Archive for the ‘Meet My Guests’ Category

Etopia Press author Elin Gregory has a new book out, so I invited her over again to tell us all about it. Pirates! Well, I do like Johnny Depp ;-)

 

800px-Philip_V_Coin

Thanks, Tristam for inviting me to post on your blog, in honour of the release of On A Lee Shore, a book that is mostly about pirates.

And what do pirates want? Yes, treasure! Or so popular fiction would have us believe. Certainly there were pirates who committed robberies that made the Great Train Robbers look like handbag snatchers. It is estimated that Black Sam Bellamy’s haul would be worth approximately £100 million in today’s money and many other pirates – Thomas Tew, Captain Kidd, Bartholomew Roberts – are reputed to have stolen as much if not more. Forbes magazine [http://www.forbes.com/2008/09/18/top-earning-pirates-biz-logistics-cx_mw_0919piracy.html ] has compiled a list of piratical top earners, likening the profession to being the investment bankers of the period! Hollywood has familiarised us with the image of heavily armed pirate vessels bringing lofty Spanish galleons to a halt so howling savages can swing from deck to deck with cutlasses between their teeth in search of chests brimming with gold moidores, silver plate and strings of pearls. However the truth of the matter was far more prosaic and practical.

Pirates were robbers, living upon what they stole. There were comparatively few ports that would welcome a known pirate ship and the more successful a pirate crew became the fewer places would welcome them. Consequently they had to steal everything they required to live. Food, drink, spares for the ship, even weapons and powder and shot for the long guns. One of the best documented pirate careers is that of Bartholomew Roberts. He was only a pirate for two years but in that time he took 470 ships, sometimes several at a time. His most famous catch was a portuguese treasure galleon laden with newly minted pieces of eight, bar silver, emeralds and gold but most of his prizes were small fishing craft or coastal traders. His ship outgunned them so they allowed his boats to draw alongside and his men would rummage the ship and take anything that might be useful. Fresh food was essential – it doesn’t take long to get scurvy. Sometimes they would swap items taken from another vessel for part of a cargo. Benjamin Hornigold once pursued and took a French ship because he had seen the crew in port and wanted to steal all their hats!

 

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However the very most popular item to steal was the medicine chest. Medicine in the early 18th century was very rough and ready by modern standards. There were several routine treatments that would be applied for illnesses – bleeding, cupping, purging, dosing – and injuries would be plastered, stitched or, in the case of damaged limbs, amputated. Life was brutal and so was the treatment. Especially the treatment for the various forms of social disease that were rife amongst the sea going population. It was known how these diseases were caught but there was no understanding of the actual cause. No antibiotics existed and sometimes the treatment was as nasty as the affliction. This urethral syringe was used to inject a solution of mercury, a poison, as a treatment for syphilis. Other treatments included bizarre ingredients like the ashes of a wolf’s testicles or to ‘eat a roast mouse’. Anyone who survived the treatment was considered a success, even if he died later from infection or food poisoning.

With a high turnover of piratical staff the captains were always on the look out for promising recruits. Any man with skills to augment those of the pirates could be forced on board – navigators were prized, likewise carpenters, and doctors. Musicians were particularly popular – pirates liked to have the band playing when they went into battle. However, there were frequently rules against taking women aboard and, except in rare cases, pirate crews tended to be all stag.

If you were a pirate, what kind of non-monetary treasure would you go for?

Over the next few days I will be continuing my thoughts about the Golden Age of Piracy on blogs belonging to Sue Roebuck, Kiran Hunter and Catherine Cavendish. Comment here or on their blogs for a chance to win a copy of “On A Lee Shore”. Each comment = one chance so the more the merrier.

 

OnALeeShore_ByElinGregory_453x680

Blurb: “Give me a reason to let you live…”

Beached after losing his ship and crew, and with England finally at peace, Lt Christopher Penrose will take whatever work he can get. A valet? Why not? Escorting an elderly diplomat to the Leeward Islands seems like an easy job, but when their ship is boarded by pirates, Kit’s world is turned upside down. Forced aboard the pirate ship, Kit finds himself juggling his honor with his desire to stay alive among the crew, not to mention the alarming—yet enticing—captain, known as Le Griffe.

