I forgot about this yesterday so I’ll have to do some catching up with all the fabulous snippets posted on the Facebook Group where a collection of authors – about 30 of them – post approx six sentences of published books or works in progress with LGBTQA protagonists. If you’d like to see some too, click the little picture above and look for the pinned post.
I’m continuing with Calon Lan, a story set during the Great War about a gay love affair observed by the naive sister of one of the protagonists, but wonder if you’d like a change for next week? I can offer historical or contemporary, published and waaaay more unpublished. Or I can carry on with this one.
[Bethan] also hoped God would forgive her for hating the war – this justified war, because one could not give in to bullies and barbarians – and hating what it had done to her menfolk. Alwyn’s wounds were easy to see, but Nye carried his own hurts. On market day or on Sunday after chapel, people talk and don’t always look round to see who is near before they speak and Bethan had heard things said, some hard and some sneering. She had no doubts, none at all, but there were those who speculated that Nye might have been a bit too quick to agree to stay behind. The day was sharp in her mind, when Alwyn had said, “One of us should go, so let it be me.” His smile had been so merry. “It’s the only chance I’ll ever get to see France and I promise I’ll be back in time for lambing!”
I haven’t done this for a few weeks because it’s felt a bit daunting. There are so many excellent snippets in so many different places – click the little graphic above to go to the link list – and it has taken a load of energy to go round and comment on them all. But but this week I thought I’d give it a go again, and again I’m using bits of my Welsh set Great War story, Calon Lan.
Bethan would have urged they accept Alwyn’s suggestion anyway – even if Alwyn’s friend had been sick or lazy – for this was the first time since they had picked him up at the station, gaunt and almost mute, with his head wrapped round and round with stiff, stained bandages, that Alwyn had asked them for anything.
An extra man in the house would mean more calls on her larder. While Bethan fed Georgie, glad of the opportunity to sit by the fire and rock his small warmth against her breast, she reviewed the contents of the pantry and cellar, pondered the fowls and planned their eating. Nye could pack the food away, Alwyn tended to pick, his appetite still not returned after long illness. Bethan hoped God would forgive her for hoping that Alwyn’s friend was of moderate habits.
But as fate would have it, Callum is lured onto the moors by the will-o-the-wisp. Lost in the dark, he falls into enchantment, encountering faeries and nymphs, until he stumbles into the arms of a licentious Barrow-Wight who lays claim to his soul.
Hearing his silent pleas, Donal sends Liam the gruagach (faery) to rescue Callum and bring him to his farm, a place of refuge from the Fae.
Callum is happy working on Donal’s farm, slowly falling in love with the beautiful, silver-haired gruagach.
Yet there’s something wrong in the nearby forest….
Despite Donal’s warnings, Callum is lured into the forest and becomes tangled in its magic, easy prey for the Barrow-Wight.
Will Liam be able to strike a deal with the Barrow-Wight to save Callum’s life, or has Callum found his last resting place instead?
Pre-order links
Don’t miss the final day of the Australia Day Sale – 50% off all titles, including coming soon books, on the WIP website!
CALLUM RAN UNTIL his lungs burned, every breath ragged and painful. Fear spurred him on, though fog began to cling to the rough mounds of the barrows, making such flight dangerous. Stones stabbed through his worn boots with each footfall, but he daren’t stop. There had been voices in the shadows….
Exhaustion slowed him, his chest heaving as he fought for air. Dusk spread its dark mantle on the landscape, and he shivered as a finger of dread traveled up his spine. Perilous to be on the moors at night without shelter. He cursed the ill fortune that had sent him this way, but he was hungry and ill. He’d followed the will-o’-the-wisp, thinking they were the lights of a farmhouse. His brothers would crudely have called them swamp gas and continued on the road, but Callum had always been the fool.
An owl hooted in the semi-darkness, making his skin crawl. “Sweet Lord,” he muttered, heart thumping. “Protect me—”
He stumbled on a loose stone and fell heavily against a dark mound of earth. Oh God! The ground caved in under him and he dropped into the barrow in a shower of dirt.
“Save me!” he sobbed as he scrambled to his knees.
