Richard LaBronte Likes Running Dry

Here's another delightful review of Running Dry (out now in a new, complete, and totally WOW edition from Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions) from the great Richard LaBronte.

Let's see. Vampire bites man. Man becomes vampire. The biter and the bitten are in love. Must be a gay vampire novel. But not just another gay vampire novel. RUNNING DRY is, yes, about vampires. Hardcore vampires. Unless they're passing along the vampire gene, they don't just sip blood - they suck out every sweet empowering ounce of a body's bodily fluids, leaving behind but a dusty husk. Christian, author of hundreds of acclaimed short stories and editor of many fine anthologies, has crafted a brisk combo of decades-arcing romance, contemporary suspense thriller, and original horror story - Doud, the vampire longing for the lover he thinks he's lost forever, is a mysterious artist whose every painting is daubed with the blood of victims he's had to kill in order to survive, a spooky kind of homage. This is a rip-roaring read that ought to come with this warning: don't read the last page before starting the first, then devouring the rest. The book's ending is a shocker, as lives end and another begins. Enough said.

Billierosie Likes Running Dry

I probably say too much - but I really do have some truly wonderful friends.  Just take a look at this touching review Billierosie  posted for my very-first novel, Running Dry - out now in a new, expanded edition, from Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions.

Thanks so much, Billierosie: you are a real treasure!

In RUNNING DRY, M. Christian, elegantly re-writes the eternal themes of love, loss, betrayal, fear and death. With a flourish of his pen (or lap-top and cursor) Christian gives us a potent potpourri, that has little to do with gracious fragrances and everything to do with the pungent stench of bodily fluids; blood, bile, saliva and mucus.

This is a vampire story with a difference. Unlike Anne Rice’s exotic, erotic Lestat and Bram Stoker’s sinister Count Dracula, M.Christian’s vampires are riddled with guilt about what they have to do to survive. Ernst Doud, paints his guilt, with portraits lurid with the blood of his victims. Doud has a conscience, and he makes it up to those he has killed with a visual, tangible lament. His remorse is palpable.

There’s a mystery here. Who is Doud? Who is Sergio? What is their secret? Why has Doud given up on his art? Why is Sergio trying to seek out Doud? Why does Doud want to kill Sergio? What is Shelly’s place in all of this?

Yes, Doud and Sergio are monsters. They know it; Vince is a monster too. But he’s worse; he’s a killer without a conscience.

There is no “dark trick” in RUNNING DRY. Doud, Sergio and Vince won’t spellbind you with a glamour. In the tradition of the most gruesome fairy tales from the Brothers Grimm, or Angela Carter, they grab you, gobble you up; eat you. Your death won’t be romantic, erotic; sexy. Just complete, total annihilation.

The scene where Doud fights Vince in the desert, is terrifying. It’s visual; like watching a film. My heart is racing, as I read. I can feel the heat of the desert, scorching my lungs. I screw up my eyes, against the glare of the sun; the painful blue of the desert sky.

M.Christian, possesses a rare gift; that of making elegant, lucid prose appear effortless.

Just listen to this:

“...the world acquired sound, the ground achieved traction, the air thinned, the rose-red glow ceased. As his body slowed from the blinding acceleration Doud had forced upon it, the monster’s body completely disintegrated. A body once ninety-five percent water became nothing but a desiccated five percent, falling apart into dust, ash, and a few brittle bones; life and moisture gone.”

Don’t you wish you’d written that? I do!

For me, RUNNING DRY is every bit as good for a second reading; better. Buy it, borrow it, read it. It won’t fail you.

Book Wenches Likes Running Dry

Now here's a real treat: a very nice review of my neo-vampire novel, Running Dry, by Book Wenches!

He might be immortal, but artist Ernst Doud detests his state of being. The method he must use to stay alive fills him with guilt and makes him more a monster than a man. Although his loneliness is crushing, Doud has found that all his attempts to transform a lover to immortality have resulted in disaster, so Doud has chosen to live solitary life. The only person he is close to is his friend Shelly, the jaded and outspoken owner of a Los Angeles art gallery. 

When a man appears at Shelly’s gallery searching for Doud, Doud knows that Sergio has finally found him. Decades ago, Doud converted Sergio into a creature like himself in the hopes of having eternal love and companionship, but instead of remaining his gentle lover, Sergio became a bloodthirsty beast. And now that beast is seeking revenge against the one who made him and who subsequently tried to kill him.

