Amy Rae Durreson's Blog, page 14

At least twice as fast as that!

“Well, in our country,” said Alice, still panting a little, “you’d generally get to somewhere else — if you run very fast for a long time, as we’ve been doing.”

“A slow sort of country!” said the Queen. “Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!”

That pretty much sums up my week. You get weeks like that in teaching sometimes, and last week was a classic example of the type. It started with a formal lesson observation and ended with a three-day sick headache and the most administratively complex set of exams we run all year, with a couple of six lesson teaching days and a surprise cover lesson somewhere in the middle. Oh, and not entirely coincidentally, my blood sugars went haywire (ah, diabetes, you still suck and always will).

What that meant, sadly, was this was the first week this year when I barely wrote anything. It was perhaps a timely reminder to take a breather, because I’ve been running myself ragged trying to get Reawakening finished and keep up with my marking. All the same, I’m a little sad, because I was making storming progress with it.

With about half an hour of weekend left, I’ve been reading through recent chapters in the interest of getting moving again next week. As I was doing so, I realised that I haven’t posted any snippets from this since the very first chapter, so here’s a little glimpse of Tarn and Gard, my dragonlord and desert spirit, in their human forms from Chapter 27, being about as cute as these two get.

“And what do you do all day?” Tarn asked him, as the others began to bustle behind them.

“I watch over my desert,” Gard said indignantly, his shoulders rising. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep everyone and everything safe? There’s always some creature, or some entire caravan if we’re talking about humans, walking straight into trouble. The work I’ll have to do to put everything back in balance after this…” He trailed off, and then asked quietly, “Tarn, if the Shadow destroys me, who will look after my desert? Will some new Alagard rise out of the wind and take my place?”

Tarn, whose fires burned eternally, had never been forced to consider his own mortality. Unsure, he said, “I won’t let that happen.”

Gard twitched his shoulder irritably.

Tarn tried again. “You are the only desert I could ever endure.”

“Better,” Gard sniffed, but leaned back when Tarn wrapped his arms around his waist. “Oh, is this how it’s going to be? I show a moment of weakness and you use it as an excuse to grope me? Typical.”

But he had folded his arms over Tarn’s, linking their hands, so Tarn ignored his protests.

Now if only they’d stop bickering long enough to let me get them to the final confrontation with the Big Evil…

On top of the world…

I’m coming to the end of a lovely week off. I’ve caught up with lost sleep, and written deep into the nights, so it will be a shock to go back to work on Monday. Reactions to Snow on the Roof seem to be generally positive, ranging from very kind (some Goodreads commenters) to the bizarrely inappropriate (my mother, who decided that this was the perfect opportunity to tell me about my late grandfather’s preferences in adult TV channels. Cheers, Mum).

Right now, little flakes of snow are fluttering about outside my window in a desultory way, but the week started with glorious bright weather. Nothing soothes my spirits and gets my muses singing like a long hike with glorious views, so I headed down to the South Downs to enjoy the sunshine. This stretch of the South Downs Way is a little to the east of Ewan’s village, about 40 miles south of where I live.

Here, to start, are the fields by Amberley Railway station. This was the lowest point of the walk, and it was still relatively early. At this point in the year, the shadows stay long all day, and frost lingers almost until noon.

From there the path runs up a lane delightfully named High Titten until you finally reach the top of the ridge. Here’s looking back down towards the Weald. You can just see the village of Amberley in the top right. Those cows were so intent on their breakfast that they didn’t even look up as I climbed past them.

The South Downs Way is a very accessible and popular path. I’ve walked the previous sections at weekends and in the summer and it’s always busy. This time, on a Monday in February, I only saw a handful of people all day. For most of the walk, it was the wind, the wildlife and me.

Oh, and a lot of cows.

About an hour and a half into my walk, I stopped for a second breakfast (why, yes, I am a hobbit) on the end of this ancient earthwork. There were earthworks and tumuli all along this stretch of the path, some huge and obvious and others just a mark on the map or rise of earth in the fields.

