Getting Lucky featuring Rebecca Calloway Butcher

     Ah, March, the beginning of spring. It's the month to try your luck and follow rainbows in hopes of finding a pot of gold. Luck can be a lot of things. Aunt Carol winning a bingo game, your favorite team scoring big, finding a hundred dollar bill all on the sidewalk. It can also be things like calling insick and later hearing of an accident along your route to work. So, what is luck?
     My Irish heritage demands I give you some serious thought on luck. While finding a pot of gold would be awesome (after taxes, of course), I don't think rainbows, clover and Leprechauns are the extent of defining luck. I think luck has more to do with intent. How you approach life sets the mood for everything you do.
     If you go to sleep on Sunday night dreading Monday morning, you are setting yourself up to oversleep, get caught in traffic and get fussed at by your boss. On the flipside: if you tell yourself it's going to be a great day today, you might wake up ten minutes before the alarm, catch all green lights when you run to the bank on your lunch break, or get praised by a coworker or supervisor for doing a good job.
     Think of intent as energy. One of the basic scientific laws says that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That means if you are negative-putting out negative energy, you'll get back negative energy. The reverse is also true. If you are positive, you'll get back positive energy. Luck is the same thing. If you play the lottery and always think "why do I bother I'm not going to win," then you might as well throw your money in the trash can. If your approach says "I can't win if I don't play so let's give it a shot," you have a much better chance of winning. Now, not everyone can wish their way into winning the lottery. There's just too much negative floating around for that. But you can create your own luck in small accumulative steps.
     You're talking back to me now asking, "How can I create luck?" For starters, smile more often. It makes you happy. Happiness generates positive energy. If you smile at another person, most of the time that person will smile back at you. Step two: be thankful. I'm thankful that I woke up this morning to experience another day. I have a comfortable place to sleep, a job, food to eat, people who love me, a car to go exploring in. All of these things are things to be thankful for, not taken for granted. Step three: make a conscious decision to be happy. Don't let the first little negative thing control the tone of your day. Break a nail, drop something, spill your coffee…these are just little things. It happens. Get over it. Tell yourself, it's going to be a beautiful day. And it will.

Getting Lucky featuring Tempeste O’Riley

     Luck is one of those great mystery things as far as I’m concerned. What one thinks is a lucky break; another busted their butt to get. What another feels is their luck changing is often not seen in a positive light. For me, luck is a bit of hard work and timing (the later we rarely get to influence, sadly).
     As for me ‘getting lucky’, I’d have to say that would be landing my first choice publisher. When I wrote my first book—Designs of Desire—I was afraid to send it in to any publishers, but especially to my first choice. However, my participating in Six Sentence Sunday had garnered the story its own fans, who demanded the rest of the story, lol. I also had some good friends that pushed until I gave in and submitted my baby.
     The day my acceptance letter (email, but who’s counting? I still have that puppy saved too :D) arrived, I felt like the luckiest person alive! Now, that might not be everyone’s idea of lucky (I know, you were hoping for some yummy smut, sorry ;)), but for an aspiring author, it’s pretty much to greatest day ever.
     Now, if we’re talking personal lucky... well, since I have to keep it clean *pout* I’ll have to go for having my... Nope, that’s not PG rated. Well, then, how about... Nope, that definitely NOT PG, lol.
     Going to my first drag show in years and not only having a wonderful time—and seeing some of the hottest drag queens ever!—but I was able to meet some of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence! They are wonderful people and I am simply amazed by all the good they while wearing a pound of makeup and heels. (I would kill myself if I even thought hard about the heels!) I love meeting new people, but even more so when those people help others. The local Sisters spend a lot of time helping the youth in our area, something many know if support 100%.
     So meeting them counts on my list of lucky. I even got a pic with them, my ugly mug in the middle. I will be looking into ways I might can help support their efforts as our youth are always in need, sadly.
     One of my stories that came out last year is part of the Hope & Love anthology. All proceeds go to the local LGBT Center in Milwaukee, by the way, and they make a huge difference in the lives of both young and not so young alike. Their Project Q does amazing things! Here’s a small excerpt from Micah’s Medicine:
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     The light flashed the little walking guy, pulling his focus back to now, so he took off across the street, deciding to head to the park nearby. It wasn’t one of those kiddie parks like his mom tended to drag him to. No, the one he headed to was a skate park near the beach. He also knew there was a good chance he’d run into his friend, but like always, push the thoughts that accompanied them away. He wasn’t willing to lose his friend just because boys, not girls, were what caught his attention. Micah had learned to keep his wandering eyes to himself, though Perry made it hard.
     Rolling along the sidewalk, he was careful to stay out of the way of the people walking, not wishing to hear about being disrespectful when he got home—everyone in the neighborhood knew him, after all. Most of the way to the park, he heard someone shout his name from behind.
     Micah stopped and turned, surprised to see Perry running up behind him. Why does he have to be so freakin’ hot? Perry, or Pericles Mann, strode up, though he seemed a little stiff in his movements. He stopped in front of Micah, a light sheen of sweat already covered his tall, lanky body. His purple and black hair had that messy bed-head look so many of the guys worked hard for, but Micah knew that was just the way Perry looked. It too serious work and the weird hair paste stuff his dad got him, to make it into anything resembling “presentable.” Not that either of them ever cared about such things. He wore low-hanging loose shorts and a tight tank top, drawing Micah’s eyes everywhere they shouldn’t be.
     Perry panted, bent forward with his hands on his knees. He looked up and grinned. “Thanks for stopping, man. Been trying to catch you for two blocks!”
     “Sorry, Perry, didn’t hear ya. What’s up?” He noticed Perry didn’t have his board with him, or his bike for that matter. Weird.
     “Need a favor, if you’ve got time tomorrow.” Perry stood up straighter but his eyes no longer met Micah’s, that alone was enough to worry him.
    “’Course. What ‘cha need?” he asked, confused as he watched his best friend fidget.
     “I, um, I need a ride to the doctor and to the store tomorrow afternoon. But I don’t want my dad knowing,” he added in a rush.
     Micah thought about why Perry would go to the clinic without his dad—the shopping thing was normal. Neither set of parents approved of how they dressed, their boards, bikes, or on Perry’s case, hair. He shrugged. “Of course. Tell me the when and I come pick you up.”
     “Sweet! Thanks.”
     “No problem. Hey, where’s your board. I was heading to work on some new tricks.”
     Perry’s lips pulled down in a slight grimace. “Not today, ’kay. I’ll go watch and heckle, if you want,” he said, slinging his arm over Micah’s shoulder as they turned to walk the rest of the way to the park.
     Forced to bite the inside of his cheek, Micah reminded himself, again, that lusting after Perry was a bad idea. One doomed to be something he kept to his dreams and shower activities. “Sure. Maybe you can pick up some pointers. You know, so you don’t embarrass yourself so often.”
     Chuckling, Perry shoved him away. “Jerk. I can take you any day of the week, and you know it!”
     The image of Perry hovering over him flashed through his head before he could stop it. Thankfully, he didn’t think Perry noticed the small groan that slipped out. “Put up or shut up, and since I don’t see your board...”
-----

