Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Me2: Chapter 1

(from M.Christian's Queer Imaginings)

As part of a huge - and much needed - marketing push, I'm going to be serializing a few of my all-time favorite books ... starting with the (ahem) rather infamous novel that I may or may not have actually written: Me2


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0092B8VOA/ref=cm_sw_su_dp

"Absolutely brilliant!" says Lisabet Sarai, author of Incognito and Fire, about Lambda finalist M. Christian's controversial manlove horror/thriller. 

He looks just like you. He acts exactly like you. He takes away your job. He steals your friends. He seduces your male lover. None of them can tell the difference. Every day he becomes more and more like you, pushing you out of your own life, taking away what was yours … until there’s nothing left. Where did he come from? Robot? Alien? Clone? Doppelganger? Evil twin? Long lost brother? Then you discover there are still more "yous." Can you be sure you are the real you? And how do you fight to take your own life back? 

An absorbing new approach to the question of identity, Me2 is a groundbreaking gay chiller you’ll remember for a long time – no matter who you are, or who you think you may be. 

(Despite rumors that this book was written by an impostor - but, rest assured, this is the real 'M.Christian.' Accept no substitutes!)



Chapter 1
Me



"They're everywhere.  Here, there – even next to here, even close to there.  You see them all the time, but you don't see them ... understand?  You look right into their eyes but don't know what they are inside, down deep, where their real selves are – where it really matters.

"I knew you'd say that.  Heard it a million times ... nah, more than a million times.  Billions.  Billions of times.  More than billions ... what's more than a billion-billion?  Is it something like a gazillion, a multi-billion?  Gigillion?

"Heard it lots.  That's good enough to say I guess.  Lots.  But lots more than lots.  Like, when I say 'lots' you take the number that comes to mind and you add it by another billion – and then add that by still more billions.  That would only be a bit of the real number of times I've heard it.

"Just like you, they say 'You're nuts' when I tell them the truth of what's going on, what's up, what's happening.  Bonkers, mad, insane – majorly, completely, totally – fucked up.  That's me ... I mean, that's not me.  Really!  That's just what they say when I say what I say, when I tell them about the shit going down.  I'm not crazy, though.  Lots of other things, sure – but then who isn't, right?  But I'm not.  Crazy, I mean.

"I know how it sounds.  I do.  Really.  But I say it anyway, because someone has to say it.  Even if they do say I'm not right in the head when I say it.

"But aliens are out there.  Here, I mean.

"Don't look at me that way.  You know what I mean, like I'm crazy or something.  Everyone looks at me that way when I tell them the truth – or did I say that already?  Not about the aliens, I mean, but that people always say I'm fucked up when I tell them.  I did say that, didn't I?

"But not because of the aliens.  They're there.  You know it.  Don't tell me you don't.  You see them all the time.  There might be one standing behind me, or next to you, or in front of you, or next to you when you ride the bus ... or do you drive?  They're like the guy my friend Larry saw while he was at the clinic waiting for his meds.  He told me – and I trust Larry in this even though he really is nuts, but never about the aliens – that he could just tell, you know, that there was this guy there who wasn't ... like the rest of us.  Humans, I mean.  And when someone just isn't human then what else could they be but an alien, right?  Doesn't that make sense?  I think it does.  That's not the kind of logic a real crazy person would use – is it?

"Nah, I don't know where they come from.  I'm not an astrologist.  Maybe nearby, like Mars or Venus or Vulcan, or maybe somewhere real far away.  Don't know how they get here, either: ships, or rays, or maybe they have homes and stuff.  But they're here.

"Here and everywhere.  Everywhere ... but they're aliens, see?  So they don't quite 'get' us, what it means to be us.  And that's what fucks them up.  All of us got all our guts in the right places, the right spine, the correct feet ... but the aliens, they aren't born like us.  I don't know how they come out – hatched, grown, built, whatever – but they don't have mothers or fathers.  They have to copy the rest of us who do ... have mothers and fathers I mean.  Not that having them is good, you understand, mothers and fathers I mean.  Fathers, especially.  Like mine.  Not to complain, you know.  Just that sometimes having one – like mine – isn't a good thing.

"But having one – even a bastard like mine – makes us people, right?  They don't have one, or a mother either, and because of that they have to cheat.

"So what they do is they just look around, right?  They look at us and find one that looks right to them.  Maybe pretty because – I don't know – they want to be pretty if they are a girl, or handsome if they are a boy, or maybe they think ugly is pretty, or pretty is ugly, whatever.  I don't know what they think, or why they do it, because they're aliens, right?  And no one can know what an alien thinks.  But they do look at us, you can tell that, and after they look at us they go back to their planet, or their ship, or their houses and they put on makeup and all, fake faces, like masks, maybe even fake eyes and fake hands like you see in the movies, and because they do, these aliens, and you can't tell one of them from one of us.

"But they aren't like us, or they can just pretend to be like us, like humans I mean.  That's how you can tell that they aren't like us, because they look just like us.

"Why?  Don't know that.  They're aliens, right?  They do alien things because they like alien things for alien reasons.  I used to think they wanted our jobs, like Mexicans, but no one wants to do our jobs, not even Mexicans.  Then I thought they might want our human women, like maybe they don't have any where they're from.  But if they do then why don't they all look like movie stars?  They could want to take over, but I'll tell you, friend, I hope they do because even something with alien arms and weird, creepy alien eyes could probably do a better job than those fuckheads in Washington.  Or they could just need water, food, or shit like that.  Or they might just want a new place to live.  Like I said, they're aliens – so I don't know why they're here, just that they're all over place, looking just like us.

"Hmm?  Yeah, I guess that could be it.  But like I said I don't know why they're here, just that they are.  They could be here, like you said, because they just like to look like us and all, like maybe they are real ugly – ugly, ugly, ugly, and we might be the best looking folks in the universe.  Maybe, but – well, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

* * * *

Morning.  Belch.  Monday morning, double belch in a venti cup.  Nothing special in that: lots of people hate mornings.  Hell, everyone hates Monday mornings.

Blink, blink, blink.  The red numbers on my nightstand still there, still too high, no matter how many times I blinked, hoping each time I wasn't reading them right.

But I was reading them right.  I was also late. 

Crap.  No, not just crap: double crap in a venti cup.

Covers tossed aside, I jumped – or rather stumbled – out and into the bathroom.  Hello, me, I thought, greeting my reflection, my face hovering in the mirror above the sink.  My blondness looked to be inching toward too long, and bit jagged with imminent shag, but nothing to worry about – for today.  Note to self: schedule time for a trim, then a shampoo and repeat.

Skin looked clear, no obviously pitted pores, no unnecessary roughness; but you – or more importantly I – could never be too careful.  Lepers might only be on basic cable's 10 Commandments, but zits were the next best – I mean worst – thing.  Second note to same self: while getting my locks done, also get a peel.

Above the cheeks, below my hairline, no red beyond the blues of my eyes.  I heard that they could even bleach it out when it did appear.  It hadn't, but still it might be worth asking about when I got clipped and slathered.

Was that ... well, not yellow, not yet, but they weren't as pearly as they could be.  So, another note, this time for my dentist to bright them back up to their brilliant best.  "Your teeth say hello long before your voice does."  GQEsquireMen?  Couldn't remember which – just that the headline sounded too true not to be.

Piss, comb, brush, exfoliate, deodorate – then back to the bedroom.  This time I knew it was Men, because the July issue was still there on my nightstand, folded back to "The Boys of Summer."  The second page of the spread on top, all Cape Cod dazzling blue-sky backdrop, sand under his sandaled feet, the model all tightly gleaming youth.

Late – very late – sure, but I hadn't spent Saturday and Sunday shopping to go out on Monday with what I'd been wearing on Friday.  Diesel, Gap, Nordstrom, opened and tags carefully cut off with the manicure scissors from the nightstand's drawer.  Shirt, drawers, shirt, sandals, then my closet door full-length reflection with a grin to the Mr. July who smiled back at me.  If my supervisor saw me without my regulation black shirt and pants ... well, there are jobs and then there are jobs, but looking good is better than anything.

Now it was time to get going – or at least not to be so late.  On the way to the door a glance back to the white elegance of my Mac.  Nope, no time to check my email.  That was an option.  What wasn't was the silver elegance of my cell phone, which went in a "Boys of Summer" pocket.

The hall outside my apartment door was cool, dark, and way too long: more like winter rather than the cloudless summer I'd seen going to and coming back from work on Friday and retailing on the weekend.

It only got darker and colder after a trip down in the elevator.  Arms crossed, goose bumps not at all complementing my Boy of Summer self, I walked past spaces, 112, 113 and then to 114, where my 115 Volkswagon GTI sparkled.

Fishing out my keys, Dad was there in my brain, brought up with the clinking metal echoing in the garage and the smooth plastic in my hand.  When I told him about the make and model, he'd originally tisked and tutted, vanishing for a few months into Consumer Reports, only to finally emerge during one of our monthly family phone calls to say that he thought it had been" a good decision," his tone of voice clearly making his agreement with something I'd done a too rare event.

