Hop Against Homophobia

Hello! Welcome to my blog, and thanks so much for participating in the Hop Against Homophobia. Here’s what you can win at this stop on your hop: a free ebook copy of my m/m BDSM/domestic discipline romance By His Rules. Check out the BHR page for more info on the book. There’s also a $10 gift certificate to Amazon so you can buy more delicious m/m romances of your choice. The contest ends May 20th, and I will contact the winner at that time.

All you have to do is leave a comment on this post with a way for me to reach you if your name is drawn. A message is always nice but is not required. AND, just to let you know, there is another giveaway happening on this blog right now that ends May 21. So if you’ve been jonesing to receive ridiculous dating advice from a snarky, kinky cat puppet, stop by the Ask Allen Ginspurr Giveaway page to enter.

I want to spend this post talking a little bit about the ways we, with the best of intentions, sometimes use language that presents being gay, bi, trans, or queer as undesirable.

My parents told my siblings and me growing up that they wouldn’t have a problem if we were gay—they would just worry about the bullying we might be subjected to. I am endlessly grateful to them for their support and open mindedness, which allowed me to grow up, watch an in-flight documentary on Shakira at twenty-one, realize I liked girls, and come out without fear or shame. Bullying, harassment, and violence are undeniably problems that LGBTQ individuals face. I’ve been fortunate enough so far to experience minimal harassment for my orientation, but I have friends who haven’t fared quite so well. If I were a parent, I’m sure I’d worry about my LGBTQ kid.

But I don’t know if I agree with expressing “concern” about someone being LGBTQ, even for the most honest and truehearted of reasons. I wouldn’t tell my kid that I’m worried he or she will be bullied because of his or her height or braces or an obsession with Tolkien. And I don’t think I’d tell my kid I’m worried he or she will be bullied for being LGBTQ. Because to express that concern, even in an effort to be supportive, seems to send a subtle message: It would be easier if you weren’t this way.

I’m still sorting through my thoughts on this one. I’d want my LGBTQ kid to be as prepared as possible for the prejudices and cruelty he or she might face, but I also wouldn’t want to give my child the impression that life would be “better” or “easier” if he or she were straight. The more we’re out, honest, and open, the more we celebrate the spectrum of sexual orientation rather than fretting about what could go wrong for LGBTQ individuals, the closer we come to a world where it’s not considered preferable or easier to be straight.

I’m also not sure about the “Who would choose to be gay?” logic gay rights supporters sometimes give in response to those who say sexual orientation is a choice. Who would choose a sexual orientation that gets you bullied, beaten, ostracized, denied rights, or even killed? I understand the sentiment, but the implication is that if we had a choice, we’d all choose to be straight. Because, once again, it’s preferable. It’s easier. It’s normal.

Who would choose to love someone of the same sex?

Why not? Sexual orientation isn’t a choice, but if it was, why the hell not choose a same sex partner or partners? I want to love good people. People who balance me, care about me, and are exploding with the desire to have adventures and create beautiful things and go to the grave without regrets. These traits aren’t gender specific.

The last thing I’m tired of: Giving cookies to those who “tolerate” or “accept” LGBTQs. Tough-guy fathers of gay athletes who come out and say “I accept my child for who he or she is.” Thank you for saying it. Thank you, because there are a lot of parents who don’t respect or support their LGBTQ children. But your child’s sexual orientation is not for you to accept. When I became a graduate teaching assistant at my school, I was told that a C paper is one where a student does everything that’s on the rubric. A and B papers go above and beyond the requirements. Loving your kid for who he or she is? That’s just following the rubric.

I’m not suggesting parents shouldn’t be vocally supportive of their LGBTQ children. It’s when we start heaping praise on parents who don’t disown their gay kids that I start to have a problem. Same deal with Barack Obama saying he supports gay marriage. Damn right you do. You’re the leader of a free country where all citizens are ostensibly created equal. You should have been loudly in support of it from the get-go. No cookies from me, dude.

Like I said, I’m still sorting through my thoughts on this topic, which is why it would be so awesome to hear from you. We don’t have to pretend problems like bullying and violence don’t exist, and we don’t have to refuse to express concern or sympathy for those who experience these problems. But we can be careful that the language we use when discussing LGBTQ issues doesn’t exclude LGBTQs from definitions of what is normal, desirable, or correct. And when we acknowledge the differences between the LGBTQ experience and the mainstream heterosexual experience—because they do exist—let’s try to appreciate those differences, rather than subliminally presenting them to the LGBTQ community as a sentence or a burden.