Sinewy arms reached up from the blackness and twined around him. Callum screamed, but no sound escaped his throat, choked with terror. He was yanked against a hard chest and hands ran over him, disembodied in the darkness.
“Soft. Sweet.” A voice sliced the silence and a cold breath washed over his face. He gagged on the waft of rot and decay. The tip of a dry tongue scraped along his jaw and he shuddered against the body under him. “Nice strong bones to gnaw,” the voice continued. “Sweet marrow to suck and swallow. Shall I eat you, my lovely one?”
Callum whimpered as the low tones wound through his head. The mists parted and moonlight filled the barrow, showing him the creature. He gasped at the cold beauty of its face. Eyes dark as pitch burned into him and brushed against his soul. Lush lips, dripping honey, overripe, took his mouth in a kiss that sent his pulse into a riot of hunger and desire.
About the author
DIANNE HARTSOCK is the author of m/m erotic romance, both contemporary and fantasy, the psychological thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. If she can’t be writing, at least she has the chance to create through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage to bring a smile to someone’s face.
Currently, Dianne lives in the Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.
Just when free-spirited farm girl, Cara Spencer Holloway, feels the regulatory world of her closeted, Southern enclave will swallow her whole, her three miscreant brothers team up to carelessly throw her together with regimented, Northern software designer, Dre Martin, on a misguided stop en route to Florida. One steamy stop leads to another and soon the two women will learn more about what the right kind of partner can bring to life than they had ever suspected, but can Cara Spencer move forward and out of the pain of her past, or will she succumb to the doubts that have plagued her romantic life from its very inception?
Excerpt:
In the mirror over the pedestal sink, she saw Cara Spencer, hands on her hourglass hips, skimming the half-inch of exposed flesh just below her navel. The scent of lavender and yellow jasmine hung in the air around her and her stare was intense, however intense did little to describe the feeling of being nailed with her almond, obsidian black eyes. Severe? Critical? Daring?
Her deep and even breaths stole the air from the room and Dre put her hands to her own throat, heart racing.
What was it with this woman? It was like she’d never really been attracted to anyone before, never fully had any appreciation or desire for a woman’s body until the moment she laid eyes on the dominant female standing in the lone stall doorway with a paper towel in her hands.
“Hello?” Cara Spencer tittered. “You can’t possibly be that blind.”
“Blind?” Was something on her face? Shit, was she blushing? Shit, shit, shit…
“They’re all smitten with you, honey. All of the Holloway boys…Like you’re the last steak on the savanna.”
Gross. Dre didn’t want to be anyone’s steak, least of all the steak any man wanted to sink his teeth into. The one male experience she’d had, back at Northwestern, had been far less than satisfying, not that it was any of his fault. Greg was his name, Greg Fillman. The only guy dumb enough to think the girl who shaved her head and dressed in men’s pants would ever want to be his girlfriend. Nope. It had been the one time in her life that Andrea had convinced herself to try a penis and see if the sensation was one she could live with… Hadn’t gone well. Had gone laughably unwell. Had necessitated ringing up Tris in the middle of the night, after she’d driven Greg home.
“Your brothers aren’t really my… Type.” She slurred.
Cara Spencer winked. “Ya don’t say…” Her hips swayed past and she put her hand on the door. “And what is your type?”
“You are.” FUCK why had she said that? Why had Dre said something so stupid?
Fuck this was embarrassing.
Dre had never so much as approached a woman like this for a quarter at a pay phone (were pay phones even a thing anymore?) and here she was, doused with liquid courage (how many beers had she had now?), and flinging about pick-up lines in a public fucking bathroom. What the fuck?!
Thankfully, and by the grace of God, Cara Spencer laughed, and not in a mocking way. Not at her, but with her. Like it was a good attempt, not a corny attempt. Like it was a real pick-up line. Like she was really, in fact, picking her up and it wasn’t wholly unsuccessful.
Hi, Lillian Francis here, and I’ve popped in to show off my amazing cover for my novel, New Lease of Life, coming soon from Dreamspinner Press.
But first the Blurb.
