Hiya guys! Today we have the wonderful Rick R. Reed stopping by with his upcoming re-release (with an added story) M4M, we have a fantastic GP where Rick interviews himself and we also have an excerpt so you can get a taste for the stories. So guys, check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~

M4M

Rick R. Reed

Finding and keeping love can be a challenge in the modern world of blogging, social media, and online dating, as one man will learn in this trilogy.

VGL Male Seeks Same

Poor Ethan Schwartz. At forty-two, he’s alone, his bed is empty, and his HDTV is overworked. He’s tried bars and other places where gay men are supposed to find each other, but it never works out. Maybe he should get a cat?

But his life is about to change…

NEG UB2

Poor Ethan. He’s received the most shocking news a gay man can get—he’s HIV positive. Until today his life was perfect, with a job he loves and Brian, who could be “the one.” The one to complete him and fill his lonely life with laughter, hot sex, and romance.

But Ethan’s in for another shock. Could Brian have infected him?

STATUS UPDATES

Alone again, Ethan wonders if life is worth living, even with a cat. When an old nemesis sends a Facebook friend request, Ethan is suspicious but intrigued. It seems this old acquaintance has turned his life around, and the changes might hold the key to Ethan getting a new lease on life… and love.

First Edition published by Amber Quill Press/Amber Allure, 2009. Note: First edition did not include the new third part, “Status Updates.”

Release date: 10th July 2017
Pre-order: Dreamspinner Press ebook | Dreamspinner Press paperback | Amazon

Rick R. Reed Interviews Himself!

Maybe it’s a little bit masturbatory, but sometimes you have to take matters in your own hands, right? Hence, I sat down and interviewed myself…and I can’t describe the relief I felt when I was done.

Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the process as much as I did. Read on to find out a bit more about me and my latest book, M4M.

When were you happiest?

Right here, right now.

What is your greatest fear?

Losing the people I love.

What is your earliest memory?

Being on my parents’ bed as a baby. My older sister and her friend were fighting over who had to use the baby doll and who got to use the real baby (me) in their playing. I must have been less than a year old.

Which living person do you most admire, and why?

My son. He’s one of the brightest people I know and I think he’s only begun to tap his potential.

What is the trait you deplore most in yourself?

Impatience.

What is your guiltiest pleasure?

Judge Judy.

What is the worst job you’ve done?

Worked in a steel mill one summer during college.

What is the love of your life?

You said what and not who, so the answer would be writing.

Which phrases do you most overuse?

“I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts.” No, not really. I can’t think of anything I overuse. I don’t talk much!

If you could go back in time, where would you go?

The 1960s. I would have loved to have been in my late teens, early twenties, during that era. Youth seemed to have so much passion.

When did you last cry, and why?

We just moved from Seattle, WA to Palm Springs, CA. On our drive out of Seattle to head south, we were on the I-5 bridge over Lake Union and I could see our previous home across the water and it choked me up. I cry easily…I’m pretty emotional. I used to be embarrassed about this trait. Now I think it’s healthy.

How do you relax?

I run (5 miles at a time, several times a week). Running is my Zen, almost meditation. I hope my legs and lungs never give out because I truly love it.

What is the closest you’ve come to death?

There have been a couple close calls—a narrowly averted major heart attack a few years ago and an almost head-on collision on an icy road in rural Illinois (I landed in a cornfield instead of hitting the oncoming car, but I remember thinking, “this is where I die.”)

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?

Nothing. I have everything I need.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Earnestly beginning a spiritual path at the beginning of 2016.

To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why?

Myself. For not loving myself enough.

What keeps you awake at night?

Oh God, hardly anything. I am blessed with being able to reliably fall asleep quickly and deeply every night. The only thing that sometimes wakes me too early is my dog, Lily, a Boston terrier, who sometimes takes it upon herself to get me up at 3 a.m. because she needs to go outside.

What song would you like played at your funeral?

I have already asked my husband for it. It would be the Beatles’ “Golden Slumbers.”

How would you like to be remembered?

As a kind person.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?

That we are all connected and we’re all one.

Excerpt!

Heading toward middle age sucked… especially when you were doing it alone.

Tonight Ethan dug in the Doritos bag for one remaining chip of decent size while glued to the adventures of Ugly Betty. Why couldn’t he at least find a nice nerd, as Betty once had? Why couldn’t he at least have a little drama at work, like the Mexican magazine assistant faced every single day of her charmed life? Ethan’s days were spent trying to chat up theater critics in hopes of persuading them to write a review or feature on whatever play he was pushing that week. Or he holed up in his cube and wrote the same press release over and over, with only the titles, venues, and dates changed. When he had taken the job ten years ago, he’d thought the free nights out at the theater would be a great way to get dates. He’d assumed he would meet lots of handsome actors, and they would all want to cozy up to the publicist who could get them so much press.

