S.A. Meade's Blog, page 6

From the WIP

Don't mind me, I'm just occupying some blog space after writing all day.
This snippet is from the current work-in-progress.

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I tucked the letter in my pocket and addressed the tissue wrapped rectangle, removing the covering carefully. The portrait, no bigger than a piece of foolscap, was mounted on a stout piece of card and signed. I looked at it for a long time, lost in the memories it stirred.

Daniel sat on a chair, holding the sketchbook to one side while he stared directly at the mirror with a naked unflinching gaze. The swift strokes of charcoal created a rendering so poised and lifelike I ached to touch him, willing it to life, wishing he was there. He'd left nothing hidden, including his cock, pale against a smudge of charcoal.

I set the portrait down and closed my eyes, ashamed of my body's reaction to the portrait, afraid of how much I missed him.

*Sketch is 'Seated Male Nude (Michael)by David Warren

It's Monday...have a hottie

It's been a little while but it's another grey day here and I thought the blog could use a bit of loveliness.

This one is definitely one of my muses almost to the point of addiction.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Aidan Turner - there will never be a sexier vampire.

A visit from an Angel

Good morning all.

Today I am pleased to let the delightful Angel Martinez visit my blog. She's offered up a really lovely little snippet for you all to read. I hope, like me, you'll find yourself wanting more after you read it.

**************

Before I get to the shameless self-promo, I'd like to talk a little bit about the soap opera. Yes. I've had one for a few years now.

Way back in the dark ages of social media, Yahoo had tried some odd site that was supposed to rival FB and all that stuff. I don't even recall what the thing was called, though some of you might. Thing was, it was a nice vehicle for posting stories and there was a batch of us who had been writing stories for fun over at Double Moon who ended up there posting more contemporary stuff. You'd post a chapter or a short, folks would comment. Kind of like Literotica but more intimate, like a critique group.

This was where I started to post chapters of Vic and Cody's story for a bit of feedback. Folks there loved the story and encouraged me to spruce it up and send it out. But in reading one of my friend's stories, I saw that she had sent flowers from Kemp's Floral Creations, the shop in my story. "I didn't know Kat and Vic lived in the same town," I said. "I think we all have to get together."

Hence the soap opera was born. Mic's characters and mine intermingled for several years, mostly M/M, a bit of M/F, and lots and lots of erotic content in the stories, though, you know me, a lot of drama, too. It's still out there, what happens after Aftermath, if you will, and a little bit before. You'd meet characters like Derelict Schiller and Mad Anthony Dupree. You'd see what happens to Jonathan and, of course, Vic and Cody. Forewarned is forearmed, though. There's a lot of multiple partner and sharing going on. If that's not your thing, leave things where they are at the end of Aftermath.

If you do want to visit Vic and Cody's town and their odd collection of friends, come see us at Erotic Spice: The Ongoing Story Blog, http://bellora.sensualwriter.com .

Vic and Cody's story fits in between chapters 10 and 11. And speaking of their story…

Blurb:

Victor and Cody have the American dream—a house, two cars, upwardly mobile income, and each other—but all is not well in paradise. Cody's naïve belief in other people's goodwill led to a recent assault from which he struggles to recover. Returning to his art, he seems to find his balance, only to be betrayed by a friend and brutally assaulted again.

Victor, wracked by guilt and shackled to a grueling, time-devouring career, must find a way to help Cody back from the darkness and to keep him safe from his self-destructive behavior. With the help of a common-sense therapist, some loyal friends, and Cody's own impetuous nature, their recovery and their relationship have a chance. If the criminals who attacked Cody will only leave him alone, that is.

Excerpt:

Vic slid into a pair of sweats and wandered downstairs where earnest noises of metal on metal drifted out of Cody's studio. Victor chuckled and shook his head. When the muse took Cody, he had to go to it. In the middle of dinner, at three in the morning, right after lovemaking. Vic didn't mind. This was what Cody did. To love Cody was to love his manic ecstasies of creation.