I stopped for lunch at Chactonbury Ring. This is an Iron Age hill fort up on Chactonbury Hill, which is a Marilyn (a hill of over 150m relative height, as opposed to a Munro, a mountain of more than 3000 feet). The Romans built temples here and in the 18th century  it was planted with beech trees. Pretty much any ancient Sussex landmark comes with a story about the devil. Here, if you run seven times anticlockwise around the ring, he will appear and offer you a bowl of soup in exchange for your soul.

Mmm, soup (it was cold and windy up there).

The Great Storm of 1987 (if you are not British, substitute a mild synonym for high winds here) destroyed most of the original beech trees and they were replanted. In the intervening decades, they’ve almost regrown, but you can still see the uneven coverage here, looking back at the ring from further along the ridge.

Soon after that, I turned my back on the distant views of Shoreham and Brighton, and picked my way slowly back down into the valley.

There are few pleasures in life that can match a cold bright morning and a tall hill to conquer, with not another soul in sight, and the birds busy in the hedgerows. I came home feeling renewed.

What are your simple pleasures? What inspires you?

Out tomorrow: the story that made me want to write again.

I started my first book when I was twelve. It was terrible, as most first novels are, but I can still remember the excitement of writing ‘Chapter One’ at the top of the first page, underlining it twice, and then plunging into the story. As a teenager I wrote at every opportunity: in lessons (oh, the heartache of having my notebook confiscated by unsympathetic teachers), on trains and buses, under the covers at night, in the dark because my torch batteries had died and my parents had demanded lights out even though I was almost at the end of a chapter! I felt, then and now, ill and tired if I went a day without writing.

As I grew up, I had to moderate the urge a little, as we all do when faced with study and jobs and relationships, but it was still the driving force of my life: I see with a writer’s eyes, tell myself stories in my head wherever I am, and constantly try to frame the words to capture how I’m feeling or what I’m experiencing at any given moment. I’m the teacher who will occasionally tell a tired and miserable class to put their pens away on a Friday afternoon and just tell them a story until they’re ready to work again. I run the creative writing club and organize each year’s teaching of Nanowrimo. I write a serial for the school paper, and am the first person my colleagues call on if they need a quick bit of fiction to use in a lesson, assembly or competition.

But I haven’t been writing many stories of my own lately. Bit by bit, with every ‘not quite right for our publication,’ the joy of writing faded a little. I’ve always been a speculative fiction writer, and it was a hard blow to realize that the stories I wanted to tell in that genre weren’t the stories people wanted to read. The few small press publications I managed opened no doors. I began to write less and less, even though I could feel a little part of my soul growing cold and brittle. One day, when I mentioned something about my writing at a family dinner, my brother-in-law, whom I’ve known for years, sat up and asked, “What writing?”

In the end, I decided to stop trying to force the words out and focus on reading until I found my way back to my stories. I’d just bought myself a Kindle, and stumbled across m/m romance when I was hunting for ebook recommendations.

So I read. And I read and I read and I read, and somewhere in amongst the reading, I thought, I could write this. I was still feeling a little shy, so I did three things to get started. I made a list of all the stories on my to-write list that included a m/m relationship. It was a much longer list than I’d expected, so that led me to stage two. I picked twelve photographs I’d taken over the years, one for each month, and challenged myself to come up with a couple and a story idea that could be set in each place. I ended up with multiple ideas for most months. Already I had a wealth of things I could be writing. So stage three was to search around the websites of m/m romance publishers and see if I could think of ideas for every open call for submissions I could find. I knew I wouldn’t have time to write them all, but if I was seriously planning to switch genres after the best part of two decades, I wanted to know that I had enough material to make it worthwhile.

I came up with an idea for everything except Dreamspinner’s call for Snow on the Roof, a proposed anthology of stories where at least one of the protagonists was over forty. I’d spent the last ten years writing about twenty-somethings with superpowers and something so down to earth seemed right outside my comfort zone.

