Posts Tagged ‘male/male’

The Challenges of Writing Romance in First Person

PhotobucketIsland of Icarus, my steampunk romance, is told completely from the perspective of Jonathan Orms, a professor of biology from 19th century London. Although I wouldn’t have written Icarus in any other way, when I look back now I realize, “You know, writing romance in the first person…can be pretty challenging.” A lot of tension in love stories is built around experiencing both characters’ feelings—giggling as the characters dance around each other.

Her: He must find me hideous, because he is so much more beautiful than I am! Let me avoid eye contact.

Him: Oh, she wants nothing to do with me. She doesn’t even look at me.

Her: God, his hand is so warm on mine. Can he feel my pulse quicken?

Him: I can feel her body stiffen. Why does she hate my touch?

Interactions like these have me clutching the book and mentally screaming, “Come on, guys! Get with the program! You two are DROOLING over each other!” Unfortunately, this kind of interplay is lost in first person narratives. There was at least one scene in Icarus that I had to alter because the narrator would not have noticed a significant look that his new friend gave him…but I wanted the reader to!

Writing a first person romance in a Victorian voice was an even greater challenge. While I don’t mind 19th century writing, it’s easy for it to turn into a train wreck. I think my editor would roll up my manuscript and whack me on the head with it if I tried to write a paragraph-long sentence with six semicolons. Trying to maintain my narrator’s prim Victorian voice but not lose the integrity of my own writing style was a balancing act. It was also a lot of fun.

Despite the challenges, I was completely set on writing Island of Icarus in the first person. Maybe it’s because I’m crazy, or maybe it’s because I prefer the first person. Heck, maybe I prefer the first person because I’m crazy. Really, I love seeing the world through someone else’s eyes and speaking with his voice. I think it makes the narrative more convincing; I’m not an author telling a made-up story, I’m the character sharing my experiences!

There is also a story-specific reason I chose first person for Island of Icarus. Icarus was inspired in part by The Island of Dr. Moreau, a Victorian novel written in the first person. I wanted to preserve the same personal element of adventure and discovery in Icarus.

Of course, there are tricks to write romance in first person—like alternating the narrative. I think Maggie Stiefvater (author of Shiver) and the other two Merry Sisters of Fate do this best, as in this story. I tried this in my short romance, Fear of Darkness, to a lesser extent (but most of it is still told from one character’s point of view).

By telling Icarus solely from Jon’s point of view, I do regret one thing—not being able to explore my other hero, Marcus, in greater depth. Marcus is an interesting character—a talented surgeon and engineer who just can’t sit still. He always has to explore, to tinker, to build. He is sociable and charismatic, yet he lives alone on a deserted tropical island. I wanted to know what it was like to be inside his mind—especially when he first meets Jon!—so I decided to write a “deleted scene” just for him. It takes place near the beginning of Icarus, so you don’t need to worry about spoilers. I invite you to read it at my website!

Enjoy!

Love, fangs, and fur ^_^

–Christine, who is oh-so-enjoying a freak South Florida cool front

www.christinedanse.com

@dansedesirable at Twitter

I Love Free Reads

PhotobucketThe title says it all: I love free reads.

Okay, easy to say. Who doesn’t love something free? I know I do. Free pizza in the Student Union? I’m there! Free tote bags for Nurses’ Week? They look just like the ones they gave us last year, but all right! Free on-line short stories? AWESOME.

There’s definitely a thrill in receiving something for free. Certainly, my bank account is thrilled. But saving money isn’t the primary reason I love free reads. In fact, I often donate money to the authors or buy a hard copy, if it’s available.

Wait, what?

Yeah, I’m serious. I love free reads, even though I usually end up donating money or buying the story, anyway. It works kind of like this: I feel like I’m getting something for free (wa-hoo!) and if I donate I have the satisfaction of being a good person.

Sooo…um, why do I bother with “free” reads at all? In a word—freedom. By not engaging in a monetary transaction before I read a story, I feel as if I have the freedom to choose stories that I really love. As I get older, my free time (what free time?) shortens, and I’ve gotten very, very picky with my selection. I won’t spend time on a story that doesn’t hook me right away, and so I am hesitant to spend money on a story that’s just going to sit on my shelf. Also, I am simply more inclined to read a story if it’s free, which exposes me to authors I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise—and endears me to them. They’re giving stuff away for free? They must be awesome people!

All right, so now that my editors probably want to kill me for writing this blog entry (I’m trying to sell a book—what am I thinking?), I would like to introduce you, the reader, to four short pieces of fiction that I am offering completely free of charge online.