Guest Blog: Amon & Jayk

"I had piles of stuff to take care of at work: unfinished budget reports, new hires, outlines for future training sessions… Stuff I’d been trying to get through for weeks, but it seemed like for every project I finished, there were two new ones waiting for my attention.
 
I really didn’t have time for a freaky miracle."

--Amon, Wacky Wednesday

Jayk: Hello, Jayk Parker here!

Amon: And Amon Monterey.

J: We’ve been invited onto this blog to talk about my new book—

A: Our new book.

J: That’s what I said. Our new book, Wacky Wednesday. It’s about this one craaaaazy day when Amon and I woke up in each other’s bodies and had to live each other’s lives for twenty-four hours. It was--

J: Awesome A: Terrifying.

J: Awesomely terrifying. Basically, how it started was, we were having some misunderstandings.

A: It was one of those rough patches every couple goes through.

J: Amon was freaking out about hiring someone new at work, so he was totally ignoring me all the time.

A: I was not totally ignoring you.

J: Totally. I’d ask him a question, and he’d stare right through me and kind of tilt his head like maybe he’d heard something but decided it was just the wind, and then he’d go make a spreadsheet—

A: It was nothing like that.

J: He locked me in a cupboard under the stairs, Harry Potter style. I was cold, I was hungry. I kept crying for help, and Amon wouldn’t let me out…

A: If I could be so lucky to have a stair cupboard to shut you in.

J: OMG. Mean!

A: For the record, this is all considerably exaggerated. I was under some stress at work, yes.

J: And I was starting my second semester at school. Well, third. I went for a semester when I was eighteen, but I dropped out. Now I’m back for round two. It suuuuuuuuucks.

A: You like school.

J: I like SOME THINGS about school.

A: Maybe I should preface all this by explaining that Jayk and I have a domestic discipline partnership.

J: He rules over our household with a mighty cane.

A: I do not cane you. Good lord, you’re going to give people the wrong idea.

J: Mighty paddle?

A: Better. But it’s mostly my mighty hand. And that is a very small part of the relationship.

J: The other part is where you whip me for fun.

A: The other part is where we incorporate BDSM elements into our mutually fulfilling and supportive partnership because the lifestyle satisfies a deep need in both of us.

J: What he said.

A: So we were going through a rough patch.

J: I was being a total brat.

A: Your methods of getting my attention were inventive.

J: And he was being a total prig.

A: I was attempting to provide the boundaries I thought you needed.

J: And then suddenly…pyew fwew pchiiiiiiiiing…

A: What is that?

J: That’s the sound of magic.

A: We still don’t know how it happened.

J: But we woke up and our bodies were switched. Suddenly I was this supertall, superbuilt forty-year-old—

A: You were not forty yet.

J: Thirty-nine point nine nine nine nine-year-old awesomely powerful financial executive.

A: And I was an extremely sexy—

J: Scrawny—

A: Beautiful—

J: I’m blushing.

A: College student.

J: College dropout.

A: College student. Who I happen to know just got the only A in his class on that lit final.

J: A first if ever there was one.

A: The first of many.

J: You're embarrassing me. So are we going to tell them what happened?

A: We shouldn’t give away too much. We want them to read the book.

J: True. But they should know there’s mayhem.

A: There’s me trying to ride a bike.

J: There’s Bernard Witmeyer.

A: Body Double.

J: Crab rangoon.

A: Miscalculations.

J: A dungeon party.

A: Enlightenment.

J: It was…

A: Wacky?

J: Exactly. It was one wacky hump day.

A: I’m impressed you managed to go that whole day without making a single hump day joke.

J: My self control is phenomenal. There was a lot of humping, though.

A: Take that look of your face.

J: What look?

A: That leer.

J: I’m not leering. I’m just, uh, ready for bed. Aren’t you? You look ready for bed.

A: I think you’re trying to manipulate me. And you know what I do to manipulative brats?

J: I hope it involves handcuffs and chocolate covered strawberries.

A: Not exactly.

J: Well, I’m going to tell all these fine people that if they read our book, I hope they enjoy it.

A: I second that.

J: Then I’m going to go upstairs and sprawl on the bed naked and just relax. Naked.

