Fridays at Ofelia’s | Call Me Methuselah by R.G. Hendrickson

Guest-Post

We have R.G. Hendrickson today, sharing a little bit about his new book, Call Me Methuselah, scheduled for release on November 27. Half of the story takes place in a prehistoric time, and the other half in the present. In both parts, the main character is the same person, who by some quirk of nature remains young. The romance in the past influences the developing romance in the present. This is a book for those who enjoy a fantasy/science fiction subplot.

Excerpt:

No blood nor gore in sight, I worried that the crocodile had eaten him already, tossed him in the air, and swallowed him whole. Relieved that I didn’t have to fight that monster, I dived down again near the bottom, where the crocodile might not follow me. Its big tail wagged above my head and passed me by.

As I turned to swim away, I found the drowned man sinking. All in one piece, he must have submerged before the crocodile arrived. His eyes were blank, and his many skinny braids floated and twisted like snakes around his head.

No time to waste, I grabbed his hair and pulled him along with me. His husky body nearly weightless underwater, I held on with one hand. My legs and the free arm enough for swimming, I towed him toward a safer shore, near the ledge from where I’d first spotted him that morning.

When I could hold my breath no longer, I surfaced and looked for the croc. No sign of it, maybe it returned to the beach. They didn’t like it here by this cliff with its deep water and jagged rocks. I slipped through the outcrops, as I’d done since a boy.

Losing my loincloth along the way, I struggled to shore with the stranger in tow. By his armpits, I dragged him out of the waves to dry gravel and avoided his eyes. They were open, unblinking, and vacant.

With both my hands, I felt his neck for signs of life, warm but motionless. His mouth was full of water, which trickled out. He was dead.

Remembering him gives me pause. Lately, I’ve pondered my own mortality. Hence, this memoir, I’m not ready.

More the reason for starting in a happier time, the beginning, long ago on that lake with my first love.

We were so much alike then, young and invincible. Only for me, invincibility was no youthful fantasy.

I’ve never stopped missing him. Not to complain, that wouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t me who had to die, and even while grieving, there’s joy in life.

Enough said. On with the story.

The dead man’s eyes bewildered me. I couldn’t bear to look at them or make myself look away. Though we were strangers, we’d faced a monster crocodile together and escaped it. Few friends could say that. As tears blurred my vision, I covered his face with my hands and brushed his eyelids closed.

Then I remembered the words of my father. A boy had drowned. His brother pushed the water out of him, and the boy came back.

Worth a try with this man, I pressed hard on his tight stomach, just below the ribs, and water sprayed from his mouth. Worried I’d hurt him, I checked his face for signs of pain. He showed no expression but peace, a haunting beauty, and over his lips more water flowed.

When I pressed again, he twitched. His eyes opened wide, and when he rolled on his side, lake water spewed out his mouth. Then, to my considerable relief, he coughed and took a deep loud breath. We gazed at each other in the eye and lingered there.

No, he doesn’t die that day, and I get to meet him after all. He’ll be the love of my life. I know this now, a long time later …

Blurb:

call me methuselahSince humanity’s first steps in the Stone Age, Methuselah has harbored an ancient secret. Cursed by the shaman to witness the end of days, he searches in vain for a home, place to place, clan to clan, yearning to belong. First in prehistoric Africa and lately disillusioned with love for a hundred years in the New World, he learns all too well to guard his heart and hide his story. That changes when a car crash lands him in the hospital with a fractured skull. Doctors discover strange stem cells in his blood, promising cures and a fountain of youth. Methuselah faces choices of life and death.

Forced on the run again, he comforts himself by reliving a happier time, when he and Arrow, his first love, raft across the paleo-lake Makgadikgadi, which rested in those days on the vast Kalahari. In their age-old journey, the cavemen lovers find a place to call home and learn what it means to belong.

While Arrow’s enlightened sensibilities get the two of them in trouble and challenge Methuselah’s judgement, their adventures in an untamed world bring them together. When Methuselah’s enduring youth reveals itself through the passing seasons, he and Arrow bravely face a dire reality.

From the distant past that lives inside Methuselah, Arrow’s spirit reaches out, providing guidance for our threatened times. He gives Methuselah the strength to do the right thing and the courage to live his true self in the modern world. Arrow’s memory opens Methuselah’s heart and renews for him a hope of redemption in the arms of a caring man today. If only Methuselah permits himself to love once more.

Buy link:

Gay Fantasy Romance: 83,343 words 

Pre-order at JMS Books (20% off) 

About R.G. Hendrickson 

R.G. Hendrickson loves words for the feelings they evoke. Though relatively new to writing, he draws on experience from a long life and strong imagination. In his M/M romance, you’ll find quirky characters and fantasy/science fiction subplots.

If you take a chance on his book, he would love to hear your thoughts about it, whatever they are. He also enjoys receiving critiques from the writers group that he attends weekly online from his home in Las Vegas.

