Beth D. Carter's Blog, page 33

Wednesday's Writers Block Bypass Exercise

Got Writer’s Block?

Yeah, it happens to the best of us.  Life gets in the way and your brain is taken in another direction and before you know it, it’s been days or weeks since you last looked at that book you’re trying to write.  You’ve forgotten little details.  What eye color did you give your hero?  What town was your heroine born in? 
Communication is, perhaps, one of the most important parts of a story. Not only between the good guys, but between the bad guy and good guy as well. Does this show how alike they are? Or does this conversation make it very clear how much the good guy needs to defeat evil? One thing to point out is that exposition can be very boring for the reader, so find a clever way to communicate what needs to be said in a way that doesn’t lose your audience. 

Talk it Out
If your hero and the antagonist had an honest discussion, what would they say to each other?
>List three locations or situation in which your hero and your adversary could talk at length.> Brainstorm three characters your hero could confide in.

> Imagine a conversation between your hero and his/her younger self. What advice would he/she give.> If your antagonist is a non-human (e.g.: a storm, an island, the alien in Alien) imagine it as a person. How does it speak? How would it describe what it wants?



Keep in mind that sometimes you don’t need to include these conversations into the story, but as the author, it could help you understand your protagonist and antagonist better. The best stories are when the two clashing forces have equally believable and necessary missions. You root for the hero but you also root for the antihero. Building dialogue can be a bridge that lets your readers choose which path to go. That’s great drama right there. 
Happy Writing!



***John August designed these cards to help writers fix plot holes, spice up stock characters and rethink your themes.  They, of course, do not guarantee you’ll get published or that you’ll become the next J.K. Rowling, and of course they are only a tool to help you think outside the box. I make no monetary gain with them nor do I expect anything in return.  I do not own the contents in these cards. If you're interested in them, here's the amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Writer-Emergency-Pack/dp/B00R6ZLIOY/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1502046610&sr=8-2&keywords=john+august 

Blast from the Past...Spotlighting Raven McAllan's "Master"

Caden McCourt did not expect to find his estranged wife Diana at a BDSM club. When he does, the renowned Master is determined to claim back his errant wife. 
When Diana left him fifteen years prior, she lost a part of herself. Seeing Cade again throws her into a tail spin. 

She cannot be the sub he needs, but she can't walk away either. When she's challenged by Cade to face her demons, her old nightmares resurface. Can they overcome the chasm between them, or are the nightmares simply too strong?
The book is Master, book one in the Dommissimma series

