Sunday, October 23, 2016

Blogtour and ARC Review: Winter Heart by B.G. Thomas

Please welcome B.G. Thomas and 

Winter Heart

Seasons Of Love #4 


For over ten years, Wyatt Dolan defined himself as the lover of Howard Wallace. Howard made sure Wyatt’s self-worth depended on that role. So when Howard dumps him, he is lost at sea in a storm without a rudder. If it wasn’t for his supportive friends, he doesn’t know what he’d do. Finally, after a series of disasters, he escapes to Camp Sanctuary—a sacred place to him—where he can be alone, try to put his past behind him, and find a new direction for his life.

Kevin Owens is a lonely man. He is very intelligent—several apps he created have gone on to make him a comfortable living—but he is also quite shy and is uncomfortable making conversation. The death of his dear friend and former lover after a long illness leaves him grieving, confused, and adrift. Then a dream guides him to Camp Sanctuary, only to find that the one cabin with a wood-burning stove has already been reserved. And worse, by a man he’s had a secret crush on for years—Wyatt Dolan.
When a snowstorm knocks out power at the Camp, Wyatt and Kevin must share the same cabin to stay warm, and very soon, magickal things begin to happen.

A Story of Love Lost and Love Found (and for me, a wonderful new friend made)

I am pleased as pleased as can be to be here at My Fiction Nook, and I mean that with all my heart. I’m excited. And a big part of the reason for that is Sandra, who runs this wonderful blog.

Sandra had given me a couple of really wonderful reviews back when I was just getting rolling. The thing is, her picture is this adorable little icon and not an actual photograph. I had no idea what she looked like. And there are so many, many names flying around, many of them without last names attached.

Okay, so I’m in Chicago a few years ago for GayRomLit and I’m really hungry and I finally have a spot of time to eat, and, unexpectedly, I am meeting yet another new person. It’s wonderful, but almost overwhelming, to meet people who know who you are, but you aren’t too sure who they are. To be a bit of a celebrity—something I never expected to be—is kind of wild. To have someone tell you they love your books, why, it’s rather amazing. Humbling!

And here was this nice lady telling me she really loved the two Seasons of Love books that were out and that she was really looking forward to reading Autumn Changes (which I had just finished that morning!).

I asked her if she wanted to join me for lunch. She said she’d just eaten but she’d have an iced tea and sit and keep me company. I was pleased as could be.

Then she began to talk about my books. I mean really talk about them. This lady knew these books. She wasn’t just being nice. She talked about how much she liked the seasons theme and how they matched the characters and situations so well. She talked about how Spring Affair was about renewal, and that Sloan is renewal. His mother dies, and when he meets Max, he blooms again. Like spring.

And that in Summer Lover, Scott is like summer in that he's breaking free. He begins to go with the flow, and of course his thing with Cedar was hot and sweaty, and we both laughed.

But then she really surprised me by saying things about Autumn Changes—the book I had just finished that morning!—that left me with my mouth falling open. She talked about Asher being like fall, especially with his excessive use of alcohol, which turns him a bit toward the darkness. About the days getting shorter, the nights getting longer. She started predicting what would happen in the next book, and she was spot on! I was stunned and then very abruptly, to my complete embarrassment, I—looking at her badge again—realized who she was. Remember I had no picture of her before this, and I was meeting tons of people one right after the other, but still. This was the Sandra that ran My Fiction Nook and who had been so kind in her reviews.

And she realized that I was just realizing who she was, and I blushed all the more, and it was really quite sweet, and I started gushing because—wow!—this woman reads hundreds and hundreds of books, and she knew who I was and knew my books. Really knew them. She wasn’t just trying to flatter me or something, and who was I anyway? Certainly no Amy Lane or Andrew Grey or Damon Suede.

I was on top of the world. Sandra made me feel like a superstar!

But then she blew me away all the more by speculating, way back then, about Winter Heart. And how she recognized that Wyatt was the real “heart” of the series. She offered some interesting thoughts on why Wyatt practiced the religious path the did. And she told me how much she hated Howard, the man who had so emotionally and spiritually abused Wyatt and started speculating on why Wyatt stayed with him for so long and how Howard must have represented himself as quite a different man from the one we see in the books, and how down and weak Wyatt must have been when they met and…. And…. And….