Guest Post | Drown The Man by Jaymie Wagner

Trick or Treat

Today, Jaymie Wagner is on a visit to talk about Drown The Man. Welcome Jaymie!

“Who Are You?” is a really powerful question.  

For me, as a trans woman, it’s a question that I was asking on one level or another for more than thirty years. Each time I found an answer that I thought was “THE Answer”, I would eventually find another layer, until I finally accepted who I really was inside.  

It’s hard to look at yourself and try to pull away the different identities we wrap ourselves in to find the core person underneath. Sometimes it’s much easier to lean into some of those layers than take them off. We identify with where we came from, or what we do. We buy clothes to project a certain image, listen to certain kinds of music, and the list goes on and on.  

Drown The Man is a story about someone who is asked “Who Are You?”, and their introspection gets a serious jumpstart from a woman who is more than she seems. 

Alyona’s head tilted slightly. “You don’t want to have dinner with me?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Kolya objected, trying to keep his voice from giving away the sudden butterflies in his stomach. “I would love to have dinner with you if that is what you want, but I don’t like being caught in old men’s schemes either. If you just want to go home, I’ll take you. If you want to leave, I’ll tell them you refused. Father keeps telling me to be a gentleman, after all.” 

Alyona’s eyebrow rose. “Are you not gentle? Or are you not a man?” 

Koyla shrugged. “I’m from Jersey.” 

She unfolded her arms and shrugged. “Then I suppose I could eat something.” 

It’s a story about two people falling in love. It’s a story about deciding what matters to you. It’s a story about identity. It’s a story about gender, and about how far you are willing to go once you understand who you are, deep down.  

I had a lot of fun writing it, and I am hoping you’ll enjoy reading it just as much! 

Drown The Man

Kolya Agapov has been trapped in a life he never wanted to live, but an encounter with the beautiful Alyona might just change his life…or end it.  

Drown The Man will be available starting October 27th as an ebook from JMS Books, and if you enjoy it, I’d suggest checking out my queer and supernatural erotica stories in the He Will Obey and The Femdom Coven anthologies. I’m also going to have a story published in Heckin’ Lewd: A Trans and Nonbinary Erotica Anthology this summer from Bold Strokes Books! 

Last but not least, I have a twitter account called Fantasies Fractured where I share microfiction and other fun ideas, and I will have a queer romance story, Holiday Garage, published by JMS Books for the holidays!

Guest Post | Findley Black and the Ghosts of Printer’s Devil

Trick or Treat

Today, my longtime author friend, Amy Spector, is here on a visit! Welcome, Amy

Thank you, Ofelia, for inviting me to pop over to your blog today!

Happy October! This is a time for all things spooky, and spooky books are my favorite—I should point out that I typoed that as spooky boys before I corrected it. Both are true!—but it’s been some time since I’ve had an October book release.

This year I have two!

Today is officially release day for Findley Black and the Ghosts of Printer’s Devil and I’m super excited to introduce it to the world!

Stripped to the bare bones, Findley Black and the Ghosts of Printer’s Devil is about a lonely man that inherits Printer’s Devil, a purportedly haunted bookstore—raise your hand if, like me, that too is your dream—and his attempts to get laid on Halloween.

It’s a little humor, a little angst, a little spooky, and just a lot of fun.

Printer’s Devil is actually loosely based on a bookstore not far from my house, in German Village in Columbus, Ohio.

In real life, the Printer’s Devil is called the Book Loft, and it’s a 32-room maze of book madness created from several buildings, some of which date back to before the U.S. Civil War.

At different times throughout the years, the buildings held a saloon, a nickelodeon movie theater, with the upstairs rooms occupied by everything from a church, and a school, to an art studio and flower shop—and a whole bunch of other stuff.

Findley Black #1 Banner

If you’re not too many miles of Columbus or passing through, the Book Loft is definitely worth a stop.

If you’re interested in a little Halloween fun, check out the blurb and excerpt below.

Findley Black and the Ghosts of Printer’s Devil

Starting over at thirty-four is harder than Owen Key expected. Lonelier too. There’s Bella, and the odd assortment of kids he’d inherited when a father he barely knew left him Printer’s Devil. But his bookstore employees and his cat aren’t much good when it comes to getting laid.

Findley Black says a lot of things. At least according to everyone at the store. When Owen runs into him for the first time during one of his ghost tours, with his leather jacket and flirtatious looks, Owen finds himself more than interested in what he has to say.

Owen may have been hoping for a one-night-stand, but when Findley asks to stay the remainder of Halloween night in the Printer’s Devil in hopes of seeing the ghost of a serial killer, he finds it hard to say no.

Halloween is a time for ghost stories and trick or treat. But running out of candy is a bad omen, and it’s hard to get lucky when something otherworldly seems determined to ruin your night.

