ve been getting some really nice reviews as well:

From Dear Author, “My Cowboy Heart  is a very gentle romance, and sweet, notwithstanding the spicy sex scenes (on par with your average contemporary m/f).” Read HERE

From Fiction Vixen, “I absolutely adored My Cowboy Heart. From the reserved  foreman suddenly realizing his desires to the outgoing younger cowboy who takes the ranch by storm and changes the dynamics between everyone. I couldn’t help but love it. Watching love bloom is always sweet, but watching it unfold between two such unlikely characters just makes it seem all the sweeter.” Read HERE

From Under The Covers Book Blog, “I didn’t expect to love this book so much, but Maxfield really pens a believable gay-for-you story that doesn’t seem contrived or forced in any way. It’s done in a believable and fun way that made it so easy for me to devour.” Read HERE

From the blog of Sid Love, “The strength of the story lies in the author’s ability to make these two very different guys and their connection believable.” Read HERE

A great big thank you to all the readers who continue to take my cowboys into your hearts,

ZAM

 

I’ve always wanted to find a way to ask a few of my favorite authors over for a nice, leisurely Sunday brunch, and that became the idea for this blog.

Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! All commenters will be entered into a drawing, so don’t be SHY!

This Sunday, just to remind my children they have a mother (and also because I have always wanted to do this) I plan to make Eggs Benedict. If I succeed, I might take a picture and share it here, if I fail, I’ll probably put the whole horrible experience behind me and never mention it again. Wish me luck!

Last week’s winner is: druuuuuuumroll please: John Spear! I’ll be sending you an  email asking which ebook you fancy pronto! Thanks for playing along.

Last week I gave my authors the very tough assignment of defining art. This week, I have a much simpler question!

What is the most ironic thing that ever happened to you!

I’ve been trying to decide upon my most ironic moment. It could be the time a friend of mine tried to teach me how to drive a stick shift, using his old dodge van with three-on-the–tree; unsuccessfully, until the night my friend and I “borrowed” his van in an effort to get him off the roof of her house.

Adrenalin is a wonderful thing and the resulting low-speed chase across the desert had us laughing so hard we must have left damp spots on the threadbare and cracked Gumby-green seats.  Come to think of it, the fact that I was never able to properly drive his van until I stole it from him was probably Guy’s most ironic moment, not mine.

But in the spirit of the season–just weeks away from Gay Romance Literary Retreat in Atlanta next month—I think I’ll instead share the irony of last year’s event in Albuquerque – Land of Enchanting Green Chilies.

For this story to make any sense, you’ll need to understand a little about me. I have a serious hot tooth. I’m addicted to spicy heat at all levels and it’s not unusual to find me sprinkling ghost peppers on my popcorn. But it’s not only the heat I crave – it’s the flavors of chilies in all their forms. In particular, the green and red chilies grown all over New Mexico and transformed into some of the most amazing sauces.

I was turned on to these flavor profiles at a Mexican Mercado in Salt Lake City at the age of five or six, and I can still remember the cavernous space broken up with serapes and woven panels of blue and gold, and the black velvet paintings of bull fights and matadors gracing the walls… I still dream of their enchilada sauce, dark and rich and with a piquant pungency that made my tongue beg for more. My love of these flavors has only increased with time, and during my last trip to Santa Fe I managed to drag home an extra five pounds of ground and whole dried chilies – long since used.

So that’s me last October–a chili slut in heaven, heading to New Mexico at the height of the green chili roasting season with an empty pantry at home. I was so excited that I made extra space in my bag for all the chili booty I would be dragging back to the bay area.

On this trip I was also bringing along a little something extra–my roommate for the GRL retreat the lovely Irish lass, Kelly, who was visiting with us in California. Kelly was (and is) a complete delight, perfect in all ways with one tiny little exception. Kelly is extremely allergic to chilies, which I did not know at the time. Imagine my chagrin.

We spent the week together dodging death by vegetable, all over Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

And when I saw a sign for a farm roasting green chilies on site, I confess to making a quick calculation on the value of human life versus frozen roasted green chilies for the rest of the year. Despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not a monster and no lasses were harmed in this tale, but I did find the irony of the situation very amusing. – Author L.E. Franks

MLR Press

Amazon

B&N

ARE

When I was younger I had this thing about paranormal stories… I hated them. I loved historicals, romances and science fiction stories, but I was staunchly against paranormal and fantasy stories. Why? Because I think I was a little too analytical or logical. I couldn’t conceive of a world where elves, vampires, and wolf shifters existed. So I didn’t read them and when I would sit down to write stories I wouldn’t write them either. I read romance books but stayed away from anything paranormal, fantasy, or supernatural.