     Tempeste O’Riley is a pansexual gender fluid whose best friend growing up had the courage to do what she couldn’t–defy the hate and come out. He has been her hero ever since. She counts her friends, family, and Muse as her greatest blessings in life. She lives in Wisconsin with her children, reading, writing, and enjoying life.

Reach Tempeste at:

Website – http://tempesteoriley.com/

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/TempesteORiley.author

Twitter – http://twitter.com/TempesteO

 

Getting Lucky featuring Leslie Campbell

     One of my worst nightmares came to life about three years ago… 
     I was working at a job that I had devoted my life to for almost six years when the company got sold, and I found myself laid off.  I didn’t really have a lot in the bank, had taken out student loans and even a car loan after an accident that left my old car totaled just a month prior, not to mention rising credit card debt. 
     I panicked, to say the very least, and went into a period of depression that actually led to contemplating suicide.
     I kept asking God why he put me through something so terrible, never realizing this was a pattern of mine—to deny what I really wanted to do in life and follow the wrong path for the sake of acceptance (from family/friends/society), and my stubbornness and bad decision making were the reasons I felt used and abused for pretty much all of my life.
     In an attempt to pull myself back from the edge, I returned to doing things I loved to do before the “reality” that is adulthood hit, and found myself drawing again and creating other forms of art, but mostly writing.
     I wrote about what I’d been through after being laid off, planning on using it as a means of therapy to show myself that I’d done nothing to deserve it, when a great idea came to me…
     I decided to take my pain and entries and make them into a novel—a series, even!  Not only was I still allowing myself to heal by writing down all I had been through, but I could also share it with others who were going through the same thing, or looking to take their minds off of their own streak of bad luck.
     I wrote and completed my first novel a week before I finally got a call back for a new job (almost a year after losing the last, and four months after writing my novel).  By this time, my attitude had improved dramatically, I was no longer suicidal, I had hope, and it was all because I realized events had come full circle to remind me of what I really wanted to be doing with my life—writing!
     As painful as it was, as much as I’d never want to relive that year, losing a job I had foolishly treated as a career had allowed me to break free from the belief that if you work your classic nine-to-five and just push for your promotions, that was all you needed to get that big beautiful home and be debt free. 
     I was finally given an opportunity to be a writer, and I’m so happy to say that, and while the memory of my lay-off still stings, if it weren’t for that awful push out their front doors, I’d never had stumbled into the luck of finding out what I really want to do with my life.

Getting Lucky featuring Joe Cosentino

Jerry and Me

LA CAGE AUX FOLLES is my favorite musical. I am a huge fan of its musical creator, Jerry Herman, who wrote HELLO, DOLLY, MAME, MACK AND MABEL, and THE GRAND TOUR on Broadway.

As a college theatre professor, I took my students to see the 2004 Broadway revival of LA CAGE on a Wednesday matinee during its previews. It starred Gary Beach, Daniel Davis, and Gavin Creel. My students and I were seated in the rear of the theatre, as is usually the case for group student sales.

