Elin Gregory

This is what I’m writing about at the moment:

Continue Reading »

I am so excited to reveal my new cover for Disappear With Me. My second novel will be released on Friday, December 6, 2013 by Musa Publishing. I wrote Disappear With Me last year from March to August. Although I didn’t set out to write an allegory about the struggle for marriage equality or other civil right, the 2012 Election season propelled the story forward.

Here’s a little more about Disappear with Me:

Love is greater than hope or faith, but can Reverend Leander Normal convince a jury that the love he shares with another man is natural?
In 1910, the United Kingdom was in turmoil. King Edward died after only nine years on the throne. The social class system that upheld British society for centuries was being chipped away by social, political, and economic unrest across the Commonwealth. Amidst this backdrop, Reverend Leander Normal is accused of sodomy. After discovering his own self-worth and unconditional love, Leander finds the courage to stand up for what he believes is right and pleads not guilty to the charges. Throughout the trial, Leander’s past is revealed, including the temptations that bring the accusations against him. By the end of the trail, Leander is once again reunited with a romantic interest from the past, but it may be too late to rekindle any love that might remain, given the circumstances of the era and Leander’s likely sentence.

Excerpt:

“Are you not a scholar? Do you not know the Bible that you preach from each Sunday?” Weeks asked.
“I know it very well. But the Bible has many interpretations. I think you can guess that mine might be a little less than conventional,” Leander said.
Weeks reclined back in his chair. He made a steeple with his fingers and rested them on his pursed lips. “You’re actually sitting here telling me that, as a man of God, you’re all right with buggery and feel you’ve done nothing wrong?”
“Mr. Weeks, do you realize you keep asking me the same question over again, just using different words?”
“As your counsel, I need to be sure that I understand your position, the one you expect me to defend.”
“You sound shocked that I would suggest such a thing. I can’t have you defending me if you don’t believe it yourself.”
“Reverend, my beliefs about the situation are arbitrary. It doesn’t matter what I believe. I just need to be able to defend your position in court and hope our defense can refute what the prosecution will present.”
“Just like I have to have conviction in my sermons each Sunday morning, I think you also know you need to have a conviction when defending your clients.”
“And I can assure you that I have that same conviction to make sure that you receive a fair trial. I will do my best—”
“Do your best to what? Got through the motions so to speak and make sure that the I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed so it looks like I’ve been given a good defense?”
Weeks didn’t answer and that was all the answer that Leander needed. After a moment, Weeks tried to start again. “Look, Revered, I am your assigned counsel for this trial. I am on your side. I want to see you get a fair trial, but you must understand what we’re up against is quite overwhelming.”
“I know, I’ve never done anything the simple way.”
“Sir, you must understand that we are going up against laws that are rooted in two thousand years of Christian tradition and about as many years of British attitude.”
“Mr. Weeks, do you love your wife?”
Weeks let out an impatient sigh, “Of course, but here you go asking intimate questions about me that have no bearing on my defending your case.”
“Just humor me, sir. You love your wife, right?”
“Yes, I very much love my wife and family.”
“What if you woke up tomorrow and a constable showed up on your doorstep and arrested you because they said the love you share with your wife was illegal?”
He didn’t answer Leander. Instead he said in a quiet voice, “You know you and I are just two people. We’re not going to change these laws overnight.”

About the Author:

With inspiration from historical tourism sites, the love of reading, and a desire to write a novel, L. Dean Pace-Frech started crafting his debut novel, A Place to Call Their Own, in 2008. After four years of writing and polishing the manuscript, he submitted it for publication and Musa Publishing offered him a contract in early 2013. Disappear With Me is his second novel.
Dean lives in Kansas City, Missouri with his partner, Thomas, and their two cats. They are involved in their church and enjoy watching movies, outdoor activities in the warmer weather and spending time together with friends and family. In addition to writing, Dean enjoys reading and patio gardening.
Prior to novels, Dean did some technical writing in his career. He plans to write a sequel to both A Place to Call Their Own and Disappear with Me, but is taking some time away from those characters and worlds to work on a third novel, The Higher Law.

Thank you for stopping by today! Join the conversation: use #disappearwithme to talk about the novel on social media. I love to connect!
Email deanfrech@aol.com
Blog: Dean’s Web Site
Facebook: Dean Pace-Frech, Author page or send me a friend request Dean Pace-Frech.
Twitter: @deanpacefrech
Google+: +deanpacefrech
Goodreads: Dean Pace-Frech
Pinterest: Dean Pace-Frech

______________________________________________________________
Is it possible for two Civil War veterans to find their place in the world on the Kansas Prairie?

When the War Between the States ended in 1865 many Americans emerged from the turmoil energized by their possibilities for the future. Frank Greerson and Gregory Young were no different. After battling southern rebels and preserving the Union, the two men set out to battle the Kansas Prairie and build a life together. Frank yearned for his own farm, away from his family—even at the risk of alienating them. Gregory, an only child, returned home to claim his inheritance to help finance their adventure out west.

Between the difficult work of establishing a farm on the unforgiving Kansas prairie, and the additional obstacles provided by the weather, Native Americans and wild animals, will their love and loyalty be enough to sustain them through the hardships?
Purchase A Place to Call Their Own from Musa Publishing today!
Then request an Authorgraph, an electronic inscription, from me.

Join the conversation: use #APTCTO to talk about the novel on social media!