I read Anne Rice’s “Interview With A Vampire” and fell in love with vampire books and movies, but that was it and even they were few and far in between. Years later, I read Mary Calmes’ “Change of Heart.” That was completely by accident. I thought it was a book about a woman and a man, I bought the book (on Audible) without reading the blurb. And right there my world was opened to paranormal stories. I went on a spending spree and before you knew it my stories had changed. Suddenly, the boy who refused to read paranormal stories because they were just so unrealistic, became the man who loves writing paranormal books because he gets to blend the impossible with reality. – Vicktor Alexander

Rooster & Pig Publishing

ARe

Bookstrand

Kindle

Okay, so first off, I’m googling the actual definition of ironic, because I don’t want to be caught with my pants down like Alanis. Okay. 

i·ron·ic   [ahy-ron-ik] adjective

1)      using words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning; containing or exemplifying irony: an ironic novel; an ironic remark.

2)      of, pertaining to, or tending to use irony or mockery; ironical.

3)      coincidental; unexpected: It was ironic that I was seated next to my ex-husband at the dinner.

Okay, so now that I have the whole actual definition thing down, let me think… *tapping chin*

Well, it could be the time I was deployed to the middle east for Operation Enduring Freedom as an active duty Army soldier, and ended up running into a guy from the Air Force… who just happened to have been in either Concert or Jazz band with me in high school. Oh, and did I mention that in high school I’d had a mad crush on him? Yeah, that was one for the books. We went to school together in Marquette, Michigan. The last time I’d seen him was in 1983 or ’84

I think. And there I was, in the middle of a huge freaking desert, and some Air Force Captain is scoping me out. Then he’s all… didn’t you go to MSHS? Yep, total odd-ball coincidence. But then again, my life seems to run on them!  - author Cherie Noel

Incongruent Angel is the upcoming sequel to Angel Baby, which is available, HERE

(Editor’s note. ZOMG. Awesome covers this week.) 

 

Blurb:

F.A.S.T. — Firefighter Assist and Search Team

Firefighter and surfing champion, Jerry Wallender, looks like a hero to the world, but he can’t see it. He keeps falling for these intellectual guys who end up making him feel dumb and unneeded. On top of that, Mick Cassidy, super-gorgeous firefighter and total homophobe, makes Jerry’s life miserable with his slurs. Then one day Mick’s nice to Jerry and, at the Firefighter’s Ball, Jerry offers a helping hand and ends up with a hand-job. What the hell is going on?

Mick Cassidy is great with fighting fires and solving math problems but rotten with people. Raised by a gay-hating preacher, Mick’s carefully constructed world of gay bashing starts to crumble when he meets Jerry, the nicest, kindest man he’s ever known. Mick’s never wanted a woman and can’t stop thinking about sex with Jerry. In fact, he can’t stop doing it. Does that make him gay? And if he’s gay, what happens to his whole life? A hook-up between sweet Jerry and mean Mick might be total disaster — or the smartest idea Jerry ever had.

Read an excerpt, HERE

Buy Links:

Amazon – http://amzn.com/B00FAUSUO8

ARE – https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-fastballs-1300792-149.html

Author Bio:

Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly male/male and MMF ménage, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her unique heroes. In fact, her readers say her tagline, Read the Beautiful Boys of Romance, about sums it up. Her first romance novel was published in January of 2011. She’s now on book 21. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards.

Some people call Tara “the Balls girl” in honor of her best-selling MM contemporary romance series, Balls to the Wall. Readers send her suggested titles for her next Balls book! Three of the Balls books, Volley Balls, Fire Balls and Snow Balls, were on the Amazon list of the top selling 100 gay romances in 2012.Tara also has a popular paranormal series called the Aloysius Tales and an award-winning ménage series titled Genetic Attraction.

In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm, and she carries her promotional instincts into her writing career as well. She lives with her soul-mate husband in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

Enjoy your link to: a Rafflecopter giveaway

All right, here it is! The chance you’ve been waiting for. 

I have a few weeks until NaNoWriMo, and I’m between projects right now. I’m working on edits, cleaning up rough drafts, and generally making a nuisance of myself before I go to both GayRomLit retreat and Bent-Con.

What do you want me to write? Every Friday I write flash fiction based on images that move me in some way I can’t really define. How about you decide for a change? Got an image you like? Got an idea you want me to pursue?

Leave a comment here at the website,  be as detailed as you want to be. Include links to images, but be sure it’s okay to use them (I go to Bing.com and search for images that are free to use and share) or send me a link to the  royalty free site where the image can be purchased and I’ll look into it. What floats your boat?

Whether the image is a person or a place or something that simply makes you happy, put the link in the comments below and for the next few weeks I’ll choose one image every Friday to agitate the little gray cells, as Hercule Poirot says.

Don’t be shy. I welcome all ideas with one caveat — We should probably keep things rated R and below (NO NC17). Even though no one under eighteen should be reading this blog, I’m not entirely sure I’m up to the task of writing  Friday Flash Fiction for really um…graphic images.

So…what do you want me to write…Operators are standing by!

I did it again! I was off on a trip and forgot to post my Tuesday Teaser on Tuesday! MEA CULPA folks, I am not good at pre-scheduling posts!

Okay! Here’s how you do it! Guess the title of the Z.A. Maxfield book this teaser comes from to get an ebook copy of the book in question or any other book from my backlist. Be sure to give me a valid email address so I know where to send your ebook. The 5th person to email me with the correct title  WINS!

