Frothing Authors

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-12-31T01:27:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Green River Review

2011-12-28T04:02:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Green River Review: Lisa at Top2Bottom Reviews has read and written about my 1938-set, ghostly mansex tale, Green River. Here's a snippet from her review: ...

Frothing Author: William Haines via Elisa Rolle

2011-12-28T04:01:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: William Haines via Elisa Rolle: Charles William "Billy" Haines (January 2, 1900 – December 26, 1973) was an American film actor and interior designer. He was a star of the ...

Holiday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-12-23T11:02:00.000-06:00

Holiday New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Touchless Love

2011-12-21T01:33:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Touchless Love: My first audio excerpt from this book, Jardonn's The Good Shepherd features two guys in a Nazi POW camp who must make due with the faciliti...

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Ralph MacDonald, R. I. P.

2011-12-20T01:39:00.000-06:00

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: Ralph MacDonald, R. I. P.: NY Daily News : Ralph MacDonald, the Grammy-winning writer, producer and percussionist who worked with everyone from Luther Vandross to Amy ...

The Good Shepherd 1

2011-12-18T01:28:00.000-06:00

Today, December 18, is release day for Jardonn's WWII ebook story, The Good Shepherd, and this is the cover created by its publisher, MLR Press.

As promised, here is the third excerpt. Harold and Frank exit the latrine and walk the yard inside their POW camp, trying to figure reasons for a particular guard dog's unusual behavior.

* * * * *

We didn't talk inside. I peed a little, and the only reason I stayed with Harold was in case other guys started asking him questions about us being singled out. The Nazis frequently put plants amongst us prisoners. Germans acting like Americans hoping to hear useful information, and I didn't want Harold to go it alone if he was accused by the prisoners of being such. Fortunately, nobody said a word to either of us.

"What do you think about that dog?" I pondered as we exited the building. "What confused him?"

We drifted about the yard walking slowly to nowhere in particular. "I don't think he was confused." Harold seemed to have limbered up from his soreness, moved with more ease. "The dog's eyes told me he wants out of here. Like he knows the Nazis's days are numbered."

"His eyes?"

"Sure. Animals have expressions same as we do."

"Hmm. Guess I've never noticed."

"Well, I have. Growing up on a farm, you get to know what animals are thinking. Or at least tell whether they're happy or sad. Or angry, which comes in handy when you're dealing with a thousand pounds of Hereford bull."

"I'll be damned. So, you think this dog's ready to abandon ship?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then, why did he approach us? Any ideas on that?"

"Don't know. Maybe he felt sorry for us. Knew they'd take us into a well-heated room for a search and we could warm up."

I laughed at that one. First time in many a week. "If that's the case, I hope he stops by to see us every day."

"Me, too."

We came to a spot where down a corridor between buildings we could see the kennels. The dogs, all males, had their own fenced yard and wooden houses for shelter. Harold stopped, grabbed my arm. "Do you see what I think I see?"

The Germans had a dog on a leash attacking a man protected by a helmet and face mask, plus padded coverings roped to his limbs and torso. "Looks like a training session."

"Or retraining," Harold knudged me with his elbow. "Can we get closer without getting shot at?"

"Sure, but let's not go between buildings. Follow me." I circled back to an open area where we could view the fenced pen without drawing attention, caddy-corner and about twenty feet away. "Think it's him?"

"I'd put money on it. The Nazis are afraid he's lost his nerve. No longer aggressive."

"Guess they're wrong. He'd eat that man alive if he could get at him."

"If I could get a better look at his tail, I'd know for sure."

I took a few baby steps closer. "His tail?"

"Yep," Harold craned his neck. "His black turns gold on top before ending at the tip. Usually it's black all the way." He inched a bit closer, a few steps ahead of me. "That's him. I guarantee it."

"Good. He's proving himself so he can stay." I grabbed Harold's sleeve, tugged him back. "We better go. Don't want to get him in trouble. I'd hate to lose the only Nazi who's ever been friendly to me."

"Ex-Nazi, Frank."

* * * * *

The Good Shepherd is now available in ebook formats at MLR PRESS.COM

The Good Shepherd 2

2011-12-17T00:19:00.000-06:00

What say we start at the beginning of the story? This excerpt nearly leads to yesterday's posted piece.

* * * * *

You belong to me, Harold Tripp, and you are beautiful.

On the day Harold's plane went down, Lady howled all night long. Made sense. Animal sense, you know, like when all the beasts ran for the hills hours before the Indian Ocean tsunami crashed ashore.

Lady was Harold's dog more than mine. He picked her out from a litter of four pups. He named her, and from her puppy years to full-grown, she followed him everywhere. Lady and I got along fine, too, until Harold joined the Air Force and shipped out to Korea. During Harold's tour of duty, Lady had very little to do with me. Kept her distance. Staked herself out a spot in our yard thirty feet from the house where a barbed wire fence bordered our west pasture. At feeding time, she'd stand by the fence watching me while I filled her bowl on the back porch. Calling her did no good. Only after I'd gone back inside would she approach the house and eat.

The dog shelter Harold and I built for her sat near our house, but she never used it after Harold left, and so as winter approached I loaded the damned thing into the pickup's bed and moved it out to her spot. Couldn't bear the thought of her shivering in the Illinois cold, and my gesture worked. She slept in her dog house. Crawled inside when she needed to warm herself or get in from the rain, but otherwise most of her time was spent sitting by the fence and looking west, toward Korea and Harold. Understanding her need, feeling it myself, I turned her house so her doorway faced west.

Through the winter of 1950, I rarely saw Lady. It was almost as though she thought I'd done something to Harold. Taken him away so she could never see him again. I sympathized, because in actuality Harold had taken himself away from me and from her.

After we both returned safely from Europe and our service during World War II, Harold and I enjoyed five years together. Five glorious years, no doubt, but when news broke that the communist north had invaded the south of Korea, I knew he'd be joining in the new fight. Nothing could keep Harold grounded. Not Lady. Not our southern Illinois farm and home. Not me.