Fearing for Shelly’s life now that his old lover has seen her, Doud snatches her away from her everyday world and runs. He wants to keep his friend safe from a monster who won’t think twice before draining her dry. But when Doud’s own hunger increases and his control grows thin, can he also keep her safe from himself?

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When I opened M. Christian’s Running Dry for the first time, I expected yet another vampire story. A little extra angst, perhaps, and a GLBT twist but bloodsucking creatures of the night nevertheless – the same old same old. To my surprise and delight, I was completely wrong. This story about love, hunger, self-control, and the terrible cost of immortality is a fresh and intriguing take on the ever-popular vampire. This novel strips vampires of the pointy teeth, holy water aversion, and extreme photosensitivity that we have come to expect and instead offers readers a creature who is a hybrid of human and monster, whose sensitivity and emotions make him real but whose visceral need to kill makes him terrifying as well.

Mr. Christian has a literary and precise writing style that brings the action and the emotion into sharp focus and makes both the story and its characters feel completely real. He writes the way we might think, sometimes slightly stream of conscious but always intelligent and comfortable to read. He very expertly shows instead of tells, giving readers a chance to share in the discovery experience, drawing us in to the story until we feel almost a part of it.

Running Dry is one of those books that begins at a deceptively slow pace but then builds momentum as it goes along. Its short chapters keep the story moving forward at a fast clip, offering many tiny cliffhangers that keep us in constant suspense. I also found myself connecting with both the emotion and the horror of the story. The character Doud’s mental anguish permeates the entire narrative, coloring the simplest items in bleak tones. But even though Doud earns our sympathy, we can’t help but acknowledge the monster within him, because parts of the story are quite gruesome indeed.

I found Running Dry to be a very good read indeed and especially enjoyed its message. Carpe diem, this story tells us. Love is a rare and wonderful thing; use the time that you have in this life to find it instead of reaching for the unattainable. Because where is the joy in a life lived alone?

- Reviewed by: Bobby D Whitney

Out Now: Running Dry - The Complete Series

This is fantastic news: the great Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions - as part of the M.Christian ManLove Collection - has just released a very special edition of my queer thriller/horror/erotic novel Running Dry that includes not just the original novel but the erotic story that inspired the book ("Wet") and a never-before-published erotic epilogue story!

Not only that but the book is available as a free download to Amazon Prime Members!

Manlove classic, first time ever containing the original story, the sequel novel, and a new never before published concluding novella. M.Christian's masterful queer thriller/horror novel is back in print with 20,000 additional words.

He’s immortal. He drinks blood. But he's not a vampire. Doud’s totally unique – a being no one’s ever seen before – and he’s desperately lonely for a lover: a special someone who will not just join him in his bed but his strange life as well. But every time he thinks he's found someone it all goes horrifically wrong.

Then one day a monster from his past returns: a thing of bitterness and fury he believed was long dead. Doud, with his friend Shelly in tow, begins a terrifying chase that begins in Los Angeles and ends in a blistering confrontation in the desert’s baking wastes. There, in the heat and the dust, Doud will confront what he is, what he’s become, his deepest and darkest sexual desires and lusts.

Doud will get what he’s always wanted out of his long, strange life–but it will be nothing that Doud, or you, could ever have imagined!

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"I found Running Dry to be a very good read indeed and especially enjoyed its message. Carpe diem, this story tells us. Love is a rare and wonderful thing; use the time that you have in this life to find it instead of reaching for the unattainable. Because where is the joy in a life lived alone?"

– Book Wenches

"Let's see. Vampire bites man. Man becomes vampire. The biter and the bitten are in love. Must be a gay vampire novel. But not just another gay vampire novel. RUNNING DRY is, yes, about vampires. Hardcore vampires. Unless they're passing along the vampire gene, they don't just sip blood - they suck out every sweet empowering ounce of a body's bodily fluids, leaving behind but a dusty husk. Christian, author of hundreds of acclaimed short stories and editor of many fine anthologies, has crafted a brisk combo of decades-arcing romance, contemporary suspense thriller, and original horror story - Doud, the vampire longing for the lover he thinks he's lost forever, is a mysterious artist whose every painting is daubed with the blood of victims he's had to kill in order to survive, a spooky kind of homage. This is a rip-roaring read that ought to come with this warning: don't read the last page before starting the first, then devouring the rest. The book's ending is a shocker, as lives end and another begins. Enough said."

