B.A. Tortuga's Blog, page 90
December 12, 2012
The Next Big Thing
Let me start this whole thing out by saying that the internet is a magical thing.
Hear me out, y'all.
I know that everyone (or at least lots and lots -- I mean, seriously, when did I become the type of person that says 'everyone' whenever I feel like someone doesn't agree with my point, like I'm this crazy downtrodden broad? *snorts* Adds 'stop doing that' to my amazingly huge list of New Year's resolutions) says that it's unhealthy to live electronically, but come on.
Kari Lynn? I would never have met her and become friends if it hadn't been for Twitter. I mean, come on, y'all, she lives where there's snow. Lots of snow. All the time. She tells me the temps at her house and I just think, "7 degrees? Honey, you dropped a zero somewhere..."
At any rate, she tagged my happy ass in this blog hop, and I said yes, because I'm a little bit of a masochist and friends say yes and I didn't know at the time that it would be so hard to tag other people (four of my original taggers said yes, about 6 people had already been poked). ;-)
At any rate, The Next Big Thing. It goes like this: a writer (that's me) posts the answers to a list of questions about their book (that's Terms of Release -- note, please that this is the book I'm working on in the next few minutes. I have the attention span of a gnat on crack and I'm currently writing 3 novels and a co-written one, plus a New Year's Eve short. Don't judge, just send coffee), then 'tags' five friends, who tag five more friends, and so on. Follow the links and you get to know folks and their books along the way.
That's it.
So, I yammer on, you click links, we all get to get excited about the upcoming books (and Kari Lynn Dell? WRITING A BULLFIGHTER. OMG. *ahem* Yes. Talented lady, that cowgirl. *sparkles with the bullfighter love*
What is the working title of your next book?
Terms of Release.
Where did the idea come from for the book?
So, I'm a music psycho. I was reading a book that was trying to convince me to outline a novel instead of just making it up as I go when this song come on the iTunes. Modern Day Prodigal Son by Brantley Gilbert.
I stopped reading.
I hit replay.
I burst into tears.
When Julia woke up from her nap, Sage had a beginning, even though I don't have room for him in the schedule.
What genre does your book fall under?
Contemporary western m/m romance.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
*lips twist* Hrm. Sorry, y'all. That's not how I roll. Sage looks like Sage (a wee pocket cowboy with bad knees and sad eyes and I just want to squish him) and Win looks like Win, who looks like his daddy, but younger and hotter.. Sage's daddy looks sorta like my daddy and Sage's momma looks very much like my best friend's mom looked twenty years ago...
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
After eight years in the federal pen for killing his lover, Angel, the last thing Sage Redding wants in the world is to go back to his tiny east Texas town where everyone knows his name, his former lover's uncle is the sheriff, his brother-in-law thinks he's a pedophile and Angel's daddy owns the county, but his daddy's got Parkinson's and needs him home and there's a war hero turned cop that may need him home, too.
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
I sort of promised this book to a publisher I haven't worked with yet. ;-)
How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
*snorts* I'll let you know. This one's going to be a long one.
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Hrm... think a mix of Old Town New and the Roughstock boys, but set where Chasing Flame is.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
*ponders that*
I have this love/hate relationship with tiny-town Texas. Obviously I love it -- I grew up there, my family is there, my heart is there. My daddy. Sisters. Nieces. My friends. I know that place like I know my own bed.
But.
I don't live there. I can't. I'm a pink-haired, tattooed, opinionated lesbian that refuses to apologize for being who I am. It's impossible to go home without making the people that live there incredibly uncomfortable and, unfortunately, that can lead to violence. I'll never be able to go home again. I know that.
Terms of Release is me working through all that mess in my soul.
What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?
I'm not shying away from the prison experience, or the psychological shit that being incarcerated pulls on a man. Sage is broken in a way I've never written before. I'm praying for him. (Is that weird? To genuinely need for them to be okay?)
And now for the fun part:
I get to pass the buck to other suckers!
Bella Leone -- Oh, y'all. I got the incredible luck of meeting Bella in person this year and I can tell you, she's like a tiny blinding light of pure joy.
