Kim Fielding's Blog, page 43
February 19, 2015
Different Tracks: Part 14
Previous parts:
Sophie Bonaste (Part 1, 7 and 9)
Charlie Cochet (Part 8)
Grace Duncan (Part 3 and 11)
Kim Fielding (Part 6)
Lane Hayes
Elizabeth Noble (5 and 13)
Brynn Stein (2 and 10)
Suki Fleet (Part 4 and 12)
Part 14
Xander wasn’t a big guy, but he managed to take up a lot of room in Peter’s arms. Pete focused on just a bit of him, a colorfully inked shoulder glistening with water droplets.
“What are you doing, Xander?” Peter asked. His voice wasn’t as calm as he’d hoped.
“Showering?”
Peter glanced down to where their torsos joined, where his growing erection pressed against Xander’s. “This seems kinda more… dualistic than showering.”
Xander huffed loudly and stepped back as much as the shower stall would allow—which wasn’t much. He let his hands fall to his sides. “See, that’s what I mean.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dualistic. That’s not…. Fuck. I chop meat for a living.”
Maybe, Peter decided, the head injury was muddling the poor guy’s head. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the area around the wound was red and puffy. Xander was going to have a hell of a bruise by morning.
He set a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “Let’s rinse off, and then I can make us something to eat.”
When Xander blinked quickly and ducked his head, he looked astonishingly young and vulnerable. “I should just go,” he said, and made as if to step out of the shower.
But Peter caught his arm. “You don’t have a car, remember?”
“Just… just drive me home. Please.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I fucking want!”
Usually when people yelled at Peter, he walked away. He wasn’t into confrontations. But he was pretty sure Xander was angry at himself, not at Peter. So he took a chance and pulled him close. “Let’s stop worrying so much, okay? You don’t do relationships. I get that.”
“So you just want another quick fuck?”
“I’m not sure what I want either.” Peter shrugged. “But, um, you’re here. And I’m here. And we’re naked, so….” He gave in to temptation and bent to delicately tongue the water from Xander’s collarbone.
Xander groaned deeply and tried to clutch at him. But Peter followed a small trickle of water down Xander’s pec to a puckered nipple. He nipped lightly—making Xander groan again—and would have been happy playing there for a while if the water hadn’t distracted him. He traced the trickle with his tongue and lips down the hard ridges of Xander’s abs, then fell to his knees to he could lick at the shallow indentation of Xander’s navel. He tasted really good, all warm salt. But then, God, Xander’s cock was right there, hard and glistening, and Peter couldn’t really say no to that. He slipped the head into his mouth.
“F-fuck!” Xander stuttered. He clutched hard at Peter’s shoulders, which was just fine.
Peter grabbed Xander’s slick hips, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his work. He liked giving head, although it had been some time since he’d had the opportunity. And Christ, he loved the ragged noises he was forcing from Xander’s throat.
“G-g-gonna…,” said Xander, his grip tightening. Peter considered jerking himself off too, but decided against it. He wasn’t in the mood to multitask. He redoubled his efforts instead, hearing Xander’s breathing hitch and clatter.
And then the hot water ran out.
Peter yelped as a jet of cold water hit his back and ran down his ass. In his spastic attempt to get away from the torture, he knocked against Xander, who lost his footing completely. Tangled, they flopped together like a pair of drunken octopi, neither of them able to escape the slippery floor.
Xander’s head thudded hard against the tiled wall. “Ow! Dammit!” He pushed hard at Peter and managed to tumble out of the shower, but the bath mat skidded when he tried to stand and he fell again. “Ah!”
Peter made it to relatively dry land and rose safely to standing. He gave Xander a hand to rise before reaching in to turn off the water. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding again?”
Xander touched his forehead and looked at the small smear of blood on his fingers. “You’re fucking trying to kill me,” he said weakly—right before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed in a dead faint.
***
Toweled off and dressed, Peter and Xander were silent over sandwiches. Peter had talked Xander into drinking a big glass of orange juice on account of the earlier blood loss, but was sticking to water himself. Xander winced slightly every time he moved his head.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” Peter asked for the hundredth time.
Xander shook his head, winced again, and sighed. “I’m fine.”
“You lost consciousness. You might have a concussion or something.”
“I don’t.”
“But how do you know?”
“It’s the blood,” Xander mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m… not very good with blood.”
“But you work in a meat market.”
Xander poked at a piece of bread. His cheeks had gone slightly pink. “’S different. That’s animal blood. It’s my own I’m not very fond of seeing.”
Ah. That made sense, sort of. “I’m really sorry,” Peter said, also for the hundredth time. But he was. Really, really sorry.
“Forget it. Look. You’re a great guy. And you’re really hot and you’re… you’re good at sex.” Xander squirmed slightly. “But I don’t think you and me are meant to be.”
“Because you don’t do relationships.” Peter didn’t want to sound petulant, but he was growing tired of treading this ground.
“Yeah, partly. I mean, some guys are good for partners and True Love and all that shit, and some of us are good for quick ’n’ dirty hookups. And really, what do we have in common apart from hammering nails on Saturdays? You’re… you’ve got all this,” he waved his hands vaguely, “and I live in a crappy apartment with walls so thin I can hear my neighbor brush her teeth. Even fate is against us.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” said Peter.
Xander didn’t answer.
They finished eating. Xander stood first, collected the dishes, and set them in the sink, which surprised Peter. Then he turned around. “Could you take me home? This guy I work with, Ralph, he’s good with cars. I’ll see if he can help me out.”
