Teaser Tuesday – with Author J.P. Barnaby!

March 25, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

Award winning romance novelist, J. P. Barnaby has penned over a dozen books including the Working Boys series, the Little Boy Lost series, In the Absence of Monsters, and Aaron. As a bisexual woman, J.P. is a proud member of the GLBT community both online and in her small town on the outskirts of Chicago. A member of Mensa, she is described as brilliant but troubled, sweet but introverted, and talented but deviant. She spends her days writing software and her nights writing erotica, which is, of course, far more interesting. The spare time that she carves out between her career and her novels is spent reading about the concept of love, which, like some of her characters, she has never quite figured out for herself.

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Fans of Teaser Tuesdays know what’s going to happen here:

I’ll post a snippet from one of J.P Barnaby’s books with the character names asterisked out.

Your mission is to guess which of J.P.’s books the excerpt comes from! Email your answer to me, zamaxfield (at) zamaxfield DOT com. Please be sure to put “Teaser Tuesday” in the subject line! I’ll draw a random winner each week. Winner gets an ebook. It’s that simple! Come play along…

HERE’s the snippet:

“Do you know what one of the best parts of sex is?” I asked him as I traced his lips with a finger. He looked at me, waiting. “Anticipation.” Leaning in, I let my lips just touch his chin, our breath mingling with no space between us. “I want you desperate and begging for me.” He surged forward, covering my lips with his, and moaned into my mouth before he pulled away.

“Too fucking late,” he said, with an implied ‘I’m already desperate’ almost too quietly for me to hear.

“I promise, it will be worth it,” I told him as I took his hand in mine and pulled him off the couch. It didn’t take much effort because he and I were about evenly matched in the size department. He might have had an inch and maybe twenty pounds on me, but we both had dancer builds—slender, wiry, and compact.

“Where are we going?” he asked, looking hopeful when we had to go toward the bedroom on the way to the front door.

“Dinner.”

“But I’ve already… I…” **** stammered, but seemed completely unable to finish the sentence, so I took pity and helped him out. After all, I wanted him to feel comfortable. It was all part of the service—and I have excellent customer service skills.

“Douched?”

He nodded, his face passing pink all together and teetering right on the edge of red.

“Me, too. We can have salads, but I have to know how someone who seems to have more money than God and the looks to match can be so shy,” I said and did the slap tag to make sure I had my wallet and phone. **** did the same, smiling to himself, and when he passed to go out the hotel room door, I checked out his ass.

God damn, I love my job.

Sunday Brunch – March 16, 2013

March 16, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

Last week, we were all about the whips and chains! I’m so glad my authors didn’t all agree on one or the other. Diversity is more fun at the brunch table!

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day, and I hope you’re all getting your very American St. Patrick’s Day meal of corned beef and cabbage ready. I think this year I’ll make colcannon and see if the kids like it. With my offspring, you can’t go wrong with potatoes and butter, I wonder if that’s true if there’s cabbage mixed in?

I want to know what you’re planning for St. Patrick’s day celebration. Do you go out? Do you stay home? Do you watch The Quiet Man? Do you turn off the TV and let your “petty fingers” do the rest?

If I were a drinking girl, I’d be tipping a pint of Sam Adams or Heineken for for proving that some businesses can put principle over profit.

For a bonus prize: The best made-from-scratch Bloody Mary mix recipe — just the mix, not the cocktail — wins an “I heart St. Nacho’s” T-shirt like the one William, my lovely assistant (pictured here) is wearing!

Either leave it in the comments or email it to zamaxfield at zamaxfield dot com. I like ’em rich and spicy, and I want to make them without all the additives you find in the mix bottles at the store. Help a writer out here! I’ll be in your debt.

Today’s question is also about liquor:

“It’s prohibition again, what are you trying to concoct in your bathtub?”