Understanding Cody's art was a different matter. He sculpted in metal and "found objects."

"You mean junk?" The first time inside one of Cody's studios, Victor had scratched his head at the pile of oddments Cody pointed to as his materials.

Cody's smile held all the enthusiasm of a little boy with his first bike. He nodded vigorously. "Yes, sometimes junk. Junk is a terrific resource. But sometimes things you have around, or see in an antique shop or a dime store, or the grocery store. Sometimes a thing you've had around for years and suddenly you take it apart and it's something completely different."

Only five years ago, but it seemed another universe, shivering in the pervasive cold of Cody's first studio, dimly lit and damp, with the ever-present audience of spiders and cockroaches.

Victor started coffee and bagels, took his shower, shaved and dressed, then gathered mugs and plates to take to the present studio. It was clean and bright, built to Cody's specifications. He shoved the door open and watched, lost in admiration.
In cutoffs, work boots, and a heavy, fireproof apron, Cody hammered away at a glowing piece of iron, forcing it to curl and conform to his vision. The light from his furnace painted his pale skin orange and gold, dancing in his hair as if it too were living flame. A miniature Vulcan at his forge, caught in the throes of creative imperative.

When Cody stopped to thrust the iron into a bucket of cold water, Vic cleared his throat. "Can you stop for breakfast, Michelangelo?"

For a heartbeat, those blue eyes stared at him without recognition. Victor waited. Sometimes Cody took a moment to return from his art. "Hey, baby." He finally broke into a huge grin. "Thank you, so thoughtful. Could you set it down for me? You off?"
"Have to be in for nine, yeah." Victor nodded, putting the coffee and cream cheese and jelly bagel down on the table by the door, out of the line of fire. "Listen, sweetheart, I'll probably be late again—"

"Aw, Vic, it's Friday," Cody interrupted mournfully.

"I know, little man, I'm sorry. That presentation to the board is tomorrow. God only knows why they have a board meeting on the weekend. But I've got to have everything ready and half the departments don't even have their data to me yet."

Cody let out a slow breath. "All right. You'll call me when you're coming home?"
Resting one butt cheek on the table, Victor sipped his coffee to give himself a moment. "Cody... I don't want you to feel like you're trapped here. What you said last night, it really got to me. If you go out, would you do me two favors?"
"Anything for you, sugar daddy." Cody chuckled. "Don't you wanna come out, too? Give me a call on the cell and come meet me?"

"Not tonight. Sorry, love." Vic shook his head. "Don't think I'm feeling up to it. Try to come home at a decent hour, all right?"

"Define decent." Cody's grin turned wicked.

"I'm serious here, little man. Before one, one-thirty, if you can manage it. And don't, please, don't go out alone."

Cody rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mom. And I know, I know. No Jonathan."

"Just make me happy. Find someone who'll watch out for you a little. Friends make sure their friends get home safe." Vic advised softly, hoping the message would slide in without throwing off Cody's good mood.

It was such a relief to see him in the studio again. After that one awful night, he'd been sliding between depression and wild bouts of self-destructive behavior. Vic hoped this was the end of the dark time. No more coming home to Cody passed out in a ruin of beer bottles, or not coming home until dawn, or simply sitting on the sofa staring at the wall, or refusing to eat for days.

For a long anxious moment, Cody chewed on his bottom lip, dark shadows wavering in his eyes. "Maybe I'll call Kurt n' Wyatt." He nodded. "Haven't seen them in, oh, God, ages."

Satisfied, Victor stood and gathered up his jacket. "Good idea. I'll see you tonight, sweetheart."

"Hey!" Cody's angry yell stopped him in the doorway. "You forget something?"
Victor looked down at himself, wondering if he'd forgotten his pants or his shoes. Nope, all there. In confusion, his gaze went to Cody and the hurt in those eyes jarred his memory. "Oh, chrissakes... I'm sorry..."