Q & A
Did you plot this book out or write wherever an idea took you?
I guess it was a bit of both. The subject…whether someone who was a sub could be all her Dom wanted and how they could sort any problems out, fascinating. They told me what to write and how. I said as I wrote it people would love or hate the book, the heroine, the hero… you get the idea. Yes she wimps out and that peeved a lot of people, but I tried to put myself in her lace. If you worry so much and love someone too much to admit you hate some things they do… How would you cope? I think it all worked out in the end. Perhaps they didn’t get there conventionally, but then what’s conventional?
1.       What was your hardest scene to write in this book?
When they both had to admit to their short comings. I cried, sulked, put it off… got a good talking too from my bestie, Doris O’Conor who told me to leave it alone, let them sulk. It took six months before I was able to carry on.
2.       Since the publication, what would you say has improved in your writing?
Everything. If you don’t grow and improve then you’re just marking time. I hope I’ve improved in every area. Mind you my typos when I am in  hurry to get the words down can be interesting to say the least. Luckily I or Doris catch them. Though I did once send an email to an editor saying, ‘I know you are busty, but…’ ooops no wonder I never got a reply.
3.       Did you leave out anything in this book that you wished you hadn’t?
I maybe should have delved into their thoughts a bit more. But at the time, I did my best.
4.       Any advice you would like to give to your younger self?
Oh yes, what I say to anyone. Write as you can, not as you think you should. And believe in yourself, because if you don’t why should anyone else?
EXCERPT 
She stopped speaking again. Bloody hell, we'll be here for a week come Tuesday if she doesn't get a move on. Cade held his tongue. He'd wait for a while.
"Um, okay, I've done a lot of thinking. And I know now, that it wasn't everything we did that I hated. In fact, quite a lot made me more than hot and bothered." She giggled, and Cade saw the younger woman she'd been, before she sobered suddenly. "And a lot made me feel sick. It's sorting out which is which that's difficult. Will you help me?"
She stared at him, and his body tensed as if he was waiting for a blow. That was stupid. It was Di … no, Anna, for goodness sake.
"Anna, love, I'd be proud to. Tell me what you need, what you want, and how I can serve."
His choice of words made her giggle—or something did. Yeah, that'll be the day. "Okay, I need to try to see what I can do. No worse than that. Oh hell, Cade, I need to see what would satisfy you. Therefore." She took a deep breath, and Cade watched as perspiration dotted her brow. "Um, I want … will you do things?"
How the hell could he answer that? "What sort of things, love?"
Anna nibbled her nail. Cade forced himself not to grab her hands and demand she stop. This had to be her show.
"Well." She tucked her head to one side, something he remembered her doing when she was deep in thought. "Will you handcuff me and make me come?" she asked in a hurry, her words tumbling over each other. "I bloody loved that."
He waited to see if she would say anything else. She didn't, so it was all up to him.
"If I do that for you, what else?"
She stared at him like a rabbit caught in a trap. "How do you mean?"
"If I handcuff you, how do you want me to make you come?"
It was obvious she hadn’t thought that far. Anna stared at him and licked her lips. "I don't understand. I mean you'll make me come."
Cade closed his eyes so she wouldn't see his frustration. "Oh I understand that. But in what way? Tied?  Over a bench, blindfolded? Making you fuck yourself? You need to be more explicit, Anna. I don't know at which point the 'I loved it' became the 'I hated it'. If I'm to help you here, I need a little bit of direction."
Anna looked startled. "But you're the Dom. Don't you tell me?"
Oh shit.
"If I do, love, we might not get any further. What I want could perhaps be three steps too far. So you tell me. Do I shackle your handcuffs? What do you want?" He paused took out a bottle of water from his desk drawer and had a swig of water.  "This time, let's assume there's no Dom and no sub and only a beautiful lady asking her man to play." Would she go for that?
Anna wandered around the room, not really looking at anything, but he could sense her mind whirling. Then she stopped dead, swiveled, and walked to stand in front of him.
"If I cry ‘red’?" she demanded. "What then?"
"Then we stop. I'm past trying to persuade you. What I want here is secondary, I reckon. You know what I want. We need to work out what I need." Who the hell knew if that chasm could be breached? It seemed as unlikely as snow in the Sahara. Cade stopped talking. "It's up to you, love. We need to see what you want to give as well. I'm happy to follow your lead for now. But we both know, for me to meekly sit back and watch as you destroy anything we might have is so not going to happen. I want to fill you, bind you to me with more than physical ties, and hear you cry out for me. Can you cope with that?"
He watched her go through the colors of the rainbow on her skin, and swallowed. Hell’s bells, she does that a lot, and it sends my body to high alert. Promises, promises.
"Can you, love?" He pressed her for an answer, because he had to know. His skin was so tight that he thought if she touched it she'd bounce.
God almighty, even the air held its breath. It was getting to be a habit.
Slowly, Anna nodded. "I need to try. Hell, Cade, I love you, and I want you. Whether that's enough, who knows? But really, honestly, I want to try. So can we?"
His heart swelled, and he wanted to punch the air. Yes!
"I reckon so, love. I reckon so. Now, if I say assume the position, just for me, can you? Will you?"
Ana smiled, the enticing smile of a siren home from the sea. With a graceful movement, she knelt in front of him, put her hands behind her back and dipped her head.
"Oh, I reckon…" The muscles in her neck moved convulsively. "Well, I reckon. Yes, Sir."
Cade thought all his birthdays had come at once. Surely, surely this was a good start. He hardly dared look at Anna in case he saw desperation or negativity on her face.
Come on, act the part. Look and help her, that's your remit. You're a bloody Master, for goodness’ sake, so be one. Cade gave himself a minute to collect his thoughts before he turned to the woman who kneeled in front of him. As he watched, a faint tremor shuddered through her. So she wasn't really comfortable. That little movement made him stiffen his resolve. He would push and prod, and see if they could come up with a compromise.
WHERE TO BUY
https://www.evernightpublishing.com/master-by-raven-mcallan(Evernight)
https://amzn.to/2QhL0vH(Amazon UK)
https://amzn.to/2C0iQAb(Amazon US)
https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/master-2(Kobo)
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/328302(Smashwords)
Happy reading,Love Raven xwww.ravenmcallan.com

Wednesday's Writers Block Bypass Exercise

Got Writer’s Block?
 Yeah, it happens to the best of us.  Life gets in the way and your brain is taken in another direction and before you know it, it’s been days or weeks since you last looked at that book you’re trying to write.  You’ve forgotten little details.  What eye color did you give your hero?  What town was your heroine born in?  

