GAY FICTION AUTHOR OF THE WEEK ALAN CHIN

I’m pleased to have here this week the extremely talented, Gay Fiction Author, Alan Chin.  Thank you, Alan for agreeing to this interview, very pleased to have you here. Let's get started.

COULD YOU PLEASE SHARE THREE WORDS THAT DESCRIBE YOU?

Devoted, Persistent, Enthusiastic

PLEASE ORGANIZE THESE WORDS, PLACING THE MOST IMPORTANT TO YOU FIRST AND BRIEFLY EXPLAIN YOUR REASON.  

FAMILY, WRITING, SEX, MUSIC, FRIENDS, ANIMALS, LOVE, SPORTS, CHILDREN

This is a great question.

Love, Family, Friends, Children, Animals, Writing, Sex, Sports

I have practiced Buddhism for over thirty years, which means I strive to place love and compassion for all living creatures above all else, explaining my first five picks. After my spiritual love, I place my devotion on writing, which remains something I’m consumed with. I love the creative aspect of developing characters, settings and story plots. Last come sex and sports. They were a large part of my life a dozen years ago, but the older I grow, the less significant they become.

  

Island Song

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN WRITING?

I have loved writing since getting my masters degree in writing back in 1991. I didn’t start writing to be published until I retired from the corporate world in 1999, and started writing my first novel, Island Song, in 2002, which was published in 2008. Since releasing Island Song, I’ve published six other novels and one short story.

WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON RIGHT NOW?

Just days ago I completed a novel, First Exposure, that I’ve been working on for three years. It will be published by Bold Strokes Book in Aug. 2014. It’s about a straight, military man who mistakenly becomes the target of homophobic rage by befriending a gay sailor.

Thai Buddhist Temple

I’m also working on a collection of six short novellas all taking place in Thai Buddhist temples. Most of these stories (some based on true events) are stories of Western men traveling to Thailand to become monks. They are about culture shock, about finding or losing love, and about realizing what is really important in life.

 

WHICH CHARACTER IN YOUR BOOK(S) DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH, AND WHY?

Ha! All of them. (grins) They all come from inside me, and good or bad, saint or scoundrel, they are all splinters of my varied personality and imagination.

SHARE THE NAMES OF A FEW AUTHORS WHO INSPIRE YOU.

There are so many. Colm Toibin and Marguerite Duras for their beautiful prose. Truman Capote for his vivid characters. Christopher Isherwood, Michael Cunningham and Evelyn Waugh for everything. I’m also a fan of Michael Crichton for just solidly entertaining storytelling. And of course, Annie Proulx for her brilliant short stories. We are so lucky to live in a time where we have so many masters to choose from.

SHARE THE MUSIC/MUSICIANS THAT YOU LIKE AND HOW THEY ADD TO YOUR LIFE OR WRITING?

When it comes to music, I’m a bit of a gay cliché. First and foremost, I’m an opera queen. I love all types of classical music, and most types of jazz. I was raised on ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s rock, and that still holds a place in my heart.

Music has a huge hold on my life. I met my husband at the San Francisco Opera twenty years ago, and it is a love we share, something that brings us closer together. We have traveled to over forty countries over the last fifteen years, and have attended concerts and opera performances in many of those countries.

IF YOU WEREN’T A WRITER, WHAT OTHER CAREER WOULD YOU CHOOSE?

I once managed a team of software engineers and cutting-edge IT projects, but I don’t think I would go back to software development no matter how much they paid me.

 

Lotus blossom

I have considered from time to time—and I’m leaving this option open—of becoming a novice, Buddhist monk, and walking the spiritual path, inching my way toward enlightenment. Part of me would really love to study the scriptures, and have a master who would guide me down that path. I’d be there now if it were not for my commitment to my husband (also the thought of getting up at 4am every morning and begging for food, only to eat one meal per day. It’s a hard life that I’m not sure I could endure.)

Barring that, I would want to do something creative like producing/directing documentary films. I guess I’m still a storyteller at heart, and a different career would need to incorporate that aspect of my personality.

WHERE CAN WE FIND YOU ON THE INTERNET?

You can read the first few chapters of all my published books (seven in all) at http://alanchin.net You can also select the “Free Story” button and I’ll email you a free short story from my Thai Monk collection.