Ignoring the ridiculous stab of jealousy, Peter nodded. He stood and grabbed his car keys from the kitchen island.
But when they got outside, Xander didn’t seem in such a hurry to get in the truck. He stood on the front porch, gazing across the road and over the fields as if watching something amazing, although there was nothing but greenery that rustled in the early evening breeze. The air was sticky and thick, and Peter hoped the wind would blow away some of the humidity.
“It’s quiet out here,” Xander said.
“Mostly.” Peter liked quiet. He’d lived in the city when he went to college, but he hadn’t liked the way everything moved so fast, the way all the textures felt hard and unforgiving. He’d probably have a more active love life now if he didn’t live out in the sticks, but he wasn’t willing to give up the old family homestead.
Xander sighed deeply before turning and heading to the truck. As Peter followed, he took in the defeated set of Xander’s shoulders and was struck by a realization: Xander wanted a lot more than he let on. Probably a real home, a permanent lover. He just didn’t think he could have those things.
Grinning to himself, Peter picked up his pace. Maybe all he had to do was find a way to make Xander see the truth. This called for a plan.
Follow
February 18, 2015
Ooh! That’s Interesting!: Tattoos
There’s something fascinating about tattoos, isn’t there? I guess it’s the concept of using the body as canvas, of applying art permanently to skin. The fact that someone chooses to get a tat says something about that person–although the specific message changes with time and culture–and of course the chosen design also gives insight into a person’s history and psyche.
I don’t know how long ago humans invented tattooing, but I’d guess it was thousands of years ago. We like to mark walls and we like to mark ourselves–symbols of permanency in an impermanent world.
I think it’s interesting how the perception of tattoos has changed in the US in recent years. Used to be, sailors, criminals, and people of questionable moral character got them. Today, some people still frown on them. I know my local sheriff won’t hire deputies with visible ink. If they have arm tats, he makes them wear long sleeves even if it’s over 100F out.
But the fact is, lots of folks have tattoos nowadays. Including middle-aged university professors who also write m/m romance. I have three:
The first one is because I have degrees in law and psychology (see the Greek psi?) and because I’m an academic. It’s a pretty nerdy tattoo. The second one is because I love travel–and also to remind myself I don’t need to carry the world on my shoulders. The third features the first 3 words from my first novel, Stasis. I might get a fourth tattoo someday, if I can decide on a design.
I find tattoos sexy, especially men with sleeve tats. Like Cleve from Venetian Masks:
Notice how one of Cleve’s designs includes wings? When the artist, Shobanu Appavu, made that amazing cover, I don’t think she knew I have similar wings on my arm.
What are your thoughts on tattoos? Do you have any? Are there any you hate? Do you share my slight fetish for sleeves?
Follow
February 16, 2015
What’s Kim Reading Now?: Belonging ‘Verse books
I have a two-fer for you this week–two books set in the same universe but written by different authors. They are Anchored by Rachel Haimowitz and Counterpunch by Aleksandr Voinov.
The world-building is terrific. The books are set in a world pretty much identical to ours–except that slavery wasn’t abolished in the US in the 19th century. In fact, slavery has spread in scope and across the world. In Anchored, the protagonist is a man who was born a slave and was bought by a corporation to be a journalist and TV newsman. But the corporation also rents him to a high bidder for evenings and weekends. This book takes place in New York. The protagonist in Counterpunch was born free and was a policeman, but was sentenced to slavery after he killed a politician’s daughter. That one’s set in the UK.
You could easily read either of these without reading the other–they have little in common apart from the shared universe.
There are some very brutal scenes in these books, especially Anchored. But there’s also real tenderness. And in both books, the writing is fantastic.
Follow
February 13, 2015
Blast from the Past: Where My Love Lies Dreaming by Christopher Hawthorne Moss
Where My Love Lies Dreaming
By Christopher Hawthorne Moss
ISBN-978-1-62380-638-5
As the famous riverboat Le Beau Soleil lazily steams down the mighty Mississippi into the heart of the South, distractions of every sort attempt to pull agent for the Treasury Johnny Stanley away from his assignment. While liquor and gaming are no great temptations, his fascination with Le Beau Soleil’s owner, the debonair Frankie Deramus, means Johnny’s steadfast denial of his attraction to men is no longer feasible. Johnny fights his lust, but when he must come to Frankie’s aid, he can’t ignore his urges any longer. Their passionate love affair falls apart when Johnny refuses to admit two men can be in love. A bitter confrontation between the lovers at a Mardi Gras masquerade forces Johnny to run north. Frankie tries to follow, but the Southern states secede one by one, making it impossible to track Johnny down. The Civil War pits brother against brother and separates lover from lover. When at last the lovers meet again, it’s on the battlefield….
Click to buy in ebook or paperback.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4096
Reviews
Reviewed by Mel Keegan, author and owner of GLBT Bookshelf www.glbtbookshelf.com
How easy it is to forget that bygone eras were snake-pits of risk for GLBT folk (as other parts of our own world still are). Realistic historical gay fiction is compelled to deal with this; thoughtful historical gay fiction may go further and examine the ramifications and consequences of legal systems which intrude into the bedroom.
Where My Love Lies Dreaming by Christopher Hawthorne Moss is a deeply thoughtful and also thought-provoking novel addressing several questions, of which `How was it to be gay in Civil War era America?’ is but one. The author tackles others, some of them already well explored — such as the issue of slavery — and others touched on more rarely: `What does it actually mean to be American?’ and even, `Are licentiousness and outrageousness necessarily a part of being gay and out?’
