I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Not every author writes books because they love writing books.

Huh?

Every author has a different motivation for sitting down at the keyboard (or with pen and paper, as I did with my first book) and pounding out a story.

My journey started in university.  Well, poems and short stories in elementary and high school.  University and my drama program?  I wrote two plays.  Uh…one bombed and one did okay.  I took two creative writing classes.  In the first, I started a novel.  OMG, I cringe at it now.  In the second class, though, I started a romance.  Only I didn’t know it would be a romance.  I’d only read my first Harlequin the year before.  I had no idea how category Harlequin romances would change my life’s trajectory.

I did well in that class — and kept writing that book.  Now, it SUCKS.  And was never completed. But I love the story and will one day tell it in an authentic way.  The heroine has been mentioned in another one of my books — so her story’s coming.

Basically, I kept writing.  I started numerous projects and would pick one up occasionally.  I would commute on the train in Toronto and write scenes.  I also wrote two scripts for a television series my friend was working on.  Didn’t sell them, but it lit a fire under me that they even got read.

I continued to write on and off for fifteen years. Never finishing a book. But planning.  Always planning.

Then I had a mental illness crisis in 2012 and was off work for a year.  I had thought I was going to write one book, but a secondary character, whom I’d seen as a throw away, kept nagging me to write her story.  So I did. By hand, In pieces.  Took 8 months and I wound up with 126k words.  Eventually I put the pieces together and had a manuscript.  Even I knew the thing was a mess.  But I found two beta readers who loved it.

In the meantime, I went back to work. Something happened in the news and I started in on the ‘what ifs’.  I had the genesis for a story. I wrote intensely over the next six weeks -including at work between phone calls (I worked in a call centre). I discovered I could write a lot of words in the seven seconds between calls.

I had a book.  Only one this was 85k words — the perfect length for a Harlequin Superromance.  My beta readers loved it, and I sent it to Harlequin. I’m not going to bore you with my 2 ½ year horrible journey to not being published with them (but coming rather close).  I moved on.  I sent it elsewhere, but I just couldn’t get traction.

The advice I got (and that I give to anyone who will listen) is, while you’re on submission and waiting, to write the next book.  And I did. Over and over and over.  But the time HQ rejected me I had 16 more books and 3 partial books in that series written plus a dark erotic BDSM trilogy — because I could.  I wrote a million words in 2014 and damn near that many the next year.  In 2015-2016, I moved into editing and my word count dropped.

In the end, I sold that BDSM trilogy to The Wild Rose Press.  And I wrote another MMF BDSM for them.  I’ve also, under that penname, written another MMF, an FFM, and a couple of short stories — all BDSM.  I even have one short story on audio.  That’s Gabbi Black.  I’m committed to writing at least one story for her every year because I love BSDM.  Although now my stories are much lighter — shows you where I am in my life.  Oh, and I have way more experience in kink than when I wrote the trilogy — so that knowledge gets incorporated into my work.

Those 20 or so books?  I wrote a series starter, have a prequel, the HQ book became book 2, I wrote book 3, and book 4 is the 126k word cluster mess that I need to sort out. I hired a freelance editor, she worked me hard, and the first 4 books (prequel and books 1-3) are out as Love in Cedar Valley.  Gabbi Powell.  I’ve also published a novella in that series and a short story.  I have another short story coming later this year.  I’ve committed to my freelance editor that I will fix book 4 and send it to her by the end of the year.  I even have a beautiful cover.  Just have to find the time.  I’ve also committed to sending her 2-3 more edited ones per year from the pile so we get through all 20 before she retires or I die. (we’re both older, so it is a race against time)

Finally, comes Gabbi Grey.  Didn’t see her coming — even though that was my first penname.  I wrote two MF short stories that got published.  One publisher was looking for MM novellas with one guy working in the trades and set in the continental US.  I wrote a story, and a nice author randomly offered to beta read it for me (I will always be grateful for their kindness to a total stranger).  They had very constructive comments. The biggest being — this story is too short.  Tell the story you were meant to tell. I backed out of the project with the publisher and, during my next mental health crisis, wrote the book I was meant to.  120k.  From the initial 50k… Uh…okay…

My freelance editor had a go of it, and I’ve tried to sell it to traditional publishers.  All want it shorter before they’ll look at it.  Now I’m hybrid, though (indie and working with a traditional publisher), I’m wondering if I shouldn’t indie publish the book.  It’s in the wrong point of view (I wrote it third person but everything I do now is first).  I’m currently fixing another manuscript and changing POV takes weeks of intense work.  So 120k word gay romance is on the back burner.

In the meantime, my new publisher, The Wild Rose Press, was putting out a series.  Intrigued, I contemplated what to write and decided on a gay romance — which they weren’t expecting in their small-town series set in Vermont. They greenlit and project and I wrote an MM paranormal ghost story.  Then the publisher wanted books with ice cream.  I wrote another gay romance.  Then they said I could write another book in the Vermont series.  I wrote a sweet gay romance.

Then they wanted a Christmas cookie book.  I tried but couldn’t cram the story into 35k words. I withdrew the story and finished it myself. I bought a cover, learned how to indie publish, paid a narrator to record it, and released the book into the world on November 15^th, 2021.

I haven’t looked back except to marvel.  That book is my best seller by far.  Book 2 in that series, which came out of nowhere, is the next bestseller. Then the various series I’ve written stories for including The Haunting of Pinedale High, Single Dads of Gaynor Beach, and Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue.  Then I finally got around to writing and publishing books 3 and 4 in my Love in Mission City series.  Plus short stories, as well as novellas and shorts for charity anthologies and on it goes.

Gabbi Grey has, unexpectedly, become my most successful penname.  The one I didn’t see coming. The one who writes queer romances.

So I should drop the other two and focus on her, right?  Especially if I want to break even and, eventually, make money (Spoiler -most authors, even if they manage to publish, don’t make a ton of money. Even those with publishing contracts might not be making as much as you might believe.) I don’t talk about money often.  I have a fantastic super important job.  The extra each month, after all my basic expenses are paid, goes into my writing.

Editors, covers, marketing, promos, prizes (and, for me, audiobooks). Also classes, memberships, and ads if you’ve got the ability to run them. Being an author can be expensive.  Some authors do it for less and still succeed.  I tell authors starting out they need four things: an editor, a professional cover, a website, and a mailing list.  Now, often you can barter for some of that and go super cheap.  Oh, and you need a good story.  Even the prettiest cover and the best editing won’t help if the story isn’t compelling.

I love my life.  I’m living the life I’ve always dreamed. I don’t want to be a ‘full-time’ author because I can’t live with uncertainty.  I have a great job where I work hard. I have benefits and a pension plan I pay into.  I’m working to pay down my mortgage.