The Oatmeal lets slip the gory and disgusting truth about the man who accidentally wrecked a ship in a place he had no intention of going, subsequently destroying, decimating, dismembering, disenfranchising and all kinds of horrible things, not all of which begin with D, a whole race of people.

Happy Friday folks. And time for Hennessee Andrews’s “Slippery When Wet” Blog Hop. Just click on that picture – yes that one up there – and you’ll be taken to a nice long list of all the authors participating.

I signed up because I liked the title – slippery when wet. It means so many different things to so many people but I should imagine that the majority of people are imagining something like this:

Alternatively there’s a whole generation for whom the term conjures up an image of Colin Firth as Mr Darcy inexplicably leaping into a duck pond. Perhaps even more so now it has been admitted that the original intention was that Lizzie should get an eyeful of him completely nude – an intention thwarted by the actor’s concern that viewers would be focussing more on his love handles than his other attributes.

This would have made more sense in the context of Regency swimming – swimming suits had not yet been invented – but historical veracity aside, neither image springs to my mind when I hear the word ‘wet’. All I do is reach for an umbrella.

The state of the weather, as opposed to the nice predictable climate enjoyed by some people, is of overwhelming interest to the British. At the moment we are veering between balmy summery days and vicious bouts of driving rain. Umbrellas waterproofs and wellies are kept close to hand. The possibility of seeing a nice tight set of abs under a wet tee-shirt is remote but I don’t mind that. I don’t really mind being caught in a shower either. It’s just part of living in a place with over a yard of rain a year.

Also weather is God’s gift to the novelist. It’s a great way to change the mood of a piece, to inject a bit of danger, and that’s what I’m going to do now with an excerpt of my novel, On a Lee Shore. Comment to this post if you would like to win a copy in the eformat of your choice more details below. Kit Penrose, an English naval officer, has fallen in with a gang of pirates and, as sailing master, is partially responsible for the safety of the ship:

The steady winds they had enjoyed for the past week began to veer and fail. One moment the sails were full, the Africa leaning over as Valliere and Kit strained at the tiller to keep to their course, the next the wind fell off, leaving them rocking on a choppy sea.

“You better tell the old man and O’Neill. Saunders too. We might be needing the sawbones before the night is out.” Valliere looked to the northeast where banks of clouds were blanking out the stars. “You ever see a hurricane, Kit?”

“No, thank God,” Kit said. “You don’t think that’s what that is, do you?”

“Can’t say yet,” Valliere said. “It might just be a storm, but that can be bad enough at this latitude. I was born in a hurricane, Kit, and I don’t want to die in one.”

Kit found the surgeon already dressed, braced in a corner with a lantern swinging wildly overhead. He had a book in his hands, and it was the very first time Kit had seen him without a bottle.

“I know,” he said before Kit had a chance to speak. “Call me if you need me, until then I’m staying in the dry.”

That seemed sensible to Kit, so he went off to try and find O’Neill. He was in the fo’c’sle arguing with Wigram.

They stopped hissing at each other and stared at him. “What do you want?” Wigram demanded.

“Valliere sent me. I’ve roused the surgeon, and Valliere asked me to warn you and the captain.”

“Well, do it then,” O’Neill said. “I’m busy here.”

Kit had half hoped that O’Neill would accept this task, but he braced up and told himself not to be so childish. He cut back up on deck to check the state of the weather and to take Valliere an oilskin then went to the cabin.

The door opened as soon as he tapped on it.

“Penrose.” The captain stepped back from the door to give himself room to swing an oilskin around his shoulders. “Who’s on the tiller?”

“Valliere, sir. He sent me to warn you that we’re in for a blow.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you. If he says it will be bad, it will be bad. I would imagine that Pollack has put the galley fire out, but it would ease my mind if someone would go and check. Is that all you have to wear?”

Kit glanced down at his shirt and waistcoat. “Apart from my uniform coat, yes,” he said. “I intended to replace my belongings in St. Kitt’s once I had been paid.”

The captain grunted and reached behind the door for another waterproof. “You may borrow this,” he said, pushing it into Kit’s hands then stepped out and closed the cabin door.

On deck the veering wind had settled to a steady blow and the Africa was butting through heavy seas. In the galley, Pollack was already stowing all the loose items away.

“I don’t want my brains bashed out with one of my own kettles,” he said as Kit helped him secure them. A flicker of lightning made them both jump and Pollack sighed. “Here we go. I’m going to find somewhere safe to sit it out. You need both legs for weather like this.”

Kit agreed. He was thrown from his feet twice before he managed to get back to the tiller. The captain and Valliere were discussing what to do in polite bellows as the wind shrieked in the rigging, and a few of the hands took down the sails and lashed them tightly. The wind was such that the mast was shuddering with the strain already.

“Look out!” O’Neill was at his elbow, and they both grabbed onto the shrouds as a wave washed over the deck. The flickering of lightning was continuous, and now they were beginning to hear the first faint rumbles over the sound of wind and sea.

“Dear God,” Kit swore, shaking spray from his eyes and O’Neill laughed.

“You know any good prayers, son, you’d better say them. It’ll get worse before it gets better. Ah, fuck, here comes the rain.”

Kit turned to reply to O’Neill, and a wall of rain dashed into his face, choking him. He coughed and spat, then followed O’Neill to the tiller.

~
Don’t forget to comment for a chance to win a copy. Leaving a comment also gets you an entry toward the Grand Prize—the hopper with the most entries from all sites on the Hop will receive a $50 Amazon gift card! Click on this link to go back to the blog hop.