Then quite suddenly my characters were even more real to me than ever, ever before. I was fighting back the tears. I was feeling very alive myself in that moment. And I will never ever forget it.

Thank you so much for that day, Sandra. Thank you so much for your kind reviews. Thank you so much for having me here today. [Thank you, Ben! I adore you!]

And how about, as some very small thanks, I give you this exclusive excerpt from my new novel, Winter Heart, showing you just how much of your speculation about why Wyatt was with Howard was right on the mark….



When Wyatt’s little car had broken down in Kansas City eleven years before—and he’d been surprised the piece of shit had made it that far—he had no idea what to do. He had no idea what was wrong with his ancient Camry, but the horrible grinding noise and the black smoke that came out from under the hood told him it had to be bad. Wyatt didn’t know much about cars, but he did know that black smoke wasn’t supposed to come out from under the hood.

He managed to pull over and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel and just cried. His face still hurt where his father had struck him seven—eight?—hours ago? He could feel with his tongue where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek.

Wyatt was freaking out. What was he going to do? It was dark. It had to be after ten o’clock. He didn’t know anyone in Kansas City. His friend Barry had run away to Los Angeles a few years before, and when Wyatt had jumped in his car and left his home, it was with some crazy idea of trying to get to California to find him.

That wasn’t going to happen now.

So he’d somehow gotten ahold of himself and climbed out of his car and spotted a bar across the street. The Watering Hole, the sign said. Why the fuck not? If they checked his ID, they’d throw him out; he was only eighteen. But maybe they would let him have a Coke. Although it was certainly not money he should be spending.

It wasn’t until he got inside that he was struck by the fact that he had somehow—through some cosmic joke or accident or maybe miracle—walked into a gay bar. His eyes had popped, and he gawked in wonder at the sight, his mouth fallen open as if his jaw had come unhinged.

The rainbow beer signs with their flickering neon lights—he knew what the rainbow colors meant.

The posters on the walls of “half-nekkid” cowboys. Cowboys weren’t really the kind of guys that put lead in his pencil, but—wow!—their jeans were so low he could see their pubic hair!

Oh—my—God! Look over there! Two guys kissed while something baseballish happened on the big flat-screen TV—right there in front of the whole world!

And finally the bartender, wearing impossibly tight jeans and a ripped tank top, who stretched and then sidled up to Wyatt’s end of the bar and asked him what he would like to have (and even though Wyatt was small-town naïve, he couldn’t help but hear the innuendo dripping from that question).

There hadn’t been one word about an ID.

Of course, all he’d asked for was a Coke. A Diet Coke.

The bartender leaned on the bar, an actual toothpick sticking out of his mouth, and looked at Wyatt with heavy-lidded eyes. “You sure you don’t want something in that, sugar bear?” Wyatt could see a hairy chest at the low neck of the wifebeater. It looked soft. He wanted to touch it.

“I….” Don’t say you’re not old enough, a wise inner voice advised. “I can’t really afford it.”

A brow shot up, and the bartender gave Wyatt a suspicious look. “Can you afford the Coke?”

“Oh! Oh, y-yes!” Wyatt pulled some singles and a couple of fives out of his pocket. His on-hand cash. He had more hidden in his car (his piece-of-shit car). He’d stopped at an ATM and cleared out as much cash as he could from his account, but it would only let him take out so much per day. He’d hit it again tomorrow.

The bartender nodded, reached out with a finger, and touched the end of Wyatt’s nose playfully. “You are just adorable as hell. Tell you what. The first one’s on me. What would you like to drink?”

Wyatt gulped. He had no idea. The only time he’d had anything was with this one boy who wanted blow jobs but always had to sneak alcohol from his parents’ stash to give himself the nerve to go through with it.

Say something! Anything!

“Rum and Coke?”

“You got it, sugar bear.” The bartender stepped away.

A drink? I’m having a drink? He hadn’t even had anything to eat! Would this be a big mistake? It didn’t take much to get him drunk, and he really didn’t like how it made him feel. Except that sometimes it made the world hurt less.

The bartender was back and asked if he wanted a lime.

“I don’t know?” Wyatt asked more than said.

“We’ll leave it out, then,” said the bartender. “I’m Buck. What’s yours?” He held out his hand.

Wyatt took it and told him his name.

“Like Earp?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know. Dad wanted me to be a man’s man.”

Buck’s eyes twinkled. “Are you a man’s man, Wyatt?”

