Elin Gregory

Another chance to click on the rafflecopter! Today at MM Good Book Reviews with a great review from Pixie! Thanks so much.

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In llight of recent stuff on Facebook, where the Powers That Be seem intent on driving anyone with an alternate identity used either for professional reasons – in my case my name is just so damned common – or for self protection, either off the site completely or to fan pages that we all know just don’t work even when paid for I’m going to try to post here a bit more frequently and check G+ more often.

The beauty of Facebook was that everyone was there. Way to go to split up a lovely community.

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In case you didn’t know today, September 19th, is the annual Talk Like a Pirate Day. Why Sept 19th? Blowed if I know. Why NOT Sept 19th?

Anyhow, just because I like pirates, here’s a long piratey snippet from On A Lee Shore:

Amidships the party was getting rowdy as the musicians sawed, pounded, or whistled. One crew challenged the other to wrestle and made wagers on the outcome. It looked like anarchy, but there were men in the waist of the ship who stepped in if the struggle got too aggressive. Kit found himself laughing as he watched Saunders, bottle held safely out of the way, battering a brawny pirate about the shoulders with the despised volume of Homer.

Saunders spotted Kit, abandoned the brawlers, and made his way to his side. He offered O’Neill a swig from his bottle and leaned back against the transom.

“What a to-do,” he said. “Damn fellow knocked my bottle over, would have spilled it if I hadn’t looked sharp.”

“So inconsiderate,” Kit nodded to the book, “and he made you lose your place.”

“Hanging is too good,” O’Neill commented as he offered the bottle to Kit, who shook his head. O’Neill passed it back to Saunders.

“Barbuda,” Saunders said suddenly. “That is our destination. There I should be able to replenish our medicine chest—try as I might the men will keep catching things. While we are in port they will have the opportunity to catch some more I wouldn’t wonder. “

“Something to look forward to then—you and your syringe.” O’Neill grinned as Kit shuddered. “And what will you do, Mr. Penrose?”

“He will give his parole,” Saunders said, “as befits an officer of His Majesty’s Navy, and will accompany me to Willaerts coffee house to see if we can trade this unlovely item for something more elevating.” He waved the book again. “Or he will not give his parole and will spend our time in port chained to a long gun—possibly. It depends on our lord and master’s whim.”

Kit’s spirits had sunk to hear that, and he shook his head. “You must see that I can’t give my word not to try and escape?” he said. “I can promise to guide the ship to safe waters, but I won’t take part in acts of piracy or neglect my duty to return to my post.”

“You’re a fool then,” O’Neill said, without rancour. “This can be a fine life for those of us cast out. Half the men on board here would be hanged or starving, else. True there are a few who would knife a blind beggar for half a groat, but most are just getting along.”

“Indeed we are,” Saunders said. “I too, Kit, was once part of your glorious institution,” he said the word with great relish. “But I too fell foul of the authorities. I lost the life of a man rather than, as in your case, Kit, losing a mere boat. That I had a drink or two taken was seen as the reason for his demise, though a far better and soberer doctor than I would have been hard pressed to save him. So—they consigned me to Gehenna.”

“Gehenna? I wouldn’t have described the Africa as Gehenna,” Kit said. Saunders had mentioned the wreck of the Malvern, so he was half expecting a reference to the cities of the plains. Gehenna had thrown him.

“Hah! No! You’re right. The Africa is an abode of angels. I was referring to the Army!” Saunders rolled his eyes and took a drink to wash away the memory. “No wonder I ran away to sea. Come, Kit, you must have a drink with me to celebrate our disgrace and our subsequent escape from tedious respectability.”

Kit took the bottle, containing God knew what. “To tedious respectability,” he said and made a creditable mime of taking a sip until O’Neill slapped him hard on the back. Kit choked down a mouthful and coughed.

“Well done, Lieutenant Penrose, sir,” Saunders crowed. “We’ll make a pirate of you yet.”

“If I live!” Kit wiped his tongue on the back of his hand. “Trying to drum up trade, sir? That’s truly awful.”

“Isn’t it though?” O’Neill said taking the bottle. “Now you hit me while I take a swig.”

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My guest today is a favourite author and a leading light in the formation of UK Meet as we know and love it. Jo Myles lives in Somerset, England, with her eight-year-old daughter and another bun in the oven (due Dec 23rd!). She has been writing gay erotic romance for the last five years, mostly published by Samhain. Her books are all set in England and are deliciously humorous, sexy contemporary romances with the occasional dabble in ménage and kink. Her next novel, How To Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps, will be published on 23rd September.