I also write full-time.  How?  Four hours each morning for writing and marketing. One to two hours after work doing more marketing.  Ten-to-fourteen-hour days on the weekends.  A ton of writing and marketing.  Last year I wrote 832k words.  That’s full-time author territory.

I just happen to have two great jobs.  That goes with healthy family and happy dogs.  Anything happens with that equation, and my writing will decrease.  For now, though, I’m good.

And my ADD brain is happiest with three pennames. For maintaining different rhythms for each.  Hell, even different POVs.  Gabbi Powell is all third person while the other two pennames are now entirely first person.  Just a preference.  And something to keep my mind engaged.

That’s why I can’t stick to my lane.  I’d probably be more successful if I picked one penname and just wrote big books.  But I wouldn’t get the variety.  The thrill of writing stories for charity anthologies.  The joy of working with other authors in shared worlds.

Interestingly, my mentor/critique partner/future co-writer/friend laughed when I said I couldn’t stick to my lane.  She pointed out she wasn’t even on the highway.  Which is true. She writes what she wants. As long as it has a happy ending, she’s good.

So, what about you? Interested in trying your hand at writing? Already there? Or how do you feel about authors who switch lanes?  Will you follow them wherever or do you count of them for one thing and get frustrated when they move somewhere else?  Leave a comment and let me know. Random will pick a winner of a $5 Amazon gift card. Good luck.

About the Authors

Gabbi Grey

USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.

Newsletter sign-up:  https://sendfox.com/gabbigrey
Website: https://gabbigrey.com/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Gabbi-Grey/author/B07SJVFX1M
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15456297.Gabbi_Grey

Gabbi Powell

Gabbi Powell has been a lover of romance since she first put pen to paper in the eighth grade to write her first romance.  She writes her novels while living in Beautiful British Columbia with her trusty ChinPoo dog a as companion.  She also writes gay romances as Gabbi Grey and contemporary dark erotic BDSM novels as Gabbi Black.

Website:   http://gabbipowell.com/
Newsletter sign-up: https://sendfox.com/gabbipowell
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Gabbi-Powell/author/B08T8NTQNY
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21065056.Gabbi_Powell

Gabbi Black

Even though Gabbi Black is a firm believer in happy endings, she makes her characters work for it in every romance she writes, no matter what the genre. From contemporary to BDSM, they are penned early in the morning in her home in beautiful British Columbia while her trusty ChinPoo dog keeps her company. She also writes gay romances as Gabbi Grey and small-town romances as Gabbi Powell.

Website:   http://gabbiblack.com/
Newsletter sign-up:  https://sendfox.com/gabbi
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Gabbi-Black/author/B08D8LNY7D
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20592691.Gabbi_Black

As Joan Rivers was famous for asking, “Can we talk?”

I’m going to bet that if you’re reading this, you enjoy reading romance novels. If you’re like me, you’re a book fanatic. Not only do I love writing, I’m an avid reader. And I’m not picky about the media—paperback, hardback, eBook, audio, hieroglyphics. Shucks, I don’t care. I’ll read it anyway it’s given to me. Just slide a manuscript in front of my greedy little eyes.

I’m not picky about genre, either. Although horror typically isn’t my thing, I’m down to try just about anything at least once. (I have to put out there just about because as sure as I say anything I’m going to get tossed something I don’t know exists and is a hard no.) Mostly, I’m in the romance aisle—or somewhere close to it. I only have one request: that it be good.

What makes for a good romance novel? The answer is obvious: fantastic writing and excellent storytelling. Duh! But what goes into these things? I think (and feel free to disagree) the most important is creating dynamic characters. They don’t have to be over-the-top, but they should be… relatable? That’s the word that if frequently quoted to authors. Make your character relatable. But is that really what authors want to do to connect with readers? Or is a more accurate word believable?

Let’s think about this. The definition of relatable is possible to like, understand, or have sympathy for due to having similarities to oneself or one’s own experiences. I don’t know about anyone else, but the majority of the books I’ve read, I haven’t been anywhere close to being similar to the main character…at least, I hope I’m not. I mean, when I’m reading about stalkers, mercenaries, royalty, billionaires, and such, I couldn’t even begin to imagine I would have anything in common with them other than maybe bacon because who doesn’t love bacon? But I’m willing to bet, there’s a vegan in the bunch.

Even if it’s argued that it’s “emotional” traits that readers are connecting to, I’m still going to pass on that being an acceptable answer. Recently, I read a book that the main character was so obnoxious that any emotions he had were buried. Yet, the author had so beautifully developed his arrogance into humor that when he got what he deserved I was rooting for him to be shown mercy. By definition, this character should have been classified as an antihero. He was fun to read about. Was I rooting for him to get away with his crimes? Yes. Would I be a fan of someone who engaged in those same acts or lesser in real life? Absolutely not. Enjoying and relating are two different things.

That brings me back to believability. Can a reader believe a character like this exist? In the Harry Potter series, it is claimed that Dolores Umbridge is the most detested character by readers although Tom Riddle a.k.a., Lord Voldemort is the main villain. The argument is that everyone knows someone like Dolores, but that Voldemort’s evil is so over-the-top deranged that he’s not relatable to most. But we all know there are plenty of people in this world who are so power-hungry that they will do anything and everything to get what they want. They have no empathy or compassion for others. Prisons are filled with people like this. However, the Lord Voldemort character works because he’s believable.

Jane Austen characters are said to have been popular when first written because she wrote characters that were accurate portrayal her current society. The argument contents that she continues to be popular because modern society can still relate to the emotions of her characters. Well, maybe. I’m not going to argue with experts who have far more experience, education, and pedigrees than myself. But I’m going to toss out there that a lot more people don’t relate to those characters than ones that do. And the reason I say this is because Cliff Notes. Yes, Cliff Notes. Cliff Notes aren’t just the summaries for people to get the gist of something they aren’t interested in reading for themselves. It provides a breakdown an explanation scene by scene. Why? Because some readers have no clue of what’s being splayed before them.

When I first read Pride & Prejudice, I had no idea that Mr. Darcy slighted Elizabeth because he was shy. I just saw him as a pompous butthead—probably the same way Elizabeth did. I also didn’t relate to Elizabeth. If she was as “slighted” as she was said to have been, she would have made more of an effort to not engage with him. Besides, all of those relationships had a tone of insta love for me. I didn’t care that Charles Bingley took one look at Jane and instantly fell for her or that after one night of dancing they were practically mentally engaged. I’ve never seen insta love in real life. Is it possible? Anything’s possible, so, yeah. I was there for it in the story because of the dynamic storytelling. I believed these characters could exist in my world.