One of the most fascinating aspects of the novel, for me, is that while the protagonists are American by birth, culturally they are European. Francois Deramus is Creole, with French roots as deep as any Quebecois; bilingual, with the gentility and sophistication of the French aristocrat as well as a sometimes rashly flamboyant personality. This proves irresistible to the repressed, naïve young man calling himself Johnny Stanley to avoid the prejudice toward immigrants which, in this era, would surely trap him in the ghetto. John Stanley is in fact Johann Steinfeld — Hansi for short: born in Chicago of German parents and as bilingual as Deramus. But unlike `Frankie’ Deramus, who delights in his heritage and his very Frenchness (Creoleness, to be accurate, though to readers beyond American shores `Creole’ is an exotic, evocative word rather than a familiar culture), Stanley is, of economic necessity, a fugitive from his own heritage.
America and Australia have several characteristics in common — forgive me if I speak here from the perspective of the antipodes. Both are nations of immigrants, settled originally and extensively from Europe; both remain young nations by comparison with the countries from which our ancestors arrived only in the last two or three centuries. (And of course immigration continues, often problematically, involving asylum seekers in overwhelming numbers). The wider canvas of American history shows a nation grown from European rootstock, an evolving society at once rich, varied and all the more robust because of its cultural multiplicity. However, what is healthy for a nation can be destructive to an individual. To escape the destiny of an immigrant laborer `Hansi Steinfeld’ will deny his heritage, though it alienates his family. Not only has he changed his name, he has schooled himself to lose the accent, mannerisms and manner of dress that identify him as an immigrant and would imprison him in Germantown. And he is up against tougher obstacles: born gay in an era when homosexuality was worth a life sentence; born Catholic in a time when Catholicism was widely scorned as a kind of religious deviance almost on a par with the aforementioned sexual `deviance.’
The author does not tackle the question of how young Stanley overcame his Catholic upbringing, but he clearly has; the undesired attentions of a priest, in his youth, would have helped. He displays none of the telltale quirks of the Catholic as he leaves home to undertake a fact-finding job for the government — he can pass in a crowd as the heterosexual, homogeneous American Protestant. Only Johnny knows the price he pays for this ability to move unnoticed among the common human herd, and the mask lasts only long enough for him to board a riverboat and blunder into another world … a liberal microcosm revolving around the vessel’s owner, where prejudice is held at bay by one man’s determination not merely to be different, but to make his `one small corner’ different.
Riverboat owner and professional gambler Francois Deramus is as close to `out’ as one could be in 1859. He has an ingenious barometer for gauging the sexual preference of passengers, and dalliance is his delight. Moreover, he is an abolitionist to the limits permissible in his time and place: he makes it difficult for his boat to be used to carry slaves, and though he actually owns his manservant, Albright, and Albright’s wife, he sublimates the relationship into one of an interracial Wooster and Jeeves. Albright is a `gentleman’s gentleman,’ with pride and dignity in himself and his work.
Stepping into Deramus’s utopian milieu aboard Le Beau Soleil — opulent, splendid, sensual — the erstwhile Hansi Steinfeld is doomed. He wages a game fight but seduction is a matter of course as surely as is his flight from the scene, and from the source of his dilemma — because for Stanley, seduction is not liberation, but a descent into shame. Such is his Catholic conditioning that later, meeting Deramus by chance he wonders, albeit fleetingly, if he might reform a man who is joyful in both his sexual freedom and the tiny bubble of liberty he has labored to create in a world filled with the very oppression that continues to make Stanley himself profoundly miserable. The painfully naïve Johnny actually wonders if he can `wean’ Deramus away from the sin of homosexuality — away, and into what? Into Stanley’s own private hell? Fortunately, Deramus is too self-assured, confident in himself and in the microcosm he has built, to be influenced by socio-religious tyranny. Stanley is seduced again before he knows it — also `on the cards’ for a healthy male who has denied his own sensuality until, in fact, sex seems to be on his mind most of the time. The gulf of difference yawning between Deramus, who rejoices in his sensuality, and Stanley, who bears his as a burden, is measured by the unmitigated disaster of Johnny’s exposure to the ebullient, outrageous face of gay identity. Deramus appears to possess no inkling of the intense religious conditioning Stanley wears like armor, and too late discovers his mistake.
The stage is set for the lives of these men to be blown apart by the Civil War. In a world gone completely mad, Deramus will pay handsomely for former liberties taken and enjoyed, and Stanley will discover himself through the bloody rituals of war. To me, this is a fascinating period about which I wish I knew more. I appreciated the way the author unfolds the early days of the conflict through the medium of rumor mill, returning eyewitness, political rhetoric … the newspaper.
For the most part, Where My Love Lies Dreaming is an adroit character play. Events and backdrops weave around the characters rather than the protagonists being driven by events to key locations — until the mid-section of the book, where the plot sparks to life for readers looking for more than romance. Some of the pivotal events of the war are seen through the eyes of Deramus, in particular, and also Stanley. Suffice to say, their lives will never be the same; and you don’t want spoilers here.