He put the jacket down, went to Cody, and took his sweet face between his hands. Victor tilted Cody's head up slowly and bent with a soft growl to capture Cody's lips, so soft and firm, in a deep, exploring kiss. "Better?" he breathed against Cody's mouth.

Cody's eyes were closed, his expression one of beatific joy. "Oh, man... yeah..."
"Have a good day, little man. Don't forget your breakfast." Victor waved on his way out. Despite the aching feeling of an oncoming cold, he felt better than he had in weeks.

Author:

Angel Martinez lives part time in the hectic suburban sprawl of northern Delaware and full time inside her head. When not at her evil day job, and not writing, she's most likely talking to her cats or enthusing over the latest bird to grace the backyard. Sometimes accused of having a wicked sense of humor, Angel is still surprised when people laugh.

Where's Angel on the net?

website: http://www.freewebs.com/angelwrites
facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martin...
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/AngelMartinezrr

Where's Angel's stuff?

At Amber Allure: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure...
Silver Publishing: https://spsilverpublishing.com/index/...
Romance First: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/produ...

Thank you for having us, Ms. Sue!

A Sunday Snippet

I haven't signed up for 'Six Sentence Sunday' but I thought I'd post a tiny bit from the WIP.

It's a cold, misty day here so it's ideal for writing.

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"Allow me." Wyndham took the recalcitrant tie and placed it carefully beneath my collar, before tying the appropriate knot.

I let my fingers work it out. "That feels right. Thank you." I looked at him, wondering why he hadn't moved away, why he was silent while he looked at me.

Wyndham leaned forward, his finger tucked beneath my chin. His breath was warm on my lips, his hand gentle on my skin. He drew close and kissed me. This was no stolen, cheeky kiss. He sighed between my parted lips and curled his hand around my neck, fingers whispering on the collar he'd just straightened. I rested my hands on his shoulders and let myself be led. He left me dizzy and breathless.

Wyndham's hand fell away. He took a step back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"There's no need to apologise." The room was cold once more.

"There's every need to apologise. I took a liberty I had no right to take." Wyndham turned away and closed the sketchbook. "It might be best if you left now."

His regret hung in the air. I wished that he'd turn around. Instead, Wyndham stared resolutely at the rain, arms wrapped around the sketchbook.

I took a deep breath. "I'd apologise but I'm not sure what I'd be apologising for. I bid you good day, sir." I left the room with as much dignity as I could muster at short notice. Once I reached the gloom of the hall, I pressed my forehead and palms to the wall and wondered what I'd done wrong.

It was no surprise when Winters later informed me that Wyndham would be taking a light meal in his room that evening.

A wee teaser

From 'Darkness at Endersley'.

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Conversation returned with the meat course. The breeze moved through the parted curtains and a low, distant roll of thunder promised a stormy end to the day. We worked our way through the courses until all that was left was port and cigars in the sitting room. The fish course was placed before us. Trout, covered in a delicate creamy sauce, a favourite of mine. Mrs Washburn was clearly intent on ensuring I enjoyed every course. An appreciative silence accompanied the fish. The dining room windows were open to the evening breeze and the soft whisper of leaves. I stole a guilty glance at Wyndham and tried to ignore the tightness in the pit of my stomach, a tug of anticipation and futile longing. Eighteen months of self-imposed exile unravelled with every moment in his presence.

Time to write another one.

So, I decided to write a series.

Book One is done and I'm waiting to hear whether it's a 'go' or not. I've been wallowing in my usual submission limbo, opening the file of the next book every day and staring at two pages I've written when I'm not chasing shiny things on the internet.
Today, I've decided to pull my finger out and gerronwithit.

Since I've posted this intention on this blog, that means I have to finish it. So, if you see me whining on Facebook or Twitter that I have writer's block, feel free to kick me in the arse.