A few minutes before the curtain went up, I spotted Jerry Herman sitting in the third row center orchestra with a group of elderly patrons. Since my students were otherwise engaged in cell phone heaven, I made my way to the front of the orchestra and stood in the aisle next to Jerry Herman’s seat. Sounding like Lauren Bacall with a cold, I said, “Mr. Herman, I’ve seen all of your plays, and I own all of your musical CDs, and I loved your autobiography.” I spoke faster than a patter song on fast forward.

“Thank you so much,” Jerry Herman replied with a gracious smile as he pulled down the jacket of his black suit.

After the king of the musical theatre kindly signed the cover of my playbill (over Harvey Fierstein’s name), the lights began to fade in the theatre. “These people aren’t coming.” Jerry Herman pointed to the seats next to him. “You can sit here.”

As if struck by lightning, I fell into the chair next to Jerry Herman. 

The curtain went up on the amazing show. I reveled in every hysterically funny and moving scene, and was moved by each brilliant song—while sitting next to Jerry Herman. I literally rubbed elbows with him as we both applauded wildly at the end of each number.

At intermission, after I checked on my students (still in cell phone euphoria), Jerry Herman and I (I love the sound of that) discussed the show’s many attributes. After the curtain call, I thanked Mr. Herman for the seat. “Mr. Herman, I’m sure this show will win the Tony Award for Best Musical Revival.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Jerry Herman replied with a wink.

Months later when watching the Tony Awards on television, I cheered as LA CAGE AUX FOLLES indeed won the award for Best Musical Revival (and Best Choreography) that year. I wondered if Jerry Herman thought of me. I sure thought of him.

-----

Joe Cosentino is the author of Paper Doll, the first Jana Lane mystery (Whiskey Creek Press), An Infatuation (Dreamspinner Press), Drama Queen, the first Nicky and Noah mystery (Lethe Press-releasing this summer), and The Nutcracker and the Mouse King (Eldridge Plays and Musicals). He has appeared in principal acting roles in film, television, and theatre, opposite stars such as Bruce Willis, Rosie O’Donnell, Nathan Lane, Holland Taylor, and Jason Robards. His one-act plays, Infatuation and Neighbor, were performed in New York City. He wrote The Perils of Pauline educational film (Prentice Hall Publishers). Joe is currently Head of the Department/Professor at a college in upstate New York, and is happily married. His upcoming novels are Porcelain Doll (the second Jana Lane mystery) and Drama Muscle (the second Nicky and Noah mystery). http://www.JoeCosentino.weebly.com

Getting Lucky featuring Bronwyn Heeley

     I’ve been having a think about my life and what I’ve been lucky about, and people could say that I was just lucky to live in the family I did, but that seems like a cop of an answer, as, well, that would be it.
     So thinking hard I have only one thing I feel I was lucky about, and though it took me a long time to realise this, I got lucky.
     You see my teen years were… we’ll I would love to say I have regrets and yeah, like every teen I do, but I wasn’t mean to anyone who didn’t poke me to a point that I actually opened my mouth and went at them. It wasn’t often. Though I also can’t say that I never stood back and watched as someone went at another person, that I wasn’t on the sideline as one of my mates, was doing or being bullied—most being. You think the ‘popular’ people went at the ‘geeks’, the ‘weirdo’ the most, you’d be wrong, they hit at home first, they hit there worse.
     Still, I was in the type of group that had a Queen B, of sorts (she’d deny it of course). the type of B that sat around with her disciples as they did her bidding, giving just enough to make people think that she had your back, that you were the most important person to her, as long as you could be that back. You had to be that back a lot more than she’d give you.
     When I had my first child, she lost my loyalty, or at least that type that had me running at her every call. I want to say that I did this because I was a friend, which I did, I’m that type of friend. Though let’s face it, I’m not a leader, I don’t want to be a leader and I’m that laid back that most of the time I don’t give a shit one way or another which way I went as long as we got somewhere.
     I did what she wanted me to do. I was there for her, but she was also that for me, more so then I saw her there for anyone else, bat that isn’t to say in her mind that I wasn’t a worker bee doing her bidding.
     Like I said, I had my first child and he became my world. I couldn’t go to her whenever she rang because I needed to be there for my son. I couldn’t go out drinking on both Friday and Sat because my partner worked on the Saturday and I had to be home (she didn’t understand why I couldn’t just dump him at my parent).
     So, long story cut short (or shorter than it could have been, lol), she shunned me. I’m talking in that way they talk about on Friends, and I believe maybe an ep on How I Met Your Mother. No one answered my phone calls, no one called me. If I see them on the street they look the other way hoping not to see me and I smiled chuckle because after all this time I honestly don’t give a shit.
     It took me a long time to get to this point. To not be pissed, not so much because I lost the friend that I had, the sheep that followed and lapped at her feet, but that they did that to me, they shunned me. That SHE did that to me, which, like I said, took me a long time to realise that she did me the biggest favours in my life.
     She gave me the gift of leaving me, of allowing me to go out into the world and not have to do what she said, or allow her bulling tactics stop me in my tracks.
     I’d like to think I wouldn’t have been swayed, and in truth, I wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have stopped me from writing what I write, from reading what I read, because as much as she wanted me to be hers I was my own person and I never allow people to tell me not to like something, to not be the person I am. But if we’d still been friends with her—with that group, I wouldn’t have started reading in the first place, and without reading I wouldn’t have realised how much I wanted—needed, to write.
     I get it, how is this about ‘getting lucky’?? I hear you, but this was me GETTING LUCKY, it’s may have taken me a long time to get to this realisation. Because I love where my life is heading, I like that it has a place to go, that I have a ten year plan, and if I’d stayed friends with her my life would have been filled with an emptiness that isn’t there anymore, that nothing would have been able to fill, because this is what I want. This profession is the only one that’s kept my attention for more than a few years. 
     This is where I needed to be and I got effing luck that I am able to be here, and not sitting in some bitches backyard getting drunk off my arse 4 days a week, because that’s where I was heading in that group, that’s the life I would have had.
     How fucking boring.