Harold Tripp grew up on a farm but was born to soar. After eighty-two missions of piloting B-17's over Nazi-occupied territory, all successful save one, Harold itched to be back in the air for a worthy cause. I needed him to be happy. How could I possibly hold him back and expect our love to be the same as before? Doesn't work. Misery of one partner infects the other until hatred consumes both. Besides, Harold and I had both seen our share of misery.

I like to say Harold was my Christmas gift, delivered to me December 15, 1944.

When the Germans dragged Harold into our seventeen-man Stalag barracks, I took notice like never before. In my three-plus months as a prisoner of the Nazis, I'd seen several downed airmen brought in to join us, but Harold affected me differently. Could have been pity more than infatuation. He'd been roughed up pretty good. Lacerations marred his face, hands and arms. Purple bruises colored his left eye socket.

After his two-man-German-guard escort unceremoniously pushed him through the door and slammed it shut, several airmen rushed to his aid. Guided him to his bed, a two-feet-wide plank of wood with a two-inch-thick mattress recently vacated by a man dead from dysentery. They removed his prison-issued shoes. Laid him down. Tucked him under a thin grey blanket of wool, and then the entire gang, all Americans from downed B-17's, surrounded him.

end excerpt from The Good Shepherd by Jardonn Smith. My MLR Press holiday story is scheduled for release this coming Sunday, December 18.

Bibrary Book Lust: REVIEW: Best Bondage Erotica 2012 edited by Rache...

2011-12-16T14:29:00.000-06:00

Bibrary Book Lust: REVIEW: Best Bondage Erotica 2012 edited by Rache...: I must say, the good folks at Cleis Press have really spoiled me this year. First it was the five-star transgender collection, Take Me Ther...

The Good Shepherd 3

2011-12-16T00:52:00.000-06:00

Frank Jenkins says Harold Tripp was his Christmas present, delivered to him December 15, 1944. Unfortunately, both men were in a Nazi POW camp at the time. My fictional U.S. airmen arrived at different times after having survived the downing of their B-17 bombers. Their friendship is instant. Their relationship with a Nazi attack dog is highly unusual.

The Good Shepherd is scheduled for release by MLR Press on December 18th. That's three days away, and so I'm posting one excerpt per day until the ebook's release. I made this cover photo. MLR Press will make their own cover, which I will also post on release day. Here is today's snippet, as Frank and Harold get acquainted.

excerpt:

I strolled to my bed while gazing down at him. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. Arms outside the blanket, hands folded atop his chest.

"Needing a snooze?" I asked, taking a seat on my bed to his left.

"Probably," he sighed, forcing a half-hearted grin. "Doubt if I can, though."

"Yep. I know the feeling. Too much thinking about how things could turn so bad so quick." I stood over him, extended my hand. "Sergeant Frank Jenkins. Turret gunner on the Lucy Lu out of Cheshunt."

His grip was stronger than mine. "Lieutenant Harold Tripp, pilot of the Yankee Pride out of Nuthampstead."

I sat on my bed, scrutinized his cut-up face. "Tell you what, Lieutenant Tripp..."

"Harold," he gave me permission.

"Sure, sure. Call me Frank. Are you thirsty?"

"Very," he gingerly drew back his blanket.

"No. You stay put. I'll get it." I dropped to a knee, reached under his bed, pulled out his washpan with a tin cup, bar of soap, toothpaste and brush, shaving razor, and a towel inside, his one-week supply, courtesy of the Red Cross. "I'll be right back," I said with cup in hand. Upon my return, he greedily gulped while I supported the back of his head with my palm. "Want another?"

He wiped his mouth with his fingers. "No, thank you. That will do."

"All right, Harold," I put his cup into the pan and pushed it under. "Try to rest. That's what I'll be doing right here next to you."

"Can do, Frank. Thanks again."

True to my word, I laid down and kept quiet, but only for a minute or two. That's when Harold rolled onto his side and faced me. "Frank?"

"Yeah."

"Every man here is skinny as a rail. I'm guessing you didn't come in that way."

"True." I turned onto my side so I could see his reaction to what I had to say. "They're starving us, Harold. Slowly but surely. We get water in the morning. Soup and a chunk of black sawdust bread for supper. We call it that because there's more sawdust in it than flour. Most men don't eat it. Those that do get stomach cramps something awful. Soup is a rutabaga boiled in water. Every now and then we get a potato, but either way each man gets about ten swallows of soup, one tiny piece of vegetable."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since September. I'm guessing I've lost thirty pounds or better. There's no man here who's been in camp more than a year. They're all dead. Dysentery or starvation, take your pick." I waited, taking his silence to mean he wanted to hear more. "Some of the officers and enlisted men who were in bad shape got shipped down to Luft 3 last spring. That's Goehring's quality camp for airmen, or so I'm told. The one the Germans show off to the outside world so they'll think all prisoners are in a good place. This camp here, Harold, is not a good place. I don't even know why it's called a Luft. Only Luftwaffe I've seen is the Commandant. Rest are regular Army or SS." I reached for the corner post of my bed. "See this?"

"Yeah."

"Been sawed off. These used to all be tripled-decker bunks. This was once a forty-eight man barrack, according to Jack."

"You mean the barrack's rep?"

"That's him. He's been here since May, and he said that's when the Germans came in and cut off all the top bunks. Chopped them into firewood for their stoves. Officer's quarters and soldier's barracks."

Harold stared blankly toward the floor, and then locked eyes with mine. "Think the guys here can make it another month or two?"

"Yeah. I heard you telling them our men are in Belgium and the east side of France."

"Some are saying we'll be inside Germany by first of the year."

"Well, I know it's getting rough on the Nazis. Our portions of grub shrink every day. I mean, how desperate are they? Can't even spare a few rutabagas for their prisoners. Tell you something else I've noticed."

