Elin Gregory

Colour

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The Bayeux Tapestry – behind a cut to be kind to those with slow connections as there are pictures.

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                  The Anglo Saxon Chronicles

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My guest today is Stephanie Danielson, published as S L Danielson, and the driving force behind Romance First Publishing, a press that has recently celebrated the first anniversary of its founding. She is here today to talk about her latest releases, co-written with Nephylim, Upstaged: Opening Act and Upstaged: Waiting in the Wings, two YA dramas about the men of rock band, Von.

Welcome, Stephanie.

~~~

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

Steph: Yes, I work in the accounting field during the day. It’s stressful at times; but it brings in the lion’s share of the income.

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

Steph: There are several other hobbies I love and pursue; two being cycling and figure-skating. Currently, I am working on a book where one character is
a skater as well. I also enjoy computer games; and they help to ‘unlock’ my creative side.

Elin: Can you name any author/authors, past or present, who have been a great influence on your work?

Steph: When I was about 13, I went with my dad to his favorite used book shop. I picked up Marta Randall’s “Journey”. She wrote this great sci-fi story and it had a gay scene in it; but it wasn’t the crux of the tale. It was just part of that character’s life and how he was. I enjoyed it immensely.
Later, I found a comic book that I can’t recall the author, but it was about Leonard and Larry. It was comics, but their lives were real and one had kids, and dealing with exes, etc. It was briefly after reading it that I began my own journey.

Elin: What are you reading? Something to be clutched to the bosom or tossed aside with force? Fiction or non-fiction?

Steph: Currently I am reading nothing except textbooks. I’m finishing up my MBA… but when I do read, I read fiction, mainly in my own genre, but sometimes in other settings.

Elin: So 🙂 which are you?

Steph: I am definitely a plotter. I think that’s my accounting blood coming through. 🙂 But this series was half panster too; it was the first time I really ‘went with my gut’ and we used every tangent and moment for drama that we could.

Elin: Do your characters arrive fully fledged and ready to fly or do they develop as you work with them?

Steph: I’d say they develop as I work with them. Erik was brash and harsh, and had a lot of growing up to do. Through this series, you will watch him grown and change. I like them to be as real as possible. People grown, learn, love, and change..so I put them in as ‘rough’ and they refine as we go.

Elin: Do you have a crisp mental picture of your characters or are they more a thought and a feeling than an image?

Steph: With Erik I had a photo sent to me of what he should look like; as a suggestion. I loved so much I ran with it. But that was the oddball. Most of my boys I dream up in my head, features, skintone, personality, everything.

Elin: Do you find there to be a lot of structural differences between a relationship driven story and one with masses of action?
Steph: I haven’t written an action-driven book before; but I have done ones where the plot is something else entirely and the relationship focuses purely on the non-sexual elements.

Elin: Villains – incredibly important in fiction since they challenge the main protagonists and give them something to contend with beyond the tension of a developing relationship. What sort of villains do you prize? A moustache-twirling nightmare or … ?

Steph: Ha ha…now that conjurs the classic image. 🙂 My characters tend to fight their own inner demons. I myself am an introvert, and my boys reflect that as well. I have a few outside forces that challenge me; but the greatest battles are fought from within. That’s reflected in my characters too.

Elin: 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.
Steph: Shhhh… no, just kidding. Currently, I’m working on several things. One is book #9 in the Upstaged series, and book #5 in the Southern Comfort series, but I am also starting back to solo projects. One of which involves accounting, and the other figure skating. The figure skating one is barely
off the drawing board; but so far it has a skater being taunted by a hockey player; but of course, things will change… I just have to figure out how first.

Elin: Could we please have an excerpt of something?
Steph: Certainly…here’s an excerpt from Upstaged book one “Opening Act”.

~~~

“Man, this fighting with you and Asher has gotten too ridiculous.” Billy’s tone was admonishing as they spoke in the locker room after school. The interactions stood at the forefront of Billy’s memory even three days after the fact. You just love to pick fights, don’t you, Nordgren? You’ve picked enough with me, especially after… that night. That great night… and the nights after…til you stopped. He sighed.

“Hey, he started it by kissing me in the garage and calling us lame and me squeaky! Then doing what he did in class? Ugh. Kid works my last damn nerve.”

Billy groaned. “Then why are you and I waiting for him? You going to jump him in here? Maybe lock him up in a locker this time? Really? He slammed his locker door shut and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Get a grip, Erik. You’re taking this stuff way too far and it’s petty.” He huffed. He was all for a good prank, but this was getting to be a bit too much, even for him.