So I went on holiday, taking all my new optimism about writing with me as I backpacked around North Wales with scraps of a hundred stories swirling around in my head. A few days in, I found myself walking along the Anglesey coastal path, from Holyhead to Trearddur  Bay, past mysterious tumbledown buildings and up over the slopes of Holyhead Mountain to see the birds nesting on cliffs below South Stack lighthouse (highly recommended as a day walk if you’re in the area). Sitting at the bus stop in Treaddur that evening, trying to ignore how much my legs were hurting, I was more focused on planning the next day’s walk than thinking about writing.

Then I was passed by a man in his sixties and a little girl of about eight, clearly granddad and granddaughter. He was carrying a delivery bag of newspapers and listening gravely as she poured out all of her woes in a passionate whisper. I watched them go up the hill and wondered whose paper round it was and  if she helped him with it every day.

The bus came and I hopped on and went back to reading Karin Altenberg’s Island of Wings, which is a wonderful novel set on the Hebridean island of St Kilda’s, the remotest part of the British Isles. I finished the book mid-evening, and my mind drifted back to those two and their paper round. All of a sudden, I said aloud, “Snow on the Roof!”

By the end of the next day’s walking, Ewan was talking to me. I knew about his grandkids, Mia, Connor and Kayla, and the whole story of how he’d ended up taking Connor’s paper round and how Kayla came along to keep him company and how she liked to talk, just like her grandmother, who he still missed so much. I knew about his childhood on the west coast of Scotland and about Alex, the man with sad eyes who always offered him a cup of tea when he got to the highest point on his round. I’d also met Alex, though his voice wasn’t as clear as Ewan’s. I knew about how devastated he was to lose Peter, his partner, and how they’d lived their life in the closet, and how embarrassed he was to realize that the whole village had figured it out anyway.

That next evening, I started to write. It was gone midnight before I paused to think. After that, the story took over. I wrote on steam trains and little mountain buses with bad suspension. I wrote sitting in the shadow of ruined castles, snowed into the hostel on Snowdon, lashed by rain on the sand dunes of the Lleyn peninsula,  in cafes and churchyards and slate mines. I used up all the pens I had with me, and missed a train buying a new one and then sat on the platform and wrote for two hours waiting for the next one. I wrote all the way home, and kept writing once I got there.

I’m still writing with the same fervor  as if I was twelve again. Once I’d finished Ewan’s story, I just started the next one. My first sale, The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock, was the fourth story I wrote, because of the order of deadlines, but Ewan’s story, Granddad’s Cup of Tea,  was my second sale.

The Snow on the Roof anthology comes out tomorrow, and there’s a quiet little story in there which exists because of a little girl and her granddad who walked past a tired hiker at a bus stop one day last April. It’s the first story I’ve ever written without a hint of magic or the supernatural, but it was magic for me in a very different way.

Snow on the Roof, in more than one sense

Goodness, where does time go. I've had a wonderfully busy winter, although only recently has it got cold enough for proper snow. We've had a week of white-washed rooftops and snowball fights, but now two days of heavy showers and sunshine have washed it all away and the world seems very green all of a sudden. There's just a hint of spring in the air, enough to lift the heart.

And I've got a couple of a stories coming out this spring. Firstly, my story "Granddad's Cup of Tea" will be in Dreamspinner's  Snow on the Roof anthology which comes out on February 11th (did you see that super-smooth segue, did you, huh?). This story is rather precious to me, because it was the very first m/m romance story I wrote, and the first story of any kind I've finished in a very long time. The theme of the anthology is older couples, and mine is a story about two widowers in a Sussex village who slowly fall in love. I really enjoyed writing about Ewan and Alex and their families and I hope you all enjoy meeting them in a couple of weeks time. Click on the banner to find out more.

I've also had a piece accepted for the Closet Capers Anthology which is due out in April - I'll post more about that one closer to the time.