Kit has always obeyed the rules, but as the pirates plunder their way across the Caribbean, he finds much to admire in their freedom. He deplores their lawlessness but is drawn to their way of life, and begins to think he might just have found a purpose. Dare he dream of finding love too? Or would loving a pirate take him too far down the road to ruin?

Obtainable here or here if you’re in the States.

Excerpt:

Amidships the party was getting rowdy as the musicians sawed, pounded, or whistled. One crew challenged the other to wrestle and made wagers on the outcome. It looked like anarchy, but there were men in the waist of the ship who stepped in if the struggle got too aggressive. Kit found himself laughing as he watched Saunders, bottle held safely out of the way, battering a brawny pirate about the shoulders with the despised volume of Homer.

Saunders spotted Kit, abandoned the brawlers, and made his way to his side. He offered O’Neill a swig from his bottle and leaned back against the transom.

“What a to-do,” he said. “Damn fellow knocked my bottle over, would have spilled it if I hadn’t looked sharp.”

“So inconsiderate,” Kit nodded to the book, “and he made you lose your place.”

“Hanging is too good,” O’Neill commented as he offered the bottle to Kit, who shook his head. O’Neill passed it back to Saunders.

“Barbuda,” Saunders said suddenly. “That is our destination. There I should be able to replenish our medicine chest—try as I might the men will keep catching things. While we are in port they will have the opportunity to catch some more I wouldn’t wonder. “

“Something to look forward to then—you and your syringe.” O’Neill grinned as Kit shuddered. “And what will you do, Mr. Penrose?”

“He will give his parole,” Saunders said, “as befits an officer of His Majesty’s Navy, and will accompany me to Willaerts coffee house to see if we can trade this unlovely item for something more elevating.” He waved the book again. “Or he will not give his parole and will spend our time in port chained to a long gun—possibly. It depends on our lord and master’s whim.”

~

Many thanks again to my gracious host, Tristram.

**

My pleasure, Elin. Remember you can find Elin here: http://elingregory.wordpress.com