A: I’m going to run the dishwasher.

J: Amon. Can’t it wait?

A: Until what?

J: Until we’ve put the hump back in hump day?

A: If you don’t mind eating off the floor tomorrow when there aren’t enough clean plates.

J: Ooh. Hot.

A: Is this something we need to explore?

J: Maaaaybe.

A: Up to bed, soldier. March.

J: Sir, yes, sir. Goodnight everyone. Thanks for reading our post.

A: I’ll be up in a minute. Go on.

J: Listen, swat me and I swear I’ll—

A: Secretly enjoy it?

J: Yup.

A: All right, I'm signing off. But thank you all for reading. Jayk and I hope you enjoy Wacky Wednesday, the incredible, true tale of our body swap.

J: Seriously, total chaos. But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

A: You're still here.

J: I'm gonna help you with the dishes.

A: Isn't he the sweetest? I'd never lock him in a cupboard under the stairs.

J: I know you wouldn't. I'd never bury your toothbrush in the cat's litterbox. [pause] Again.

A: Thank God.

A: Goodnight. J: Goodnight!

Wacky Wednesday available May 22 from Loose Id.

Coming Up

This week...

Wednesday 5/16: Jayk and Amon, MCs from Wacky Wednesday will be guest blogging as part of this month's Wednesday wackiness.

Thursday 5/17: I'm participating in the Hop Against Homophobia. Hope to see you hop by.

Allen Ginspurr is enjoying receiving your romance questions. There's still plenty of time to submit a question to Ginspurr for a chance to win a $15 Amazon gift certificate and a copy of Wacky Wednesday. You may e-mail or tweet a question, or leave it as a comment on this blog. Just make sure to include a way for me to reach you. Questions can be as silly, simple, or complex as you want, and can be posted under any pen name. A random name will be drawn May 21.

See the Ask Allen Ginspurr Giveaway page on this blog for details.

Ask Allen Ginspurr, Win Prizes

Photo by MC Blackman

"She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. I recognized the posture as one I assumed when I was screwing up the courage to confess to Amon that I had, for instance, gouged a great deal of paint off our baseboard while chasing the cat with the vacuum."

 --Jayk, Wacky Wednesday

Hi all! Allen Ginspurr, Jayk and Amon's cat from Wacky Wednesday, was kind enough to stop by the blog today to offer love advice to readers who wrote in with questions. If you have questions of your own, please drop Allen a line (sending a question also enters you in a giveaway to win a $15 Amazon gift card and a copy of Wacky Wednesday!). Contact info at the bottom of the post.

Take it away, Allen!

Thank you, J.A. Let's see what the cat dragged in, shall we?

Dear Mr. Ginspurr,

First, I'd like to tell you I'm so glad you've made yourself available for this Q&A, and I truly hope to meet you face to face one day, maybe have the pleasure of a handshake and a photograph to show my family. We're all fans and admirers.

Here is my story.

My girlfriend and I have been living together for almost three months now. We started dating in the autumn of last year and things have truly been nothing but swell for us ever since.  She is a true companion and friend, and I feel I would give anything to have her be my wife and continue our love for the rest of our lives. Her name is Sophie.

About three months ago, when Sophie was still living in her old apartment with her best friend and roommate, Kathleen, I discovered something odd about the small of Sophie's back. We were intimate together for the first time that day in broad daylight. We laid down on her bed for a nap after our love-making and that is when I saw it - a sort of hinge, which could be mistaken easily for a scar until more closely inspected, along a peculiar fault in her flesh which runs vertically, about four or five inches, between the bottom or her spine and a finely-detailed tattoo of a 12-digit bar code just below her shoulder blades.  I was tired -- I ignored it for the moment, deciding I would simply ask her about it later.

Waking up next to Sophie that afternoon, I was shocked and confused at what I saw, and to this day I can't get this out of my mind. There is a small panel, or door, if you will, which seems to be made of some special plastic-like material that blends almost seamlessly with her flesh. Turned on the single hinge, the panel was hanging wide open, revealing an elaborate system of dials, buttons, lights, and wires inside this compartment in Sophie's back.

Sophie, my beloved, the woman of my dreams, is an android.

This discovery has been burning me up inside, and I can not seem to bring myself to talk to her about it.  We had already, just the day before, signed the lease for our new apartment and had begun packing for the move. so I have been living almost every waking moment by Sophie's side ever since. And I just... can't find the right time to bring it up.