My motives are simple. First, as much as I love receiving things for free, I do also love to share. Second, I am hoping that you will enjoy these stories enough that you will consider purchasing Island of Icarus or future titles by me. Third, I hope you will spread the love and share these stories with your friends, your coworkers, your family, the neighbors—anyone and everyone who would enjoy them. As long as these stories are not altered, as long as they are attributed to me, and as long as you do not charge money for them, I encourage you to link them, email them, print them—anything you’d like!

1) Pushing the Bell #1: Regarding the Events of One Sherlock’s Scandalous St. Valentine’s Day. My first piece of steampunk erotica, written for Valentine’s Day 2010. Late one Valentine’s evening, Jeremy arrives home to find his lovely wife missing and must use his deductive reasoning skills to follow the clever trail she has left for him. Of course, finding Annette is only half of the problem! In order to rescue her from a train speeding to Paris, he must submit himself to her lewd and lascivious demands.

2) Pushing the Bell #2: That Dratted Affair with the Dream Engine. A loose sequel to One Sherlock’s Scandalous St. Valentine’s Day. Annette has a “surprise” for Jeremy—a surprise that involves a rather occult machine called a “dream engine.” Apparently, the machine can record and play back dreams, and there is a special dream that Annette would like to share with Jeremy. This is the first story to introduce my steampunk world’s supernatural elements.

3) Fear of Darkness. A demon is loose in 19th century San Francisco, and Alena Swift—expert in the occult and supernatural—has been called to dispatch it. Of course, there is one little problem. Alena is deathly afraid of the dark, and this demon feeds on fear. Alena’s mysterious hunting partner, a man she calls “Shadow”, joins her on her chase through the misty city. Although he hides himself in shadows and refuses to let her see him, Alena trusts this man with her life—and not just because his voice makes her shiver deliciously. But now Shadow has abandoned Alena in pitch darkness—and the demon is stalking her.

4) Marcus. A “deleted scene” from Island of Icarus which explores the point of view of my other hero, Marcus. A sweet prelude to Icarus, and a little look into Marcus’s head. No worries, there are no spoilers!

I hope you enjoy!

Love, fangs, and fur ^_^

–Christine

www.christinedanse.com

@dansedesirable at Twitter

Why “Island”? And Why “Icarus”?

PhotobucketIn high school English, when I learned how to examine literature for images, themes, and symbols, I never thought that one day I’d be digging into my own stories for them. For the most part, I am not conscious of these things as I write. But when I look back, I find them.

For instance, Island of Icarus takes place on a deserted tropical island. When I wrote Icarus, I only knew I wanted it to take place away from society. Now, I understand that this is because Icarus is a story of inner discovery and change. The characters are isolated because their conflict takes place inside of them.

Of course, “away from society” could have been anywhere: the English countryside, the Appalachian Mountains, or even the heart of London itself. (After all, you can be surrounded by people but still remain isolated.) So why a rainforest island paradise? For one, it’s romantic and exotic! I love the idea of a mountainous island with cloudy peaks and lush foliage. What’s hotter than green trees, thick ferns, white beaches, and misty mountaintops? It’s a far cry from dark, stuffy, drizzly Victorian London, where most steampunk like Icarus takes place. (Well, the drizzly part is kind of the same–it rains a lot on the island!) It is also the perfect setting for my two loveable science geeks, Jon and Marcus, to have fun and explore. A rainforest is like a toy shop for us science types–so many things to seek and discover!

Oh, yeah. And Icarus is loosely inspired by H. G. Well’s The Island of Dr. Moreau, so that’s another reason it takes place on an island. Mind you, there are no mutilated talking creatures in my story, but the main character, Jon, is shipwrecked on an island with a mad scientist—well, a pleasantly eccentric scientist, anyway. I love reading old Victorian Era stories and playing off one of the themes or characters. My current work in progress, a steampunk menage a trois, was inspired by the traveling waxwork show in Charles Dickens’ The Old Curiosity Shop. Instead of a waxworks show, though, a married couple travels about with a “mechanical model” exhibit with something like Walt Disney’s animatronics inside—but they’re steampowered (of course!). I am sure that the old curiosity shop itself holds stories for me, too.

The “Icarus” part of Island of Icarus refers to the Greek myth of Icarus and Daedalus. As the story goes, the master artificer Daedalus and his son, Icarus, were imprisoned in a tall tower because of dangerous knowledge they possessed. Clever Daedalus crafted two pairs of wings from wax and feathers and taught himself and his son to fly. Before they took to the air, Daedalus cautioned Icarus not to fly too high, as the sun would melt the wax. After a time, the boy forgot his father’s warning and flew up, up, up until the wax melted and he plummeted to the ocean below.