"What's that?"

"Fewer guards. Like they're taking soldiers out of here to be used somewhere else."

"Maybe east. The Russians are closing in, too."

"Could be. All I know is, if I see a way out of here, I'm running. Hell, before long I'll be too weak to stand. I'd rather take my chances roaming the countryside than to stay here and starve."

"Hmm... I don't know, Frank. This camp might be liberated by New Year's. Can you hold out a few more weeks? No use getting shot when the end is so near."

"Well, Lieutenant, you know more about it than I do, so I'll hang with you for now. All right?"

"Sure, sure. We'll stick together."

Funny how he made it sound as though we needed each other on equal terms. After all, I was the three-month veteran of prison life. Of course, that also meant he was stronger than I by three months. Guess it all evened out.

Frothing Author: Mary Renault via Elisa Rolle

2011-12-15T00:13:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Mary Renault via Elisa Rolle: Mary Renault (pronounced /rɛnoʊlt/ Ren-olt) (4 September 1905 – 13 December 1983) born Eileen Mary Challans, was an English writer best know...

Frothing Author: Emanuel Goldenberg 1893-1973

2011-12-12T00:38:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Emanuel Goldenberg 1893-1973: He would be 108 today. There's no need to get into the lengthy biography of this man who appeared in well over 100 films. Just know that h...

Frothing Author: Rainbow Awards Winners Announced

2011-12-09T10:37:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Rainbow Awards Winners Announced: This year was really HUGE! more than 300 books, more than 100 judges, all over the world (even for the first time Australia), and many, many...

Frothing Author: Jardonn Christmas Tale Giveaway

2011-12-08T06:32:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Jardonn Christmas Tale Giveaway: Want to get a free PDF copy of this book? Top2Bottom Reviews is helping me gift my short story, Furlough Bridge, set in the U.S. homefr...

frequently felt*: Lame Porn from the 70s

2011-12-06T02:41:00.000-06:00

frequently felt*: Lame Porn from the 70s: Actress Thora Birch (you may remember her from movies like American Beauty , and Ghost World ) is the daughter of two former porn stars: bu...

Holiday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-12-02T13:43:00.000-06:00

Holiday New Releases at MLR Press!

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-12-02T13:42:00.000-06:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - FINAL

2011-12-02T13:40:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - FINAL: This is it. The top vote-getters come together for a final round of competition. Look them over and choose your favs at... Elisa Rolle's Ra...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-11-26T12:59:00.000-06:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art Round 5

2011-11-25T11:35:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art Round 5: Round 4's winners are chosen. Covers for Round 5 are posted for your viewing and voting. GO! Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest at Elisa Rol...

Frothing Author: Top2Bottom Takes on Danube Divide

2011-11-19T04:11:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Top2Bottom Takes on Danube Divide: Lisa over at Top2Bottom Reviews plowed her way through my heavy historical tale, Danube Divide. Set in Rome's Eastern Empire, Lisa read a...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-11-18T11:36:00.000-06:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round 4

2011-11-18T11:32:00.000-06:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round 4: This time, 100 covers all together. See them and vote for your favs at Elisa Rolle - Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest .

New Release: Divinity by Bryl R. Tyne

2011-11-12T09:36:00.001-06:00

Divinity was made available last night at midnight! Very excited about it. Those who've pre-ordered, you should be able to download it now. Those of you who haven't ordered your copy, go for it! Enjoy!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (3) III

2011-11-11T13:16:00.001-06:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (3) III: Round 3 slot 2 is toast. New covers for slot 3 are posted. View and vote at Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal Site - Rainbow Awards Book Cover Conte...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-11-11T13:16:00.000-06:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Fifty Greatest Cult Movies of All Time

2011-10-29T13:59:00.000-05:00

Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Fifty Greatest Cult Movies of All Time: The Fifty Greatest Cult Movies of All Time Link via SF Signal .

Frothing Author: Richard Hall via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-29T13:57:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Richard Hall via Elisa Rolle: In his novels and short stories, plays, and critical writings, Richard Hall focused almost exclusively on issues of gay identity and communi...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-10-28T16:18:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Melvin Dixon via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-26T12:11:00.001-05:00

Frothing Author: Melvin Dixon via Elisa Rolle: Melvin Dixon (1950-October 26, 1992) was an American Professor of Literature, and an author, poet and translator. He wrote about black gay m...

Frothing Author: Mavel Hampton via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-26T12:11:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Mavel Hampton via Elisa Rolle: Mabel Hampton (May 2, 1902-October 26, 1989) was an American lesbian activist, a dancer during the Harlem Renaissance, and a philanthropist ...

Frothing Author: Frederick Rolfe via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-26T02:24:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Frederick Rolfe via Elisa Rolle: Frederick William Rolfe, better known as Baron Corvo, and also calling himself 'Frederick William Serafino Austin Lewis Mary Rolfe', (July 2...

Frothing Author: Andrew Kopkind via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-24T00:54:00.003-05:00

Frothing Author: Andrew Kopkind via Elisa Rolle: Andrew Kopkind (August 24, 1935 – October 23, 1994) was an American journalist. He was renowned for his reporting during the tumultuous year...

Frothing Author: Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Consummata...

2011-10-24T00:54:00.002-05:00

Frothing Author: Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Consummata...: Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine: The Consummata -- Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Coll... : Those of you who've been following along will re...

Frothing Author: Charles Demuth via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-24T00:54:00.001-05:00

Frothing Author: Charles Demuth via Elisa Rolle: Charles Demuth (November 8, 1883 – October 23, 1935) was an American watercolorist who turned to oils late in his career, developing a style...

