This is my final post before The Right Words is released in the wee hours of the morning Friday, December 12. Thank you all for tuning in. Hopefully you have a little taste now for LA freeways and interior design. There is obviously so much more to say, but hey… it’s a start! Lane and I have an agreement. I’m trying to be good. 😉
I’ve promised poetry and literature today, but I think what this crowd really wants is a good MM book discussion about sexy muscled men in underwear and tats and— oh wait. That’s me? Guilty! We’ll get there, but first let’s examine the art of reading. There should be a study about why certain genres appeal to us more than others. Some people are crazy about mysteries. Others are addicted to Sci-fi or Paranormal or gasp!…Romance!
If I had to commit to one, I’d probably say Classical Literature with a romantic bent is my favorite. And the reason is simple. The gorgeous words. Have you ever read a book that could literally make you swoon with the perfection of a flawless turn of phrase? God, I have. It’s as orgasmic as reading the most incendiary male on male erotica. Lol. Whoa! Major exaggeration. 😉 Perhaps the Classics won’t make you desperately wish your man would get the hell home or that the batteries in your vibrator are still in working order, but the best ones do something very special…they make you think.
Take this throw away line from Jane Austen in Pride and Prejudice for example, “I have not the pleasure of understanding you.” The subtle twist of words can imply a few different things. All very clever variations of a modern, “you’re really fucking exasperating, dude!”.
Or how about this quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night, “He used to think that he wanted to be good, he wanted to be kind, he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit it in.”
I think Fitzgerald was extraordinarily clever, but he was also poignant. That book was written eighty years ago, but it resonates. We want it all, including love. You can read a little further into the quote and think about what gets lost in the pursuit of professional excellence, social prominence and personal happiness. Can anyone really have it all? Is that something to aspire to? Hmm. It makes you think.
Now the flip side to the reading preference argument might be as simple as wanting the suspense, drama or romance without having to think too much or worrying that you missed something in the nuance of outdated colloquialisms. The perfect beach read can be a thing of beauty! I love Romance. Throw in some hot sex scenes and wow… sold! I’m with most people in that I adore “opposites attract” stories. The geek and the jock. Cowboy, city boy, Prince and the Pauper. You get the gist. I know the titillation factor is a plus but I will say, I think the best MM books are a reflection of the times. Coming out, fitting in, overcoming tragedy. And better still is when the characters are relatable. Do you agree? Or is it really all about sex? 🙂
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg
To me, poetry is the hum of reality hidden between words. Kind of like the music you hear floating between the notes. I’m probably quoting someone here, but I believe the best things can be the simplest joys. Walks in the rain, sharing a cup of coffee with your man. The poetry is the sound of the rain against your umbrella as you stand waiting for your lover. It’s the smell of the coffee when he smiles at you and brushes your hair from your eyes. Words that make the sense come alive. I’ll leave you with a quote from Pablo Neruda and dedicate to the man I love. ❤
I hope you all enjoy The Right Words. 2 days and counting.. Woohoo! If you haven’t pre-ordered, you may do so here. And as promised, there’s a small excerpt too.
Thank you readers! May you all find the right words when you need them most.
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
The Right Words by Lane Hayes
I navigated the darkened overgrown pathway toward the side of the main house with care. It was damn near jungle-like in certain areas. I was engaged in a full conversation with myself regarding an outdoor to-do list when I heard a noise. I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart started pounding and my palms felt instantly clammy. God, I was ridiculous! Or was I? What if Jamie came back to kill Michael in his sleep? What if he— That didn’t make sense, though. He wanted money and a dead man couldn’t pay him. Dead. Oh fuck. Why couldn’t I take a simple walk in the dark without freaking out? It was probably some kind of nocturnal animal, like a rabbit or maybe a raccoon. I didn’t even know if there were raccoons this close to the ocean. I willed my breathing to slow so I could concentrate.
There it was again. A moan.
Oh my God! Was someone injured? Was it Michael? Was Jovan the Gorgeous really Jovan the Terrible? Was he in cahoots with Jamie? Had he done something to Michael and left him bleeding, helpless, and hopeless? I felt my cool slip and spiral away. My flair for melodrama was being tested for sure. I listened and once again heard the moaning noise. But this time I recognized it.
I felt a fit of inappropriate laughter bubble up as I heard the unmistakable sound of lovemaking in progress. A soft gasp, a low groan. Not my business, but I was suddenly in a sticky situation. It was so damn dark and the foliage was so dense, I was sure to give myself away if I moved too quickly. I needed to let my eyes acclimate and then find the quietest way back to the studio. I silently reprimanded myself. I should have just driven back. Now I was forced to hear sex in progress. I could have stayed at Brandon’s for that. I could hear whispers and an almost-pained-sounding grunt before I heard the first urgent request for more.
“Oh yeah. Fuck. Right there. Oh… yes.”
“You like that? You ready for me? You want it hard? Tell me.”
“Yes. Fuck me hard. Fuck me!”
Neither voice sounded like Michael’s, though. I don’t know what I expected, but it sounded like I was listening to him watch porn. I wasn’t a porn aficionado, but I’d watched enough to tell the nuances between actual sex in progress and something staged. Bed springs creaked, and a steady pounding of flesh accompanied now by louder groans drifted out the open window of Michael’s bedroom. I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry, and I felt suddenly overly warm in spite of the slight chill in the September evening. I heard Michael’s soft laugh and knew I’d been correct. He was watching, not doing. Another voice, probably Jovan’s, answered, and they both laughed. Were they watching together? Maybe he really was a “happy ending” masseuse. When I heard another strangled round of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I turned on my heel and made my move back toward the studio.
I stood like a deer in headlights at the bottom of the steps near the garage attempting to clear my head. Trying to go to sleep now was a joke. Just picturing my handsome client with the tall, hunky Jovan was enough to make me hard. Darker skin on lighter skin and… shit. I reached down to cup my swollen flesh through my khaki pants. This had to be one of the strangest situations I’d ever found myself in. I was confused but wildly turned-on from accidentally eavesdropping on two guys watching two guys have sex. What the hell was wrong with me?