He blushed furiously. “I guess I am,” he admitted and blushed all the more.

“Good. What do you do?”


“I worked in a grocery store before I came here.”

Buck chuckled. “That’s not quite what I meant, but okay. Where you from?”

“Hey, Buck!” shouted a man from the other end of the bar. “You serving today?”

“Ah, kiss my ass,” Buck cried. He winked at Wyatt. “I’ll be back.”

Which left Wyatt alone with no idea what to do. He looked around. The baseball game was right out. He’d rather match socks. Match socks while watching Late Night with Conan O’Brien.

So what to do? Get a book out of the car to read?

Maybe take a drink of his rum and Coke? Probably. So he did, and he choked—Crap! How much rum was in this?—and hoped Buck hadn’t noticed. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Buck might be flirting with him. And something told him Buck was a whole lot different than the high school boys he’d fooled around with. Too bad you’re so thin, thought Wyatt. Buck had all that pretty, soft-looking chest hair, but he was sooooooo skinny. He was still hot, but gods, wouldn’t he be even hotter with a bit of belly?

Wyatt looked around the room again and near the entrance spotted what looked like little piles of magazines. He went and checked and found what looked like some kind of combination of a newspaper and a magazine. Several of them. With names like KC Gay Times. Gay newspapers? Why, one even had a sexy, husky, hairy guy on the cover. “Bear Bust” it read. What the hell was that?

He grabbed one of each of the little newspaper things and took them back to his seat, leafed through them, sipped at his cocktail, and became amazed.

It seemed there was all kinds of gay stuff in this city! Had he fallen into paradise? He trembled. Scared. Delighted. Stunned. Bars. Drag shows. Advertisements for bath houses in St. Louis—sexy advertisements! He’d read about places like that online. So they were real! Imagine…. And bear busts. Holy crap! They were for guys like him.

He’d died and gone to the Summerlands!

“How’s that drink coming along?” Buck asked him, making him jump.

It was only about half-gone. Wyatt had been very busy reading his magazines. “I’m okay for now. Give me a little bit.” What he wanted was something to eat. All he’d had since he left home was a dollar cheeseburger from McDonalds, and he was starving. He already felt buzzed.

“You have anything to eat here?” he asked.

“There’s popcorn,” Buck answered and cocked a thumb in the direction of a small movie-theater-style popcorn maker near the door.

Wyatt all but ran to it, filled one of the cardboard rectangular bowls provided, and made his way back to his stool, eating as he went. He finished it in seconds. He couldn’t slow down.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Wyatt turned to see a big man sitting a couple of stools down. Really big. When had he gotten here? He was seated, so Wyatt couldn’t be sure, but he looked like he was probably at least six foot. He was bald, but it was sexy, and he had a fairly thick beard that was shaved down to the jaw line. Like that bartender, he was wearing a wifebeater, and it did nothing to hide his huge hairy chest, and unlike Buck, this guy had a nice sexy belly.

Wow, Wyatt thought. He’s fucking hot!

The man studied him with sexy dark eyes. Like he was waiting for something.

Oh! He hadn’t answered the man’s question. Shit! And embarrassed, he simply shrugged in response.

The big man sighed. He looked to be at least thirty, a good twelve years Wyatt’s senior. “And you can’t really afford anything, can you?”

Wyatt shrugged again.

“What were you going to use to buy something if Buck had told you they did have food?”

Wyatt paused. Shrugged once more.

The man shook his head. “Tell you what. I was about to order a pizza—”

Wyatt’s mouth immediately began to salivate.

“—so how about if I share?”

Wyatt could only sit there in surprise. “I… I don’t want to take your dinner!”

He laughed. “That’s okay, baby bear. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

Wyatt didn’t know what to say. It was charity. His father had always told him not to take charity. But his dad said all kinds of crazy shit. And Wyatt was hungry. Really hungry. He gave a single nod.

The man moved a seat closer. “What’s your name, baby bear?”

Wyatt shivered. Gods. Was this happening to him? This was like something right out of one of Wyatt’s wet dreams.

“Wyatt,” he replied.

Now he’s going to say, “Like Earp?”

But he didn’t. Instead he said, “Well, I’m Howard,” and held out his hand. Wyatt’s all but vanished in Howard’s callused and considerably bigger one. Wyatt trembled again. Felt his penis shifting in his jeans.