Kerry Freeman -- *cackles* Let me tell you, Ms. Freeman makes me laugh. Also, she can karaoke her ass off. I forgive her for rooting for 'Bama. Mostly. ;-)
Sean Michael -- What can I say? This is my best friend and the most prolific author I know.
Simone Anderson -- Simone is another one of those folks that you can just sit and chat with for a hundred million years and then look up and go, "wait, what day is it?"
So there you go. Hop, skip and jump through the links, backward and forward, and meet a whole bunch of great people. Enjoy!
December 11, 2012
Frosty Fiction, Day 11: Ty and Abe
“Link? Link, did you RSVP to that party with Mrs. Hannibal and the Historical Society?” Ty looked at his calendar, the scribbled ‘party’ there in huge scrawled not-written-by-him letters.
“Uh-huh.”
“And did you tell them yes?” Those women were powerful old biddies and Abe wanted that remodel job for the city hall entryway.
“Uh-uh.”
Ty’s lips twisted. “So... what is this on my calendar?”
At least Abe hadn’t just left the old girls hanging, right? Right?
Abe wandered in from the front, face wreathed in a purely evil grin. “You got plans tonight.”
“Do I?”
That grin just got wider. “Uh-huh. C’mere.”
He headed over, not sure what his lover was up to, but knowing he was up for it. “What did you do?”
A dark, soft blindfold covered his eyes, then warm lips brushed his ear. “We got plans, baby.”
“Plans?” Oh, fuck.
“Uh-huh. Gonna blow your mind. Trust me?”
“Always.” Forever.
And he couldn’t wait.
***
Ty and Abe's story is Long Road Home, for those of you that haven't been hanging with me for 293479 years. ;-)
Y'all know the drill by now. Comment! :D
Much love,
BA
December 10, 2012
Frosty Fiction, Day 10: Beau and Sammy
Sammy was singing.
Loud.
Silent Night. O Come All Ye Faithful. Go Tell It On the Mountain.
The First Noel, O Holy Night, Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town and ‘Zat You Santa Claus.
One after another.
Beau loved it. He sat there on Coke’s front porch, rocking and drinking a beer as Sammy worked on one of the four-wheelers Coke was having troubles with.
The fearless one himself came out of the house, with a Dr. Pepper for Sammy. “He’s having fun, Cajun.”
“He is, cher.”
“I. Does he know when he sings he don’t mess up the words?”
“Yep. I’ve had him sing for his supper sometimes.”
“No shit? I like it.” Coke grinned at him. “Dillon’s in the kitchen making sammiches. You willing to cook supper? I got pork loin in there.”
“Shit, yeah. S’long as Dillweed doesn’t get all up in arms.”
“You ain’t going to make gumbo; it’s all good.”
Sammy bellered. “O come let us a-DORE hi-IM, Chriiiiiiiist the Lord!”
Coke’s grin was bright as all fuck. “Going to get him his drink.”
“Thanks, cher.” Beau hummed along, heading in to see about that pork loin.
Sammy’s voice followed him, all the way in.
“All I want for Christmas is you...”
***
:D
Much love, y'all.
BA
December 9, 2012
Frosty Fiction, Day 9: Garret and Kelly
The pictures came in on his emails -- desert and sand, explosions, scarred earth. Soldiers in battle gear. Soldiers in the hospital. Kids with scared eyes and gaunt faces. It had started with long letters about how things were, about how much Kelly missed him, missed Nashville.
Then the long letters shortened to, “miss you, man.”
Sometimes it was just a date, a location.
Sometimes not even that.
Garrett wasn’t sure how Kelly bore it, day after day.
Christmas eve came, and he was sitting in his momma’s kitchen, bored out of his mind while everyone wandered and cooked and shit.
An email popped up on his phone, a picture of a tiny tree, a handful of lights. A note. “Need you like breathing.”
He sighed. This was utter bullshit.
He just emailed back. “Then come home to me.”
***
Garrett and Kelly are from the Roughstock novella, Shutter Speed. They want another book where they get their permanent happy ending.