All right, so it’s a bit of a depressing tragedy, but it’s one of my favorite myths. Like Daedalus, my character Marcus is an innovator and an artificer. He is fascinated with flight and is crafting his own clockwork wings from metal and wood. Actually, he’s a bit stuck on the project until Jon shows up and helps him with a few important details. And like Icarus, Marcus sometimes ignores better judgment, risking life and limb for the joy of discovery!

Has anyone else found an unexpected use for knowledge gleaned from their high school English Literature class?

Love, fangs, and fur ^_^

–Christine

www.christinedanse.com

@dansedesirable at Twitter

What if…?

Married does not equal dead. Just because a woman has a husband doesn’t mean she packs her sexual fantasies in bubble wrap and shoves them in a box. There is nothing in those marriage vows that restricts your imagination. Fantasies are healthy. They keep the magic alive and give an outlet to all those wicked little thoughts that creep up during the day. It doesn’t mean you are going to be unfaithful, or even that you want to be unfaithful. It means you are human.

Maybe you have a secret obsession with Nathan Fillion’s butt. Maybe you lust after a certain singer who makes your panties melt. Maybe that rough-handed mechanic could rotate your tires juuuuuust right. That hottie on the subway? Pure mind-candy. That soccer-dad who coaches the opposing team who does wonderful things for those cotton shorts? Yummy.

Do you really think all those adult toy sites are selling vibrators ONLY to single women? Uh, no. And men, if you think your wife only has fantasies about you…*rolling on floor laughing* Yeah, right. Like you never look at Angelina Jolie and have things stand at attention. Does your wife feature in EVERY naughty thought that pops in your mind? Of course not. We know this and accept it. Human beings have a wonderful capacity to imagine.

There are those marriages where one partner insists they never think about another person. I don’t believe that. I think in those cases they just aren’t comfortable sharing those fantasies. And that is okay. But in many marriages, a woman actually shares some of her fantasies with her husband. He shares his with her. They use those fantasies as foreplay, to make their sex life richer, help strengthen their marriage.

But what if… what if you told your husband a fantasy and discovered he had the same fantasy?

That is the premise for COMING CLEAN.

Vivi and Grant Michaelson are a normal married couple. They are in love with each other and neither wants to stray. They hold nothing back from each other, sharing property, checking accounts and their fantasies. Those fantasies help make their marriage stronger. Then Vivi tells Grant about a scorching ménage fantasy she has about his best friend Cade. And Grant admits to his own desires concerning Cade.

Quite the admission for a straight man, I must tell you.

Then Vivi has another What if thought. What if this shared-threesome-fantasy actually could come true?

Well, then you would have COMING CLEAN.

DIRTY LAUNDRY just got a whole lot dirtier….

Grant and Vivi Michaelson share everything in their marriage: love, commitment—and their wildest sexual desires. But their relationship is tested when Vivi admits she wants a threesome with Grant’s old friend Cade, proposing their annual trip to the lake as the perfect opportunity to fulfill her fantasy.

All three of them are aroused by the idea. Vivi and Cade have long felt a smoldering attraction to each other…and Grant and Cade have hidden an illicit desire for decades. Going through with the ménage will test their boundaries, reveal old secrets…and maybe tear them apart. After all, there might be room for Cade in bed, but is there room for a third in their marriage?

ADULT EXCERPT:

She snuggled up beside him, kissing his heaving chest. She swooped her long hair over her shoulder and propped her chin on her laced fingers. “Anything?”

With his eyes closed, he felt her stare rather than saw it. “Anything.”

He didn’t need his sight to know her cheeks colored when she turned her face away and said, “Never mind.”

“Come on, what?”

“I just…I don’t want you to get mad.”

The silky skin of her back slid under his palm. “I won’t.”

“Promise?” she asked. He nodded and she took a slow breath. “I was kind of…fantasizing.”

He cracked one eye and smiled. “Care to share it?”

A slight firming of her muscles tightened his stomach in anticipation. Vivi fingered his hair. “Okay, here goes…remember your promise. I was thinking about…a threesome…with two men.”

Grant cocked his head at her. “Was I one of them? Ouch!”

Vivi smoothed the lock of hair she’d just tugged. “Of course you were.”

“So who was the other guy? That actor that makes you drool?”

“Does it really matter?” Vivi nibbled her lip and looked away.