The novel is at its most commanding in its historical accuracy, the impressive depth of the research and the very concept of the story driving it. The reader is gifted with a genuine sense of time and place. Most of the Civil War tale is synopsized, told in outline form, which saddened me somewhat because this was the very part of the book that spoke to me, personally — action, conflict, intrigue, danger — rather than the romance, which is extensively developed. However, I realize that in romantic fiction, and perhaps especially in m/m works, there will always be dichotomy: readers who flip past sex to get to plot while others skim plot to find sex. In a novel extending beyond erotica, the author must, per force, try to cater to both camps — also, if those tracts of Civil War synopsis were properly developed, this book would be the size of The Feast of All Saints or Captains and the Kings. (Not that one objects to an epic!) To my mind, it seems one or two important points that should have been developed rather than synopsized were skipped over, but I can’t say more without spoilers; the reader must decide for him- or herself.
On a purely personal note, I was fascinated by New Orleans, about which I know spectacularly little. (One of America’s gay Meccas, razed by a `perfect storm,’ famous for its jazz and sizzling food … all else remains deliciously mysterious.)
The book is beautifully prepared, with the meticulous proofreading one has come to expect from Dreamspinner Press, which is extremely welcome. The writing style is clear, lucid, vivid, only occasionally jarring with a little redundancy and the overuse of names, where a reader yearns for the simple pronoun. Any shortcomings of style blur away into the greater tapestry of the work and are soon forgotten.
I enjoyed this novel a great deal — high praise, since m/m and romance are not my usual reading. Where My Love Lies Dreaming offers much more than what I term `pure romance,’ though a generous part of the book is, admittedly, devoted to particularly explicit erotica. Occasionally, romantic fiction crosses a certain line and succeeds on other levels: this book is a compelling historical too. Highly recommended for readers interested in American history and at the same time hunting for the panoramic story in which gay sex is one of the principle driving forces — where one can choose between the erotic adventures, or the grit and courage of sometimes harrowing human endeavor … and by all means choose both, if you will!
About the author
Christopher Hawthorne Moss wrote his first short story when he was seven and has spent some of the happiest hours of his life fully involved with his colorful, passionate, and often humorous, characters. Moss spent some time away from fiction, writing content for websites before his first book came out under the name Nan Hawthorne in 1991. He has since become a novelist and is a prolific and popular blogger; he is the historical fiction editor for the GLBT Bookshelf, where you can find his short stories and thoughtful and expert book reviews. Moss is transgender, having been born with a female body but a male heart and mind. He lives full time as a gay man in the Pacific Northwest with his partner of over thirty years and their doted upon cats. He owns Shield-wall Productions at http://www.authorchristophermoss.com. He welcomes comment from readers sent to christopherhmoss@gmail.com.
Excerpt
Riverboat Le Beau Soleil, November 1860
“You know, it is almost Noël. Will you want to spend that time in Chicago with your father?” Frankie sat on the divan in his sitting room with one arm around Johnny’s shoulders while the latter examined reports.
“No!” Johnny shuddered. He kept reading. Less vehemently he repeated, “No, I don’t think so.”
Frankie frowned at him. “Won’t your father want his son with him for Noël?”
Johnny wriggled uncomfortably. “I suppose. But I would rather spend it with you.”
“I could come with you to Chicago!”
The change in Johnny’s demeanor was marked. “No! Absolutely not!” Shuffling his papers, he made a show of attention to his work and ignored Frankie’s dismayed look.
Frankie abruptly stood and began to pace in the small space. He finally turned and asked, “Are you ashamed of me, Johnny?”
Johnny looked up at him, his eyebrows knitted. He shook his head.
“No, of course not,” Johnny said. “I… I… just don’t want to spend… Christmas where it is freezing and windy.” He realized he had almost said, “Weihnachten.”
Frankie glared at him. “It’s true, isn’t it? You are afraid to be seen with me. I am only un bouffon, un paon to you. In New Orleans you can barely stand to be seen with me. But let your father or friends see me? Mais non. Ça, ce serait de trop!”
Johnny got to his feet and went to him, but Frankie shook him off. “You constantly chide me for being too reckless. Has it ever occurred to you how I feel when you try to stifle me? I go my whole life being exactly who I am. People like me this way. More important, I like me this way. Then suddenly when I find someone I want to be with more than any other person in the world, I have to hide myself.”
Johnny watched him as he began to pace again, gesticulating flamboyantly. “Frankie…,” he began.
“I see, you want me to be your fancy man, but you don’t want anyone else to know it.”
Johnny frowned. Sternly, he essayed, “Frankie, please don’t talk like that.”
Frankie spun on him. “Don’t talk like what? Like someone who cares about you, who wants you, or like some sort of… chichi man?”
“Chichi?”
Frankie leveled an icy glare on him. “You know what I mean.” He mimicked his own florid gestures in an exaggerated way. He glared into Johnny’s nonplussed face, turned and stalked into his bedchamber, loudly slamming and locking the door behind him.
Johnny stood stunned. He went to the door and shouted through it, “Hey, wait a minute. That’s the only way I can get to my stateroom.”
He heard a snort of derision followed by rapid angry French. Frankie called in English, “Then I suppose you will have to let everyone see you sneaking out of the chichi man’s bedroom.” Johnny heard him open the adjoining door and slam it.
He stood, unsure what to do. He turned back and sat again on the divan. Why didn’t Frankie understand? Exposure was dangerous. He may have managed to steam under the bridge until now, but discovery was only a matter of time. If they went to Chicago together, it wouldn’t take a particularly perceptive person to see at once what Frankie was. It would be all over the place in no time. So much for Johnny’s position, his reputation.
A tap sounded on the door that led to the promenade. Johnny leaped to his feet with “And another thing…” on his lips, expecting Frankie, but he opened the door to Charles William. “Oh, it’s you. I suppose he sent you to give me a good talking to.” Johnny turned and went back to the divan and threw himself down on it.