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Cate Ashwood

       I am so excited to have the opportunity to write a little something for WON, and when I heard that the theme for this month was “first loves”, I was torn between talking about writing first loves, or telling the story of my first love. But for me (and I’m sure many other authors), the two are inextricably linked.
      My first love was in the sixth grade, and he was an older man in the seventh. I carried that torch for nearly two years, but one day I saw him making out with Rosie in the hallway at lunch. I was devastated. My best friend was going through something similar, and so to mend our broken hearts, we wrote stories for one another. She wrote my happy ending with David, and I wrote hers with Duncan.
      Those stories helped me get through my first heartbreak. Until I met my husband (which is a story for another time), I had, shall we say, bad luck in the romance department. Writing romance is a way for me to live vicariously through my characters, to have do-overs on things that didn’t go so smoothly in my own life the first time.
      Take my first kiss, as an example. My first real boyfriend, Patrick, was the son of a family friend, and like most girls, I had spent years imagining what that kiss would be like, who it would be with, where it would happen. What I didn’t expect was to be taken by surprise in my basement, but more than that, I didn’t expect it to be so wet. And I don’t think he expected me to burst into tears and run up the stairs, never to come back down. Eventually, he got the hint and went home.
      It wasn’t exactly the stuff romance novels are made of (although Patrick and I are still able to laugh about it today).
      One of the novels that will be coming out from Dreamspinner Press this summer is called The Storm Before the Calm, and this is a small excerpt of Charlie’s first kiss:
      "I tilted my head up to him, inviting him to take, giving myself over to what I hoped was about to happen.
       I didn’t have to wait long before Max bowed his head, brushing his lips across mine. It was slow, almost hesitant, but as he kissed me, it became hungrier until he was claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. It was nothing like the kiss I’d shared with Beth Atkins at her birthday party in the sixth grade. This was hot and needy and powerful. Max possessed me—owned me—and I liked it. I shoved my hands into his hair, holding him to me, afraid he would stop. His lips were soft gentle but demanding as he pushed his tongue into my mouth. It was soft and velvety. I slid mine against his, the wet heat making my head spin.
      We broke apart, both of us panting a little as we stared at one another. I felt like my entire world had shifted, not only off its axis but into an entirely different solar system."

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Eden Winters

      Others here have told of their first loves, and the stories and loves have varied greatly. I’d like to add another dimension to the tales.
      I met my first love very young, and as luck would have it, we evolved together. Sometimes we moved in different directions, and sometimes in perfect accord. No matter how hard my day was, I could hide in my room and share all of my problems. I was never judged, never condemned, and always told things would be all right.
      Then my love and I would immerse ourselves in imagination, be someone else for a change. Fight other battles.
       Heartbreak occurred the day my mother discovered and didn’t understand. She was a practical woman, and quite frankly, my flights of fancy scared her. She cast my love out of my life, and forbade me to follow after. I sought comfort from others, and instead of reassurance, I heard, “You can’t.” The reasons changed, but no one believed. And since they didn’t believe, I stopped believing too.
      My heart broke. I cried. I mourned. A piece of me had been ripped asunder. Life wasn’t the same. Why? Why? What harm had we done?
      I gave in too easily. I should have fought harder. The one shining, perfect thing in my life, gone for good. Or so I thought. Chin up, I put the past behind me and tried to move on, pretending it was no big deal, pretending to be “normal”. Though sometimes, I thought I caught a glimpse…
      I married, had children, and learned of different forms of love. Though my heart was full to bursting for those two precious ones, something was missing, and my thoughts turned to my first love often. My children were and are the joy of my life. And they both loved books and printed words as much as I. They grew up, as children do, and left the nest.
      For a while I spent time with my love’s second cousin, a more practical version of what my heart yearned for, just enough to tease me with what I couldn’t have. No, those dreams had died. That ship had sailed. And I wasn’t on it. Turn off imagination and focus mundane tasks.
      I found myself alone, and not really sure what to do with my life. Then one day my old love comes to call. “I’m too old,” I say. “Too much time has passed. Maybe if we’d never parted years ago.” Fear. I’m afraid. Do I dare take a chance?
      “What’s time got to do with it?” my love asked. “Will you be any younger if you simply give up? I’ve been here waiting all along, I never really went anywhere.”
      My children were the ones to encourage me, who cheered me on, and who restored my faith in myself and my abilities. Instead of saying, “You can’t”, the asked, “Why not?”
      Quietly, stealthily, I reconnected with my old flame. We spent days together, weeks together, had such adventures, and stayed up late at night. Now, instead of exploring stars and solar systems as we’d done in my youth, we chased bad guys, visited with people who could turn into possums, and delved into the mystery of the eerie violin music haunting a Highland castle.
      Then we went public. Folks around the world embraced us and cheered us on.
      Though shaking in my shoes, I’ve brought my first love to meet my family, who now smile and tell me how proud they are. They still may not understand, but that’s okay. I get it completely, as I stroll off into the sunset, hand in hand with… my writing.
     We lost a lot of years, but we’re finally together.
      My first love and I.