“I told you; this isn’t over with him and me. It’s almost become a game. He got me again by tripping me in the cafeteria today, remember? He gets me, I get him. What would I do without a punching bag to play with?”

“I thought I was your punching bag.” Billy hoped Erik would pick up on his mumble, so he waited for a second. He tried to capture a look from those gorgeous blue eyes. Any look beyond just a glance was golden to him. He could still imagine being in those strong arms and the kisses… The memories were less real and more like dreams with every day that passed. Billy’s feelings for Erik were still there, even though they’d never made it official. They shared a few nights together, but it was enough to make Billy pine for his friend. Billy’s heart was left in limbo; it still was to this day. It killed him to see Erik take notice of Asher, when he tried everything he could think of to keep his friend’s attention. Billy had loved Erik since they were kids. Ever since that night when things boiled over, he was left with regret that things between them didn’t last, like a weekend love affair between strangers instead of a lifelong commitment between partners. Of course, Erik knew none of this, so Billy settled for his friendship.

“Dude…earth to Billy. William Carp…are you there?” Erik snapped his fingers in front of his friend’s eyes.

He swatted the large hand away from his face like he would an irritating fly. “Shit. Don’t do that. I’m right here. What?”

“You’re off in space, man. What’s up?”

Billy scowled. “Nothing. Just… got a lot on my mind.”

Erik tossed his backpack onto his shoulder and winced. Wrong shoulder to use. “Ow….shit! Shouldn’t have done that.”

Billy jumped into action, pulled the pack off and massaged the shoulder. “Are you all right? Let me do something, wouldja? Anything. You won’t let me touch you at all anymore.” His tone belied his true feelings, which happened a lot. He swallowed quietly and tried not to let Erik see the hurt in his eyes.

The same hand he’d swatted away lightly brushed his arm. It felt wonderful, even though it was just the slightest gesture. “I do let you touch me, Billy,” Erik said softly. “What’s wrong with you lately? Talk to me.”

His mood was encouraged by the more congenial tone and he looked up into Erik’s face again. “I… just wanted to help you and be near you. Is that such a crime? You just want me to help to plot your next revenge against Asher and I’m getting tired of it. It’s only been a few days, but this is stupid. We need to get back to writing songs together and focusing on that.”

Erik laughed. “Is that all that’s bugging you? Seriously?” He took Billy’s chin into his hand and raised his head. “Please don’t lie to me.”

Billy loved feeling the rough hand on his face, even if it was just his chin. Any contact was worth it. “I… just….” He couldn’t find the words, as his eyes scoured the room and he scowled right away as he spotted Asher from over Erik’s broad shoulder. “He’s here.” Dammit all to hell. I can’t get five minutes alone with him anymore?

###

The Upstaged books are available NOW from Amazon Smashwords and ARe.

Purchase Links
Amazon – Opening Act and Waiting in the Wings

Smashwords – Opening Act and Waiting in the Wings

AllRomanceEbooks – Opening Act and Waiting in the Wings

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Romance First Publishing page
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Frankly, I’m sick to the gills with it. But it dos offer some spectacular images. Sadly I don’t have the photographic skills to make the most of them but here they are:

Days and days of dull greyness. It’s at times like this I really envy the characters in my books. I can write them somewhere NICE.

My guest in the Comfy Chair today is fellow Brit Melanie Tushmore, whose breezy British writing style is a real breath of fresh air. Her latest release – Crucifox #1: The Green-Eyed Monster, was released on March 1st and I can confirm that it’s terrific and a real hoot to boot.

Thanks Melanie for agreeing to be my guest and answer my questions.