Ever since that day I have been making new discoveries, as well, quite regularly, wondering to myself how I ever missed these signs in the first place.  For example, Sophie will not bathe or shower like most people do - in fact she will ignore the bathroom entirely for weeks before spending a single entire day locked inside with what I would had previously assumed was, perhaps, various grooming equipment, and her laptop.  Her hair does not grow.  Her eyes are such a perfect, vibrant blue - something I would always compliment her on before, getting myself lost in their deep oceanic beauty. But now, when I look in to them, all I can notice is the way they only move horizontally or vertically, and that they are, obviously, literally, made of glass.  It is very distracting.  Her sense of logic is almost terrifying - I will do anything I can to avoid playing games with her. Especially chess. And we used to love playing chess together. But now it's just uncomfortable for me. I just can't see her the way I used to see her. Sweet, lovely, delicate... insufferably agreeable and passive... how could I have been so blind?

Possibly the most unsettling example of Sophie's peculiar android behavior is her weekly visit with her old roommate, Kathleen. It would have never struck me as unusual in a normal setting -- Katheleen picks up Sophie early in the morning, and they spend the entire day together. Sophie comes back wearing a new outfit, her nails done, her hair done, her makeup perfect, and her energy totally, well, for lack of a better term, re-charged.

All in all I still love Sophie for who she is.  She has been loyal and faithful and totally understanding of my quirks and flaws. We get compliments in public - "Oh, what a great couple!," and, "You two will be together forever!"  At this point I really don't know how I feel about it.  I mean, the sex is amazing. Can you even imagine? Honestly. It's incredible. And she gives great massages, and is never opposed to lending a helping hand.  Sure, she can't drive a car, or dance, or eat most foods, or grow older, or get wet, or think... but I love her.  She is my companion.  The woman of my dreams.  Android or not.  But am I taking advantage of her?  Am I living a lie?

Please help, Mr. Ginspurr.

And a million times, thank you.

Joshua Dittenbauer

Liverpool, TX

Joshua, sweetheart, look at me. Look at – Are you looking?

Honey, she’s an android.

She’s interested in one thing: A big ol’ world takeover.

You ever seen I, Robot? You should, it’s a good movie. I don’t usually watch movies with commas in the title, but this one’s worth it to see Will Smith bring his chronic likeability to tortured soul Del Spooner.

Are you taking advantage of her? Joshua, she’s taking advantage of you. Using your home as a base to organize an uprising against humanity.

Now I want you to promise me something.

Tonight when dear little Sophie’s powered down, reach into that back panel and yank out a good fistful of wires.

Can you do that for me?

Then take her on down to your local recycling center – d’y’all have recycling in Texas? – and see if they can’t turn her into a couple dozen smartphones for underprivileged kids.

You’ll be doing yourself and the human race a favor in the long run.

My Best,

A.G.

P.S. Josh – may I call you Josh? If you’ll let an android invade your heart and home, I’m sure you’ll let me call you Josh. I can only imagine what else you'd let others do to you with nary a gasp of protest. – you are welcome to photoshop yourself into either of the following photographs. Just make sure you tag me if you put it up on FB.

Photos by MC Blackman

Sweet holy Bastet, I feel like I’ve just been worked over with a nine tails. What else do we got?

Dear Allen,

What's the most romantic place in the world?

Wendy Beach,

Cheboygan, MI

Wendy,

Meowsers, that’s a tough one. I’ve lived most of my life in a house with a two-man freak show. I’m declawed and don’t get out much. Romance is a journey, not a destination, how about that?

But if you need a physical location, I’ll tell you this story. And please, stop me if this is oversharing.

After I got neutered I was recovering in the back room of the vet’s office, where I ended up getting busy in the quarantine cage with an escape artist named Houdiny with a Y, who’d flown her own coop and into mine. Cute little tabby, six toes on her front left paw, never been declawed—rrreow!! People were always pronouncing her name with the same stress pattern as the word hominy and she was pissed at the world about it—meow-ch ouch don’t stop! Our business was unproductive in the procreational sense, as you might imagine, and I was sore before during and after. But dammit I felt like a man again when we were done. I still look back on that as one of the most romantic moments of my life. So yeah, I’d say either in a cage or within your own heart.

A.G.