We all know that if it’s prohibition time– my family is doing its part to help those in need. That’s right– my family used to help those in their time of need receive the life-saving benefits of whole grain alcohol from that wonderful land up north known as Canada. *grins* Once again, it means that I’ll be carrying on the tradition since I’ve been learning how to make wine, mead and spirits for the past couple of years. Don’t look surprised. You thought it was all research for books, I know, yet, I knew years ahead of all of you that this time was coming again. Which is why I stockpiled enough supplies to make the necessary arrangements for sacramental wine and mead.

The next thing on my list– spirits. Between you, me and the wall– it’s for cleaning and for cooking– but hey, you make sure the cook, the diners and everyone else gets a sip or two of the good ole bathtub vodka. 😀 Distilled by these hardworking hands– you can even use it to create special dishes like penne pasta with vodka sauce. I love my food, which does show up in my writing. Occasionally, my love for alcohol creeps in too. but I think I managed to keep that away from the Department of Revenue this time…What’s that noise? Did you hear that? Run for your lives– it’s the coppers! Don’t let them have the flask I gave you. Run! Run! Run! If they catch you– they’ll make you sing like a canary if I don’t skin you first. Now go!

Purchase Treaty Of Desire: Loose Id Amazon B&N ARE

My go-to booze of choice lately is gin, so that’s the easy answer. Although, actually, I think I’d do pretty well in a speakeasy. If I’d been alive in the 1920s, that’s certainly where I would have gone for my cocktail fix. I love the idea of glamorous people in hidden locations drinking and dancing and carrying on.

New York City loves a novelty bar, but I imagine the faux speakeasies now are not the same as they were during Prohibition. I went to a party once at a bar in the West Village that billed itself as a speakeasy, and certainly it was just as hard to find; I walked by it three times trying to find the place because the only signage was a tiny sign on a non-descript door, and then you had to go down a dark staircase and get past a bouncer. The place was quite posh, but it’s hard to get excited about paying $20 for a cocktail, no matter how skilled the bartender is. Still, it seems so classy, well-dressed people sitting around in dim lighting, sipping from martini glasses. (This is my life in my imagination.)

Not to peddle in stereotypes, but Brooklyn is also this hotbed of people making their own stuff, and alcohol is not an exception. I went to a homemade beer tasting once and some of the beers tasted pretty good, even though I was baffled how anyone in Brooklyn could have space in their living quarters to brew beer. (I mean, my bathtub can barely fit a person. I don’t have a clue what brewing beer involves, but I imagine it would need more space than that.)

Hopefully the US has learned its lesson where Prohibition is concerned and so that I never have to solve the problem of how to make gin in my bathtub.

But if you like a little baseball with your illicit cocktail, check out my story “One Man to Remember” in the Playing Ball anthology put out by Dreamspinner Press. It’s a Prohibition-era historical romance between a rookie baseball player and a sports reporter, and they do indeed visit many a speakeasy.

Purchase Playing Ball: Dreamspinner Press Amazon

I’m so happy to be here at Sunday Brunch! And maybe it’s because it’s brunch time and I have mimosas on the brain, but if it were Prohibition, I believe the drink I’d miss the most would be champagne. Or prosecco, cava, sparkling wine…I’m not picky! If it bubbles, I like it. I’m not sure it’s possible to brew sparkling wine of any type in a bathtub, but I’d be willing to give it a shot if that were the only way to get a flute full. Because champagne isn’t just about feeling fancy or even tasting great–it’s about celebrating life’s biggest (and smallest) moments.

Life is hard sometimes. We all know it, we all experience it, and we all (if we’re honest) have a tendency to focus more on the hard times than the good times. It’s human nature to notice when the going gets rough, while smooth sailing tends to go unremarked. We dwell on our problems, our mistakes, our regrets. But for me, an essential component of living a happy life is taking the time to dwell on the good stuff. At my house, we take every opportunity to break out the bubbly! Turned in a proposal for the next book? *POP* Settled a dispute between colleagues at work today? *POP* Walked the dogs a whole mile without the little one snarling at anything that could swallow him in two bites? *POP* *glug* *Ahhhhh*

One sip of dry, toasty, effervescent champagne and I remember that life is good. Savoring the flavor and the heady tickle of the fizz helps me savor my day with all its triumphs and accomplishments–some big, some not so big, but all worth enjoying. And if I can sip that flute of sparkling wine in a hot bath with a heartbreakingly emotional novel, then I’m basically in heaven. So that’s my advice to all of you: pop a cork, pour out some bubbly, and relax with a good romance.* The happiness that celebrating yourself brings will outlast the buzz from the alcohol.