The manservant quietly shut the door behind him. He turned to regard Johnny, his posture his usual elegantly attentive demeanor. “Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Stanley?”
Johnny shook his head. “I am quite all right the way I am.”
Charles William hesitated, then asked, “Mr. Deramus is clearly angry about something, if I may say so.”
Johnny shot him a look. “That is hardly any of your business, is it?” he stated imperiously.
The manservant nodded. “Yes, you are right, sir. It is not. I beg your pardon.” He reached back to open the door to leave.
“No, stop. That was unfair of me. You’ve known Frankie all his life. Why does he act… that way? Why does he have to be such a… nancy?”
To his surprise, he heard a rumble start from Charles William’s throat that slowly grew into a deep booming laugh. He turned a rueful eye on him.
“You think Mr. Deramus acts like a… nancy?” The rumble continued. “I take it you have never met any nancy boys.”
Johnny glared. “Well, no. I haven’t. I don’t go into that part of town. I have no reason to.”
Charles William cast an indulgent smile on him. “Mr. Deramus does not act like a nancy. He acts like a Creole. They would never admit it in a hundred years, but Creole people have picked up African mannerisms over the time of our close association.”
“But you don’t act like that.”
“You haven’t seen me at Mardi Gras. Most of the time I have to be very solemn and quiet. That’s part of how I survive. But François doesn’t have to hide to survive,” he said, reverting to his master’s familiar name. “He’s free. And that is one thing I admire about him. I thought you did too at first.”
Follow
February 9, 2015
What’s Kim Reading Now?: The Bells of Times Square by Amy Lane
Most readers of m/m romance already know that Amy Lane can write. And they know that she does angst like nobody’s business. The Bells of TImes Square delivers well on both accounts. But I also liked the sweetness of it. And I’m a sucker for a good historical. I’m hardly an expert in these matters, but it sure reads as if Amy did her research for this one–the details rang true. I loved the main characters, and even though I knew the book would be bittersweet, well, sometimes that’s what we need.
Follow
February 6, 2015
Blast from the Past: Haunted by Brynn Stein
Hi Kim,
Thanks so much for having me on your blog today. It’s always fun to talk about my older books. Of course my older books aren’t really that old since I’m still relatively new to being a published author.
Haunted was my first published work, so it will always have a special place in my heart. It came out in July of 2013 and is available only in eBook format.
Oddly enough, it started out life as fanfiction.
I had been writing fanfiction and posting online for a long time, mostly writing AUs (Alternate Universes), basically original fiction with just a few identifying characteristics of the main characters here and there. I wrote Haunted and a friend of mine convinced me to strip it of the very few references to fandom, fleshing it out a little, and submitting it. I enjoy writing, so didn’t mind rewriting it. I was really surprised when it was accepted. I had my first contract!
Editing was a unique experience. But even that was enjoyable in its own way because hey…the book was going to be published! And the artwork, wow. Paul Richmond is amazing. I gave him a roughly sketched idea of how I’d like it to look and he created a gorgeous cover.
I got really good reviews on it. Lots of people liked the unique twist on the ghost story. Jason is a lovable ghost. One reviewer likened the story more to “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir” than a scary ghost story. The love is improbable because it’s between a ghost and human. But I saw it more as a fun story than anything that was supposed to be realistic.
I learned a lot from the whole process of writing and getting this book published and now have published two more (Living Again, and Through the Years) and have a new book coming out in March called Ray of Sunlight.
And it all began with Haunted.
When Lenard Blake is forced to leave his wife, he divorces not just her but her influential family, who makes it impossible for him to keep his job as a Denver police officer, never mind to find another one anywhere in Colorado. But a rural police force in Virginia has an opening, and the move could be just the change he needs, so Lenard buys a house based on an Internet ad. But when he arrives, he finds that the house looks nothing like the ad… and it’s haunted as well. Lenard doesn’t believe in the supernatural, but he decides to research his supposed ghost anyway. Soon he learns that fifteen years ago, Jason Miller was murdered in the house, and his entire family died under suspicious circumstances. As he makes friends with his ghostly companion, they join forces to try to solve the old murders. Along the way, they find there are some things that conquer even death.
Buy Links
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4006
I live in Virginia. My two grown daughters support my writing and sometimes act as proof readers. My eldest daughter writes fan fiction and my youngest dabbles. They’re both on their own now, but they’re still close and still encourage me in my writing as much as they do in other aspects of my life. I’m a teacher by profession, because writing doesn’t quite pay the bills. I work in special education with children with emotional disabilities. It’s challenging but rewarding work and sometimes I think I learn as much from them as they do from me. When I’m not working or writing, though I must admit there isn’t much time that doesn’t fall into those two categories, I draw and paint. I also get outside as often as I can, and pretty much read anything that stands still long enough.
Look me up on my websites:
http://brynnstein2.wix.com/books-and-thoughts https://twitter.com/BrynnStein http://brynnstein2.wordpress.com https://www.facebook.com/brynn.stein
Follow
February 4, 2015
Ooh, That’s Interesting!: Interview with K.C. Kelly
If you’ve listened to the audio versions of Brute or Housekeeping, you already know how wonderful K.C. Kelly is, because he narrated them. Or maybe you’ve heard him read some other fantastic books, like Mary Calmes’ Frog, Ryan Loveless’s Ethan, Who Loved Carter, or Rowan Speedwell’s Love, Like Water. You can also hear him as Mark Twain. If you’ve listened to any of these, you know why I’m such a huge fan. So I’m really thrilled that K.C. agreed to answer my questions about his work! Please enjoy the interview, and I have a giveaway at the end.
