The Trojan Project
I'm very pleased to (slightly belatedly!) announce that to coincide with British Sausage Week 2015 (see what we did there?) The Trojan Project is now available to buy.
It's a short story collection of 12 new gay romance tales, written by me and the incorrigible Richard Rider - 6 stories each.
It's a broad sweep of genres - some historical, some horror, some fairytale, some straight-up modern romance - so I'm hoping that at least some of it will appeal to most readers.
You can buy The Trojan Project at the following places:
* ePub (£2.99)
* mobi (£2.99)
* Paperback (£8.99)
If you do buy a copy - thank you, you are glorious - then please consider leaving us an honest review, because that's the best way to help indie authors spread the word about their stories.
You can still read one of my stories from the book in it's entirety on my Goodreads here: No Names - although all the stories in the collection are very different, so don't judge solely from that one (or by the cover ;)
Here're some more excerpts:
Falling (on my arse in love) - Richard Rider
Well, it had been raining and I'm a clumsy fucker at the best of times so obviously down I went in the mud. My leg just ran away with itself, I stepped funny on the grass and went flying down the hill flailing like Eddie the fucking Eagle, landed right on my arse in this puddle about the size of Windermere. And Dave come out his cabin then in one of them old bastard cashmere cardigans he wears and stood there leaning against the door frame with his cuppa, looking at me like I was something foreign in the zoo.
"You alright?" he asked, and I sat there bollock deep in that muddy water thinking you fucking blind prick but I gave him two thumbs up til he smiled a bit and wandered back inside.
You can go your own way - John T Fuller
Matt tries to avoid his eyes and mutters, "Thanks," and takes a long draught of beer, but he can feel those green eyes on him, awaiting his response. He can't not give it, it feels trapped inside like soda fizz. "Matt."
"Good to meet you, Matt." He's Northern, by his accent. Nobody is ever really from London, den of strays and immigrants and fuck-ups that it is. The sustained sincerity in his tone catches Matt by surprise, and when he glances up Chant's eyes are still on him and he accidentally meets them. Matt tries to hide his nose in his pint, swallowing almost half in one go. "Thirsty," the man says, more dreamily than such an observation – should such an observation ever be casually made – has right to be, and Matt can feel his own eyes go round with disconcertion as he goes back for a second attempt at crawling into his glass.
Duckling - Richard Rider
Out on the streets of Copenhagen there were children with pinched little faces, flushed with consumption and shivering with cold, who sold flowers and matchsticks for copper coins and stared into people's houses through closed windows at the gas lamps and crackling fires and warm woollen shawls. He gave them pennies even when he had enough matches for a hundred winters, even though Louise and Edvard laughed when he brought her flowers. Offering his company in the warmth of their parlour, with its carpets and steaming teacups, he always felt like an urchin selling broken matches to people who had no use for them.
Hellfire - John T Fuller
"I think the actual words were 'you don't turn down an offer from the Hades Club, we make the Buller boys look like Sunday School cub scouts'."
Milo exploded a sudden laugh, like he was choking. It echoed from wall to wall in the narrow street, strangely empty for a Thursday night. "Who've you been talking to?"
"Teddy."
"Teddy actually said that? Bit fucking crass of him, Hugh wouldn't like it."
"'Hugh said, Hugh said.'"
"Shut the fuck up, new boy." Guy tried not to wince as Milo clipped him on the shoulder, a bit too forcefully. "I can still pull the plug on all of this, you know."
"Oh yes? I thought that once you join you can never leave."
Waiting for Woodstock - Richard Rider
Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in love at first guitar solo. I couldn't take my eyes off him all night. Even the next day when we sat through the first sets then shoved right to the front when Janis came on, even then I kept sneaking looks at him. Take another little piece of my heart, I thought, take the whole damn fucking mess.
A kind of homecoming - John T Fuller
Soon the dreams start to sort of follow him around.
Even in the searing light of morning, Chris can feel the man (man of my dreams, he thinks, then forcefully corrects himself man from my dreams) watching him, somehow, a delicious shadow cast across his days, the kind of shadow that smells of the dew on roses and cool, smooth things, a shadow to shelter in. Hide in. Chris catches glimpses of movement in mirrors. He studies the growing-out roots of his hair and imagines himself blond again.
When Chris closes his eyes he is back there, so he closes them more often. Lunchtime naps and early nights, his mother griping down the phone to her stepdaughter how lazy teenagers are.
He can't help it. He can't resist. The man makes him feel wanted.
