Archive for the ‘Six Sentence Sunday’ Category

What can I say? It has been a busy week. 😦 I’ll have to tweet it instead. To make up for it I’ll post an excerpt of something below the cut.

But first, there’s a very big Blog Hop going on to celebrate Rainbow Books Reviews opening for business. If you like LGBT literature you’ll love this!

Just click – here – for a list of all participants and hop from blog to blog for a chance to win prizes [including a copy of Alike As Two Bees if you like you might like such a thing. My post is – here – just comment and I’ll do the ‘drawing a bit of paper out of a pirate hat’ thing on Monday]

There are some terrific authors and some very generous publishers – Amber Allure, Bold Strokes Books, Dreamspinner Press, Less Than Three Press, Riptide Publishing, Silver Publishing, Torquere Press and
Untreed Reads – so it’s well worth having a bash.

But far more important than prizes are the blog posts on the theme “What writing GLBT means to me”.  Some of them are moving, some funny, but all are worth reading.

Right – one erstatz-Six Sentence Sunday coming up ~


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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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Six Sentence Sunday

  Time for the usual again! Six Sunday is a chance for writers to showcase their work and for readers to sample lots of different styles and genres. Click on the link to find a list of websites, then knock yourself out reading all the different bits and pieces on offer. Some will have you coming back week after week, desperate to see what happens next.


As usual my six come from my work in progress A Fierce Reaping, the true [ish] story of a Romano-Celtic warband who challenged the advance of incoming Anglo-Saxons sometime around the year 600 AD.  It didn’t go according to plan! However, my lads haven’t set off yet and, as often happens, men who have been trained to the peak of fighting trim need someone to spar with. Between friends it’s not so bad but when other people get involved it can get serious.

“Five coppers to the man who kills the other,” someone shouted and Cynfal snarled as he recognised Moried’s voice.
That shout must have reached other’s ears too because Cynfal heard other yells and crashing in the undergrowth. It also brought a look of shock to Aeddan’s face. He removed his arm from Cynfal’s neck and his knee from his balls and gave him one last sharp punch. “That’s for calling me a thief,” he whispered as he levered himself up.
“And that,” Cynfal whipped up a foot and kicked Aeddan hard in the thigh, taking his leg out from under him, “is for calling me a whore.”

I had a request last week for some clarification on pronouncing character names so here goes. Emphasis is placed on the second to last syllable in most cases :

Cynfal – K’n-vawl

Gwion – Gwee-on

Aeddan – Aye-than

Cynon – Kunnan

March – Markh [the final hard K sound slightly aspirated like the ch on the end of loch]

Ceredig – Kare-edig

Aneurin- Ann-eye-rin

Tudfwlch – Tid-voolkh [oo to rhyme with look]

Rhufawn – Rolled R-vorn

Hyfaidd – H-vaydd [the th as in this]

Llif – almost impossible to describe. Sort of like trying to say cliff only you keep the tip of your tongue against your gum behind your top front teeth and say the ‘cl’ sound out of the corner of your mouth. For those who worry abut such things it doesn’t matter which corner but, statistically speaking, 80% of Welshman ‘cl’ to the left.


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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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Here we go again – Six Sunday – go here and register then the following Sunday post six sentences from a published work or WIP.

I’m out and about today and don’t have access to A Fierce Reaping so Gwion and Cynfal can bide a while.

Instead here are six sentences from my story A Few Days Away which is *bounce* published today in the Lashings of Sauce anthology from JMS Books.


The website for the White Horse in Weston Stanage proclaimed that it was “the quintessential English Pub”, its qualifications comprising a lovely view over the village green, a proudly independent selection of superb real ales, simple well-cooked food and quirky architecture. Including the exposed beams in the ceiling of the publican’s bedroom, of which Hugh had a sudden and unwanted view as Tom pushed himself up and stared, appalled, at the bedroom door.

It closed with a thump, making the mirror above the dresser rattle against the wall. “Sorry – sorry, Tom, sorry, Hugh. I – erm – I’ll see you later then.” Footsteps retreated along the landing and rattled down the stairs.

“I thought,” Hugh hissed, “that you said your mum would be out for the day!”


Hmm, my warrior Six Sunday graphic is inappropriate again. I’ll have to draw another one.

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Six Sentence Sunday

It’s Six Sentence Sunday time!

Go to the website here and there are links to click that will whizz you all around the world to read bits of stories from gritty sci fi, dystopian future, spine chilling horror and lots of heterotica! Something to suit every taste.

My six this week are taken from my WIP A Fierce Reaping – a story about a Romano-celtic warband preparing to ride south to tackle Aelthelfrith, a Saxon warleader who is pushing the boundaries north to threaten the lands of the Gododdin. War and mayhem is good fun to write but I think it’s more fun to read when a threat to loving relationships up the stakes.

Following on from last week’s six, Cynfal is walking some horses back to the picket lines and meets Gwion, the harper, whom he rather fancies. He suspects the feeling could be mutual so speaks to him and asks where he is going. Gwion is going Cynfal’s way but seems uncertain of his welcome:
Gwion shrugged and patted the bay again.  “I could help?”
Even croaked the suggestion was tentative, as though too many offers of help, pleas for companionship, had been rejected.
Cynfal nodded. “I’ve been told to walk the horses so it’ll take longer but I’d be glad of some company.”
Gwion’s smile was dazzling as he took the reins of the bay and came to walk at Cynfal’s shoulder.

This looks really weird when taken out of context.

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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.


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And another six! Six Sentence Sunday is good fun –  register at the website any time between Wednesday and Saturday each week then on Sunday choose a published work or WIP, and post 6 sentences from it. Then romp around the world reading and commenting to everyone elses.

As per usual – 6 from A Fierce Reaping, a story set in Yr Hen Gogledd  – the Old North – during a period when something very like Welsh was spoken from the Firth of Forth to the Tamar. Cynfal’s conversation with Moried is broken up by their respective troop leaders.

Moried shot him a smug and knowing smile, eyes flicking past Cynfal’s shoulder, before returning to his lord.  Cynfal blew his cheeks out in exasperation, as much at himself as Moried, then turned to find Cynon getting to his feet. He too was looking across the room to Gwlygad and Aneurin, who had just entered with the harper, Gwion, at their heels.
He was taller than Cynfal had expected, broad shouldered, with a considerable flush brightening his pale face.
“There you are, you little bastard,” Cynon growled. “Cynfal, you can go – I want a word with my cousin in private.”

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