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Tuesday, July 16, 2019

New Release Warmth of his Light by Frey Ortega




Blurb:
When Eos Hawthorne went to meet a friend one evening, he never expected his entire life to change. As if stumbling across a group of men fighting in an abandoned lot by his home wasn’t shocking enough—one of those men suddenly attacks him...with fangs and claws.

Vampire coven leader Julien Blanchard is having a bad day. After failing to apprehend a murderer and traitor to his coven, the absolute last thing he needed was a hapless human stumbling into the picture— especially an intriguing young man who, as it turns out, happens to be his mate.

Eos doesn't know if he believes in mating, and knows nothing about the supernatural world he is suddenly thrust into. Julien is a vampire who has always put his coven and his duty first.

Will their burgeoning love be enough to see Eos safely through the dangers he finds himself in? And even more so, can it make the cold-blooded Julien relinquish control and embrace Eos, and the warmth of his light?

Warmth of His Light is the first book of the Blanchard Coven series. It is M/M, HEA, and complete at 61,287 words.
Available for Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
Eos took a couple of steps back, almost as though he were right there in the midst of the action. He didn’t see anything else but the indistinct silhouette of bodies moving that he’d forgotten about the alley behind him, thinking he was about to get slashed at. Eos took a couple of steps back…and managed to hit his back loudly against what seemed to be a rather empty dumpster with a loud clang.
Well, it was mostly empty—except for a cat that gave an irritated yowl at being disturbed. It promptly sprung out at Eos, surprising him and making him jump.
“Shit!” Eos cussed. He twisted away, but his center of gravity was messed up by the sudden cat-attack and the fact that he had forgotten there was even a dumpster there at all. Eos fell flat on his rear right beside the dumpster…which he now noticed was leaking underneath.
But thank God I didn’t trip into the puddle of…whatever the hell that is. Eos wretched, fighting down the urge to barf.
Eos grimaced and not just because of the unidentified liquid dripping from underneath the dumpster that he was almost about to touch. Maybe the worst thing about this entire situation was that he had dropped his burger and soda, and now they were all over the concrete floor. Little cubes of ice splattered all over the now-very-wet pavement, some of which soaked into the wrapper of the once-pristine burger. He furrowed his eyebrows and frowned as he looked at what was supposed to be a nice little midnight snack.
“What a waste,” he muttered, and wobbled up to his feet. Eos checked himself for any scrapes or wounds, but aside from a sore butt and a bruised ego at being caught unaware by a cat, he was fine.
When Eos looked up, however, he’d noticed that the men he was eavesdropping on had stopped whatever they were doing and were now looking at him. Now, with their eyes trained on him, he could actually see their features more clearly.
They all suddenly had crimson-colored eyes, the color of blood, and the only reason Eos noticed was because they shone for the briefest moment when they trained their eyes on him. Didn’t one of them have blue eyes, earlier? And another had green ones, the color of forest foliage. The lanky one who was being surrounded had his teeth bared. No, not teeth—fangs.
Eos gulped. “Holy shit.”
Not only were the men blurs when they moved and fought, but they were…demonic blurs. Beastly blurs. Sexy, unsettling, demonic blurs.
That’s when he realized that the lanky, cornered man—with the eyes of a blood-crazed beast, the fangs of a demon, and the frenzy of an animal with nothing to lose—had broken through the three of them, and was now running straight for Eos.
As Eos closed his eyes and curled into a ball, one final thought came into his head…
I knew I shouldn’t have left the house today.

About the Author:
Frey Ortega writes erotic romance, primarily of the gay variety. He lives in what a friend affectionately calls “the south-easternmost part of Spain,” which is an archipelago called the Philippines. He’s a graduate of the Royal, Pontifical, and Catholic University in Manila, with a Bachelors of Science degree in Psychology. Primarily, he works as a writer, a novelist, sometimes a video game journalist, and overall a homebody who spends way too much time on the internet.

He loves writing about people, especially people of all different shapes, sizes and backgrounds, falling in love. You might also find him playing video games from time to time! His favorite ones are MMORPGs, and role-playing games in general (and not just the ones in the bedroom.)

Visit his website at:
http://www.freyortegawrites.com/
Follow him on social media:
Facebook Group (Frey’s Friends and Follies): https://www.facebook.com/groups/754579891359495/



Sunday, February 24, 2019

Bipolar & the Seven Deadly Sins: A Manic Essay


The first panic attack I ever remembered having I think I was around twelve. The details of the triggers or the event itself are hazy. But, oh, how I remember my current ones. I lose time as if I’m outside myself. My brain a misfiring of billions of neurons, I recognize them for the way my skin feels. It’s like it’s not…mine. Foreign and cumbersome, almost like a cheap suit that’s too tight and the legs too short. Millions of bugs crawling beneath my skin. I pick, scratch, attempt to hurt myself for it to go away. It’s only when I skip my count, my prayer beads don’t spin as smoothly as I roll them between trembling thumb and forefinger that the rage starts.