“Nice to meet you, Wyatt. Now what do you like on your pizza?”

“I like pepperoni,” Wyatt said quietly. “And sausage.”

“Didn’t hear you,” the man said.

Apparently the lady belting out, “I’m a red-necked woman,” from the jukebox had drowned him out. Wyatt gulped. “I like pepperoni and sausage,” more loudly this time.

Howard laughed. “I bet you do! How about some mushrooms?” He arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Wow. This guy was really flirting with him. Right here in public! And he was so hot.

“Whatever you want,” Wyatt replied.

Howard leaned in close and in a husky voice said, “What I want is for you to take your shirt off. That’ll pay for your pizza and at least one more rum and Coke.”

Wyatt shivered. God. Wyatt looked down at the table. Take his shirt off? Right here in the bar? He turned his face back up and looked shyly at the big man.

“I’m kidding,” Howard said and then leaned closer. “Mostly.”

“You—you really want me to take my shirt off right here?” Wyatt said, his voice almost a squeak. Thank goodness the song had faded, and the new one was a little quieter.

“Why not?” The response was almost a growl. He pointed over Wyatt’s shoulder.

Wyatt turned and saw that the two guys who had been watching the muted baseball game were now kissing without the incentive of anything happening on the screen. And both had taken their shirts off. When had they done that?

And as if to encourage him, the song on the jukebox had shifted to one about how no shirt and no shoes were no problem at all.

“I will if you will,” Howard said.

God. He wanted to see Howard’s chest. He wanted to see his belly.

“O-okay,” Wyatt said bashfully, his heart pounding. And pulled his shirt off over his head.

Howard made a sighing sound and got close again and said, “Oh, my. Soooo nice.”

Me? thought Wyatt incredulously.

Howard liked his chest? And told Wyatt he liked his tummy too. A lot. Asked politely if he could touch. And, trembling, Wyatt had given permission.

The touching had been so gentle. Not at all what he expected from the big man. His fingers raked slowly through the hair on Wyatt’s chest—“So soft,” Howard whispered—and his nipples went as hard as two little pebbles as Howard’s fingertips brushed them. His cock grew even harder. He could feel it leaking in his underwear.

And when Howard whipped off his wifebeater and offered to let Wyatt touch him, Wyatt did so with shaking hands. Gods. So sexy.

The pizza came, and it was huge, and Wyatt all but fell upon it. Howard only laughed and encouraged him to eat all he wanted.

They talked. They talked and talked and talked. Wyatt told him about how his day had started and where it had gone, the violence, throwing as many of his worldly possessions as he could into his Camry and then driving away. The last sight, his mother, hysterical, in his rearview mirror—and wondering if he would ever see her again. He started to cry at the end of his story, and Howard shifted his chair around—they’d moved to a table by then (getting a scowl from Buck in the process)—and then he was holding Wyatt against that big soft chest. Soft, but hard underneath. There were muscles of steel under that padding and Wyatt had gotten hard again, even while he cried. Somewhere along the line, he let his hand drop to Howard’s belly, and it was so sexy he thought he might shoot off in his pants.

But he didn’t.

They had more drinks, Howard drinking small pitchers of beer—no glass—and plying Wyatt with all the rum and Cokes he wanted. Even buying some shots called Cock Sucking Cowboys, and boy, hadn’t that been funny? And they were so good! Wyatt had protested at first, said he was getting drunk and could he just have some water, and that’s when Howard said it. “We’re not allowed….”

“Allowed?” Wyatt asked.

“We’re gay,” Howard said. “Boring nonalcoholic stuff is not allowed. Gay men are required to drink alcohol. Besides, you know about water—right?”

Wyatt said he didn’t.

“Fish fuck in it,” Howard replied and then shuddered.

Wyatt laughed. More than he should have probably, but by now he was drunk.

Then, since he’d already told Howard just what his father had found in his room and the full extent of why he’d been kicked out of his home, he shyly asked if Howard would like a tarot reading. Howard said that he would.

So Wyatt went to his piece-of-shit car and got his deck—thank the gods he’d had his favorite deck in his car or who knew what fate might have befallen it—and brought it back and read Howard’s cards. Howard had been intrigued by it all. Said the layout wasn’t at all what he was used to.

Wyatt had looked up, surprised.

“You know about that?” he’d asked.