This one, tentatively titled 'Darkness at Endersley', starts in London, but is mainly set at Endersley House, a fictional place high up on the Wiltshire Downs. As a (dubious) treat, here's the opening paragraph in all it's rough draft glory.

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I slipped out of the brothel and onto the rain-soaked pavement. The storm hadn't abated. Lightning flickered across a sky that had an ominous red glow toward the direction of the docks. I just wanted to get home. An empty house was better than nothing, was better than the dark, fetid hell of Whitechapel. I could crawl into bed and sleep away my shame.

Lisa Worrall has a shiny new release!

Today's a rare departure for me. The lovely Lisa Worrall has a new release - 'Thirst' and I'm happy to be able to post a very tantalizing snippet here. Make sure you check it out!


Blurb:

Detective Max Bowman is hunting a serial killer terrorizing the city, who leaves victims drained of blood. No fingerprints, no clues, no ideas. Only a mysterious inscription carved into each body.

Frustrated with the lack of progress, Max takes a break in a local pub. Attacked by the attractive man buying him drinks, he is left for dead in the alley behind the bar.

Waking up in Carter Gray's bed was the last thing he expected. Who was this mysterious man? What was his dark secret? Why does he make Max tremble with anticipation every time their eyes meet?

It becomes apparent that Carter is the only one with the 'expertise' to help him find the killer. But is his attraction to Carter clouding his judgment and is he refusing to acknowledge that the killer may well be Carter himself?

Excerpt:

Pain, lots of pain. Max tried to force his eyes open, but only one would comply; the other already swollen shut from the impact of a closed fist. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying in the alley behind the bar. He dimly remembered a tall blond man with piercing blue eyes who introduced himself as Tony, or it might have been Tommy, buying him a beer, followed by way too many shots, he'd stopped counting after the fourth; remembered laughing and joking with him, flirting and being flirted with in return. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing that was until the man suggested they go somewhere quieter.
Instead of heading out into the brightly lit street, Max had found himself being jostled from both sides into the alley behind the bar. The blond held onto him on his left and from nowhere a dark haired man grabbed his right arm. Too late Max realized that everything was out of place, just as the blond man's fist connected with his face and his knee with Max's groin.
The two of them punched and kicked him, and all he could do was curl in on himself on the ground and hope he could minimize the damage. He didn't want to think too much about the sharp snap he heard when a hard boot connected with his ribs, nor the meaty sounds of flesh upon flesh. Max was assaulted by a wave of dizziness and he felt darkness reach out to engulf him in its warm embrace, but he mentally shook his head and stubbornly refused to let it claim him. He felt hands grabbing at his keys and his wallet and then more pain as a boot connected with the muscle in the left cheek of his ass. His head was pulled back by a vicious hand twisting in his chestnut-colored hair, his glassy brown gaze locking onto piercing blue as the word "Fag" was spat at him and his head was slammed back down on the dirt.
Max heard their retreating footsteps and he tried to lift his head, the pain in his side causing a cry to fall from his lips at the movement. He coughed and cringed as he saw dark splatters of blood hit the ground. Wiping the back of a shaky hand across his lips, he stared at the stain of red on his skin. He stumbled to his knees, trying to use the wall beside him to pull himself up. His legs buckled, and he crashed back to the ground, a deep groan wrenched from him as he fell. Suddenly, he felt two strong arms, one around his shoulders and one under his knees, lifting him as if he weighed no more than a small child. His head lolled to the side, coming to rest on a firm shoulder and he had a glimpse of jade green eyes looking down into his as the dark claimed him once more.
* * * *
Carter pulled open the door of his black 1968 Ford Mustang and eased his ward carefully into shotgun, slowly reclining the seat to make the position more comfortable. Taking off his heavy woolen coat, he rolled it and slipped it behind the man's head to prop up the semi-conscious man. He gazed down at the battered face he had been watching all night from his dark corner of the bar, aware how beautiful it was underneath the swelling and bruising. The man's name was Max that much he knew, because he had heard him introduce himself to his assailant. He frowned, furious with himself that he had realized too late the blond twink and his accomplice's plans for the young man. If he hadn't been distracted, if he hadn't been so thirsty…
Carter slid behind the wheel, his green eyes glittering in the muted glow from the dome light as he closed the door behind him. A small smile lifted his lips as he headed his car toward home. The two men who had robbed and beaten Max and left him for dead had already paid for what they'd done. Glancing into his rear-view mirror, he parted his lips and ran his tongue down his elongated incisors.
They wouldn't be hurting anyone ever again, and he wasn't thirsty anymore.