New Lease of Life
Phillip used to laugh a lot, back when his friends called him Pip. However the good deed that left him hospitalized not only marred his body, it stripped him of his good humor too. Ever since, he has pushed his friends away and shut out the world. Donating his vintage clothing to a charity shop should have been the final act in a year-long campaign to sever the links with the man Pip used to be, but the stranger on his doorstep awakens feelings in Pip that he hasn’t experienced since the incident that left him angry at the world and reliant on the cold metal of the hideous hospital-issue crutch.
Colby forces his way into Pip’s life, picking at the scab of his past. Colby isn’t interested in Pip’s money or his expensive address. He has only one goal: to make Pip smile again. With every moment in Pip’s presence, Colby chips away at the walls Pip has built around himself. Pip knows it’s impossible to fight his attraction with Colby’s sunny disposition casting light into the darkness in his soul.
I’ve realised now that I’m writing a series. Not something I expected but I have this notebook called Ideas and I bung every little inkling of a story that I get in there with notes for a title, characters, places, occupations and how they all fit together.
Last week I realised just how many of them are set in or around a small Welsh borders town and satellite villages – they say you should write what you know – and I also realised that it wouldn’t take much effort to fit them together. If Mal and Rob in The Bones of Our Fathers need a solicitor, why not let Leo the solicitor from Northern Light serve their needs? If Leo needs a haircut why not let Terry from Untitled but there’s a Poodle do it. If someone is stupid enough to pick a fight with Terry over his poodle, he’s probably a bully and may well pick on poor lonely little Dai Beynon from Untitled Paranormally Murdery Thing and have his arse handed to him by the silent but incredibly dangerous David Ashton from The Language of Flowers. It could be fun to populate this small country town But I’d best get this one done first.
It’s been a few years since I last tried Nanowrimo. I ‘won’ in 2010 and 2011, though to be honest the only person I was competing with was myself. Writing 50 thousand words in a month is perfectly possible – heck I know a few writers who can manage it in a week – but for me it’s difficult. I’m a slow typist, very easily distractible, am World Class at procrastination, and am very easily convinced that it’s all a waste of time and I should go and sit in the living room while something I don’t want to watch is on tv. But this year I’m doing better on word count than ever before due to being off work with, as they say, stress related problems [caused in part by not being able to write]. So something that could be potentially upsetting is actually great because I can write for chunks of the day instead of fret about work I’m not doing 🙂 Serendipity!
That’s 6440 words at lunch time on Nov 4th because that graphic will update on its own, clever thing
And here’s a little excerpt below the picture. Briers and his co-spy Miles, who for reasons that made perfect sense when I started the novel is in very convincing drag, have just been to see the classic silent war film Wings:
Heartfelt thanks to all attendees. PLEASE sign up to the newsletter if you’re interested in the event because that’s where all the best and most exciting info will be. ❤
Just a few words to finish off, before we get into UK Meet 2016.
Thank you
Thanks to everyone who stuffed bags, helped on the desk, did panels, said hello to newbies and made them welcome and generally made the weekend go smoothly. What a fantastic atmosphere you created; we couldn’t do this without any of you. Also, a heartfelt “well done” to all who bought raffle tickets – we raised £494 for Albert Kennedy Trust.
Thinking ahead
We’re collating all your feedback on the world’s biggest spreadsheet; that really clarifies what we need to tinker with. We’re aware we need to revisit quality control for panels to ensure they’re all up to the standard you expect and we’ll need to do a bit of work about better embedding our event values, but all of this is eminently doable.
Make sure you’re on our big newsletter list (sign-up linked from…
Liam Livings here, I’m pleased to announce Friday night entertainment is open for bookings now. Please read this page for details of what entertainment package we’ve put together, and book on the link under bookings.
Happy entertaining for UK Meet 2015!
FRIDAY 11 SEPTEMBER:
Who can come?
ALL delegates for UK Meet
their partners/guests
others who have come along for the weekend, but aren’t actually booked onto the conference sessions during the day
What’s the format?
A meet and mingle, informal event.
Includes 1 welcome drink and buffet of sandwiches (vegetarian, fish and meat) quiche, pork pies, cocktail sausages, chicken goujons, spring rolls, samosas and bhajis, fruit bowls, cheese platters, mini cakes.
Opportunities to chat, mingle, have photos taken with Her Royal Highness, The Queen, Elizabeth II*!