“Yeah, I want to know.” She wouldn’t turn her face toward him and her evasiveness piqued his curiosity. “Vivi, tell me.”

She brought her gaze back to his. “It was Cade.”

His bones turned to sheetrock. “Cade? Uh, what was he—I mean, what were we doing?”

“You’re mad.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just curious.”

“I was riding him. And kissing you.” Her fingers caressed his cheekbone, across his lips and over his Adam’s apple. “Just before I came on his cock, you moved behind me and—”

“Fucked your ass?” His voice growled deeper as the fantasy image burst into his mind. His spent balls began to tingle, blood rerouting to stiffen his softened cock.

“Uh, no.” Vivi tugged the sheet over her hip. “Although I might borrow that fantasy for later…after I’ve had a bit to drink. You bit me the way I like. I could feel your fingers on my clit, your teeth in my neck, and the pulse of Cade’s cock inside me. That’s like the ultimate high. I guess it’s hard for a man to understand but it was…wow.”

“I can imagine.” Something taboo, forbidden and tempting swelled in Grant’s chest. Her shared fantasy took on new life in his mind. A startling and vivid picture painted itself before his mind’s eye and his mouth took off without thought. “I have imagined it.”

Vivi sat up, leaning over him, a questioning look on her face. “You’ve fantasized about us with another man?”

“No.” Sudden fear held his tongue. Did he dare tell her what flashed in his head? It was the first time he’d ever let those words be fully thought out, let alone spoken. His hands buried in soft hair, hips thrusting toward the hot, tempting mouth sucking him. That hair morphs from auburn to blond, the lips around his cock sliding from feminine to masculine, the fingers cupping his balls shifting from slender and soft to callused and strong. “Promise you won’t get mad…or anything?”

“Promise.” She smiled.

“I…when you said…” Grant sucked in a deep breath and blurted it out. “I wonder what being with Cade would be like…me with Cade.”

“You mean like…as lovers?”

“Yeah.” He braced for her disapproval.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

COMING CLEAN never felt so good… BUY NOW

For the full Dirty Laundry miniseries, check out COIN OPERATED and TALK DIRTY TO ME

Follow Inez Kelley on Twitter using ID @Inez_Kelley on Facebook at facebook.com/inez.kelley or check out her  author website at http://www.inezkelley.com/

The Lion of Kent

Today sees the release of our novella Lion of Kent – a medieval M/M romance set in the tumultuous twelfth century against a backdrop of politics and treason.

The character of William Raven first appeared in Alex’s short story ‘Deliverance’, and both Alex and William decided there was more to tell of William’s life. Alex invited me to co-write with him, and as I love the scheming shenanigans of the Plantagenet dynasty, I jumped at the chance. Taking as our themes the typical courtly pursuits of a medieval nobleman – hunting, tourneys, and crusading – we hope to bring you three linked tales in the Lion’s Pride series, spanning William’s life and loves.

Here’s an excerpt from Lion of Kent.

England, 1176

William gave no quarter. He struck blow by blow—fast, vicious, with little technique, but enough strength to make up for it, and an uncontrollable anger. John had hit him so hard in the knee that everything felt numb there, and William’s reaction was as much pain as surprise, which made him fly into a rage. Everything around him blurred until he was aware of nothing but his enemy. The pain radiated through him, firing his anger. His arm ached with tiredness, yet there was always another blow in him, and even though he could see fear in the other squire’s eyes, it didn’t occur to him to relent.

“Enough! William!”

He ignored the voice, refusing to obey the order. He wanted John to yield, wanted him to fall to his knees, to give up, to beg for mercy.

“William!”

Strong hands gripped his sword arm, one hand on his elbow, the other on his wrist. He whirled around, wincing when the instructor used the grip against him, changed the angle and almost made him drop to his knees. He gave up the sword, snarled, but there was also a yelp of pain.

“Sir Robert is back, you bloody fool,” Ulric hissed and let him go after a punch in the arm.

William straightened, considered taking up the training sword again, but then he realised what the instructor had said, and turned.

Men on horseback had entered the cobbled courtyard. Richly clothed, swords and shields at their sides as if they’d been worried about robbers on the road, they made a bright display against the dull stonework of the castle keep. Sir Robert de Cantilou was their leader, and William thought his lord had changed much since the day he’d left his lands. When had that been? Five years ago?

Robert’s dark hair looked now like it would in winter, in a heavy snowfall, the colour more grey than black even though his lord wasn’t an old man. He sat proud in the saddle and, William thought with a hint of shame, he wore an expression of amusement. Sir Robert must have seen him fight and lose his control.