Welcome Jo, and thanks for being such a good sport about answering my questions.

Can you tell me a little about yourself? For instance, do you have to have a day job as well as being a writer?

I live in a small Somerset town with my eight-year-old daughter, Daisy, who has Downs Syndrome. I’m one of those lucky writers who can somehow just about afford not to have a day job and live off my writing. I don’t think I’d be able to if I lived in the US, though. Us Brits are lucky to have a more robust welfare state, reasonable taxes and free health care.

I’m currently five months pregnant so I’m not sure how much writing I’ll be able to do over the next few years, or how I’ll survive. I expect I’ll have to move in with my boyfriend at some point, although I’ve got quite used to it being just me and my daughter at home. Sharing with another adult will involve lots of compromise and he’s horribly messy, but I love him anyway 😉

When you aren’t writing, is there any other creative activity you enjoy? Have you ever written about it?

I’m a hopeless craft addict, and over the last few years I’ve become obsessed with dressmaking. It’s such a wide field with so many techniques to learn. I’ve now covered lots of the basics, so I’m getting more into couture sewing projects, pattern drafting and working with trickier fabrics like chiffon and knits. I wrote a fashion student hero in my novella, Tailor Made, and I’m planning to revisit Felix and Andrew in another novella called Custom Fit, hopefully out early 2015.

What are you reading? Can you recommend something that you wished you’d written yourself?

I’m currently reading outside of m/m romance as I’ve felt the need to have a break from it while I complete my latest WIP. I’m reading The Timetraveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger at the moment which I’m absolutely loving. It’s a literary romance, but also written in an accessible enough style to make it a worldwide bestseller. Yeah, I wish I’d written this one! I’d have added a happier ending and a few sex scenes, though. It’s frustrating to be told they’re having amazing sex, but always fading to black. Show me, damn it! I demand smut!

In that crucial inspiration stage of a new story which comes first? Plot, situation or character?

Situation generally comes first, shortly followed by character. I usually have a vivid scene in my mind—often a comic one—and the rest of the story follows from there. I either work backwards (how did they get to be in this situation?) or follow the consequences of that first scene. For instance, in The Hot Floor, it was the bath falling through the ceiling scene that came first. In Screwing the System, it was the job interview, and in Merry Gentlemen it was the seagull “shower”.

Put together your ideal team of men/women – drawing from all and any walks of life, fictional or non-fictional – who you would want to come to your rescue if menaced by muggers/alligators/fundamentalists?

Indiana Jones instantly springs to mind, but it would have to be the younger version from Raiders of the Lost Ark. I’d also want Ripley from Alien, Trinity from The Matrix and Sarah Conner from Terminator 2. Those women can kick arse! I think Mike from Breaking Bad would be great too, as he seems to know what to do in just about any dangerous situation. And if circumstances demanded being able to read body language and defuse a situation before things got critical, I’d want Cal Lightman from Lie To Me. And that’s not just because I fancy Tim Roth, honest!

Villains are incredibly important in fiction since they challenge the main protagonists and give them something to contend with beyond the tension of a developing relationship. The cruel sea. The serial killer. The society itself. Your hero’s inner demons. What sort of villains do you prize?

Writing a flesh and blood villain is always fun and they can be such scene stealers—I thoroughly enjoyed writing Saul in Tailor Made and Grant in Stuff. I’ve always been a fan of the Hollywood British villain, and Alan Rickman is a perfect example of how to do it right. I have to admit, though, I don’t use a human villain all that often, as it isn’t always realistic. My characters are usually battling their inner demons or what they think are society’s expectations for them.

Snog, marry or avoid – which of your characters? OR Of all your characters who would you be most enjoy pushing downstairs, sharing a taxi cab with, or having them move in next door so you saw them every day?

Since most of my characters are gay I don’t think I’d get very far if I tried to snog or marry any of them. Perhaps it could work out with Jeff White in my next novel, How to Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps, as he is at least bi. He’s more my type than my other bi hero, Perry in Stuff. As for avoiding… I don’t know that I’d want to avoid any of them. Even totally obnoxious people are fascinating when you’re a writer, and there are very few people I actively avoid in everyday life.