Key going from fished out to lock inserted, I thanked dad for his 'support' in my 'intelligent' and 'well thought out' decision.  Sliding into the driver's seat, twisting my carefully gym-toned butt into the leather, I adjusted the rearview, putting on my best Boy of Summer grin at how my 'intelligent' and 'well thought out' buy made me look so damned good.

Turn of key, spin of wheel, back out and then forward and up the way-too-steep ramp, out of the cool darkness of the garage and into a dazzling, blinking, summer morning: feeling damned good, and looking even better.

* * * *

"Bet they'd even follow us home," Buddy said once, talking about driving the same route over and over again and how our cars could probably do it by themselves by this time.  Shake things up by taking the bus home and there they'd be in the garage when you got there, wounded expressions on their chrome faces.

His car, maybe.  Mine was a bit more absent-minded.  Rather than letting it take me from my apartment to work, I had to put it in the right lane, pay close attention to the correct number of stoplights, and keep an eye out for the proper landmarks.

Martin Luther King Boulevard was a wide and busy one.  Waiting in the left-hand turn lane to merge with it, I checked myself in the rearview, noticing a stray lock of blond.  Sighing at the betrayal of yet another product recommendation, I managed to tame it just before the green arrow popped up.

The road split in two, one side staying MLK, the other the beginning of Main.  It was a weird corner, a triangular oddball in the usual grid, a marker obvious enough for my ditsy car to drive it without a thought in my head.

So, what to do tonight?

I could go out, of course.  Light dinner at the scene of the season, or a casual diner at an acceptably tawdry eatery.  From there a cruise down to a few of my favorite spots to check out some batting eyes, bump some hips, and stroke some chests all toward some possible early week play.  So far my dance card had been nicely filled with a good number of guys between the sheets, or even in the damp darkness between buildings.  A stud?  Not really, certainly not like the one I wanted to be.  But I sure wasn't a blushing, stammering, shoulder-rocking, eye-drooped wallflower.

There was always Buddy, of course.  Speaking of blushing, stammering, shoulder-rocking, eye-drooped wallflowers.  Buddy wasn't his real name, but that's what he was to me, so that's what I called him.  That's all he was to me.  But for a blushing, stammering, shoulder-rocking, eye-drooped wallflower he was still kinda fun to hang out with.

But so much for him (I remembered): Buddy had some kind of temp gig that began at neon-switch-on-time and ended too-damned-late, and he was stuck on it for the next few days.  Setting up a new office for some kind of mortgage company, I think.  Poor guy.  My own employment definitely sucked – sometimes with extreme determination – but at least I had from neon-switch-on-time to too-damned-late to put it behind me.

Blink, blink, blink.  Shit, did I miss the turn?  Luck was a red light and a quick turn left and then right, trying to get my bearings.  Dirty-windowed Domino's on one side, McDonald's on the other, across the intersection a Burger King.  Ah, behind the Burger King was a familiar sign, meaning I hadn't overshot.  Passing the Carpeteria, I gave it a friendly salute, the shoppers inside too focused on either indoor or outdoor styles to notice.

Turning into the packing lot, I winced at the time on the dash.  Crap.  Crud.  Corruption.  Way beyond the "fifteen minutes of safety."  I wasn't supposed to park in front, but I did anyway, sliding the Volks into a no-man's-land space between the Blockbuster and the Site For Sore Eyes.

Mumbling the Prayer of the Late Employee – which went something like "please don't notice" or "be in a good mood" – I jogged down the sidewalk.  Before hitting the door, I sighed that there were only two people behind the counter: Black Girl with Attitude, and Hippie.  Whew, no sign of a supervisor, for which I thanked the slacker gods, promising I'd stay home and tap the remote and gulp beer in praise of their intervention.

I got a "you're so lucky, dude" expression from the Hippie, and a "fucking asshole" one from BGWA.  Coming around the counter, I gave them both a quick nod – agreeing with both of them – punched myself in, and grabbed my green apron.

Welcome to work.  Burner of days, deliverer of money.  Too much of one, not enough of the other, but who was I to complain?

Dad, of course, thought I was wasting my life.  When it came up, and it always did, I explained that it was a good gig – something that provided regular bucks, and even pretty good health insurance.  I sure as shit didn't want to do it for the rest of my life, but it was an adequate enough situation while I weighed my various career options.  That my temporary situation had so far gone on for three years and that my various career options equaled a big, fat goose egg was also something that always seemed to come up during our monthly spats ... I mean calls.  Mom didn't seem to care one way or another, everything was fine with her as long as I was happy.

I was here and they were there, a chasm of more than a thousand or so cashed-in frequent flyer miles.  I tried to imagine how their minds worked: jobs were for life, sex was mostly secret and too often shameful, America was the Greatest Country in the World, pants for men, skirts for girls, and gay people should always be secret and always shameful.  I tried, like I said, but I always had a headache afterwards.

My life was good enough.  I had people (beyond my 'not really a boyfriend'), movies to see, magazines to read, clubs to club, shops to shop, a gym to keep me tight and firm, vacations to plan, eateries to try, and an easy enough job that kept it all going.  It wasn't a big life, extra shiny, well-padded, or splashed on headlines, but then most people's weren't.  Sure there were things I would liked to have changed, and who knows?  – maybe someday I'd have that Porsche, that Architectural Digest house with that House and Garden backyard, a film career, a picture-perfect boyfriend who was also a picture perfect model, but for now it was all average, ordinary, and agreeably satisfactory.

It was then that the place began to hop, the second surging wave of sleepy-eyed commuters on their way to their own life-enabling jobs pushing through the doors and wobbling toward the counter.

Assuming the recommended frozen smile, chipper tone, and plastic politeness I took the disliked position of manning the register as an act of penance.

Saying "Welcome to Starbucks," I began another day at work.

* * * *

Ding.  "Thanks for stopping by."  Ding.  "Have a nice day."  Ding.  "Thank goodness the weekend's almost here, eh?"  Ding.  "Have a real nice day."  Ding.  "Be excellent to one another."  Ding.  "See you tomorrow."  Ding.  "Love the sweater."  Ding.  "Have a damned nice day."  Ding.  "Don't work too hard, okay?"  Ding.  Ding.  Ding.

The Volkswagon parked outside might not be smart enough to get home on its own, but I was a real efficient autopilot.  Prop me up in front of the register and the machine gets going, the numbers begin flashing, and the drawer starts popping – and then the register revs up.

Briefcase in hand – who carries those anymore?  – was the stiff and ironed Double Espresso.  Handing him his Tall, I imagined the cup as cardboard outside but a steaming hot jungle with pounding native drums inside.

Caramel Macchiato was right behind him.  A schoolteacher type, all mom and graying curls, she sipped her grande with a look of religious ecstasy on her beginning-to-wrinkle apple face.  Watching her moment of caffeinated bliss, it was easy to see her bouncing off the playroom walls with her terrible-two students – and then crashing along with them when it was nap time.

Next was Cinnamon Dolce Latte, but not just a Cinnamon Dolce Latte – heaven forbid she'd only order a plain and simple Cinnamon Dolce Latte.  No, she had to have it with this much cinnamon, that much Dolce, only the right kind of espresso, with this measure of steam, a cup from the center of the stack, a lid from a fresh box, and a wooden stirrer untouched by human hands.  The joke goes that that the length of an order is directly proportional to the amount of assholeness in the orderer.  Ms. Cinnamon Dolce Latte was definitely one, so long was the order, and so great her anus that I doubt she could sit down for fear of it swallowing the chair.

Hands softly curled together, head gently bowed, native-sewn skirt, peasant blouse, Tazo Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Creme with Melon Syrup was ordered with a voice like temple bells.  Even though her order was long, it was simple and spiritual.  Accepting her drink, she bowed ever-so-slightly before shuffling out the door.  Even though she ordered it with a chiming voice, the order was still long – and she was still an asshole.  Through the front window I saw her climb behind the wheel of a mountainous SUV, dreamcatcher hanging from the rear view mirror.

Then there was Just Coffee.  God, not Just Coffee.  The day is "special" when he shows up.  "Special" meaning extra crappy.  No Breakfast Blend, no Brazilian Ipanema Bourbon, no Guatemala Antigua, no Gold Coast, no Yukon – Just Coffee.  Not in a tall, not in a grande, not in a venti.  Just Coffee, in a medium cup.

Funny, he doesn't look insane.  Every blue moon or so someone wanders in, their eyes bright and clear with innocence, faces a moon glow of childish delight, and orders a 'coffee' in a 'medium' cup.  Innocent, childish, until my Hippie or BGWA Starbucks pal of the week runs them through the laundry list of flavors, cup sizes, and all the rest, with our plastic smiles on our plastic faces.  But Just Coffee was different.  No matter how many times we tried, he just never got it.