Last year, I read a book that had rave reviews. When I finished, I sat stunned for about thirty minutes wondering what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I see what everyone else had seen? Why wasn’t I beaming about this book? After much thought, I realized it was because the author hadn’t sold me on the story. I didn’t believe the characters to be authentic. I didn’t believe the setting. I didn’t believe the setups were natural. How could one character know that the other character would find a random clue at a specific time and figure out what it meant—a clue that anyone could have stumbled upon and moved?

**SPOLIER ALERT** In the movie the Shawshank Redemption, Andy tells Red about a tree in a field in Zihuatanejo that he and his wife had a picnic under. Andy was in jail for 19 years, and this picnic had occurred many years prior to his incarceration. So, when Andy tells Red to find that tree if he ever gets out, how does Andy know that tree is still standing? It could have been struck by lightening or bulldozed to make way for a high-rise. Landscapes change all the time. Chances are that tree isn’t there anymore, or at the very least, the layout no longer looks the same as Andy remembers from more than twenty years ago. But do movie watchers balk when Red finds it? Nope. Why? Because the audience is invested by that point. The storytelling has won over.

So, now, let’s go back to the start. What makes a good romance novel? It’s two (or more if it’s polygamous) people who have a believable connection and a vibrant love story. Readers may have nothing in common with the characters or their situations but are able to believe they could happen and exist. Now, I know this is an unpopular opinion, so let me know what you think in the comments. Is it relatability or believability.

And that’s all I got for today. Now, it’s your turn to sound off. Let me know your thoughts below in the comment section. Your feedback allows me to know the content that you want to read. And if you like this post, consider clicking the like button and sharing.

Demon Rodeo

If Brokeback Mountain, 8 Seconds, Poltergeist, and Supernatural had an orgy, Demon Rodeo would be the lovechild.

Demon Rodeo is available now on Amazon. For video book trailers, visit my TikTok page. The full blurb is on my Instagram and Amazon.

Demon Rodeo is the first book in the Chasing the Buckle series but can be read as a standalone. It’s a friends-to-lovers romance set in the rodeo world. These are not your typical cowboys. It’s a widely diverse cast of characters and a mashup of genres that aren’t always seen together. If you’re looking for a palate cleanser, this may be a book for you.

Order
⇨ Amazon: https://readerlinks.com/l/4174852
⇨ All Stores: https://books2read.com/u/bP8RG7

*Note: All of my books can be purchased from brick-and-mortar bookstores (e.g., Barnes & Noble, Book-A-Million, etc.) as well if requested at the checkout counter.)

Until next time, happy reading and much romance. Laissez le bon temps rouler.

If you’re not following my blog, Creole Bayou, what are you waiting for? There’s always room at the bayou.

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LOCKER ROOM LOVE

Locker Room Love Series

Are you searching for a sexy book boyfriend? You’ve come to the right place.

• Out of the Penalty Box (book #1) One minute in the box or a lifetime out.
• Defending the Net (book #2) Crossing the line could cost the game.
• Ice Gladiators (book #3) When the gloves come off, the games begin.
• Penalty Kill (book #4) Let the pucker begin.
• Future Goals (book #5) The future lies between a puck and a net.

About the Author

Hi, I’m Genevive, and I am a contemporary sports romance author. My home is in South Louisiana. If you like snark and giggles with a touch of steamy Cajun and Creole on the side, I may have your poison in my stash of books. Drop by the bayou and have a look around. The pirogues are always waiting for new visitors.

Hi folks, this is my first time here (thank you, Delilah), so I figured I’d introduce myself and share a second-chances short story I wrote, just for fun.

I’m Kaje Harper. I write gay romance (with a little YA on the side), and I’ve been published since 2011. I started writing much earlier, back in 1974, when, as a teen, I read The Front Runner by Patricia Nell Warren, and had my heart ripped out by her words. In those days, a happy ending for a gay couple in fiction was rare. Pain was the rule. I set out to write some romance, to give two men in love the same joy and family and happy endings that het folk like me got to have.

Many, many years (and hoarded stories and novels) later, my husband asked, “Are you ever going to try to publish one of those?” To appease him, I sent one off. And to my shock, the publisher wanted it.

Fifteen years on, here I am with about 70 published books, hundreds of unpublished stories, and a side-career I enjoy the hell out of. And I am still trying, every day, to give fictional same-sex couples their romance, their joy, their hope.

I have a bunch of free books out there you can download from most retailers. (Given my day job, I can afford to sometimes share my writing.) You can find novels like my WWII-to-2011 epic romance Into Deep Waters, or my high fantasy with PTSD Nor Iron Bars a Cage, or a contemporary bi-awakening The Rebuilding Year, or my werewolf paranormal Unacceptable Risk for free.

You are also welcome to join my Facebook Group – Kaje’s Conversation Corner – where the following short story first appeared. I write a new story almost every Sunday, for folks to start a morning with my guys. There are over 100 stories on the group you can read.

I love writing. (Can you tell?) I love reading too, and I do a lot of reviewing, to share my favorite books with the hope other readers will enjoy them too.

Gay romance is vitally important, more now than ever before. When we shine a light on the fact that love is love, that all consenting adults are worthy of respect and joy, we make the world a better place (and have a ton of fun, and some heat, along the way.)

I hope you enjoy this story, and any book of mine you might pick up. I hope you read all the wonderful authors out there writing queer fiction (including my friend Gabbi Grey who introduced me to Delilah.) Thank you for being readers, one of the best ways to escape the world for a moment. Also one of the best ways to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. With luck, you’ll enjoy a few of the sneakers, Oxfords, and cowboy boots I have to offer. 

Try Again

Nights were the worst. The house ticked and clicked and creaked, and every noise should’ve been Tim coming home. Except they weren’t. Six days, and I was going crazy there in the dark.

I hate these nights alone. Reflexively, I patted the bed to coax our dog up where she wasn’t supposed to be. Except… Tim took Bella with him. When he left me.

Shit.

I got up and stretched my cramped back, the scrub pants I wore slipping down my hips. I tugged them higher, aching for Tim to laugh and say, “Putting on a free show?”

In the mirror over the dresser, I saw what he would’ve seen. An older man with gray in his beard and a belly that no longer stayed flat without more work than I’d given it recently. Tim was ten years younger than me. Was it any wonder he’d traded me in? Probably he was out right now with someone younger and more fun, someone whose abs looked like a cheese grater and whose hair had no betraying silver strands under the lights of a club.

Not that we’d been to a club in ages, for him to see my hair catching lights. Not that we’d been anywhere.

Do you blame him for leaving?