Email me at zamaxfield @ zamaxfield (dot) com and put Tuesday Teasers in the subject line!

Aaaaand…Pretty soon I’ll be inviting friends to join me here every Tuesday and hopefully, you’ll get a crack at winning a special guest author’s book. That will be fun, won’t it? (Seeing as how some of my friends are bestselling m/m romance authors and a chance to win one of their books would be AWESOME.) Look for something new come October. I’ll be kicking Tuesday Teasers: The Guest Factor into high gear during GRL month. We might even think of a new way to choose winners, maybe based on comments, instead of emails so you can leave your thoughts right here!

This Tuesday Teaser is another tough one. Shall we play GUESS THE BOOK?

Last Week’s Winners : Pat!

Whilst we’re at it, I’d like to invite you to subscribe to my newsletter, for free stories, exclusive contests, and all the news before anyone else gets it! Coming up, I have a cover reveal, a deleted scene, and more fun and games with cowboys!

“No beard.” I whispered, when I saw my whiskers had scratched his smooth skin.

“Not likely. My grandfather was Navajo. Diné. That’s why–”

“You have an amazing face.”

“I do?”

“I ain’t talking to ***.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s like all the happy in the world goes on exhibit there sometimes. I can see everything you think written all over your face.”

His lips curved into a small shy smile. “I guess I shouldn’t play cards.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“I like your face.” He raised his hand and thumbed my lower lip. “You’re face has character.”

“That another way of saying I should give up my dream of being a fashion model?”

“No.” He cuffed my arm lightly. “Not at all.”

“When I put character and cowboy together, I get Slim Pickens or those ‘after’ pictures of the Marlboro man when he was all sick.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and brought me close. “When I look at you, it’s like seeing a really great climbing tree or a or a fast horse with an attitude. Scary—maybe a little dangerous–but I can’t help wanting to climb on and just see where it takes me.”

I’ve always wanted to find a way to ask a few of my favorite authors over for a nice, leisurely Sunday brunch, and that became the idea for this blog.

Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! All commenters will be entered into a drawing, so don’t be SHY!

Last week’s winner is: druuuuuuumroll please: Chris Muldoon! I’ll be sending you an  email asking which ebook you fancy pronto! Thanks for playing along.

This week I gave my authors a tough assignment. It’s actually a question you’ll find in theory of knowledge classes, and very few people who signed up for my brunches wanted to take it on! Fortunately, in the three people here I have some very awesome authors who aren’t afraid of a challenge, so without further ado, I’ll ask this weeks guests to:

Define Art.

What is Art?

 

I saw this on a medallion at the Sawdust Festival in Laguna Beach, CA this summer and loved it so much I just have to quote it. It comes from artist, Jennifer Yane, and considering that I write the Beautiful Boys of Romance, it seems perfect to me:

 

Art is spirituality in drag.

 

: ) – Author Tara Lain

 

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 Art is all about making an emotional connection. It may hit you only subliminally and you may not quite be able to put your finger on what it was about this piece of art, be it a book, painting, play, movie, musical composition or whatever, but you know that it touched you in a deep way, struck a chord in your heart, perhaps invaded your dreams, left you feeling something. Intellectual connections are fine, but for me, true art connects with your feelings in a visceral way. It speaks to you. It touches you. And if it’s truly great art, it awakens your sense of wonder.
 
That’s it. I hope this works for brunch. I can always make my famous soft scrambled eggs with green onions and cheese instead. – Author Rick Reed (editor’s note: YUM)

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Like obscenity, most people think of art as something they know when they see it. I have vivid memories of my father glancing over my various art class textbooks and commenting on Duchamp’s Fountain, “That’s not art!” The Society of Independent Artists would have agreed with him — back in 1917.

Yes, my dad is a little bit of a throwback, but he’s not unique in confusing quality with personal preference. The default position for a lot of us is, “I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like.” So it’s probably natural that the logical thought progression would be that if you like it, it must be art.

But that’s a dangerous position: the notion that if you like something it must be quality or that if you dislike something, it must be flawed. I personally struggle with the concept that all art is subjective, and yet clearly concepts like Beauty and Good and Obscenity vary from culture to culture — and even within any given culture over a period of time.

I think the essential problem with the idea of art as subjective or personal, is that within that construct, the responsibility for what is or is not art lies with the audience — whereas I believe, by strictest definition, it actually lies with the artist. For me, whether something is, or is not, art is strictly to do with artistic intent.

The moment an act is performed deliberately in order to bring about a reaction from one’s self or another, it becomes art. Well, no. Because by that definition both murder and masturbation would be art. So I suppose I would have to qualify that to: the moment an act is deliberately performed to provoke an aesthetic — positive or negative – reaction from one’s self or another, it becomes art.

The catch is that what would be considered aesthetic at any given time is subjective. But the intent to provoke or stimulate the reaction is not subjective. – Author Josh Lanyon

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Now, Gentle Readers: Tell us how you define art HERE on my website for a chance to win an ebook from one of these fabulous authors!