Rick R. Reed, welcome to Romance Lives Forever. Let's talk about your book, Raining Men.
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Gay Romance
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover artist: Anne Cain
Length: 314 pages
Heat rating: R
Tagline: Sure he can do sex. But can he do love?
The character you loved to hate in Chaser becomes the character you will simply love in Raining Men
It's been raining men for most of Bobby Nelson's adult life. Normally, he wouldn't have it any other way, but lately something's missing. Now, he wants the deluge to slow to a single special drop. But is it even possible for Bobby to find "the one" after endless years of hooking up?
When Bobby's father passes away, Bobby finally examines his rocky relationship with the man and how it might have contributed to his inability to find the love he yearns for. Guided by a sexy therapist, a Sex Addicts Anonymous group, a well-endowed
named Johnny Wadd, and Bobby's own cache of memories, Bobby takes a spiritual, sexual,
and emotional journey to discover that life's most satisfactory love connections
lie in quality, not quantity. And when he's ready to love not only himself but someone
else, sex and love fit, at last, into one perfect package.
Dreamspinner (ebook) http://dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3826
Amazon (Kindle) http://amazon.com/Raining-Men-ebook/dp/B00D3XHMFW
Amazon (paperback) http://amazon.com/Raining-Men-Rick-R-Reed/dp/1623807220/
Dreamspinner (paperback): http://dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3873
What are your main characters' names, ages, and occupations?
Bobby Nelson is a marketing executive, Aaron Shaw and Wade Carlisle are both English teachers; Michelle Nelson is Bobby's mother; and Johnny Wadd is the chihuahua he rescued. All the men are in their late 30s, early 40s, Michelle is probably 60 something.
THUNDER rumbles. Rain hisses. Flashes of lightning--brilliant and blue white--rip across the sky.
I know I'm dreaming, yet something about this whole scenario seems as real as the nose on my face, the hair on my head, the dick swinging between my legs.
In addition to the natural sounds of the storm, there's another noise, and it makes me smile. Music. Rising. Percussion. Disco beats. And the powerful wail of Martha Wash and the Weather Girls singing "It's Raining Men."
I'm standing under some kind of awning--red, canvas--watching the rain pour down not in drops, but sheets. Blinding. The flashes of lightning are like a disco strobe light, revealing in flashes of blue and silver, a darkened cityscape. Night. But a netherworld cityscape, blue gray, unreal.
It's the music that makes me want to move out from under the awning. The music that has me smiling, my hips, head, and arms in synchronized rhythm with the beat.
Even the rain, a cold shock to my naked body, isn't enough to keep me from driving myself out into the downpour to dance to the song, which has long been a favorite of mine.
What a delicious notion--raining men! Men falling from the skies! More men than one can shake a stick at (or something that rhymes with stick, heh-heh).
I look up into the midnight-blue clouds, my mouth and eyes open to the water pouring down, and I see it: the first of the men.
I stare in wonder as he drops from the sky. A blond Adonis, smooth and muscled, allover tanned with a dick thick, long, and perfectly hard, pointing back up at the sky. He lands somewhere outside my vision, and I dance, spinning toward where I saw him fall, hoping to find him where he has landed so I can say hello, reach out and touch him.
But before I can make any progress, another man falls from the sky. This one is hirsute, bearded, husky but hard-muscled, putting me in mind of the actor Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He smiles. Before I can even smile back, other men tumble from the skies, and I want to laugh, cry out in jubilation at my good fortune.
It truly is raining men!
They start raining faster now--blonds, redheads, brunets, black, white, Asian, Latino (yum), lanky, beefy, short, tall--all the most gorgeous men I have ever seen. All naked.
All for me!
I raise my arms and shout, "Come to Papa!"
And they do.
The first body hits me hard, feeling more like a ton of concrete instead of the delicious marriage of sinew, skin, and bone that I have come to know and love as the male form. I collapse to the ground, wind knocked out of me, and look up at the man who has rained down on me. He seems to have no awareness that I am beneath him, and I scurry to get out from underneath the crushing weight threatening to suffocate me, pressing my bones into the wet concrete beneath my back.
I manage to get out just as another man drops from the sky, a hot African American, bald, and looking just like Taye Diggs. I scramble free of his path, but he lands on my leg anyway as I crawl through the rain-slicked street.
I hear my leg break with a sickening crack. It takes only seconds for the pain to radiate throughout my entire body.