I also maintain a writers blog at http://alanchinwriter.blogspot.com/ where I post my thoughts, book reviews, writing tips, and excerpts from my works.

ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM: THE PLAIN OF BITTER HONEY

The Plain of Bitter Honey

At last, Aaron opened his eyes to find himself staring into eyes that were disturbing in their clarity. Those eyes bored into his; they seemed to dissolve all questions and all answers within their depth. They were the eyes of a man watching the trajectory of a stag leaping off a cliff, with more amusement than horror, but at the same time expressing sympathy for the stag.

“I’m sorry that I’ve put you in danger,” Aaron said. “I’ll never do it again. Packs?”

“Because you’ll give up these underground activities?”

“Because I’ll keep this shit far away from you.”

“Okay, packs.” Hayden hooked his little finger through Aaron’s and gave it a tug. He leaned forward and kissed Aaron on the lips—a loving, sensual kiss. Aaron didn’t resist. Considering our circumstances, Aaron thought, this might prove to be our last chance to show affection.

Hayden pulled back. “No matter what, I love you.”

“I know.”

“Yes, but I wanted to say it out loud, just once.”

Hayden squeezed Aaron’s hands with icy fingers. “What about this Julian fellow. Does he make you happy?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer.

“Brother, have you forgotten the last chorus of Oedipus: Call no man happy until he is dead.”

Aaron nodded. “You writers are so full of shit.”

They kissed again before Aaron led his brother back into the living room. All eyes turned toward them.

“Listen up, people,” Aaron said. “It’s time for a hasty retreat. We’ll go over the roof in pairs, three minutes apart. Hopefully they’re not watching the alley.

Stubbs, you take Maggie. Hayden, you and Julian can leave the way you came, but you’d better hurry. We’ll meet up at the safe house in the Castro in three days time.”

Stubbs and Maggie checked their handguns; both clicked their safety off.

The Armenian hissed, “Van coming. Looks like Marwick’s.”

Aaron rushed to the window. A black van was too far down the hill to identify. He’s guessing, Aaron thought. He snatched the binoculars and waited. Seconds ticked by like months until the van moved close enough for him to check the license plate. His heart fell. He turned back to the room to see Stubbs and Maggie still standing at the doorway.

“Go dammit; go now.”

Stubbs took Maggie by the arm. They disappeared into the hallway.

“Hayden, Julian, change of plans,” Aaron said. “You both go over the roof.”

Aaron dashed to Hayden, pulled a Glock from his belt and held it out. “Things might get dicey. Take this.”

Hayden shook his head.

They glared at each other, and Aaron saw the emotions churning behind his brother’s eyes.

“Shit,” Aaron hissed, returning to the window. He dropped the Glock beside the mirror and his wallet. As he picked up the binoculars he wiped the sweat from his forehead before training the binoculars down the hill.

The van chugged up the street. When it reached the end of the block, the two Homeland HumVee-Xs dashed out of hiding, again, to block the road. The van stopped as four uniformed men jumped out of their vehicles. Two officers converged on the driver’s door, one barking orders and the other standing off with his gun drawn. The other two sauntered around the van, their M4s held at the ready. One officer walked to the driver’s door and shined a flashlight on the driver, no doubt asking to see I.D. cards. The driver’s window slid down; red flashes burst and shots rang out. The van sped backward, spraying more shots. From the rooftops on both sides of the street, spotlights sprang to life, casting theatrical beams on the van. Machinegun fire cut the air, pelting the van with red tracers from above.

There was no way to help them. Aaron waved at his team still standing in his living room. “Everybody! Go now, over the roof! GO!”

They all rushed out the doorway, except Hayden.

“Aren’t you coming?” Hayden asked

“I’m right behind you.”

“Brother, I’m simple, not stupid.”

“Look, dammit, they’ll be here any second. Now go. Hurry!”

A crashing sound yanked Aaron’s head back to the window. The van spun out of control, smashed into a parked car, and flipped on its side. Bullets peppered the van for another half-minute. The noise sounded like a twelve-foot string of firecrackers. Then it stopped, leaving a stunned hush. No sign of life registered within the van. Two officers lay on the street, motionless. Smoke rose through the beams of spotlights, a shifting pall between the borders of light.