 Today let’s talk about the bad guy in your story. There’s nothing more boring than an omnipotent foe that’s virtually indestructible. Two dimension is never interesting, but then neither is a hero who can equally give Hercules a run for his money. What makes these two forces fight against one another?  Are they mortal enemies? Enemies formed by an external event? Perhaps the bad guy is simply that and the hero wants revenge? 
Fight the Giant

Your hero will have to face his/her adversary at some point. Why not right now?

>List three ways the enemy could bring the fight to the hero right now.> If your hero has a plan, how can he/she be forced to accelerate it? Perhaps he/she learns new information, or a window of opportunity is closing.> Coincidence happens. Brainstorm three ways your hero and antagonist could find themselves in the same location unexpectedly.

Remember, the climax doesn’t have to be one big fight at the end. Little battles can maneuver your story into exciting directions you haven’t thought of. Let the characters write themselves, as if he or she is the narrator and you’re just along for the ride. Structuring a story is helpful but it can also be detrimental to creation. I often write myself into a corner that makes me really think hard on how to resolve, and those moments are usually my favorite parts to a story. Sometimes writer’s block happens because an author refuses to budge on what the outline says, and that can kill creativity.
Happy Writing!
  

***John August designed these cards to help writers fix plot holes, spice up stock characters and rethink your themes.  They, of course, do not guarantee you’ll get published or that you’ll become the next J.K. Rowling, and of course they are only a tool to help you think outside the box. I make no monetary gain with them nor do I expect anything in return.  I do not own the contents in these cards. If you're interested in them, here's the amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Writer-Emergency-Pack/dp/B00R6ZLIOY/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1502046610&sr=8-2&keywords=john+august 

Elizabeth Monvey Talks About her Zombie Apocalypse Release!

Hello Elizbeth!  Thank you so much for visiting Written Butterfly with me today!  It’s such a pleasure to chat with you.  So tell me…
 
Q) How did you dream up the dynamics of your characters?


I’m a big fan of The Walking Dead world, which made me want to write a zombie apocalypse story.  It was a little harder than I thought it would be to write in such an established genre, trying to make it fresh.
 
Q) What do you think is your strongest asset as a writer? …what is your weakest factor as a writer?


 I think I’m a strong dialogue writer. I enjoy writing witty back and forth banter. What I think is my weakest factor lies what happens in the slow parts of a story, writing the everyday humdrum stuff. 


Q) Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?


I try very hard to be original. Trends in readers tastes come and go, and sometimes I’ve jumped on the bandwagon when I can think of a good story. But I never deliberately write one thing or another.
  
Q) What are your upcoming projects?


I’m collaborating with Jacey Holbrand on a sci-fi series. I think readers will really enjoy it!


The world has changed. Almost two years after the zombie plague destroyed civilization, the last of mankind is trying to hold on. Remy lives with his father inside the walls of a safe haven, until the night they're attacked by a swarm of walking dead. But when help arrives, he's horrified to discover the haven has been targeted to be destroyed—infected or not. 
Atticus left his home when his lover was bit. Mourning the loss, he looks for something to keep him going. To not give up. He may have stumbled into the wrong group, but he can’t hurt innocents. 
They find each other in the middle of an apocalypse, and although Remy might be wary of the handsome loner, he realizes Atticus might just be the person he needs to stay safe.
If only he didn’t feel so attracted to the man. Be Warned: m/m sex

https://www.evernightpublishing.com/a-cold-breath-by-elizabeth-monvey/
https://www.amazon.com/Cold-Breath-Elizabeth-Monvey-ebook/dp/B07M6MC5M7/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1546804289&sr=8-2&keywords=a+cold+breath

Blast from the Past...Spotlighting Katherine Wyvern's "Spellbreakers"

BLURB
Escarra, a small kingdom that has lost its old magical power, is threatened by the brutal slaver empire of Hassia. Only the long-lost hero Kjetil Alversen Hawkeneye can save Escarra now, but for a hundred years he has been sleeping an enchanted sleep in the ice palace of the Witch Queen of Dalarna. He alone can save them, but he can only be awakened by the love of a pure heart.
When Princess Leal and her faithful friend Daria set out to find him and bring him back to Escarra, they embark on an epic journey across five kingdoms. They face elvers and goblins, giants, dragons and black unicorns, but when they both fall in love with Ljung, the mysterious, alluring hunter who shares the end of their trip, his love could save the quest or doom it. Will his prowess and wisdom help Princess Leal, or will she lose her pure heart—and Daria’s love—to his irresistible appeal?
Be Warned: f/f sex, sex toys, fisting, bondage, flogging, rimming, menage sex

Q & A 
1.       Did you plot this book out or write wherever an idea took you?
I never plot. I am a complete pantser. The one time I did plot a book, it sort of extinguished the light and life of it, so I never tried again. I like to dive into a story in a sort of “stream of consciousness” way, letting scenes flow, branch, and blossom any way they want. Eventually I get to figure out how they connect and what the plot actually looks like! This book however had a bit of a storyline already because it’s based on a story I began to write in my teens. It changed VERY much since then, but for once I had some idea of where I was going with it. It was still FULL of surprises!

