Ingela Bohm's Blog, page 58
September 27, 2015
The “kissing with an audience” scene in Just Playing
As a writer, I work 24/7 – because I love it! An idea can strike at any time, and inspiration comes in different forms. The scene in Just Playing where Jamie and Michael kiss in front of everyone at the post-gig party with Entropy was one of those things that just came at me from left field. The direct inspiration was this scene in the Polish movie Suicide Room. I still swoon every time I see it!
September 24, 2015
Coming soon
One night on a train. Two strangers share a compartment, both with heavy baggage. Can they help each other see the light at the end of the tunnel? (Scheduled release: November)
Patrick and Daniel go on a trip to Turkey to have a good time. But something lurks beneath the surface, something Patrick refuses to acknowledge. When Daniel decides to try diving and it all goes wrong, will Darren finally realize the truth? (Scheduled release: November)
When Corey lets Darren read his steamy romance, everything goes up in flames. Darren doesn’t realize that the story is about them, or that this is Corey’s way of confessing his age-old love. Will the dithering would-be lovers untangle the mess they’ve made, or will they need outside help? (Scheduled release: November)
If there’s one thing Robert wishes he could do, it’s to help Mick stand up to sadistic head chef Thierry. But no one stands up to Thierry. He rules his restaurant with an iron fist, and anyone who can’t stand the heat can piss off. But one night, Robert and Mick are left alone in the kitchen to manage the whole business by themselves. Will they take the chance to show Thierry where to get off — and more importantly, will they take a chance on each other? (Scheduled release: December)
When Olov goes on holiday to Santorini for some well-deserved rest, the last thing he expects is to get stranded. When the electricity fails and darkness descends on the island, tension builds between the native inhabitants and the tourists. But there’s also someone else, someone at the top of the mountain, who calls to Olov on a frequency he’s never known before — someone who will challenge everything Olov thought he knew about himself. Will he dare to answer the call, even though it may turn the rest of the world against him? (Scheduled release: December)
Young Will Shaksper doesn’t have an easy life. His deformed wrist makes the quill a mortal enemy, his teacher seems to hate everything he does, and the usher Dick Field makes his life a living hell. But can it be that the obstacles in his path are all there to prepare him for something greater? (Scheduled release: December)
When Will meets Agnes, his life is turned upside down. Even though the woman is far beyond his reach, he can’t stop thinking about her, and something inside him that he thought long dead begins to stir again. For all her aloofness, can she give him the push he needs to become all that he was meant to be? (Scheduled release: December)
September 7, 2015
September 1, 2015
Excerpt from Seven Thousand Minutes
“Leo and…” John groped around in the hat for a long time, and then pulled out the second piece of paper with a flourish. Unfolding it, he was about to say the name of the lucky lady who was to spend seven minutes in Leo heaven…
And then he burst out laughing. “Jakob!” he hooted, waving it around for everyone to see. The room erupted in drunken cheers, and Leo joined in. Jakob looked wide-eyed and awkward, but that wasn’t unusual. The guy seemed intent on going through life inviting criticism and derision with a gauche kind of stoicism.
“Okay then,” Leo smiled and stood up – a little uncertainly, but not clumsily enough to look like an idiot. The game had chosen him, and he mustn’t let his friends down. They wanted a good show.
But Jakob didn’t move a muscle. “Come on, be a good sport,” Leo cajoled. “I promise I won’t go past second base.”
That earned him another round of guffaws. Jakob looked up at him with an inscrutable expression on his face – almost as if he was sad. But Leo kept holding his hand out until Jakob’s finally came up to meet it. His slim fingers crept into Leo’s palm like a kitten begging for a petting. Leo closed his hand on them, pulling Jakob up in a single, smooth motion. Jakob staggered a little and ended up with his nose almost touching Leo’s.
“Hey, don’t sneak extra minutes!” someone hollered, whipping up new giggles.
Leo slipped an arm around Jakob’s waist and then mimed an ass-grab: anything for his audience. Anything to keep the mood light and fun. But when he looked at Jakob, something tugged at his ribs. He seemed so small. As if he was trying to creep inside his own skin and hide.
“Come on,” Leo said again and pulled at Jakob’s hand. He could feel the reluctance in the way that hand lay too stiffly in his, but there was no hesitation in Jakob’s feet. Murmurs of laughter followed them all the way to the closet. When he’d closed the door behind them, Leo let go of Jakob’s hand and switched on the light. Jakob blinked a little in the glare. “Sorry, man. I just thought, you know…”
“No sweat,” Jakob replied quickly. “I get the joke.”
Said with the most somber face in the history of mankind. Leo couldn’t help cracking up. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Seven minutes and counting!” John shouted just outside the door and banged on it. In the background, the other guests sniggered. “And turn off the light, you’re killing the mood,” John added in a saccharine voice.