“Well, then, now that the squires are listening, too… It’s good to be back.” Sir Robert slid off his horse, hands adjusting his sword belt. The household gathered in the yard, regarding their master in amazement. He’d arrived completely unannounced, and William wondered why that was. Why had he not sent a messenger first so everything was prepared?

Instead of lowering his gaze, William stared open-mouthed at his lord. Sir Robert was tanned, his blue eyes seemingly glowing in the dark face, and his rich red clothes played around his form in strange, outlandish splendour. His sword hilt now bore a large jewel in the pommel, and the heavy rings on his gloves sparkled in the late autumn sun. He must have made a fortune abroad, but it wasn’t the flaunting of wealth that impressed William so much. Instead, it was Robert’s bearing.

Five years ago Sir Robert had seemed cold and distant, and though he was a lord admired and respected by the people of his manor as well as by his peers, he had too little humour and too much impatience. Always fair, always just, but somehow lacking. The death of his wife had not improved matters. Rather than seeking a new bride, Robert had announced he would go on crusade. He took with him five senior knights and left the castle and his children in the capable hands of his widowed sister, Lady Alais.

In William’s limited experience, the Robert of five years ago had been much the same as any other noble, but now he’d changed. It was said that the Holy Land made its mark on a man’s soul, scouring away the bad and revealing the good. According to the Church’s rhetoric, no one—except the heathen Saracens—could walk on the same soil as the Christ and not be humbled and remade for the better. William had been sceptical, but looking on Sir Robert now, the claims seemed to be true. Never had William seen a man more confident and assured. This was how a knight should be—composed, gracious, benevolent.

He stepped forward as Robert strode past. “It’s good to see you back, sir.”

Robert paused, then glanced over his shoulder. His sharp gaze raked over William as if remembering the gangly youth he’d been and fitting that old image against the man who stood before him now.

“And you, William,” Robert said. “Seems we have a young lion in the dog kennel.”

Aiming for a Sense of Place

One of the things I want in a historical is a sense of place as well as a strong sense of time. In Lion of Kent, most of the action takes place in Sir Robert’s household and the surrounding woodlands, so—like many historical writers—we had to ‘build’ an imaginary castle. The best way to convey a sense of place is, of course, to write about a real location, tweaked accordingly to fit the status of our twelfth century lord.

Now, the UK has more castles than there are days in the year, with constructions ranging from scrappy baileys with collapsing walls to earthworks to massive fortresses still inhabited by nobility. Some of them are even in Kent. However, the castle I used as a model for Sir Robert’s household was Warkworth Castle in Northumberland, a place I’d visited back in February.

Lion of Kent is set in 1176, and though Warkworth Castle was constructed at a slightly later date, the basics of medieval castle building changed little in the interim. Warkworth was laid out around 1180-1200 by Roger fitz Roger and developed by its subsequent owners, the powerful Percy family, earls (later dukes) of Northumberland. The great tower was built for the first earl in 1377 by the master mason of Durham Cathedral, and it’s the interior of the great tower that provided the inspiration for a pivotal moment in the story. In this snippet, the hero, young squire William Raven, is returning to the festivities in the great hall when he hears an odd noise:

As he made his way back to the great hall, William heard a sound. He stopped, listening, filtering out the shouts and music from the hall and the hum of noise from the kitchens. At length the strange sound came again, and this time he identified it as two men speaking in urgent whispers. Curious as to who had slipped out of the hall or kitchen for a conversation, William followed the whispers around the dark walls.

The corridor narrowed and made a dog-leg, then opened out again near the central light well that ran for the full height of the keep. On each floor two windows overlooked the light well, which provided illumination and fresh air to what would otherwise be the darkest, stuffiest rooms in the castle. Now William understood why the voices sounded so strange—they were distorted by an echo.

William approached the window that opened into the light well, keeping to the shadows so he wouldn’t be seen by the whisperers. He angled himself against the recess of the window and peered up, wondering if the voices came from Sir Robert’s private chambers or the guest rooms above.

Another low murmur, and William drew back. The men were standing directly opposite him on the other side of the light well. From the direction of their voices, the whisperers must be standing in the lower part of the chapel, the section reserved for the household servants. It was as good a place as any for a clandestine meeting, and he wondered who they were and what they were doing.

Light wells are often used in castles not just to provide daylight for interior rooms, but also to collect rainwater to sluice out latrines. Visitors often don’t realise the light wells exist—and certainly I’d never paid any attention to them before!—but the construction of the great tower at Warkworth made a real feature of the light well, which does indeed have a window from a corridor looking across the light well into the chapel.