Frothing Author: Ned Rorem via Elisa Rolle

2011-10-24T00:54:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Ned Rorem via Elisa Rolle: Ned Rorem (born October 23, 1923) is a Pulitzer prize-winning American composer and diarist. He is best known and most praised for his song ...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-10-21T23:19:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-10-14T14:24:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

FURLOUGH BRIDGE Reviewed at Top 2 Bottom Reviews!

2011-10-12T02:04:00.000-05:00

FURLOUGH BRIDGE Reviewed at Top 2 Bottom Reviews!

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-10-11T01:48:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-09-30T12:51:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) II

2011-09-23T14:15:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) II: Slot 1 of Round 2 has ended and new covers are up for viewing and voting. Rainbow Awards Cover Contest - Round 2 Slot 2

Frothing Author: New Releases at MLR Press

2011-09-23T13:52:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: New Releases at MLR Press: New Releases week ending 09-23-11 at MLR Press

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) I

2011-09-16T12:22:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art (2) I: The winner is up for the last round of slot 1, and now Elisa begins Round 2. The first group of book covers is posted for viewing and voting...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-09-16T12:19:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round One Winners

2011-09-16T01:06:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Plethora of Art - Round One Winners: Yes, the first round of the Rainbow Awards Book Cover Contest has ended with six finalists selected. You can see them at Elisa Rolle's Live...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-09-09T14:41:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XX

2011-09-09T10:58:00.002-05:00

Slot 19 has a winner, and new covers are posted for viewing and voting. See the artwork for Slot 20...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings - Rainbow Awards Cover Contest

Plethora of Art XIX

2011-09-02T15:29:00.002-05:00

Slot 18 has a winner. New covers are posted for Slot 19. Time to view and vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-09-02T15:24:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Frothing Author: Elisa Reviews Furlough Bridge

2011-08-31T13:17:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Elisa Reviews Furlough Bridge: ELISA ROLLE has read and reviewed my World War II Christmas manlove tale, Furlough Bridge.

Here's part of what she has to say:

I...

New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-08-28T02:23:00.000-05:00

New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XVIII

2011-08-26T11:51:00.002-05:00

Package of book covers number 17 is done. Open the page for slot 18, a new set of covers awaits your vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

frequently felt*: 100 Whores

2011-08-25T16:38:00.001-05:00

frequently felt*: 100 Whores: A buyer went to the St Marks Bookshop in New York's East Village and chose my 100 Whores to read, far out! (scroll down)

via Marty After ...

frequently felt*: 100 Whores

2011-08-25T16:38:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: 100 Whores: A buyer went to the St Marks Bookshop in New York's East Village and chose my 100 Whores to read, far out! (scroll down)

via Marty After ...

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid

2011-08-21T03:35:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: The Pittsburgh Kid: Pittsburgh native Billy Conn first boxed professionally in 1935 at age 16. He lost that one and a couple more, but by 1937 had developed...

Frothing Author: JJ Said 082011

2011-08-20T17:16:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: JJ Said 082011: Jasper's the pen name I use when writing hetero fiction with female dominants. In my tale from the old American West, The Black Pouch Crusad...

Plethora of Art XVII

2011-08-19T12:04:00.002-05:00

Round 1's Slot 16 of the book cover contest is over. Time to vote for a new group of covers...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-08-19T11:54:00.000-05:00

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Imagination Is Intelligence With An Erection: Thompson confronting the object of his contempt - ...

2011-08-17T01:57:00.000-05:00

Imagination Is Intelligence With An Erection: Thompson confronting the object of his contempt - ...

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome

2011-08-16T03:04:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: Carnal Tunnel Syndrome: "From the Urban Dictionary : Carnal Tunnel Syndrome - A tingling or numbness or a sharp, piercing pain shooting through the wrist as a di..."

Frothing Author: JJ Say 081311

2011-08-13T16:42:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: JJ Say 081311: "Sorry for my absence the past few days. Took a little vacation time from webbing. Maybe this will make it up to you. A snippet from ..."

Plethora of Art XVI

2011-08-13T01:29:00.002-05:00

Slot 15 has a winner. Now, view the next group of book covers and vote for you favorites. Time for Slot 16.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings.

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-08-13T01:25:00.000-05:00

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

frequently felt*: Mr. Tambourine Man

2011-08-10T12:54:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: Mr. Tambourine Man: "Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
..."

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-08-05T14:08:00.000-05:00

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

Plethora of Art XV

2011-08-05T13:05:00.002-05:00

Slot 14 has a winner. Slot 15 needs one. Time to vote for book covers...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

GET BUSY!

Hey, Did You Happen to See

2011-08-03T16:37:00.002-05:00

the most beautiful pose in the world?

He makes movies at BOUND GODS.COM

Meet MLR Press Authors

2011-08-01T03:09:00.003-05:00

An Evening of Gay Men's Romance at Giovanni's Room

Philadelphia, PA (August 12, 2011) Join MLR Press at Giovanni's Room for an
up close and personal book signing featuring the award winning authors of some of the best in contemporary gay fiction.

The evening will include readings by: Victor Banis, Ally Blue, James Buchanan, Z.A. Maxfield, William Neale, and Rick R. Reed. Selections from their current releases will showcase a variety of heat, from sweet romance to scorching erotica, and genre ranging from horror through mystery, BDSM, humor and more.

Giovanni's Room, founded in 1973, is the oldest gay bookstore in the US.
Housed in historic buildings from the 1800s, Giovanni's intimate setting and comfortable ambiance allows readers and authors to connect one-on-one, providing a unique experience. Attendees can mingle with their favorite author or discover new books and authors.

Owned by best-selling, award-winning author Laura Baumbach, MLR Press offers the highest quality stories to readers of gay fiction and erotic romance.

MLR Press titles include multiple award-winning and Lambda nominated books such such as the Donald Strachey Mystery Series by Richard Stevenson and The Golden Age of Gay Fiction edited by Drewey Wayne Gunn, a Benjamin Franklin Award winner. Books from MLR Press take readers on amazing adventures through the creative minds of a small, select group of bright, uniquely talented authors and artists.