 

Eden Winters, author of the award-winning Diversion series.

www.edenwinters.com

edenwinters@gmail.com

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Eden-Winters/e/B004A2ZFF4/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1424219812&sr=8-2-ent

Twitter: @EdenWinters1

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EdenWinters

First Love and/or Heartbreak featuring Andrew Grey

      My first love was a very weird situation.  I had moved around for a number of years and never really had time to date.  I was also deeply closeted and afraid of losing my job if I came out as gay.  But I was in my late twenties when I met Mike.  He was a nice man, kind, and as closeted as I was.  He worked in one of those large home improvement stores that sold everything from bolts to patio furniture.   Mike and I met and we cooked together, watched movies, gabbed, and had some amazing fun.  But it didn’t take me long to realize that he and I were in very different places in our lives and the fact that we never left his apartment together was the first clue.  As I said, we were both closeted, but at that time I was beginning to come to the realization that I wanted more.  I had told my parents and some close friends about myself and was slowly stepping away from my closed off life.  Mike wasn’t willing to do that with me.  He and I had about three months of heady wonder together where my heart raced and I looked forward to every touch and hung on every word.   It was an incredible time in my life and I look back on it with such fondness.
      Unfortunately things end and my time with Mike faded away.  There wasn’t some grand breakup or fight, just a quiet realization by both of us that he and I wanted and needed different things.  It was very sad because I missed the heady days of excitement.  But then, things changed.  I met Dominic through friends… at a dinner party and the heady excitement of first love faded in comparison to the sheer amazement and incredible depth of feeling that entered my life.  I write Romance and I love it because I had my own great romance and it wasn’t with Mike.   So while Mike was my first love, that relationship had to run its course so I could meet Dominic, the love of my life. 
________

      Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and now writes full time.
      Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing)  He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Reach Andrew at

Web site:  www.andrewgrey.com

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/andrewgreybooks

Twitter:  @andrewgreybooks

Email:  andrewgrey@combast.net

 

First Love, or Rather, Heartbreak featuring Christopher Koehler

(Lack of) Heartbreak: How To Survive Being Dumped

      The short answer is to be very ill. I met my first boyfriend my junior year at UC Davis. He was everything I’d been looking for in my first same-sex relationship: tall and male. That makes me sound shallow, but I was twenty and as deep as a birdbath. But his kisses electrified me. He was older and out and lived in the Bay Area and seemed far more sophisticated. Then again, I was twenty, so how hard could that have been, really?
      Then the cracks started to show. Was it necessary to cloak every comment in sarcasm? Even at twenty I recognized that for the defense mechanism it was. Then he started mocking my pronunciation of certain words. Hmmm. He asked if I was a “butt virgin.” Yes, and staying that way, apparently.
      My mom’s dog hated him on sight, trying to get between us at every opportunity. I should’ve listened to her.
      You can’t lie to dogs.
      Then he shaved his head. Huh. Apparently one of the things that had drawn me to him was his hair. Like I said, deep as a birdbath.
      The final blow came, as it were, one winter’s evening. I’d contracted myself a galloping case of strep. He called from Berkeley, claiming we needed to talk. Ordinarily that would’ve set off the klaxons, but not that night. Oh I knew what that meant, I simply didn’t care. It still rained in California in those days, and I felt horrible. Still, we “had to talk.” Whatever. I hauled myself out of bed. We met. To talk. In the rain.
      He dumped me.
      I blinked and said, “Can I go back to bed?”
      He said we’d be f*ck buddies.
      That would imply we’d ever done such a thing in the first place.
      And that, best beloved, is how you survive being dumped: a fever, chills, and body aches.

Post script:
      Several months later, he earned the sobriquet he would keep for years, over a decade in fact. He became the Ex Who Wouldn’t Go Away. He showed up on my doorstep. I’d changed addresses. And phone numbers.
      Without informing him.
      He apparently had called my mother, who had never liked him, not unlike her dog. Suddenly she felt sorry for him?
      He appeared on my doorstep, claiming he had to recharge his car battery. Did you, now.
      I’d grown up considerably since that rainy night. I’d met the man I’d marry. There were flowers from him drying suspended from the heat register in my room.
      When the Ex saw them, he blanched. Then he turned red. I allowed myself a smirk, a small one.
      So’d that charge your battery?
      Maybe I hadn’t grown up that much after all.
      But seriously, the fever.  --- Christopher Koehler

Christopher’s greatest vice is having opinions. His second greatest vice is sharing them. He can be found online in the following places:

 

Facebook.com/Christopher.Koehler

Twitter @christopherink

christopherkoehler.net/blog

 

His latest novel, Poz, is available on Amazon! And from the publisher, Dreamspinner!