Slow down - Richard Rider
Lindsay's jumper smells of him, faint ghosts of cigarettes and soap. Pip unclips his seatbelt and wedges his knees up between his body and the steering wheel, tugging the neckline of the jumper up over his nose and breathing through the wool. The mohair tickles his skin and makes him want to sneeze but he doesn't, he just breathes. He remembers going shopping for himself and finding the jumper by chance, wide blue and grey stripes and the softest wool, and buying it for Lindsay. He put up a gruff show of not wanting some sparkly little fashion victim picking his clothes for him, but that was nearly ten months ago and he's worn it so often he's made a hole in the armpit and a tiny little inkblot near the hem that won't wash off.
"He's so repressed it's ridiculous," he murmurs, losing the words in the prison of wool. "He's dead clever, he can boss everyone round at work without making them hate him, he can talk French, he knows what to say to people all the time, but he cringes every time I say the b word."
"What b word?"
"Boyfriend."
The Trojan Project - John T Fuller
"Well-played back there." Gerard didn't reply, but one corner of his mouth quirked up into a pleased half-smile. Owen swallowed. "What are we playing, by the way?"
The amusement reached all the way to his warm brown eyes. "I like to call it The Trojan Project."
"And what is the Trojan Project?"
"Well, if I tell you that," Gerard leaned in, a little too close, so that Owen could smell the woody spice of his cologne, "I'll have to kill you."
Full table of contents is as follows:
* Falling (on my arse) in love
* Gepetto's son
* Duckling
* No names
* Waiting for Woodstock
* You can go your own way
* Envoi
* Hellfire
* Slow down
* A kind of homecoming
* Dorothy and Nora
* The Trojan Project
Oh yeah - and there's a massive glistening sausage on the cover. Why? The title story will explain (mostly) all..!
Finally, thank you to everyone who's read and been so supportive of my writing and Rich's. We really appreciate it and hope that you enjoy this collection of stories.
It's a short story collection of 12 new gay romance tales, written by me and the incorrigible Richard Rider - 6 stories each.
It's a broad sweep of genres - some historical, some horror, some fairytale, some straight-up modern romance - so I'm hoping that at least some of it will appeal to most readers.
You can buy The Trojan Project at the following places:
* ePub (£2.99)
* mobi (£2.99)
* Paperback (£8.99)
If you do buy a copy - thank you, you are glorious - then please consider leaving us an honest review, because that's the best way to help indie authors spread the word about their stories.
You can still read one of my stories from the book in it's entirety on my Goodreads here: No Names - although all the stories in the collection are very different, so don't judge solely from that one (or by the cover ;)
Here're some more excerpts:
Falling (on my arse in love) - Richard Rider
Well, it had been raining and I'm a clumsy fucker at the best of times so obviously down I went in the mud. My leg just ran away with itself, I stepped funny on the grass and went flying down the hill flailing like Eddie the fucking Eagle, landed right on my arse in this puddle about the size of Windermere. And Dave come out his cabin then in one of them old bastard cashmere cardigans he wears and stood there leaning against the door frame with his cuppa, looking at me like I was something foreign in the zoo.
"You alright?" he asked, and I sat there bollock deep in that muddy water thinking you fucking blind prick but I gave him two thumbs up til he smiled a bit and wandered back inside.
You can go your own way - John T Fuller
Matt tries to avoid his eyes and mutters, "Thanks," and takes a long draught of beer, but he can feel those green eyes on him, awaiting his response. He can't not give it, it feels trapped inside like soda fizz. "Matt."
"Good to meet you, Matt." He's Northern, by his accent. Nobody is ever really from London, den of strays and immigrants and fuck-ups that it is. The sustained sincerity in his tone catches Matt by surprise, and when he glances up Chant's eyes are still on him and he accidentally meets them. Matt tries to hide his nose in his pint, swallowing almost half in one go. "Thirsty," the man says, more dreamily than such an observation – should such an observation ever be casually made – has right to be, and Matt can feel his own eyes go round with disconcertion as he goes back for a second attempt at crawling into his glass.
Duckling - Richard Rider
Out on the streets of Copenhagen there were children with pinched little faces, flushed with consumption and shivering with cold, who sold flowers and matchsticks for copper coins and stared into people's houses through closed windows at the gas lamps and crackling fires and warm woollen shawls. He gave them pennies even when he had enough matches for a hundred winters, even though Louise and Edvard laughed when he brought her flowers. Offering his company in the warmth of their parlour, with its carpets and steaming teacups, he always felt like an urchin selling broken matches to people who had no use for them.