Cheers!

Lily Everett

*Like, for instance, any of ZAM’s books! Or if you’ve already read all of those, you could try my latest,Shoreline Drive. It’s the second book in my Sanctuary Island contemporary romance series, but don’t worry, you can read it as a stand alone! Comment on this post with the name of your favorite cocktail, mocktail, wine, or beer, and I’ll choose one commenter to receive a signed copy of Shoreline Drive along with a custom Sanctuary Island beach tote.

Buy Links: Amazon B&N

Sunday Brunch Blog – 1/26/13

January 26, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

Happy Sunday everyone! I woke up to a gray cloudy day today. Three boys home but running around. They’re currently in a robotics club that has a competition coming up in Vegas. That’s right, Vegas, baby. Nothing like letting smart kids loose in a town full of possible moral pitfalls. pffft. Guess who’s going as a chaperone.

They could do worse.

So, Last week we talked about whether we felt we were optimists, pessimists or just realists. So many good comments on that. You are great thinkers out there, and I loved reading your replies. Thanks! Last weeks winner (random pick, of course) is:

Andrea! *throws confetti*

This week’s question:

What’s the worst prank you ever pulled? (Of course this could also, given that we discussed glass half-empty/glass half-full last week, be called the BEST prank you ever pulled.)

I’ll tell you what, only ONE author was brave enough to sign up to share her prank with me: LE Franks is here to tell us about it.

My thoughts on pranks is I’m not really good at them. I don’t like making people feel uncomfortable. I never have. I’ve done things to surprise people. I let my daughter go to sleep on the eve of her fourth birthday in her toddler bed and then took her out and put her in a “big girl” bed, complete with dreamy bedding and nice pillows in its place so when she woke up her room was different (I pictured it like the Shirley Temple Version of A Little Princess, although the transformation was nothing so spectacular.)

Last week, I let my twin son Zack tell his brother Max they only had one iPhone left so we got him a clamshell phone they had leftover from the nineties with big button technology, but then that was Zack’s practical joke, not mine. I gave the game away as soon as I saw him, because he looked so resigned. I can’t stand to see people off-kilter. As a kid, I couldn’t watch shows the Beverly Hillbillies, because I don’t like to see people made the butt of jokes. I rarely watch reality television at all.

My husband is great at pranks and surprises, although he knows better than to pull them on me. He once bought me a car and told me the garage door remote didn’t work, knowing it’s snatch it out of his hand and try it anyway cause I’m that person who pushes “walk” even if you already did, who test things, opens doors, and generally has to see with my own eyes.

That was a GREAT prank/surprise and one I’ll remember forever.

One Man’s (er—woman’s) Prank is Another Man’s Worst Nightmare, or Our Road to Tying the Knot:

It’s really not my fault. I think it speaks more to his psychology than to my impulse to poke. Honestly.

It’s not like he secretly thought I was psycho…

Wait…there was that time I visited him in Princeton NJ about a month after we started dating—he was on a long-term job site, I was a travel slut looking for a good time and a 45 minute ride to the Big Apple…a match made in heaven. So what if he’d been staying in a tiny room no bigger than a closet filled with three weeks of stinky man-clothes?

He may have been a little disconcerted when at midnight (9 pm our time, for frack’s sake!) he awoke and found me leaning against a wall staring at him. Did I mention it was only 9pm on the west coast and the room was the size of my thigh? God’s great gift to mankind – the iPhone – had not been invented yet. And there was nowhere to sit. It was either lean against a wall or wake him up every 5 minutes moving around on the double bed.