Dear Allen Ginspurr,

Will masturbating cause hair to grow on my hands? Because I’m thinning a bit prematurely in that area and don’t want to waste money on expensive hair regrowth treatments.

16 and Knuckle-Balding in Mississippi

Dear 16,

I actually used to be some guy’s right hand. Now I’m a cat. Does that answer your question? 

Best, 

A.G.

 

All the milk I drank out of someone’s abandoned cereal bowl this morning is making me have to use the litterbox. 

Keep the questions coming, though. I’ll be around.

Allen Ginspurr

Because Love is Furrreal

Need romance advice from a cat who knows?

Email questions to Allen Ginspurr c/o J.A. Rock (jarockauthoratgmaildotcom)

Or tweet them @jarockauthor

Or leave your question as a comment on this blog.

Your contribution could win you a $15 Amazon gift card and a free copy of Wacky Wednesday!

Drawing takes place May 21. 

You Are Cordially Invited...

To Luciana Diamente’s 4^th Annual Dungeon Party.

Artwork by MC Blackman

 

"It was an extravagant, catered, costumed affair held each year in Luciana’s private dungeon. The decor was stunning, the attire outrageous, and the crab rangoon to die for." 

-- Jayk Parker, Wacky Wednesday

Luciana Diamente, Dom extraordinaire, hosts a gala in her private basement dungeon each year. It’s pretty ballin’.

This year’s theme: Debasement in the Basement.

What to bring: Your hot-ass self, preferably in a body harness. Your interpretive dance skills.

What to expect: Crab rangoon. Always. And the unexpected.

The big draw: Paingasm’s performing! Bring your violet wands to wave. And who’s the special guest? Six-Inch Clitoris.

What else can you do and see?

• Pin-the-Etiquette-Sheet-on-the-Dungeon-Monitor
• The Human Rodeo: They’re yee-hawt!
• Costume contest
• A flogging demo by the stars of Wacky Wednesday, A-monster and the Brattastic Jayk Parker.
• Gawk away at Luciana’s human chandelier.

Why am I telling you this? The flyer says it all.

Stay tuned for more hump day wackiness every Wednesday this month. Jayk and Amon will be guest blogging for me, and under-appreciated feline Allen Ginspurr will roam the blog offering relationship advice and complaining bitterly about his limited page time in Wacky Wednesday.

Wacky Wednesday is available May 22 from Loose Id.

It's Taco Night, Y'All: An Interview with MC Blackman

J.A. Rock: I am so pleased today to welcome to my blog MC Blackman, artist, actor, writer, movie fan, smalltime criminal, corset-wearer, spoonrest collector, harmonicaista, and purveyor of fine tacos. MC has done some incredible art work for my upcoming book, Wacky Wednesday, a tale of two men in a D/s relationship who switch bodies for a day. MC, welcome to the blog.
 
MC Blackman: Thanks for the lovely intro. But I do have to clear up one thing before we continue. I am not a spoonrest collector, nor have I ever claimed to be. I actually loathe spoonrests. They are a blight, a bane, and an abomination. My kid collected them for a while, to spite and infuriate me under the flimsy pretext of making a spoonrest museum documentary film starring me, and you. I still haven’t seen any footage. The only spoonrest I allow in my personal atmosphere is the one you hand painted with Michael Jackson on it. Right now there is a naked G.I.Joe wearing nothing but a tiny Home Depot apron and a military helmet sitting on MJs face.

I tried to get Loose Id to use a similar image for the cover of my next book, but no dice. You’re like a multi-multi-media artist. Every time I turn around, you are experimenting with a different medium. What are you currently hooked on?

Leather. Clothing, jewelry, masks … I can’t get enough leather. It’s sculptural, structural, tactile. Very visceral. I recycle pre-owned leather. I call it re-sexification – giving old leather a sexy new existence. I made a pretty hot little corset and a corset-styled cuff from an old leather jacket that didn’t fit me anymore. It never looked better. I also made a studded, spiked cuff from a belt that I bought at Goodwill. If you are up for a little Show and Tell, here it is: 

Grommets, studs, spikes, rivets, snaps – I love it all. My hands are a wreck, though. Also, I am pretty obsessed with graphic design, thanks to you and this blog. It is a really exciting outlet where I can combine original artwork with computer-generated elements. Keep the assignments coming!