Friday, August 12, 2011

5:30 to 7:00 pm

Giovanni's Room

345 S. 12th Street

Philadelphia, PA

Also attending and signing books: Laura Baumbach, Kimberly Gardner, Ethan Day, Jet Mykles, Diana DeRicci, Taylor Donovan, Liz Strange, DH Star, David Juhren, and Karenna Colcroft.

For additional information:
GIOVANN'S ROOM

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-07-30T00:49:00.000-05:00

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

frequently felt*: Daring Beth

2011-07-29T15:40:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: Daring Beth: "I love this picture because I rarely see women with my body type - bigger (but not SSBBW) with a double belly in pornish/nude type photos...."

frequently felt*: 'Show me your nuts'

2011-07-29T15:39:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: 'Show me your nuts': "Woman to face trial over fake testicles The police chief of a small South Carolina town will ask a jury to decide if a woman broke the st..."

Plethora of Art XIV

2011-07-29T13:23:00.002-05:00

Round 13 - toast. New covers fresh and primed are posted for your view and vote. It's Round 14 of the Rainbow Awards Cover Contest at...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art XIII

2011-07-22T15:35:00.002-05:00

Slot 12 is history. New covers are up for viewing and voting. GO!

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Friday New Releases at MLR Press!

2011-07-22T14:21:00.000-05:00

Friday New Releases!

MLR Press book releases this week include my 1938 ghostly manlove tale, GREEN RIVER.

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen Reads Jardonn

2011-07-22T11:56:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen Reads Jardonn: "Two books in one week, as a matter of fact, and it's always rewarding to get the perspective of a man who has read thousands. First up, Da..."

HOT SUMMER DAYS for m/m romance readers

2011-07-20T07:27:00.000-05:00

So over on Goodreads, I am a member of a readers/authors group, a private group specifically made for those who enjoy m/m romance, aptly called "M/M Romance". The mods of the 3000+ member group got together and come up with a Hot Summer Days contest where members could write an open letter to the authors on the group requesting a story centered around one of their fave erotic photos the group has in a folder. They could even set up the scenario if so desired. The stories are being put up on the group daily since July 1 and by the time they're all posted, the combined word count will come close to 1 million words. Afterward, the stories will be combined into one anthology and made available for FREE.

I accepted reader Jacqueline's challenge to write a story based on this photo and with the instruction "...this man is his muse" and qualifications: HEA and more story over sex.

Here's a snippet of my story:

Tags: short story, deaf, m/m, gay fiction, gay romance, fantasy, anthology

Genres: Fantasy

Content Alerts: N/A

Alipio by Bryl R. Tyne

(He who suffering does not affect)

For Jacqueline

Blurb: Incapable of wooing this man, I stand in awe of his presence, hoping to one day carry myself half as regally, for he has the self-worth of a majestic oak, the harmlessness of a feather, and the heart of a lion. His name is Alipio...and I am hopelessly in love.

Excerpt: Alipio. Every Tuesday afternoon since that first day, his name had rolled off the walls of my mind, blanketing me in peace, guiding my artist's hand. His master called him Alipio. I called him perfect.

No god possessed finer lines...or eyes more soulful.

I was sure of my assessment too as I strained the edge of my charcoal, and felt the energy transfer from Alipio's stare into my own. My left shoulder tensed, tapping that power, feeding it along my arm to fuel the creativity of my hand as it moved in sweeping motions across the canvas.

Coming to myself minutes later, I stepped back from my work in progress, looked toward the front of the room. Alipio remained motionless upon the ladder. I caught the briefest flicker in his irises, and his sure but questioning gaze met mine as if to ask, "Is it done?"

I dropped my stare to my canvas. What I saw there fed my insatiable thoughts of inadequacy. No, I was far from finished...and from the rough lines that I'd gone over at least a hundred times and still not gotten right, I determined the drawing would never be. Surely, my hands could never do justice to one as fine as Alipio. Heat drew my attention upward, my own or the burn of another's stare, back to the face of my muse. Jaw tense on that face of stone, I noted one corner of his perfect mouth crook higher, by just a touch...a smile meant just for me. Cool air from the studio's one open window crept across the back of my sweat-dampened shirt. I shivered, wondering what his master would do to him if he discovered Alipio's unfaithfulness. It was then I realized that I would never be happy until I had Alipio for my own.

I'd been in the market for a new slave for some time, give or take a couple of years. For the longest time, none had satisfied me enough to lead me to purchase any of them. All had left me bereft of emotion, save frustration. Not since my days as a much younger man had I allowed loneliness to guide my decisions. Of course, thirty-three was by far not "old," not by any means. The air left my lungs, dissatisfied, hollow. Alipio had ruined me; I would blame him. Since first setting eyes on the man who belonged to another, I could not recall one happy moment in my life...

~***~

Stories are being posted daily and group membership continues to grow. So hop on over to Goodreads and request to join the M/M Romance group so you too can enjoy Hot Summer Days!

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Amber Quill Press. Check out Bryl's bi-monthly column: My Way Find out more about the author at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio, Bryl R Tyne's Blog, and Defying Description.

Friday New Releases!

2011-07-15T23:26:00.001-05:00

Friday New Releases! at MLR PRESS

Plethora of Art XII

2011-07-15T12:08:00.000-05:00

Slot 11 has a winner. Slot 12 needs one. Go view all the book covers and vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

frequently felt*: I Can See Boobies

2011-07-12T23:46:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: I Can See Boobies

frequently felt*: Dildo sport

2011-07-08T22:34:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: Dildo sport: "Dildo Sport from Paulilu Productions on Vimeo ."

Frothing Author: It's New Release Day at MLR Press

2011-07-08T16:12:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: It's New Release Day at MLR Press: "Two short story ebooks from William Maltese and his Boys Reformatory Series. Alan and Joey Gay erotic fiction, Maltese-style. Hot!"