Although not a formal sit down meal, some seating is available – this event is about circulating, meeting old friends…
My guest today is Natalie Alder, best known for her contemporary M/F romances but here today because in her latest book she has branched out into M/M.
Welcome, Natalie. Perhaps you could tell us a bit about yourself?
~~~
I’m forty-seven years old, live with my husband, three rescued cats and a frog in a small farming town outside of Boston.
While growing up in Massachusetts I had several pets: dogs, cats, a rabbit and a parakeet. I belonged to 4-H and besides animals I entered sewing, photography and baking events at the yearly 4-H fairs. It was during that time in my life when a story about a forbidden love between a horse farm owner’s daughter and one of the farm’s hands started brewing in my head. I wrote it down (before computers!) and stuffed it away.
I went to college and became a physical therapist. My professional career focus varied having treated children through the elderly and specializing in neurological conditions as well as rehabilitation following joint replacements. I worked doing traveling physical therapy, short-term contracts, all over the US. Places I worked included Alaska, Hawaii, Arizona, Montana as well as Milwaukee and San Francisco. The work allowed me to meet and learn about many different people and their customs in their local environment.
I carried the pages with the story of forbidden love written on them with throughout those years. And as I gained life experiences and matured, I added to and modified the story. Having mostly driven from assignment to assignment I spent a lot of time driving and sight-seeing across the country. During those times I entertained myself listening to music or dreaming up stories I would someday also write. At one point during those years I spent two months traveling the east coast of Australia and New Zealand’s southern island. Another time I spent a month traveling across Europe. Once my travel bug left I returned to Massachusetts where I began work in the health insurance industry.
Besides writing, I love to sew, knit, write, sing and drink martinis (not necessarily at the same time). I love martinis – the classic martini – none of those sweet mock-a-tini drinks! In fact, I have a martini glass collection. I also love shoes. I have hundreds of pairs.
I write stories about romance. They center on learning about the characters backgrounds, personalities and life circumstances that mold them into who they are and how they love.
Each book in The Tapestry Series features a different member of the Becker family and together the series tells the family’s story, much like a tapestry
The family owns Bridgeton Pass Farms, a race horse farm, in the fictional town of Carnegie, South Carolina. William Becker is the sole heir owner-operator of the farm. He has three children: Cole, James and Audra. Their mother died of breast cancer when the children were young.
When you aren’t writing, is there any other creative activity you enjoy? Have you ever written about it?
From “about me” above, besides writing, I love to sew, knit, write, sing and drink martinis (not necessarily at the same time). I’ve never written about any of these things.
What are you reading? Can you recommend something that you wished you’d written yourself?
Currently I am reading Book 1 in Lilly Christine’s the McGreers Series, Crashing into Tess. I am a fan of Jostein Gaarder and wouldn’t mind if I could say that I wrote The Orange Girl. I love Mr. Gaarder’s style of writing, thought provoking and lyrical. This story does make you think while being romantic, rich in description and heartfelt.
In that crucial inspiration stage of a new story which comes first? Plot, situation or character?
For me, the situation comes first. Everything else develops from that primary situation.
I understand that the protagonist of your latest work is bisexual. How much research did you feel you needed to do before writing a character on the LGBTTQ spectrum?
I think that my life experiences were the primary “research” done to write this character. Like most writers, I’m very intrigued by and observant of human behavior. Once it was written, a few friends read it and gave feedback to hone the character.
Do your characters arrive fully fledged and ready to fly or do they develop as you work with them? Do you have a crisp mental picture of them or are they more a thought and a feeling than an image?
My characters and their stories develop as I work with them. I have a general idea or even a specific trait but the rest develops as I write. James Becker, in my Tapestry Series, was stoic from my conception of him but that was all that I had in mind about him. His being bisexual developed as the story developed.
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.
Book 3 in The Tapestry Series, Woven Interests, was just released on July 6th. Each book in series features a different member of the Becker family and together the series tells the family’s story, much like a tapestry
The family owns Bridgeton Pass Farms, a race horse farm, in the fictional town of Carnegie, South Carolina. William Becker is the sole heir owner-operator of the farm. He has three children: Cole, James and Audra. Their mother died of breast cancer when the children were young.