Thank you, Elin! 🙂
~~~

Elin: They say you should write what you know and I get the feeling from your work that you know your subject inside out. How much time have you spent on the road with up and coming rock bands?

Melanie: Too long! Actually I made sure I wasn’t “on the road” too much. I sometimes accompanied the band on mini-tours, but it wasn’t for me. I’m not a musician or a roadie, so there’s lots of waiting around in the cold, getting bored. I’m also vegetarian, and I don’t drink a lot (pretty much am sober 99% of the time) and I had a childhood of camping in leaky tents anyway, so touring really isn’t for me. I prefer to organise things, but the actual travelling and gigging is crappy. Leave the drinking, smoking, buger-guzzling, smelly men to it; I was happy to stay home and get on with my piles and piles of work.
Often there would be gigs I’d still need to organise at home; in-house promotions at a few home venues, which meant I had touring bands from elsewhere show up for me to put on their gig.
If the UK weather was constantly sunny, I might have gone away more. Even in Europe you can’t guarantee nice weather.

Elin: I once spent some time in a student house in Bristol where every floor sucked as you walked across it and there were two bricks missing in the bathroom so you could see into the street as you sat on the loo. And Crucifox’s dwelling seems even worse. Are all musicians pads as bad as that?

Melanie: LOL!!! That sounds hilarious. My friend’s house had floorboards missing in their upstairs bathroom, so the men there used to wave their dicks as they took a piss, and spray the pee into the kitchen down below, aiming for someone else’s cup of tea.

(Yeah, I know…don’t judge me! I wasn’t present!)

I don’t know what it is about rock boys, they’re a grubby lot. There are some who are massive ponces; our old bassist, Zoolander, springs to mind. He couldn’t go two days without taking a shower and re-doing his bloody hair. Even I can cope without a shower every day!
On the whole, I find that posers more concerned about their outer image just annoy me. The guys who are obsessed by their music are usually the less-clean ones, but they are the guys I like. The artists. The true musicians. Yeah, they might be a bit grubby, and stink of alcohol and cigarettes, but they’re interesting and charistmatic.

As for the Crucifox house, omigod. Literally disgusting. It’s actually an amalgamation of two houses; my old student house, and my ex’s batchelor pad. The house my ex shared with three other men was rancid; it was actually condemned, and those dimwits didn’t realise it and were still paying rent because the landlord was fleecing them. It was so cold in winter that if anyone had a shower, the condensation would build up in the bedroom next door, and it created rain. Next door to them was the Jehovah’s temple, which always made for interesting conversation when touring bands came to crash at their house.

Elin: Could you explain the difference between ’emo’ and ‘goth’ to the uninitiated who think it’s all down to eyeliner?

Melanie:Certainly. Goth (proper goth) came from post-punk Britain, and is for snobs and clever people.
Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic_rock
The big four; Bauhaus, Siouxsie and The Banshees, The Cure, and Joy Division.

Early emo / emocore was American punk, mid to late 80s, early 90s.
Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotional_hardcore
Emo isn’t my specialist subject (this is one genre I couldn’t care less about!) but let’s mention the band Minor Threat, to give you an idea.
Latter day emo was more “pop”, and watered down. Let’s mention Jimmy Eat World.

Note: if any emo or hardcore fans out there disagree with my reference choices, send your hate mail to the usual address…

I bloody hate emo in all its forms, actually. I don’t like “old skool punk” or pretty much any “hardcore” music. There’s a couple of exceptions, but I generally dislike the whole hardcore genre, and the attitude from the old gits who like it (and hassle anyone who doesn’t) and I hate with a vengeance the modern day reincarnation of “emo” which basically equates to wet teeny-boppers (or grown adults) who shop at Hot Topic, wear glitter/miss the whole point of punk, and just generally miss the point of alternative culture in general. Just ARRGH.

Once again, I turn to South Park for succinct satirical reference: there’s an episode that features the high school goths. Firstly, I peed myself laughing at the goth send-up; it was done so well. Four angry misfit kids who had their own style, hated everything about modern life, drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. The posters in their bedrooms were PROPER goth bands.

Obviously, the South Park creative team know what they’re talking about!

In the episode, the satire features Twilight fans. Trendy, preppy kids who turn up to school wearing black, cutesy clothes, black lipstick with glitter, and talking about what sort of glittery vampires they are. Of course, the goth kids are furious.

The episode is utterly hilarious, pure comedic genius, and ends with the goth kids finding the source of all evil; Hot Topic, which has been spawning these Twishite-goth-wannabes. So they burn it to the ground.
PERFECT.

Sorry, I knew I was going to rant about this question! I hate emo. And I hate that goth is deemed “wet” these days and is synonymous with “emo kiddies” and shit.