I’d definitely want to live next door to Mas from Stuff. He’d keep me endlessly entertained.

What are you working on at the moment? Can you discuss it or do you prefer to keep it a secret until it’s finished.

I’m currently working on Scrap, which is the third in The Bristol Collection after Junk and Stuff. Normally I’m fine to share some details, but I’m keeping quiet about the heroes for this one until my betas have read it, as I’m concerned one may not be a popular choice. I just had to write him again, though!

Could we please have an excerpt of something?

This is from my next novel, How to Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps.

Jeff let himself into the house and ran up the stairs, retrieving his suitcase of kink from the top of his wardrobe. Now he just had to quickly unpack the stuff and lay it out on the sofa, then hide the case so Eddie wouldn’t realise that was the full extent of his collection. Ever since speaking to bloody Sandi, he’d been increasingly self-conscious about how few tools of the trade he had. But the proper kit was bloody expensive, and he’d learnt the pitfalls of buying cheap tools the hard way. Nothing like having a trowel handle break on you when you were in the middle of building a wall to realise that you should have forked out the extra twenty quid and got yourself a professional-quality one.
But when he got downstairs, he spotted Eddie striding down the garden path through the front room window. “Fuck.” Jeff legged it through to the kitchen and plonked the case on the table. Hopefully, Eddie hadn’t seen him. It was always harder to spot people inside a house than it was to look out of the windows. Well, unless you had the lights on, in which case everything in your house was on display for any old potential burglar to check out.
Jeff unzipped the case and pulled out a paddle, a flogger, a tawse and a riding crop. He contemplated the dressage whip. It had stung like bloody buggery when Jeff had tried it out on his thigh. And Eddie had said he didn’t much like those kind of stinging implements.
Jeff added it to the bunch in his hand, along with the cane. Fuck it. Why not? Eddie said he could take all this stuff and enjoy it, hadn’t he? And something about getting a high even off the kind of pain he didn’t much enjoy at the time. Jeff had to stop feeling guilty about the prospect of hurting someone. Painsluts wanted to be hurt. That was part of the whole job description. And sadists enjoyed hurting them.
Right. He could do this.
“I hope you’re ready and in position, bitch,” Jeff called.
“Yes, Sir, right where you asked me to be.”
Jeff opened the kitchen door and got a prime view of naked backside bent over his table.
Fuck. He really wasn’t meant to find that sexy.
Jeff closed his eyes, trying to erase the memory of Eddie’s bare bum. Actually, as bums went, it hadn’t been a bad one—lots of smooth white skin and perky cheeks—but it hadn’t had the right shape. Women’s arses were rounder. Softer. They wobbled. Eddie’s had been kind of…
Jeff opened his eyes briefly. Firm, that was the word he was looking for. Muscular, even. He couldn’t bloody well erase the image from his head. Felt like it had been burned onto the back of his eyelids. At least Eddie had kept his legs together. Jeff didn’t think he’d have been able to cope with seeing his meat and two veg as well.

***

Jo’s latest novel, a filthy BDSM romp, is out on the 23rd September.

How to Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps

Sometimes the little head really does know best.

Jeff White’s needs are simple. All he wants is a submissive to help him explore the dominant side that his ex-girlfriend couldn’t handle. Problem is, inexperience in both dating and domming has resulted in a string of rejections.
What he needs is an experienced sub willing to show him the ins and outs of controlling a scene. Unfortunately, the only one willing to take him on is male, and Jeff is straight. One hundred percent, never-gonna-happen straight.
Easygoing painslut Eddie Powell doesn’t care that Jeff is younger, working class, and shorter. Eddie likes a bit of rough, and Jeff fits the bill perfectly. The trick will be convincing him to follow Eddie’s five-step training programme—which would be easy if Eddie wasn’t starting to have feelings for the rough-around-the-edges landscaper.
Once Jeff lays his hands on Eddie, things definitely get out of hand. But it’ll take more than hot, sweaty, kinky sex to persuade him to come out of the closet—especially to himself.
Warning: Contains a happy sub, a confused Dom, a high ratio of sex to plot, misuse of root ginger, and a suitcase of kink. Written in Jo’s usual exceedingly “English” English.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Train-Your-Five-Easy-Steps-ebook/dp/B00KT23WMW
Samhain: http://store.samhainpublishing.com/train-your-five-easy-steps-p-73624.html

Author bio:

English through and through, Josephine Myles is addicted to tea and busy cultivating a reputation for eccentricity. She writes gay erotica and romance, but finds the erotica keeps cuddling up to the romance, and the romance keeps corrupting the erotica. Jo blames her rebellious muse but he never listens to her anyway, no matter how much she threatens him with a big stick. She’s beginning to suspect he enjoys it.
Jo publishes regularly with Samhain. She has also been known to edit anthologies and self-publish on occasion.