Howard nodded. “The usual layout is called a Celtic Cross, right?”

“Yes!” Wyatt said, thrilled that the man knew.

“There’s a placement for your past, your future, above, and below, and I forget the rest.”

“Yes!” Wyatt nodded happily.

“But the way you’re laying the cards down. It seems… random. And you don’t reverse any of the cards. They’re all right-side up….”

Wyatt grinned. Howard really did know about the tarot! “Well… there was this big fair in town once,” Wyatt said. “And I went into the gypsy tent—at least the lady was pretending to be a gypsy. She was doing the standard layout and something kind of funny happened. She saw I knew a little about the cards, and she stopped and looked at me and then swept them all up—I thought I’d pissed her off at first—and then she said, ‘You have the eye, don’t you?’ Well! I didn’t know what to say, and I sorta shrugged—you know?”

Howard nodded encouragingly.

“And then she just started putting the cards down wherever, and sometimes she would say a card meant what I’ve read they meant and sometimes she would say something different. Totally different. And she told me that was what I needed to do! To say whatever popped into my head. She told me something horrible was going to happen, but not to worry. That I would go on a journey, and I would find my way. And gods…. Howard. Do you think she meant today? It was certainly fucking horrible! And I took a journey….”

“Maybe I can help you find your way,” Howard said. And his voice was so gentle, but strong and warm, and he reached out and took Wyatt’s cheek in his big rough hand.

Wyatt was stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

Pulling his hand back—Wyatt hadn’t wanted him to stop touching like that—Howard said, “What does my reading say about tonight?”

“Tonight?” Wyatt looked down at the cards spread out in several rows before them.

Howard nodded. “Does it say if I am going home alone tonight?”

Wyatt had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open.

“I—I….” He looked back down at the last two cards he’d placed on the table. That was the Page of Cups. A young man. Usually a bit effeminate. Is that me? And the Knight of Swords was right next to it. Brave. Strong. Was that Howard?

He looked back up at Howard, suddenly afraid.

Howard reached out again and this time laid a hand gently on Wyatt’s. “Not trying to scare you. But you don’t have any place to stay. If you want, I can make you a place on my couch.”

Wyatt felt his eyes well up with tears.

“Tomorrow I can look at your car. I’m pretty good with them. Maybe I can fix it.”

“Gosh,” Wyatt managed. His voice caught. No more words would come out.

“Is that a yes?”

Wyatt paused. Then wondered why. True, he didn’t know this man. True, the guy could be taking him home to rape and kill him. But hell. What was he going to do? Sleep in the car? And tomorrow?

“I—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Finish the reading,” Howard said gently. Wyatt could hear him because there was a ballad playing. He recognized this one. Shania Twain’s “From This Moment.” For some reason his heart started to pound.

Wyatt turned another card over.

The Ace of Cups.

He gasped.

He looked up.

Howard was watching him with those dark eyes. Wyatt’s heart trip-hammered.

“Well?” Howard asked him.

“A-Ace of C-Cups,” Wyatt stuttered.

Howard smiled. Did he know what it meant?

“Cups are emotions,” Wyatt got out somehow. “Aces are new beginnings….”

Howard smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Wyatt swallowed hard.

And he went home with Howard.

He didn’t sleep on the couch.


Sandra's review:

Back in 2014 at GRL in Chicago, when Ben and I first met and talked about the first two books I'd already read, and my thoughts about books three and four, I already knew that Wyatt's book would in parts break my heart and in other parts make me super happy.

You see, I hated Howard, Wyatt's "husband" of ten years, from the start. I hated him when I got the first glimpse of him in Summer Lover, when he treats Wyatt worse than the dirt on his feet, and I hated him even more when he's caught cheating and nearly raping Blue, that sweet young boy who totally needs his own book.

I hated Howard all the way through Autumn Changes, and I raged and ranted when he dumps Wyatt so callously halfway through after being caught mid-fuck.

Wyatt deserved so much better than Howard. I had shared my thoughts with Ben on how Howard must have been a different man when they first met, how he must have been someone Wyatt could have looked up to, and how down and out Wyatt must have been to have fallen for the lies, to stay with him for so long.

I saw clearly how this despicable man had over time browbeaten Wyatt into believing himself less than he actually is, and how this jerk had convinced Wyatt that he'd be nothing without him. That people only liked him because he was with Howard.