He may have also jumped to conclusions that helped reinforce this idea of my shaky credentials the next day when he walked into his hotel room and found a naked man in the shower. (Stop it! I know what you’re thinking…I said travel slut, not slut-slut. Sheesh).

It’s really not my fault that he had a moment of crazy when he convinced himself that I’d traveled 2900 miles to steal his dirty clothes, especially since he’d stopped by the front desk to arrange a larger room for us before leaving for the day. So sue me. I did what any reasonably bored and efficient person would do…I got the key and moved us.

While that would have been a KILLER prank—it doesn’t count as one—but it may very well explain why when I did eventually prank him he thought I was serious. Deadly serious. Honestly, so much drama and yet, he still married me. [Editor’s note from ZAM: Knowing you — and adoring you as I do — this does not surprise me.]

Tiny more bit of backstory: I actually have really excellent taste. No, don’t scoff—don’t confuse my jean’s and t-shirts for fashion ignorance, because hey, California. It doesn’t mean that I can’t slide my hand across a nice white cotton broadcloth covered chest and not know the thread count and whether you’re rocking the perm-a-press. And there really is nothing worse that a lousy polyester or ugly print necktie. But I digress.

We’d been living together for a few weeks at this point—about six months after the whole unfortunate “you stole my dirty underwear” episode on the East Coast—still not the best of arrangements, but I’d moved in with him and his roommate who was her own brand of crazy-with-cat. She had weird rules, and we tiptoed around a lot. It just added to the atmosphere.

Moving in with him the first thing I noticed was a large mirror leaning against a corner, covered in neckties. Horrible, horrible, ghastly, ugly, polyester, and knitted cotton, and old, (not cool-old either. Not hot retro “my fashion is editorial”. Nope. The really, really unredeemably bad kind.) Ties that made my eyes bleed and teeth ache just to look at them…and he had a lot of them. No joke—dozens upon dozens, even ties from the eighties with their mauve and peach color schemes…soft blurred images with cow skulls on them. Nightmares. [Editor’s note from ZAM: You didn’t accidentally marry my husband did you? ‘Cause he has those too, and even older ones from his dad. 70 years of bad ties]

The Prank. I may have threatened the ties with extermination a time or two. He may have been in genuine fear for their lives…but still, I think the day that he came home from work, saw my note telling him I that I’d offed them (I believed I used words like “cut up” and “never see them again”) he might have paused a second to look around the room and notice the trail of dropped neck ties leading to the downstairs hall closet where they remained unharmed. Nope. Did not see a-one. (Editorial note from LE Franks: as I write this, I realize he had to have stepped over several of these ties on his way up the stairs, which is an entirely different post about why men’s clothes become invisible the second they touch the ground.)

The Result. Total Freak Out.

I almost wet myself laughing. Honestly. Like anyone would go to all that trouble to cut them up with scissors when there’s a perfectly good trashcan outside. (Oddly he didn’t consider that argument to be an improvement.)

Yeah, he eventually married me anyway—but I did use it as a teaching moment to point out how hideously awful his taste was (why let all those props go to waste) and in the end, he let me dispose of the worst offenders with the following caveat: for every tie he coughed up, I’d replace them with two very cool ones. And I did—I even got him nifty grown up tie hangers—Ties as colorful and cool as he is. Now, I hardly ever see him dressing like an 85 year old man anymore, because scissors. – Author LE Franks

Purchase 6 Days to Valentine on January 29th from Wilde City Press.

Oh, the places I go…

January 23, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

As everyone knows I’m on a blog tour for My Heartache Cowboy. I just wanted to give a shout out to a few of the authors who are hosing me this week. They are so kind to give up their valuable Internet real estate for me, and I have really enjoyed answering their questions, writing blog posts, and generally hanging around with them.