All in all, there’s far too much wet music around at the moment. I wish real goth would come back and tell everyone what for. Everyone’s pretty into rock right now, though; everything is glam and rocked up. I don’t mind that, I’ve always been into glam metal, glam punk. (Not glam rock; that’s Rod Stewart. And eww.)

But one thing that stops me from enjoying mindless glam day in, day out, is my inner goth snob! Ho hum. Never satisfied; I am angry about everything. Please note: not sad and crying like an emo, but ANGRY. That’s proper goth. 

Elin: Could you recommend a sound track to listen to while reading The Green-Eyed Monster?

Melanie: Yes, how long have you got? LOL.
I usually have sound-track posts to all my stories, on my WordPress blog. During the story I mention lots of bands. Lots of these bands sound like lines from a poem.

The Virgin Prunes. New Model Army. Bauhaus. Crux Shadows. Gaye Bikers on Acid. Jesus Jones. Creaming Jesus. The March Violets. Siouxsie and The Banshees. Marionettes. My Life with The Thrill Kill Cult. The Damned…

The list goes on!

Elin: The Virgin Prunes – best band name ever. Apart from Gaye Bikers on Acid. What’s the worst venue you’ve even seen a band try to play in?

Melanie: That probably depends how you define ‘worst’. All rock venues are pretty grubby; well used. That’s the way it should be! The venues I promoted from were dives; stages with holes in, covered in manky carpet, or rickety stages built from beercrates. Manky, grotty, and sweaty. But all I cared about was the set up (i.e. does the sound system work?), the band are taken care of (i.e. treated with the basic respect they deserve) and a crowd turns up.

I would say, without a doubt, the worst venues or gigs in general are ones without a crowd. It’s just soul crushing, and there’s not a lot you can do. In the UK, usually the weather puts people off going out.

I will pick one venue that drove me nuts repeatedly; it was less for bands, and more for theatre and live music. It’s not in use any more (hardly surprising) as this lot couldn’t organise an empty drawer. One spectacular fuck up was when I was running a double-feature evening; first, a cabaret show, and later, a club night. The morons in charge of the venue CLOSED the front doors and box office after my cabaret show, but didn’t tell anyone. We were in the bowels of the building, wondering why we had a poor turn out for the club. Eventually, a security guard just clocking off came to tell me that the doors were shut, and paying customers had been turned away.
I ask you!
So muggins here had to go sit on the freezing cold side door, to let customers in, instead of being able to enjoy the warmth of the club inside.
And people wonder why I wanted a break from promoting!

Elin: All your work so far has been fairly firmly rooted in the modern day. Would you ever consider writing in another genre? If so, which ones.

Melanie: I’m very pleased to say that my all-new fantasy series has been accepted by Less Than Three press, and the first release is in October 2013. The series is set in the 1640s, England, and is about naughty goblins and elves. I’m very excited for it, as it’s my first fantasy release, and I guess my first non-modern story.

I do have a freebie story on my website which is set in ancient Greece; ‘Tentacle Pool.’ I’d never written tentacles porn before, it was a birthday prompt for Samantha.  I am rather obsessed with ancient Greek mythology, and wish there was more M/M stories of that ilk out there. I like the romantic elements of it, and the magic the gods’ possess. I also love ancient Egypt, but the sort of research I’d need to get things right stall me from jumping into it.

Elin: What’s next? Can you tell us a bit about your current WIP? Or do you prefer to keep them underwraps until they are almost finished?

Melanie: I’m knee-deep in band-fic land right now. To stop me going crazy, I’m also writing more of my Goblins series (first release October from Less Than Three press!) and it’s great to write complete fantasy and escape from ‘real life’ stories.
Though I do tend to agonise over the wording in my fantasy stories a lot more; I don’t like modern-sounding words in my stories. My characters can’t drink normal tea as we know it, because it’s 1647! Massive agonising over that. Tonnes of research as well, all very interesting about folklore, witches, and the fey. The Goblins series will definitely have a modern day feel to it, but hopefully with enough weight behind it that makes it believable as historical fantasy.

Elin: Could we please have an excerpt of The Green-Eyed Monster?

Melanie: Of course! 😀
~

The hotel was busy, full of bands, crew, management and groupies. The heaving throng at the bar was too much for me, and I told Brandon I was going upstairs to shower. I hadn’t showered from last night, and I really needed one. He said he’d meet me up there after ‘pullin’ some birds’.
I grabbed his arm before he charged off. “Brandon? Just one.”
“One?”
“Yes.”
“A’right. One bird. See ye up there.” He pressed something into my hand. I knew it was a pill without even looking at it.
“Thanks.”
“Yir welcome. Take my fox, eh?” He thrust his fur at me, sticky with God knows what, and then he grinned and disappeared into the bar. I got in the lift, sharing it with two other guys, themselves probably from a band. I avoided looking at them, hiding the fox behind my back. At my floor, I shuffled from the lift. The doors pinged closed, and I was alone. Luckily, the hallway was empty, though I could definitely hear noises and various thumps and bumps throughout the floor as parties started up.