Hallucinations form with the building crescendo of every labored breath—each more ragged and painful than the one before it. Time ceases and I’m frozen, skinning the flesh from my arm, setting myself on fire, removing fingers, and driving 100 miles per hour into oncoming traffic and it doesn’t stop. Seconds, minutes, maybe an hour goes by and I’m back, yet always a piece missing. I know I should feel terrified, no, horrified at what my mind devises for me. Yet I’m not.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

#New Release Picking Up the Pieces - #Excerpt



Blurb:
I'm Noah Linkletter, and I'm broken.
Shattered, really—and I've been trying my best to ignore my problems by chasing temporary highs wherever I can find them. I put my makeup on and dance my way through a club, and by night's end, I find a man who's willing to indulge in a little act of sin to help me forget the demons in my own head.
It only takes one moment for my entire world to turn upside down. I'm left bloody and beaten, but even through the haze I meet him.
Farid Hassan.
A man who is strong and intimidating yet calm and patient. A man who wants me, despite my demons. A man so wonderful, he's willing to help pick me up the pieces.

Maybe he'll succeed.
Available for Kindle Unlimited

Monday, December 31, 2018

The Year of Body Positivity and Diversity and Beyond

This year marked three years of sobriety, and six years of being off drugs. My mental health has taken hits left and right, but as the years progress I learn to adapt to my brain’s needs. We work together like a dysfunctional team and at this point in my life I couldn’t be happier with where I’m at. Yes, things could be better. Yet I won’t complain because it could be so much worse. While I still think about alcohol and drugs daily, my darker thoughts are fewer and farther between. Days can pass without thought of self-harm. Again, I have adapted to my brain’s, shall we say, eccentricities.

2018 has turned into an amazing year. I lived my dream of writing full-time and while I believe my time is limited in that aspect I enjoyed the months with nothing but words to toil away upon. There is no way to thank my readers enough for reading my stories and embracing bodies in all their shape and sizes, shades. When I branded myself as a body positive author to describe the characters I wrote, but it was a label I always wore no matter the tales I told.

Sunday, December 9, 2018

Depression, Failing Self-Care & What's Left


It could be the holidays or just my usual mental state, but depression has been nipping at my heels for months. Several weeks ago, it sunk its teeth in and hasn’t let me go. I believe mental illness shouldn’t come with a stigma—some stupid reason we shouldn’t speak up.

As an Atheist, I’m not big on holidays or what they mean. Christianity pillaged pagans for their traditions, whatever, but it’s around this time everyone gets a bit down. We don’t have family to spend it with for whatever reason. It highlights our anti-social tendencies. Whatever it is, holidays just seem to exacerbate the shifting of our moods.

I don’t think that’s what has me down. Spending days in bed to awaken and just turn back over because I’m tired of existing. A week ago, I had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital, my panic attack didn’t come on with that annoying tightening of my chest and the bugs crawling beneath my skin. The nosebleed which isn’t a normal part of my attacks. It hit me like a sledgehammer and I had no way of controlling it. All the counting, visualization, none of it worked and I let others see the weakness.

Thursday, November 22, 2018

The Struggle of Being an Inferior Storyteller


I debated long and hard about writing this post, but I had a need to get my thoughts out. If I deemed to post it than that’s why you’re reading it now. Let me start at the beginning, when I started this creative process of putting words to paper. Yes, I started writing back in the day when it was nothing but notebooks and those chunky word processors. Not everyone had a computer or internet, that was mainly for libraries and school computer labs.

I fell in love with the written word early in life due to my dad’s parents. I’d go to their house every weekend or every other, each night they’d lie down in bed before going to sleep to read and it was the start of a lifelong habit. Yet I didn’t read kid books, they loved detective stories and horror. I don’t know if I even understood them or the words, but I remembered loving them. It was getting lost in worlds where the good guy always won. I developed a fascination with Zane Grey and the mystique of the old west.

When people ask when I knew I wanted to be a writer, I always say at 8 when I wrote the worst poem know to the literary world. And maybe it did start there, but my life changed with one book. Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. He created a gritty world with all the nastiness and horror, surreal and realism combined. All I knew is I wanted to write one day. Be a published author.

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

#NewRelease #SciFi The Rising Tide J. Scott Coatsworth #Giveaway


Author Name: J. Scott Coatsworth
Publisher: DSP Publications
Release Date: Tuesday, October 30 2018
Format: Paperback, eBook
Is This Book Romance?: No
ISBN: 978-1-64080-627-6
ASN: B07D8GFSJW
Price: 6.99 / 19.99
Story Type: Novel >50k
Word Count: 115K
Cover Artist: Aaron Anderson

Genres: sci fi, near future, space opera
Pairings: Various queer characters
Tropes: n/a
Keywords/Categories: gay, lesbian, transgender, future, generation ship, AI, artificial intelligence

Series Title: Liminal Sky
Position (Number) in Series: 2
Necessary to Read Previous Books: No, But It Doesn't Hurt

Warnings: refers to past consensual BDSM relationship for one character

Book Blurb:

Earth is dead.

Five years later, the remnants of humanity travel through the stars inside Forever, a living, ever-evolving, self-contained generation ship. When Eddy Tremaine and Andy Hammond find a hidden world-within-a-world under the mountains, the discovery triggers a chain of events that could fundamentally alter or extinguish life as they know it, culminate in the takeover of the world mind, and end free will for humankind.

Control the AI, control the people.

Eddy, Andy, and a handful of other unlikely heroes—people of every race and identity, and some who aren’t even human—must find the courage and ingenuity to stand against the rising tide.

Otherwise they might be living through the end days of human history.