The worst of it was that the day had ebbed, the commuters were on their way to their various destinations, and the place was practically empty.  With only an audience of employees, he could (sigh) chat a bit more than usual.  "They're everywhere, all around us–" he began, the words tumbling out of him loose and broken up.  In clean jeans, new-looking tennis shoes, bright blue hoodie, cleanly clipped hair, freshly shaved cheeks, he was a picture of Average Joe, not a loony who refused to order anything but a Just Coffee in either a tall, grande, or venti cup – and who though that aliens were everywhere.

* * * *

Just Coffee, after he finally left, signaled the official eye of calm.  The storm of the morning gone, along with the cars in the parking lot – the next not due until people swung in to grab a booster for the night.  There was little to do but clean, play around with the thermos mugs and CDs, or chill out in the store room while 'checking the inventory.'

So for an hour I grabbed some supplies and scrubbed, dusted, swept, polished, wiped, deodorized, and sanitized until the cream station, the displays, the floor, the restroom, the windows, and the espresso machine gleamed, glittered, shined, shone, sparkled, and reflected.

For another hour I arranged the CDs by title, band, lead singer, height of hairstyle (where appropriate), and eventually by degree of awfulness.  I sorted the thermos cups by height, color, popularity, and my own 'looking like a jerk while using' scale.  I organized the chocolate by color and pomposity.  I classified teas by flavor, caffeine strength, country of origin, and lastly by hipness.

The last hour, I tried to get comfy in the storeroom, but gave up when the bags of beans, boxes of cups, and cartons of lids just wouldn't cooperate in my quest for comfort.

Lunch came and went like the regulating tick of our time clock.  1PM: exited, proceeded down sidewalk to corner.  I had a wide range of choices, eventually settling for KFC (love their desserts).  2PM: returned, entering to see that a rush hadn't rushed in my absence, that the place was still spotless and still empty.

So I thought about Just Coffee, and what Just Coffee had said about aliens.

Seriously.

* * * *

I've traveled ... some.  No backpacking through the Andes, no throat-singing on the steppes, no sailing the Caribbean – just a bit of Mexico, a touch of Canada, a summer in Paris when I was in college.  But the point is I've done it – just not a lot of it.

But when I have, I've noticed something odd about my foreign tourist self that's very different than my USA residential self.  Same guy, inside and outside, even though the money in my pockets was a bunch of different colors and the street signs made no sense.

Sure I like to be part of the crowd, among my own people – whether they know what to do with a throw pillow, sling Jamaican blend all day, dance the night away, keep on an eye on the latest fashions, or can tell you what Celine Dion is up to – but take me away, plop me down where they spit before shaking hands, put cloves of garlic under their armpits, talk like they're clearing out a ton of phlegm, boil everything they eat (and a lot of things they don't), or shriek like warbling banshees when they're happy (and even when they aren't) and I change.

What happens is I suddenly want to hock a loogie before 'putting it there,' stick an elephant's head in my pits, gargle my words, put everything in a stewpot, or trill at the slightest provocation.  Anything, you see, to fit in; to not be the tourist sticking out like a sore ... well, whatever they stick out there.  I want to blend.  I need to blend.  Blending becomes a very good thing to do.

So it isn't hard to imagine what it might be like to travel a bit further than the Rio Grande, Quebec, or to get a shot in front of the Eiffel Tower.  Stranger in a Strange Land, right?  Where did I hear that?  Anyway, there you are, away from home, friends, the usual and comforting anything.  So what if you have ... weird hands, tentacles, bug eyes, slimy organs, weird heads, and all that kind of sci-fi stuff?  Wouldn't you want to be anything but a tourist with a camera around your eight-foot neck, sandals on your blue feet, zinc oxide on your elephant nose?

Of course you would.  You wouldn't want to stand out – especially if you've seen flicks like Independence Day and Aliens.  E.T.  might have had a nice visit if he looked like one of us, right?

But cruising the mean streets of Mexico City, I might have wanted to vanish into the brown-skinned crowd.  Meandering the avenues of Toronto, I definitely would have been happier knowing when to say – or not say – "eh." Skipping down the boulevards of the City of Lights I absolutely wanted to understand why Jerry Lewis wasn't known as a complete and total asshole.  But wanting to and being able to were at least a thousand miles apart.  Sure, I could have practiced my Spanish, tried to love syrup, and puzzled out the genius in The Lady's Man, but I'd never be able to really blend in.  I'd be the gringo who ordered cerveso rather than cerveza and got a bowl of baby shoes instead of a beer; the tourist from down south who cheered for this guy rather than that guy and got a fist to the face instead of a clap on the back; the Ugly American who ordered French Fries instead of ... whatever they call them.

So what would I do?  What would a spaceman do?  The same, I bet.  He'd look around at what everyone else was doing, and try to do what they were doing, look the way they looked, smell the way they smelled, and sound like their voices.  He couldn't make up a new person; he'd just copy what everyone else was.  I couldn't do it well, but I bet someone who could go from Mars to here could.

So I think Just Coffee might have been on to something.  Nuts, sure.  Freaky, absolutely.  But he had something there.  They wouldn't want to stand out – so they'd look like you or me, or that guy over there, or that girl, that old guy, so forth and so on.

The late day surge rushed in and rushed out, forcing my mind back to mochas, espressos, lattes, chais, macchiatos, americanos, cafe au laits, and frappucinos rather than on the business woman, the surfer dude, the yuppie, the Gen X'er, the Baby Boomer, the fossil, or any of the others I took an order from, made cash for, and handed drinks to.  I had no time to think about what they looked like on the outside, or what might be on the inside.

On a side note, as someone who works in the food industry, that's exactly the concern they should have about the drinks they were walking out with.

As the rush trickled down to just a stream of lead-eyed coffee buyers, and night began to turn neon and fluorescent lights inside the store – and I only had an hour and a half of both left before I could escape – and out along the mini-mall, I began to look at the dribs and drabs that stumbled in and buzzed out.  Him?  Her?  Them?  I never really thought about UFOs and stuff but ... well, could that many people be wrong?  Even if they had crooked teeth and no indoor plumbing there was just too many of them.  Sure, scientists were smart, but did they really know everything?  Who was to say that aliens weren't out there?

At one hour to Getting the Hell Out, I asked my Hippie co-worker about what had been percolating in my mind.

"Aliens?" he said, rearranging pastries in the case, the scorn in his high-pitched, mouse-squeaky voice coming clearly through the thick glass.  "Yeah, right, man."

"Just think about it for a second," I tried, carefully outlining my theories, laying out my well-thought-out logic.  Never, of course, mentioning that Just Coffee was my inspiration.

Out from the case with a toffee almond bar in his tongs, he looked at it to see if it was too stale to sell, then at me to see if I was too nuts to engage.  The toffee almond bar went in the trash, a too-loud noise in the empty shop, and to me he said: "Get real, man.  Aliens.  What a fucking crock."

At half an hour to Getting the Hell Out, I asked the Black Girl with Attitude about what I'd been pondering.  She told me I was crazy and to fuck off.

Then it was time to leave.  Hippie drew the short straw, so he had to close up.  The BGWA and I could get out a bit early.  Leaving our aprons behind, I could tell she was just itching, positively burning, to get the hell away from me, so I did her a favor and snuck out a bit early so as not to be anywhere near her.

Time for the drive home, time to honor the slacker gods with my ass on the couch, a remote in one hand, a beer in the other.  No time for aliens.

But "Hey, hey, hey," came a familiar voice nearby.  Twisting from the beeline to my car and Getting the Hell Out I looked for who said it-and looked right into the bright-eyed faced of Just Coffee.

"Eh, hello," I said, quickly trying to think of a way to escape.  Sick mother?  Urgent appointment?  Had to beat traffic?  Favorite show to catch?  Not feeling well?  Too many options jammed up my head, gummed up my mouth.

"Won't keep ya," he said.  "Just wanted to thank you is all.  No one says that enough, do they?  Must be something really fucking wrong with this world.  Screwed up, it is.  Anyway ... just wanted to say it."

"No – no problem," I sputtered, at least having the brain cells to jingle my keys.

"It's just it takes a real nice person, a great guy, to take time with someone like me – a person they don't even know.  Just deserves thanks, it does.  So I'm saying it."

"No problem at all." Now, I really must be going ... was what I was about to say.

"If it wasn't for you ... well, I bet a lot of folks would think I was stupid, or crazy, or maybe a bit of both.  Right, right, right?"

"Never!" I protested.  Well, yeah, was what I wanted to say.

"Anyway – don't want to start running off at the mouth again.  Saw you and just wanted to say 'thanks.' Because of you I'll never make an idiot of myself again by ordering 'Just Coffee.' Now I know to say 'Coffee of the day in a tall, grande, or venti cup.'''

Then he ... well, I couldn't call him 'Just Coffee' anymore, could I?  ... left, turning around and walking off, looking back one last time with a light and cheery wave of his hand.

Being complimented can be nice, being complimented can make your day, being complimented can give you a warm feeling inside.  But being complimented can also be bad, being complimented can ruin your day, being complimented can give you goose bumps when the compliment is for something you didn't do, but for what another person did.  A person else who sounded like you, looked like you, acted like you.

Yeah, he was crazy, even though he didn't look it.  Positively nuts, even though he'd gotten me thinking.  For sure bonkers, even though he acted like a normal human being.