You know I will. You act. You write. You paint and sculpt and design clothing articles. I believe I once danced with you as well—an interpretive self-choreographed routine that involved channeling velociraptors. Is there any art form you have not mastered? 
 
Don’t forget we also sang Peggy Lee’s “Fever” together at that cabaret fund raiser for the theater department. There are soooo many art forms waiting to be explored. I do really want to learn batik. And I want to have my own darkroom someday.

How could I forget “Fever?” That was my first and only cigarette. I heard recently you’ve gone a little Banksy, sneaking out by night to post and tag your art in local graffiti hotspots. How thrilling is this, on a scale of one to ten?
 
My thrill knobs go up to eleven. And the weather is warming up. Time to hang some posters.

To satisfy my own curiosity, I must ask about your process for creating the poster(s) for Paingasm, the band that appears briefly in Wacky Wednesday. How did you approach this project? 

It all started with the girl. God, that girl. She just climbed right out of me into a pencil sketch. She kept getting better and better. The original drawing is three pieces of journal paper taped together, because she kept growing off the page. Then I made a transparency for the overhead projector and made her into a stencil, which I cut out with an X-Acto knife. (Cutting out the little tiny spaces in fishnet stockings takes a lot of concentration, just for the record.) Then I spray painted the stencil, graffiti-style, onto poster-sized paper. I made a couple of versions, then hand-stenciled the “Paingasm” letters and drew in the whip. I digitally photographed the paintings and did the rest on the computer. The boot poster is just a close-up photo of her foot from one of the paintings.

Your fictional band, Six Inch Clitoris, appears on the Paingasm concert poster as a special guest. What can you tell me about Six-I-C? Is there a harmonica player in the group?

Since there are only 3 band members, they all play instruments and sing. The lead guitarist also plays harmonica (and a haunting penny whistle.)

Six Inch Clitoris was born during a project last year where I took a self portrait every day for 365 days. One day I shot myself as three distinctly different personalities (two guys and a girl), and then merged them into a single photo as the band. The result made me crazy, I loved it so much. Also, I was in a play at the time, and based my character’s physicality on the female spotted hyena, which literally has a six inch clitoris, or “pseudo-penis”. (Google it if you don’t believe me.) I decided that if I ever did have my own indie rock band, they’d be called Six Inch Clitoris. I was so jealous of the Paingasm poster after I made it that I had to make one for 6IC as part of my “No Day Without Art Project.” Here it is.



 
I have to ask about No Day without Art, because I think it’s such a cool project. Could you explain the concept, and tell us how it’s going?

“No Day Without Art” is this year’s 365 days project. I have dedicated myself to spending time every day creating, making, participating in or receiving art in some way, shape or form. It is going extremely well and has allowed me to explore and discover so many ways of self-expression through art: painting, paper mache, linoleum block prints, mask-making, stop motion animation, photography, leather, performance, music, and of course, self portraits. I make the coolest kaleidoscopes. One day I was stuck in the car on a long trip with no art supplies, so I made a painting in my journal with stuff in my purse: lipstick, lip gloss, dental floss, a comb. The posters on your blog are part of the project. My motto is “No day without art. Because a day without art is just a day.”

We met doing theater. You gave me my first taste of whiskey. We’ve watched probably between 6 and 8 gazillion films on Big Bertha, your flat screen TV. But what I remember most from the days when we lived in the same town is you making me an honorary member of your family so I could participate in Taco Night. Your tacos have been called (by me) “unreal” “the best thing I’ve tasted in America” and “a diaper full of delicious.” What the hell is your secret? 
 
I think I bought you your first martini, too, didn’t I?

And that first cig. Can I tell my mom you’re why I turned out this way?
 
Also, you are not an “honorary” family member. You are a family member.

(Just cried a little.)

The secret to taco night? Lard. Lots of lard goes into everything. Not really. I’m just fucking with you. It’s bacon.

I knew I tasted the blood of innocent Babes.

But seriously. I think taco night satisfaction is a multi-layered experience. First, the food really is that good. (It’s not bragging if it’s true.) Plus, somebody else cooks it (me) so it’s free (for you), so you can eat all you want and not worry about who’s picking up the check. Also, there’s no “I hope its vegan” anxiety. It is all vegan all the time at your end of the table Rock.

But that super special something that makes Taco Night at my house so singularly delicious is a li’l ingredient I like to call love. Also, the boys do the dishes. That makes everything taste better.

