Good morning, M.A, and thanks for letting me stop by! It feels like coming home, I’ve been here so much! Which reminds me, got any coffee?
I’d like to start out today by asking a question of everyone, food for thought.
Have you ever had a crush on someone?
Of course you have, everyone has, at one time or another. Maybe lots of crushes. They’re fun, exciting. Make our hearts race and our blood sing. They make us come alive and keep us young!
It usually starts in grade school. You see a cute boy or girl and zing! An arrow straight to the heart. Suddenly he’s all you can think about, his image fills your mind even when he’s not around. Even if you don’t know his name. Or, if you do, and you’ve never spoken to him because you’re invisible to him. None of that matters. What matters is that he’s the object of your crush, and that makes him the most important guy in the world. The guy of your dreams.
Do you tell anyone? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. You certainly don’t tell the boy in question, but your best friend? Of course! That’s something you share (unless it’s her boyfriend or brother, that’s another matter entirely). Something you bond over, giggle over, plot, moon, and dream over. Because she probably has one too, so it becomes shared fodder for girl talk.
You plan romantic dates with Mr. Secret Love, and dream of being married, even before you know what being married is all about. And you know he’ll be the best husband in the world and love you more than anyone has ever been loved before. Visions of a cute little house with a picket fence, or your own personal version thereof, fill your dreams. And you doodle his name all over your notebooks, preceded by Mrs.
Crushes can also be painful, especially if pulled into the light of day by cold-hearted peers. Sometimes it’s a friend who means well but has a big mouth. Or a sibling who’s read your diary and knows all—and tells it. Or the boyfriend/girlfriend of the object of your fantasies, who objects to your worship of someone they consider theirs. Or it can be by the crush himself, who laughs at the idea of even being with you. Yes, crushes can be painful.
When I was in seventh grade, I crushed on my science teacher, and fantasized about him 24/7. I dreamed about marrying him, and I even told people that the huge ring I wore was an engagement ring I’d gotten from him, caught up in my own fantasy. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. In fact, as I later learned long after I’d grown up and moved on, the object of my crush was and is gay. Figures, right?
So, what sort of crush is safe to have? One that won’t get you beat down by everyone around you?
Movie and book crushes, of course, pop to mind. I’ve crushed on so many actors it isn’t funny. Usually a lot older than me, at least while I was growing up. When I was twelve, it was Burt Lancaster. And Barnabas Collins, from Dark Shadows. James Mason. Richard Burton. Count Dracula. But then I discovered a different kind of crushing, one which isn’t often admitted to.
Have you ever crushed on someone from history? An actual personage, someone who’s now left the stage for the next life, someone whom you fantasize about what it would have been like to love?
Oh yes, been there, done that.
I think I didn’t even realize my early crushes for what they were, men like Henry VIII and Napoleon Bonaparte. I just knew I couldn’t get enough of them, in fact or fiction. It wasn’t until I had an erotic dream about Napoleon that I realized it was something more than simple admiration.
Now I’ll freely admit that I have a huge crush on Cardinal Richelieu, so it’s not unexpected that I’d incorporate him into my writing somehow, which I’ve done with Captivations. Captivations is set in New Orleans, and it concerns two brothers who own a night club by that name. But these aren’t ordinary brothers—they’re vampires, one time protégées of Cardinal Richelieu. Now it’s the present day, and when Jillian Nichols arrives, sent by the Church to be their new daykeeper, all Hell breaks loose. This is a WIP, which began as a monthly series at a publisher who went under, so now I’m finishing it on my own and hope to release it this year.
The acorn doesn’t fall from the tree, as I discovered when I learned that my twenty-one year old daughter had (or maybe still has)a crush on Benjamin Franklin. I shouldn’t have been surprised—her taste in men has generally run to guys that are too old for me!
A historical crush is safe because there are no jealous boyfriends or girlfriends around to get in the way, although I would advise withholding the information from siblings and most peers, for good measure, at least until you’re an adult. I love history as well, so imagining myself going back in time, to meet and talk with my historical crush—well, that’s a fantasy worthy of a novel.
And if you want to have a little fun, try throwing your characters back in time and see what happens. That’s the premise of my new release with eXtasy Books, Trapped in Time. It began as a bit of flash fiction on my blog, but it grew. Hope you like it!
Thanks for having me, as always!
Now... for the giveaway! From now until Saturday, Julie is running a giveaway for Trapped in Time. :)
What To Do:
*Leave a comment telling me which dinosaur you think is the coolest.
*Leave me an email addy, please!
*I'll announce the winner Sunday. Good luck, everyone!
Life is good for Adalbert “Doll” Klein. He has his beautiful sexy Italian, Vittorio Genovese by his side, he has his pennyfarthing, and his job at the Arabesque Theatre. The only wrinkle is the presence of Myron Cornwinkle, who has designs on Vittorio, but the man has no chance. Doll owns Vittorio’s heart.
Doll sneers at Myron’s claims of being a wizard. Until the day he goes to work and his whole world changes when Myron pulls his wand and casts a spell – and suddenly all three of them are stuck in prehistoric ages!
Is there a way to undo what Myron has done and return to where they belong? And if Myron doesn’t clean up his act, will he survive the experience?
And is there something lurking in the jungle that might be even worse than the dinosaurs?
The day started pretty much like any other. I got up, ate breakfast, took a shower, cleaned the bathroom and got ready for work. So far, so good. I actually enjoy going to my place of employment, because the love of my life works there, too. His name is Vittorio, he’s six foot one inch sexy Italian and incredibly hunkalicious! And I love him to death.