Great. No sleep tonight, then.
I pulled the key from my pocket and entered the room. The beds had been turned down, but otherwise it was in the same state we’d left it in. Near my bed was relatively tidy. On the other side, Brandon had spread his stuff everywhere. The contents of his suitcases spilled open with clothes, boots, toiletries, make-up. I didn’t see why he had to make such a damn mess all the time.
The windows were open, and the smell of sex from last night had long faded. The only smells here now were Brandon’s peppery aftershave, his Aqua Net hairspray, and sweat. Lots of it. I lifted my arm and sniffed. The sweat was probably me. I tossed his fox into an open suitcase and looked down at the pill in my hand. Should I take a whole pill? Brandon had more on him, surely.
Fishing out a bottle of water, I swallowed the pill whole before I could think about it too much. Then I stripped off my stale, sweaty clothes, wiped away my eyeliner, and jumped in the shower.
Back in the room, I pulled on my cleanest pair of black jeans, wrapped the towel around my head, and flicked through TV channels. I wanted to find a show that had covered the festival, but was out of luck. Maybe there’d be one tomorrow, after the final day. I tuned into a music show, mostly to drown out the party sounds through the thin walls of the hotel. My hair had dried. I wasn’t sure how many minutes I’d been waiting.
On average, I knew it didn’t take Brandon long to pull. It never took him this long. Had he taken his pill and forgotten what he was doing? What if he left me up here alone? What would I do with myself? All I felt was paranoia and a strange itchy feeling on my skin. I panicked over what to do, and then, finally, there was a knock at the door.
“That better be you, Brandon,” I said, my teeth grinding. I wasn’t cold; my jaw was clenching on its own. I opened the door to Brandon, who clutched a wet bag to his bare chest. He grinned at me, and then edged into the room. I looked out in the hall but there was no one else there. “Where’s the girl?” I asked, shutting the door.
“Never mind that for now.” He scurried to the bathroom. “I’ve got something better!”
“Better?” I followed him to the bathroom. He dumped the wet bag in the sink. “What is it?”
“Ice!”
“Ice?”
“Aye. Find some glasses.”
I looked around the room. There was one glass, and one clean coffee cup. They would have to do. I brought them into the bathroom. “You know, my gran used to tell me off for eating ice.” “Oh, aye? Well, you’ll love this more.” Brandon took the cups from my hands, filling them with ice.
“Did you bring a—”
“Drink?” He pulled a pair of miniatures from his jeans pocket.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Amaretto. Tastes like Christmas in a glass.”
“I hate Christmas. Anyway, it’s July.”
“Early Christmas.” He chuckled, pouring amaretto over cracking ice.
“Brandon, have you taken a pill?”
“Aye.”
“A whole one?”
“Yes.”
“Is your jaw clenching, too?”
“Aye, it happens. Come an’ drink this.” He flitted away to his bed, and I followed him. We sat together. He handed me the glass, while he had the china cup. “Cheers,” he said, holding the cup by its handle. I laughed in response. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Why’d you choose amaretto?”
His brown eyes blinked at me, all pupil. “Um… I don’t know. Shall I get another one?”
“No, no.” I sipped from the glass. The liquor tasted sweet, tingling my tongue. “What’s the big deal about ice?”
“Ah.” He fished one out of his cup. “Remember the mints?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
He popped an ice cube in his mouth. I watched him suck on it, his eyes going wide as the breath rushed in and out of his nose. “It’s good,” he lisped out, like he had a gob stopper in his mouth. I gazed into my glass. The ice cubes were pretty small. The cold burnt my fingers. I quickly stuck it in my mouth, sucking the amaretto drops from my thumb.
The ice sat on my tongue, its cold spreading through my mouth, tingling, igniting my taste buds. It was so cold. It felt like my brain was freezing up. I sucked in a breath, fancying it turned to crystal in my lungs. This felt incredible. A shiver ran over my body and I gasped, looking down at my chest. My nipples were getting hard.
No way.
“That’s—that’s insane.”
“Mm.” Brandon smiled knowingly. “Have another.”
We sucked ice cubes together, breathing heavily through the rush. The TV chattered away in the background, and the amaretto was almost gone. I had two cubes left, and they were partly melted.
“Try it on your skin.” Brandon held ice in his fingers. He reached out and trailed it down my arm. My skin rippled to goose-flesh, the hairs standing on end. I could feel the cold down to the very tips of my toes. That tight, itchy sensation was back, making me feel too big for my skin and very, very horny. My dick throbbed for attention.
Brandon trailed the ice up my arm, over my neck. A shudder ran over me and I swatted his hand away. The ice clattered against the wall.
“Brandon, why don’t you get the girl, now? I need to get off.”
He stared back at me, a smile curving his lips, still faintly lined in red. “We don’t need a girl.”
“Then how—”
“I’d rather do you.”

© Melanie Tushmore 2013