I've also been pleased with the response to The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock. The reviews on Goodreads were mixed, which I gather is par for the course, but all the review sites gave it 4/5, which is good going for a debut novella, at least in my humble opinion ;) I was also thrilled to bits to discover it had been assigned to Christmas Day in the Advent Calendar. I didn't know in advance and my shriek of excitement on Christmas morning woke up my poor brother, who was staying in my spare room for the holiday. Sadly it didn't snow at Christmas here, merely before and after, and though I considered wandering down the river last weekend to take photos of locks in the snow, it didn't happen. I was at the stage in a bout of flu where every breath hurt and it's a good forty minute walk from the station to the first lock. Unlike Ryan, I've got more sense to take off into the snowy countryside when I'm not ready for it, so I stayed at home in bed and wrote about a disgruntled dragon instead.

I'm now busy finishing off my Nano novel, Reawakening. It's fun to be working on a full-length project again after all these short stories recently, and Tarn and Gard keep making me snicker. Tarn is so laconic and controlled and Gard is such a fast-talking git, and that dynamic just lets me run with every scene. The problem's going to be editing out the swathes of banter which doesn't add anything to the plot.

I've also been busy this week putting together a wordpress site - there's a new free read, When Life Gives You Lemons up there. It's adult-rated, so consider yourself warned ;)

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Snow on the Roof, in more than one sense!

Goodness, where does time go? I’ve had a wonderfully busy winter, although only recently has it got cold enough for proper snow. We’ve had a week of white-washed rooftops and snowball fights, but now two days of heavy showers and sunshine have washed it all away and the world seems very green all of a sudden. There’s just a hint of spring in the air, enough to lift the heart.

And I’ve got a couple of a stories coming out this spring. Firstly, my story “Granddad’s Cup of Tea” will be in Dreamspinner’s Snow on the Roof anthology which comes out on February 11th (did you see that super-smooth segue, did you, huh?). This story is rather precious to me, because it was the very first m/m romance story I wrote, and the first story of any kind I’ve finished in a very long time. The theme of the anthology is older couples, and mine is a story about two widowers in a Sussex village who slowly fall in love. I really enjoyed writing about Ewan and Alex and their families and I hope you all enjoy meeting them in a couple of weeks time. Click on the banner to find out more.

I’ve also had a piece accepted for the Closet Capers Anthology which is due out in April – I’ll post more about that one closer to the time.

I’ve also been pleased with the response to The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock. The reviews on Goodreads were mixed, which I gather is par for the course, but all the review sites gave it 4/5, which is good going for a debut novella, at least in my humble opinion I was also thrilled to bits to discover it had been assigned to Christmas Day in the Advent Calendar. I didn’t know in advance and my shriek of excitement on Christmas morning woke up my poor brother, who was staying in my spare room for the holiday. Sadly it didn’t snow at Christmas here, merely before and after, and though I considered wandering down the river last weekend to take photos of locks in the snow, it didn’t happen. I was at the stage in a bout of flu where every breath hurt and it’s a good forty minute walk from the station to the first lock. Unlike Ryan, I’ve got more sense to take off into the snowy countryside when I’m not ready for it, so I stayed at home in bed and wrote about a disgruntled dragon instead.

I’m now busy finishing off my Nano novel, Reawakening. It’s fun to be working on a full-length project again after all these short stories recently, and Tarn and Gard keep making me snicker. Tarn is so laconic and controlled and Gard is such a fast-talking git, and that dynamic just lets me run with every scene. The problem’s going to be editing out the swathes of banter which doesn’t add anything to the plot.

I’ve also been busy this week putting together a wordpress site – there’s a new free read, When Life Gives You Lemons up there. It’s adult-rated, so consider yourself warned

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas...

...which, this being southern England, means it's raining. Nonetheless, my tree is up and my Christmas shopping mostly done. Mum and I got the bus down to Winchester yesterday and went to the Christmas market. We did this last year, and I'm quite a fan. I like supporting small businesses, and they have a nice range of quirky stuff to suit my very quirky family. I've even got the first tickle of a Christmas story idea about a couple of lads whose paths only cross at Christmas time (cathedrals, Christmas markets and ex-choirboys - why, yes, I am from the Home Counties).