Could you tell us a little about yourself?
An actor since my twenties (I’m now in my sixties), I’ve done more stage than anything else. I also taught acting for Long Island University, Victoria University, and the National Drama School of New Zealand: Toi Whakaari. Because I trained first in England (at the now defunct Webber-Douglas) and then moved to New York to study with Michael Howard, I’ve got a bit of trans-Atlantic “thing” going on.
How did you start doing book narration?
A very good friend who went from actor to lawyer to actor told me of his “conversion” to audiobooks. It got me thinking, why not moi? Andrew (he’s really been nice) at Dreamspinner Press listened to an audition and pointed me toward Love, Like Water. The rest is well…out there.
I’d love to learn a little more about your process for narrating. Do you begin by reading the entire book to yourself before you start narrating? How long does an average novel take you?
Reading the book is step one. That’s usually a one-day sit down and do it thing. Brute happened that way…I had to find out where Brute and Grey would go. When I’ve got the story down, then I underline (in different inks) the major character voices. While that percolates…I start to “think” voices. Read time – the actual time in front of the mic – is, for me, no more than two hours a day. Then come the edits and re-dos.
How do you choose what kind of voice a particular character will have?
A character’s history and their attitude/dialogue with others—they’re the signposts—they point in the direction to go for. Everybody I know—good and bad—gets a look in. And then there’s me, too. Obnoxious people draw on my reservoir of bile; nice folks get a friendlier version, but there’s always of bit of K.C. in there.
You’ve done a wide variety of accents and dialects. Do you use particular models for these? Are there some you especially enjoy doing—and are there some you dread?
Accents I’m familiar with come easily and “suggest” themselves. Accents I’m not good at—e.g. South African, Boston, New Orleans Patois, really mess my head. I’d love to “do” Australian, for example, but any native Ozzie would cringe.
Stuttering. You seem to end up doing a lot of it, and you do it so well. Is it something you like doing or is it a pain? How do you manage to so effectively convey the meaning and the emotion even for characters who have difficulty speaking?
They’re just people wanting to “talk.” When you understand some of the problems of the stutterer, you give them a voice. For most actors, they’re fun. It’s the Dustin Hoffmann Rain Man or Sean Penn in Sam, I Am.
What are some of the biggest challenges to doing narration work?
Separating lots of voices. When four or more people are in the same room—each needing a different way of talking—things get sticky for me. In “film speak” you seldom have a conversation where characters talk over one another (even if you would, normally)—you wait for your cue and get your line in clean. And that’s not easy, especially if there’s a party or an argument going on. It’s a bit like working with a band you haven’t played with. One or two characters, no sweat; throw in a narrative voice, still cooking. But in a “crowd” you can lose the groove and that can get messy. You’re paying attention to tone, pace, and plot—but a number of voices, playing different things require careful orchestration.
When you’re not narrating, you’re working with a theatre troupe. Can you tell us a little about that?
EnsembleImpact was created to bring New Zealand plays to New Zealand high schools. I co-founded the company and, for the first five years, was chief cook and bottle-washer. As the company caught on, I relinquished one job after another, concentrating on dramaturgy and direction.
What do you like to read for fun?
I’m big on non-fiction. Just about any war Antony Beevor touches on are favourites. Barbara Ehrenreich and Malcom Gladwell have spent a lot of time here along with David Sedaris. I enjoyed Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire, too. “Fictionally,” I loved (and wanted to be the old guy in) Sara Gruen’s Water for Elephants and was fascinated by Abraham Verghese’s Cutting for Stone.
Is New Zealand as gorgeous in person as it looks on film?
It truly is. It’s a very small country—4 ½ million—but the scenery between the mountains and both shorelines is wondrous. From north to south (think Miami to Boston) you encounter alpine mountains, fiords, volcanoes, beech forests, semi-tropical wetlands, hundreds of beaches, rushing rivers, etc. The U.S. has it all—it just takes days to get from place to place—but in NZ you can, literally, ski in the morning and drive to a beach for a swim by afternoon.
Do you have a dream project?
More movies and more Shakespeare. I’ve had the good fortune to do Lear, Shylock, and MacDuff for one theatre or another and would love to add Prospero and Claudius to the mix. (Too late for Hamlet!) Screen wise—I’m connected to a pair of film-makers Andrea Bosshard and Shane Loader from Torchlight Films. We shot Hook, Line and Sinker a couple of years ago and are just finishing The Great Maiden’s Blush early next month. In Sinker I played a truck driver; in Blush a Croatian opera singer.
Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?
I was very ill about eight years ago with an AVM (arteriovenous malformation) which led to a craniotomy and several years of post-surgical rehabilitation. Reading and being read to were wondrous things in my recovery. In “reading” a book, you want to be true to the author’s voice and, like a good storyteller, lead the listener through the tale. I like storytelling and I’m fortunate to work with several authors who really have good stories to tell.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
How about a giveaway? All you have to do to enter is sign up for my (very occasional and guaranteed non-spammy) newsletter. Go here to sign up: http://eepurl.com/bau3S9 (or use the form on the sidebar to the right—->) . Then comment on this post, leaving the email address or name you used to sign up. One randomly chosen winner will receive:
The wonderful audiobook version of Brute
A $10 Dreamspinner gift certificate
An autographed set of Travis and Drew trading cards
The ebook version of Motel. Pool.