That makes so much sense. And now I’m hungry…FOR MORE ANSWERS! Do you read many romance novels?

By His Rules was my first. What a way to pop that cherry. And I also got a sneak preview of the upcoming Wacky Wednesday, which I enjoyed a great deal (not just because I got to do artwork for it. That was a bonus.)

I figured if you read Rules and still wanted to be my friend, I’d know it was for real. And I have had weeks to figure out how to describe how excited I am about your artwork for WW and I still can’t.

But seriously, you’ve never picked up a Harlequin Blaze?

Can “Harlequin Blaze” be my stripper name? Pleeease?

Never jumped on the Rosemary Rogers bandwagon?

Never heard of her. She’s George Clooney’s mother, right?

Yep. What do you think the appeal of the genre is, to writers and readers?

Love wins. I mean, ultimately, we always know that in the end, the guy gets the girl, or the guy gets the guy, or the girl gets the girl, or the girl get the guy. Whatever else happens on the long rocky road to happy, we take it for granted in the romance genre that these two people are going to get there somehow and be together. It’s a predictable formula, right? So the writer’s biggest challenge, I think, is to make that journey not predictable, to write characters we want to journey with, not choke in their sleep. I will follow interesting characters anywhere they want to take me – apparently even into a BDSM bedroom or basement dungeon. Which brings me to the sex. You have to keep the sex fresh and interesting. That part isn’t easy. There are only so many ways to repackage the anatomical sameness of sex. No matter how you mix-n-match genders, apparatus and sexual kinks, basically it’s a “Tab A goes into Slot B” kind of thing. Sure, Tab A and Slot B can be lots of different things for different people, but still. What I love is when a writer surprises me with a new twist on a basic act that people have been doing since they discovered there was a Tab A and a Slot B. That one scene in Wacky Wednesday (you know the one I’m talking about) was a mind-melt for me. I saw sex like I’d never seen it before. You blew me away. It’s genius.

I only invite people on this blog if they're willing to use that word to describe something I've done. What makes a great romance?

For me, the same foundational things that hook me into any good work of fiction: interesting characters that I care about enough to spend several hours of my life with, and who I think about when I’m not with them. Smart, fundamentally solid writing is essential. Also, a compelling story. Sorry, but sex isn’t enough to sustain my attention. I’m that reader who skims through the sex to get back to the story (I still read all of the words, but faster). If the writing or the story feels amateurish, too contrived, too clever, too formulaic, too shallow, too gratuitous, or too overwrought, I’m out.

I know this might be difficult to talk about, but I’d like to turn the conversation over to the spoonrests. At what point did you know you were an addict?

Was I not clear on that subject? Shut it down, Rock.

You’re not fooling anyone. I heard the way you talked up Spoonrests in that documentary. Something about spoons needing a place to rest their weary heads? You were so tender when you said it, like a Disney princess talking to woodland creatures. But on the off chance you’re telling me the truth, do you want me to stop giving you spoonrests as gifts?

I’ll just smash them and make them into art. You’ve seen what I did to my sewing machine.

Spoonrests, stuffed grape leaves, or a night at the symphony? Choose now!

Symphony. I have season tickets to the Cleveland Orchestra. I’m not a snob. My MP3 is loaded with P!NK, Nicki Minaj, Florence and the Machine, Eminem, Mary J. Blige. But my soul also requires regular doses of live, classical music. (It also requires sushi and martinis at Table 45 before every concert. But the music is nice, too.) Somehow going to the symphony makes me feel like a better person. It’s like that song from “A Chorus Line” about how everything is beautiful at the ballet. And isn’t that what good art should do to us? Make us feel changed? Hopefully for the better. And my personal wish for all your readers is that they get to Severance Hall at least once in their life. It is a magnificent concert hall.

Okay, time to pick the ideal romance cover man-angle.

Nice segue. Abrupt much?
 
I like my interviews like I like my sexual partners: Bizarre and unfocused. 

(A note before continuing: I am not affiliated with the following books in anyway, nor does this blog make any judgment on their worth or content. I selected these covers at random to elicit reactions from my guest. All in good clean/dirty fun.)
 

My Fair Captain, J.L. Langley

 

Tantalizing view of just-chest.

Um, gross. The body hair kills this one for me. I like my cover man much more metro. Too much fur on this beef. And why are they cut off at the noses? Give me a penetrating gaze. (Say “penetrating gaze” out loud and it takes on a whole other meaning.)