Plethora of Art XI

2011-07-08T01:07:00.001-05:00

Round 10 is a dead horse. New covers for round 11 are up and kicking. Go view. Go vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and Furlough Bridge

2011-07-07T00:03:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and Furlough Bridge: "Yes-sir, looks like Amos Lassen is on a Jardonn kick of late. His review of my short story ebook, Furlough Bridge tells the world that Wilt..."

frequently felt*: Welcome!

2011-07-06T16:06:00.000-05:00

frequently felt*: Welcome!: "- and the Frequently Felt family continues to grow: let's have a firm, wet, arousing welcome to two brand new editors and contributors: J..."

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and GRIT

2011-07-06T15:48:00.000-05:00

Frothing Author: Amos Lassen and GRIT: "I'm always happy to see when Amos Lassen has read and reviewed one of my books. This time, it's GRIT, the Dirty Thirties, erotic manlove nov..."

Plethora of Art X

2011-07-01T00:57:00.000-05:00

Round 9's winner is announced... a new set of covers are posted. View and vote... time for Round 10.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art IX

2011-06-24T15:46:00.000-05:00

Slot 8 has a winner and new collection of covers is posted for your voting pleasure.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Gladiator Cheated

2011-06-21T03:01:00.000-05:00

This from LiveScience via Yahoo News: Just goes to show that referees on the take is nothing new and that history is constantly being modified.

Roman Gladiator's Gravestone Describes Fatal Foul

An enigmatic message on a Roman gladiator's 1,800-year-old tombstone has finally been decoded, telling a treacherous tale.

The epitaph and art on the tombstone suggest the gladiator, named Diodorus, lost the battle (and his life) due to a referee's error, according to Michael Carter, a professor at Brock University in St. Catharines, Canada. Carter studies gladiator contests and other spectacles in the eastern part of the Roman Empire.

He examined the stone, which was discovered a century ago in Turkey, trying to determine what the drawing and inscription meant. [Top 10 Weird Ways We Deal With the Dead]

His results will be published in the most recently released issue of the Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik(Journal for Papyrology and Ancient Epigraphics).

Tombstones talk

The tombstone was donated to the Musee du Cinquanternaire in Brussels, Belgium, shortly before World War I. It shows an image of a gladiator holding what appear to be two swords, standing above his opponent who is signalling his surrender. The inscription says that the stone marks the spot where a man named Diodorus is buried.

"After breaking my opponent Demetrius I did not kill him immediately," reads the epitaph. "Fate and the cunning treachery of the summa rudis killed me."

The summa rudis is a referee, who may have had past experience as a gladiator.

The inscription also indicates Diodorus was born in and fought in Amisus, on the south coast of the Black Sea in Turkey.

Though Carter has examined hundreds of gladiator tombstones, this "epitaph is completely different from anything else; it's telling a story," he told LiveScience.

The final fight

The story the tombstone tells took place about 1,800 years ago when the empire was at its height, its borders stretching from Hadrian's Wall in England to the Euphrates River in Syria.

Gladiator games were popular spectacles, many of them pitting two men against each other. Although deaths from wounds were common, the battles were not the no-holds-barred fights to the death depicted by Hollywood, said Carter.

"I believe that there are a number of very detailed rules involved in regulating gladiatorial combat," Carter said.

Though the exact rules are not well understood, some information can be gleaned from references in surviving texts and art.

For starters, most, if not all, of the fights were overseen by the summa rudis.

Among the rules he enforced was one in which a defeated gladiator could request submission, and if submission was approved by the munerarius (the wealthy individual paying for the show), the contestant could leave the arena without further harm.

Another rule that appears to have been in place was that a gladiator who fell by accident (without the help of his opponent) would be allowed to get back up, pick up his equipment and resume combat.

Death of Diodorus

It's this last rule that appears to have done in Diodorus. Carter interprets the picture of the gladiator holding two swords to be a moment in his final fight, when Demetrius had been knocked down and Diodorus had grabbed a hold of his sword.

"Demetrius signals surrender, Diodorus doesn't kill him; he backs off expecting that he's going to win the fight," Carter said.

The battle appears to be over. However the summa rudis — perhaps interpreting Demetrius' fall as accidental, or perhaps with some ulterior motive — thought otherwise, Carter said.

"What the summa rudis has obviously done is stepped in, stopped the fight, allowed Demetrius to get back up again, take back his shield, take back his sword, and then resume the fight."

This time Diodorus was in trouble, and either he died in the arena or Demetrius inflicted a wound that led to his death shortly thereafter.

This event would have happened before a crowd of hundreds, if not thousands, of people in a theater or in part of an athletic stadium converted into a sort of mini- Colosseum.

After Diodorus was dead, the people who created his tombstone (probably family or friends) were so upset, Carter suggests, that they decided to include some final words on the epitaph:

"Fate and the cunning treachery of the summa rudis killed me."

Suspicious Diagnosis goes E

2011-06-16T12:48:00.000-05:00

As in Electronic. Ebook formats include Kindle compatible and sell for $5.99 USD at the publisher's web site, MLR PRESS.

You'll find an excerpt to read there, AND, the ebook has a new cover. See?

Another text excerpt and an audio mp3 from the book can be accessed from my web site here: Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com

Speaking of excerpts, here's a shortie:

I blame him. I thank him. I love him because he makes me secure. Hate him because he makes me vulnerable to my loving him so much. I shudder at the thought of losing him. Tremble with the notion of him leaving me. For upheaval. For a change of scenery. For anything, or another. I recognize fear as the price for keeping him, but I'd prefer to use plastic. A credit card, a pay-as-you-go, a lay-away plan, a time share. Time erodes doubts, but never fully eradicates. My only consolation is my suspicion that he suffers same as I do. I hope he suffers.