First Love and/or Heartbreak featuring David Berger

      Who would have ever thought that writing about the Smurfs would be my first love? When my sister and I were little kids, we used to play with her Smurf figures, creating storylines for Smurfette, Brainy Smurf, Papa Smurf, and even the villain, Gargamel. I’m not sure what it was about those blue gnome-like creatures, but we entertained ourselves for hours. I think it was my idea to write down the stories we came up with, but I knew that when I did, I felt like I could do anything. This was one of the first writing projects I ever did, and it was empowering. I remember reading them aloud to my sister repeatedly, and then she would come up with new ideas for stories. Writing these stories took place long before I fell in love with Greek mythology, so I created elaborate stories where the Smurfs met other creatures. Notebook after notebook lay stacked on my floor from these stories, and I’m kicking myself now because who knows what treasures I could have today. That was most assuredly my first love.

      As an adult writer, I feel like we get an Etch-A-Sketch moment, so that “first” for me would have to be my first novel, Task Force: Gaea—Finding Balance. Now, technically, that started as a high school short story, but I reworked it over the decades into a seminal piece of literature and published it in 2012. This was my first lengthy work that was (and is) a part of who I am. Like most first loves, you have your ups and downs, your times when you want to walk away, and then there are the times when you just don’t want to eat, shower, or even use the restroom because you’re so enmeshed in what you’re writing and don’t want to be apart. You always remember your first love, or so the saying goes. I’ve devoted my soul to mine, and it’s come a long way from writing about little blue creatures that live in mushrooms. It’s hard to imagine putting so much energy into something simply for the love of it, but I guess that’s what parents do for their children. Both of my first loves have left an indelible mark on me, and I wear those marks proudly, like badges of honor.

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Anne Barwell

       It’s kind of ironic that my first published book was about two men who are experiencing love for the first time. In Cat’s Quill, the first in the Hidden Places series, Cathal and Tomas are both men who have still to meet someone with whom they could fall in love.

      Cathal is from a world where men and women from his ‘background’ mate for life, so he’s not about to give up that part of himself unless he’s really sure it’s with someone he truly loves.  He is also avoiding someone he is expected to marry but does not love. Years ago he’d watched his cousin fall in love, wishes he could have the relationship they had, and wonders if he ever will.

       Tomas isn’t looking for love in any shape or form. He’s a loner, and rather deliberately set himself up that way, having lost his parents at an early age. He was also separated from his beloved sister for most of his childhood and moved between foster homes so he is in no hurry to get his heart broken.  He is very cynical, and fighting who he is. He’s a writer, and in denial that two of the characters he wrote in his last book should have got together.  His reasoning is that if he writes gay characters, someone might suspect him of being gay too.  Despite a lot of readers asking him if they got together after the end of the book he’s so far into the closet and self denial he might as well be in Narnia.

      I was asked how probable it was that Tomas—a man in his late 20s—hasn’t slept with anyone yet, or even been kissed.   It’s not in his personality.  Sex is about intimacy, and would mean letting someone else in, and past the barriers he’s spent most of his life erecting around himself.

      So when he meets Cathal, Tomas’s attraction for a man he barely knows hits him out of left field. Love isn’t something he’s thought about—hell he’s gone out of his way to avoid it—but that doesn’t stop it from happening.  It takes him a while to figure out that what he’s feeling for Cathal is love, and goes as far as to accuse Cathal of ‘making me fall in love with you.’

      Both he and Cathal are outsiders, and while it takes them both a while to admit to themselves and each other that they’ve fallen in love, but once they do, they don’t want to go back to being alone. It’s not about just saying the words but following through with actions that show very clearly that their priority is the person they love.  Despite not wanting to go back to being alone, Cathal is prepared to give up a life with Tomas to keep him safe. And Tomas—who was previously self-centered and isolated—follows Cathal into a strange new world without a second thought.  After all, that’s what love is, isn’t it?

Buy Cat’s Quill HERE!

Blurb:

      Tomas Kemp has two successful novels to his name and the true belief that a successful sequel is only a matter of a little inspiration. When Tomas meets a mysterious stranger under the branches of an old oak tree, he feels compelled to tell him about a book he holds dear and the sequel he wants to read. But Cathal doesn’t share that deep belief that the sequel Tomas seeks ends happily. Cathal has seen enough of a world where stories are real to know that happy ever after is sometimes the dream that won’t come true.
      But stories have never let Tomas down, and as he follows Cathal across the reality shift between their worlds, he learns that Cathal is right: Happy ever after is never just given—but sometimes, it can be fought for and won.

Bio:
      Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand.  She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing "discussion," and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.
      In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.
       She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as "too many." These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of "spare time" is really just a myth.

