Friday, October 5, 2012

All Alone in a Sea of Love; by B.G. Thomas


 
So today is the day! Today is the release of my very first novel. It's pretty exciting.
 
Two and a half years ago I made my first submission and was fortunate enough to sell it in less than a week. At this point I've sold seventeen stories and it all seems too good to be true. It's like something right out of a story, like fiction, but I assure you it's true.
 
I was also fortunate enough that I started getting to know the people behind the scenes, the publishers, editors, and found I was establishing good relations with almost all of them. Many of them soon seemed to be more like friends than peers or co-workers.
 
It gave me an idea.
 
What would it be like to write a story about the MM industry and small presses? With the knowledge I was gaining with friendly editors, I was beginning to get a picture of what it was all about. Then another stroke of luck. The fabulous editor Julianne Bentley agreed to do an interview with me and I found out all the more. It was really cool to peel back that layer between "me" and "them" and find out how close I'd figured things out--and how far I was wrong. Julianne was a delight, and I enjoyed every minute of our very long conversations.
 
 
The story began to take shape in my head. Unlike most of my stories, which are serious or moody or sad (with happy endings) or moral filled, I wanted to do a romantic comedy. What some call--if it was a movie--a "chick flick." I'm one of those rare men that likes those kinds of movies! Of course being gay might be part of that, but that's not what's important.
 
What I realized was missing in this world, at least for me and as far as my search went, was a gay romantic "flick." Where it's a pretty boy that gets discovered by the millionaire, the homo versions of "When Harry met Sally" or "About a Boy" or "Bridget Jones's Diary" or "Amélie" or even "Ruthless People."
 
 
That was my goal anyway...
 
 
Here's a little excerpt from the novel. Jude and his best friend Jeannie have arrived at the convention and are taking their over laden cart to their table where they can set up the books they're going to be selling. Right away Jude is starting down the wrong path!:
 
Jeannie rolled her eyes and took off, me hot on her heels, at least as much as I could be with the crappy hotel luggage cart.
 

“Jeez,” I muttered. “How far back are we?”
 
“Far!” she snapped. “By the time I talked Gail into this, they didn’t have many tables left.”
 
 
“Well, will we sell anything way back here?”
 
Jeannie didn’t answer.
 
In fact, I forgot what my question was.
 
We’d both frozen in place at the sight of two hugely muscled men wearing itty-bitty tank tops and shorts. One of them had chosen that precise moment to bend over and stick his mind-bogglingly amazing ass in our direction. I just stared. It was all I could do to not fall to my knees.
 
“Hey,” said the second godling, and somehow I tore my gaze from the Michelangelo sculptured glutes and the inviting trench between them.
 
“H-H-Hey,” I stammered.
 
The second man was simply gorgeous, and I realized he looked familiar. Now where could I know him from? Was he a movie star? A celebrity?
 
He had long brown hair that fell to his shoulders, deep black eyes, a lantern jaw, and big pink nipples that were strategically revealed by his tiny tank top. My mouth watered at the sight.
 
“How are you two doing? Ready to party this weekend?”
 
“I… uh… uh…,” I fumbled.
 
“Party,” Jeannie managed. “Yeah. Party.”
 

“You want to help me with this,” said the man who was sticking his glorious butt in our direction.
 

“Sure,” said the godling and bent to help his friend. For a brief instant two sets of magnificent buns were there for our mutual perusal.
 
Then the men lifted up a huge panel. It was a photograph of the brunette who had bid us hello. He was standing at the bow of a classic sailing vessel, balloon-sleeved shirt torn wide, his hair blowing in the wind. A big-bosomed woman clutched at him while he somehow held both her and the ship’s wheel. Large flowing letters proclaimed “Pirate’s Hostage.”
 
Of course! He was a cover model! And so was his equally gorgeous, blond friend. Mesmerized, we watched their muscles flex as they raised a second panel. This one had the blond raising a sword high over his head, another woman wrapped around his enormous thighs. “Barbarian’s Time Lost Love” this panel proclaimed.

 

They both turned to face us and—intentionally or not—posed. “I’m Brock,” said the brunette.

 

“Of course you are,” I said, and Jeannie elbowed me.
 
Brock held out a massive hand, and when I somehow unfroze myself, I saw mine vanish inside his huge paw. His hand was rough and warm, and I felt goose flesh rush up my arm and across my back.
 
God!
 
Brock took Jeannie’s hand and with a slight bow, kissed her knuckles. She positively preened.
 
“And I’m Dino,” said the stunning blond, his sapphire-blue eyes flashing, his voice the rumble of a Boeing 747. One tiny, but fiercely erect, nipple peeked out from a tank top strap. The other was hidden from my view but not my imagination. I could see the bump of it beneath fabric that was strained to the ripping point. And did I mention that those little running shorts did nothing to hide what was clearly a rather large endowment?

 

I felt my butt cheeks clench. Oh, oh, what he could do to me with that!
 
He shook Jeannie’s hand like Brock had mine, and then with a twinkle of those amazing eyes, he bent to kiss my hand as Brock had Jeannie’s.

 

I gushed.
 

He looked up at me over my knuckles, and from beneath heavy lidded eyes.
 
I got an instant erection.
 
“You should come by later when we’re all set up,” Dino said huskily, and I wondered if he had he written that out if it would have been spelled “cum by later,” or if that was only wishful thinking on my part. I was fat after all, Lionel had said so, and I was a hundred and forty-one in gay years. Why would this man make a pass at me?
 
“Sure,” I muttered.

 

“You can get your picture taken with me.”
 
There was only one kind of picture I wanted taken with him, but I was sure that was just more wishful thinking.
 
“I’d-I’d love to,” I said.
 
Dino winked and pulled away.
 
At some point another godling had arrived, this one all swarthy and with raven blue-black hair that fell to nearly his waist. Sheik? Native American? Indian Prince? All the above? He and Brock were lifting a third panel, and I saw that our new arrival was indeed, at least on the giant-sized book cover, Native American. His hair was flying back as he sat upon a black horse, a woman clad in nothing but some kind of nightie holding desperately to his back.
 
“I’ve died…” whispered Jeannie.
 
“… and gone to heaven,” I whispered back.

 
The craziness takes off from there, and yes, Jude does find love. But how? You'll have to check it out!
 

 
Special Note! The first twenty people who order the paperback get autographed copies and a fun little extra that I included!
 
 

 


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