Excerpt:

And that, my friends,” the guide raised his voice and the noisiness of the group died away. “Was the true story of the murderess Elizabeth Wells and the ghosts of the Printer’s Devil.”

The crowd broke out in applause and Owen stopped in his tracks and turned back.

The shop was supposed to be haunted?

For those of you not quite ready to call it a night, across the street you’ll see Yearling. Founded in 1809, it’s one of the oldest, continually operating taprooms in the city. The woodwork alone makes it well worth a visit. For anyone interested, show your ticket and get one free drink. I’ll be grabbing a pint myself.”

The group applauded, many yelling their thanks, others wishing the guide a happy Halloween. A few more hanged around to ask questions. Once the crowd had finally dispersed—most headed off in search of where they parked, the others crossing the street to the bar—the guide threw a look over his shoulder, almost as if he’d known Owen would still be there and gave him that wicked smile again.

An invitation? Yeah, definitely an invitation.

When the man turned and started his own slow stroll across the four lanes, Owen gripped the strap of his bag and jogged to catch up.

Okay if I join you?” A good, neutral start. Just in case what Owen was hoping for was nothing at all like what the other man had in mind.

Alex was your dad, right?”

No, David Key had been Owen’s dad. Alexander Kemp had just been his father. “Biological. Yeah.”

The guy held out his hand, and Owen shook it. It was rough, with long fingers and Owen tucked that information aside for use later. Again, just in case they weren’t interested in the same thing.

Findley Black.”

So, this was Kayla’s infamous Findley? “Owen Key.”

Alex talked a lot about you. He was—”

Don’t tell me.” Owen had heard the same words about a million times in the last three months. “A good man?”

Findley laughed. It was a sexy laugh. “No. He was an asshole. But an interesting one.”

That made Owen smile. It was refreshing to meet someone with nearly as low an opinion of the man who had sired Owen as he had himself. “Refreshing to hear.”

Doesn’t mean I didn’t like the guy.”

When they pushed inside, Yearling was as impressive as Findley Black had promised the group. The entire place gleamed, the low light playing off the well-polished cherry wood that covered the floors and walls, the tall-backed booths, and the long bar that ran the length of the wall at the far end of the room. It smelled of wax and alcohol, and of cigar smoke, even though it probably hadn’t been smoked in for close to two decades.

They worked their way through the crowd to the bar and Owen ordered one of the on-tap specials. Findley ordered the same.

At nearly midnight, the place was pretty well full with the weekend crowd and a large group of college students in a celebratory mood, but Findley pointed to an empty, two-top booth pressed up against the front window with a view of the street outside and a sign that read RESERVED. “I have my own spot.”

Convenient.” Owen wondered if Findley picked someone up after every tour. “No doubt it comes in handy.”

A perk for sending business their way.”

At the booth, Findley pushed the sign aside before he slipped in and Owen slid in across from him.

I have a question.” Technically Owen had two questions, but felt are you gay would be best left until later. “How’d you know who I was? It couldn’t have been my looks.”

No.” Findley laughed again. “Definitely not your looks.”

Alexander Kemp had been a big man, tall, with wide shoulders, square features, and a jet-black mop. Except for his height, Owen took almost exclusively after his mother. From his warm complexion and chestnut-colored hair to his taste in music and gold-brown eyes. And his nose. Owen could not have been more thankful that he’d inherited his mother’s nose.”

Then how?”

Micah told me you were closing for him tonight.”

Of course.” Owen laughed at himself before taking a sip of his beer. He was not much of a beer drinker but this one wasn’t too bad—smokey, with only a hint of sweet.

Bet I can guess why you decided to join me.” Findley smiled and Owen stilled, mid-sip, an image of fumbling with Findley in a bathroom stall flashing through his mind.

Why?”

Elizabeth Wells and the ghosts.”

Ah, that. Owen had nearly forgotten.

You can pick up Findley Black and the Ghosts of Printer’s Devil from you preferred online retailer by clicking the link below:

books2read.com/findleyblack

You can also pick up the book directly from the publisher, and save 20% now through November 2nd.

https://www.jms-books.com/amy-spector-c-224_504/findley-black-and-the-ghosts-of-printers-devil-p-3989.html

Want to read another excerpt? Check out my website below:

http://www.amyspectorauthor.com/standalone/#FindleyBlack

COMING OCTOBER 31st

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About Amy Spector

Ruby Shoes

Amy grew up in the United States surviving on a steady diet of old horror movies, television reruns and mystery novels.

After years of blogging about comic books, vintage Gothic romance book cover illustrations, and a shameful amount about herself, she decided to try her hand at writing stories. She found it more than a little like talking about herself in third person, and that suited her just fine.

She blames Universal for her love of horror, Edward Gorey for her love of British drama and writing for awakening the romantic that was probably there all along.

Amy lives in the Midwest with her husband and children, and her cats Poe, Goji and Nekō. 

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