I didn’t. Not really. I hurt, probably always would, but the words he’d thrown at me when he walked out the door with Bella had been only the truth. I was too fixated on my career, aiming for head of orthopedic surgery a decade younger than my dad had managed. I was forgetful, and missing celebrating the ninth anniversary of our first-date had been the last straw. And I was an unfit parent for Bella-dog, with the hours I spent out of the house.

I wandered downstairs to the kitchen. Rain lashed the window, and sodden branches flailed against the city-lit sky. I hoped Tim was somewhere warm and dry. He wasn’t a fan of storms. Neither was Bella, but at least they had each other for comfort. Thunder and lightning had never bothered me, not since I was little. There were enough real things in the world that would hurt me; no need to start worrying about noise and lights locked safely outside.

The overhead light dazzled my eyes when I flicked it on. I’d promised Tim I’d install a dimmer switch. I was handy like that, knew a lot about repairing and electricity and plumbing, since Dad had Uncle Joe teach me solid man-of-the-house skills. Too bad I was weak on the follow-through. I’d meant to get to it. I had the parts in a drawer.

Suddenly, being alone with idle hands and too much in my head made my chest tight. I’ll do it now. Six days too late, of course, and stupid, with darkness outside and lightning in the air. Still, the need to fix this one thing I could fix was too strong to resist. I got out the replacement switch, pliers, screw drivers, flashlight. The breaker box was handy on the other wall. Flashlight in hand, I pulled down the breaker, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

Taking off the old switch was the matter of a few minutes, even though one screw was painted shut and needed a razor blade to free it. Connecting the new one was trickier. The wires were stiff, their insulation brittle, and they didn’t want to bend and fit back in the box. I wrestled with it, leaning on the plate to bring the screws close enough to bite in the threads.

Outside, the storm whistled and growled, rumbles of thunder following each other like Godzilla surf on a giant beach. Something thumped the front of the house, and I just hoped it wasn’t the old apple tree losing a branch. I got the top screw to turn a few times, catching in the receptacle. Carefully, I set the lower screw in place and eased the screwdriver into it. Yeah, take that. I’ve got you now.

Lightning flashed and a clap of thunder hit hard enough to feel the vibrations. I jumped, popped out the screw, and with a little “plick” into the silent aftermath, the other screw came out, bounced, and rolled under the fridge. The pressure of the bent wires pushed the new switch out to dangle like a half-passed placenta, trailing wires.

“Fuck!” I dropped to my knees, shining the flashlight under the stove. The dust bunnies mocked me with a flicker of silver far off in their midst. When was the last time I offered to clean the damned kitchen? I reached under, but the front grill jammed my wrist, not even close to the distance I needed. Holding the screwdriver by the tip, I swept underneath there, raising a storm of allergen-filled tumbleweeds, but no screw. On my second pass, the screwdriver slipped from my hand and rolled under too.

I was left staring at my empty fingers.

“Shit!” I sat up, glancing around the dark kitchen wildly for a better tool. Spatula? Broom handle? It seemed like too much effort to stand up. I guess you’re not man enough to fix a switch after all, huh Charles?

The first sob caught me by surprise. The second one ripped out of my chest like it had claws. It hurt so bad. I curled on my side, knees to my chest, teeth gritted. Real men don’t cry. Real men don’t fucking cry. Except I knew how wrong that was, all that toxic shit I thought I’d slammed a coffin lid on years ago. Tim cried at dead birds and sad movies. He’d let me hold him when the tears fell, and made me feel strong and important and needed.

Outside the storm raged. Inside, the old house was a realm of silence and dust and lost dreams. I closed my eyes, ignoring the hard floor against my forty-year-old hip. Another crack of thunder. Another rumble that my stupid brain could pretend was the garage door going up. I hope you’re safe, Tim. I hope you’re with someone good, who’ll let you cry on them. Jesus Christ, I miss you so much.

The tears came then, not the wild angry sobs I was expecting, but a gentle purging of everything inside me, in shudders and soft sounds and a flood I couldn’t resist. I scrunched my eyes shut and let my cheeks get wet and my throat clamp down around those sounds. For once, I’m going to feel what I damned feel.

“Charles! Are you okay?”

It took an instant for Tim’s voice to register, but his hand on my shoulder and the swipe of Bella’s tongue across my face were too solid to be ghosts.

I opened my eyes, staring, as Tim pushed Bella away. “Sit, girl. You might hurt him.”

I caught his wrist. The delicate bones were solid under my fingers. Radius, ulna, trapezium, scaphoid. Words that had taken me away from him. I pulled his arm to my face and kissed the soft skin there, over those bones, then remembered I didn’t have that right anymore.

I dropped his arm like it was hot and pushed up to sitting, scrubbing at my face. “Sorry, so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re scaring me, babe,” he said, peering at my face in the thin beam of the flashlight. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine, I, um…” I missed you. I tried to fix something. But outside the operating room I’m a failure. I couldn’t get words out. Bella popped her butt up and came back over, big tail wagging, to slurp over my face with her tongue. I didn’t push her off, because it was an excuse to close my eyes and not have to look at Tim. “Did you come for your things?”

“Do you want me to take them?”

“No!” I bit my lip.

“Why are you on the floor in your pajamas, Charlie?”

“Why are you here?” I was suddenly angry. Why couldn’t you let me have my breakdown in secret? Why do you have to know how weak I am? “It’s got to be―” I glanced at the clock. “It’s past midnight. What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he said, with a simplicity that was Tim at his best. “I was sitting in a motel room, hugging Bella, both of us miserable, and I simply missed you. And I thought, nothing’s worth losing your arms around me. You’ve been my home for the last nine years, and I wanted to go home.” He bent to meet my lowered gaze. “Is that all right? Can I come home?”

“Jesus. Tim.” I grabbed him and pulled him close. Bella danced around us, licking at our necks, then, at a more distant peel of thunder, crouched down and tried to crawl into both our laps. Instinctively, with long practice, we moved our bodies apart to make room for fifty pounds of worried dog. I kept my face pressed to Tim’s hair, though. “I missed you too. So much. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t eat and every noise wasn’t you coming back and I tried to fix the light switch, the way I promised you, except the wires are stiff and the screw went under the fridge and I dropped the screwdriver under too. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tim gave a watery chuckle against my shoulder. “I’m not that attached to the screwdriver.”

I couldn’t laugh. “You were right. I’ve been chasing a dream and I lost you along the way and it’s not even my own damned dream, it’s my father’s.”

“You’re allowed to want to do well at your job.”

“Yeah, but I don’t even want to be Chief. All it means is more paperwork and personnel hassles and less time in the OR. I got so blinded by being shortlisted this early in my career…”

Tim kissed my cheek. “You know, if your old man was still around, I’d kill him for the ways he still twists you up, twenty years later.”