Contest ends Wednesday, February 11, at 5pm PST.
Follow
February 2, 2015
What’s Kim Reading Now?: Love, Like Water by Rowan Speedwell
So if you’ve been following me at all, you know how much I love K.C. Kelly’s book narration. I talked about Housekeeping last week, but he did an especially amazing job with Brute. Seriously, you should listen. I’ve loved his work also on Mary Calmes’ Frog and Ryan Loveless’s Ethan, Who Loved Carter. So when I needed a new audiobook for my walks, I chose Rowan Speedwell’s Love, Like Water, which he narrated. Excellent choice.
The story isn’t a fast one, which is just fine. We have a gruff, sweet cowboy and a broken ex-FBI agent, which brings us buckets of angst. I came to care very much about both of them as well as the supporting characters. And the narration is absolutely perfect. I walked an extra half mile yesterday to listen to the end.
Follow
January 30, 2015
Blast from the Past: Bound by Guilt by Sandra Bard
Hi Kim, Thank you so much for arranging a day for me so I can ‘talk’ about something from my past.
It really is hard to believe Bound by Guilt came out so long ago—it was my first published novel in any genre. I am extremely grateful to Dreamspinner for accepting my work and for giving me the best editors/ artists to work with; my first publishing experience was very, very, positive.
I have changed since I wrote this book, a lot has happened to me and altered my perception of the world. I changed jobs, found new friends, got a new piercing and a tattoo, travelled to several countries and wrote several other books in the meantime. And looking back on Bound by Guilt, I sometimes wish I could change something, tweak it here a little or perhaps wish I hadn’t written that sentence. But realistically, I regret nothing. I enjoyed writing that book and I like the way it turned out.
My main characters were both problematic and hard to like in the beginning though hopefully by the end they were likeable. Bound by Guilt was from the beginning to the end, Kit’s point of view and Kit was a troubled guy with a troubled past. Sasha on the other hand looked liked he had it all but of course, what’s a story without complications. Without giving too much of the plot away, I can safely say, Sasha was in fact more troubled than Kit. In the end, they needed each other and I love it when my characters come across problems and overcome them by themselves—emerging better people than they were before. But one thing I never do is give a final line to my story like, “They lived happily together for ever and ever” because that’s not what happens in real life.
There are pit falls and problems and I know where I left off implied more rough times for the pair before they can smooth out all the ‘kinks’ of their relationship. When I wrote Bound by Guilt I was sure I was going to write a follow up novel but by the time I got around to it, it seemed a little too late. But I am finally going to see to the end of that, hopefully there’ll still be readers who are interested in seeing what happened to Sasha and Kit after the end of the last book.
In conclusion, I would like the thank everyone who gave me a chance. It was my first book and since I know how reluctant I am to try out a new author at times, I am grateful to everyone who read my book. I hope, in the future, there’ll be people who will read another book of mine and go, ‘you know what, I’ve read her first book.’
Summary: Kit Mason works at Eddy’s, a boutique where the clothes are chic, the paycheck’s weak, and Kit has no qualms about snagging rich older men looking to pay for play. When Cory St. James walks in, he checks all Kit’s boxes: he’s middle-aged, the entrepreneur of a pharmaceutical company, and already has a kept boy at home—what’s one more? Kit sets out to seduce Cory and bulldozes through his denials, but when Cory finally gives in, his lover, Sasha, catches them with their pants down. Sasha isn’t the pampered toy Kit expected. In fact, Kit may have misjudged him. And the consequences that ensue when Sasha catches Kit and Cory together leave him alone. Unwilling to be weighed down by guilt, Kit decides to look after Sasha himself, even if Sasha can’t stand the sight of him and there are a few things about Kit’s past he doesn’t want Sasha to know. But Kit isn’t willing to do all the work when it comes to forcing Sasha to rebuild his life. It’s a slow process of growing trust and learning to stand on their own—and together.
About the author: Sandra Bard
Sandra Bard has been writing stories ever since she was a small girl but she’s only recently started to publish. She loves to make up stories in her head, read books, watch anime (mecha, yaoi), and occasionally visits a fan-fiction site. She lives with her pets (fish, cats and dogs), and has been a volunteer for an organization that takes care of stray dogs (there are many, where she lives), for over ten years. When she has some free time she dabbles in Wushu, Tai Chi, and Yoga to keep herself flexible (she hopes). Her real life jobs involve lecturing at the university and freelancing as a maths tutor. Though she writes romance stories, she still hasn’t met Mr. Right and hopes one day that she’ll be able to rescue him (whoever he may be) from a fire breathing dragon (or something equally daring). She would love to hear from her readers and can be found at her tumblr (sandrabard.tumblr.com) or emailed at sandrabard123@gmail.com.
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Buy links
Dreamspinner: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/stor...
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Bound-Guilt-San...
All romance ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-boundbyguilt-1216006-149.html (with excerpt)
Follow
January 29, 2015
Please welcome Andrew Q. Gordon!
Thank you, Kim for letting me come borrow your space to talk a bit about my new release. I’ve long been a fan of yours and I enjoy the chance to come visit.
First Love has its origin in what was basically one sentence in The Last Grand Master. At one point Farrell tells Prince Peter of Belsport in passing about his first love. It was ten years before the opening of The Last Grand Master and Farrell’s mother—Queen Zenora—and teacher—Heminaltose—were still alive.