Book 3 is the story of James Becker. It involves a m/f/m relationship that develops and some intrigue ongoing from prior books.
Could we please have an excerpt of something?
From Woven Interests, Book 3 in The Tapestry Series by Natalie Alder
It was dark inside, as expected. James waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The music was sultry, jazz fusion and almost soothing. This place calls for a gimlet martini James thought to himself. Noting the bar along the right wall he sauntered to a free stool and sat before placing his order. The couple had chosen a small table and were sitting with their heads close together talking. Wall sconces and small, red, shaded lamps on café tables casted a dim glow throughout the club. The music was being played live by a trio of older gentleman set precariously on a stage too small for them and their instruments. The sound of a cocktail glass placed on the marble topped bar got James attention. He turned to see the bartender place his martini in front of him.
“Want to start a tab?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I don’t really give a damn whether you do or not, sonny. What’ll it be?”
James let a smirk escape after a brief moment of feeling insulted. “Start a tab for me.”
The bartender nodded and walked away. James brought his drink to his lips. The smell of gin and lime filled his senses as he took the first sip.
“Not a very likeable character now, is he?”
James held his drink at his lips as he thought to gain recognition of the voice. Slowly he lowered his glass and set it on the bar top before raising his eyes to see Remy standing next to him.
“May I?” He motioned to the bar stool in front of him.
Swallowing hard, James could only manage a small nod of approval. Remy looked so fucking hot. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen him in a week but James didn’t think so. The man was just simply gorgeous, no matter what. James watched as Remy maneuvered his body to sit on the stool. Grabbing a section of the material of his pants leg at his thigh, he hitched the pant leg up, giving himself more room in the crotch of his pants.
“What can I get ya’?” The gruff bartender had returned.
“Same,” Remy said pointing to James’ drink.
“Put it on my tab,” James told the bartender. And to Remy he said, “May as well since he went through the trouble of setting one up for me.”
Remy smiled. James dick twitched and cursed softly.
“What?”
James looked at Remy questioningly.
“You cursed.” Placing his elbow on the bar and his head in his hand, Remy leaned forward, closer to James. From this position, he stared into James eyes and waited for James to reply.
Those piercing blue fucking eyes, James thought as he let himself get lost in them. Sensing the danger of allowing himself to do so, he answered Remy.
“You smiled.”
“My smile caused you to curse?” And still he sat smiling at James.
“No, my dick twitching because you smiled at me caused me to curse.”
The wet tip of Remy’s tongue came out and slid across his bottom lip. Neither broke eye contact. James could feel his jaw tighten in frustration. The bartender placed Remy’s drink in front him and walked away. Still without breaking eye contact Remy picked up his drink and took a swallow.
###
If you would like to follow Natalie and her work, click on the following social media links.
Uptight, serious, introvert…those were the words most used to describe James.
The middle brother in the Becker family, owners of a prestigious race horse farm in South Carolina, though austere was covertly a playboy.
Unable to resist a beautiful body, whether male or female, James never had a desire to commit to just one. A consummate player, he had no interest in a relationship.
Never say never. A broken ankle was the catalyst that led James to consider a relationship. Falling for a man already in a committed relationship with a woman was intricate enough. But the likelihood of their woven interests in each other becoming a real relationship was threatened by shallow judgment, the media and a troublemaking former barn hand.
**CONTENT WARNING: m/f/m, f/f/m, and m/m romance with strong language and explicit sexual content intended for mature readers only. 18+ ONLY PLEASE**
Book title: The Right Kind of Woman
It’s been a few years since I last tried Nanowrimo. I ‘won’ in 2010 and 2011, though to be honest the only person I was competing with was myself. Writing 50 thousand words in a month is perfectly possible – heck I know a few writers who can manage it in a week – but for me it’s difficult. I’m a slow typist, very easily distractible, am World Class at procrastination, and am very easily convinced that it’s all a waste of time and I should go and sit in the living room while something I don’t want to watch is on tv. But this year I’m doing better on word count than ever before due to being off work with, as they say, stress related problems [caused in part by not being able to write]. So something that could be potentially upsetting is actually great because I can write for chunks of the day instead of fret about work I’m not doing 🙂 Serendipity!
Elin Gregory 