Suddenly, another noise cut the silence—the throaty growl of an engine starting below Aaron’s window. Aaron glanced down to see a man straddling his brother’s motorcycle. The lean figure and dreadlocks were unmistakable. Hayden gunned the engine to get everyone’s attention. The spotlights turned on him. He revved it once more and flew up the street in the opposite direction.

“What the…?” Aaron whispered to an empty room. On a hunch, he glanced at the coffee table, and his heart imploded. His brown wallet, which held his I.D. card, was missing. In its place was Hayden’s calf-skin wallet.

The screech of tires whipped Aaron’s head back to the street. Two HumVee-Xs now blocked Hayden’s exit. Uniformed men leaped from the vehicles with rifles drawn.

Hayden slid into a tight turn and gunned the engine, rocketing him the opposite direction. He bent low over the handlebars. But now he was barricaded in from both sides of the block. Hayden came to a dead stop in the middle of the block. The searchlights zeroed in on him, yellow and brilliant, catching him like Bambi in the headlights. Someone shouted in a throaty voice. Two officers on each side of the block dropped to one knee and raised their M4s to a firing position.

It appeared to be a stalemate.

Aaron knew his brother was drawing all the attention on himself to give Aaron a clean getaway, but before he could move the front door burst inward. Officers rushed in with weapons held at the ready.

“Freeze, motherfucker!”

That's all we've got for you this week, folks. 

If you'd like to read more of The Plain of Bitter Honey or any of Alan Chin's works, Please click on any of links beneath the book covers. my personal favorite of Alan's books is Daddy's Money. You can read my review here.

     MATCH MAKER               DADDY'S MONEY        BUTTERFLY'S CHILD      SIMPLE TREASURES      THE LONELY WAR

Alan, it's been wonderful having you here, thank you so much for sharing your story and your stories with us.

MM Romance/Gay Fiction Author of the Week Erin O'Quinn

I’m over the moon to have MM Romance and Gay Fiction Author Erin O’Quinn for my author of the week post this week. I am a huge fan of Erin's books, her works contain a rare sensual grittiness  that captures the essence of raw masculinity.  Erin, thank you for taking time out to join me this week.

Alex, I can’ begin to tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this! The pleasure is all mine.

Okay, let's get started.

COULD YOU PLEASE SHARE THREE WORDS THAT DESCRIBE YOU, ERIN?

Ironic ... perfectionist ... contrary

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN WRITING?

Alex, in a sense I’ve been writing my entire life. As a child, I lived in a small rustic cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, whose walls were insulated with cardboard. That cardboard was my first blackboard, before I ever went to school. Through my early years, that’s where I scribbled my hopes and dreams, my crushes, my impassioned corny poems to popular singers and movie stars. 

Later on, when I went to college, I chose English as my major; and in grad school, I selected Comparative Lit as my field of research. But only three years ago ... early December, 2010 ... I began to write a novel. And then all hell broke loose. That one was followed by 21 others, and I’m writing one even now...

HOT HIGHLANDER

 WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON RIGHT NOW?

I’m a little more than halfway through the annual scribble-fest called NaNoWriMo. The book is a gay romcom titled NEVADA HIGHLANDER, about a gay Scotsman named Rory who decides to join a big game hunt in Eastern Nevada; and the man who’s secretly been set to spy on him, a Nevada State Trooper named Alex. Rory’s ambitious uncle, afraid that his nephew will do something scandalous, has pulled political strings to have Rory followed on the hunt. Rory, meanwhile, finds his new friend Alex to be the sexiest man he’s ever met. The two fall in lust, first, and then in love. But the reality of their being together, which Alex is afraid to reveal, hangs like a shroud over their relationship in the mind of Alex and (hopefully) the mind of the reader. What happens when Rory discovers his lover’s deceit?

MICHAEL

WHICH CHARACTERS  IN YOUR BOOKS DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH AND WHY?

I tend to identify with men I’ve created who are both funny and solemn, wise and foolish. Michael McCree comes to mind, the horny roustabout from my Gaslight Mysteries. In the present work, Rory Drummond is another hugely likable character whose weaknesses (Wild Turkey scotch and handsome men) seem to shape his personality in the book, although of course he is more complex than that!