2.       Did you hide any secrets or Easter Eggs?
Not in this book! I have become fond of Easter Eggs only recently!

Wednesday's Writers Block Bypass Exercise

I first posted this back in August 2017, but only now decided to follow up with a regular post (now that I figured out I can schedule posts ahead of time).  For this first one, I'm reposting what I wrote, to make sure I go in order. I find these cards are great and wanted to pass them along. (Disclaimer: I make no money on endorsements from this deck). 


Got Writer’s Block?
 Yeah, it happens to the best of us.  Life gets in the way and your brain is taken in another direction and before you know it, it’s been days or weeks since you last looked at that book you’re trying to write.  You’ve forgotten little details.  What eye color did you give your hero?  What town was your heroine born in? 
My awesome significant other, Mike, got me a Writer’s Emergency Pack two years ago for my birthday. They’re by John August and I thought I’d give you a little jump start that might be fun for your brain.  They were for mine.  So, focus on the moment in your story that’s causing you grief and see if these exercises help you out.
First one…
Cause and Effect
 Actions have consequences.  How can the next few events result because of something your hero does?
 >Talk through your story, replacing every “and then” with “because”. What would need to change?
> Imagine your story being told in reverse, Memento-style. How could your setups become payoffs?
> The biggest effects come from irrevocable choices. List three decisions your hero couldn’t take back.

Everything happens for a reason. Usually, that reason should be your hero. Look for ways he can take the reins of the story.  There’s nothing wrong with a “passive” hero as long as his passivity alters the course of the story. (By his doing nothing, something changes). Consider reversing the cause and effect.  What if your hero robs a bank because he’s a fugitive?  What if your doctor causes rather than cures the epidemic?


Drama happens when opposing forces are in play, and the easiest way to write this is direct cause and effect. Stories come to life when it's "show not tell". Action derived form effect moves the story along and helps jumpstart your writing mojo. If all else fails, perhaps move away from linear storytelling to somewhere else to write that piece out. I use @@@@ to separate story lines. Just remember, a character is more interesting when he has something driving him to do the things he's doing. Have fun and happy writing!



***John August designed these cards to help writers fix plot holes, spice up stock characters and rethink your themes.  They, of course, do not guarantee you’ll get published or that you’ll become the next J.K. Rowling, and of course they are only a tool to help you think outside the box. I make no monetary gain with them nor do I expect anything in return.  I do not own the contents in these cards. If you're interested in them, here's the amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Writer-Emergency-Pack/dp/B00R6ZLIOY/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1502046610&sr=8-2&keywords=john+august 

EDITOR'S PICK....Laura M. Baird's "In His Sights"

Intelligence analyst Charity Masters is raising her niece after the death of her brother. If that isn’t enough to up-end her world, she’s pulled into a government project involving shifters, and a handsome distraction in the form of tempting hawk shifter, Mason. Although her strong personality has kept men at a distance, will she allow Mason close enough to appreciate the woman inside?

As clan leader of his Native American tribe, Mason Wegi wants to ensure their relationship with the government remains beneficial but well-contained. While focusing on a project involving human and shifter DNA experimentation, not only will he have to safeguard his people, but that of the alluring and willful beauty, Charity.

Will two people from different worlds come together for their happily-ever-after?