These are some solid friends, folks, they’re the ones who cheer me on when I succeed, and laugh with me when I fail…or cry. They’re also solid writers in their own right. So far, I’ve visited with Rhys Ford, Karenna Colecroft, Tara Lain, and LE Franks! Below you’ll find the links, and while you’re there, check out my author pals and the books they write. Show them a little love by following their blogs, signing up for their newsletters and “like”ing their pages. I guarantee you will be glad you did!

These authors have already hosted me:

Rhys Ford Dirt and Sin With A Side Of Coffee

Karenna Colecroft Open Your Heart

Tara Lain Read the Beautiful Boys of Romance

LE Franks The Books, The Blogs, and The Men

I’ll let you know about new blog visits as they appear.

My Heartache Cowboy

(Cowboy Series, Bk #2)
By Z.A. Maxfield

Blurb:

Can love conquer all?

Jimmy Rafferty and Eddie Molina go way back at the J-Bar ranch. They’ve worked together, bunked together, camped out, and drank together. So how has Jimmy failed to notice that Eddie is gay? Eddie has not failed to notice that his friend has a serious drinking problem, and he’s determined to help Jimmy kick the booze cold turkey.

Taking him up to a snowbound cabin to detox, Eddie is confronted with Jimmy’s fierce denial. But the pains of withdrawal are nothing for Jimmy compared with the heartache of denying his true feelings and his deep longing…for the one man who cares for him more than anyone else on earth.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

When I woke, I was alone and the truck wasn’t moving.

Who the hell did Eddie think he was, leaving me asleep by myself in a truck outside in the freezing cold? My pa and my older brother, Jonas, used to do that. We’d be on the road, and when I fell asleep, they’d leave me in the parking lot of some dive bar or motel—just leave me asleep outside in the dark. I’d wake up with no clue where I was, no idea if they were coming back or if I should go in and try to find them.

My first useful thought was to look for the keys, because I hadn’t forgotten what Eddie said. I hadn’t forgotten the plans him and boss Malloy made for me behind my back. It would serve them right if I up and hightailed it back to the J-Bar with Eddie’s truck and no Eddie.

No keys.

Not like that was going to stop me. Where the hell did Eddie get the idea I’d go quietly? I slid over and tore the wiring out from under the dash. Found what I needed without hardly even looking.

I hated waking up alone like that. Unwanted. Abandoned.

One twist. Two. Touch the wires together and the engine should . . .

Fuck.

Nothing.

What the hell? I checked I got the proper color-coated strands and tried again. I was frowning down at the mess of tangled wire when someone tapped on the window behind me.

I glanced up and saw Eddie frowning down, no doubt pissed at what I’d done to his truck. Serves you right for leaving me like that, you prick.

“You need a working engine for that,” he told me as he opened the door. “One that has a battery.”

“Fuck you.” I spilled out of the car ready for a fistfight.

“What?” Eddie jumped back.

“Why did you have to leave me like that? What did I ever do to you?”

Eddie shook his head at me. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You were sound asleep and I thought maybe you needed it.”

I took a swing at him. “I hate waking up alone in a car like that.”

Ed plucked my fist from the air and peered at me like he was trying to see through my skin. “I didn’t know.”

“I hate that. Left behind in the car like a damn dog. Like a fucking duffel bag. You can’t be bothered to even wake me up and take me in out of the fucking snow.”

Now Eddie frowned like he was thinking about it. Now, after the fact. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t think how you’d feel waking up alone like that. I won’t do it again.”

“Would have served you right if I took your truck and left you up here to walk back to civilization, wherever the hell that is. Would have served you right if I’d died out here.”

“All right, all right. Simmer down now.”

I glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“It’s pretty civilized inside. How about you come in with me.”

“How about you suck my fucking—”

“That’s enough.” He turned and headed toward the cabin’s welcoming front door. “I almost didn’t bother to disable the damn thing, but I thought on the off chance you knew what you were doing and could—”

“Which I did,” I pointed out.

