Paul Zerdin - Ventrioquist without a dummy

Things that make you go hmmmm!

If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee. (Hardly seems worth it.)

If you farted consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb. (Now that's more like it!)

The human heart creates enough pressure to squirt blood 30 feet when it pumps out of the body. (O.M.G.!)

A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes. (In my next life, I want to be a pig.)

A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death. (Creepy.) (I'm still not over the pig.)

Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour. (Don't try this at home; maybe at work.)

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off. (Honey, I'm home. What the...?)

The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field. (30 minutes. Lucky pig! Can you imagine?)

The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds. (What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?)

Some lions mate over 50 times a day. (I still want to be a pig in my next life...quality over quantity.)

Butterflies taste with their feet. (Something I always wanted to know.)

The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue. (Hmmmmmm.......)

Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people. (If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?)

Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump. (Okay, so that would be a good thing.)

A cat's urine glows under a black light. (I wonder how much the government paid to figure that out.)

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain. (I know some people like that.)

Starfish have no brains. (I know some people like that, too.)

Polar bears are left-handed. (If they switch, they'll live a lot longer.)

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure. (What about that pig? Do the dolphins know about the pig?)

It's Tuesday, I must be in...

Limbo?

Writer's hell?

I want to pass a little something along to non-writers and to others of my kind who live to write. It sometimes doesn't work. The writing I mean.

I've just crawled out of what I refer to as editing hell, although in all truth, I really enjoy editing. Both the task of editing someone elses work or doing the fixes I need to do on my own. One was for a friend, another was one of mine, and the last was fixes needed on an older work in order to send to a new publisher.

Now, I'm sitting with Jazz open and staring at the last paragraph. I know where I want the story to go. It's just that I can't seem to focus enough to get them all there. I also know other writers go through this, but it doesn't help how I feel. Helpless, angry, frustrated, like my world is rocking wildly and I want it to stop.

Jazz will get done. I know it will. I love the concept of this series and I want so much for this next one to come out. I'm nearly halfway there.

Going to try again. Wish me luck!

Hugs

Of Death and Desire - Coming March 23rd

Of Death and Desire
Jude Mason
Genre: m/m romance, historical, paranormal

Publisher: BWLPP Spice
URL: http://bwlpp.com/spice.php

Coming March 23.2011

 

Prologue

October 15, 1898

Dear diary, that's how you're supposed to begin these things, or so I assume.  I never in a million years thought I'd write in one, let alone under these circumstances.  This was Jonathan's doing.  When he asked me to make this entry, it was something I had to do, for him.  He's given up so much.

The beginning.  Yes, that's where I should begin and then let his accounting tell the tale. 

Excerpt:

"Sign here and the place is yours, Jonathan." The elderly Cecil Deveraux, father of the man who'd allowed them to use the house, stood beside him, a gnarled index finger at the line at the bottom of the document where he should sign.

"Thank you, Cecil," he humored the man and leaned forward, affixing his signature and date to the deed. When he put the pen down and straightened up, it felt as if he'd stepped over some threshold into a new life.

Signed and witnessed by the only other occupant in the room, Cecil's bank manager, the house transfer was done. It belonged to Jonathan.

Holding his hand out, Cecil gave a surprisingly strong handshake and said, "I hope you're happy there, Jonathan. I know your friend died there, but life does go on." His voice held a note of distant sadness, as if he, too, understood the loneliness of loss.

"Thank you, Cecil. I'm sure I will be. I just need time, and this house seems the perfect place to let it pass." The paperwork done, the money wired and accepted; Jonathan took his leave. The carriage ride home gave him time to ponder. He knew he had to find a way to get on with his life; somehow he had to get over Philip's death. Writing, perhaps, but not soon. The thought of trying to create something beautiful was beyond him.

He spent the rest of that evening wandering the house, sipping wine and inspecting his new property. Each room held memories of Philip. He'd held him in his arms there in the dining room. They'd made gentle love in each of the bedrooms. They'd gotten crazy drunk one night and blundered through the house naked, fumbling and caressing each other whenever and wherever one would catch the other.

His glass soon emptied and he poured another as his thoughts went from one encounter to another, each more bittersweet than the last. Sprawling in an easy chair in the front room, he let his thoughts follow and embellish on a particularly hot memory of a lovemaking session.

They'd been out drinking with friends and had arrived home very late, and very horny. Stepping through the front door, they'd pulled each others clothes off, fumbling and laughing with each new expanse of naked flesh revealed. Philip had felt well that night and he'd forced Jonathan to his knees even before they'd climbed the stairs.

- - -

*Jude Mason – Readers needed: Come, explore with me…if you dare*

Website: http://www.my-haven2001.com
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Jude's March Newsletter is available now

 

Author Jude Mason's March 2011 Edition
 

  What Jude's Been up to:

 Hi everyone! Another month has flown by and it's still as cold here as it was in mid-January. Sheesh! I'm usually okay with winter weather, but this year it just feels so much chillier than normal. I hope you're having a warmer time of things.