“You wouldn’t.” I choked on a giggle as Bella lifted her nose to lick under my chin. “Stop, girl. Enough slobber. Tim, you’d never kill anyone. You’re the best person I know.”

“Itch powder in his shorts, then. A bad picture of him on Twitter.”

“My fierce protector.”

“Am I?” Tim pulled back to look up at me. “I feel like you don’t need me. I’m a warm body in the bed and a hot meal, the times you actually make it home before midnight.”

“No. Jesus, no. You’re… you’re the reason I can get up in the morning and go to work. The reason I can look someone in the eye and tell them they’re going to lose a leg, and not break down myself. You’re the center of everything.”

“Oh.”

“You should never feel you’re not special. I screwed up, I know, but I’m going to fix it. I’ll be different. I took my name out of the running for Chief, I can’t breathe without you, I swear I―”

He put his fingers on my mouth. “Not tonight. No promises, no plans. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I nodded vigorously and kissed the tips of his fingers, trying to show him how much I wanted that.

He smiled softly. “Right now I’m beat, and you look like ten miles of rough dirt road.”

I cupped a hand over my chin, where the most white showed. Maybe I should shave my beard. I’d thought it gave me gravitas, for that Chief of Surgery position, but Tim deserved someone younger―

Tim pulled my hand down and nipped my chin. “And I don’t mean the gray hair, dork. You look like you need sleep as bad as I do.”

Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed me. There was nothing I wanted more than our bed, and Tim in it. “Yes, please. Except I didn’t finish the switch.”

“Is it safe to leave it?”

“It’s hanging out. It’s a mess.”

“But is it safe?”

“I suppose so, as long as the breaker’s off. The fridge is on a different circuit.”

“Then come to bed, babe. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

As we stood, I took one last look at the shadow of my incompetence on the wall, but Tim switched off the flashlight and took my cold fingers in his warm ones. Bella followed us upstairs to our room. I climbed into bed and sat propped against the headboard, watching Tim get undressed. He stopped at boxers and got in beside me. “No sex, hon. We both need to sleep, and talk.”

“Can I hold you?” I asked tentatively.

“Please.” He turned out the lamp and rolled on his side facing away.

I eased up behind him and slid a knee forward to touch his thigh. When he didn’t object, I worked an arm around his chest and pulled him against me. He sighed deeply and pressed my hand over his heart.

There were a hundred things we’d need to talk about in the light of day, but right now, as the last of the storm faded in the distance, there was nothing I wanted more than this quiet moment with Tim in my arms. I was about to kiss the back of his neck when the bed bounced, something hit my back, and I almost bit my lip.

“What the― Bella, what are you doing up here? The storm’s gone. Your bed is down there.”

She gazed at me, dark eyes reflecting the faint light, and whined.

Tim cleared his throat. “Um, while I was gone, I just might’ve maybe let Bella sleep in the bed at night?”

“Might’ve?”

“Well, there was too much space. And not enough you.”

“So you replaced me with a hairy Lab-mix?”

“Maybe?”

At my back, Bella trod in a circle and lay down with a contented sigh. I stared down at Tim. “We’re never getting her back on the floor, are we?”

“Probably not.”

“Do we need a bigger bed?”

“Not if we sleep close.”

Warmth rose in my chest, strangling any words I could’ve found. That’s all I want, now and always, you and me, sleeping close. With a big hairy dog snoring at my back, I gathered the man I’d almost lost into my arms, settled against his back, and closed my eyes.

### the end ###

You can find me online on my blog – kajeharper.com – or on Facebook, Book Bub, and Goodreads : Links

I love writing.  That’s probably obvious given I’m here and sharing my words with you.  But sometimes, I just love writing even more.  Today is one of those days!

I had two things come together in a short period of time last year.  First, a cover designer I knew was having a sale.  I saw the cover for Ginger in the City and knew I had to grab it.  Gingers are a favorite of mine (and are disproportionately represented in my writing — for the record).

Around the same time, I agreed to be in a special promotion for new and exclusive MM stories to be given away on BookFunnel.  I love these promotions because we’re able to offer readers something brand new.  With 7 authors, that’s a lot of new words!  The trope was workplace.

Huh?

There’s a category for that, though, and it’s a thing.  One of the first romances I wrote was a workplace story.  Catch a Tiger by the Tail takes place during the filming of a movie.  A production assistant and a movie star fall in love and make happily ever after. Thomas and Peter have been a favorite couple of mine, and they’ve popped back up in an informal series I have that, in my mind, is entitled Vancouver Film World.  Now, many of those stories rest with my publisher and were written for other series (One Scoop or Two, Passport to Pleasure, Spring Fling and other Things, and more).  What ties the books together — in my mind, at least — is that they all take place around the film industry.  Mostly set in Vancouver, British Columbia, which is, in some ways, a Hollywood of the North.

Okay…so I had to write a short story about a workplace.  I had a cover.

I needed, you know, a plot.

So I ventured to ask Plot Whisperer.

We tossed some ideas back and forth — including extensive discussions of my theatre training (MA in Theatre from the University of Toronto).  Plot Whisperer had, I believe, one of her most inspired plots yet.

I scurried off to write the story.

And had to sit on it for a while as the promo was pushed back a couple of times.

Still, I bided my time. I knew I had something…special.

We held the promo in February, and I was able to finally share the story with an audience.  BookFunnel doesn’t provide a mechanism for reviews though, so I don’t actually know what readers think.

I will now as the book is out in the world!

I adore Joel and Adrian.  I loved adding in cameos from other characters (including Peter from Catch a Tiger by the Tail).  This book was FUN.  Just FUN. I had fun writing it, my characters had fun being in it, and I hope readers have fun reading it.

And so, it goes.  I have more books in that informal series coming up.  I have more stories to tell.  I have more fun adventures to share! In fact, I have to write another short story next month.  And I have a novel I need to edit set in that world as well.

So many words, so little time.

Now it’s your turn!

I’m wondering if you can think of a workplace romance that you loved. Book, movie, or television series! Or what workplace would you love to see featured? Careful — I might just use your idea! Especially because I’m writing a novella later this year, and I need a setting for it.  For today, I want to give out a copy of Ginger in the City to one lucky commenter.  Random will choose!  Good luck!

Ginger in the City

Adrian

Stage managing the play After Romeo and Juliet is my chance for a big break. Academy Award-winning actor Peter Erickson is making his directing debut. Sexy-as-hell Cole Hamilton is starring as Paris. My problem? The actor playing Cole’s love interest Benvolio is a dud whose acting evokes a dead fish. So he’s out as soon as I can line up the adorable ginger who I’ve been crushing on for years. He’ll be perfect, but convincing him to put himself out there will be a challenge. I’ve put my reputation on the line for this play. Can I persuade Joel, or will I be left without a believable leading man?