I got in my car, slid the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it.  Instead, I adjusted my rear-view mirror, seeing in the reflection the glare of nighttime traffic, the bright colors of mini-mall signs-and my own eyes.

And thought about coffee, three sizes of cups, and someone else sitting behind the wheel of another car, key in the ignition, looking at the bright spots of rushing headlights, the glow of advertising – another pair of blue eyes, very much like mine.




Sunday, September 21, 2014

I'm Going To CONVOLUTION!

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)


Wheee ... this is going to be a real treat: I'm going to be attending and participating is a ton of panels for the Burlingame, CA, science fiction convention, CONVOLUTION.  

Here's my schedule ... see you there!




Friday 4-6 
20 Books To Launch In To Space


Friday 8-10 
Kink: The Good, The Bad And 50 Shades Of Grey


Saturday 10-12 
How To Build A Better Story


Saturday 1-4 
Writers Workshop


Saturday 10 PM 
Turning The Heat Up Beyond Time And Space


Sunday 12-2 
Reading #5 (Never On A Sunday)


Sunday 2-4 
"New Adult" - Is This A Real Thing?

Friday, September 19, 2014

Coming Up: Basic Bondage: Tie Me Up On A Budget

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)

This is going to be a blast! I'm teaching my very fun class, Basic Bondage: Tie Me Up On A Budget, for the great SF Citadel on Tuesday, September 23rd. Here's the info - hope to see you there!


Tuesday, September 23, 2014 · 8:00 PM –10:00 PM
Location: SF Citadel​, ​181 Eddy St, San Francisco, CA
Cost: $20 at the door, $15 in advance

Description:

Let's face it, SM - especially bondage play - can be pricy: steel shackles, leather restraints, handcuffs, and other fun things don't come cheap. But in this class students will learn that tying someone up doesn't mean you have to break the bank. From Saran Wrap to Bungie cord, duct tape to clothesline, and more students will learn all kinds of tricks and techniques to not only restrain on a budget but how to do it safely as well as effectively ... and enjoyably!

About the presenter:

M. Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, QSM, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M. Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

COPE Was A Blast!

(From M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)


Just wanted to toss out a heartfelt and very enthusiastic THANKS to all the fun folks I met at COPE ( - plus the great attendees to my classes - and ESPECIALLY to the organizers of this amazing events. It was a blast and then some!!



Monday, September 15, 2014

COPE Was A Blast!

(M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)


Just wanted to toss out a heartfelt and very enthusiastic THANKS to all the fun folks I met at COPE ( - plus the great attendees to my classes - and ESPECIALLY to the organizers of this amazing events. It was a blast and then some!!



Friday, September 05, 2014

I'm Going To COPE!

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)



There's cool then there's cool: the great folks at COPE (

Sex Magic: Manifesting Positive Life Energy Through Erotic Play
Sex, without a doubt, is a powerful personal force: it has the ability to not only give tremendous pleasure but also lift us up beyond our normal selves, and sometimes even to higher states of consciousness. Whether through sex with a partner or via masturbation, this class will explore how sex can be used to explore sometimes hidden spiritual and sensual dimensions, grow as a sexual being, manifest positive life-changing energy, or simply have a lot of wonderfully erotic fun! But sex also has its emotional risks as well, and participants will also learn how to protect themselves as they explore sex magic and deal with sometimes shocking revelations about who they are as a sexual being.

You Want To Do What? Sex & BDSM Scenes
Even though it is often seen as 'alternative sexuality' a lot of people in the BDSM community are often baffled by how to include direct sexual activity into their scenes. From STC (Sexually Transmitted Condition) concerns to issues of intimacy, to switching from the intensity of hardcore play to the intensity of sexual contact, this class and discussion will playfully but restfully give examples of how erotic play can be added into BDSM activities in a physical as well as emotionally safe way – as well as being able to handle the sometimes unexpected emotions that can come up for even the most seasoned of BDSM aficionado when sexuality enters the mix.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

The Long Game

This is fantastic!  A piece I wrote for Lisabet Sarai's Beyond Romance blog just went up: a little venting on my part about how professional writing is all about The Long Game.  

Here's a tease:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006YGDE6G/ref=cm_sw_su_dp



I'm not too sure whose been spreading the rumors but, believe me, I'd like to get my hands on them.

Not that it's anything new, I admit. I'll betcha that for as long as human beings have been putting one word in front of another word for money there's been a whispering, a murmuring, a seductive allure that all it takes is just the right story, the perfect book, the ideal concept to launch the author from zero to bazillionare.

But that's all it is: rumor, hearsay, gossip... hollow promises. Okay, sure, it does happen but I'll betcha with what little money I've made with my own writing that the number of people who it has happened to would comfortably fit in an elevator... and a small one at that. In short, while fame and fortune can and has happened with just one book the odds are nightmarishly against you.

But the myth – sadly – persists. The reason I'm writing this is perfect evidence: no fewer than four people recently asked me to be their book doctors, yet each and every one vanished when the reality of what it actually takes to make even a moderate amount of money as an author sank in. All of them had actually written a novel, each of them had put aside money to have it professionally edited, and they'd even started up the long social media ladder... but they all vanished in the space of a few months.

I'm a dreamer ... hell, half my waking life seems to be spent drifting from one fantasy to another: from super heroics to an immaculately imagined life as a pulp author in the 40s, I'm usually lost in the clouds. But while being able to support my very simple lifestyle with only my writing income is one of them I also really try to make at least that fantasy as real as possible.


[MORE]

Friday, August 01, 2014

Leather, Lace & Lust: An Evening Of Erotic Storytelling and Sexual Merriment

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)

This is going to be a blast-and-a-half!  I'm helping to organize a fabulous reading at the Center For Sex And Culture on August 30th.  I'll be performing with all kinds of great erotica readers - it should be an amazing time!

http://www.sexandculture.org/


Leather, Lace & Lust: An Evening Of Erotic Storytelling and Sexual Merriment

Come one, come all* to an evening of lusty literature by many of the best erotica writers in the Bay Area!

From the tempting tease of delicate lace to the steamy heat of hardcore leather, these authors and performers will amuse, delight, and most of all excite you in all kinds of new and provocative ways; This is an evening of witty, carnal, and provocative literary endeavors that will tickle just about every kind of fancy, a festival of playful sensual fiction that will make you laugh, cry, and get that oh-so-special tingly feeling in your nether-regions.

In other words, a night of kick-ass erotica performed by ass-kicking writers!

Our featured performers include:

  • Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, is a best-selling, award-winning author of seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing.
  • Molly Weatherfield: "Twenty years ago, a mild-mannered computer programmer decided to spend some quality time with her erotic fantasy life, and Carrie's Story - BDSM for smart girls - was born."
  • Mistress Lorelei Powers is a well-known bi poly sadist and Domme. She is the author of several BDSM classics, including On Display, The Mistress Manual, and Charm School for Sissy Maids.
  • Blake C. Aarens is an author, poet, screenwriter, playwright, and a Black Girl Nerd.
  • Jean Marie Stine is the author of a number of pioneering works of erotica published in the late 1960 and early 1970s, beginning with Season of the Witch in 1968, which was filmed as the motion picture Synapse. Her erotic short stories and novelettes have been collected as "Trans-sexual: Fiction for Gender Queers."
  • A.M. Davis is a poet, artist and novelist who lives in Oakland, California. Her first novel, You Were Always Waiting For This Moment to Arise, as well as her first poetry collection, Six Lifetimes of Love, will be published in late 2014.
  • M.Christian is a recognized master of erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica and many others.

Saturday, August 30th, 2014
The Center For Sex And Culture
1349 Mission St, San Francisco, CA 94103
Doors at 6PM, Event starts at 7PM
Admission: $10

*no guarantees

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

How To Create An Effective Online Profile Class For Good Vibrations

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)

This is very, very cool: I'm gonna be teaching my class, How To Create An Effective Online Profile And Write Messages That Will Get Good Responses for Good Vibrations on Polk Street, in San Francisco in August!

Here are the details - see you there!



How To Create An Effective Online Profile And Write Messages That Will Get Good Responses

Thursday, August 14, 6:30-8:30pm
$20 in advance, $25 at the door
Tickets: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/794634

The world is the now the Internet ... and if you don't know how to use it then you are at a serious disadvantage in making any kind of connection: employment, social, artistic and – most of all – erotic. In this class, M. Christian will not just explore how to use the Internet and various sites as a resource to explore your own sexuality in any form, but also how to create an effective and alluring online profile. But creating a digital 'self' is only part of it: participants will also get tips on how to reach out in imaginative ways that will get a positive response, the important things that are too often forgotten and other social niceties that can be the difference between frustration and disappointment and having a wonderful and sexy time online!

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Billierosie Likes Licks And Promises

This is so wonderfully touching: check out this very cool review of my collection, Licks & Promises by the amazing Billierosie!

http://amzn.com/B00IH1GJ54

I’ve just finished reading M.Christian’s superb collection of stories, LICKS AND PROMISES, and I’m trying to catch my breath. Such a fascinating display of twists and turns, demonstrating the themes of desire, lust, disappointment, betrayal, death and more.