Vittorio Genovese. Doesn’t it just roll off your tongue? It does mine, and it gives me goose bumps to boot.
In comparison, my name barely rates an honorable mention. In fact, I’d rather not mention it at all, but here goes nothing. Adalbert Klein. Ja, very Germanic, I know. And yes, I look very German, with my curly blond hair and my blue eyes and my incessant need to clean my apartment every frigging day.
But Vittorio’s so cute! He shortens my name and calls me Doll. I’m his little Doll, which makes it a play on my last name, being as it’s Klein. And seeing as I’m only about five foot four. So it fits on all counts.
Yes, thanks for pointing out that we must look like an odd couple when we’re together. Because I needed to hear that. But don’t worry about it. When we’re in bed, height doesn’t matter, and we fit together perfectly.
So back to where I was.
I closed and locked my apartment. On my way out the door, I greeted my landlady with a big hug and a kiss. Basically because she’s also my Mutti and I love her very much. “Have a good day, Adal,” she told me, like she tells me every day. She stood in the doorway and waved, while I mounted my bicycle. I waved back before I pedaled away on my pennyfarthing.
These bikes are all the rage now—some people call them Hi-wheels. I just know that I love being up so high. Sometimes, I pretend I’m a zeppelin pilot, like the ones I see overhead. I dream of flying one someday, but Mutti says no, that won’t be allowed. She’s only looking out for me because she loves me. My Vati used to fly a zeppelin. His name was Rolf, and he was a great big bear of a man. He loved me and my Mutti, and he loved my Vittorio. Ach, when the two of them would get together, there’d be so much fun! Vittorio with his wine and my Vati with his beer, and we’d all drink together and sing, and…I miss him so much. He died in a freak zeppelin accident. I don’t blame the airship, but Mutti does. I hope she gets over that soon, but for now, I’m being patient. It’s only been six months, and the wound needs time to heal.
My ride to work takes me exactly twenty minutes. Every day the same two-mile ride. But I don’t mind. I smile at people I pass along the way, and they smile back at me, because everyone knows everyone and life is grand.
Vittorio is waiting for me when I arrive, because he knows precisely when I will be there. He’s waiting on the sidewalk outside the Arabesque Theatre, and he lifts me from my bike as easily as lifting a bratwurst from a bun. They can keep their newfangled hot dogs, or Coney dogs, or whatever they’re calling them. I prefer the taste of German sausage in my mouth.
Or Italian, when it comes to Vittorio, but that’s another matter.
The Arabesque is the nicest theatre in town, and we show the best films. Vittorio is very excited about a new film that starts today. He tells me there is this very handsome man in it, and when I look at the poster he’s plastered on the front of the theater, I have to agree.
The film is called The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. If this Valentino guy can act half as good as he looks, I think he’ll go far.
Vittorio sets me on my feet, but only after a proper hello kiss, and together we walk into the theater, walking my bike between us. And there, waiting for us, is the fly in the ointment. The imperfection in our otherwise perfect job.
I swear, if this was a drama, he’d be cast as the villain of the piece. He even has the moustaches for it. And he twirls them in an overly dramatic fashion. I think they’re fake, personally. I don’t think he could grow a real moustache if he tried, and someday, I’m going to pull those nasty-looking things off of his smirky face.
He works at the Arabesque, too. Feel free to boo or hiss whenever you see his name mentioned on these pages. In fact, I encourage it.
He’s the film projector. I’m the usher, and Vittorio plays the organ because, of course, the films are silent, so we have to supply our own music.
“Ah ha!” he sneers as we try to walk past him, twirling those cheesey-looking things and attempting to look menacing. In one hand, he holds a reel against his chest, twirling with the other.
The trouble with Myron is that he has this idea he’s in love with Vittorio and that he’s going to marry him. Over my dead body! Or, rather, over his.
Plus, he also thinks he’s a wizard. Touched in the head is what I think he is.
“What do you want, Moron?” I interject myself between my love and my enemy. I’d love to run Myron down with my bike, but I don’t. At least not now.
He doesn’t answer but pulls out his wand and mutters something, while I tap my foot and wait.
Nothing. No response. Is he playing deaf and dumb today or what?
Until suddenly, there is something. The entire theatre shakes, and this big colorful ball of light envelops the three of us... and then poof!
Once I get over feeling dizzy and I open my eyes again, I find myself staring up into the eyes of a Tyrannosaurus Rex!
Julie Lynn Hayes was reading at the age of two and writing by the age of nine and always wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Two marriages, five children, and more than forty years later, that is still her dream. She blames her younger daughters for introducing her to yaoi and the world of M/M love, a world which has captured her imagination and her heart and fueled her writing in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She especially loves stories of two men finding true love and happiness in one another's arms and is a great believer in the happily ever after. She lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah and two cats, loves books and movies, and hopes to be a world traveler some day. She enjoys crafts, such as crocheting and cross stitch, knitting and needlepoint and loves to cook. While working a temporary day job, she continues to write her books and stories and reviews, which she posts in various places on the internet. Her family thinks she is a bit off, but she doesn't mind. Marching to the beat of one's own drummer is a good thing, after all. Her other published works can be found at Dreamspinner Press, MuseitUp Publishing and coming soon to Torquere Press. She has also begun to self-publish and is an editor at MuseitUp.
You can find her on her blog at http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com, and you can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
My blog: http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
My website: www.julielynnhayes.com
My facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=527332074
Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_222
Museit Up Publishing: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php