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Six Sentence Sunday

Six Sunday again – go here to see the incredible list of incredible contributors and read the excerpts!

I am continuing A Fierce Reaping from where I left off last week with Cynfal sounding out just how interested the bereaved Gwion is, with a view to getting his big hairy paws on Gwion’s dead lover’s armour.

~

“I heard,” Cynfal said.  “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry you were hurt as well.” He returned to the door and reached out to give Gwion a gentler version of the punch in the arm that Pup and March seemed to quite enjoy. “Come with us … maybe Llif’s horse needs exercising?” Gwion’s small smile confirmed his guess. “You could meet us – accidentally, and then come along for the company?”

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Here we go again! Six Sunday is a chance for authors to display samples of their work six sentences at a time, click here to see a full list of all the others.

I’m carrying on with my excerpts from A Fierce Reaping, a story set in the 7th century AD concerning a warband sent south for a rumble with the Saxons of Bernicia, now Yorkshire, thus setting a precedent for future conflicts that continued with edged weapons until the 198th century and fists and boots today on the rugby pitch. Tradition is a wonderful thing.

Cynfal desperately needs a set of body armour – lightweight, flexible squares of studded leather, well greased against the wet – and has established that Gwion, the harper, has a spare set. Continuing directly from last week:

Gwion had stepped from the doorway to allow more light in and was holding his harp, one hand flat on the strings to still them. He was looking at the carving on the neck of the harp and only taking surreptitious glances at Cynfal. Cynfal pretended not to have noticed as he moved around the building, which was as well finished as the hall in Din Eidin.
“Did you do all the work yourself, you and …?” Cynfal asked.
“Llif – yes, just us.” Gwion hesitated, again came that characteristic swallow, the sweep of tongue tip across tight lips. “He died,” he added.

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And another Sunday rolls around. Blimey where is this year going to?

For those who don’t know – which will be hardly any of you – Six Sentence Sunday is an authorial blog hop that gives one the opportunity to read a little of an awful lot of different works. It’s good fun and I’ve met some super people while doing it. You may find the links here if you want to poke around amongst them.

Here is my offering. Another bit of A Fierce Reaping. Winter is drawing in and Cynfal is worried about Aeddan.

~~~

Cynfal scraped together enough firewood to heat the mess through – mostly pinecones and bundles of birch twigs – and fetched water while Aeddan sulked in the bothy. He was definitely off colour and bad tempered with it. Cynfal was reminded of an old hound with an abcess brewing. There was no outward sign and much of the time he carried on as normal, but he was sometimes more abrupt and could snap if touched on the wrong spot. At the moment Aeddan didn’t suffer fools gladly, and that was odd. He normally liked having someone to make fun of.

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My guest today is Kiran Hunter, author of dark GLBT fiction, whose debut novella “Bedevil” has been very well received including by me.

I’m a bit of a scaredy cat so avoid true horror stories but Bedevil is nicely creepy while not having the squick factor that so much horror involves.

Hello, Kiran, and thank you for joining me today.

~~~

Elin:  “Bedevil” has a strong paranormal theme. Have you always been interested in the ‘unseen’ threats that dog our footsteps?

The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall, 1936.

Kiran: I grew up fascinated by the ‘unseen’, or perhaps more accurately the ‘occasionally glimpsed’. I still love anything dark or unsettling… or with a hint of wickedness, so don’t find anything paranormal threatening – I like that tingle down the spine. I always thought there were creatures lurking in the shadows or dwelling in reflections that I might just catch sight of out of the corner of my eye if I was lucky.

Elin: Have you any personal experience of paranormal occurrences that you could, or are prepared, to share with us?

Kiran: I hear snatches of sentences out of nowhere, usually a female voice and usually when I’m completely engrossed in writing or reading. ‘She’ can be so loud she makes me jump. I used to work in a hospital records store – a claustrophobic room with rows of floor to ceiling shelving. I’d have the impression someone had walked into the room and would get up to see who it was, but no one was there. A strong smell of perfume also lingered in the room – even when it was unlocked first thing in the morning, as if someone had just left when the door was opened.

Image provided by Kiran – could that really be a ghost?

Elin: I really enjoyed that “Bedevil” concerned a relationship that was in trouble rather than being ‘boy meets boy’. Which do you prefer writing?

Kiran:  “Bedevil” definitely isn’t a romance, and I was aware when I was writing it that I was colouring a little outside the lines in as much as it seems that most e-published gay fiction appears to focus on romance and happy-ever-afters. I wanted to write something more sinister but still erotic. I haven’t written anything traditionally romantic so far, but I wouldn’t rule it out.