There’s humour here too, in the brilliant “Regrets.” Who says Americans don’t do irony? Well, the Brits mostly, and I am one. But Christian shows that up for the silly concept that it is, in this wonderfully, intelligent piece of satire.

And there are tears in “The Waters of Biscayne Bay.” Grief and anger for a lost love and the fulfillment of a lover’s last wishes.

Christian gives us an innovative look into Edward Hopper’s great painting; NIGHTHAWKS, in his story of the same name. He teaches us, how to read a painting. Who is the woman with the red hair, in the red dress? Is the man sitting next to her partner, or are they two strangers desiring each other? Both, are lost in their thoughts. Christian subtly weaves a story around Hopper’s haunting painting. He walks us around this enigmatic couple, and we ponder about what might, or might not be going on.

There’s a lament in “The Waters of life" and a sense of loss as Christian reveals that the loved and revered art work is not what it seems. The loved one is not what he seemed, and we taste the bitter flavour of disappointment.

In “The House of the Rising Sun," a woman learns to love, and live again, after a betrayal, and in the wonderful “In Control,” just who is in control? The self important dom, who’s too mean to pay more than $50 for a sex toy, or the canny sub, who takes her pleasure, and leaves?

There’s a twist at the end of, “Her First Thursday Evening." A guy edits, and changes his lover’s first disastrous sexual experience, into one that is beautiful. But he can’t rewrite his own story; he wishes he could.

Through this wonderful collection, M.Christian shows the skill and diversity of a unique writer. He creates solid, fully rounded characters. He tells us stories that are enticing, he draws us in. He makes us laugh; very often he makes us cry. Christian loves language and words. Never, never dull, he encourages the reader to identify with and empathise with, his skilfully drawn characters. He brings us back to the simplicity of reading great stories, that stay with us long after we have closed the book.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Next Polyamory Discussion/Support Group At The Citadel

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)


Just wanted to share the cool news that the next Polyamory Support/Discussion Group is coming up on Monday, July 28th

#

Polyamory Discussion/Support Group

Polyamory is – not to state the obvious – complex. But what is even more challenging is that it is still not wildly accepted, with those in non-monogamous relationships often finding it difficult to find understanding and support. In this discussion/support group, polyamorous individuals and couples will have a nonjudgmental and supportive environment to share their concerns and experiences.

All Discussion/Support Groups are from 7:30PM to 9:30PM and cost $10

#

M.Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M.Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Future Sex @ Feelmore510 On July 10th - This Thursday!

(From M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)

Coming up soon!

I'm going to be leading/teaching my Future Sex: A Class/Discussion On The Possibilities Of Sex In The Years To Come for the great folks at Feelmore510 on July 10th. You can pre-order tickets here.


Future Sex: A Class/Discussion On The Possibilities Of Sex In The Years To Come! 

Welcome to the World Of Tomorrow! Sure, we have iPads, iPhones, Viagra, the staggering depths of the Internet, but what could the day after tomorrow bring? In this combination discussion and lecture, participants will share in some thought experiments on what sex may be like in the year year or the next thousand years. Subjects included will be speculations on drug and chemical enhancements, extrapolation on current and future consumer technology, where gender and sexual orientation may be headed, the idea of artificial implants and enhancements, and even the prospects of intimate encounters with cyborgs, androids, robots, and artificial intelligences.

#

M.Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M.Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Sunday, July 06, 2014

Terrance Aldon Shaw Likes Love Wthout Gun Control

(from M.Christian's Technorotica)

This is just plain wonderful: check out this kick-ass review of my sf/f/h collection, Love Without Gun Control by the very-great Terrance Aldon Shaw on the book's amazon page.

Btw, Love Without Gun Control is currently FREE for a limited time!

http://amzn.com/B002LEI6RM

Is there any style or genre that M. Christian can’t (or won’t) write in? After reading this very fine short story collection from one of today’s most prolific professionals, I’m leaning heavily towards “no”. The ‘m’ in M. Christian seems to stand for “multi-faceted”, or possibly “mega-multi-tasker”. The guy certainly is versatile, as well as daring, imaginative, often funny, and seldom—if ever—unentertaining, one of those writers who seems to be everywhere at once, though if he has, in fact, cracked the saintly secret of bi-location, he’s not talking.

Readers get a broad sense of Christian’s incredible range in “Love Without Gun Control”, the author’s 2009 self-compiled and –published collection of short fiction, most of which originally appeared in genre anthologies, now-defunct niche-specific literary magazines and long-since cached or dead-linked websites. These fourteen stories run a dizzying—and impressive—gamut of mood and style, each with its own carefully measured ratio of light to shadow, buoyancy to seriousness, horror to humor, and hope to despair.

Christian has clearly learned from, and distilled the essence of the best examples of twentieth-century American fiction, everything from Ray Bradbury and Jack Kerouac to Cormac McCarthy and Stephen King. He does not shy away from his influences, but has wisely allowed them to sing through him as he delves the deep, sometimes silly recesses of the American psyche. The title story is a broad, campy social satire in addition to being a pitch-perfect sendup of old Western movies and TV shows, while “Wanderlust” and “Orphans” pay dark homage to the uniquely American mythos of “the road”—think Steinbeck’s musings on Route 66 in “The Grapes of Wrath”, or the arid, windswept, dread-haunted vistas of Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger” and “The Stand”.

In “Needle Taste”, Christian shows that he is no less adept at horror of the decidedly psychological variety. Techno-thriller melds seamlessly with High Fantasy in “The Rich Man’s Ghost”; political satire meets The Zombie Apocalypse in “Buried with the Dead”, while knotty existential drama and the classic Post-Apocalyptic narrative come together in “1,000”, and “Nothing So Dangerous”, a story of love and betrayal in a time of revolution. Perhaps my favorite stories in this collection are the beautiful, elegiac, Bradbury-esque “Some Assembly Required,” a narrative at once clever and poignant, and the brilliantly breezy “Constantine in Love”:

“It was called The Love Shack, and it sold all kinds of obvious things: candy, flowers, poetry books, jewelry, balloons, perfume, lingerie, and many other sweet, frilly, and heart-shaped items. It stood alone, bracketed by two vacant lots. Its busiest days were just before Valentine’s and Christmas. It was described by many newspapers and tourist guides as “. . . the place to go when love is on your mind.”

The night was dark, the place was closed. The streets were quiet.

Then the Love Shack exploded—with a fantastic shower of fragmented chotchkes, and flaming brick-a-brack, it went from a shop dedicated to amore to a skyrocket of saccharine merchandise. Flaming unmentionables drifted down to land in smoking heaps in the middle of the street, lava flows of melted and burning chocolate crawled out for the front door, teddy bears burned like napalm victims, and cubic zirconia mixed with cheap window glass—both showering down the empty, smoldering hole that used to be the store . . .”

I do have a few complaints as well. In several of these stories, I found myself wishing for a stronger editorial hand. The text needs a good, personally-detached copyedit. Several otherwise excellent stories (“Hush, Hush”; “1,000”; “Friday”) are simply too long to effectively maintain the emotional impact for which the author aims. I found them overly repetitive and rather dull, with the narrative lines collapsing into nebulous incoherency. After all, the “short” in short fiction should be a clue to the essence of the form; all unnecessary baggage and ballast summarily jettisoned to achieve an economy of language, and, with it, maximum expression. Christian is an established and well-respected editor in his own right, but no matter how skillful or perceptive an author may be as an editor of other people’s work, when it comes to self-editing, even the best and brightest have their blind spots.

Still, there’s far more to like and admire in this collection than to kvetch about or pan. Readers will be well-rewarded for what is, in the end, a ridiculously modest price of admission.

Tuesday, July 01, 2014

My Writing Process Blog Tour

From my sweet friends Lucy Taylor and Sabrina Kaleta comes this very fun little blog tour.  Here are my answers - for the rest check out the ,links to the other participants below.


1) What am I working on?

Let's see ... aside from the very cool stuff that's happening with Renaissance E Books (which includes our Futures Past Editions sf/f/h imprint and the erotic Sizzler one), where I am an Associate Publisher, and Digital Parchment Services, where I'm a Publisher (stay tuned, great stuff coming very soon), I just finished a sequel to The Bachelor Machine (a new edition coming out soon, btw), tentatively called Skin Effect. I also just started a brand new, non-erotic, allegorical/satire SF novel called Blue ... which (fingers: crossed) I hope to finish by the end of the year.

Beyond those, I'm still plugging away on a few dozen other projects that are way too nascent to chat about just yet.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Well, my work has always been – to put it mildly – rather unusual. Yeah, I've thought about trying my hand at more "commercially viable" things (despite having penned two vampire novels and a romance) but I'm simply having way too much fun writing odd stuff. Not to say that I haven't been open to opportunities: 90% of my stuff came because someone asked for it – erotica, gay fiction, romance, non-fiction, the whole enchilada – but I've always put my own odd spin on it.