It doesn’t seem five minutes since Tara Lain’s scorcher Fire Balls came rolling along but she’s here today bouncing back with Beach Balls. I’ve had a peek at the excerpt below. An underwater blow job! How astonishing - there’s one of those in my summer scorcher, Lorenzo il Magnifico! Anyway, without further ado, I’ll hand my website over to my friend, Tara Lain. Enjoy! No kicking sand about, now.

~~~

Love on the Beach!

Thank you so much to Tris for hosting me today!  Say the words “beach romance” and chances are even the very young among us will think of the famous scene of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity chasing each other along the waterline and ultimately kissing passionately in the surf. Even if we don’t know who they were or what the movie was called, the scene is the most famous beach love scene of all time.  Sigh. This is beach romance at its finest. Just the idea of water, sun and mostly naked bodies makes for sexy possibilities.

Beach romance was my delightful task in writing Beach Balls, the newest book in the Balls to the Wall Series. All of the books in the series take place in Laguna Beach, a small, pretty, artist’s colony beside the ocean in southern California. But while Volley Balls is mostly concerned with playing ball on the sand and Fire Balls is about the artists and firefighters of the town, a lot of Beach Balls actually takes place on and in the water. My heroes meet underwater, fight underwater and get frisky underwater.

Now that was a wild scene. I’ve done a little scuba diving and a lot of snorkeling but I’m no pro. I decide I want one hero to give the other head underwater. I could have picked an easier sexual encounter, but no, I wanted oral sex. So I’m writing and holding my breath and figuring out what I can do holding a mouthpiece in one hand and my heroes’ piece in the other. How much suction can you apply while holding your breath? The result is a fun scene that I hope is also sexy. Has anyone actually tried it? Tell me how I did. (Tris: See above, Tara! I wrote that scene from memory.)

Before you go, would you like a chance to win a $10 gift card? Just leave a comment here WITH YOUR EMAIL. The drawing for the winner will be held on June 9th. And if you’d like a chance to win a Volley Balls or Fire Balls T-shirt or a Fire Balls carry bag, be one of three people to follow the most blogs and events on the blog tour. (US only. If someone outside the US wants to follow all the blogs, they can win a copy of Volley Balls or Fire Balls!) ) Everyone who follows any events will be eligible to win. If you are one of the top three, you get a prize.  All the events are listed at Beautiful Boys Books along with extra chances to win prizes. Come on over.

 

Beach Balls

Excerpt Adult : Beach Balls by Tara Lain; MM Contemporary

Available  from Amazon, ARe

Adam James is so far in the closet he could find Narnia. But coming out would threaten all he’s built as the lead attorney for WMA Development, and the million dollars he can get when he finishes pushing  a big land remediation project through the City Council. Then on an early morning scuba dive, Adam meets a tall, lean rebreather diver named Sky who makes him want to live a different life. But Adam’s dreams are shattered when he walks into the council meeting and finds the fire-breathing environmentalist who’s screwing up  his chances of winning is none other than that same beautiful man. Sky Sea Mickeljohn doesn’t compromise, so how could he find himself lusting after a damned developer? And what happens when somebody open’s Adam’s closet door? These two better start telling the truth if they’re ever going to find world peace.

He swam to Sky and extended a hand. Sky shied a little, but Adam kept coming and passed his fingers through Sky’s curls floating freely in the water like an underwater flower. Sky looked up at Adam’s hand.

He touched Sky’s cheek. For a moment, Sky was still.

He pressed his cheek against Adam’s palm.

Oh, yes. That constituted a welcome.

Adam pulled his mouthpiece out and held his breath. He tapped on Sky’s mouthpiece. Sky frowned.

Just kiss me, you idiot. Adam pointed at his mouth, stuck his mouthpiece back in for some air then took it out again. Sky smiled around his mouthpiece, removed it, and leaned toward Adam.

He pressed his lips against Sky’s. Warm and cool at the same time. Sky opened his mouth and licked along Adam’s lips. Nice. Adam turned his head to the side, grabbed a hit of air, and then came back in and pushed his tongue into Sky’s mouth.

A moment later, they pulled away for a breath of air. Adam sank down to his knees. Come to Daddy… He took hold of Sky’s tight shorts and yanked. The big cock was happy to see him. He breathed deeply through his mouthpiece once, twice, three times. Mouthpiece out, cock in.

Oh, yeah. This was easier than kissing. Who knew you could suck and lick while holding your breath?

Sky started bobbing like a crazy man, shoving that cock deeper. Adam took a breath then went back to work running his tongue over the glans as he sucked. The taste of salt and feel of silk filled his mouth. Another breath, then he worked the mushroom head in and out of his lips like a candy pop. His hands began to pump, and he sucked until his cheeks tingled.. Sky’s hips pumped in slow motion, pressing his cock into Adam’s mouth along with the tang of the sea. It gave a whole new meaning to the term “deep throat.” Adam sucked as much as he could without swallowing water and could hear the echoes of Sky “shouting” around his mouthpiece.

