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Archive for the ‘Six Sentence Sunday’ Category

Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Six Sentence Sunday on June 3, 2012| 54 Comments »

Back to SSS again, this time with a slightly more appropriate image than a leggy girl in a miniskirt carrying an automatic.

This weeks 6, follows on immediately after the one from the week before last, just to keep you on your toes, like. I put in the bit about Gwion because he’s important. But back to Cynfal and Moried.

This week’s post comes with a warning. I write action adventure stuff with gay heroes. I don’t write erotica but the lads are young, lusty and express their feelings in terms that are, I hope, appropriate to soldiers and their characters. This is the first time that any really overt mention has been made of this so if you find that sort of thing disinteresting you might want to miss the next couple of weeks out.  However, I hope you’ll stick with me, or return for the banter. If you do decide to drop out then farewell, friend, I will keep up with you elsewhere 🙂

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Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Six Sentence Sunday on May 5, 2012| 23 Comments »

Here’s the usual Sunday Six [click on the link to see other participating authors]. Taken from my WIP A Fierce Reaping set in Scotland and Northumbria in the 7th century AD,   it follows on closely from last weeks. Cynfal and his friends have decided to provide an escort for their down to earth cavalry commander, Cynon. Cynon, while touched, can’t take the situation entirely seriously.

~~~

“Since you want me to be honoured I’ll need a cupbearer,” Cynon said. “March took a turn last time, Pup can’t do it until he learns not to giggle and Aeddan wouldn’t be able to resist dropping a good loud fart into a lull in conversation. Cynfal – what about you?”
“Why me?” Cynfal asked with a grin.
Cynon grinned too. “Apart from anything else, you’re about the cleanest.”

~~~

I’m trying to read everyone and comment, but I’m getting masses of ‘Service unavailable’ or timed out messages this week. Sorry, me dears. I do love you, really!

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Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Excerpt, Six Sentence Sunday, tagged on April 29, 2012| 48 Comments »

 This week’s Sunday Six is from A Fierce Reaping, my WIP set in 7th century Scotland. Troop Three, the Misbegotten, have realised they need to show their commander more than the usual respect.
“And why do you think I need an honour guard?” Cynon demanded.
“Because you’re as good if not better than Ceredig and Tudfwlch and neither of them go to piss without an entourage.” Cynfal nodded toward the doors of the hall, standing open at this hour, and the group of Tudfwlch’s men who were standing around them, all wearing cloaks dyed with the same warm golden hue. “Just because we’re not so pretty doesn’t mean we honour you the less and for you to walk around alone suggests that we do.”
Cynon nodded. “Then come by all means but know this – I piss alone – I don’t want anyone to be disappointed.”
For anyone who doesn’t know – Six Sentence Sunday is a fun thing for authors to do. Sign up on the website and on Sunday post six sentences of a story, published or WIP to the link you provided. Then knock yourself out romping around the other writers’ blogs reading their excerpts. I read as many as possible but sadly don’t manage to comment to everything. Sometimes this crappy old router won’t let me.

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Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Six Sentence Sunday, Uncategorized on April 15, 2012| 26 Comments »

Yes, it’s that time of week again, folkies! Six Sunday is an opportunity to try bitesized samples of work in a dozen different genres. Just click on the links to see the authors offerings. If you like the idea a new sign up post will be put up about Tuesday or Wednesday next week. Unpublished authors are welcome to register as well

Set in Scotland and Northumbria in the late 7th century AD, A Fierce Reaping tells the story of some of the men who took part in an ill-fated attempt to drive the invading Saxons back. Cynfal, down on his luck and with nothing to lose, joins Troop Three of the cavalry, aka the Misbegotten, made up from volunteers the other commanders don’t want. Cynfal knows that they will get all the dirtiest jobs but in the meantime he is pleased to catch up with old friends and see to the education of the promising youngsters:

“New girls – where?” Pup demanded.
The guard shrugged. “I dunno – it’s just what I heard.”
“And what do you think you’re going to do with girls, Pup?” Cynfal asked as they hurried on up the track.
Pup flushed, the pink showing clearly even through the wispy whiskers he was cultivating. “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “but I’d dearly love the chance to find out.”

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Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Six Sentence Sunday, tagged , , on April 1, 2012| 17 Comments »

This week’s Six Sentence Sunday offering:

6 sentences from WIP, A Fierce Reaping, set in Scotland and Northumbria in the late 7th century AD. Cynfal has joined a warband and is being given the induction course by an old friend.

Aeddan gave him a rough one armed hug and flicked his bowl so the mead spilled down his shirt. “We’ll have to cheer you up, then. Find you a girl so you don’t forget what it’s for, as long as you’re not too fussy, or a lad unless you’ve gone all Christian on us.”
“What do you mean?” Cynfal asked.
“We’ve got monks,” Aeddan growled. “They say we mustn’t curse, gamble or whore and we certainly mustn’t ‘make do’” he held his hands at hip level and pumped them, “with each other – on pain of ever lasting purgatory.”

 

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Six Sentence Sunday

Posted in Six Sentence Sunday, tagged , , on March 25, 2012| 9 Comments »

This is my first attempt at Six Sentence Sunday. 🙂  I have no idea if I’m doing it right but there are six sentences. I counted ’em.

 6 sentences from WIP, A Fierce Reaping, set in Scotland and Northumbria in the late 7th century AD. Cynfal wishes to join a war band but has been challenged to wrestle a champion for his place. 

Cynfal met his eyes and they held each others gaze for a long minute before both leaped to grab and hold. Chest to chest they heaved and twisted, feet scrabbled in the rushes, hands slid across skin just beginning to sheen with sweat. Around them the men of the hall howled. Cynfal rammed a shoulder into Aeddan’s armpit and grabbed a handful of his breeks to lift. The fabric tore. There was a shriek of laughter.

[The photo is nothing to do with Scotland or Northumbria but a very lovely image of a terrific sport – Oil wrestling where combatants wear leather capris and douse themselves in extra virgin before they start. An ancient sport with time-honoured traditions. Yes, his hand is down the other guys pants. ]

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