In the case of Skin Effect ... well, the original Bachelor Machine was rather a creature of its time: full of cyberdelic psychedelics, dystopic architecture, and circuit-pattern tattooed outlaws. Not to get up on my soapbox but I'm frankly tired of the knee-jerk negativity that still seems to permeate SF these days. But what honestly scares me is that it could very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy: that we are looking forward to the apocalypse. So I challenged myself to create a book of erotic short stories that take some of the old cliché's of SF (memory manipulation, genetic engineering, AIs, etc) and give them a positive spin. I had a blast writing them ... just hope people enjoy reading them.

3) Why do I write what I do?

I don't really have a choice: while my day-job might be working for the wonderful Renaissance E Books and Digital Parchment Services in my heart I'm a writer – though my Publisher duties do give me a chance to try and be the Publisher I'd like to have as a writer. Sure, it can get damned hard to create anything these days – when everyone on the planet seems to have written a novel, a screenplay, become a photographer, or [fill in the blank] but I always try to stay to the fact that I just love to write stories. There's really nothing more ... to be woo-woo for a sec ... magical about putting words together to make a tale that has never existed in the history of ... well, history and, if I'm lucky, will outlive me by hundreds or maybe thousands of years by changing how people see the world. Can't get much better than that.

4) How does my writing process work?

While my Publishing jobs take up most of my time, I've been working very hard to give myself at least one or two days a week to just write. I don’t follow a regular schedule because I've always been very good about knowing what I have to do and when I have to do it. An odd thing about me is that I can't work in dead silence, so I have my Xbox running Netflix or Hulu or Amazon or whatever all kinds of tone-setting movies or TV shows. Another odd thing is that I don't read a lot of the genres I write in – sure, I do when I have to, as a Publisher, but for the most part I find it just gets in the way of what I want to do as a writer. But that's just me and my style ... your millage may vary.


#


Sèphera Girón is a horror author, tarot reader, editor, and paranormal investigator. Flesh Failure and Captured Souls from Samhain Horror Publishing are her latest forays through the dark fiction labyrinth. You can find most of her work as eBooks these days. She has stories in Axes of Evil, High Stakes: A Vampire Anthology, The Haunted Mansion Project: Part One and Part Two, The Unnatural Tales of the Jackalope, and Telling Tales of Terror. Enter Sèphera’s World at http://sephwriter666.blogspot.ca

Lucy Taylor was born in Rich­mond, VA, and never really got the South out of her sys­tem, as evi­denced by the fla­vor of South­ern Gothic in many of her works. She’s pub­lished seven nov­els, includ­ing NAILED, SAV­ING SOULS, and LEFT TO DIE (under the pseu­do­nym Tay­lor Kin­caid), and over 100 short stories.

Sabrina Kaleta is a poet, music journalist, mother, performance artist, Doo-Dah Queen, reluctant debutante, punk, hostess, fortune teller..all these labels might tell a bit of my story. As a poet, I have graced the stages of The Espresso Bar, The Old Towne Pub, Sam’s Book City, the Coconut Teazer and Highland Grounds and been published in Flipside, Saturday Afternoon Journal and Kether. Other publications include Guitar World, Metal Hammer, New Times, Diabolik and BAM. In my Pasadena, CA home, I continue to try to ignore the outside voices, have a good time and create what I can.
Sabrinakaleta.tumblr.com

 John Eder has been writing fiction for the last three years or so.  He’s also a photographer, with a career spanning the film and digital ages. You can see his photo work at www.johneder.com. Eder has always written, mostly non-fiction for mags like the Village Voice, Conde Nast Traveler, Creem, Photo District News, CurbedLA.com, and brink.com.  He also draws, illustrating his own work when it’s called for.  His work is still tragically (to me, anyway) unpublished, to which end he is starting his own house, Moon Base.  Also in production is an anthology podcast of my short stories, To The Manor Borne (By Robots), the idea being that in the distant future a giant monster has invaded Earth. It’s Scheherazade meets Godzilla. To The Manor Borne (By Robots) will be on www.radiotitans.com, a podcast network he’s recently gotten involved in as creative director.  He lives in L.A. and grew up in south Florida, and is the father of a wonderful daughter. May the wind be at your back as you go check out his blog. http://johnederjournal.tumblr.com/

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Relationships And The Scene Discussion/Support Group @ SF Citadel



Just wanted to share the cool news that the next Relationships And The Scene: A Discussion/Support Group is coming up on Monday, June, 23rd, at the SF Citadel.

#

Occasionally people in "The Scene" forget that they are not just dealing with sexual play but human interactions and relationships as well. In this discussion and support group, participants will be encouraged to share their experiences in an open environment to receive support and understanding from others who may have experienced the same, or just similar, situations.

You're welcome to pack snacks/dinner and munch during the discussion!

Time: 7:30PM to 9:30PM
Location: SF Citadel, 181 Eddy Street, SF
Cost: $10
Dress: casual

#

M.Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M.Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Monday, June 16, 2014

Future Sex @ Feelmore510 On July 10th

(from M.Christian's Classes And Appearances)

This is gonna be a blast!  I'm going to be leading/teaching my Future Sex: A Class/Discussion On The Possibilities Of Sex In The Years To Come for the great folks at Feelmore510 on July 10th. You can pre-order tickets here.


Future Sex: A Class/Discussion On The Possibilities Of Sex In The Years To Come! 

Welcome to the World Of Tomorrow! Sure, we have iPads, iPhones, Viagra, the staggering depths of the Internet, but what could the day after tomorrow bring? In this combination discussion and lecture, participants will share in some thought experiments on what sex may be like in the year year or the next thousand years. Subjects included will be speculations on drug and chemical enhancements, extrapolation on current and future consumer technology, where gender and sexual orientation may be headed, the idea of artificial implants and enhancements, and even the prospects of intimate encounters with cyborgs, androids, robots, and artificial intelligences.

#

M.Christian has been an active participant in the San Francisco BDSM scene since 1988, and has been a featured presenter at the Northwest Leather Celebration, smOdyssey, the Center For Sex and Culture, The National Sexuality Symposium, San Francisco Sex Information, The Citadel, The Looking Glass, The Society of Janus, The Floating World, Winter Solstice, and lots of other venues. He has taught classes on everything from impact play, tit torture, bondage, how to write and sell erotica, polyamory, cupping, caning, and basic SM safety.

M.Christian is also a recognized master of BDSM erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many other anthologies, magazines, and other sites; editor of 2t anthologies such as the Best S/M Erotica series, Pirate Booty, My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, and more; the collections Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and more; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Finger's Breadth, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com

Friday, May 30, 2014

Confessions Of A Literary Streetwalker: Luck


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006YGDE6G/ref=cm_sw_su_dp

There’s a deep, dark secret that no writer wants to talk about. Oh, sure, in our braver moments we will talk about depression, anxiety, envy, frustration, spitefulness … the whole dark rainbow of negative emotions that come with being a professional author. And by professional author I don’t mean actually being paid for your work but, rather, being brave enough to send it out into the big, wide—and far too often cruel and uncaring—world.

This secret is lacking of mention in most books on writing—though it should have at least its own chapter, or maybe an entire volume, dedicated to it.

Okay, I won’t string you along any further. You’ve probably guessed it, anyway, by the one-word title of this article. We may not talk about it much, but luck is a powerful force in the life of a writer.

I wrote career in the last sentence before scratching it out and replacing it with life because, as I’ve said many times before, writers don’t have careers: this is not a profession—or even an unpaid pursuit—that you can plot and plan like many other occupations. You can’t, for example, say that this year you will write an award-winning story that will open the door to a major book contract, and then that book will be made into a flick starring Liam Neeson. You can dream about stuff like this all you want, but you can never, ever plan for it.

All because of luck.

Personal story time: I wrote—totally unsuccessfully—for ten years before I sold my first story (an erotic one … and so here I am). My wife at the time signed me up for a class taught by Lisa Palac, of the late-lamented FutureSex Magazine. At the end of the class, I brazenly handed her a story that I had written.  If I hadn’t taken that class, if I hadn’t handed her that story, if I hadn’t mentioned that Pat Califia and Carol Queen were pals of mine … I seriously doubt that she would have even glanced at it.

Personal story time (2): about this same time I was best friends with someone—who, sadly, I am no longer close to—who introduced me to all kinds of other writers and, more importantly, editors and publishers. Without his help, I don’t think I’d be where I am today.

I think you can see where I might be going with this.  If, if, if, if … looking back on my writing life I can see far too many branches that just happened to work out in my favor. Am I a good writer? I like to think that I am a capable writer—with a lot of learning still to do—but I’m not so arrogant as to think that my work is so absolutely brilliant that it would transcend the slush pile or get past the insecurities and nepotism of far too many editors and publishers.

In short, I am where I am today because of luck.

Dig around in any writer’s life—or the life of any creative person, for that matter—and you will see a lot of these branches that just happened to work out in their favor. Friends-of-friends, right-place-right-time … it’s pretty clear that ability is only one part of what can mean the difference between renown and obscurity.

