by scavola

by scavola - a place to showcase my books, and for readers to comment / contact me if they'd like.

gay fiction written by a gay man for gay men

twitter: @by_scavola / / email:

(the'Duke' series and the 'ATL Engineering' series tabs above.)

Thursday, May 30, 2013

the secret . . .

Another Writing Group writing assignment, (love my writing group!) This one I'll be submitting (to be considered) for publication in a periodical / gay lit. mag., so any critiques would help!

The Secret

by scavola

Against the onslaught of frenetic beams of colored light, a mass of people gyrated in silhouette to a tribal beat enhanced by synthesizers. The deafening music left no room for thought, only feeling, and that feeling was elation. Young and full of life, in the warm press of bodies they shared this in bumps and grinds.
In the shadows, I stood alone, sipping my drink. A girl said “hi”, placing her hand on the high-top table. With one look, I deemed her unworthy. I wasn’t sure what I looked for but whatever ‘it’ was, she didn’t have it. I knew what she liked, my eyes, I have ‘bedroom eyes’. Otherwise, I was average, or even less than.
“Why are you all by yourself?” she asked, her hand moving to my shoulder.
“I’m here with friends.”
“Yeah? And where are they?” As her hand travelled across my back like a tarantula, she moved in closer. She reeked of, what’s that scent? Vanilla with spice and a hint of boiled cabbage . . . oh, that’s it, desperation.
“Good question. I guess I should go find them, thanks.” I gave her my best insincere grin.
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes as she left.
I lost track of my other friends, but didn’t lose track of Justin. His fair skin glowed in the black light as did his bright white t-shirt and pale blue jeans. The rest of us had to dress up in pants, shirts, and even jackets, the proper plumage for the mating dance. Justin could dress down and still look good. The boy next door, he wasn’t exactly handsome, maybe cute with his bulbous nose and wide ears, but he had ‘it’ to the point it was blinding; like staring into the sun, nothing in periphery mattered. A Goth-girl wanna be eclipsed him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Careful little girl, I thought, you might get burned. I grew tense and more and more so until the others came to me, ready to go. They asked me where Justin was, since we were typically inseparable. I made a bee-line to him, tapped him on the shoulder, and told him. He needed a minute. “For what?” I asked, giving the girl my best ‘eat shit’ look.
We all waited ten minutes, and then I told him again, pleading. After ten minutes more, I told him again, forcefully. The next time, I yanked him off the floor by his belt, breaking him away from the girl before she kissed him.
“She liked me,” he said in my ear, over the din of the music. “She was going to give me her number.”
“I’m sure she gives lots of guys her number.”
“You’re just jealous.” He shoved me away a little forcibly.
I backhanded his chest. “I could care less. You could hang out with her all night if we didn’t have to go.”
“If we have to go, then where is everybody?” His glare, white hot, burned.
“They were here a minute ago.” The room now spinning in silence, I’d lost track of them again. “Maybe they got tired of waiting . . .”
The Goth-girl wanna be was gone too.

“Son of a . . .” He was drowned out as my head collided with a wall. The shoving would’ve been the end of it, if security hadn’t spotted us and thrown us out. In a tangled mess, we struggled, limbs flailing. By the time the others found us, I was on top, holding him down. Something I’d enjoyed, something I should’ve enjoyed, now it made me uncomfortable, feeling his anger rise. I hopped up and tried to put some distance between us but the others had to hold Justin back as he raged.
“Tell them!” he yelled, “Tell them what you told me last night!”
He broke away, his fist coming right at me. I parried the blow, twisted his arm behind him, and knocked his legs out from under him. He yelled as his knees ground against the concrete, ripping his jeans and abrading him.
“Chill the fuck out!” I pulled his arm up until it was too painful for him to struggle and then a bit more.
This would turn out badly, but how badly hadn’t been decided. I looked to the drawn faces of the others; they were as scared as I was, but not for the same reason. I couldn’t hurt him like that, even though he could hurt me, but I had to do something.
I forced him down to whisper in his ear. “You promised . . .”
Through clenched teeth he muttered, “Fuck you faggot.”
I shoved him hard and stormed off, for the first time, alone. 