-Richard LaBronte

"If you like fiction with gay themes their presence here is a bonus, but the reason to buy this book is because this book is good." - Emily Veinglory

"With this impressive debut novel, one of our best short story writers shows why he is tops in his field; this book is fascinating, original, creative and can't be put down till it is finished. I cannot recommend it highly enough."

-Greg Herren, author of Murder In The Rue Dauphine and Bourbon Street Blues

I (Heart) Stephen Fry

Me2: Setting The Record Straight

Steve Williams (thanks) over at Suite 101 has given me an opportunity to try and set the record straight regarding the whole Me2 controversy:

Author M. Christian, an established and highly praised writer, talks about his acclaimed works and his career to date, offering aspiring writers his sage advice also.

SW: Can you give us some deatails about your book please?

M.C: The book called Me2, which was totally and completely written by myself, the real and bonafide 'M.Christian' and not written by some person claiming to be the real 'M.Christian'. It is a novel about identity and existence. Although the book has been marketed as a horror story, it also has elements of surrealism, humor, and plenty of social commentary. Similarly, even though the book has a gay male focus I think it would appeal to readers of any orientation, as its message is extremely universal: who are we and are we in control of our lives?

Everyone, gay or straight, likes to think they have a certain uniqueness, but do they really? 'Me2' deals with this by exposing the idea of a copy or fake, a second 'you' that appears apparently out of nowhere and begins not only to take over your life but also becomes a better 'you' than you ever could. How would you react to that? Would you try and quickly change your life, become someone less easily imitated? But then what happens when even this new 'you' is similarly copied -- or is the fraud, your doppleganger, just doing what you're doing ... down to your panicky change of life?
And it gets even worse from there.

SW: For aspiring writers, what would you say were key things they could do to improve their writing?

M.C: Boy, that's a difficult one, mostly because I believe each writer is different, with unique things that do (or don't) work for them. I have no problem advising folks on smut, for instance, because that's writing for a specific genre. But in general: Don't read about writing and don't take writing classes (except for mine, of course). I've noticed a lot of would-be-writers spend way too much time on theory and little to no time on actual practice. A writer writes, and each time they do they (hopefully) get better. And have fun! If writing is painful then you're not doing it right. Don't try and outdo someone else or become the next Dickens or Kipling, just do things that you like and that you enjoy. Once it gets easier then you can try to push yourself even father but when you're just starting out you need to get comfortable with language, structure, flow, etc.

For God's sake don't dismiss genre fiction. Good work is good work, if it was written for The New Yorker or a Saturday morning cartoon. Learn to recognize good -- and bad -- work and learn from it. If you read something good then learn from what that writer did. If you read something bad then learn what that writer did wrong.

Play games with your own creativity. If you like a TV show then try writing an episode. You don't even have to write it, just imagine the story and the dialogue. If you're watching a movie or reading a book, stop half way through it and finish it yourself -- was your ending better or not? Why was it better or not? The big thing is to have fun!

Don't write thinking about money (there isn't any) or awards (they are like hemorrhoids, every asshole gets one), or fame. Instead just think about the books you love and do something like them -- repay the debt, so to speak.

SW: Do you see gay fiction becoming more mainstream in the future?

M.C: Only if readers buy them. Like with gay issues in our culture, queer books have become more common, but money is what matters (sigh). I think one of the best 'tricks' to further mainstream gay characters and issues is to simply make them part of any book's world or to emphasize similarities and not differences -- create a bridge between so-called 'gay' fiction and every other genre. So, yeah, I think queer books are becoming more mainstream but I think there's still some distance to go -- mainly because readers need to throw down their bucks to keep the genre going. Without money it could slip back into being just a tiny niche.

SW: Finally, do you have any new stories in the works? If so, can you tell us a little bit about them?

M.C: Thanks for asking! I already mentioned that I have two novels coming out very soon: Brushes is a mainstream/romantic/erotica novel about a famous artist and the people who surround him; and Painted Doll is a cyberdelic noir story about a woman on the run from the mob who hides under the identity of a quasi-dominatrix. In the meantime I'm working on a new novel that should be out in another year, having a great time with a wonderful artist adapting one of my stories into a comic book, and wasting way too much time on my writing blog and my fun blog of weird and unusual things.

Mascara and Tears

Here's a little treat: the very short - but I think quite nice - story, "Mascara and Tears," from my queer erotica collection, Bodywork: out now from the always-fantastic Renaissance Books/Sizzler Editions.