This is just one reason why I despise arrogance in writers. Oh, I can certainly understand it: writing is damned hard—so it’s far too easy to protect a bruised and battered ego by lying to yourself, and the rest of the world, that your blistering talent got you where you are instead of admitting that it all would have been very different if the dice had landed ones instead of sixes.

But luck doesn’t just magically appear. You can’t summon it with “likes” on Facebook or by chugging bourbon.  A cosmic alignment didn’t get me from where I was to where I am now. Luck is about circumstance but it’s also about people. My wife, that one friend who helped opened doors … they were my horseshoes, my rabbit feet, my four-leaf clovers.

Not to sound too Machiavellian, but it’s very important to look at the people in your writing life and think—at least on some level—how have they helped me? …or are they a hindrance? Writing can be hard, almost miserable, but it can be a glorious way to live when you have people surrounding you who are kind, supportive, and encouraging.

Another reason I can’t stand arrogance is that it’s ultimately self-defeating. An old stage maxim says that you should be careful of who you step on while on the way up—because you’ll be meeting them on the way down. By pissing off all kinds of people you are also severing your connection to all kinds of opportunities—luck in the making. Some of these rolls might work out, some may not, but none of them have a chance if you don’t have anyone out there to hand you the dice.

Skill? Very important. Dedication? Extremely important. Flexibility? Absolutely. Luck? We might not want to talk about it but, yes, luck is a key factor … but luck can only find you through friends.

#

M.Christian has become an acknowledged master of erotica, with more than 400 stories, 10 novels (including The Very Bloody Marys, Brushes and The Painted Doll). Nearly a dozen collections of his own work (Technorotica, In Control, Lambda nominee Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine), more than two dozen anthologies (Best S/M Erotica series, My Love for All That is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, The Burning Pen, and with Maxim Jakubowksi The Mammoth Book of Tales from the Road).  His work is regularly selected for Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and others. His extensive knowledge of erotica as writer, editor, anthologist and publisher resulted in the bestselling guide How To Write And Sell Erotica. He can be found in a number of places online, not least of which is mchristian.com.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Help Save Roxy!

I've raved about my dear brother many times (deservedly) - but this time I'm asking the great, wide, wonderful world (yeah, I mean you) to hopefully help him out.

You see, his beloved truck, Roxy, has recently suffered a rather catastrophic engine problem ... and he's asking for help.

Check out his Indiegogo campaign here - and here's the campaign info (below).  Drop him a buck of two it you can - I'd appreciate it and I know he would, as well.


I am a 46 year old professional handyman for my local area (s)-From a few blocks away to 60 miles away. I am truly a small business,...its just me. I am up to date, polite, hire local help when needed, have tools, do show show by butt crack, clean up after myself, smoke free and good with pets.

I have it all,..almost: I rent a small cottage, meager expenses, lovely friends, it would be perfect, except my trusty truck has blown her motor..and that has reduced my work to very little, leaving me with little or no income.

My truck is a well maintained 1952 Dodge stakebed truck (see the above picture), I keep her clean and well maintained, and have replaced or rebuilt every part I could and it remained loyal workhorse for the past three years.

Sadly the engine failed beyond repair two months ago, and now it needs a new engine. I simply have no funds to fix her.

This is not a matter of vanity or simply a means of fixing a personal toy. My truck serves me well, it gets me work (because of the appearance), hauls paints, ladders, furniture, plant trimmings, tools, what have you. I have built it to serve my specific needs. It is my workbench, and my most useful tool.

Getting my truck back is giving me back the ability to work. to live, to eat. to be independent again. 

The plan to get me and my important tool back in form is straightforward: 

  • Locate new engine: I have sourced new engines with factory warranty. The reason to go to a new more costly unit rather and a used one is to keep this from happening again.
  • Installation: I have shopped around for the best candidate to put the new motor in. I have researched their reputation and skills.
  • Back to use: I can re-run ads and postings in job referral sites for jobs that can allow me to rebuild by services and finances.

If I have any excess funds I will put towards more tools and advertising

In gratitude I have several useful perks that hopefully you will find of help

In donating you can help one small business, one person..to grow-and in that growing there will be more work for others who need work.

...most important of all you will give me a chance to pay back to others who need help.

Samuel Addison       

Friday, May 23, 2014

Baton Blog Post

 (from M.Christian's Technorotica)

This is very fun: I just took part in a kind of round-robin blog post with some very cool folks - including my great pal, Brent (Made In DNA). Enjoy!


1) What am I working on?

Let's see ... aside from the very cool stuff that's happening with Renaissance E Books (which includes our Futures Past Editions sf/f/h imprint and the erotic Sizzler one), where I am an Associate Publisher, and Digital Parchment Services, where I'm a Publisher (stay tuned, great stuff coming very soon), I just finished a sequel to The Bachelor Machine (a new edition coming out soon, btw), tentatively called Skin Effect. I also just started a brand new, non-erotic, allegorical/satire SF novel called Blue ... which (fingers: crossed) I hope to finish by the end of the year.

Beyond those, I'm still plugging away on a few dozen other projects that are way too nascent to chat about just yet.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Well, my work has always been – to put it mildly – rather unusual. Yeah, I've thought about trying my hand at more "commercially viable" things (despite having penned two vampire novels and a romance) but I'm simply having way too much fun writing odd stuff. Not to say that I haven't been open to opportunities: 90% of my stuff came because someone asked for it – erotica, gay fiction, romance, non-fiction, the whole enchilada – but I've always put my own odd spin on it.

In the case of Skin Effect ... well, the original Bachelor Machine was rather a creature of its time: full of cyberdelic psychedelics, dystopic architecture, and circuit-pattern tattooed outlaws. Not to get up on my soapbox but I'm frankly tired of the knee-jerk negativity that still seems to permeate SF these days. But what honestly scares me is that it could very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy: that we are looking forward to the apocalypse. So I challenged myself to create a book of erotic short stories that take some of the old cliché's of SF (memory manipulation, genetic engineering, AIs, etc) and give them a positive spin. I had a blast writing them ... just hope people enjoy reading them.

3) Why do I write what I do?

I don't really have a choice: while my day-job might be working for the wonderful Renaissance E Books and Digital Parchment Services in my heart I'm a writer – though my Publisher duties do give me a chance to try and be the Publisher I'd like to have as a writer. Sure, it can get damned hard to create anything these days – when everyone on the planet seems to have written a novel, a screenplay, become a photographer, or [fill in the blank] but I always try to stay to the fact that I just love to write stories. There's really nothing more ... to be woo-woo for a sec ... magical about putting words together to make a tale that has never existed in the history of ... well, history and, if I'm lucky, will outlive me by hundreds or maybe thousands of years by changing how people see the world. Can't get much better than that.

4) How does my writing process work?

While my Publishing jobs take up most of my time, I've been working very hard to give myself at least one or two days a week to just write. I don’t follow a regular schedule because I've always been very good about knowing what I have to do and when I have to do it. An odd thing about me is that I can't work in dead silence, so I have my Xbox running Netflix or Hulu or Amazon or whatever all kinds of tone-setting movies or TV shows. Another odd thing is that I don't read a lot of the genres I write in – sure, I do when I have to, as a Publisher, but for the most part I find it just gets in the way of what I want to do as a writer. But that's just me and my style ... your millage may vary.

+++++

And now it is my great pleasure to introduce to you four authors (in no particular order):

Jason M. Griesse
Jason M. Griesse is an author from Southern California who dabbles in all kinds of storytelling. Not content to stick to one genre, his books often incorporate elements of horror and science fiction with a pinch of mythology for flavor. He also writes articles and books concerning PTSD and Mental Illness and is two semesters away from finishing a degree in Psychology.

Brandon Black
Having learned to read at an early age in part due to an ancient cardboard box in his uncles’ room at his grandparents filled with Golden Age comic books, Brandon Black has read science fiction and fantasy his whole life. Raised by a physicist father and sociologist mother, instead of receiving a teddy bear as other children did, Brandon was given an inflatable astronaut.

Falling in love with shows about space travel, exploration and combat from an early exposure to Star Blazers and Robotech, Brandon was inspired to write his own science fiction after hearing the narrator’s line in Robotech — “Meanwhile, twenty light years away…” The idea that a story could have such scope and breadth as to involve relevant, simultaneous events light years distant from each other was a miraculous thing to young Brandon who decided then to give writing a try.

Brandon received a Bachelors in Military and Political Journalism from UNO and went on to receive a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from LSU. Brandon’s time travel story, “Time and the Wrinkled Prostitute” has been published in Dark Oak Press’Dreams of Steam III. His stories, “Songs of the Divine Pulsation” and “The Gift” were published in New Orleans By Gaslight, an anthology of gaslamp fantasy and steampunk poetry and fiction set in Victorian-era New Orleans, which Brandon edited with Christopher Wong. Brandon’s most recent short story publication is “I Knocked Up My Fairy Girlfriend” which appears in Seventh Star Press’ A Chimerical World: Tales of the Seelie and his steampunk poem “Ballad of the Dashing Skywayman” has been recently published in Cowboy Poetry Press’ Unbridled anthology.