This is the castle chapel from the direction of the light well—you can see the corbels that originally supported the balcony/mezzanine floor where the lord and his family would have gathered to worship, and at the front you can see the piscina and the edge of the sedile as well as the dais for the high altar. The sacristy is tucked away just to the right. You can see how narrow the chapel is—now imagine it full of household servants. At the height of the Percy’s power, Warkworth had a permanent staff of 166. Our fictional Sir Robert would of course have far fewer servants and retainers, but even so, it’d be quite a crowd!

Throughout Lion of Kent we’ve tried to give a flavour of the hustle and bustle of daily life in a castle, from the food and drink on the table to the procedure for bath times to a knighting ceremony to the various types of entertainment—singing and dancing as well as that most masculine of entertainments, the hunt. We hope you’ll join us in sharing the medieval experience.

- Kate Cotoner (www.katecotoner.co.uk)

Finding the story in history

My professor was a storyteller. He was a huge inspiration, even if we were slightly scared of him. He’d lunge at you in the small room, point a finger and ask a random question about the Middle Ages. I’ll never forget when it was my turn, first week of my studies: “Who were the Salians?”

I blinked, shocked after having escaped the hugely crowded law studies auditoriums. There was a professor that not only saw me but addressed me, asking a question. What the hell?

My response “a dynasty” was as startled as automatic. I’ve always been into the Middle Ages and read a lot before I’d embarked on the “breadless” subject of Medieval and Ancient History, despite my family moaning about how they didn’t respect me for dropping out of law (having a lawyer in the family could have saved them a lot of money after all).

It was something of a received wisdom to “sit well to the back” in Professor H’s lectures. He’d do that. Sit down on your table and grill you. He radiated boundless energy, sheer glee at his topic, true passion, which can be overwhelming when you’re a first semester still trying to work out what dishes in the canteen are actually edible and which should be avoided at all costs, whereas the other professors were true academics – dry, razor sharp and much more concerned with dates and factual accuracy than what people were like, what they thought and felt.

Over my studies, I was constantly drawn to Professor H’s lectures. It was not only the topics – he did a lot of social history and history of ‘mentality’ – how people and certain groups thought and saw themselves – but the way he delivered the lectures. Walking around, talking like an ancient orator, discussing with himself as much as with us, and asking questions. I remember him telling a story about a duke and a king and a duchess, and the duchess leaving the duke for the king. He got really worked up about this, voice vibrating with emotion, face flushed, saying things like “How could she?” and “That faithless bastard.” I only later learnt that he was going through a difficult divorce himself.

He was the only professor who thought that fiction was a legitimate way to talk about history. “There’s “story” in “history”, you know,” he said one day in the canteen. (In German, “Geschichte” – history – and “Geschichte” – story – is the same word). He was the only professor whom I told that I was writing historical novels. The others sniffed at the idea of leaving the purity of facts behind and asking “what if”?

Back then, I wanted to be a serious historian, and they told you that fiction was not serious. Certainly not serious history. But I just couldn’t help getting inspired by a throwaway comment of Professor H’s. I can now confess that my frantic scribbling in his lectures wasn’t note-taking.

In many ways, Professor H, with his reckless passion and hard questions, was the inspiration behind writing historical fiction. I wondered about the people that had no voice, who lived in the cracks of medieval society, whose life depended on keeping their loves hidden, and how they still managed to stay true to themselves and find a way to live. Those questions turned into stories.

Fourteen years separate “Who were the Salians?” from Lion of Kent. I left university with a degree that wasn’t quite as breadless as my family expected, even though I left academia – and didn’t, because I’ve taken all my history books and keep buying more.

I still sometimes email Professor H, and his passion is still as alive as it was back then. It’s heartening to think that he’ll sit on a first semester’s table and ask them unexpected questions, and that he’ll inspire more writers to move beyond pure facts and find the story in history.

- Aleksandr Voinov
Please visit Alex’s website, his blog, or his Facebook!

Let the Games Begin

Last post from me today.

To celebrate the release of Fair Game, I’ve put together a playlist of the songs that I listened to for inspiration while I was working on the novel — which I’ll eventually publish to iTunes.

I’ll be giving away a download of that Fair Game playlist to four randomly selected people who comment on this post.* You have today through Friday August 6th to comment on this blog post. I’ll announce the four winners at my own blog on Monday morning-ish.