It's been another eventful time for me. Phaze, the publishing company I was with for years and I have parted company, on good terms. It was a difficult decision, but one I really didn't feel I had a great deal of choice in. All the books I did have there will be re-published at other sites. Keep your eyes on both BWLPP Spice and eXtasy Publishing I've already sent off two books, Amber's Toy and Fertile Domain to eXtasy and have contracts signed sealed and in my grubby little hands. BWLPP Spice will be publishing the complete Dealing With Trilogy, the first already available.

Jazz is coming along now. I'm well over a third of the way done, and hope the writing continues to fly. I'd love to have this finished so I can go to work on the last of the Dealing books. Then, I'd really love to write something new and fun for eXtasy.

Family life goes on. I'm back on meds and I hate it. I've done a rant, sobbed and whimpered for a week. But, now it's time to just deal with it and move on. I have to lose more weight. Seems I'm either going to be thin or blind. Great choice, but it's definitely an insensitive. So far, I've managed to shed 2 or 3 lbs, and man is it frustrating. I want all those foods I'm not supposed to have. Sigh!

My animals: Our weather has been horrible for the last few weeks, so the deer and raccoons have been coming very steadily. Old limpy is still hanging in and seems to be doing a little better. He can now, finally, put a little weight on the leg that was broken. There's still a really big lump where it broke, but not as big as it was. I'm very hopeful he'll make it. I figure if he can last another month, the weather will warm up enough so we'll have buds and new growth for him to eat. The raccoons are being as silly as only raccoons can be. I have one pair, they're either boyfriend/girlfriend or gay. They sit on the step and wash each other. It's very cute. 

There's more to the newsletter: Coming soon, new releases, reviews, interviews, where you can find me and a contest. Oh, and let's not forget, there's always a hot read to tease you. 

If you'd like to find out more, all you have to do is either join my mailing list HERE  or join my yahoo group HERE

BWLPP Sale!!

All regularly priced $2.99 BWLPP Spice titles are now only $2.50 when ordered from BWLPP website! This includes:

Keta Diablo

Crossroads

Crossroads Revisited

Crossroads Showdown

Crossroads Shadowland

Lisabet Sarai

Body Electric

Jude Mason

The Deal

Jenna Byrnes

Reckless

Heads or Tails

Chasing Marty

Check it out now!
http://bwlpp.com/spice.php

 

BWLPP
Books You'll Love to Read

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Doc: Available now!!!

Doc - Book #1 in the Daybreak 2525 series
by Jude Mason

ISBN: 978-0-85715-490-3

Genre: Futuristic - post apocalypse/ Sci-Fi/ MM/ MF

The son of a healer and a warrior, Doc is forced to take on both roles when his village is destroyed and his lover...gone.

Returning from a visit to one of the outland farms, Doc finds his village destroyed, his family either gone or dead and his lover vanished without a trace. The few survivors hidden among the ruins tell a tale of ruthless, sadistic marauders taking what they want and burning the rest. Doc finds too many dead and his heart breaks for those he finds alive. Mothers whose children are gone, husbands who have lost everything and everyone.

Pulling as many people as he can together and tending their wounds, Doc vows to find the rest of his people. His father is among the dead, but his mother, his sister and lover are not.

The hunt is on.

Excerpt:

He dropped the satchel filled with his doctoring tools and herbs to the grass and unslung his bow. It was a small affair, made of some mysterious alloy manufactured before the big war.  He’d discovered it in what remained of the old city to the north and found it easier to aim than the long bows he’d been using. With a great deal of practice, the small weapon had proven extremely accurate, and he rarely travelled anywhere without it. An arrow in hand, he automatically notched it but didn’t draw it back. When he leant down to pick up his satchel, he saw movement below and again froze.

Doc squinted, hoping to see Jazz crouched amid the piles of rubble. His mother and father would be there, and his sister Robin—unless they were dead. Just thinking about it made him cringe. The warriors, where were they?

He noticed several of the bodies ahead were very small. His stomach churned. More movements below caught his attention. The familiar figure of a white-haired elder shambled out from under one of the heaps of debris. Each tribe in the region seemed to have at least one person who kept the histories of what had taken place over the last few centuries, passing on stories from one to the next. Seth was one of these ‘Rememberers’, keeping the records of their tribe. Being the oldest person, he’d lived through much of what needed recalling.

The wind turned, and Doc got his first whiff of the fire and of the burned flesh. His belly rumbled. He swallowed bile and gagged.

Straightening up, he squared his shoulders and looked carefully around. The woods surrounding the village remained undamaged and quiet. There were a thousand places to hide. He watched for several heartbreaking moments, knowing he had to be sure those who’d attacked were gone before he ventured in.

When he was confident no one remained in hiding, he returned to the path leading down the hillside. His pace quickened until he was jogging. He scanned the brush on either side as he hurried on his way. Visions of the atrocities he’d seen, mingled with flashes of his family, and Jazz, his darling, sexy Jazz, leapt into his mind.

Jazz, the man he’d grown up with and had fallen head over heels in love with, a handful of years ago, kept returning to his thoughts. If these were simply marauders, Jazz would have fought and probably died trying to protect the tribe. But if the attackers were after slaves or trade goods, the outcome might have been much different.

He thrust both of those thoughts aside. He couldn’t bear to think of Jazz dead. Captive or slave might be worse in some ways. Doc’s heart lurched. At least you’d be alive, my love.

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