First Love not only shows what Farrell was like before the war began, it also let’s me show his mother and teacher, as well Yar-del City through Farrell’s eyes.
When I began writing the series, I think the first ‘place’ I envisioned was Haven and the Plaines of Gharaha. Yar-del City, however, is probably my favorite place in the ‘world.’ When Honorus sent His servant to Ardus, the lord of the gods tasked Kel with creating a kingdom in the virtually unsettled lands. Legend has it that Honorus, in the guise of a white eagle, guided Kel to the spot where he’d build his ‘gleaming city by the sea.’
As a wizard whose lifespan would be measured in centuries, not decades, Kel took his time with the construction of his throne city. Unlike other cities, which grew up around something—a fortress, town, trade center—Kel laid out his city from the first stone and included plans for future growth. He also had the assistance of small army of dwarves who relished the opportunity to build a lasting monument above ground.
Situated on a plateau overlooking the Kessan Ocean, Yar-del City didn’t lend itself to the sprawl that over large cities eventually experienced. And with the crown forbidding construction in and around the city, Yar-del City remained the way Kel envisioned when he began construction.
Farrell favored the high walls overlooking the sea. Other than the time spent with his mother, fondest memories of Yar-del were time times he sat on the walls and listened to the ocean crashing against the rocks below.
When we meet Farrell in The Last Grand Master, Yar-del had been conquered almost ten years prior. We never actually get to see Yar-del City in the series, in First Love, we get to see a tiny slice of the city. (I think, however, we will visit the city during book four if things go as I’ve planned)
There are times that really wish I could paint or draw so that I could transfer the image in my head to paper. Maybe by the time we get to book four I can find who can create the city as I see it so very one reading can see what Farrell sees when he refers back to the city. Until then, it stays where it is.
Enjoy!
First Love
~ANDREW Q. GORDON~
TOUR ORGANIZER: CREATIVE MINDS PROMOTIONS https://creativemindpromotions.wordpr...
PUBLISHER: DSP Publication
SERIES: Champion of the Gods
RELEASE DATE: 27th January 2015
LENGTH: 40 Pages
BLURB: Prequel to The Last Grand Master A Champion of the Gods Story On a visit to Yar-del with Grand Master Heminaltose to celebrate his age of majority birthday, Farrell catches the eye of Lieutenant Cameron, a handsome young officer in the Queen’s Guard. But having spent most of his life cooped up at Heminaltose’s school for wizards, Farrell is clueless as to palace intrigue. He is unaware that his access to the queen is something others would greatly prize. When the queen points out that his suitor is the son of a social climbing minor noble, Farrell must decide whether to heed the warning or meet with Cameron anyway.
BUY LINKS:
DSP Publication – http://www.dsppublications.com/books/first-love-by-andrew-q-gordon-72-b
All Romance eBooks – https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-firstlove-1729343-234.html
EXCERPT
Tenth hour would take an eternity to arrive, but they both had to attend to their duties. Although Cameron seemed suitably impressed by his appointment, it didn’t improve Farrell’s mood.
He stopped himself as he started to think of ways to get out of dinner. Not going wasn’t an option. More importantly, Heminaltose only allowed Farrell brief visits to Yar-del City to see his mother. Skipping dinner meant one less chance to spend time with her. And he’d see Cameron at tenth hour.
“Boy.” The deep voice behind Farrell made him freeze.
He turned slowly but already knew who he’d find. “Master Heminaltose.”
Dressed in his formal blue-gray robe, he leaned on his white wooden staff and tilted his head to the left. “What brings you to this out-of-the-way place? And why are you just standing there?”
Farrell had been in trouble often enough to know his master suspected him of something. When he tried to answer, his mouth went dry and his tongue turned to stone.
“Well?” The older man raised his bushy white eyebrows and peered down his nose at his student. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
His euphoric mood dashed, Farrell knew better than to lie. “I came here to meet someone.”
“Someone?”
“Yes, Master, someone.” This approach never worked, but he’d been too embarrassed to answer directly.
“Don’t treat me like a fool.”
Despite being at least an inch taller than his teacher, Farrell felt like Heminaltose towered over him.
“I’m not, Master. I… I just….” His cheeks flushed and he started to sweat. “I’d rather not say.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s private.”
“Private? You mean…?” Heminaltose jerked his head back and his eyes opened wider. “By the Six! Now? Your hormones have decided to kick in now?”
AUTHOR BIO: Andrew Q. Gordon wrote his first story back when yellow legal pads, ball point pens were common and a Smith Corona correctable typewriter was considered high tech. Adapting with technology, he now takes his MacBook somewhere quiet when he wants to write.
He currently lives in the Washington, D.C. area with his partner of nineteen years, their daughter and dog. In addition to dodging some very self-important D.C. ‘insiders’, Andrew uses his commute to catch up on his reading. When not working or writing, he enjoys soccer, high fantasy, baseball and seeing how much coffee he can drink in a day.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Website: www.andrewqgordon.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/andrewqugordon
Twitter: @andrewqgordon
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+AndrewQGordon
E-mail: andrewqgordon@gmail.com
GIVEAWAY DETAILS:
Andrew Q. Gordon is giving away the following:
$15 DSP Gift Card
An E-copy of “Third Eye” by Rick R. Reed
An E-copy of “Ghost” by Carole Cummings
An E-copy of a book by J. Tullos Hennig
Contest Begins: 27th January, 2015
Contest Ends: 9th February, 2015
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/disp...?
Follow