Excerpt:
“Are you all right?”
Charity gasped as she reacted on instinct, rolling once again and springing up, preparing for…
Always priding herself for being prepared for the unknown, Charity certainly wasn’t prepared to come face to face with a gorgeous man on a trail in Sierra Vista. As she straightened to her full height of five feet ten inches, the man still towered above her by at least half a foot. With her back to the sun, she could see his features clearly, and what she saw nearly stole her breath.
Raven hair framed his lean face, falling well below his shoulders. Topaz eyes shined brightly as his brow knitted with worry, even while his luscious mouth hinted at a smile causing his tanned skin to crinkle at the corners. Muscled arms relaxed at his sides. A rusty orange t-shirt covered his chest, stretched across clearly defined shoulders and pecs. Gray athletic pants encased his legs and he wore running shoes dusty from the dirt, looking like they got good use.
“Miss?”
Charity blinked several times while trying to clear the haze in her head as she met his stare. “I’m fine now, thank you.”
While the man scanned her body, he asked, “Did you take a tumble? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Charity looked down at the dust and debris on her clothing, and tried to swipe herself clean. Her white tank top and red running shorts weren’t any worse for wear, but a few scrapes on her left leg got her attention. She removed the bandana around her head, allowing her long blonde hair to fall free and curtain around her as she bent forward to wipe at the cuts. When she peered up at the man again, she saw his concentrated gaze continuing to scan her.
“Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Charity straightened. “No, really, thank you. I nearly had a close encounter with a rattlesnake but was saved by a hawk. It was, uh, well it all happened rather quickly, stunning me. I’m not far from home, so I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure.”
The tenor of his voice and the note of care had her warming, and not from the overhead sun. Once again she mentally shook herself as she finger-combed her hair and twisted it back up, securing it with her bandana. When she met the stranger’s gaze, his eyes snapped from her chest to her eyes, and she swore she saw a blush sweep over his cheeks.
When the man cleared his throat, he offered an introduction. “I’m Mason, Mason Wegi.” The sound of his name was like putting a ‘W’ in front of egg and adding ‘ee’. 
“I was just out for a run myself. I certainly didn’t expect to come across a fair maiden in distress. Not that I’m complaining.”
EP link: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/in-his-sights-by-laura-m-baird/

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07M62K32V/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1545882769&sr=8-2&keywords=laura+m+baird

Laura M Baird, Romance Authorhttps://www.laurambairdauthor.com 
https://www.facebook.com/LauraMBairdauthor/

HOLIDAY SPOTLIGHT...Cassie O'Brien's "The Best Gifts Aren't Wrapped"

Who says Santa doesn't bring even the saddest person a beautiful gift?

Lauren hates Christmas. It reminds her of the death of her husband, Brian, and brings back memories too painful to bear. To keep herself busy over the festive season, she decorates a room in her house and shuts the rest of the world out - the door locked as tightly as her heart and emotions.

Until Joe comes along, a neighbor who is divorced, has two sons, and enough compassion to see her through the dark times. Although Lauren's not looking for love, it creeps up on her, stealing her breath and forcing her to see that although she's angry with Brian for putting himself in a fatal situation, she can now remember him with the affection he deserves. Joe has helped her to see life is precious, and when Santa arrives with an extra-special gift, her world is complete, and she can once again go about the business of living - with her heart well and truly taken.

WHERE TO BUYhttps://www.amazon.com/Best-Gifts-Arent-Wrapped-ebook/dp/B07L16KD1J?fbclid=IwAR0kEbd4RzhAVEQfmb1uZjFfwUdvUr-SeWhQqfIJpHImQLwG5yFy4serPt0
ABOUT THE AUTHOR…
I love:Being with family and friends.Writing and having the freedom to do so now child four of four has passed her driving test and is off to uni later this year.I Like:Any excuse to throw a party.Any excuse to open a bottle of fizz.Shoes in vast quantities – the higher the heel the better.Ambitions:To write many more books'To own a pair of Louboutin’s.To never go near an iron or a hoover again.You can find Cassie on Facebook and follow her on Twitter: @cassieo_author 

HOLIDAY SPOTLIGHT...CF White's "Won't Feel a Thing"

It takes more than a doctor to mend a broken heart.
Ollie Warne is fresh out of nursing school and working his dream job as a pediatric cardiology nurse at St. Cross Children’s Hospital. Wanting to start the year fresh from personal heartache and his track record of falling for the wrong man, Ollie’s New Year’s resolution is to rid himself of emotional baggage and live a life of carefree liaisons.
But before the resolution can even begin, Ollie is called to care for eight-year-old Daisy Monroe, who’s struggling after heart surgery. Her father, Jacob Monroe, never leaves her side, apart from the times her mother comes to visit.
The tempestuous and somewhat estranged relationship of her parents is cause for concern enough, but the father’s brooding nature has Ollie investing far more time than usual in his Room One patient. Striking up a friendship of sneaking takeaways into the ward, card playing until dawn and the occasional breaking up of domestic fights, Ollie finds himself drawn to Jacob and becomes a friendly ear for the man who’s harboring more guilt and past demons than even Ollie, which is saying something.
The growing attraction makes it hard for Ollie to keep his distance, though he has to—not only do the ethics of his profession demand it, but Ollie is still somewhat involved with another man. One who has a huge stake in Ollie’s life, both personal and professional.
Ollie is risking more than just his job by getting involved with a patient’s father—much more even than the success of his New Year’s resolution, something that was supposed to ensure that, this time, he won’t feel a thing.