Lies, all lies. I once knew a man like that. I was married to a man like that. And I divorced a man like that. I know exactly what Wyatt felt like.

Wyatt is my favorite of the Fab Four. He's the heart of the group, he's the glue that binds them, that keeps them together, bad jokes and all. He's inherently kind, albeit a bit naive at times, but he's deeply spiritual too, and he believes in nature and the gods.

When we meet Wyatt again in this final book to round out the series, he's sad, lonely and unsure how to move forward.

It's porch night, and he's preparing a feast to celebrate Asher and Peni's return from Samoa where Peni got his pe'a done, and the Fab Four, plus three significant others, descend on Wyatt's house (Sloan's house, where Wyatt lives for now) to eat, drink and be merry.

The Winter Solstice is shortly thereafter, and Wyatt asks his friends, his true friends, who love him no matter what (as he's finally come to realize), to celebrate Yule with him, and to perform the ritual of that night.

Many, many miles away, in New York City, another man sits with his former lover and still-friend who's dying of complications from AIDS, and their female friend, to also celebrate that same night.

Magick happens during the rituals being performed, and both Wyatt and this other man catch a glimpse of what might be.

Then Wyatt gets a call from his mother - his father, a hateful man, had a stroke and asks to see him. Wyatt, being the dutiful son to the man who threw him out of the house at barely eighteen for being pagan and gay, drives the many miles to his hometown to visit. It does not go well, as expected.

On his way home, the land calls to Wyatt, as he passes by the location of the Heartland Men's Festival, and he decides to spend a few days in one of the cabins to center himself and find his spirit again.

The man in New York City, upon his friend's death, decides the same.

I won't tell you, other than that his name is Kevin, who the man in NYC is. You've met him in a previous book. Wyatt knows him, and Kevin knows Wyatt.

I also won't tell you what happens next, or whether Howard gets what's coming to him, but I will urge you to read this book. It's not a standalone. To get the full impact, to really know the Fab Four, you have to read the series, starting with Spring Affair.

B.G. (Ben) Thomas created four stories of lasting friendship, of finding the one you're meant to be with, of renewal, of love, of coming into your own.

Each book spans a season. Pay good attention during the Yule Ritual when you read about the story that Wyatt tells about the Holly King and the Oak King, and how the Winter Solstice is the turning point, when one King loses and one King wins, when the days get longer and the darkness recedes. It's a parallel to what Wyatt goes through in this book - how he emerges from the darkness to see the light, to find his way, to forge his own path. How he begins to believe in himself again, how he realizes the lies Howard told for so many years.

And Kevin too finds new meaning to his life, gets a chance to love again, and find the one meant for him.

The author draws such complex and fully formed characters, and they became part of me. Even though the romance is slow burn and there is but little steam, it shines ever so brightly because of how well the characters are done, how completely we get to know them inside and out. Ben has a knack for writing the Grand Romance, where emotions rank first and foremost, and you cannot help but be swept away by the depth of feelings inside. I cried, I smiled, I feared, and I rejoiced at their very happily ever after.

Kevin turns out to be exactly what Wyatt needs and deserves. And Wyatt too is perfect for Kevin.

A fitting end for this gorgeous series, I highly recommend you read them all.

When this post goes live on the last day of GRL 2016, you can betcha that I'll have hugged Ben a few times, and probably gushed to him about this fabulous book. I hope you'll love it as much as I do.

** I received a free copy from its publisher. A positive review was not promised in return. **

Get the book:


Meet the author:

B.G. is a novelist and blogger. Every day last year he made and entry in his blog. “365 Days of Silver,” where he found something every day to be grateful for. You can find it right here:

B.G. loves romance, comedies, fantasy, science fiction and even horror—as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to conventions since he was fourteen years old and has been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was child; it is where he finds his joy.

In the nineties, he wrote for gay magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot. “The sex is never as important as the characters,” he says. “Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them?” Excited about the growing male/male romance market, he began writing again. Gay men are what he knows best, after all. He submitted his first story in years and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days.

“Leap, and the net will appear” is his personal philosophy and his message to all. “It is never too late,” he states. “Pursue your dreams. They will come true!”

Visit his website and his author blog at where you can contact him. He loves to hear from readers and is always quick to respond. You can also find his Facebook at

Promotional materials provided by the author. 

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