Shrugging, Leo obeyed. “Or else he’ll never stop,” he explained to the darkness. He thought he could hear Jakob exhale.
“Six minutes and fifty seconds,” John informed them.
“Shut up and go away,” Leo barked.
“Ooh,” John cooed as he walked back to the others. “Lovebird is getting possessive.”
“Don’t mind them,” Leo said. “You know what they’re like.”
Jakob didn’t reply.
“What’s the matter, Jakob? Disappointed that we’re not making out?” Leo giggled. “I’ll feel you up if you want.”
He took a step forward and caught Jakob in his arms. He turned rigid, but didn’t fight Leo’s hand as it crept down his thigh in a parody of seduction. Jakob’s breath came in tiny starts against Leo’s ear, and something in the sound felt strangely intimate. Heart twisting a little in his chest, Leo launched into full goof mode. “Yeah, baby,” he whispered into Jakob’s hair. “Ooh, you feel so good.”
There was a weird sound in Jakob’s throat, almost like a sob. But he still wasn’t resisting the joke. To be fair, he wasn’t playing along either. He was just sort of standing there, straight as a rod, letting Leo enact his little farce without saying anything.
“Come on, Jakob,” Leo smiled into his neck. “It’s your seven minutes of heaven – maybe the only ones you’ll get tonight!” He regretted the words as soon as they hit the air. Jakob turned as fragile as glass, and he started pulling away, but Leo caught his arm. “Shit, Jakob, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.”
“No, you’re right,” Jakob whispered. “I should enjoy it while it lasts.”
And with that, he grabbed hold of Leo’s chin. Leo didn’t understand what was happening until his back gently hit the wall and something covered his mouth. Breath hitching, he felt the tip of Jakob’s tongue brush his lips. He thought he was about to turn his head away and laugh it off, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, his mouth fell open, and Jakob’s tongue pushed all the way in.
It only lasted for a few seconds. Then Jakob drew back and a cold string of saliva snapped between them, landing on Leo’s chin. “Was that what you wanted?” Jakob asked low in his throat. And then the door opened on a slash of light as Jakob slipped out of the closet and into the cheers and applause of the rest of the party.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Find Seven Thousand Minutes at Amazon
Excerpt from Last Communion
And suddenly, there he was. Quick like a bird of prey, he flew at my throat. Claws gripped my neck, and teeth flashed. The smell of blood filled my nostrils – the blood of a dozen victims, like a morbid souvenir on his breath. I cried out, paralyzed by the realization that he was a mirror image of me.
And then everything stopped. Black eyes stared at me, shock and confusion warring in their depths. I stared back, all instincts to save myself evaporated. I was caught in his gaze, hypnotized.
“I… apologize.”
The courtesy fell dead to the floor between us. I should have laughed at his formality, but I couldn’t. I was bewitched by his voice. It was dark like cherry velvet and it seemed to vibrate through my body like the single, low note from a cracked cello. I opened my mouth to say something back, and his eyes flitted down to my teeth: to my long, pointy canines. The mark of the monster. The blemish that had my mother so disgusted.
A blemish he shared.
I didn’t breathe. I just took in the sight of him: the strands of unkempt, dark hair framing his bony face. The intensity of his gaze. The two gentle bulges in his top lip… Oh God, that familiar ache. But I’d just met him – I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even be toying with the idea. And yet my eyes raked over him, hungry in a way that I hadn’t had the energy to be hungry for months. And as he gazed back, I knew he could feel it. The magnetism was palpable, a third entity in the room. An animal thing. A trembling, crazy mirage that had nothing to do with me. He wasn’t even my type. I went for the kind-faced blond, and this creature was the exact opposite. He was thin, wiry, dark. Rough around the edges, like somebody who slept on the street. His collar hung loose around his neck, and still I sensed the strength in that lithe body, like a starved panther crouching to attack.
“Please forgive me.” He took a step back, and the pull lessened. I could breathe again. “I should know better.” He seemed shaken. “I don’t understand what happened.”
I gaped, trying to find words, but there was nothing. My mind was a blank. Time passed slowly, as if I was watching a slow motion replay of everything I had missed in my life. The world was brand new and eons-old at once. And that smell… stronger than blood, than hyacinths, than rotting fruit. The smell of a fusion aching to happen.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. My attempt to sound dominant quivered between us. I half expected him to laugh. But if something stirred in those bottomless tarns, it wasn’t mirth.
“You’re new.” Once again the sound of his voice made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was a rugged, raven-like sound that seemed to pierce my very soul. And his eyes… They slid over my body in a way I would once have interpreted as seductive, but in this strange new world, who knew?
Then he nodded. “Yes, obviously. Very fresh, I would think. Not more than a few days old?”
He stepped closer again, and I choked out a hurried, “What do you mean?”