EXCERPT
“You want my opinion?”
“Yes.”
“My honest opinion?”
“Yes,” Ollie repeated. “Please.”
“Brutal honest opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Even if you don’t like it?”
“Even if I never want to talk to you again.” Ollie took a sharp slurp through the straw of his smoothie and winced, his glasses tipping to the end of his nose. “Until tonight, anyway.”
“Then leave well alone.”
Ollie sighed. He sucked up another mouthful of his daily fruit and veg intake, flicked back his blond hair that had lost its vigor after a twelve-hour night shift and glanced away from Taya’s wide brown eyes. The eyes that signified she meant every damn word. Bitch.
“Told you.”
Taya freed her dark, waist-length hair from its curled bun and stroked it over one shoulder. She wrapped the band around her slender dark-skinned wrist then sipped her dainty cup of pink hot chocolate. The blue edges of her lips, caused by the freezing weather, were subsiding back to their usual reddish tinge with each guzzle of the pink cream and rainbow of chocolate candies scattered over her ridiculous sickly concoction. She hadn’t even offered a spoonful to him. Twelve hours straight on night shift clearly meant she needed the sugar all to herself.
“He’s not worth your time, your worry or your respect.” She clanged the cup down onto the glass surface of the table, pulled her winter trench coat over the scrubs she hadn’t bothered to change out of and reached for her packet of menthol slims.
“Neither are they.” Ollie pointed to the cigarettes.
Taya glared across the table. She unhooked the top of the packet, took one of the white sticks between her teeth and lit it with her pink lighter. Blowing the smoke into the freezing cold air, she waved her hand.
“We all have our vices, Oliver.”
Ollie stuck his middle finger up. He slapped it back down and shoved it into his jacket pocket. It was freezing, and Taya had to bloody sit outside the corner coffee shop in order to smoke her way out of the trying night shift. She was right. Everyone needed their vices, especially with what he and Taya did for a living. He sighed.
“I think he needs patience.”
“He’s got plenty of those.” Taya pointed her two fingers clutching the death stick at Ollie.
“Har fricking har. Patience with a c.”
“He’s a c all right.” Taya took another drag. At Ollie’s glare, she sighed and rested her elbow on the tabletop. “What? He is.”
“I think you may be the only female in the entire hospital who doesn’t like him.” Ollie slurped the dregs of his raspberry-ripple smoothie and shivered. He should have gone for a hot drink, but it was hard enough to sleep during the day as it was. Caffeine would only make it infinitely more difficult.
“That’s because I know him,” Taya replied.
“Urgh. Not you, too?”
“Ew.” Taya grimaced around her cigarette. “No, thank you.”
Ollie leaned back in the chair. He waved a hand to waft away the smoke drifting into his face. To give her some credit, Taya was trying to blow it out of the side of her mouth to avoid him, but the icy-cold January breeze from the earlier sleet downpour blew it straight back. Ollie zipped up his puffer jacket, folded his arms and jiggled on the cold metal chair.
“You nearly done?” He nodded to the half-full cup of violently pink chocolate.
Taya blew another puff of smoke into the air, stubbed out the remains of her cigarette and downed the rest of her drink, leaving a foam mustache on her top lip. She licked it away. “Yeah. Home to bed, miss the snowfall, back at eight. You?”
They scraped back their chairs and Ollie tucked a five-pound note under the ashtray for the servers. Anyone willing to come outside and serve drinks in this weather should most definitely get tips, even if his wages would no doubt be far less than those of the coffee baristas working this part of London.
“I should go see my dad,” he replied.
Taya linked her arm in with his, curling her slender fingers around his quilted sleeve. Checking both ways along the crossroads lined by independent boutiques, high-class restaurants, unconventional cafés and health-food shops, she steered him across, narrowly missing a black cab speeding over the mini-roundabout. The glass-enclosed bus stop’s bench overflowed with waiting passengers, so he stood, his freezing toes within his inappropriate-for-the-weather slip-on loafers numbing with each passing second, and checked the time on the electric board for when the next bus was due.
“How’s he doing?” Taya asked.
“Good days and bad days.” Ollie sighed. “Keeps calling me Tilly.”