Plethora of Art VIII

2011-06-16T03:46:00.000-05:00

Slot 7 results are in. Slot 8 covers are now posted for viewing and voting...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art VII

2011-06-10T13:07:00.000-05:00

Round 1 Slot 6 is a wrap. New covers are posted for viewing and voting. It's Slot 7 at...

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Love Hurts...

2011-06-08T08:47:00.000-05:00

Or so the 1975 song of the same name claims.

Of course, by definition, it's not really the love that does the hurting, but rather one's reaction to it. As the timeless lyrics of the Nazareth song suggest though, love can leave one with more of a mess to sort through than he arrived with. In my latest release, Rite of Passage, novelist John Ashley Price deals with such adversity.

In love, he did what many of us do or have done and trusted blindly, and he ended up in the aftermath of love gone wrong. Broke, penniless, and with nothing but his name, John now suffers from anxiety so strong anytime he gets near anyone "interested," he doesn't know how to cope with the adverse reactions. Just to be around a man who shows interest sends John's body into instant fight or flight mode--a panic attack.

Many of the following physical reactions are known to be felt when one experiences a panic attack:

palpitations
slow heart beat
dizziness
difficulty breathing
shaking
fear of losing control or dying
sweating, chills, hot flashes
racing thoughts
stomach pain
numbness in limbs

And John get to experience them all. I put the poor man through the wringer in Rite of Passage. But he'll learn that not all love hurts before the book is through. Take a chance. Go along with him on his journey.

Rite or Passage by Bryl R. Tyne
Dreamspinner Press

ISBN-13:	978-1-61581-926-3
Pages:	80
Cover Artist:	Dan Skinner/Cerberus Inc.

Blurb:

Forty-one-year-old John Ashley Price was a Western writing superstar until his accountant stole his heart—and everything else he owned. Now, unable to write and suffering from debilitating panic attacks, all he wants is to start over someplace where dropping off the radar is the norm. Someplace he won’t meet anyone. A place where writing should come easy. Hence his relocation to Divide, Colorado.

Of course, John didn’t count on Pat Smith—or Pat’s determination and raw sex appeal. Pat has his sights set on winning John’s heart as well as his trust, and he’s making serious headway… until John learns the truth. Just how does Pat know so much about him?

Excerpt:

BELLY full, I carried in enough wood to start a good fire, ran myself an extra-large glass of water, added a few ice cubes, and headed back upstairs to write.

Well, Sheriff Chad Hardy, where were we? I got comfortable, noticing the late afternoon sun out the room's single window.

You like sunsets, Chad Hardy?

He didn't, and he cemented the fact by whipping his horse around, effectively placing his back to a horizon of reds and golds.

Not even in the end? I had to ask, I mean, most cowboys rode off into the sunset at the end of my books.

No? Not even in the end. He didn't believe in sunsets.

I couldn't blame him…

…And closed my laptop, stood, stretched, wondering how in the hell Carol had gotten this desk up here. No doubt, my “neighborly neighbor” had a part to play in it. I lifted the front left corner and carried it forward and to my right until I could sit peacefully with the setting sun at my back. Less than a minute later, I was typing away.

Words turned into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and so forth until I had two pages of what I considered “good words.” I leaned back in my chair, feeling rather smug. Fingers laced across my chest, I caught movement in the mirror opposite the room's solitary window and felt the frown that I was sure creased my forehead as I honed in on the streak of movement in the reflection….

I was on my feet, before I could think to move, and looking out my window.

Thunk!

Tracking the only movement I could see through the trees, I watched the wood split—the axe stick—he lifted the entire getup, block of wood and all, and swung it over his shoulder, then back to the stump. Three even pieces toppled to the ground in different directions.

Shirtless, the man kept a rhythm. Judging from the force and repetition of his swings, if I was closer, I was certain I would've noticed the sheen of sweat coating his skin. Through a hundred-plus yards of thinly populated trees, I spied, mesmerized.

Corded muscles drawn taut. The swing. The snap. The release. The quiver….

Okay, okay. I could see his ripped form in my mind's eye only, but I was no less content to lean on that sill and watch my neighbor from a distance. His intention was clear—at least, to me—grab the new guy's attention and keep it. I mean, who in his right mind chopped wood wearing only jeans and a cowboy hat in fifty-degree weather?

Exactly.

I broke my concentration to glance over my shoulder at my laptop, but in the next heartbeat, I was back at that window with my mind fathoms beneath any gutter.

“Well, Sheriff Hardy, looks like you've met your match.”

Sweat beaded at my temples, accumulated across the back of my neck. I adjusted the shrinking fly of my jeans, ran my tongue over dry lips; but sandpaper never moistened anything. With only one thought in mind, I leaned harder on the sill—definitely been awhile since any man’s held my interest.

Sadly, the last one I could recall by name was Mark. The excitement left my lungs in a single, solitary sigh; I even gained a bit of slack in the crotch of my jeans at the thought.

How deflating.

The more I dwelled, the tighter my chest got, and I turned away from the window. Wasn't bad, per se, that I thought of the man, but he'd affected my actions… and my reactions. Bastard had no right.

I pulled myself together, reminded myself the fewer complications the better. “Looks like you win, after all, Chad Hardy.” Time to concentrate on the one man in my life who hadn't given me a shovel full of shit.

I retook my chair, placed my fingers on the keyboard, and waited. Within seconds, I was once again typing away. Seemed all my character needed was some competition to spur him into action.

Like most of my attempts to write lately, though, this one proved a lost cause, also. I hadn't gotten a full page down when my mind drifted back to the scene outside my window. By the shadows cast on the far wall, the sun had all but disappeared, and the wood chopping had ceased a good while ago. I closed my laptop and hung my head, debating—Jim Beam or Jack Daniel’s—which one was the quickest route out of misery?

Purchase Link

This post is X-posted at The Rainbow Studio, Bryl Tyne's Blog, and Defying Description.