Links:
Blog:  http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/
Website: http://annebarwell.wordpress.com/
Coffee Unicorns:  http://coffeeunicorns.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.barwell.1
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115084832208481414034/posts
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4862410.Anne_Barwell
Dreamspinner Press Author Page: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/anne-barwell

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Clancy Nacht

      Many people don’t believe in love at first sight. I’ve never experienced it any other way. People I’ve dated have been, to me, some of the most beautiful creatures to walk to the earth, and fascinating beyond measure--and I knew all of this about them instantly.
      At least, that’s how I remember it. My best friend in college said she would write a song about my “five minute crushes” and while it is true that there were people I’d be very intense about and then flit away, that wasn’t always how it went down.
      I remember the first time I saw him. I was a freshman in high school. School hadn’t officially begun yet, I was in band so we had early clinics with upperclassmen who put us through drills to get us in shape for marching band. There were many attractive people, many with cars, but it wasn’t until the full band arrived that I saw him.
      When I told one of the upperclassmen of my attraction, she gave me a kind of puzzled look. He wasn’t the tallest. He was pale, dark hair, blue eyes, freckles. His skin wasn’t clear. He wore all white because it was more practical in the heat and he didn’t much care that he may have looked peculiar. Like me, he was a percussionist. He stood with a slightly cocky air playing with his drumstick, smirking to himself while I sat on the ground watching him haloed by the sun. That’s what I think of when I remember him--that moment.
      I impetuously, and with encouragement from an upperclassman who I think kind of wanted to see me fall on my face, asked him to Homecoming and he said no. I went with someone else.
      In spite of the fact that I dated others freely, we bantered and flirted constantly. When I needed a ride, he drove me. I may or may not have invented reasons to go places I didn’t need to be and he may or may not have indulged me knowing I was contriving reasons to hang out with him. The situation had all the makings of an epic and lasting romance. Right up until we went on an actual date. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=El1kgCqD7Xk
      Two years of flirting, dancing around each other and my being in and out of relationships. There’s no drama like band drama, so of course my loss of virginity was reported to all who cared to listen. There may have been part of me who worried that I was damaged goods. Or it was just the genuine pressure I felt after all of the build up, but I flubbed the date. Hard.
      I was nervous and distant. I remember him arriving, introducing him to my mom and dad. His commenting on our big fish tank. Drakkar Noir, which he usually wore but it was in fuller effect. I don’t remember where we went or what we did. Then, back home, in front of the door. The time for the kiss. I bolted. <img src=”https://clancynacht.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/tulips.jpg”>
      I avoided him for weeks--no small feat, though it was made easier since we had been moved to different bands. Still. I was humiliated. I missed leaning against the piano in the practice room while he played Moonlight Sonata. I gazed at the remains of the tulips he’d bought me for my birthday because, “What’s better than roses on your piano? Tulips on your organ!” I was still sniffling from the cold we’d passed back and forth because of proximity.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DwjwDpUams
I was ready to try again.
        We had a class together and he sat behind me. I decided it was time to break the ice and turned around. We flirted very cautiously. Then, a girl who sat next to us asked him how his date with another girl went.
      In the time we’d danced around each other, as far as I knew he never had a girlfriend. Or dated. Suddenly there was a girl.
      I’ve been told I have a very expressive face. I try to control it and certainly, in that moment, I was crushed and there was, what felt like an eternity where I thought for sure heartbreak was audible and I’m sure my expression reflected that. After a beat, I did my best to smile and congratulate him. The girl, a friend of the one he was dating, was sure to go over what a great girlfriend she would make. She sounded like all of the things I was not, most notably, a stable individual.
      How could I compete with that?
      Though he begged me not to shut down and ditch him again, I felt like his path was clear. This girl was wonderful and I… I was a mess. And I can’t front. I was. Too young, too nervous, too scared. I’d had a few short-lived relationships and they a measure of heartbreak to them, but no one had shattered me like this.
      I look back on the situation with both fondness and horror. I wish I’d been strong enough to maintain our friendship, but I feared I’d interfere. I tried for a time, but friends of the girlfriend felt that I did interfere and I believed that the loving thing for me to do for him was to back off. As it turned out, it wasn’t. That poor choice haunts me.
      As much as I wish I could give that boy and girl a happy ending, the pain and romance of the situation is something I draw from when I write. Heartbreak helped to build who I am and many a tale I spin.
      While heartbreak features in every story I write on some levels, I’ll have a new story out on March 10, 2015 called Pride and Justice. I wrote it, it includes mystery men and a zombie crisis.
      A percentage of the earth's population has transformed into surprisingly functional zombies who returned to work the next morning as if they weren't undead monstrosities. Justice Kinkead, officer in an elite zombie fighting force, gets called out when good zombies go bad, putting down the brain cravers and safeguarding the new economy. After several of his partners succumb to unfortunate deaths, Justice figures he'll go it alone...until he's assigned a mysterious and sexy new partner, Merlin Pride, who seems to know more about the zombies' origins than he's letting on.
      Merlin also seems to sense that Justice needs a good fucking, but it's complicated: Justice still lives with his undead ex-boyfriend. Can Justice make peace with his past? And if he does, should he take a chance on a man who may have something to do with destroying civilization as they knew it?
     They get a much happier and more magical ending than I do. Check it out!