Elin: I was raised in a small village and loved it but I’m well aware that while I found the closeness comforting, others find it intrusive and claustrophobic.  Which side of the fence do you fall?

Kiran:  I grew up in a small village and when I was in my teens I began to find it claustrophobic. I never really had anything in common with other kids, and my interests lay way outside the boundaries of village life. Much like Rippington, the village in Bedevil, the local pub was where all the gossiping took place and where scandals evolved or were revealed.

Elin:  Harbinger House is almost a character in its own right. Was it inspired by any real building?

Harbinger House

Kiran:  I love derelict churches, ruins, and empty houses and will often go off at the weekend with a camera to take photographs. The idea for Bedevil was inspired by an overgrown house I’d walked past for around 10 years. It was stunning even when it was covered by ivy and crowded by trees. I was never sure if anyone lived there. There was a car ‘parked’ in the front garden, almost smothered by plants and in the winter there would be a single, bare light bulb glowing in an upstairs window. Shortly after I wrote Bedevil I saw that the jungle had been chopped down and the house revealed.

Elin: You have written very compelling characters in Tim, Gareth and Luka. Of all the characters you have written, who is your favourite, which gave you the biggest kick to write and who were you glad to see the back of when the story ended?

Kiran:  I tend not to write completely likeable characters – another reason Bedevil maybe doesn’t fit into the romance mould. I like Luka. He is supposed to exist for only one reason, a sexual being blessed (or cursed?) with an insatiable appetite. However, as the years have passed he’s become lonely, driving away anyone who lives in the house where he is bound to stay. Gareth is an arrogant, insensitive man (I think), perhaps even a little cruel – he dismisses his partner’s fears, yet when he discovers those fears are not unfounded he continues to brush aside Tim’s concerns. However unlikeable a character may be there are none I’d like to see the back of as such.

Elin: I see from your website that there are more tales to come. Can you share any details of your WIPs?

Kiran:  I’m working on the follow-up to Bedevil, currently entitled Devilment. We’ll find out more about Luka and perhaps we’ll get to see Gareth redeem himself a little. And maybe Luka will escape his prison… one way or another.  I’m also writing some erotic shorts and have a much longer term project lurking in my mind.

Elin: Any chance of an excerpt – either from Bedevil or from a WIP?

Kiran:  Sure! Here’s an excerpt from Bedevil:

Gareth slammed the car door shut and activated the central locking system. It was later than he’d hoped; the sun was setting, a flock of birds wheeling up into the sky before turning back on itself and settling in the trees surrounding the village church. Almost pretty, he thought, turning on his heels to take in the rest of the scene. Almost, but not quite… Good God. He cleared his throat. Tim wasn’t going to like this. “Well, there it is, I think. Somewhere in there,” he said.

“What? That?” Tim followed Gareth’s gaze across the road. “No! Look at the place!”

The gate squealed in protest, as if it hadn’t been opened for decades. The sun had almost disappeared, the tops of the trees surrounding the house now brushed with a pink glow and the garden beneath consumed by shadow.

“I suppose it could have been beautiful once upon a time. It’s a little overgrown,” Tim said.

“Adds to its charm.” Gareth hoped he sounded convincing.

“Erm, not sure charm is the word you’re after.”

“Let’s take a look. Reserve judgment until we’ve seen inside the place.”

With Tim a footstep behind, Gareth made his way up the path, negotiating crumbling concrete and easing past rampant shrubs. Beside the front door, a plaque was just visible through the ivy clinging on to the building. He pried the stubborn stems away from the wood to read the carved words beneath.

“‘Harbinger House.”

“Well, that’s reassuring, Gareth. Harbinger of doom, and all that.”

“Curious the place isn’t called that on the deeds…just 20 Willow Green.”

Gareth slid the key into the lock and turned it. There was a moment’s hesitation before the catch clicked and the door eased open an inch, as if the house wasn’t quite ready for them. He smiled at Tim and, with a dramatic flourish, gestured for him to enter first. Tim shook his head.

“After you. The place is yours.”

“Ours, Tim. It’s ours.”

The warning cry from the rusting gate ripped his senses awake, but his mind was slow to follow. All Luka was aware of at first was the agony of sound and the warm trickle of blood from his ears. His muscles stretched as he moved, tendons almost tearing from the bone as he unraveled his body from its fetal position. He wailed with the new pain—a feeble echo of the metal against metal outside. His first intake of breath rasped down his throat and burned into his lungs. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed in deeply through his nose. The house was different—the odor of dust and mold and damp was still there, but something else too. The protesting gate had heralded the arrival of new flesh. He could smell it.