Joel

Why I chose acting as a profession is truly beyond me. I’m shy. Like, really shy. Sometimes, though, magic happens. Especially when Adrian coaches me. This new play? He seems to think I can be a leading man opposite Cole Hamilton in a gay romantic tragedy. The problem? I’ve never kissed a man. So I ask Adrian to teach me. And he does. But can I move from kissing the sweetest guy to intimidatingly sexy and famous Cole? More importantly, how will my heart handle never kissing Adrian again once the curtain comes down on the show?

Ginger in the City is a 15k short story about taking risks, being brave, and grasping for what you’ve always wanted, starring a very potty-mouthed stage manager and the first actor he’d rather coach offstage.

Links:
Amazon US:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F2GKFZ46
Universal Book Link:  https://books2read.com/GingerCity
KOBO:  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/ginger-in-the-city
Apple Books:  https://books.apple.com/us/book/ginger-in-the-city/id6743769141
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1735639
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/230320523-ginger-in-the-city

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.

Personal links:
Website: https://gabbigrey.com/
Newsletter sign-up:  https://sendfox.com/gabbigrey
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorgabbigrey/
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/gabbi-grey
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15456297.Gabbi_Grey
Amazon Author Central: https://www.amazon.com/Gabbi-Grey/e/B07SJVFX1M
Audible Profile:  https://www.audible.com/author/Gabbi-Grey/B07SJVFX1M
Facebook (page): https://www.facebook.com/AuthorGabbiGrey

I’ve never been one to believe in superstitions. At least, not until I really started thinking about common ones and what happens when I encounter one. I never walk under a ladder, I’m very careful with handling mirrors, and I spent years studiously avoiding stepping on cracks in the sidewalk, hearing the old superstition reciting in my head: “If you step upon a crack, you will break your mother’s back.”

These superstitions are ingrained in our culture and have been for centuries. Doing genealogy research on my family, I came upon a story from one hundred years ago about my great-great-grandmother getting all the way to the train station before realizing what the date was. She’d packed up her trunk with all her belongings, ready to move to another relative’s home half a state away. Upon hearing that it was Friday the 13^th, she turned to her daughter and said, “Take me back home. I’m not traveling today.” My husband’s grandmother studiously changed direction if a black cat even hinted at crossing her path, fully embracing another common superstition.

Thankfully, I don’t subscribe to other common superstitions. I don’t have a lucky pair of underwear or socks that I have to keep gross to accomplish things. If it comes down to washing the luck out of a pair of dirty shorts, I’m happy to remain unlucky! This brings me to my latest short story published in an anthology of stories from eight authors entitled Romance is a Drag: A Queer Anthology #1. “Jake’s Tryst” takes place in Los Angeles, following the budding romance between a soccer superstar and a local drag queen.

Jake Cavegn is superstitious, believing he can only perform well and win by abstaining from alcohol and men during the playoff season. With a championship win under his belt, he can finally let loose and consider a hookup now that the postseason is complete. His team goes out to Tossers, a bar in West Hollywood, to watch a drag show. Olivia Tryst captivates Jake with her performance, and after a drink, Jake takes Olivia home for the night. While he enjoyed the night with Jake, Brodie Rossi, Olivia Tryst out of drag, doesn’t do repeats, preferring a one-night-only performance with hookups. Jake’s persistence inspires Brodie to take a chance and date him, but Brodie’s branding as the family screw-up keeps his guard up.

Can Brodie accept Jake’s superstitions into the next playoff season, and can Jake open Brodie to the possibility of a lasting relationship? Find out in Romance is a Drag, now available on all platforms.

Links:
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/mvGOkq
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Romance-Drag-1-Queer-Anthology/dp/B0F1HX3M1V
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romance-is-a-drag-shane-k-morton/1147012142
Queer Romance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/book/romance-is-a-drag-anthology/
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/229150671

Excerpt:

“When’s your next performance?” Jake asked, focusing on Brody. He still had some makeup on, highlighting his cheeks and eyes.

“Thursday night. Momma Belter has us booked for drag queen bingo at a senior center in Weho, and then back at the club.” Brody set his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “Friday is Genderfuck and Saturday is Pageant. Category is…” Brody paused.

Chloe, their waitress, returned with two pints. “Here you go. Food should be up soon.”

After she left, Jake stared at Brody. “What’s the pageant theme?”

“Sports Star Realness.” Brody took a sip of his cider.

Jake laughed. “You’re kidding.”

Shaking his head, Brody set his glass on the table. “Serving up glamorous sporty looks for the new millennium.”

“What are you wearing for that?” Captivated by Brody’s descriptions of what he had in mind, Jake marveled at his sheer creativity and ingenuity.

“I haven’t decided on the Saturday look yet. It has to slay on the runway but be free enough to perform in.” Brody frowned. “I don’t know much about sportsball. Not that the other queens do either, but I plan to win the competition.”

“Competition?” Jake asked, surprised at this aspect of performing.

“Tossers is paying out five thousand dollars to a charity of the winner’s choice. Pride House needs every penny it can get.” Brody’s face hardened, determination shining from his eyes. “I plan to win for them.”

Jake had never been hotter for anyone. Not only insanely talented and gorgeous, but Brody also worked for a charity that literally saved young people’s lives.

“I could help you if you want.” He winked at Brody. “I happen to know a lot about”—he air-quoted—“sportsball.”

His eyes lighting up, Brody leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” Jake said, thoughts of Brody in slutty versions of jerseys and shorts flashing through his mind. “I have some stuff you can borrow if you want to come home with me tonight.”

Brody frowned, but before Jake could say anything, Chloe returned, carrying their dinners.

“Here you go, folx.” She placed the plates in front of them. “Get you anything else?”

“Everything looks great,” Jake said, giving her a smile.

Brody nodded but stayed quiet.

“Enjoy,” she said and strode over to another table.

“Like I said, I don’t really do repeats,” Brody said quietly. He poured the dressing over the salad, not looking at Jake.

“Niall’s gone for a few days.” Jake stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork, undeterred. “We’d have the place to ourselves.” He popped the tomato into his mouth.

Brody placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his wrist. “I can’t have attachments.”

“Consider it another hookup,” Jake said. “I have some awesome cheese for an omelet in the morning.”

Raising a brow, Brody seemed to warm to the idea. “What kind of cheese?”

“It’s an herbed asiago.” More confident, Jake leaned in. “It came from a local farm, and the flavor is fantastic. I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“You make it hard to say no.” Brody frowned again. “This has to be a no-strings-attached arrangement.”

