This week I began a new workout regimen. I was sick of excuses I make when I can't make it to the gym, so I wanted something I can do anywhere. No excuses then, right?
I planned out a mostly bodyweight routine. I have simple equipment on hand too - two 35 lb kettlebells, a yoga mat for when I need to be on the floor, push-up bars to keep my wrists happy, and a pull-up bar above our bedroom doorway. I'm focusing on increasing the work done in the same span of time. I am not interested
With all my free time (hahaha!) I've been going through a hard edit of Camp Refuge. It's sort of the story where I found my favorite subject matter. It was where I decided I was no longer a writer of "porn with plot", but rather "erotica with purpose".
Head-hopping became my enemy after Camp Refuge. I realized that I did it a lot, and I felt I had to eliminate it in order to improve, and grow. So I did (mostly).
Yet, as I edit and as more players are added to the mix in Camp Refuge
I started rereading a story I wrote a while back.
Camp Refuge is such a keystone for me. It has so many good things going for it, embedded in a package of terrible mechanics. I'm going to try and explain what I mean.
I began it to help a reader who had written while I was in the process of releasing Guarded on another site. He was recently diagnosed with HIV, and he was wrecked. I'll never forget the last two lines he ever wrote to me - "Who could love me now? Who could possibly l
Maybe I shouldn't be. Perhaps I should expect less; I don't know.
I post work on multiple sites. Well, on a different site I've built a reputation as a sort of HEA, feel-good, everybody wins writer. I guess I should have known to post my aggressive, erotic story Silverwolf there would throw people (even though I put a warning on the first chapter to explain it was very different from my usual offering).
I am utterly fine getting emails to say that "Hey, this isn't my
I was driving on the way to our most remote site, and this melody/lyrics began to play in my brain. So I pulled off, recorded it, then continued on my way.
I’ll decide later if it’s worth trying to flesh out into a complete song. Maybe ask my buddy who does Folk singing for a living what he thinks.
Till then, is the melody familiar to anybody? It’d suck to think it’s mine when it’s not.
I'm a nice guy.
I think about how others feel, consider their beliefs, and I try to be respectful in as many things as I can.
So when I write I do my best to adhere to those same principals. Yet, therein lies a limitation.
Not rocking the boat of the reader, not challenging their beliefs, not forcing them to grow is a failing. It's one that I struggle to move beyond, and it has kept me from posting work. I know some of the things I've written will simply not pass muster for som
I miss many things about Kentucky. And though it took a while, I finally realized what it is that I truly long to experience again.
Let's start with what I don't miss - the people. Those are the most mixed bag when it comes to my thoughts of my home state. I've met some of the most honest, hard-working, and caring people there. Yet, I've also run into some awful apples. They were judgmental, hardened by poverty and suffering from a lack of opportunity - all of which conspired to
I've always been the helper - the strong one.
I'm the one people go to, to be heard. I'm the one people know can handle more. I carry my load, and then yours, and theirs, and the world's too.
But today, I didn't want to get out of bed. I feel like there's a band of iron around my chest like the world is crushing me. There's no reason, and if there's no reason then there's no fix.
There's nobody in my life who I can lean on, simply because I've never asked
"You know, for a guy who grew up in Kentucky, you seem pretty well adjusted to the whole gay thing."
I thought about what Greg had said as I drove home. I hadn't replied other than to smile and nod. What would he feel if I told him all of it? I toyed with the idea, but it was too early for that. He didn't need to know just how damaged I was.
Regardless of my choice to keep the entirety of the truth from Greg, I couldn't stop it from replaying in my mind. It was just
My musical buddy, a guy named Jonathan Foster is going to use a song I wrote in his next album. That's pretty damn cool and flattering. I wrote it for a story, and it turned out pretty good.
If you want to abuse your ears here's me singing my acapella version of it. Bled the Blood Jonathan will do a better job though, thankfully.
I've got just enough of a few gifts to know that I am not quite at a level that can be considered exceptional. But, that's all right. I'm p
If you want a feel-good story that will probably make you cry, then click the link.
I really needed something like this when I came out. I didn't get it, and it was a very rough time. Maybe I'll write about it at some point, but not right now - I want to function for the rest of the day.
"Okay, are you seriously not going to tell me?"
I lay in bed with Greg. He hadn't planned to end up tangled in sheets with me that night, but I can be terribly convincing if a man let me kiss him.
I chuckled, and his hand rubbed my chest gently. "Come on." He tried to work me, but it wasn't necessary. I had wanted sex, he gave it to me, so I'd reward him.
"Fine." I took a breath, and he grinned. Greg wriggled a little closer, and now his forehead was under my arm, w
It was 1997, May. I was a U.S. Sailor, twenty-two years old, in excellent condition, and a fantastic mood. I walked down the streets of Seattle - Broadway, specifically. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was out for my standard, debaucherous weekend in Hillcrest, the queer part of the Emerald City. It was still early for a Saturday, only around nine a.m. There were people seated outside various breakfast spots at tables on the sidewalk, thanks to the popularity of the eateries in that pa
@Mikiesboy: Thanks for patiently explaining how the Life works from the sub perspective. I appreciate your time to help me get it right. FYI, anything I get wrong down the line in my writing is my own fault. Without you, it would have been worse.
@Fae Briona: The other side of the coin - the Dom perspective. Your insights and your time reading my latest work have helped considerably. I know that some of it wasn't easy to get through. Again, anything false in my writing is my own failu
I don't have the best grasp of the mechanics of writing. I am sure I give my poor retired school-teacher editor fits (it'd be worse without Grammarly). Yet, I still feel my work has merit.
Emotion and its description is something I love to do. I love making a reader laugh, cry, or shake their head in frustration at a character. Best, is when they empathize with the poor choice the character just made. The reader gets why the decision happened because they're on the same emotiona