A river of cold air flowed across his pain-wracked body, caressing his arms, his chest, his legs—the outside world finding a way through a crack in his prison and reawakening his nerve endings to remind him of what he had been without for so long. Touch. Skin against skin. Breath on skin…

 

BOOK BLURB

When Gareth Balaam inherits Harbinger House, he thinks his problems are over. But they’ve only just begun. Harbinger House has a dark past. Shrouded in mystery, what may have occurred within its walls is still a matter of conjecture. The locals at the pub talk about the place in whispers. Gareth’s partner, Tim, thinks the house is haunted.

Gareth doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he does believe Tim is using the house as an excuse to not work on their relationship. Their trip to the country to bring them closer seems to be doing the opposite. Tensions and resentments flare, and through it all, someone is watching…

BUY LINKS : Amazon US, Amazon UK, B&N, Kobo and All Romance

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Once again it’s time to click our way around the world  with Six Sentence Sunday reading excerpts from authors published, unpublished, self published and writing for the hell of it.

I’m definitely one of the latter. Writing for the fun of it is the name of the game. If anything sensible happens to the story afterwards that’s just the icing on the cake.

Anyhow, to extend the metaphor waaaay beyond the point where I should have given it up as a bad job, here is another bite from one of my unbaked scones. I’m wondering whether I should add a dash of drama currants, grate in some sexy lemon zest,  apply a cherry for the big red nose of humour or sprinkle in the roughly chopped nuts of violence.

Actually that last one was rather disturbing. So on with the excerpt.

Back to Cynfal and his mates from A Fierce Reaping. Cynfal and Aeddan have had a minor falling out and are mending fences by trying to maim each other.

~~~

“Give up before you hurt yourself” Cynfal snarled, “I knew that trick when you were still sucking on your mother’s teat.”
Aeddan strained back, his breath harsh now. “Better teat than cock – once you’re on your knees I’ll give you a taste of my hero’s portion.”
“I’d sooner lick out a midden.”
“I thought as much from your breath.”
They grinned at each other, breathless but having fun.

~~~

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Editing and Pirates

An Illustration by Howard Pyle – he drew the BEST pirates.

I’ve been busy for the past month editing and revising my pirate novel “On A Lee Shore” and, wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing has got bigger instead of shrinking. This is because as I read it through I’ve realised that I have missed out bits that I knew about the characters that the reader has no way of knowing.

I’m at a bit of a loss to know what to do with it when it’s finished because I don’t think it’s sufficiently romantic and certainly not erotic enough for the M/M market. M/M readers do seem to require plenty of explicit boinkage laid out in finely detailed black and white. Maybe it’s a skill I should acquire or maybe I should get a writing partner who is good at that kind of thing? Meantime, the story is what it is – an only-loosely-historical action adventure romp that I’ve had a whale of a time writing – and I’m not apologising for  that. 😀

Here’s an excerpt from close to the beginning: (more…)

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It’s that time of week again – Six Sentence Sunday – where writers all over the world give a little peep between the covers of their WIPs or published works.

It’s a simple procedure. Just register with the Six Sunday website then post your six sentences – no more no less – on the following Sunday. Anyone who wishes can get to your post from the link on the website. Most weeks I manage to read most of the excerpts and I comment quite often. If I haven’t commented it doesn’t mean I didn’t like yours. I might just have had a router hiccup, or my ancient RAM deficient PC couldn’t cope with stuff on the website, or the phone rang and I forgot I hadn’t done it. Six Sunday is one of the highlights of my week. It’s great to feel that I’m not the only one tussling with characters and trying to bend them to my will for plot purposes when we all know that my guys would probably sooner romp off to get drunk and find someone to fight.

So, this week’s Six. As usual it is from my WIP A Fierce Reaping, concerning the 300 warriors sent by King Marro to drive the Saxons out of Bernicia.

The next morning Cynon led them on a long patrol, riding east to the sea then south along the coast, in filthy weather and an increasingly filthy mood. They followed Cynon through bogs and across rivers. They swam their horses from one bay to another, scaled cliffs and felled saplings to build a bridge from poles and raw leather taken from hinds they shot with their bows. They ate well, slept huddled together for warmth in what little shelter they could find and by the time they turned homeward it was with a new sense of purpose.
“I’ll kill him,” Aeddan snarled, glaring towards the head of the column, where Cynon’s bay horse was stepping out proudly.
“And I’ll hold him down while you do it,” Cynfal agreed.