Sky’s body began to thrash. One big thrust, and Adam tasted cum and saltwater at the same time. Thick jism floated out of his mouth. Son of a bitch. He had the best of Sky and sea.

Tara Lain

 

You can find Tara here:

E-mail:                 tara@taralain.com

Website:              http://www.taralain.com

Author blog:       http://taralain.blogspot.com

Book blog:           http://beautifulboysbooks.blogspot.com

Goodreads:        http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4541791.Tara_Lain

Savvy Authors:  http://www.savvyauthors.com/vb/member.php?2398-Tara-Lain

Twitter:               http://twitter.com/taralain

Facebook:           http://www.facebook.com/people/Tara-Lain/100001514105686

FB Page:               http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tara-Lain/205042046209804

Amazon:              http://www.amazon.com/Tara-Lain/e/B004U1W5QC/

B&N                       http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Tara-Lain?keyword=Tara+Lain&store=book

ARe                       http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=Tara+Lain

Fellow Etopian author Sue Swift has a new book out and, although it’s a departure from our usual genre chez Tris, I asked her to let us have a look at it. Over to Sue!

Sherry, Baby (Etopia Press)

Blurb

The cruise from hell…

Gen X meets Agatha Christie on the high seas of the Bermuda Triangle when Sherry Case, gofer for the battling bigwigs in the family-owned firm Genesplice, arranges for a team-building cruise aboard the yacht Swashbuckler. However, the mismatched group of passengers feuds even before the yacht has left the harbor.

A rogue wave, faltering navigational instruments and a trio of sharks continue to challenge Sherry and her new lover, the yacht’s Captain Freeman. But Free and Sherry aren’t fazed until a passenger turns up dead in her locked cabin. The vicious murder throws the ship, its crew and passengers into panic. Who could the killer be? Suspects and motives abound.

Ordinary twenty-somethings thrown into an extraordinary situation, Sherry and Free must solve the mystery, defeat the myriad dangers of the triangle, and reach land before the villain can kill them.

 

Excerpt from Chapter Three

Sherry eyed the metal rungs soldered to the outside of the wheelhouse, deciding that they looked simple and sturdy enough for her to negotiate. She climbed up and found Free slouched on a built-in bench, smoking a hand rolled cigarette. A beer was balanced on the railing next to him. He offered her the cigarette.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A spliff. Try it.”

She sucked on the end, pulling smoke into her mouth. She coughed. “What’s in it?”

“Jamaican and tobacco.”

“Oh.” Taking a chance that the mixture wouldn’t sear her throat, she drew a hit deep into her lungs. She let the smoke out slowly, waiting for the marijuana to calm her. She hoped she wouldn’t get the munchies. She’d had a good diet day, though it had been tough. Chaz was a crazy culinary genius who could destroy her body singlehandedly.

Free knocked on the floor—which was, she realized, the ceiling of the bridge—and a hand holding another bottle of beer thrust out of one of the wheelhouse’s open windows. Simmons, she guessed, engaging in a routine familiar to both men. Free handed the beer to her and, in a surprisingly amicable silence, she and Free finished the smoke and sipped their beers.

Finally he spoke. “Quite a scene, down at dinner.” He tossed the roach over the side of the boat.

She watched the tiny red ash disappear into the roiling water flowing past the yacht. “Yes, they have their spats.”

“What does Blair Armstrong have on Dr. Rankin?”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated. “When I went outside, she seemed to be threatening him with something. He almost went for her throat.”

If Free had wanted to know what Blair had said to Nathan, why hadn’t he asked her? Sherry hadn’t imagined their conversation on deck, but didn’t feel comfortable bringing up the subject. If Free had a private chat with Blair, it was his business, not hers. So she said, “Nathan? Hmmm. That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“Most of the time, nothing ruffles Nathan. He’s one of those people who can shut out the world.”

“Absent minded scientist type?”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t look the part.”

She smiled with satisfaction. “No, he doesn’t. But Nathan and Blair are cousins, so I bet they know a lot about each other. They’ve been fighting for months about the direction of Nathan’s research.”

“So what’s wrong with Rankin’s research?”

“Nothing. He’s bioengineered guppies to live in chlorinated water. He wants to create additional species we can sell to swimming pool owners who want to swim with the fishies.”

“Sounds fun.”

“That’s why I asked you to plan some snorkeling on this cruise.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll take you to some nice snorkeling spots. What do you think of Nona and Orlando?”

She laughed. “They’re perfect. I can’t believe we haven’t seen them satirized on Comedy Central.”