He looked down at me, sharp and alert. His scent filled me to the brim, like I wanted to fill him. My hands curled into trembling fists at my sides. Don’t touch. Just don’t. You know how straight guys get.
“New,” he repeated, and once again I smelled warm iron on his breath. “Saved.” His gaze dropped to the pulse just below my ear, and a warm shudder travelled through me. Was he going to bite me after all? I should be halfway out the window by now. This man was crazy, and he was too tall, too strong for me. Besides, I could sense his experience. He would overpower me in a second.
Or would he let me overpower him?
Afraid to open my mouth, I breathed through my nose. Get a grip, get a grip, a weak voice inside me kept repeating, but it was fading into the background. How could my old principles serve me now? There were no rules anymore. I was standing in an abandoned university library in a plague-ridden city, aching with desire for an insane stranger, and there was no one left to tell me it was wrong.
I raised a hand, touched his chest. The gesture wasn’t entirely voluntary, but once my palm connected with the steady warmth beneath the cotton, I couldn’t draw back. His shirt shook and trembled with the heart that was beating behind it. The vibrations spread up my arm, and the air rippled as we breathed. My hand trailed lower, over his stomach, only stopping where his jeans marked forbidden territory.
This wasn’t me. It just wasn’t. In my way, I was an old-fashioned, dinner-first kind of guy. I’d never jumped someone I’d just met.
But then I’d never murdered a family member in cold blood before, either.
As if the memory flicked a switch, the blinds were yanked down over my eyes. Our bodies crashed together. I tore at his shirt, searching for skin. Pulled at his belt. God, I wanted to fuck him. I’d never wanted anything more. His buttons strained at the denim and then slipped free. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Pushing his jeans down his hips, I felt the black thatch of hair caress my fingers. One final yank, and the hot silk of his cock brushed my hand.
It was beautiful.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Find Last Communion at Amazon, All Romance Ebooks and Smashwords
The arbitrary debris of Armageddon
What’s a story without its gallery of weirdos? In this book, I’ve moved outside of my comfort zone and included many more characters than usual, because I need them to tell the story. This is a tale about the end of civilization, and the tragedy hits different people in different ways.
Like Wolf, for example. She never got a normal childhood, because the world as we know it fell before she’d found her place in it. On the cusp of puberty, she was transformed into a vampire, doomed to drink blood to survive even though she was only a child.
Another tragic character is Dolorosa, a deeply religious woman who tries in vain to negate her thirst. Indeed, the biggest problem facing these vampires is that of self-restraint. They are cutting the branch they sit on – much like real life humans do when it comes to the environment – but they don’t have a choice. They have to drink. They can live on animal blood for a while, but sooner or later they need a human ‘dram.’
Yes, dram. Not victim. I’ve taken a leaf from Anthony Burgess and created a special sociolect for the ‘Confirmands.’ When something is taboo, people tend to use euphemisms in an effort to disguise the reality of it. In this case, it’s the act of drinking blood from fellow humans that is too horrible to admit. For all their cockiness and swagger, the Confirmands need a linguistic filter between themselves and their actions, and therefore they refer to ‘wine’ instead of blood, ‘drams’ instead of victims, and ‘Confirmands’ instead of vampires.
Of course, their leader Nietzsche would disagree with me. He may enforce the made-up language, but he would never admit that the original words conjure any negative emotions in him. He simply states that the past is dead, and that to survive, you need to adapt. That includes talking in a new way and choosing a new name for yourself.
In a way, he’s right. In the world of Last Communion, everything you’ve taken for granted is gone. People die faster than they can be buried, and all the old institutions have crumbled. What good is your degree in graphic design then? Who cares about your reference from Professor So-and-so?
But there’s something suspicious about Nietzsche’s refusal to dwell on the past. Is it really just his concern for the welfare of his little flock, or is there something else involved? Doesn’t he want anyone to know who he used to be?
In a writer’s forum, I once read that dystopias are political porn, designed to push an agenda. It may be a bit harshly put, but probably true. Last Communion is nothing if not political. The allegory is a thinly veiled one, a long hard look at the ultimate consequences of consumerist society.
Our hero’s love interest, Garangjas, knows this. He knows that the Confirmands are in trouble, that they can’t continue killing indefinitely, but even so he can’t deny his bodily urges. The thirst is powerful and all-consuming, a scream from the depths of his DNA, and for someone as rational as him, it’s disconcerting to be so helpless.
Garangjas is the quintessential Heathcliff or Darcy – the tightlipped stranger who seems impossible to get close to, but who feels things deeply. He’s like the surface of a tarn: dark, mysterious, and impenetrable, a black mirror that hides many secrets.