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I’m a bit distracted at the moment, dears. Last Saturday my beloved dog was taken ill and the poor lad died on Wednesday. I’m heartbroken, as is the rest of the family. We’ll miss his silly big black  face. He was a PROPER dog – big and furry – and the kindest, most joyous, tolerant and caring soul one could wish to meet. ;_;

Nevertheless, it’s Six Sentence Sunday time again – you can join up on the site here.

Simplicity itself – register, then, on the following Sunday, post six sentences from a WIP or published work to the blog corresponding to the URL you registered.

As usual my excerpt is from A Fierce Reaping, my story set in Scotland and Northumbria in the 6th/7th century AD. Cynon has dismissed Cynfal, telling him to return to his friends while Cynon has a ‘word’ with his cousin, Gwion. Once back with Aeddan, Cynfal asks what’s going on.

Aeddan stretched a bit to look across to the dark corner where Cynon was standing over the harper, his hand on the thin shoulder, giving Gwion a little shake for emphasis as he spoke. Gwion seemed to be trying to distract himself from what Cynon was saying, looking firstly towards Aneurin and then along the hall.
“I’m not sure,” Aeddan admitted, “but, at a guess, Cynon is trying to get him to go back to Aeron and it would be better for all if he did – having someone like that in the hall can only be bad luck.”
As if sensing he was being discussed Gwion stared at Cynfal and again Cynfal felt the heat of lust arise, but gentler this time. The harper’s face was open and easily read. He wanted Cynfal, but there was a tension about his mouth that suggested he did not intend to give in to his desires.

 

 

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I was awful last week and didn’t reply to my comments. I’m so sorry. However I think I managed to at least READ every entry on the Six Sunday  list. Well worth doing because some of them are terrific.

As usual it is from A Fierce Reaping, my story set in Scotland and Northumbria in the early 7th century AD. Some of Troop three are in the King’s hall accompanying their leader, Cynon, Cynfal has been ‘vamped’ by an edgy individual called Moried, and has been dismissed by Cynon, who wants a ‘word’ with his cousin Gwion.  Cynon is the speaker at the beginning of the excerpt.

“Oh, one thing – if I were you, I’d take care with Moried.” He nodded a farewell and left Cynfal wondering.
How much of what had been going on with Moried had Cynon seen? And just what was he so anxious to talk to Gwion about? Obviously there was one person who would be bound to know. Cynfal had often heard men complain of women’s gossip but in his experience nobody gossiped like soldiers in camp and of them all Aeddan was the one who made it his business to know everything.
Aeddan was sitting on Cynfal’s cloak, ‘to keep it warm’ he said, and greeted Cynfal with a grin.

Ignore the ‘Read More’ button. I clicked that by accident.

(more…)

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Lucky 7 Meme revisited

I’ve been tagged for the Lucky 7 meme by Goran Zidar 🙂

What does this mean?

  •   – Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript (fiction or non-fiction)
    – Go to line 7
    – Post the next 7 lines or sentences on your blog as they are (no cheating, please!)
    – Tag 7 other authors to do the same

It’s a bit like Six Sentence Sunday only edgier because you don’t get to choose. I had a big sigh of relief when the bit on Page 7 made sense rather than being in the middle of a block of description or something. The bit on page 77 made no sense at all.

This is from my novel “On a Lee Shore” set in the Leeward  Isles in 1718. My protagonist Lieutenant Christopher Penrose, aka Kit, has been given a somewhat uncomfortable assignment to get him out of the way after an unpleasant incident. Later he will get into even hotter water by falling in with pirates. The story was written after curating an exhibition about pirates for work and with the help of friends who provided as many pirate story cliche’s as they could think of for me to avoid, embrace or parody. I’m editing – 227 pages done, about another 100 to go.

 ~~~

“He wants you to what?” Tristan’s question was followed by a gurgle of laughter. “Oh Kit, my poor dear, that’s priceless.”

The Dog wasn’t the most respectable tavern in London but its raucous mood pleased Tristan even if they did have to shout to make themselves heard. Kit leaned on the scarred tabletop and said, “At least it means time on board ship and from what I’ve heard there could be action, in a small way. You may laugh, but my function is as much body guard as ..”

“Valet,” Tristan whooped and collapsed laughing again.

~~~

My 7 authors – eeek, I don’t normally tag people because while some are happy to do memes others loathe them. Okay I’ll name names but no fault if you decide not to do it [you may alrteady have been tagged by someone else] and anyone else who reads this, if you fancy a go have at it!

Sue Roebuck

Jessie Landsel

Nomi McCabe

Paula Martin 

Zee Monodee

Joyce Scarborough

Ruth Griffin 

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