“Come inside.” He jerked his chin toward the cabin like I was a dog and I was supposed to just follow along and yip around at his heels.

I debated making a run at him, but frankly, Eddie was a tough buzzard. He wasn’t too much older than me, just forty-two compared to my thirty-eight. But I was a lover, not a fighter, or at least that’s how I thought of myself. Back there on the road, Eddie had proved he wasn’t above using violence to get his way in this, so I went along.

You’re going to have to sleep sometime.

Eddie led me into a rustic-looking cabin that seemed awful nice for the middle of nowhere. There was a place for us to hang our hats just inside the door, over a table with a passel of pictures on it. There were old time black-and-whites of families and framed pictures of a good-looking man, a pretty woman, and some kids. There were some of the kids alone, and holy cow, there were probably a dozen pictures of Ed. He looked so young in a couple of them, they must have been from before we met.

One of Ed and the unknown man caught my eye. Something about the difference in height, the casual way they leaned together, the way they looked at each other, made me think this was Ed’s friend from the road, Don. Even though they’d both aged some since it was taken, I was almost sure of it.

No knobby hands, no weathered angel, this Don was good looking, without a doubt. He was lanky and chiseled. He had an intelligent face and a smile that drew the eye. He seemed sure of himself and charming. Whatever I’d seen in the darkness outside the car had to be a trick of the light.

Ed looked so young and earnest next to him it took my breath away. Brawny and tan, he wore a yoked Western shirt with the sleeves rolled up past well-muscled forearms and he eyed Don like he would follow him anywhere.

And that Don, he looked like he could appreciate a guy like Ed, as well.

Hadn’t I seen firsthand how much he did appreciate him?

About the Author

Z. A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. Three things reverberate throughout all her stories: Unconditional love, redemption, and the belief that miracles happen when we least expect them.If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four can find time for a writing career, she’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework.”

You can find ZA Maxfield at

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Sunday Brunch Blog – 1/19/2014

January 19, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

Last week there were TWO brunch options, the first seating featured Amy Lane, Cherie Noel, and Christopher Koehler, who discussed their New Years’ Resolutions. The winner for that was Trix! Thanks for commenting, Trix, I know it was a bit confusing to have two different brunches last week, and I should be back on track here for the forthcoming few weeks anyway.

The second seating of Sunday Brunch last week featured LE Franks, KA Mitchell, and James Buchanan. Their question was about favorite winter pastimes and their winner was Jeff!

This week’s question is about state of mind. I’m really hoping you comment here, I’d like to get a lively discussion going:

Is your glass half-full, half-empty, or poisoned?

Do you know people who have it good and think it’s bad? Do you know people who have it bad, but just keep on chugging like the little engine that could? Which type are you? Were you born that way? Or did circumstances make you that way? What do you think? Tell me in the comments below!

And for a change, I’m going to be one of the authors who answers my question…

I came up with this question because I have always felt like the sole optimist in my family.

My parents had tough times growing up — my dad experienced prejudice and war in Europe and my mother lived through the Great Depression. Yet I know lots of people who have gone through the same time period and emerged hopeful and confident.

I know people who suffered far greater losses, both physically and emotionally than my parents did, yet still manage to expect a favorable outcome from everyday situations. I’ve often wondered whether there is a genetic component to it, or…well… I wonder about those things because I’m adopted and the most optimistic person I know — my husband — comes from a line of optimists going back to the plague years. They’ve been through all kinds of hell, and they still have a positive outlook. My husband is the kind of guy who, if he fell out of a plane, would text me pictures all the way down with the caption, “Look, isn’t this cool?”

What triggers one person to look on the bright side and another to get lost in the shadows? I don’t know. I only know when I’m recapping the year of a bad accident, or a the year our house burned, I am usually mitigating it, saying, “Well… of course we were so lucky. We all got out okay. We had insurance. We had friends who helped us out. We had fun, even. It was an adventure.” We were lucky. I always feel lucky, I always feel blessed, even when bad things happen. I got to be there when my father died, I got to help lay my mother to rest. Those things were possible and I felt lucky.