The Fair Game playlist is a rather eclectic mix if I do say so myself. Eleven songs and 44.9 minutes of music:

Ashoken Farewell – Justin Riley
Carnival of Rust – Poets of the Fall
This Wheel’s on Fire – Siouxsie & The Banshees
Human – The Killers
One More Cup of Coffee – Bob Dylan
It’s Alright – Dar Williams
Police on My Back – The Clash
Doesn’t Have to Be This Way – Alison Krauss
Breathe – The Young Dubliners
Destroy Everything You Touch – Ladytron
Make This Go On Forever – Snow Patrol

*Sorry to say, iTunes playlists can only be gifted to those in the States. If you’re not a US citizen and the computer program picks you, instead of the playlist you may pick any work from my backlist.

Thanks very much by stopping by today to help me celebrate the release of Fair Game. Don’t forget to comment!

All the best,
Josh

Josh Lanyon writes M/M romance usually within the context of mystery / romantic-suspense or action adventure. Josh writes about sexy cops and smartass writers, tough Navy SEALS and sensitive artists, hard as nails special agents and…other hard as nails special agents. To find out more about Josh visit his website or blog or get face-to-face on Facebook and Good Reads.

A Day in the Life

I’ve been reading the Carina blog since the day it popped up on the cyber horizon — before I’d ever seriously thought about submitting, in fact. I write M/M or gay romance. Not everyone’s cup of tea, I know. That’s okay. We all have our preferences in what we choose to read for fun — especially when it comes to our romantic fantasies. But I couldn’t help but note with interest Carina’s willingness to publish not just gay or M/M fiction but all kinds of genre fiction — I saw that as a positive sign for the health of ebook publishing as a whole. So I submitted a proposal to Angie, who I’d worked with briefly on the Eppie-winning edition of Mexican Heat, and I was very pleased when Fair Game was accepted.

(Of course then I had to write the dratted thing!)

Anyway, like I said, I’ve been reading these posts from the start and as my own turn drew near I wondered what on earth I could say that hadn’t been already covered — and covered about as well as it could be done.

But I know there are a lot of aspiring authors reading the blog, so I thought perhaps I’d share a typical day in the life of an author. And any other authors out there, feel free to jump in with your own version of your typical day — especially those of you still trying to juggle day jobs. I know how hard that is!

I don’t know about you, but I always pictured writing as sort of glamorous. You know…Hemingway and Fitzgerald and even Agatha Christie with those mysterious missing days. Not just a job, an adventure. Intense, erudite, well-groomed (in an artistically tousled way) author types pounding out their masterpieces and then cutting off at five for cocktails and conversation with other equally intense, equally erudite — equally tousled but still somehow well-groomed — author types. This would be when they all weren’t traveling and having tragic romances with doomed but still beautiful and probably well-groomed rich people who were happy to listen to the author babble endlessly about his or her work.

Unfortunately, that’s not quite how it worked out — especially the part about the grooming. There are days I don’t even stop to shower. But forget I told you that. I did shower today. In your honor.

So…A Day in the Life of an Author:

6:00 – 8:00 (that would be a.m. — don’t believe everything you read). Up with the birds — literally. I swill my V8 V-Fusion, deal with email, sign contracts, answer comments on my blog, Good Reads, Face Book, check the discussion groups I belong to (firmly resist temptation to set everybody straight on you-name-the-topic), post excerpts — all in between watering the yard.

8:00 Realize I need more time to complete all of the above.

9:00 Realize I left the sprinklers running.

10:00 Realize that if I don’t start writing now I’m not going to get anything else done today.

10:00 – 1:00 Write on the current project, which happens to be a novel for Samhain, but let me tell a lie here and say I’m working on Icecapade, my Carina Christmas story. I usually have music on in the background. New on the turntable today is Dar Williams’ Promised Land.

1:00 My sister calls with an urgent request for me to take her kids next week as she and the spousal unit will be traveling for a big business conference. Er…not a Big Business conference — she doesn’t work for Exxon — a business conference and it’s a big one for her. Anyway, I adore the kids and say yes, while inwardly cringing at the knowledge that I am not going to get a lot done next week.

One of the things about being a fulltime writer — this is probably true of anyone working from home — is it’s just natural for everyone else to assume your schedule is more flexible than theirs. That’s because it generally is, and I never forget how lucky I am to be doing what I love for a living — even when I’m freaking out over deadlines. Which is so often that nobody notices anymore.

1:30 – 2:00 Remember that I never had breakfast and so I get to make up for it by having pita chips and guacamole for lunch. Resist the temptation to have a Corona with my lunch. As much as admire Raymond Chandler, I don’t want to emulate him in every respect.