Hellfire - John T Fuller
"I think the actual words were 'you don't turn down an offer from the Hades Club, we make the Buller boys look like Sunday School cub scouts'."
Milo exploded a sudden laugh, like he was choking. It echoed from wall to wall in the narrow street, strangely empty for a Thursday night. "Who've you been talking to?"
"Teddy."
"Teddy actually said that? Bit fucking crass of him, Hugh wouldn't like it."
"'Hugh said, Hugh said.'"
"Shut the fuck up, new boy." Guy tried not to wince as Milo clipped him on the shoulder, a bit too forcefully. "I can still pull the plug on all of this, you know."
"Oh yes? I thought that once you join you can never leave."
Waiting for Woodstock - Richard Rider
Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in love at first guitar solo. I couldn't take my eyes off him all night. Even the next day when we sat through the first sets then shoved right to the front when Janis came on, even then I kept sneaking looks at him. Take another little piece of my heart, I thought, take the whole damn fucking mess.
A kind of homecoming - John T Fuller
Soon the dreams start to sort of follow him around.
Even in the searing light of morning, Chris can feel the man (man of my dreams, he thinks, then forcefully corrects himself man from my dreams) watching him, somehow, a delicious shadow cast across his days, the kind of shadow that smells of the dew on roses and cool, smooth things, a shadow to shelter in. Hide in. Chris catches glimpses of movement in mirrors. He studies the growing-out roots of his hair and imagines himself blond again.
When Chris closes his eyes he is back there, so he closes them more often. Lunchtime naps and early nights, his mother griping down the phone to her stepdaughter how lazy teenagers are.
He can't help it. He can't resist. The man makes him feel wanted.
Slow down - Richard Rider
Lindsay's jumper smells of him, faint ghosts of cigarettes and soap. Pip unclips his seatbelt and wedges his knees up between his body and the steering wheel, tugging the neckline of the jumper up over his nose and breathing through the wool. The mohair tickles his skin and makes him want to sneeze but he doesn't, he just breathes. He remembers going shopping for himself and finding the jumper by chance, wide blue and grey stripes and the softest wool, and buying it for Lindsay. He put up a gruff show of not wanting some sparkly little fashion victim picking his clothes for him, but that was nearly ten months ago and he's worn it so often he's made a hole in the armpit and a tiny little inkblot near the hem that won't wash off.
"He's so repressed it's ridiculous," he murmurs, losing the words in the prison of wool. "He's dead clever, he can boss everyone round at work without making them hate him, he can talk French, he knows what to say to people all the time, but he cringes every time I say the b word."
"What b word?"
"Boyfriend."
The Trojan Project - John T Fuller
"Well-played back there." Gerard didn't reply, but one corner of his mouth quirked up into a pleased half-smile. Owen swallowed. "What are we playing, by the way?"
The amusement reached all the way to his warm brown eyes. "I like to call it The Trojan Project."
"And what is the Trojan Project?"
"Well, if I tell you that," Gerard leaned in, a little too close, so that Owen could smell the woody spice of his cologne, "I'll have to kill you."
Full table of contents is as follows:
* Falling (on my arse) in love
* Gepetto's son
* Duckling
* No names
* Waiting for Woodstock
* You can go your own way
* Envoi
* Hellfire
* Slow down
* A kind of homecoming
* Dorothy and Nora
* The Trojan Project
Oh yeah - and there's a massive glistening sausage on the cover. Why? The title story will explain (mostly) all..!
Finally, thank you to everyone who's read and been so supportive of my writing and Rich's. We really appreciate it and hope that you enjoy this collection of stories.
date
newest »
newest »
message 1:
by
Sadie
(last edited Nov 07, 2015 07:00AM)
(new)
Nov 07, 2015 03:43AM
I just finished The Trojan Project. It took me a few days to read because of my schedule, but given the time, I would have sat down and read it straight through. It's an eclectic combination of short stories--happy endings, sad endings. The writing is good (which I expected coming from these two) with some characters that I would like to see explored in longer works. And there's an added bonus for us Pip and Lindsay fans. (I personally love when an SS story gives Pip some depth, proving he's more than just a brat, and instead shows that it's an act and why he does it.) Kudos!
reply
|
flag
Sara'ann wrote: "I just finished The Trojan Project. It took me a few days to read because of my schedule, but given the time, I would have sat down and read it straight through. It's an eclectic combination of sho..."Thank you so much for this Sara'ann, I'm very glad you enjoyed the collection!