~~~

Many thanks, Melanie, for being such a good sport.

Links

Crucifox #1: The Green-Eyed Monster
http://www.stormmoonpress.com/books/Crucifox-1-The-Green-Eyed-Monster.aspx

Crucifox FAELIN:
http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1243102-crucifox-faq

Melanie Tushmore
http://www.melanietushmore.co.uk

Melanie’s twitter
@melanietushmore

My guest today is Adam Fitzroy, author of five non-erotic M/M romance titles available from Manifold Press. Romances set in the White House, on Flanders Fields and on the border of England and Wales, some contemporary, some historical and some BOTH, have met with critical acclaim.  Thank you, Adam, for so kindly agreeing to answer my questions.

– Hi, Elin; it’s lovely to be invited, thank you!

Elin: You have written contemporary stories and historicals, which do you prefer? Do you find contemporaries easier to write than history?

Adam:  No, not at all.  In fact I’m far more at home with historical subjects, and I think the reason is that I’m a bit of a dinosaur; with contemporary subjects I have to keep reminding myself that the characters will have access to mobile phones, computers, the internet and so forth, and that they will be able to find things out quickly which would have taken a previous generation weeks or even years to discover.  I like a slow pace of storytelling, something that will be an immersive experience for me when I’m writing it and will hopefully be very much the same for the potential reader, and that somehow seems to be at odds with the faster pace of contemporary life.

Elin: When writing historicals, what do you enjoy most about the process? Do you enjoy research for its own sake?

Adam:   I love research; I love solving little problems and discovering how things would have been done in a bygone era.  To me, learning about a ‘new’ historical era is like learning a new language; I need to acquire a lot of information before I can write so much as a single word.  What job or profession would my characters have had, for example, and what would they have earned; how would they have made a journey from Point A to Point B and how long would it have taken them?  I’m also fascinated by historical diet, furniture, houses, clothing … and the fact that, whatever their trappings, human beings are essentially the same and have the same or similar hopes and dreams, fears and failings throughout history.  I love getting inside their heads and understanding their concerns, seeing how like us they are – and, in other ways, how very different.

One place where I draw the line in historical fiction, though, is with language – there is absolutely no point in trying to write historically-accurate dialogue full of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ because it runs the risk of sounding like a bad parody of Shakespeare; a far more straightforward course is to stick to relatively simple English and indicate to the reader by the subject matter they’re discussing that these are not contemporary characters.  Ellis Peters did this to good effect in the ‘Brother Cadfael’ books, which in my view makes it an example that’s very well worth following.

Elin: I’m fascinated to see that you have set a romance in the White House with the President, no less, as one of the protagonists. What inspired that story?

Adam:   I’ve been a bit of ‘Presidency buff’ ever since I was a child, and I love the whole panoply of White House life – the staff, the settings, the prestige and the power – although I must admit that I’m less enthusiastic about the actual politics; I just see the Presidency as the American equivalent of royalty, with similar glossy trappings under which are very often flawed human beings.  I adore movies with a White House background – and as you can probably imagine I’m a huge fan of ‘The West Wing’, too – and basically with ‘Dear Mister President’ I set out to write the story of the kind of movie I would really like to be able to sit down and watch.  That’s my starting-point with most of my books, in fact; I try to write something that would be entertaining to me if someone else had written it.

Elin: Your novel Make Do And Mend is set during the early part of the Second World War in rural Monmouthshire. Can you explain why you chose such an unusual place to set the story instead of a more glamorous location?

Adam:   There were two main reasons; one was that – as far as I knew – nobody had ever done it before, but the other was the old advice about ‘writing what you know’!  The location where the story is set is not a million miles from where I live, and I often pass through it by train – which you might think would lead to a superficial acquaintance with the area at best – but I’ve been doing so on a regular basis since the 1980s and it’s sunk in gradually, somehow, by osmosis.  I’ve also covered a lot of the same ground by car and also on foot, I should add – I walked the Wye Valley some years ago – and read up quite a lot about it.  Eventually I became fascinated with one particular valley, one particular road, one particular location … and over a period of several years the story of Harry and Jim slowly took shape in my mind.