And his thirst for blood isn’t the only desire he can’t resist. For the Confirmands, sex is a connection on a whole new level, a need more primal even than the urge to survive. When our nameless hero meets Garangjas for the first time, he doesn’t stand a chance. Garangjas is magnetic. There really isn’t a choice. He has to have him.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Excerpt
And suddenly, there he was. Quick like a bird of prey, he flew at my throat. Claws gripped my neck, and teeth flashed. The smell of blood filled my nostrils – the blood of a dozen victims, like a morbid souvenir on his breath. I cried out, paralyzed by the realization that he was a mirror image of me.
And then everything stopped. Black eyes stared at me, shock and confusion warring in their depths. I stared back, all instincts to save myself evaporated. I was caught in his gaze, hypnotized.
“I… apologize.”
The courtesy fell dead to the floor between us. I should have laughed at his formality, but I couldn’t. I was bewitched by his voice. It was dark like cherry velvet and it seemed to vibrate through my body like the single, low note from a cracked cello. I opened my mouth to say something back, and his eyes flitted down to my teeth: to my long, pointy canines. The mark of the monster. The blemish that had my mother so disgusted.
A blemish he shared.
I didn’t breathe. I just took in the sight of him: the strands of unkempt, dark hair framing his bony face. The intensity of his gaze. The two gentle bulges in his top lip… Oh God, that familiar ache. But I’d just met him – I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even be toying with the idea. And yet my eyes raked over him, hungry in a way that I hadn’t had the energy to be hungry for months. And as he gazed back, I knew he could feel it. The magnetism was palpable, a third entity in the room. An animal thing. A trembling, crazy mirage that had nothing to do with me. He wasn’t even my type. I went for the kind-faced blond, and this creature was the exact opposite. He was thin, wiry, dark. Rough around the edges, like somebody who slept on the street. His collar hung loose around his neck, and still I sensed the strength in that lithe body, like a starved panther crouching to attack.
“Please forgive me.” He took a step back, and the pull lessened. I could breathe again. “I should know better.” He seemed shaken. “I don’t understand what happened.”
I gaped, trying to find words, but there was nothing. My mind was a blank. Time passed slowly, as if I was watching a slow motion replay of everything I had missed in my life. The world was brand new and eons-old at once. And that smell… stronger than blood, than hyacinths, than rotting fruit. The smell of a fusion aching to happen.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. My attempt to sound dominant quivered between us. I half expected him to laugh. But if something stirred in those bottomless tarns, it wasn’t mirth.
“You’re new.” Once again the sound of his voice made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was a rugged, raven-like sound that seemed to pierce my very soul. And his eyes… They slid over my body in a way I would once have interpreted as seductive, but in this strange new world, who knew?
Then he nodded. “Yes, obviously. Very fresh, I would think. Not more than a few days old?”
He stepped closer again, and I choked out a hurried, “What do you mean?”
He looked down at me, sharp and alert. His scent filled me to the brim, like I wanted to fill him. My hands curled into trembling fists at my sides. Don’t touch. Just don’t. You know how straight guys get.
“New,” he repeated, and once again I smelled warm iron on his breath. “Saved.” His gaze dropped to the pulse just below my ear, and a warm shudder travelled through me. Was he going to bite me after all? I should be halfway out the window by now. This man was crazy, and he was too tall, too strong for me. Besides, I could sense his experience. He would overpower me in a second.
Or would he let me overpower him?
Afraid to open my mouth, I breathed through my nose. Get a grip, get a grip, a weak voice inside me kept repeating, but it was fading into the background. How could my old principles serve me now? There were no rules anymore. I was standing in an abandoned university library in a plague-ridden city, aching with desire for an insane stranger, and there was no one left to tell me it was wrong.
I raised a hand, touched his chest. The gesture wasn’t entirely voluntary, but once my palm connected with the steady warmth beneath the cotton, I couldn’t draw back. His shirt shook and trembled with the heart that was beating behind it. The vibrations spread up my arm, and the air rippled as we breathed. My hand trailed lower, over his stomach, only stopping where his jeans marked forbidden territory.
This wasn’t me. It just wasn’t. In my way, I was an old-fashioned, dinner-first kind of guy. I’d never jumped someone I’d just met.
But then I’d never murdered a family member in cold blood before, either.
As if the memory flicked a switch, the blinds were yanked down over my eyes. Our bodies crashed together. I tore at his shirt, searching for skin. Pulled at his belt. God, I wanted to fuck him. I’d never wanted anything more. His buttons strained at the denim and then slipped free. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Pushing his jeans down his hips, I felt the black thatch of hair caress my fingers. One final yank, and the hot silk of his cock brushed my hand.
It was beautiful.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Preorder Last Communion from Amazon, All Romance Ebooks, or Smashwords.
August 11, 2015
July 23, 2015
Ingela Bohm's Blog
- Ingela Bohm's profile
- 19 followers