He’d thought wrong.

Ethan got up and shut off the TV and threw his Doritos bag in the trash. He stretched and looked out the window. His move to this North Side Chicago neighborhood had been another misguided romantic maneuver, one that started full of hope and confidence and had been dashed by cold reality. He felt even more isolated and alone as he looked down from his studio apartment on Halsted Street, the blocks between Belmont and Addison that Chicagoans referred to as Boystown. When he had rented the little studio above a gay bookstore a decade ago, he had reasoned that wrangling a date would be no more difficult than hanging out his third story window with a smoldering gaze and a come-hither pout.

He had reasoned wrong.

Shortly after Ethan had moved in and hung his first Herb Ritts poster, Boystown had begun quickly gentrifying itself. Most of the gays moved farther north to Andersonville or even Rogers Park. Sure, gay bars still lined the street, and the teeming throngs continued to taunt him with luscious examples of masculinity on the prowl, but it had been a long time since one of the minions had made his way up the creaking stairs to Ethan’s studio.

Oh, he supposed he could throw on some jeans, T-shirt, and his Asics and run across the street to Roscoe’s or any of the other watering holes lining the rainbow-pyloned avenue, but he had been to that dry well too many times to even consider it. Every year, it seemed, there was a new crop of gorgeous twentysomethings laughing and drinking… and practiced in the art of ignoring nice but nondescript men like Ethan. One could only endure so long the hours of standing against a wall, Stella Artois in hand, trying to look approachable and then never being approached. It didn’t do much for the ego.

And it didn’t do much for the wallet. Or the self-esteem. Or certainly the romantic, or even sex, life.

No, the bars had long ago lost their allure, becoming more and more an exclusive club for younger gays looking to hook up, or dance, or text message each other… or whatever other ways they found these days to make Ethan feel old. Besides, Ethan hoped for a more meaningful connection.

And with each gray hair, each crow’s-foot and laugh line stamped upon his features, he despaired of ever finding it.

He padded into the little bathroom and gasped as a cockroach beat a hasty retreat into a crack between the baseboard and linoleum-tiled floor. He shook his head and thought that even the bugs wanted nothing to do with him.

He looked at his tired face in the mirror and laughed. “Jesus,” he said to his reflection, “you’re pathetic.” He held his aging mug up to the light cast by the overhead fixture and said, “What’s wrong with everybody? You’re not soold. You’re not so bad.” And indeed, Ethan spoke the truth. He looked every bit of his forty-two years, but that was still pretty young, wasn’t it? Didn’t somebody at the office just yesterday say something about forty being the new thirty? And his face, while certainly not Brad Pitt sexy, was pleasing, with a nice cleft in his chin, a strong nose, and deep blue eyes framed by long black lashes. His lips were a bit thin—a gift from his German father—and he could probably use some sun to give his pasty complexion a little pizzazz, but all in all, it wasn’t a face one would run from, screaming into the night. It was every bit as cute as a Tom Hanks or Will Ferrell.

Ethan pulled his toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and decorated its bristles with orange gel—when had toothpaste gone orange?—and gave his teeth a savage brushing, even though his dentist always admonished him about that, telling him a slow, gentle course was the way, lest he wanted to erode his gums entirely away. But Ethan had never been able to dissuade himself from the idea that the harder the brush, the whiter the teeth.

He spit and wiped his mouth on the hand towel and headed back into the common area to pull out his queen-size—hush!—futon for another night of lonely slumber.

Tomorrow, he thought, he had to do something about his depressing state. And he did not mean moving out of Illinois. Somewhere there had to be a companion for him, just waiting. His dream man wasn’t in all the places he had fruitlessly checked, like the bars, backstage, and in his office. But he was out there, and like Ethan, he too was pulling the covers up by himself and thinking the answer to the riddle of how to escape a solitary existence was just within reach.

Just before he fell asleep, he wondered if his mystery man also cynically told himself the same thing every night.

“Shut up!” Ethan cried into the darkness. And then whispered, muffled into his pillow, “Tomorrow will be different. I just know it.”

About Rick

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love.

He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). He is also a Rainbow Award Winner for both Caregiver and Raining Men. Lambda Literary Review has called him, “a writer that doesn’t disappoint.”

Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever “at work on another novel.”

Facebook Page | Twitter | Google+ | Blog | Website | Bookbub | Email: rickrreedbooks@gmail.com