“So your Board of Directors thinks that Hippy and Dippy can teach Philip, Blair, and Nathan to make nice?”

They both laughed.

“And Blair seems to have brought her private agenda,” Sherry said. Nathan usually spent most of his time in his lab, using assistants to keep Blair at bay. Here, Blair could pressure him constantly about her fertility, which everyone at Genesplice knew was her fixation.

“Hell, everyone on this trip has a private agenda.”

Sherry rubbed her cheeks, hoping to hide her guilty flush from Free.

He asked, “So what’s your game? I noticed that you and the good Dr. Rankin seemed pretty chummy.”

She hated the way her face gave away everything she thought or felt. “He should be.”

“Have you slept with him yet?” Free’s tone was casual.

She glared at him. “You have no right to ask that question.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bundle. If anyone’s playing musical beds, the captain and crew need to know in case of emergencies.”

“Oh. Well, we have.”

He cocked a brow at her. “You don’t sound all head-over-heels to me. Is he good in the sack?”

She nearly fell off the bench. “That’s none of your business!”

“Okay, he’s lousy. So why do you bother?”

Whoa. After maybe fifteen seconds of analyzing Sherry and Nathan’s relationship, Captain Freeman had nailed her to the wall, defining the issue in a nutshell. Nathan was as single-minded in pursuit of orgasms as he was in pursuit of his scientific goals, and after he got what he wanted in bed, he was done.

Regardless of whether or not Sherry had gotten what she wanted or needed.

Crap. She didn’t want to discuss this with Free, did she? Why would he care?

This was one of the strangest conversations Sherry had ever experienced, even while under the influence of multiple substances. But the pot had made her a little loose and chatty, so she said, “I care about Nathan, but—”

“He doesn’t ring your chimes.” Free’s voice was rough.

She blew out a breath. Tipping her head back, she regarded the stars. “He’s my best chance.”

“Your best chance at what?”

“To get out of the hole I’m in. My job stinks. I can’t do anything else. I need to get married, and fast.”

“You pregnant?”

“No.”

“So what’s your hurry? Pretty girl like you ought to be playing the field.”

Sherry wondered if Free meant playing with him. She said, “I’m nearly thirty. Washed up. Getting old. If I can’t find a secure situation soon, I’m toast.”

“Why don’t you get a better job? These jerk brains treat you like garbage. You know, there isn’t enough money in the world to make me put up with these people for any longer than this cruise. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I can’t get a better job.” Fury, shame, and sorrow made her spit out the words. “I barely crawled through high school.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re not stupid.”

“Yes, I am. I was diagnosed with a learning disability when I was nine. My mother told me that my face was my fortune, and I’d better marry well. Nathan’s my best chance.”

Free started to laugh, then guffaw. “I’ve never heard such a crock of shit in my entire life.”

“It’s true.” She heard the bitterness in her voice, but she didn’t care what Free thought.

“You want to be Nathan Rankin’s trophy wife? Come on. You can do more than type and screw.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve watched you. You handle a group of very difficult people with tact and aplomb.”

“Aplomb?” She turned that over in her mind.

“Yeah. Aplomb. What about the poofters?”

“Poofters?” Free’s change of subject momentarily startled Sherry. “Oh, Philip and his latest fling. Philip can be as mouthy as Blair, but he’s really a fangless snake. Slimy but harmless. Greg is just his meal du jour. Philip chews ‘em up and spits ‘em out on a regular basis.”

“Another shallow gay poseur.”

“You get them in Bermuda?”

“No, not much. Bermuda’s basically a conservative place, anti-gay. I meet all kinds in Miami, though.”

“I bet. Yeah, Philip’s quite a piece of work. He loves shallowly, hates deeply, and holds a grudge forever.”

Free leaned back and eyed her. “We’d best keep an eye on Philip, the crew and I.”

“Yeah, but don’t let him get the wrong idea.” Sherry shrugged. “Heck, for all I know, for you it could be the right idea.”

“What?”

Even in the starlight, she could see astonishment all over his face. She was seized by a fit of the giggles. The pot had definitely kicked in.

“I’ll have you know—” Free started. “Aw, what the hell,” he said, and jammed a hand into her hair, bringing her close. Their lips were no more than a hairsbreadth apart.

Sherry gasped.

He drew back. “No,” he said.

“N-no?” She searched her feelings, trying to figure out if she was disappointed or not.

“No.” He sounded firm. “You think men value you for your looks, and that you have nothing else to offer. I’m going to prove you wrong.”

Picking up his Red Stripe, he left the upper deck.

 

You can find Sue here:http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com

A few weeks ago I had the honour of welcoming Erastes to my site. I never imagined then she’d be coming back so soon but when I read her latest book, A Brush with Darkness, I couldn’t resist asking her back.

Click To Buy

Tris: Welcome back, Erastes. I decided to dump the sherry in favour of Pimm’s. It seems more appropriate to the season, so I hope you like it.