 

Elin: I can understand that Adam. It’s one of my very favourite places. Now, could you give me a reading recommendation, either in your genre or out of it? The type of book you would wade through a flood to rescue.

Adam:   There is one book above all others that always springs to the forefront of my mind when this sort of question is asked, and it’s the one I would take to the legendary BBC desert island with me – Nicholas Monsarrat’s ‘The Cruel Sea’.  It’s probably the book that’s had the profoundest effect on me since the day I sneaked my father’s copy out of his bookcase when I was a teenager.  Monsarrat’s unsentimental style, his eye for detail and his characters – together with the overwhelming conviction that he has been in these places and seen these things for himself – combine to produce not only a powerful and absorbing narrative but also, looked at in another light, an example of the kind of book I would give my eye-teeth to be able to write.  He portrays, strongly and convincingly, the sort of devoted relationships between men that are all about love and not even remotely about sex; Erikson and Lockhart, for example, are closer to one another than they are to the women in their lives – and there’s Ferraby and his affection for his young friend Rose, too, which I’ve always found extremely moving.  I must confess that the surnames Lockhart and Ferraby appear in ‘Make Do And Mend’ as a direct tribute to ‘The Cruel Sea’, which some readers may have spotted.  Other favourites may come and go over time, but this is one book that will most definitely remain with me forever!

Elin: What’s next from the pen/word processor of Adam Fitzroy? Can you tell us about it or do you refer to keep the details to yourself until the work is finished?

Adam:   I’ve recently started – and it’s giving me a bit of trouble at the moment – a book about two male teachers of different ethnicities who meet and fall in love while working in a school in the East End of London in 1966.  They bond over trying to create – completely from scratch – a school cricket team, using the most unpromising materials.  Cricket is among my many enthusiasms, and in a way it’s odd that I’ve never written anything about it before, but of course it offers an ideal meeting-point for people from completely different cultural backgrounds.  I would like the book to be about unconscious prejudice of all sorts – whether originating in race, gender, age, social class, sexual orientation or anything else – but hopefully not ‘preachy’ in any way; it’s enough, I think, to show that sometimes people’s unthinking predispositions can be overturned, and it needn’t be by any great dramatic revelation – just gradually learning a little bit more about their fellow human beings.

Elin: Could we please have an excerpt?

Adam:   This is from ‘Make Do And Mend’ – the air-raid sirens have gone off during the village Christmas Dance, and the characters are sheltering in the crypt of the church:

Like all such occasions, it was almost fun at first; they crowded together in the vault, and it soon became warm enough to be comfortable, and for quite a while there was nothing but silence overhead.  Someone had brought over a set of dominoes and the top of a long-deceased Lyon’s slab tomb was turned into a table where the game was played with great enthusiasm; Gwen and the ward sister – her name was Hilda, it transpired – were deep in conversation; Blanche leaned against Kitty and fell asleep, and Kitty in turn leaned against Jack.  Harry, under some obscure compulsion not to rest even for a moment, circulated slowly like the host at a particularly unsuccessful party; he and the vicar, working together as if they had rehearsed it, stepped gently over stretched-out legs, found Alka-Seltzer and headache tablets and extra blankets, distributed magazines and sandwiches and light conversation wherever appropriate.  By the end of the first hour, however, when optimism had turned to resignation and novelty had already begun to pall, there began to be a minor rumble of discontent amongst the ranks.  People had already started to talk about making a dash for it back to their own homes – to pets shut in, to children being looked after by neighbours – when the sounds of approaching violence became audible in the distance.  Parry ARP, out in the graveyard with his fellow wardens, twitched the curtain aside to say “Here they come”, and husbands pulled their wives closer to them and friends pressed tightly against one another’s shoulders in order to be in contact with someone, anyone, in a time of fear.  The church may well have stood for a thousand years before tonight, but it would be no proof against a direct hit; if that happened, there would be a thousand years of solid masonry and carved oak down around the ears of the shelterers in an instant.

Harry’s father had been killed in just such a way, barely eight months before, when seven hundred German bombers had torn out the historic heart of London; crushed in the ruins of the library at Gray’s Inn, he had died surrounded by the things and places he had loved the most.  Harry, however, could not simply stand still and wait for the same to happen to him.

“I’m going outside,” he said quietly to the vicar.

Eltringham glanced assessingly around the vault; Gwen and Hilda were looking calmly in their direction, but nobody else seemed to have a single thought to spare for either of them.