Plethora of Art VI

2011-06-03T11:23:00.000-05:00

Slot five over. Slot six now... HERE!

Elisa Rolle My Reviews and Ramblings

View and vote.

Danube Divide is Free

2011-06-01T01:10:00.003-05:00

This week's free e-book read at MLR Press is Danube Divide, my homoRoman historical set in the Eastern Empire of 378 CE.

There's an epic battle between Goths and Romans, a mass migration of refugees crossing the Danube, a pretend crucifixion for purpose of mansex, a real crucif... WTH is wrong with me? IT'S FREE! No need to pester you with my sales pitch.

Get Danube Divide now until Sunday June 5th at the MLR PRESS SITE.

Look at top of MLR's page for a small picture of this big picture:

Right click on the little picture, save the file to your hard drive and it's yours forever.

Ride the Machine: While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbe...

2011-05-28T11:50:00.000-05:00

Ride the Machine: While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbe...: "While not vehicles to ride, Theo Jansen's Strandbeast 's creatures/vehicles are able to walk only using the wind and wind powered pneumatics..."

Plethora of Art V

2011-05-27T12:22:00.000-05:00

We have a winner from slot 4, and we have a new batch of covers over which to ogle and vote... here:

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Plethora of Art IV

2011-05-20T11:42:00.000-05:00

The winner from slot 3 is announced, and book covers for slot 4 are now posted. Entertain your eyes and your brain, and then vote.

Elisa Rolle's My Reviews and Ramblings

Furlough Bridge and Forrest Barton

2011-05-16T02:59:00.012-05:00

Seeing those service banners, that's what made me vulnerable. A blue star banner hanging in the window means somebody from that household is serving overseas in the armed forces. A gold star means somebody gave their life while serving. Either way, it is not possible to look at one of those banners without feeling something.

Back in December of 1944 what I felt was frustration. I couldn't hang one of those blue star banners in my window to honor my Ernie. Never mind that he was somewhere in Europe with the U.S. Third Army. Never mind that one week prior the Germans had launched their offensive in Belgium, known to history as the Battle of the Bulge, and that Ernie soon would be, or for all I knew could have already been, in the middle of that fight -- I could not display a banner to honor him. Jane Doe could hang one for her husband John or son Jim, but Forrest Barton could not do the same for Ernest Surbaugh.

Technically, I suppose I could have, but just think of the questions. "You're a widower with no children, so who's the banner for?"

For the man I love, that's who.

Now, there's a 1944-vintage proclamation made to raise a few eyebrows.

No, all I could do was listen on the radio and read the newspapers for the latest reports. I could fret. I could be proud, and I could honor him in my own way, nice and private.

The first stage was planned. My Christmas tradition, I laid a wreath at the base of the memorial honoring my war, The Great War, or if you wish, World War I. My prayer was for men who served with me -- those who came home; those who didn't -- and because the ongoing German offensive in Belgium so effectively surprised those of us on the homefront as well as Allies on the battlefield, I asked the men who served with me to send their strength to the men currently under siege.

Prayers offered, I strolled to the chest-high wall fronting the memorial. Down below less than half a mile away, the Union Station train depot was a buzz of activity. It was the night before Christmas Eve and trains waiting to depart or having just arrived filled every terminal. From that moment forward, nothing that happened to me was planned.

My bladder needed relief. Union Station was the nearest building with facilities open and available. A soldier in green Army coat standing next to the wall at the last urinal in a row resembled, in profile, Ernest Surbaugh. My Ernie.

Sure, there was no way in hell Ernie could have been in Kansas City that night, but this was one of those "seeing what I wanted to see" things -- one of those "hope against hope" deals, and I had to know for sure. That's why I struck up a conversation with the soldier who turned out to be Vernon Gower. That's why I believed his story that he'd missed his connecting train home. That's why I drove him in my automobile the one hundred miles to get him there. That's why I kept driving even as his story, little by little, fell apart, and despite my faltering faith in him, I continued driving all the way until we were parked in front of his little matchbox house in Lexington, Missouri.

I did it because he looked like Ernie. I was vulnerable. The service banners made me so, but for good purpose.

Pvt. Vernon Gower made it home for Christmas. His corpse was lying frozen in a Belgian field, but his wife and children got his gifts nonetheless, courtesy of me. I bought them. I delivered them, and then I plucked his family from the squalor in which they were living and drove them to Kansas City so they could start their lives anew.

Maybe you don't believe in ghosts. I'm okay with that, and you can call me crazy if you like, but I attest to having seen two spirits in my lifetime. One living under a river bridge in 1938 at the WPA camp where I first met Ernest Surbaugh. The other a victim of the Malmedy Massacre who needed a man of this world to give his family some sort of Christmas.

And what was my reward for my good deed on Pvt. Gower's behalf? Just before leaving for his wherever destination, just after midnight on Christmas Eve, 1944, Vernon Gower assured me that my Ernie was all right. Ernest marched with Patton's Third Army in a dash toward Belgium to break the German lines and relieve the Allied soldiers under seige.

Pvt. Gower's gift to me far outweighed anything I could and did do for his wife and children. Vernon Gower gave me peace. I clinged to what he told me. Believed every word, and around the time Soviet soldiers entered Berlin, May of 1945, I received my first letter from Ernie since Vernon Gower had said what he'd said. All was confirmed, and soon afterward, Ernie came home for good.

My next Christmas, and all those which followed, were spent with a man of this world. One I could touch, hold, breathe in and taste. A man I could keep as mine until the end of my days. My soldier. Ernest Surbaugh.

Jardonn Smith

MLR PRESS

Read excerpt HERE.

Plethora of Art III

2011-05-13T13:41:00.000-05:00

The highest number of votes received in Slot 2 was for Black Gold, cover by P.I. Nunn.

Now, time to vote in Slot 3 and your link is here:

Elisa Rolle - My Reviews and Ramblings