If you want to read more, you can buy Thirst here

All about Lisa: I was born in Romford, Essex, but am now living in Leigh on Sea, ten minutes away from the seaside town of Southend on Sea, which boasts the longest pier in the world. My claim to fame! I am having a total ball creating stories for the characters clamoring in my head for attention. And I am totally amazed by the support they've received and hope to give them voice for as long as people want to hear what they have to say.

On a personal note, I am the single mother of two children, aged eight and six, which makes for some interesting conversations, which sometimes end up in my stories! As if that wasn't enough to make me prematurely gray, we also have acquired a puppy called Winnie, named after my biggest vice... the Winchester brothers in Supernatural.

Beat the Winter Blues Blog Tour

So, here we are...it's the wrong side of Christmas, the last of the chocolates, cookies, turkey, etc. have gone and all we're left with are those boring biscuits from the selection tin and a bit of mouldy stilton that's stinking up the fridge. What better time for a grand tour comprising 16 authors, a host of fun and interesting blogs and a grand prize at the end of it all.

It's going to be a fun ride, so make sure you tag along and see what we're doing to beat the winter blues.


January-April 2012
Sixteen authors will do their best to make your winter brighter in January, February, March, and April. (Unless you're south of the equator, and then we'll just be jealous of your summer.) Every Wednesday will be a new stop on the tour (see schedule below). Be sure to leave a comment at each stop for up to sixteen chances at the grand prize: a $200 USD gift certificate to the e-retailer of your choice. Also keep an eye out for links to individual authors' sites on their release dates for a chance to win some free books.
January 11: How We Beat the Winter Blues (hosted by Coffee & Porn in the Morning)
January 18: Favorite Wintertime Activities (hosted by Josephine Myles)
January 25: Join us for a January getaway (hosted by Andrew Grey)
February 1: Winter in My Backyard (hosted by Lou Harper)
February 8: "If I could get away right now, I'd go to…" (hosted by Ellis Carrington)
February 15: Valentine's Day (hosted by J.L. Merrow)
February 22: Authors by the Fireside (hosted by Kate McMurray)
February 29: Join us for a February getaway (hosted by Z.A. Maxfield)
March 7: Things to Do in a Blizzard (hosted by S.A. Meade)
March 14: St. Patrick's Day (hosted by Clare London)
March 21: Spring Break (hosted by Blaine Arden)
March 28: Join us for a March Getaway (hosted by Tales from the Writing Cave)
April 4: Favorite Winter Movies (hosted by Stumbling Over Chaos)
April 11: Signs of Spring (hosted by J.P. Barnaby)
April 18: Join us for an April Getaway (hosted by Marie Sexton)
April 25: Farewell (hosted by Joyfully Jay)
April 30: Grand Prize Announcement (hosted by Heidi Cullinan)

Today I'm...

On Lisa Worrall's blog!

Please stop by and say 'hello'!

An Interview!

Happy New Year to everyone!

The year is off to a pretty good start in that m/m author Sue Brown has interviewed me for her blog today. If you get a chance, stop in and check it out. I had great fun answering the questions and, as a bonus, there's a nice little excerpt from Stolen Summer with both food and snoggage. Just click on the link below.

Sue Brown's Stories