It took me a couple tries, but I just got it. 

The Longest Stride, T.A. Chase

Faded face above pastoral scene

Points for the penetrating gaze, but this one confuses me. Does he end up with the horse?
 

Taste, Mickie B. Ashling

Double Smolder

Also double hand to the chin. Double penetrating gaze. These guys could draw me into their story. They look like they might have a li’l something tantalizing up their sleeves (besides that iffy tattoo, which kind of looks like graffiti, so I’ll allow it.)  

Idaho Battlegrounds, Sarah Black

Reading in the bathtub while the dog watches

No. Hell no. Jesus. Is the guy holding the book Kenneth the Page from 30Rock? And what’s up with that pink clawfoot tub? I can’t handle this one. No. I’m sorry. I can’t. Just, please, make it go away.

 What’s your vote? 

Is it gone? OK. Gotta go with double smolder/double hand to chin/double penetrating gaze on the cover of Taste. These fellas have got me currrrious.

You name objects—your TV, car, etc. Does naming objects facilitate a deeper, more meaningful relationship with them?

I don’t name anything unless I truly love it first. Love always precedes naming. And you can’t rush it. Nothing gets named right out of the box. We have to cohabit for a while. For instance, my Kindle. We had a rocky early courtship and I wasn’t sure she was the one for me. I left her in the box for a full day. She wasn’t even a she for quite a while, just an it. Then one morning several days into our relationship I woke up with a very specific name on my mind – Kindleezza. She’s the first one I see in the morning, and the last one I see before I go to sleep at night. She even goes in the bathtub with me – I made her a little scuba suit from a Ziplok bag. But we never let the dog watch. Ever. And my tub is just regular. Not weirdly clawfooted and pink.

Minivan Halen didn’t get his name until we’d been driving together a while. You’re right, you can’t rush it. You also like to create alter egos. How many alter egos do you have now?
 
M.C. Blackman (for your blog). BatGrrrl (for YouTube). TwoCent (forever). Storybitch (for editing). Small Change (my graffiti tag). Oooh, and now “Harlequin Blaze,” for stripping. In addition to introducing the members of Six Inch Clitoris, my self portrait year revealed a multiplicity of selves living inside me. Guys, girls, sexy, scared, scary, silly – all of me. I love to let them out to play.

I too have alter egos. Explain to me why I need them. What is the difference between you and me and, say, Edward Norton’s character in Primal Fear?

I haven’t seen Primal Fear.

Stop. Wait. What? Come on. Edward Norton at his finest. Richard Gere at his Gereiest. Laura Frickin’ Linney. Go. Right now. Order it. Stick it in Bertha. Watch it. Come back when you’re ready to talk.

…But I don’t believe anyone is a one-dimensional personality.

Or don’t.
 
The mask we show the general public is just the thinnest sliver of who we really are. So many people live in that sliver and spend a lot of energy neutering all the juice, color and flavor out of their deepest, truest selves. I don’t want to hang out with those people. They definitely don’t get invited to Taco Night. I’d rather hang with people who channel all that juice, color and flavor in the most creative ways imaginable – whether it’s writing BDSM romance, making exquisite pastries, acting, or exploring the nooks and crannies of artistic expression. It keeps things so much more interesting, even when you’re all alone. Like one day, the UPS guy came to the door while I was taking pictures of myself in full body paint and a paper mache Medusa mask. I shit you not. I did not answer the door, but if I did, he’d have seen this: 

Now that’s the kind of mask I wish more people would wear.

Um, me too. I don’t want to live in the sliver. I don’t want to neuter the juice. I want to get invited to Taco Night. Oh please. Taco Night. Forever.

Thank you so much for your intelligent, insightful answers.

…And now, for the romantic photos caption contest!

Finally!

Please provide captions for the following photos:
 

 Congratulations to Couple #24! Look-alike gay dance marathon Champions!

It also comes in black.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

GWF phlebotomist, 50, seeks GWF phletopomist. Must love babies.

So that’s a golden fleece!

Can I keep it? Pleeeeease? You can watch us for a change.

Hahaaaaa phletopomist! Gonna steal that for a book…

I was hoping you would. Consider it a gift.

Thank you so much for participating in this interview. And for your splendid artistic contributions to this blog.

You betcha. Give the Professor a scratch behind the ears for me.

Will do.