“I can work with that,” Jake said. “Although, you’ll have to return the gear I loan you.”

Brody relaxed and picked up his fork and knife. “Okay.”

****

Contest

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, share whether you have any superstitions!

About the Author

Brent Archer was born in Spokane, Washington, and lived there most of his adolescent life. At 18, he left for Seattle to attend the University of Washington for Electrical Engineering. Quickly, it became apparent that he wasn’t wired for the required science and differential equation classes, and so he switched his major to International Studies with a minor in History. After graduation, he pursued an acting career in musical theater and dance. Once thirty hit, however, he decided to focus on numbers, getting a certificate in accounting, and became the Financial Controller of a non-profit arts and music organization.

Though writing most of his life, he never thought to submit his work for publication. In 2012, he visited his cousin Delilah Devlin in Arkansas, and she prodded him to write a story and submit it. So, he did, and it sold right away. With the encouragement of Delilah, his other writing cousin Elle James, and his husband, Brent embarked on a writing career. He’s loving the journey, finding inspiration and a story everywhere he goes, whether it be the local coffee shop, driving through each of the United States, or riding the train to explore the world.

Ella was born enslaved on February 4, 1851, at The Hermitage, President Andrew Jackson’s plantation. Her father, who had purchased his own freedom, was unable to purchase his wife. He was allowed to purchase Ella’s freedom for $350 when her mother made it clear to her owners she’d rather her daughter die than live as a slave. Her father remarried and moved his wife, Ella, and her half-sister Rosa to Ohio, where Ella attended school in Cincinnati and took piano lessons. When he died in 1866, Ella provided financial support by playing at local functions, working as a maid, and teaching. In 1868, she moved to Nashville and enrolled in Fisk University (then the Fisk Free Colored School). Teaching enabled her to afford her classes. One of those assignments was as assistant music teacher at Fisk under Fisk’s treasurer and musician George White, making her the school’s only black staff member at the time.

White formed Ella and eight others into the Fisk Jubilee Singers. On October 6, 1871, they set off on their first tour to help their financially struggling school. At age seventeen, Ella was their primary vocal coach and eventual director. She arranged the music they sang on their tours and accompanied the singers on piano, organ, and guitar. Over seven years, they raised $150,000, which enabled the building of Fisk Hall.

At first, they sang popular and classical music but eventually added slave songs (spirituals) to their repertoire, which proved more popular. Over time she collected and transcribed over one hundred of them. Her work with the Jubilee Singers led to the recognition and appreciation of Negro spirituals worldwide.  You can read an account of her experiences in her own words here: https://digital.lib.utk.edu/collections/islandora/object/volvoices%3A9934#page/1/mode/2up

In 1878, she married George Washington Moore. They had three children: Elizabeth, born 1879; George, born 1883; and Clinton, born 1892. Moore became ordained, pastored in Washington D.C., and worked as the Superintendent for Southern Church Work for the American Missionary Association. While he ministered, Ella lectured and organized Jubilee choirs. Together, they also championed temperance and other social advancement campaigns. In 1892, they moved back to Nashville and lived near Fisk where Ella began assisting with Fisk’s choirs. She became a researcher and continued lecturing on women’s and race issues.

Like many of her counterparts in the 19^th century, Ella used her success to help others. She paid tuition for a number of Fisk students, including her half-sister. By this time, she had other family members living at her Nashville home, including her birthmother and stepmother.

After delivering a graduation speech at an AMA school in Alabama, she returned home ill. She died on June 9, 1914, and was buried in Nashville. The site of her home has an historical marker erected by the Tennessee Historical Commission.

There’s an old gospel song whose words are “Let the life I live speak for me.” Ella Sheppard Moore’s accomplishments during her lifetime certainly speak for her.

For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share your thoughts with me in the comments.

“The $5.00 Kiss of Life” by Michal Scott
from First Response

Trapped by the small-town conventions imposed on her, a pastor’s spinster daughter finds rescue in the town bad boy’s very public kiss.

Excerpt:

Lord have mercy, when had she become such a coward? It was just a kiss, for goodness sake. And in the name of a good cause. It would be fun. Besides, she didn’t have to present him with the card. She could just as easily pick one of the official kisses she’d written for her father on the Kiss for A Cause booth’s sign.

Beverly firmed her lips, took a deep breath, and stepped up to the booth.

“Come to pucker up for a good cause, Beverly?”

The mischievous glint in Rob’s smile and equally mischievous lilt in his tone did nothing to still the throb between her legs. “

You’re a good sport to do this,” she said. “Given the way people talk about you and all.”

Rob chuckled. “Hey, if a bad reputation can’t do a good turn once in a while, what’s the point of having it?”

“You saved lives in the war. You’ve saved lives here in town. It’s time you make people acknowledge that for a change.”

“Pigs’ll sprout wings and fly before that happens.” Rob snorted. “Let them think what they want. I’ve lived with too much space around me to be hemmed in by their small minds.”

Beverly sighed. “I’ve always admired that about you, Rob. You don’t care what people say about you.”

He waved that off. “Sure, I care. I’m just very good at handling the slights.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “You don’t seek anyone’s approval. You live by what you’re for, not what you’re against.” She looked at the rates on the booth kissing chart, and then considered the card in her pocket. “I admire you.” She cast her gaze down. “I wish I were more courageous, like you.”

“No time like the present,” he teased.

Beverly looked up and saw him thumb toward the kissing rate chart.

“Do you have the courage to be seen getting a kiss before God and everybody from the town bad boy?”

Buylink: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3dRvwLE

My first dog, Keiko, was a black lab/shepherd mix.  My brother owned a black German Shepherd.  She’d gotten loose and come home pregnant. We didn’t even know who the dad was until the puppies were born. I took one. To be very clear — neither my brother nor I had the maturity to handle being dog owners.  I muddled through, though and — somehow — Keiko lived to eleven.  Her death devastated me, and I swore off dog ownership.

At the time, I had a cattery of Himalayans with two queens — Lady Arabella de Bergerac (father Cyrano, Bella for short) and Lady Jane Eyre Rochester.  My stud was Sir Sinjin Fitzwilliam Darcy.

They were an interesting brood. Again, I wasn’t as responsible as I should have been. That said, many families got wonderful himi babies (including, apparently, one of the Housewives of Vancouver…?).

The queens aged out, I rehomed Sinjin to a lovely retirement, and life continued.

Until a friend posted on FB that her sister had bought a small dog and things weren’t working out.

6 years since Keiko had passed.

I went to my building manager and, she thinking I only had 3 cats, approved my request (I had 4 — long story).  I let my friend know I could take Ally.