:D
You know the drill. Comment away. I'll announce winners Friday.
Much love, y'all.
BA
Six Sentence Sunday: What She Wants
"Oh, now. That's pretty." A camera flash went off, blinding him.
Adrian shot up on the bed, Packer grunting when Adrian's hand landed hard on his belly. "What the fuck!"
"Oh, don't stop on my account, boys."
***
From my latest release, What She Wants. Available at Torquere Books.
Want to play along? It’s fun and easy
1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published
2. pick six sentences
3. post ‘em on your blog or website on SundayThis snippet is from Adam's story, Tag Team, that I'm currently plugging away at. The boys are currently in a pervy position, in fact. :D Want to play along? It’s fun and easy 1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published 2. pick six sentences 3. post ‘em on your blog or website on Sunday
December 8, 2012
Frosty Fiction, Day 8: Samantha, Kody and Mesa
Kody stood in the main house, staring. “Uh, Mesa?”
“Yeah, baby?”
The room was filled with boxes and lights, garland and sparkles and... wow.
“Did the North Pole explode in here?”
His Alpha stood there, hands on his hips, glaring. “What? It’s Sammy’s first Christmas with us. I don’t want her disappointed.”
Kody snorted. Their mate wasn’t sad. Samantha loved it here, loved the clan.
Loved him and Mesa.
“Don’t you snort at me. It needs to be perfect.”
“You’ve got enough lights to signal space.”
“I might have a few too many.”
Sammy walked in the living room, whistling happily, before she stopped, blinking, and Kody winced, waiting for the explosion.
What he got was a happy laugh. “Are we all decorating together?”
“Yes!” Mesa, his big alpha Mesa, bounced. Bounced.
“Oh, how fun. I’ll get my iPod. There’s Christmas music.”
They’d lost their minds, both of them. They were wolves. Did wolves really even do Christmas? Kody chuckled. “Can I have a Yule log?”
“Baby, you can have a Yule tree if you want.”
“And hot chocolate, Kody-love. With booze.” Sammy bounced, and Kody’s eyes crossed at the boobage. So pretty. “Our first Christmas altogether!”
Their joy was infectious, and he found himself nodding. “I’m on it. Don’t start without me.”
“Start what?” Mesa popped his butt on the way by. “You’re right here.”
“Decorating. I was going to make drinks.”
“Oh!” Mesa came back to kiss him. “We’ll help.”
God, his mate was like a puppy. It was adorable.
Christmas music filled the air and he heard Sammy’s laughter. “Boys! Come on! Let’s play!”
Mesa kissed him one more time before whispering, “Don’t worry, baby. I got mistletoe, too.”
“You’re good to me.” He hummed, rubbed their noses together. “Mate.”
“Yeah. Finally. So it’s okay that I went a little nuts?”
“She brings it out in you.”
“You both do.” Mesa tugged him toward the kitchen where their girl was already heating milk for hot chocolate. This whole Christmas thing might just be fun.
***
Mesa, Kody and Samantha's story is Shifting Streams: Climbing the Ladder. You know the drill by now, y'all. Comment for a chance to win.
:D
Much love, y'all.
BA
What I Worked On This Week
December 7, 2012
Winners for Week One
Kaytee
FanGirl Mom
Donna
Button on the Top
Jaymi
and Stacy Houston!
Y'all email me at batortuga at gmail and let me know which backlist book you'd like and I'll email it on. :D
Happy holidays and much love!
BA
Frosty Fiction, Day 7: Sam and Gus
“What’s your position on the Nutcracker Suite?”
Sam’s head swiveled to look at him, the low growl barely audible. “Why?”
Gus grinned, slow and lazy. God, they hadn’t fought in so long. “Come on, Puss. You’re a dancer. Were you the mouse?”
“I was a choreographer, you animal, not a ballet dancer.”
He pouted, making sure it was as dramatic as possible. “No tutu?”
This time the growl was louder. “No?”
“Not even for me, Puss?”
The toe of a pair of boots whipped toward him, just barely touching his balls. “Let’s discuss nut cracking, Sweet.”
***
;-)
Much love,
BA
