Hello Xavier, and welcome! I’m looking forward to spending the day with you and hearing more about your Writer’s Way story. Xavier has a new release, The Birches, a male erotica romance, which we’ll share below.
Here’s a little about Xavier:
Xavier Axelson is a writer of erotica for Silver Publishing and Seventh Window Publications. He is also the Los Angeles Sex Advice Columnist for Examiner.com, contributes regularly to Queer Magazine Online, and writes a column for All Bear Online Magazine. Xavier has worked in the adult industry for over 15 years. During this time, he has assisted countless people with exploring their healthy sexual needs, questions, and lifestyles. Xavier has several degrees in fields such as communications, library technology, and literature.
Where to find Xavier Axelson:
The Writer’s Way
My first job was either going to be picking corn or picking tobacco. My mother had chosen tobacco when she was a kid and being she was a girl, she had it easier. The girls got to slog it out in the tobacco sheds instead of being under the tobacco nets in the blazing summer sun.
I chose the cornfields.
Once you’ve worked in a field of any kind doing any kind of work you quickly develop what many people would call, “a thick skin.” Initiation among the corn pickers included having dead animals unknowingly put into your burlap sack before you began picking so your hand would inevitable sink into the dead creature once you stated picking, being thrown into huge disgusting puddles in the middle of the cornfields and finally the one I endured, being put on a “dead corn row.”
A dead cornrow is a miles long row of corn that has already been picked but maybe still contains one or two precious pieces of unpicked corn you must find and harvest. Did I mention the dead cornrows are usually flooded, meaning you are standing in water up to your ankles with all sorts of nasty insects biting through your sodden socks and sneakers?
I was 12 or 13 when I started picking corn. The summer of seventh grade, so I think more 12 than 13. I had to wake up at 5:30am and jump on the back of a moving farm truck and lay among piles of horrible burlap sacks, which meant our doom later in the fields. How many sacks meant how much corn needed to be picked that day. There were usually enough sacks for kids to sleep among them until we got to the fields.
I remember the smell of the truck. It wasn’t awful. Maybe because I grew up on spending time on a family farm I relate the smell of dirt and truck fumes to something not unpleasant but now when I catch the smell, usually at a gas station I do get a jolt of what I was capable of at such a young age.
I know what hard work means. To know the sweat of the fields is to know a indefinable primal part of oneself. It’s funny, all these years later I understand what it was I learned in the cornfields.
It’s called a work ethic.
Now, as I pursue my writing dreams I find many don’t share a commitment to ones job or duties. It always surprises me. I’m always disappointed when someone doesn’t follow through on a task, or job they have signed up for. There is rarely an apology or explanation, instead you may possibly get an annoyed response or better, no response at all.
I have fallen through on commitments. I distinctly remember forgetting about a guest blog I was supposed to write. It never made it on my calendar. I discovered the mistake months later and immediately wrote the blogger and apologized profusely and was given another opportunity to write for them. It is the writer’s way to write, to be recognized by our words. It is the human way to be identified by our ability to commit and follow through on our word.
In the cornfields, everything from the ground up was a potential trap. The leaves cut your face when they were wet, the water on the leaves sopped your clothing and left nasty red rashes on your wrists, insects bit, mud stained, bosses screamed and the heat burned down on the corn like a cruel master. Somehow, you had to get your 50 pieces in the burlap sack and lug it to the bag row and I don’t know why but each time I made it to the bag row I felt I had accomplished something.
Writing is a task that should be respected. It has all the trappings of a cornfield in the summer. It becomes the way of the writer to navigate the field and get to the bag row.
Xavier’s next Blog Stop: 12/4: Fictional Candy (Giveaway/Guest Post)
Click Cover For Buy Site ~ Seventh Window Publications
The Birches ~ BLURB:
Perfection isn’t everything, although it’s everything Leo wants. His desire to become the perfect chef may keep him at the top of his class, but it drives his friends and family crazy while keeping love and passion on the back burner. That is until he meets Dock, owner and chef of the new and popular restaurant, The Birches. Although Dock isn’t a trained chef, Leo finds the food he cooks delectable and the man behind the food irresistible. The lessons taught at the hands of an untrained cook may be just what this uptight chef needs to let go.
He pulled into the parking lot of The Birches and sat on his bike a minute. He felt nervous, like he was about to meet a celebrity and the self-doubt that plagued him made him queasy.
“You gonna sit outside or come in?”
Leo jumped at the sound of the man’s voice. He pulled his helmet off and looked around, but didn’t see anyone.
Leo looked just past his left shoulder and saw a man emerging from the nearby woods that surrounded the little restaurant.
“Oh, hey,” Leo called out, his voice cracking.
“You looking for something to eat?” the man asked, coming closer.
Leo was shocked to find himself riveted to the spot, staring at the man who came towards him.
The man offered Leo a rough, calloused hand. “I’m Dock,”
“Hey,” Leo managed weakly.
“I was out back, picking blackberries, they grow wild around here. I thought they’d make a great dessert. Don’t know what kind of dessert, but how can you go wrong when you have stuff like this?” He said as he offered up a large, wooden bucket half-full of dark, purple black berries.
There were purple smears across Dock’s white tank top that seemed barely able to contain Dock’s impressive chest. There were several brown freckles on Dock’s shoulders, next to where the strap of tank top clung to his body.
“Lucky berries,” Leo said under his breath.
Sweat ran down Leo’s back, he felt so nervous. For a brief moment, he thought of hopping on his bike and taking off. Instead he said, “Um, nothing, sorry, I just wanted to come by and--”
“You want to come inside and have an iced tea or something?” Dock asked, “It’s hot as hell out here and I know I need to cool off.” He swiped a hand across his face and left a smudge of blackberry juice across his cheek.
Leo’s heart was pounding, what was it about this place, this man?
Xavier – it’s been a fun day, so happy you made my place one of your CBLS Book Tour stops. Congratulations on The Birches, and I wish you many more successes.
Thank you everyone for stopping in a visiting with Xavier.
Until Next Time,
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