Mascara and Tears

Lost in memories, Juan didn't care his mascara was running.

He'd started the night pretty. Spent his usual too much time picking and discarding this dress, that boa, that wig, those shoes, those hose, those boobs and sitting in front of the mirror playing with eyeliner, lipstick, blush and all the rest. When he'd left his little place he'd been what he wanted to be: gorgeous with just the right touch of over-the- top tacky.

For that night he had to be – he had to be more than just his usual devastating best. Tonight was their one-year anniversary. One year ago. He had to look his absolute best for that.

Done up, he'd though about going clubbing – showing off his gorgeous self to his friends, the other dames. It's what he'd been doing a year ago, exactly – going from this hot stop to that one, prancing and posing, whooping and playing with fans, dishing and laughing – when he'd met Alda.

Queens don't have kings. At best they have boyfriends, lovers and admirers. But Alda was different. He didn't wear a crown, didn't act like it at all but, sure enough, for Juan he was a king. From their first meeting he treated Juan like the queen that he was – held his hand, stroked his brow, told him when he looked gorgeous, said – and meant it – if this or that dress made him look fat. He was perfect, ideal.

He was a king in bed, too.

Though he didn't wear the toys on his hips like a regular leatherman, he had quite a hefty bag of tricks. In his car, parked on a dark street, looking up at a dark apartment window, Juan remembered one special time: It was after a Brazilian Carnival party – Juan done all Carmen Miranda with fruit balanced on his head – when Alda took him into an alley. Slipping on a cheesy Spanish accent Alda rumbled out "Fucking bitch – you're gonna take it and like it" and lifted Carmen's skirt, tore off her pantyhose, yanked down her panties, spat on his hand, got her all good and wet and open, slipped on a handy condom, and fucked her right there with her face pressing into dirty bricks. Sure, Juan liked it rough and wasn't new to it, but he wasn't Juan, he was Carmen and Carmen protested and fought as Alda's big dick slid into her. Squealing with pain/pleasure as Alda fucked her South American ass until Carmen ... well, Juan ... couldn't take it anymore and hard to (had to!) haul his own cock out and stroke himself as Alda. It was love, and a lovely fuck – and Alda came (jerking like a man shocked) just as Juan did, his own come painting the brick walls with shiny jism.

In his car, Juan looked up at the dark apartment window, mascara streaking his cheeks. He thought about Alda, about the other times – many in his king's apartment. 

Alda liked westerns. His little apartment had been decorated with the stuff of them: barbed wire, a saddle over the foot of his big bed, paintings of lonely-looking cowboys, wrought-iron fixtures sporting his bottomless collection of cowboy hats. On Alda's twenty-sixth birthday Juan had surprised him – doing an Indian princess was surprisingly hard (without making himself look like a cheap costume shop reject) but he was pleased with the result.

And, seeing him, Alda was as well. Juan almost didn't have enough time to even start the patter he'd been rehearsing all day before Alda grabbed Pocahantas like a starving mountain man.

"Ain't you the most beautiful thing I've ever done seen," Alda said, tossing one of his hats on his head and tearing at Pocahantas – removing her simple buckskin with one swipe of his meaty (though fine) hand.

The Indian princess squealed in protest – but not for long: it's hard to argue when a condomed cock is filling your mouth.

"Tasty as sweet corn," Alda said, slowing moving her mouth up and down on his cock, fucking her face with his big dick. Pocahantas tried to force him away but the cowboy was too strong for her (that and Juan didn't really want to escape). Savagely, persistently, he filled the girl's mouth, pushing and pulling his cock into her till – with a hearty "Yippie Kay Yay!" that must have startled the neighbors – he came: hot cream jerking out of his cock and warming the inside of Juan's mouth.

Pocahantas and the cowboy fucked and sucked each other till they couldn't – till their bodies refused to come any more: it wasn't until late the next day that Juan could turn, dazed and blurry, to wish his lover, "Happy Birthday."

One year. In his car, Juan looked up at the window. Remembering other times, other kisses, chats, dinners, breakfasts – other comes and laughter. He remembered and cried, his tears marking his face with the stigmata of a sad drag queen.

Starting his car, he blew a kiss to the dark apartment window. Driving away he remembered one more thing, one of the last things Alda had said, before the machines stopped beeping and the crying really started: "The king is dead, sweetheart – long live the queen."