We also took the chance to go on a tour of the Cathedral, which neither of us have done before, despite many visits to the town. You really learn so much more if someone is there to point out the little things (I would never even have noticed the frescos or the crazy carved animals in the screens). One place the guide took us was the crypt, which I'd always assumed just got sealed whenever it flooded, which is often). Actually they have a little viewing platform about a foot above the floor so you can see it as long as the water doesn't rise that high.



That's Antony Gormley's Sound II, which I'd seen pictures of but is incredibly compelling in real life. You can't stop staring at it.

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The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock

And here it is, my little Christmas story, which is being released as part of Dreamspinner's Evergreen Advent Calendar. Isn't Catt Ford's cover art gorgeous? I fell in love with it at first sight.




(At All Romance | At Amazon)

After lonely divorcé Isaac leaves his job as a banker to work as a conservationist on a country river, he gives up on finding the love he always wanted. Then he meets flirty jeweler Ryan and assumes Ryan's out of his league, but Ryan's just as lonely as Isaac. Ryan also has the housemates from hell, and when he storms out of the riotous Christmas party they forgot to warn him about, he soon finds himself lost in the snow.

It's up to the ghost of Mistletoe Lock to bring the two men together and ensure they give love a chance.

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Nanowrimo!!!

I still can't quite believe that I managed that. Two weeks ago I was 10k behind and just trying to get as much written as I could, but a couple of serious writing weekends and a last minute realisation that it was possible after all got me there.

This is actually two stories - one contemporary of about 11000 words and one still-growing chunk of fantasy. A wee bit from the second under the cut, just for the fun of it.

( Here be dragons... )

How have your Novembers been?

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Moving On

It feels very good to be back online. I moved house back at the end of August and I'm still waiting for my new phone line to be connected (snarl, grump, mutter, etc). I'm currently mooching off my parents' connection and getting caught up on everything that I've missed in the last month and a bit.

And it's been a very exciting month. Not just because of my lovely new flat, but because I've made my first sale. The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock will be part of Dreamspinner Press' Advent Calendar package this December. I'll be updating more about it nearer the time, but I wanted to share the excitement (for a hint about the story, you could look back at my post on location which is where the idea started).

In the meantime, to celebrate new beginnings of all types, I thought I'd share a freebie, inspired by my recent move. There's nothing explicit in this one, those it does feature a villanous ex (or four), a removal man in shining armour, and a hot air balloon....

( Moving On )

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And another one bites the dust!

And another first draft finished! I could get addicted to this sense of satisfaction. This one was more serious than the last, with a my main character having to deal with an injury that ended his sports career and his regrets over the way his previous relationship ended. Then last night, in one giddy burst, I wrote the climax of the story. It was one of those moments which reminds you why you write, because the words just pour out and the prose sings through you and you want to jump up and dance, but can't because you can't bear to stop writing.

Then, this morning, going in to write the final scene, I read back through that section and, to my relief, it reached out and grabbed me so hard I had tears in my eyes (and, yes, it was meant to be moving).

It's strange sometimes, how huge the difference can be between the way you feel as you write and the emotions on the page. Then the difference between how a scene makes you feel and how readers react is another gulf again. I love that scene (and, no, I have no qualms about taking pride in the good bits, because I'm tough on the crappy bits too), but it might leave someone else untouched. In the past I've had readers cry at lines I put in as a passing comments, or laugh at things I meant to be bitterly tragic. I had what was supposed to be a light-hearted piece rejected from a magazine once, and as I read through the comments I realised that the reader hadn't realised it was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek and so hated it for being wordy, implausible and unoriginal ><

I'm going to hope that doesn't happen with this piece, but whether it finds a place in the world or not, I'll always prize this one, just for that sudden bit of magic it brought me last night.

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