To an optimist, this means I’m rolling with the punches right? To my mother, it just meant NOTHING REALLY BAD HAS HAPPENED YET. There will be another shoe, and when it drops, you will no longer be able to feel lucky.

Which always sounds like a curse to me. “Someday all that happy you’re storing up right now will not be enough, and then you will understand how I feel.”

I’m not charmed. I’ve been in car accidents. We lost both my parents and parents-in-law. My house burned and I lost most of my most treasured sentimental possessions. Our finances suffered severe setbacks during the recession we’ve never recovered from. I expect, in time, to lose my health and/or my beloved husband to the diseases of old age and eventually I expect to die. I don’t expect it will be easy or painless. Those things aren’t what ifs, they’re given.

And of course I fear every mother’s nightmare — the loss of my children. You can never be prepared for that. The loss of one of my kids would probably put me in the ground early, and yet, it only makes me want to love them even more right this very second. It makes me want to wake them up and ask them every question I have, to find every little thing about them so I can commit it to memory for later. It makes me want to really wallow in what I have right now, and not look ahead to how it might all be taken away.

So I’m not really sure. Am I an optimist? A pessimist? I realist? Am I fooling myself that I have a pretty good attitude and I can go with the flow, whatever happens? I really don’t know. I hope so, but I really don’t know. I guess I’ll say what I always say… Stay Tuned…

[Editor’s Note: I wanted to add here, in case anyone misunderstands: Even though my mother was a pessimist, she was fun, funny, adventurous, highly intelligent, and a blast to spend time with. She wore a button on her coat that said “Since I gave up all hope I feel much better” and that was the truth of her, at her core. Just because she expected the worst and frankly thought life was crap, didn’t mean she didn’t try new things. She was always learning, often laughing. She was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, under a dark cloud, and I wish everyone could have met her.] — Author Z.A. Maxfield

Pre-Order My Heartache Cowboy at Amazon

~*~

Half full! I want to keep adding to it, adding to the joy of living. I’ve got so much more I want to learn, to experience, to say, to share, to write. I want to fill that cup with everything I possibly can. And I want to share all those things with others, and then keep on filling up that cup again and again.

Writing (and reading) fiction is a big part of that for me. With each new story, I get to experience all that passion and suspense and love that goes into those characters’ lives, and it’s such a rush to take that journey with them. I’m also very fortunate that, as a writer, I get to share all that with others, and then do it all over again and again.

Thanks so much ZAM for including me in your Sunday Brunch blog series. – Sloan Parker

Purchase MORE THAN JUST A GOOD BOOK: Amazon B&N All Romance eBooks.

~*~

[Editor’s Note: Author Ava Doran is a late addition, as she was originally scheduled and I didn’t get her copy until I’d already posted this. Better late than never, I always say!] It’s a tough question, really — only because I find what’s in my glass can vary from day to day.

Some days, you get up and out of bed and, with the sun shining, it’s impossible for you to think of the day being anything but half-full. It’s a day where I can take on the world and there isn’t anyone who can stop me. I’m invincible. Powerful. Don’t care if you set out to put me down, there isn’t anything you can do or say that will ruin my mood. I have friends who are often like this, that no matter what is going on, they can always find the good in things and can stay upbeat even as life tries to knock them down.

Then there’s the days where the glass is half-empty… if not dry as a bone. The days where nothing goes right and with every bad thing that happens, it’s harder and harder to pull you out. I’ve had a lot of hard knocks lately, both personally and professionally. Sometimes it’s hard to find a bright side to look on because, whenever you try, something else comes along and fouls things up. It’s happened to even the best of us. Sometimes we want to give up because it’s just too damn hard. But then… something happens and it changes our perspective. Something that makes you stop, take a step back, and find that tiny glimmer of hope. It may not be much, but sometimes that’s all you need for the glass to start looking half-full once more.

As for the poisoned? Well. If I said I’ve poisoned your glass… where’s the fun in that?