Brandon’s upcoming projects are Cairo By Gaslight, a steampunk anthology set in Cairo, Egypt and The Other World, an anthology of modern-day short stories about the Fey. He has also written a children’s book, The Tortoise and the Little Witches Three, and is currently writing his first steampunk novel. Brandon lives with his charge and protector, Battle-cat Princess Kaleidoscope, in his home town of New Orleans, Louisiana.

M. Christian
Calling M.Christian versatile is a tremendous understatement. Extensively published in science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, and even non-fiction, it is in erotica that M.Christian has become an acknowledged master, with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and in fact too many anthologies, magazines, and sites to name. In erotica, M.Christian is known and respected not just for his passion on the page but also his staggering imagination and chameleonic ability to successfully and convincingly write for any and all orientations.

But M.Christian has other tricks up his literary sleeve: in addition to writing, he is a prolific and respected anthologist, having edited 25 anthologies to date including the Best S/M Erotica series; Pirate Booty; My Love For All That Is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica; The Burning Pen; The Mammoth Book of Future Cops, and The Mammoth Book of Tales of the Road (with Maxim Jakubowksi); Confessions, Garden of Perverse, and Amazons (with Sage Vivant), and many more.

M.Christian’s short fiction has been collected into many bestselling books in a wide variety of genres, including the Lambda Award finalist Dirty Words and other queer collections like Filthy Boys, BodyWork, and his best-of-his-best gay erotica book, Stroke the Fire. He also has collections of non-fiction (Welcome to Weirdsville, Pornotopia, and How To Write And Sell Erotica); science fiction, fantasy and horror (Love Without Gun Control); and erotic science fiction including Rude Mechanicals, Technorotica, Better Than The Real Thing, and the acclaimed Bachelor Machine.

As a novelist, M.Christian has shown his monumental versatility with books such as the queer vamp novels Running Dry and The Very Bloody Marys; the erotic romance Brushes; the science fiction erotic novel Painted Doll; and the rather controversial gay horror/thrillers Fingers Breadth and Me2.

M.Christian is also the Associate Publisher for Renaissance E Books, where he strives to be the publisher he’d want to have as a writer, and to help bring quality books (erotica, noir, science fiction, and more) and authors out into the world.

Shon Richards
Shon Richards is allegedly an erotica writer who writes science fiction, pulp adventure, sexual magic and the occasionally suburban bondage. He is really a herald of an unnameable erotic entity who writes to prepare the psyches of the human population for the coming Apocafuck. His latest book, Doom Vagina, tells the story of a groupie for the world’s most demonic girl band. His current plane of existence can be found at ShonRichards.com

Monday, May 12, 2014

Worth a Thousand Words: My Life with Tumblr

Check it out: the piece I wrote for the wonderful Writesex site just went live for the equally-great Erotica Readers And Writers Association:


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006YGDE6G/ref=cm_sw_su_dp

A bow to the fantastic WriteSex site, where this column first appeared

It may come as a surprise, but far too often authors—people who are supposedly very comfortable with words!—have days when they just don’t want to write at all.

It’s a common mistake writers make when they begin to think about social media, marketing, and all that other fun stuff: this idea that words are the be-all and end-all for them. They force themselves far too often to script tweet after tweet, Facebook post after Facebook post…until they just can’t write another line of original content, even if only to say “Look at my book!” Worse, they come to feel that because they’ve burnt out on writing tweets and posts and marketing copy, they have failed. They think about all the potential readers they have lost; markets they haven’t tapped; piles of beguiling words they should have written—because are they not supposed to be endless fonts of text? (Spoiler: no.)

Fortunately for you if you’re one of these writers, there are some great options for social networking that don’t require you to write a word. They are wordless yet powerful, simple yet evocative, easy yet poignant.

In short, Facebook and Twitter are not the only games in town when it comes to keeping yourself and your writing in the public eye.

I’m talking about using pictures rather than words. Using Flicker, Instagram, Pinterest or Tumblr to make your point, catch your Twitter followers’ imaginations, engage them emotionally in a way that leaves a favorable impression of you in their minds. An image-sharing tool like these can help you reach out to others, and save you a thousand words of writing, every day.

There are quite a few image-sharing venues out there—and while your mileage and social media needs may vary, in my experience they’ve basically boiled down to just one. Allow me: Flickr is ridiculously clunky and doesn’t share well with others—just spend a few minutes trying to either find an image or a keyword, or pass along a photo. Pain. In. The…youknowwhatImean. Instagram is fine and dandy for taking snapshots of your dinner, your dog, your kids, your whatever…but when it comes to sharing what you snap, or using images from other sources, it’s not exactly user-friendly.

This basically leaves us with two choices, if you want to save those thousands of words: Pinterest and Tumblr. I’ve tried both and the choice was extremely easy to make—it comes down to one thing: sex.

Let’s face it, when you’re an author of erotica and erotic romance, you are dealing with—in one way or another—characters having sex. Like lots of erotica authors, I’ve learned to (sigh) deal with platforms like Facebook that will wish you into the cornfield for showing—or in some cases even talking about—something as threatening as a nipple. We deal with Facebook because we have to. But an open-minded image-sharing social media venue is a bit like Twitter: the more the merrier.

Pinterest doesn’t like sex…at all. I used to have a Pinterest account but then I began to get messages, here and there to start, but then tons: each one about a posted image of mine that was removed due to the dreaded Terms of Service. A few were obvious, but then the images they were yanking became and more innocent. Bye-bye Pinterest.

Tumblr isn’t perfect—far from it—but even after being purchased by the search engine deity Yahoo, I can count on the fingers of one hand the times it has caused me any kind of headache. Mostly they will reject anything that really pushes a button—think of the deadly erotica sins, but with pictures, and you know what I mean (hate speech, rape, bestiality, incest, underage, pee or poo, etc).

In a nutshell, Tumblr is easy, fun, and—best of all—a rather effective social media tool that also neatly and simply integrates into Twitter and Facebook…and, no, I do not own stock.

The way it works couldn’t be less complicated: you can create any number of Tumblrs—think folders—(even with an “age appropriate” warning if you want), and then design them with any one of a huge number of themes. From your master dashboard you can see—and tweak —all the separate Tumblrs you’ve created. The themes are a blast, and the interface takes very little skill to navigate.

As for what Tumblrs you should create…well, that’s up to you. Like food? Make a nice edibles Tumblr (and they have an app that lets you to take shots of your meals if that’s what you’re into). Like history? Create a vintage photo site. Love sex? Well, it’s pretty obvious about what you can do with that.

Where do you get your pictures? You can certainly take them yourself or upload them from your various devices, but where Tumblr becomes a real social media machine is in reposting. Once you create your account just look for other Tumblrs by interests or keywords and then hit that little follow button. Then, when you look at your dashboard, you’ll see a nice stream of pictures that you can like, share, or repost to your own various Tumblr incarnations. Plus, the more people you follow, the more people will follow you.

Just to give you an idea, I started—rather lazily—my dozen or so Tumblrs four or so years ago and now my main one, Rude Mechanicals, has close to 4,000 followers. You can imagine the reach you could have if you really put some work into it.

And if you want to see how far that reach extends, you can go back and look at your posts to see how many times they’ve been liked or reposted. It’s harder to tell when it’s a reposted picture but it can also be very heartwarming to see that, for instance, when you post about a good review or a new book announcement, dozens of people liked your news or, even better, shared it with their own vast audience.

What’s also fun about Tumblr is the auto-forward feature. It’s not perfect, as there are some periodic glitches, but all in all it works rather well. When you set up your separate Tumblrs you can then select an option where—if you choose—you can also send any image to Twitter or to Facebook.  That increases the number of people your image will potentially reach. It can even go to a Facebook page you’ve created. Neat!

One trick I use is to click the handy “like” button to create an inventory of images and then—once or twice a day—go back into my list of likes to repost them to my appropriate sites…with or without Twitter or Facebook reposting as I see fit. Tumblrs also feature RSS, which means you can subscribe to one of them through an aggregator like Feedly.

What’s also neat about Tumblr is its flexibility: you can post images (duh) but you can also embed video (from YouTube or wherever) and post text, quotations, links, chat streams, and audio.

Let your eyes do the walking and let the images they find do the talking. Image-sharing tools like Tumblr are a super easy way to fulfill your need for social media presence without having to write anything.

#

M.Christian has become an acknowledged master of erotica, with more than 400 stories, 10 novels (including The Very Bloody Marys, Brushes and The Painted Doll). Nearly a dozen collections of his own work (Technorotica, In Control, Lambda nominee Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine), more than two dozen anthologies (Best S/M Erotica series, My Love for All That is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, The Burning Pen, and with Maxim Jakubowksi The Mammoth Book of Tales from the Road).  His work is regularly selected for Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and others. His extensive knowledge of erotica as writer, editor, anthologist and publisher resulted in the bestselling guide How To Write And Sell Erotica.  He can be found in a number of places online, not least of which is mchristian.com.