Website and blog: http://josephinemyles.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/josephine.myles.author
Twitter: @JosephineMyles
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3499509.Josephine_Myles
Instagram: http://instagram.com/josephine_myles
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/hrQ4s

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Title: Dakota Skies
Author: Taylin Clavelli
Publisher: Wayward Ink Publishing

Synopsis

Born in the wrong time…

In 1875 Dakota, Sheriff Jamie Carter has to hide his interest in men, even from his gutsy twin sister, Anna. On a good day, the truth can mean a bullet between the eyes, and on a bad, one in the back.

A man on a mission…

Jamie leaves Anna in charge of Blackrock and he hits the bounty hunting trail, along with his faithful equine companion, Houston. Five territories, scores of ‘Wanted’ posters, and many bullets later, his path unexpectedly converges with that of enigmatic loner, Kit Brooks.

Two men with one soul…

Will the smoldering fire between them rage into an inferno and break down protective barriers, allowing them to find love? Or will it separate and kill them?

Beneath Dakota skies…

Jamie and Kit’s story is a sweeping saga of cowboys, Indians, persistent broads, and vengeful villains, where the cowboys aren’t always the good guys, and love can’t be taken for granted.

Book Trailer

[Click here to see the trailer]

Buy the book:

WIP: http://www.waywardinkpublishing.com/product/dakota-skies/
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NHPMJ7C/
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00NHPMJ7C/

About the author:

Taylin Clavelli lives in the United Kingdom, about 15 miles south of Birmingham, and a short journey from the world famous Cadbury’s Chocolate factory. She’s married with children and loves her family with all her heart.

Her love of books has been a long standing affair, with Taylin liking nothing better than to lose herself in an imaginary world.

Until she met Lily Velden, she never considered trying her hand at writing. However, after talking ideas, Lily encouraged her to put pen to paper—or rather, fingers to keyboard. Since, with a few virtual kicks in the right place, she hasn’t stopped. Her confidence eventually led to her writing an original work for submission.

Her first published work was Boys, Toys, and Carpet Fitters, developed for the Dreamspinner Press Anthology – Don’t Try This At Home.

Now she absolutely adores immersing herself into the characters she creates, and transferring the pictures in her brain to paper, finding it liberating, therapeutic, and wonderful.

Outside of writing, her interests include; martial arts (she’s a 2nd Degree Black Belt in Taekwon-do), horse-riding, all of which facilitates her love of a wide variety of movies. Her action heroes include Jet Li and Tony Jaa—finding the dedication these men have for their art combined with their skill both amazing and a privilege to watch. If pressed, she’ll admit to thinking that the screen entrance of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean – Curse of the Black Pearl, and Shadowfax in LOTR, to be the greatest screen entrances ever. Her all-time favorite movies are Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.

The simple things in life that make her day, putting a smile on her face are:

Laughter – especially that of her children.

The smell of lasagna cooking – it makes her mouth salivate.

The dawn chorus – no symphony ever written can beat the waking greetings of the birds.

Social links:

Website: http://www.taylinclavelli.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100005234535413
Twitter: https://twitter.com/taylinclavelli

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I guess I wasn’t really back to business, was I?

There’s just so much going on at the moment and that, combined with a laptop that won’t recognise the internet – oh it accepts that it’s there in theory but in practice doesn’t want to know – means that I have been even scarcer than usual.

What’s going on? LOADS and it’s making me make this kind of face:

However, nobody loves a whinger and since we writers are all about the UNreal lives over which we do have a little control here’s what I’ve been doing.

Eleventh Hour is finished bar the double checking. I’ve been checking back through my files and I started writing it on September 8th 2011! Didn’t make a note of when I actually typed the last few words, because there’s always a LOAD of changes to make, but it was a couple of weeks ago. So two and three quarter years to produce about 50k words. Not very good, is it, when there are so many writers who write 3 or 4 books a year. I’ll just comfort myself with the reminder that we do what we can when we can. The only way I could write more is by giving up reading and I really wouldn’t want to do that!