The night before, the ‘last night’ Justin referred to, he and I had had yet another talk about how I’m too affectionate, and we’re getting too old for that, and people make comments, and, “Are you sure you’re not gay?”
Outing someone while driving down dark, winding roads at fifty miles per hour isn’t the best idea, as in that moment my life flashed before my eyes, childhood sleepovers, the high school locker room, how Amy, Carla, and Vickie paled in comparison to Tom, Dick, and Harry, and yes, Justin, especially after ‘the incident’. I managed to stay on the road and replied, “Maybe.” This was the first time I hadn’t vehemently denied it.
“That would explain everything,” he said, patting me on the back, “but no poopy-dick for me.”
“Whatever,” I said, swallowing my heart.
In consideration, he nodded. “I’m happy for you, now you can start living your life, and I’ll be there for you.”
“You won’t tell anybody?” I asked, now scared of the reactions I’d get.
“I won’t say anything ‘til you’re ready, I promise.”
I quickly leaned in and pecked his cheek, which he rubbed sorrowfully with a ‘yuck’. He let me kiss him again when I dropped him off at home, for me to feel what it was like. He was that good of a friend. 


Justin told the others after I’d stormed off, but I didn’t know it then. It remained a big secret until I was ready to tell them, which, after what had happened, wasn’t for a long, long time.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

vacation pictures

Well, not from a real vacation, but the vacation I've been having in Second Life. (click on the pictures to make them bigger)


First, Duke at the Israel airport. In Duke - Book 3: Transformations, Duke and Mike go to Israel. I've never been to Israel so I did research online, but with Second Life I was able to visit! In the airport picture, if you look in the background you'll see those lime-green chairs that I mention in the book. I've got tons of pictures of lime-green chairs, almost every seat in Israel was lime-green! Duke and Mike did go to the Western/Wailing Wall and placed their prayers in the wall. In Second Life, not only does your prayer appear in the wall but, if you fill out a form, the prayer makes it to the actual wall! The beach in Tel Aviv, unfortunately not the nude beach they spent so much time on. And the night sky in Israel, the actual night sky. The Israel Museum, and just hanging out.

Duke in ancient Rome . . .

Duke at the Star Trek museum . . .

And how cool is this! I published Duke - Book 1: Alpha Rising in Second Life. It's a readable book, the prologue only, but comes with a code for a FREE copy of the eBook.

Duke at my writing desk, Duke in his new 'dog' helmet, my/Duke's apartment, and Benno; we wore the same outfit to the beach in Boystown and ended up, well, hitting it off . . .

Sunday, May 19, 2013


I did, sort of . . . I've been playing around with Second Life, the online virtual world. I can waste hours on there customizing, exploring, and hooking up . . . yes, a lot of it is sex, you don't just buy a bed for your bedroom, but a sex bed, you don't just buy furniture for the living room, but sex furniture, and, of course, the cocks. Beside that though, there's lots to do and see . . . and I guess I'll get to that at some point. No, I've been good. I've been to museums, clubs, VR atmospheres, and shopping. Here's me, my avatar. I visited a business to look into Second Life publishing, (which would be awesome), and hanging out:

And then I had this bright idea and brought Duke to Second Life! He's a fully-formed avatar that I've been tweaking for days. I've tried every shape, skin, and hair and played with those controls down to the most minute detail and I finally got someone that I say is Duke:

Now people who read this series and enjoy Duke can come to Second Life and hang out with him, how cool is that!

I think this is a great tool for creative types, especially writers, to work with and develop characters and check out settings. I'm no artist, but I have a model of my character to take pictures of that I could use for book covers. In Duke 3, they went to Tel Aviv. I've never been to Tel Aviv, I did research online, but with Second Life I could've visited Tel Aviv!

So join up, come by and hang out! If you're new, I can show you the ropes . . .

(In Second Life, under 'World', do a 'search' for me, scavola)

Monday, May 6, 2013

online presence / 'marketing' results

I was wondering if my online presence had anything to do with sales increasing / decreasing, so I correlated the two. SALES is easy, as that's a given. For blogger / wordpress, I counted the posts I made each month and the views my blogs received each month, (wordpress is just a mirror of my blogger blog). Twitter is the number of tweets obviously. Furaffinity is a fan site and I counted the number of journals I posted and the number of art works I had commissioned. The results are thus:

Now, the first three books of the 'Duke' series were released in October, November, and March. After that, it's clear that sales were directly proportional to online effort. I do see that primarily blogger and then twitter, which alerts followers of new posts, together directly mirror sales. I've looked at each separately, and can't see that either is directly responsible for sales or that there's any relation to subject matter of posts / tweets. It's just this, the more effort made, the more posts and tweets put out there, the more views my books get and hence, more sales.

So, as we know, it's important for authors to have a blog and twitter and to stay active on them, to be an active member of the reader / writer community.