“All right,” he replied.  “I’ll come with you.”  And they pushed through the blackout, up the twisted stairs, emerging into the chill graveyard where they joined Parry ARP in a little sandbagged redoubt tucked into the angle between nave and transept.  There was already an ominous droning in the air, accompanied by a series of far-off thuds that certainly betokened nothing good.

“They’re coming up the railway line,” said Parry.  “From Pontypool.”  And even as he spoke the separate impacts drew nearer, stitching along the valley with an almost paralysing slowness, bombs falling repetitively one by one by one in a long and deadly rhythm, flashes of light sometimes perceptible where they fell.  “It’s mostly farmland over by there,” he added hopelessly.

“What can I do?” asked Eltringham, in a distracted tone.  “Whatever can I do?”

“Pray, vicar.  That’s all any of us can do.”

“Mr Parry, I’ve been praying continuously since 1939!”

“Well, sir,” replied the warden, “no offence, but I’m afraid it isn’t working.  Maybe you’d better start praying a little bit harder?”

The engine note was clearly identifiable now.  “Heinkels,” said Harry.  “I just wish there was a moon.”

“And I wish there was no war,” responded Eltringham, gripping his arm above the elbow with bony fingers that dug in and stayed clamped there as the thundering menace drew closer, juddering in the tight air, vibrating through ground and stones and bones and blood and souls.

“They’re going over the mountain,” Harry realised at the last moment.  “Over Hendra.  Over the quarry.”

They were above the village, two of them, three, maybe more, ripping holes in the sky, dropping fire from a great height, screaming from darkness into darkness leaving chaos and death behind them.

Somewhere high up on the mountain flames blossomed and rose quickly, and then were gone.

“Jim,” said Harry.

Idiotically, he began to run.

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You can buy Make Do and Mend here:

http://www.manifoldpress.co.uk/2012/10/make-do-and-mend/

Follow me at the following sites.

Adam’s blog:  http://www.manifoldpress.co.uk/2012/10/make-do-and-mend/

Adam’s LJ:  http://adam-fitzroy.livejournal.com/

Adam on GoodReads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3513066.Adam_Fitzroy

Adam’s Author Page on Amazon:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Adam-Fitzroy/e/B00BF045YG/

I’m afraid I don’t do either Facebook or Twitter … still too much of a dinosaur!

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Many thanks for joining us today, Adam, and good luck with the WIP.

Doesn’t time fly. It was a year ago yesterday that I started this wordpress blog. Since then I have shared a lot of my writing via Six Sunday and its successors and have met a lot of terrific people.

Thanks to everyone who has graced my blog with a comment. Thanks to those who have given me something to write about by tagging me in memes and ‘pass along’ awards. I’ve been blogging for a long time – ten years all but a week or two – and it’s not easy to think of new and fresh things to say. So thanks very much for the taggers and commenters who have provided so much inspiration.

Happy Hump Day, hookers! Click on the link to get to the linky list of 30+ authors who are providing glimpses into their work.

Mine, as usual, comes from an affectionate pastiche of a Regency romance, which was the first thing I ever wrote using a word processing programme. Teensy keyboard on a Spectrum ZX and the memory had to be purged every 10 pages because the ‘hard drive’ was about 16Kb. And it was STILL a big improvement over writing by hand.

Anyhow – last week Agnes, the maid, muttered something to anger young Lady Cicely, but Agnes is by no means a downtrodden drudge.

~~~

Agnes flushed but held her ground. “I’ll not hold my tongue, milady,” she declared. “If you’re not moping, you’re as cross as crabs and it has gone on long enough. Captain Munro was a thoroughgoing scoundrel and I was glad to see the back of him but now, honestly, milady, there’s times I could wish him back again.”
“Agnes!” Cicely was outraged. She rose to her feet to administer a sharp rebuke, then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. I look, she told herself, like an ugly, bitter old maid, and I won’t be twenty-five until my next birthday! She dropped back into her chair and removed her spectacles.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “Have I really been so unbearable?”
“Not unbearable,” Agnes replied, “just powerful hard to live with.”
Pink-cheeked, Cicely toyed with the papers on her desk. “I was such a fool,” she said. “Rory was so exciting, such fun, so plausible. I could not believe that it was my fortune alone that counted with him. I’ve learned my lesson now. In future, I will keep to my library; books are less fickle than men. I am so sorry for being so horrid.”
“We made allowances, never fret,” Agnes told her, cheerfully. “Are there any letters from your aunt?”

~~~

Aww, a moment of calm before the storm that is Aubrey breaks over their heads. Next week, then. Toodles.