Ally had found a home.

I was… I don’t know the right word. Not upset or resigned…determined? I had permission and was ready to open my heart again.  Another friend directed me to Animal Control and Henry.  An older abandoned small dog available for rescue.  I hustled down there — only to find a couple had beat me to it.  My application was warmly received, though.  I had good references, my building manager approved, my cats were good with dogs and, most importantly, I’d had a dog previously.  Henry went to the couple, but the shelter said they’d keep my application.

Two days later, my friend called.  Ally’s rehoming hadn’t worked. Could I take her?

Sure!

Thus began my journey into doggie parenthood again. (The shelter called a couple of days later with a Bichon Frisee and I was sorry to say no – if Henry had worked out, I’m not sure what I would’ve done about Ally…so the universe watching out for me…).

I brought Ally home and went to my friend who had directed me to Henry.  I wanted to be a better dog parent this time. Now in my late 30s, my life was vastly different than my early 20s.

She said, “Get thee to PetSmart and trainer Barb.”

I did.  Four rounds of training later, Ally passed her Tricks class as well as her therapy dog training.  She thrived in the training environment and when I took her out in public, she did really well.  Except she would sometimes hesitate, so we never did the St. John’s Ambulance training to get the provincially-recognized certification.  The certificate I did receive (and the training that went with it), opened doors, though.  We did all right.

Then came COVID.  By then I just had Ally and Bella (Jane had passed and my last two kittens had been rehomed to a sanctuary where they’re living their best lives).  Without Ally being out and in public all the time, she started to withdraw.  Then came the masks, tiny elevators, and many strange people as we wound up moving three times in one year.

When restrictions eased, I started taking her out again, but we never got back to where she was.

Sigh.

Then came a message out of the blue from a good friend: would Ally like a buddy?  Since my friend was going to Africa for a trip, I was assuming she wanted me to dog sit.

Nope.  Her soccer buddy had a nervous dog who needed rehoming urgently. He needed to be with someone who worked from home because he cried all day every day when left alone — he was upset, his owner was upset, the neighbours were upset — just a mess.

My vet friend, whom I trust implicitly, said, “Don’t do it.”  That dogs on meds with behavioral issues were a ton of work.  That I had my job and my writing career — which was essentially a second job.

Then she realized I was going to do it anyway, so she coached me on everything I needed to know.

A few days later, I brought Finnegan home.

Total disaster.  Bella had passed the year before, and Ally had settled into being an only child.  She did NOT want a Finnegan.  For his part, Finnie is a very sensitive boy, and her obvious animosity from Ally hurt his soul.  I thought I’d have to rehome him.

Then something happened.

Ally stopped snarling (well, snarled less).  She wasn’t so…angry.  She gave him some space.

He thrived.

I discovered he could be left alone — because he had her.

And her anxiety over me leaving lessened as well.

Win/win.

One month later, I officially adopted him (well, thanked his previous owner.  That was a sad situation because she’d rescued him with the best of intentions and, in the end, he had three homes in four months).  The owner philosophically said she was Finnie’s steppingstone to his forever home.  Which was so true. If she hadn’t mentioned her dilemma to my friend, and if I hadn’t been working from home, I never would’ve rescued Finnie.

That’s the story.  We haven’t had a snarl in more than a year.  Oh, Finnie turned out to be quite a bit older than I’d been led to believe. Whatever.  So he’s 11, Ally’s now 10 and I never saw myself as rescuing TWO dogs — let alone one as a five-month-old pup and one as a 10-year-old senior.

My plan is to only rescue senior dogs from now on.

But my two are exceptionally healthy.  Both have lost weight in the past two years which was good because both were a little chunky.  The vet is thrilled with their progress.

My vet friend said she’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Finnie fits perfectly.  He was the missing piece we didn’t know we needed.

He’s not perfect — he’s food obsessed, wants to kiss everyone, and is a little excitable (no one believes he’s 11).  Ally’s not perfect either.  She’s territorial, unwelcoming of strangers, and doesn’t like certain people (although once she gets to know you, she’ll love you forever).

And there you have it.  A LONG story.  But I hope a good one.  I’ve never been happier, and they’re living their best lives.

Okay! I’m happy to give away a prize!  I’ll give away a copy of any of my Animal Rescue books – eBook for the three or audio for Love Furever.  Just let me know – have you ever met a rescue animal? Or considered doing it yourself? Pet as a child? Or allergic and unable?  Not everyone has the capacity to have an animal, I get that.  Just share something that touches you.  Maybe a book with an animal where the story stuck with you? Random will pick a winner and if you have all my animal rescue books, I can give you something from my back catalogue.  Good luck!

(Pictures — Ally, Finnie, my friend Kit, and my on Finnie’s official adoption day — he’s black and white while Ally’s tan and white.  The second photo is of them last month letting me know what they think of wearing their coats and of me working all the time…)

Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue: Series Synopsis

Fur babies are family, too! Gaynor Beach, CA, is a welcoming place for gay and bi men to raise their kids, but until now, the Gaynor Beach animal rescue landscape has been a deficient patchwork. One man is determined to change that, to open a rescue for animals in need. But it turns out, it takes a whole village to raise a shelter. And in the process of creating a refuge for furry, scaly, and feathered friends, human hearts may find each other too.

Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue is a shared world gay romance series featuring cute critters in need and the men who care for them.

Love Furever – Gabbi Grey
Impurrfections – Kaje Harper
Iguana You to Want Me – Meredith Spies
Husky Love – Gabbi Grey
Ruff Start – Roan Rosser
Yorkie to My Heart – Gabbi Grey

Links:
Amazon US:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C3RVSRP6
All 6 books available in other stores: Kobo, Apple Books, Barnes& Noble, Smashwords, Google Play
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/series/388666-friends-of-gaynor-beach-animal-rescue

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling author Gabbi Grey lives in beautiful British Columbia where her fur baby chin-poo keeps her safe from the nasty neighborhood squirrels. Working for the government by day, she spends her early mornings writing contemporary, gay, sweet, and dark erotic BDSM romances. While she firmly believes in happy endings, she also believes in making her characters suffer before finding their true love. She also writes m/f romances as Gabbi Black and Gabbi Powell.

Personal links:
Website: https://gabbigrey.com/
Newsletter sign-up:  https://sendfox.com/gabbigrey
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorgabbigrey/
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/gabbi-grey
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15456297.Gabbi_Grey
Amazon Author Central: https://www.amazon.com/Gabbi-Grey/e/B07SJVFX1M
Audible Profile:  https://www.audible.com/author/Gabbi-Grey/B07SJVFX1M
Facebook (page): https://www.facebook.com/AuthorGabbiGrey