Thanks so much to the loverly ZAM who let me pop by her blog today. You’re the best, dear. xx — Author Ava Doran

Teaser Tuesday with author DC Juris

January 14, 2014 by Z.A. Maxfield

Today my guest is DC Juris, an online pal I had the good fortune to finally meet at one of the GRLs!

Who is DC Juris? In a few words, he’s a Star Trek loving, cupcake making, football watching, rubber duck collecting, drag show attending, full of fabulous with a capital F kinda guy.

In a few more words, he’s a Southern transplant who has retained none of his accent but all of his charm, an out and proud transgender bisexual Geek living in Upstate New York with his husband, three dogs, three cats, two Tribbles, two Ceti Alpha V eels, and a menagerie of Halloween props just creepy enough to keep people guessing about his sanity.

He’s still hopelessly single when it comes to the woman in his life, and he’ll gladly entertain offers or applications for the position! In the rare event that His Geekiness is not writing, DC can be found watching and rewatching Star Trek (TOS), surfing the internet for porn research, stalking things he “needs” on Ebay, reading, taking pictures of the world around him, or playing games on his iPhone, which he admits to being blissfully in love with. You can keep up with him at www.facebook.com/dcjuris, or www.dcjuris.com, or his blog at http://dcjuris.blogspot.com.

Here’s his snippet. Be sure to send guesses about which DC Juris book we have here to me at zamaxfield (at) zamaxfield (dot) com (you know the drill) and put Teaser Tuesday in the subject line. I will randomly select one winner who will get to choose an ebook from Daniel’s backlist!

Last week’s random Teaser Tuesday winner, from #1 and #2, you lucky devil, TRIX! I’ll send your email to Kate and Carolina, thanks for playing along!

*****

“Um, guys?” **** called out. “There’s people coming.”

******* tore his gaze away, though he didn’t move, and his fingers dug into my cheek a little. “Just what we need. Fuck me,” he groaned.

I’d love to.

He stood up and grabbed my hand to haul me up to my feet as well.

“Hey there!” one of the people shouted.

******* chuckled. “Inconspicuous lot, aren’t they?” He glanced at me again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” I nodded. I didn’t know if I was or not, but if ******* wanted me to be okay, I’d be okay. Hell, I’d have tried to be anything for him right then.

“Stay behind me,” he instructed as he walked up to them.

Ten men and three women made up the group, and they looked to range in age anywhere from teenagers to a woman in her fifties, maybe. I’d never been a really good judge of age. They were grungy and smelly—proof they’d been on the streets for a while.

“Hi there!” one of the men stuck out his hand to *******. “I’m ***.”

******* looked him up and down through narrow eyes, no doubt wondering, as was I, why he was being so friendly. “I’m *******.”

“You three out here by yourselves?” *** asked.

If his name really was ***. My stomach knotted at the way several of the men were ogling ****—as though he was a tasty snack. I edged over closer to him and listened as ******* and The Man Who Would Be Called *** exchanged pleasantries and small talk.

“We’re camped out a couple miles west of here. It’s a real nice spot,” *** revealed. “You’re welcome to come back with us.”

******* shook his head. “We’re headed east.”

“Toward Copper Valley? Yeah, everyone we’ve met has been headed there. It’s not too far out of your way, though. And your boy there looks like he could use some medical attention.” He pointed at me.

I stood up straighter. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t, though. It had taken all my strength to walk over to **** without showing the pain in my ankle, and I was pretty certain my right wrist was at least sprained.

“He’s bleeding.” One of the others pointed out. “He get bitten?”

I hadn’t even realized the blood oozing from the scrapes on my arms, and seeping through the knees of my jeans.

“He fell.” ******* glanced at me. “Just a little bruised up.”

“They’ll smell him a mile away.” *** sniffed the air in apparent demonstration.

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

[Editor’s note: okay now I’m officially shaking in my shoes for those guys. Lots of great tension here. Wow.]