Taya tried to hold in the chuckle but failed miserably. Ollie didn’t mind so much. A good sense of humor was always best in these situations, not to mention their line of work. He pulled Taya in closer. It was fricking freezing and snowflakes fell from the overcast sky. How would he get back to work later that night? London came to a standstill if even one flake hit any mode of public transport. Him living in the other end of the city—the cheap end—would make it all the more difficult to travel across town. On occasions when there wasn’t a downfall, he would have cycled in. But that was out of the question with the ice on the roads. And the fact that he hadn’t woken up in his own bed last night. Ollie shuddered at the memory.
“Right.” Ollie bounced to keep warm while awaiting the number 252. “It’s January. So that means New Year’s resolutions. What’s yours?”
“Quit smoking.”
“Good luck.” Ollie meant it.
Taya stuck out her tongue.
“Well, we both know mine—”
“Which you broke last night.” Taya was a bitch like that.
“I don’t believe New Year’s resolutions should start until the second week of January.” Ollie rubbed his hands together, digging Taya’s arm into his side, and wondered why he hadn’t thought to bring gloves. Ah, yes, he hadn’t had any where he’d been before his shift started. He wasn’t allowed to leave any trace of his existence there.
“Riiight,” Taya said. “So that means from today, you’ll be steering clear of arsehole men?”
“Sadly, no. Unfortunately, I will no doubt encounter many of them in my time without realizing until it’s too late.”
“Amen.” Taya saluted.
Ollie wasn’t sure what the salute was about. But he wasn’t particularly religious, so maybe that was how it was done in church these days? Or temples, considering Taya’s family were Hindu.
“So, what is your resolution, then?”
“No baggage,” Ollie replied.
“Baggage?”
“Yep,” Ollie confirmed.
The gleaming new red Routemaster bus edged along the narrow High Street, bumping over the speed mounds meant to slow the traffic down, which Ollie thought ridiculous as the morning rush-hour pileup tended to last all day in central London. The streets were filled with scuttling people carrying takeout coffee cups, cyclists braving the ice, and the occasional honking of a taxi horn. This time of the morning, most people were trying to get to work and not home from it like Ollie and Taya. He was never quite sure who was keener to reach their destinations.
“I don’t mind a complete arsehole—”
“Obviously.” Taya cut Ollie off with a raise of her smoothed-out eyebrows. That new rainbow hot chocolate had clearly contained one too many e-numbers and sent her loopy. That and the long night shift. Not that she hadn’t been a little bit loopy to begin with.
“Ha ha.” Ollie pushed her forehead. “Like, I can handle a dickhead—”
“We all know.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ollie muttered. “No more white hot chocolate with pink dye for you, okay?”
“Sorry.” Taya pressed her lips together. She rose up on her tiptoes to check on the bus’s progress but needn’t have worried, as it had traveled all of a millimeter since the start of their conversation. At this rate, Ollie might get home in time to have a shower and come straight back.
“What I mean is—”
“You don’t want a man who can’t commit because of circumstance,” Taya finished for him.
Ollie was capable of finishing his own sentences, but Taya was getting warm from flapping her lips, so he allowed it. “Exactly. I’m married to my job. I love my job. Therefore, I should have the occasional fling and become the arsehole myself.” He pointed a finger at Taya. “Don’t fricking say it.”
Taya shrugged and mimed zipping her lips up.
“What do we nurses say daily?”
“‘No, you can’t have McDonald’s’?”
“Not that one.”
“‘You’re going to feel a little prick’?”
Ollie sniggered. “Not that one either.”
“Oh, I know. It’s ‘Of course I’ll change your TV channel for you—it’s not like I have anything better to do with my time.’”
“No! I mean the big one—‘You won’t feel a thing.’”
Taya nodded. “So?”
“So, my resolution is to no longer feel a thing.”
“Good luck.” Taya smiled. Bitch.
The bus pulled up and Ollie jogged on the spot, waiting for the doors to open. They hissed to the side, and even though he and Taya were standing correctly at the hop-on part of the Routemaster with the exit farther along the double decker, a tall man with floppy dark hair jumped straight off and bashed Ollie’s arm as he rushed up the high street, heading toward the gleaming glass frontage of St. Cross Children’s Hospital.
“Ouch.” Ollie pouted and rubbed his arm.
“Ha!” Taya jumped the step onto the bus.
“What?”
Amusement shimmered across Taya’s face as she bleeped her Oyster card onto the yellow reader. “You just felt something.”
“Oh, bog off.”