I roll over, gasping, wincing, groaning, and look up to see an entire sea of naked men falling from the sky in ever-increasing velocity--all headed straight for me.
The music reaches a crescendo in time with my shrieks.
BOBBY NELSON woke.
The sheets beneath him were twisted and damp with sweat. He gasped, trying to regulate his heartbeat, which was jackhammering so hard he expected to look down and see it lifting the skin off his chest. A cartoon heart.
The room was silent.
Where did the music go? Martha? Weather Girls?
Where was the rain? The thunder?
He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.
Just a dream. A nightmare.
Where are all the men?
Finally, he grinned, turning over in his bed.
Why, there's one! Lying right next to me, looking at me with a concerned face, a handsome face. Even in a darkened bedroom, Bobby could still tell if they're hot or not. It was his specialty.
This one, with a mop of curly blond hair and pecs like Michael Phelps, was a ten.
His voice was husky, sleep-choked. "Dude. You were having a nightmare. You okay?"
He placed what was meant to be, Bobby was sure, a comforting hand on Bobby's chest. Bobby cringed a little, moving away.
This has never happened before.
I have no idea who he is.
Before Bobby could stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, they came. "Who the fuck are you?"
What inspired you to write this book?
Bobby, my main character. He appeared first in Chaser. Although he was gorgeous on the outside, he was scheming, duplicitous, promiscuous, and boyfriend-stealing on the inside. He called out to me to write his story and to show that even a hateful character like him could be redeemed. And I believe I succeeded in showing his redemption in Raining Men. Already, many readers are telling me how sympathetic they are toward Bobby, now that they understand him. I've never had a character that was so persistent about wanting his story told!
Which character in your current book do you think readers will like the most? Why?
Johnny Wadd, a well-endowed, so-ugly-he's-cute chihuahua Bobby rescues from behind a Dumpster near the beginning of the book. Johnny brings out in Bobby a nurturing side and the chance to understand that to get love, we must give love selflessly, expecting nothing in return.
Why do you write?
Because I have to.
Are you a plotter, or do you prefer to make it up on the spur of the moment?
I am a spur of the moment writer for the most part. I have general ideas about theme and overall plot arc, but my books are really about my characters, whom I come to love. They continually surprise me as they shape the direction my stories will take. If I have created a strong character, they practically write themselves. It's honestly a kind of magic.
What's your writing schedule like?
I am usually up at 4 am. I walk the dog on mostly silent streets, come in, have some breakfast, maybe toast and tea, read a little of whatever book I'm involved with at the moment, listen to classical or new age music and…just think. All of this takes an hour or less. Then I sit down to write with the goal of completing at least 1,000 words. I pretty much always do--and that takes me a couple of hours.
Any advice for new authors?
Read a lot. Write a lot.
What other jobs have you held besides writing?
It's funny; almost all of my jobs have involved writing. I have been an advertising copywriter, a marketing writer for a professional association, and a communications consultant for a healthcare company. I sometimes wonder if I could do anything else other than write.
Which of your books was the hardest to write and why?
Caregiver. It's based on my days as an AIDS buddy to a very remarkable young man back in the early 90s, when AIDS was a death sentence. In Caregiver, I changed only his name and almost everything that happened in the book to him happened in real life. It was both a joy and a pleasure to revisit the memories I have of my AIDS buddy, who marked me, really, for life.
Do you believe in luck?
I believe in fate.
What kind of music do you listen to while driving? Same question when writing?
Driving: usually jazz, like Oscar Peterson, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone or modern classical like Philip Glass. Writing: nothing. I need silence to write; music would distract.
What is your secret talent?
If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?
What's your favorite movie?
The Wizard of Oz
Are you the eldest, middle, baby, or only child?
Please complete the sentence
I love pizza with sausage and mushrooms.
I'm always ready for doughnuts.
When I'm alone, I morph into a scaly green iguana.
You'd never be able to tell, but I am actually 79 years old.
If I had a halo it would be bursting into flame.
If I could sing I'd do it everywhere.
I can never sing because my voice is laughable.
Really? You want me to go there?
Books Coming Soon
Hungry for Love (September 2013)
Legally Wed (January 2014)
Find Me Here
Twitter: http://twitter.com/rickrreedAmazon profile: http://amazon.com/Rick-R.-Reed/e/B000AP5H2G/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1272551776&sr=1-2-ent