Warrior Ride Hard

 I realize I also identify with men who seem reserved (like Gristle in the Iron Warrior series, like Chase in THE CHASE, or Simon in the mysteries) but who have a rich inner life. Often these men are downright snotty and surly. Or else, like Alex in my WiP, they are reluctant to reveal their true nature and seem shy or introverted.

So I think I tend to yoke these two personality types in the books—I force them together, make them see each other’s point of view, come to an agreement of souls after their bodies join in the ageless dance of love. Maybe these personality types are actually my way of joining the two hemispheres of my brain, or reconciling two different facets of my own nature. Who knows why an author puts heart and soul into a character? ’Tis a mystery, dear Watson, hardly elementary!

 SHARE THE NAMES OF A FEW AUTHORS WHO INSPIRE YOU.

Erin O'Quinn and Nya Rawlings 

I’m the kind of oddball who takes inspiration from the masters:  novelists/wordsmiths Vladimir Nabokov and Michael Chabon ... poets Yeats, Frost, Dickinson, Heaney. I seldom have time to read; and so the contemporary author I select as an inspiration is my sometime-writing-partner Nya Rawlyns. Her way of putting together words can make one’s mind bleed.

What do these authors have in common? A density and complexity of words, a way of turning a simple sentence into poetry. Ironically, my own writing is far more straightforward than any of the writers I’ve mentioned. I admire the complexity while striving in my own works for a kind of cadenced simplicity.

SHARE THE PLACES YOU HAVE BEEN, OR WOULD LIKE TO SEE, AND HOW THEY ADD TO YOUR LIFE OR WRITING?

Exactly half of my 22 books are set in Ireland. There’s a place I’ve never been, but one as real as though I lived there in some other life. In fact, if anyone is interested, I wrote an article once for my blog Gaelic Spirit called Ireland: A Landscape Built in Dreams. You can find it here: http://erinsromance.wordpress.com/2012/08/18/ireland-a-landscape-built-in-dreams/

Another place that has strongly influenced me is not really a place, but a patchwork of reality—the mountains of Nevada. I haven’t been back to my home state for thirty years. But every nuance of smell, sight, taste and touch is as fresh as though those mountains reared outside my door here in Central Texas. I’ve written about the special allure of Nevada in eight books, including the one I’m working on now.

IF YOU WEREN’T A WRITER, WHAT OTHER CAREER WOULD YOU CHOSE?

I’ve had my several careers, and so that vague longing is out of my system, I hope. I’ve been a teacher (of remedial English to college kids who should know already; of literature and composition to university and college students; of poetry to seniors who are natural poets anyway). I’ve been a car salesperson—in the woods of Germany and in a good-old-boy dealership in Abilene Texas. I’ve been a pallet-hauler in a big-box store. I’ve been a marketing and promotion guru for Nevada’s largest newspaper. Lots of vocations, a ton of fodder for my books.

 WHERE CAN WE FIND YOU ON THE INTERNET?

If a browser were so inclined, s/he can find me as the voice behind several blogsites. My sites devoted to MM are:

The Man in Romance  http://romancemanlove.wordpress.com/

Ac´cent Gay Lit Authors  http://gaylitauthors.wordpress.com/

MM: Gaslight Mysteries  http://caitlinfire.wordpress.com

Wilderness Men (with Nya Rawlyns)  http://wilderness-men.weebly.com/ 

ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM ERIN'S LATEST: MUSTANG

 co-written with Nya Rawlyns

MUSTANG

Two unlikely men who form a strong bond, built on their rescue of a wild horse who’s been caught in the barbed wire of a torn-down fence. Zach is a lonely man, still feeling the trauma of being raped by a bully who has continued to mark him. Josh is a young man who’s run from his parole officer, who’s lived by trading his body for the necessities of a bare subsistence. Yet together, somehow these men become strong and whole. Zachary’s voice in the book is mine.

Zach stood looking at his mate. The man whose breath he had chosen to share. He remembered scooping him to his chest a little while ago, right here in the bedroom. Christ, not even an hour ago, a lifetime of truth ago.

The scrappy, skinny, beautiful guy named Joshua had been light as the bantam cock he resembled. Just like he’d raised him off the linoleum, he’d swept him then into his arms, a prize of sinew and bones and sweet flesh. He remembered looking into the midnight of eyes that stripped him bare, forced him to be exactly who he was. A man straining for trust, for something to cherish. He’d tasted his own tears on the man’s mobile mouth.