But, since Eleventh Hour is finished I’m going to celebrate by posting a little snippet from chapter two. London, 1928, Allerdale, a tough field agent, returns to England with news that an anarchist cell has moved to London and may be planning an assassination. He needs a partner to observe one of the cell members – cue Miles Siward, well bred, well connected sponge for languages and a keen amateur actor in the Traditional Shakespeare society. His Portia was sublime!

Miles knew that he was keeping Allerdale waiting and didn’t much care. He also knew that it was unfair to blame the man for his present plight but he needed – really needed – to direct his ire somewhere and Allerdale didn’t look as though he would be bothered by a little professional terseness. No, he could take it. His shoulders were broad. He was probably outside now, drinking coffee and sniggering over Maugham’s secret service stories, having performed feats himself that made Ashenden look like a village bobby.
“Too tight?” his helper asked and Miles shook his head.
“It’s fine,” he said and eased the frock down over the light padding they had applied to his hips. It was a good frock from a great Parisian designer and less than a year old. Just the thing for a well-bred provincial miss to have worn on her honeymoon. In two tone grey wool, with long sleeves and a high collar, the pleated skirt skimmed a little below his knees. It fitted well. Miles tilted his head and studied his reflection. She – he – Millie looked good. Smart. Miles adjusted one of his spit curls and let out a long calming breath. He deliberately lowered his shoulders and felt the first easing of tension as he began to relax into the role. The excitement would come later. “How is that cut?”
Throckmorton – who had been in the flickers before the Great War spoiled his looks – pursed his lips and lifted the hem away from Miles calf. “Fine,” he said. “The styptic pencil stopped the bleeding. Tonight, when there’s time, do your thighs and the rest of your chest. You can’t be too careful. And for pity’s sake buy a safety razor. That sabre of yours is only fit for cutting throats.”
“It cuts closer than anything else,” Miles said, “and then I don’t have to wear so much slap.”
“All I can say is, thank God you’re blond.” Throckmorton grabbed Miles’s chin, turning his face towards the light. “Shall I do your eyebrows?” he asked.
Miles groaned. “All right. But not too thin. I’m supposed to be a not too bright, provincial lass from the Home Counties not Theda Bara.”
Throckmorton snorted – as well he migh,t because Miles had to admit that he looked nothing like Theda Bara. Elissa Landi, perhaps. Millie would be a handsome girl if not conventionally pretty. He closed his eyes and tried not to wince as Throckmorton plied the tweezers.
“How much do you know about this Allerdale chap?” he asked after a few moments.
“Not much,” Throckmorton replied. “And what I do know is classified as ‘most secret’. But I can tell you that he’s sound. You’ll be fine. All you have to do is watch and keep notes. Allerdale will do any of the active stuff. You’ll come to no harm.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Miles snapped.
Throckmorton clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I don’t want you to come to any harm. You’re the only person who fits that set of clothing and it cost a pretty penny. Take care of it. You’ll need these too.” He offered Miles a leatherbound case and Miles snapped it open and nodded glumly. Adam’s apples were inconvenient things but a pearl choker would camouflage it in the evening. By day a scarf would do.
“If you’re serious about this, you should have your ears pierced.” Throckmorton flicked one of the accompanying pearl drops with a fingertip. “Clip-ons give one the most frightful headache.”
Miles shut the case with a snap and slipped it into his handbag. “I’m not contemplating having to wear them for that long,” he said.
Once his tamed eyebrows had been darkened, ditto his eyelashes, Miles applied powder and a little discreet lip colour.
“Pinch your cheeks,” Throckmorton advised.
“You pinch yours,” Miles growled. He got up, gave himself a little shake to settle his pleats then picked up his hat and set it carefully on his head. With a scarf – silk printed with peonies in the Chinese style – snugged up under his chin, he draped his coat over his elbow and picked up his handbag. He looked into the mirror and Millie Carstairs, blonde but nobody’s moppet, gave him a cheeky grin.
“Will I do?” he asked.
“You’ll do. One last thing.” Throckmorton gave Miles a squirt of Arpege then tucked a smaller bottle into his handbag. “Break a leg, darling.”

The rather splendid person in the photo is Barbette a drag artist circus performer on the trapeze and high wire who was glamorous beyond belief.

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