2:00 – 4:00 Continue to write on Icecapade. It’s going really well, Angie!

4:01 Reflect that I was supposed to work out at 3:00, but since it’s so late now maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Go water my desert again and reflect that we really need to get the sprinklers fixed.

4:21 Change into swim gear — flippers optional — water yard, jump in giant wading pool and splash around for a while pretending to myself that this counts for aerobic exercise.

Another thing about writing fulltime is you spend a LOT of time on your ass talking to yourself. Or possibly talking through your ass. So there is a real danger of becoming fat and crazy. Just sayin’.

This is a very hazardous job. Never forget that.

5:30 Remember I left the sprinklers running and forgot to take the salmon out for barbecue and that I never did finish emptying the dishwasher and that I had a guest blog due and that since dinner is going to be late I may as well have a frozen fruit bar. Discover that UPS left a shipment of books for me. Sweet! My JCP Books author copies of Sweets to the Sweet. This seems to indicate Corona over popsicle.

6:45 Huh? Where did the time go? Is this one of those alien abduction things? No, that’s just the SO walking in the door. Wow, he looks like he had a bad day….

7:00 Where was I? Oh. Right. Turn off sprinklers.

7:00 – 8:00 Finish relating my hard long day to SO who is firmly ignoring me while he barbecues frozen blocks of salmon. Give up on getting any sympathy and go whine to cronies in email. Remember that I have a guest blog due. See that Harper (Harper Fox)  sent me something to read. Immediately begin reading it.

8:01 SO is yelling for me to come to dinner. Do these people not realize I am WORKING? Yell back placating lie and return to reading Harper’s story.

8:02 Dinner and quality time with SO.

8:03 – 10:00 Back to work on Icecapade. Boy, this book is going to be great!

10:00 – 11:00 Check email for anything urgent.

11:30 Bed

11:31 Remember I have a guest blog due…

WHERE DUNNIT…!

In yet more personal excitement about my murder mystery “Blinded by Our Eyes” being OUT THERE at Carina (and I’ll continue to be shameless about the BUY link *lol*), I’d like to share how grateful and excited I am to be at Carina, and how precious the book  is to me.

Yes, everyone says, they ALL are :) .

So indulge me!

I’ve lived in and around London all my adult life.  It’s a vibrant, gritty, shocking, exciting, startling, heartening, frightening, welcoming city – all mixed in together!

But I didn’t start writing for public consumption in the UK.  I mean *I* was there, personally, but my fiction wasn’t.  Like many male/male writers, I came from a fanfiction background. I’d always written original stories as well - and my (unpublished) 300k words Bodice Ripper set in 18th century Devon, England is a testament to that! – but fanfiction was my first real exposure to writing for an audience. I LOVED IT! *lol* But that audience was mainly in North America, or was used to US vocabulary. The series I was a fan of (Gundam Wing), although a Japanese anime, was broadcast on US channels.  So although I usually avoided any specific mention of location, and I didn’t really write in what they ‘canon’ (i.e. the actual setting of the original series),  it seemed right to keep my stories about the guys in a US setting.

Then I took the plunge into original publishing in 2007. Pressed that SEND button to a publisher and held my breath, for a story I wrote during NaNoWriMo. Then, after I turned blue after a week (LOL) -  and had to press SEND a few more times, in a few more places! – I had my first novel published in 2008, The Gold Warrior.  It was set in a fantasy world.

Still not really in my home country!

It took until 2009 to offer a book for publication that was set in the UK, Freeman.  Still a m/m romance, but with a grittier feel, with more of the British humour and – blessedly – British spellings :) . I didn’t have to worry about confusing trousers and pants, apartments and flats, pavements and sidewalks. And I kept that “U” in words like colour and favour that we Brits are so territorial about LOL.

And guess what? When I submitted Blinded by Our Eyes to Carina, I tried again.  London setting, London, people, London language…

And they accepted it!  Despite being a US publisher, I’ve been allowed to tell my story in the place and context it was written.  I can understand that a book has to be intelligible to its audience, that they want to connect with the characters, feel they’re involved in the locations.  But it’s a real joy to be able to share London with readers – and I hope they’ll all love it as much as I do.

THAT’S what’s so precious :) .

Please read my other post for the excerpt. And come and visit Carina’s site for great fiction of all genres.

You can find my own website and other networks (links below).  I have free fiction for visitors at the website, and news of all my other books, whether published or struggling to hold their head up in my ever-growing, often-neglected work-in-progress pile.

Happy Reading!

Clare London, Author
Writing… Man to Man

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