How was he different now, naked, at the side of his bed? If anything, Joshua was more beautiful than ever, and more desirable. Some might see the scars and bruises and think how disgusting his life had been, how he’d better keep running and hope to escape the pain.

No, Joshua was the man he himself wanted to be. Brave. One who recognized his weaknesses and tried to lift himself above the goddamn pain and ugliness. One who’d seen brutality, faced it, felt its effects, and still raised a gentle hand to help a wounded horse. And a wounded man.

He crushed Joshua close to his chest and murmured something, love maybe, words he hoped would keep him close.

“Show me. Show me life isn’t all tears. I know you can.”

He picked him up again and laid him on the bed. Both of them were bare-ass naked, vulnerable as they’d ever be again in their lives. His heart sang the words.

“You are my guitar.”

He strummed his belly, stroked the wiry hair that led to his navel and below. The balls were honey-colored, silken haired, soft. He wanted to bury his face there, so he did. He felt Josh twist a little, as though in denial, but he pushed both palms under, to his butt, and cupped the cheeks, raising his cock and balls to his mouth.

"Zachary"

“Hush.” The cock, different from his own, was not thick. But it was by-God long, sassy, jumping a little, showing off for him. “Quiet.” He sucked it in, not all of it, but as much as he could. God was it sweet, smelling a little of sweat and something he could only call “manchild.” A prick needing a haven, a sure place to return to when he wanted a home.

He lifted Joshua’s buttocks and then let them sink, bringing the cock in and out of his mouth with the force of his hands and arms only. His tongue, needing more, sampled the testicles. Hard, they were hard now, where before they were yielding to his palm. He slicked the scrotum into his mouth, the same way he thought he’d like Josh to do it to him. He let the sacs slide out, dripping with spit, then tucked them back into his cheeks.

Above him, Josh was moaning. He lifted his lover’s butt even more and found the place between his balls and anus, the strip he’d discovered on himself that felt like a pathway to explore if ever he could make himself come that way. Now, licking it, he heard his lover cry out.

Gently, Zach brought Josh’s entire ass up to his mouth. Still cupping the buttocks, he nuzzled and licked, nosed and tongued, until Josh spread his legs and offered himself completely.

Zach knew he had to make it up as he went along, like his music, had to show his lover he wasn’t afraid to take him exactly as he was. What now? He could think of one compelling need, an act he’d dreamed about sometimes before he woke sweating and confused.

Chin first, he sank his mouth, tongue and all, into the anus. Coming back out, he licked the edge, squeezed the cheeks, then delved again.

“Zachary, God, I love that.” Josh was almost screaming his joy and surprise, and Zach came close to climax listening to him.

“Put your fingers in, one by one, then all of them. And kiss me too. All at once. Can you?”

It wasn’t hard to do. In fact, his tongue naturally found the solace of Joshua’s mouth, and his fingers pushed and withdrew, snaked up, then out, with a rhythm like picking the strings of his guitar.

And the music? Let it never end, never.

Josh was almost limp from pleasure. Zach felt it in the way his neck rolled back and in the whimper of his voice escaping the tongue he was pushing down the man’s throat. Now, now, his own body sang, and he lowered his head again to recapture the long prick.

Holy shit, the cock was tense, rigid and full, needing him. Him, Zachary Williams. He felt his lover’s body shaking with anticipation, matching the tremble he felt along every inch of his own skin. He slickered it into his mouth, this time relaxing his throat muscles more, taking in more.

He let the ridge play along the roof of his mouth, tried not to bite down in his frantic need to help him come. Is this what it’s like? Sweet Jesus, I love this man. Again he grabbed Joshua’s butt cheeks and squeezed hard, then drove a finger up his hole, all the while spitting and chewing and sucking the flesh he needed to own, for-fucking-ever.

So long folks! If you want more of this titillating and heartfelt story, click the link and get yourself a copy of Mustang.  And don't miss my personal favorite Warrior Ride Hard and its sequel Warrior Stand Tall . Here is my review for the the first book. Also not to be missed are the books of  The Gaslight Mysteries series, Heart to Hart , Sparring with Shadows and To the Bone .

Erin, it's been a pleasure, I look forward to reading Mustang and your future works.