WHERE TO BUY
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR…
Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.
Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly searches for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum. And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.
She eventually moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.
Having worked in Higher Education for most of her career, a life-altering experience brought pen back to paper after she’d written stories as a child but never had the confidence to show them to the world. Having embarked on this writing malarkey, C F White cannot stop. So strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride...
You can follow C F on Facebook and Twitter and check out her Website.

HOLIDAY SPOTLIGHT...Eleanor Harkstead & Catherine Curzon's "The Captain's Cornish Christmas"

For a lonely Cornish lifeboatman and an author who’s more used to crime scenes than love scenes, this Christmas is going to be very merry indeed!
When Jago Treherne agrees to man the Polneath lifeboats one snowy Christmas, he knows he can forget turkey and all the trimmings.
Yet when he boards a seemingly empty yacht and stumbles upon sexy Sam Coryton enjoying an energetic afternoon below decks, Jago soon realizes that he might be unwrapping a very different sort of Christmas gift this year!
Publisher's Note: This book is related to the Captivating Captains series.

EXCERPT
Jago frowned as he heard the weather warning come in over the radio. It was the last thing he needed on Christmas Eve.He barely noticed the cold sting of the sea spray striking his face as he powered the rescue boat over the waves. There hadn’t been an SOS, but he had left Polneath harbor anyway. Sam Coryton and his yacht, Morveren, hadn’t returned to the marina, and with bad weather moving in and little daylight left, Jago knew he would have to go out to find him.

No response on the radio. No distress flares sighted.

Jago kept his grip firm on the wheel, his jaw set with determination.He rounded the rocky headland, so beautiful and yet, he knew only too well, so dangerous—and he saw it. The white hull and sails of the Morveren. And it appeared to be in distress. The yacht rocked from side to side in the water, the depths already boiling in anticipation of the oncoming storm. In the windows of the vessel bright Christmas lights twinkled merrily, but there was no other sign of life, no indication that Polneath’s favorite son was anywhere on board.

A chill ran through Jago’s blood as he steered closer to the yacht, and it wasn’t just at the thought of what this oceangoing Maserati must have cost. No man with an ounce of sense in his head would be so stupid as to still be out here now in the dying hours of the Christmas Eve daylight, with the maelstrom somewhere on the horizon. He remembered from summer Sam’s bad habit of swimming alone from the deck of his yacht, but surely he wouldn’t be so stupid as to do it in the depths of winter?Even Sam Coryton wouldn’t be so idiotic as that.

Jago pulled up alongside the yacht and let the engine idle. He called over the sound of the waves and the seabirds, “Sam! Sam Coryton—it’s Captain Treherne. Are you there, Sam? Can you hear me?”He paused, but heard no reply. There was no sign of anyone in the water, and Jago wondered if Sam had been taken ill, alone in a cabin on the yacht. “I’m coming aboard!”

Jago lashed the rescue boat to the Morveren, then heaved himself onto the deck. His boots squeaked as he crept along the deserted craft.

“Where the bloody hell is he?” Jago muttered to himself as he lifted the hatch on the companionway and stared down into the vessel. The Christmas lights were the only illumination in the stairwell, but from beneath he could hear the gentle strains of light classical music and smell fresh coffee, suggesting that someone was or, in the worst-case scenario had been, aboard until recently.Jago called Sam’s name again, carefully descending the stairs into the yacht’s living quarters. He had seen some impressive vessels in his day and this was certainly high among them, a sleek craft from the outside and a comfortable home within. The hallway that stretched ahead of him was brightly lit, the walls decorated with enormous canvases showing cheery riots of color, but that made the scene feel somehow even more uneasy. There was something in the air, an indefinable tension that fired Jago’s instincts as he looked in on the rooms and found nothing out of the ordinary, but no sign of the man who had sailed this vessel from the safety of the harbor.

Where was Sam Coryton, successful crime author? Surely this wasn’t one of Sam’s thrillers come to life? Would Jago pull open a door and find—no, he couldn’t bear to think of that. Not on his watch, not Polneath’s famous boy.“Sam? Can you hear me?”

He shouldn’t have thought of Sam’s thrillers. Now Jago was thinking of the bright Cornish villages with their casts of colorful locals and the violence just beneath the surface, of murder and—this was just the sort of plot Sam Coryton would come up with—Christmas lights on a floating yacht with a gory surprise lurking somewhere within.Only one set of double doors remained in the living quarters now and they stood, as they would in a murder mystery, right at the end of the hallway ahead of Jago. He hadn’t seen a master bedroom so this must be it. Despite himself the lifeboat captain, sturdy, brave, fearless, paused with his hands on the door handles. He drew in a deep breath, told himself he had seen worse than a dead author and pushed the doors open.

Jago had only time to see a brief impression—a figure, sprawled across a bed. A naked body. Was this the work of some depraved psychopath? “Bloody hell, no—Sam!"
WHERE TO BUY…
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS…
Eleanor Harkstead
Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. She can occasionally be found wandering old graveyards. Eleanor is very fond of chocolate, wine, tweed waistcoats and nice pens. Her large collection of vintage hats would rival Hedda Hopper's.

Originally from the south-east of England, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.
 
Catherine Curzon
Catherine Curzon  is a royal historian who writes on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many platforms and Catherine has also spoken at various venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and Dr Johnson’s House.Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.

She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

You can follow Catherine on Facebook and Twitter and take a look at her Website.