Clancy Nacht

http://www.clancynacht.com
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clancynacht@gmail.com

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Amy Lane

             One of the odd things my husband and I have in common—besides being born thirty-six hours apart in the fall of 1967—is that our parents “had” to get married.  And then they absolutely had to get divorced.
              We were nineteen-year-old virgins when we got together, and the one thing we knew for absolute certain was that first love did not always last.
                And so far it has “not lasted” for almost twenty-eight years.  Last night we had the “Yes, we are once again financially screwed” discussion. This morning he did something harmless and goofy for me, just to make me laugh.  We touch each other’s hips or shoulders or hands as we pass in the hallways.  We try very hard to crack each other up when we’re watching a movie, and we have watched movies together for the last twenty-eight years, so we can quote our favorites together as we watch.
                We are besotted with our children. And we can talk about our dimwitted dogs for hours.
                 And even though I’m not always in the mood, I still go to basketball games when he asks me.  And even though he can run half-marathons, he still limps along with me for my half-mile walk around the block and helps me find dog poop in the dark, just so we have a quiet space in our day to talk.
                When I work too many late nights, he starts looking haggard—he can’t sleep well without me beside him in our broken-down bed with our lumpy mattress. And he calls me almost every night when he’s stuck in traffic, so we can catch up on our day.
                 And I could go on and on and on about the things we do or say, every day, to make sure that we do not lose that tenuous contact, that brilliant, blinding, necessary immersion in each other that denotes being in love.
               We both saw—grew up with, to some extent—the idea that whatever it is that binds two people together, there is no foolproof way to keep them that way. Not a job, not a common interest, certainly not a child. Whatever it is that makes the two of us one, it’s got to come from inside us, and it has to come daily. Every small thing we do to make each other happy is worth it. Every moment we take to be us is a moment we take to bind our family—children included—closer.
               And it’s a moment to make sure that even after our children leave, we will still be us.
              All families start with a family of two. All relationships take work. I think the reason our first love may possibly end up being our only love is that we had that awareness from the very beginning that it could end.
              And then we worked every day to make it begin.
_____

              Author Bio:  Amy Lane has two kids in college and two kids in soccer, and four fur-babies up in her business as she writes. She, her Mate, and her brood live in a crumbling crapmansion and squander their funds on movies, travel, and joy. She is the author of many books, and cannot imagine not writing.
Website: www.greenshill.com
Blog: www.writerslane.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amy.lane.167
Twitter: @amymaclane
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_2?ie=UTF8&field-author=Amy+Lane&search-alias=books&text=Amy+Lane&sort=relevancerank

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Sarah Madison

       To say my first serious crush was hopeless is an understatement. I knew it, even at the time. I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school. He was eighteen and a senior about to graduate. I was in the very worst of my ugly-duckling phase (one that continued well into college, I’m sad to say), with Coke-bottle lenses and wild-masses of hair that was unfortunately permed. Richard, on the other hand, was Byronic-looking, with dark hair that flopped over his blue eyes in a heavy forelock, and cheekbones to die for. And talented—he as the leading actor in all the school plays, and I’ve always found talent hugely attractive. Ironically, he was the Dracula to my Wilhelmina, and I played her part with all the breathy, quivering naiveté of a young woman begging to be seduced. Let’s just say the role wasn’t a stretch for me.

      My friends, unable to miss the painfully obvious crush that I had, took me aside and tried to tell me I couldn’t have a crush on Richard.

      “I know,” I’d say sadly. “He’s graduating soon and going to L.A. to break into television.” I knew he’d make it, too. He was that good. I also knew there was no way someone as cool, and gorgeous, and wonderful as Richard would even look twice at me.

      My friends would exchange a funny look and try again. “No,” they’d say. “You don’t understand. You can’t have a crush on Richard.” Again with that odd emphasis on the word ‘can’t.’ Almost as if they meant ‘shouldn’t.’

      Still, I was too obtuse. Finally, one of my friends spelled it out. “Richard is gay.” She shared the information in a low voice with a quick look around to make sure no one could overhear.

      Oh! Oddly enough, I found it very comforting. I wasn’t being rejected for not being pretty enough or interesting enough. I was simply the wrong gender.

      It didn’t change how I felt about Richard. I still thought he was awesome and the sexiest thing on two legs, and I still knew he was out of my league, but now I could relax around him and enjoy his company because I knew it was never, ever going to happen, not even in my fantasies. Unbeknownst to me, my immediate acceptance of him, unusual in a community widely known for its Bible-thumping preachers and at a time when AIDS was becoming a household word, made me one of the Inner Circle. It never occurred to me to treat Richard any differently, and because of that, his friends became my friends. Never once did anyone hold my foolish crush up to me or make fun of me for it, either.

      Richard eventually graduated and moved on out of my life. The following year I developed a hopeless crush on Steve, a track star who could sing like an angel, and whose sandy-blond hair fell across his hazel eyes. Yep, I have a thing for hot guys with talent. So sue me.

      I have to say, I owe both of these guys a great deal. They were young, handsome, and had legions of girls fawning over them. They could have behaved like jerks to me, the homeliest one of the bunch, the one with the smallest chance ever of being their girlfriend. But they didn’t. They did me the honor of pretending they couldn’t tell I had a crush until long after the crush was over. Very cool, guys. Very cool.