Erastes: Thank you, old bean. *sucks on the cucumber*

Tris: When I heard about A Brush with Darkness I had to buy it. It has all the elements for me: Florence, vampirism and homosexuality. Florence is one of my favourite cities and I have always thought of its dark back streets as ideal hunting grounds for vampires. Do you know the city well, what gave you the idea? And why the introduction of Fiesole?

Erastes: I’m happy you bought it!  LOL. I have been to Florence a good few times, although not for many years. I love wandering around the streets and in places well off the beaten track, wherever I go (did this once in New York in the 80s and ran like a mad thing out of the area and back to the patrolled subway station in utter fear, so it doesn’t always work) and Florence is perfect for that, as there are loads of lovely alleys and back streets.

I originally had Michel’s name di Posco, but when I did the rewrite I couldn’t remember for the life of me why I’d called him that. As there didn’t appear to be a place called Posco, so I found another smallish place and named him di Fiesole instead. It had to be somewhere with a memorable church, which isn’t hard in Italy, after all.

The idea was supposed to be the assimilation of an artist by his muse (hence the headaches, which Michel only gets when he’s away from Yuri) I sort of wanted to have Yuri as a kind of emotional leech, but I don’t think that idea came over well enough, and the book never emerged into a full-size novel so there wasn’t really the space to play with the idea. Perhaps one day!

Tris: I think most people understand the potential sensuality of the vampire, and since Anne Rice the sexual ambiguity has been outed. What do you think makes your story different, what makes it worth reading?

Erastes: I don’t know that it is terribly different, I don’t actually read vampire fiction, so it could be tropey as hell. But I liked the disconnect between people who do bad things, and evil people, whether they be human or not. If vampires did exist I don’t think they’d be sexy at all. And they wouldn’t all be impossibly beautiful! I do think they would likely be sexually changeable though, after you’ve lived a few lifetimes I think you’d be curious to want to try anything going.

I think my problem (?) is that I don’t worry too much whether or not my story is different enough or samey enough to be popular, it’s a story that forms in my head and I just tell it.

Tris: Well, I think that is to be admired and I’m rather like that myself. This is a re-release of an older story, Chiaroscuro, isn’t it? Did you make many changes to it?

Erastes: Yes, but it is a step towards the book I want it to be eventually, although I may never get around to it. As it stands even though it’s quite short (19k I think?)  it’s expanded by a good few thousand words, the murder plot was a new introduction and made a stronger start than what was there originally, and gave Yuri a reason to do what he did at the end – I hope!

It did truly appallingly with Aspen Mountain Press, so when Carina said that they would consider previously printed works I thought it would be a good opportunity to give it a fresh coat of paint and unleash it again. Hopefully it will reach some new readers now and be a lot more successful.

Tris: Why did you choose 1875?

Erastes: *snort* I dare say I should come up with something very researchy and learned and say “oh yes it was because 1875 was the last year that Florence was the capital of Italy” or something but seriously? I just randomly picked a date—it’s a pretty timeless story, so it probably would have worked from the Renaissance and up. (and by Timeless I mean I haven’t used much to anchor it in that particular time, not that it’s TIMELESS.)

Tris: Here, have a bit more cucumber *passes green dildo-shaped vegetable* Do you plan any more paranormal stories?

Erastes:  I was just about to write “very probably not” but I do have one started (I have lots of stuff started…) which is a paranormal and more than that I cannot say because if I were to say what kind of paranormal it is it would ruin the entire plot which may be too complicated for me to handle. It’s not a favourite genre to write because so many people do it so much better than me—and as you can see my ideas about vampires for a start aren’t particularly original…I’m more likely to write paranormals as shorts though.

Tris: Well, I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed reading A Brush with Darkness, so much so that I read it in one sitting. How about an excerpt to tempt my readers?

Erastes: Aw – thank you so much. I’m very, very pleased you enjoyed it

Thank you so much for having me here again, Tristram—as I have nothing in the pipeline right now, I won’t be pestering you for a while yet. But I’ll take the Pimms with me… And these cheeses. Oh, and the old sherry…

I’d also like to offer a free copy of A Brush with Darkness to one commenter so please don’t be afraid to leave a comment if you’d like to be entered.

Here’s an excerpt which I don’t think has been put on the net before:

He was more correct than he knew, that honest, terrified policeman. Light had always been my guide and salvation, for what is art but the fall of light on objects unseen? Light falling on the edges of my world had mapped it out for me as a child. Light drew my eye from my earliest memory, that of my mother leaning over the kitchen table, her body in shade, but her golden hair lit with the ray of sun that poured through a high window. The shine of dust motes in daylight. The fuzzy glow of a candle flame. The myriad, mad colours made by a hearth fire and a child experimenting with wood and other fuels, just to see the differing hues in the dancing flames. The gleam of sun or rain on the same set of leaves, or the tiles of a villa—different and astounding. I captured them in my mind long before I picked up charcoal or daubed with paint.

And light brought me the ability to translate it onto paper, to show where it lay and where it hid, describing and shaping everything that God and man created. From an iridescent insect in the jaws of a light brown spider, turning over and over within shiny, silvery cobweb chains, to the cream solidity of the cathedral at Fiesole, its clock tower pointing like a finger to God above the town. Everything was a game to my hand and eye and brush, and I knew my talent and thanked God for it.

For it brought me to him, whose name captured everything I worshipped.

I remember our first touch. My fingers tingle at the memory of it. But it was not his touch which changed my world. That wonder happened at our first meeting, and it was a full week after that meeting before he held my hand in his. I didn’t even learn his name until our third encounter. No one had said it, not even Signora Guildeccia.

Signor Bettano took me to her box for an introduction, and my patron had been almost out of character in his loss of composure as we moved through the lushly carpeted hallways on our way to meet the great lady herself.

“Try to say no more than you have to, Michel,” Bettano instructed. “She will be interested in you, oh yes indeed.” His voice dropped a tone as if suddenly talking to himself. “But you must trust me. You know little of this city and its politics. Leave the talking to me. After last night I should reconsider our arrangement…”

He rumbled on, repeating much of what he’d said after the constable had gone, and again that morning, and yet again this afternoon, and I’d long ceased to listen or be impressed by it. He would not refuse a possible commission from the Guildeccias—no matter how I’d behaved.

But there was something about his discomposure which had me a little unsettled. I wondered if it was the description I’d given him of the murdered men. God alone knew I couldn’t get the grisly images out of my head, and it had helped—just a little—sharing it with another person, although Bettano had paled significantly and forbidden me to speak of it to anyone else, not the servants nor his wife and daughter, and never to mention it to him again.

I walked beside him along the carpeted corridors of the Teatro della Pergola, with the muted screech of a soprano sounding from the stage. “Si, signore. But what about next week? When I go to the villa to start work? What then?”

If you do,” he said. He would often try but had never succeeded in denting my confidence, In my youthful arrogance and self-confidence I was sure no one would refuse my work. “Next week is a long time away. First, let us worry about tonight.”

I obeyed, worrying but little, but kept silent. We were held outside the Guildeccia box until the act ended, then two liveried servants opened the double doors. One of them took Bettano’s card. My patron slid into the ingratiating and subservient toady stance—the one I like to call number four of the many performances he put on for others. It was one he saved purely for aristocracy and one of his most revolting. When he had his expression firmly in place, he led the way into the box.

After nauseating compliments to a seated, silent figure draped shoulder to foot in black lace, Signor Bettano turned at last and gestured to me.

“Here is our new talent, signora, as promised. Allow me to introduce Michel di Fiesole. Michel—I have the great honour to present you to Signora Guildeccia.”

I bowed low once more, my hat trailing the floor. I stayed down as I had been tutored.

A voice. Deep and amused, laced with the hint of a smile. “Stand, my child. Come a little closer.”

I stepped further within the box and up to her chair where she sat as if enthroned. I tried to ignore how she had called me child, despite my twenty-five years.

“Look at me,” she ordered and I raised my eyes to her face.

I was astounded at what I saw. The signora was breathtakingly beautiful. Every tale I’d heard about her was true. Slight and pale, with skin like finest Pietrasanta marble, dark hair—surely an artifice?—scraped back from a tall brow, and eyes so deep brown as to appear almost black. She seemed younger than I had imagined, than I had been told, looking as though she was forty at the most instead of the early seventies I thought I knew her to be.

She held me in her gaze for a long moment, and I was unsure whether I was expected to look back or to look away. Finally she laughed, a tiny tinkling sound like the shattering of a champagne flute. “I have seen your work, signore. Do you think you will be able to do justice to your subject?”

A direct question. My brain went numb as I hesitated for a second or two, expecting my patron to deliver on his promise to talk for me. He said nothing and I was left looking foolish, gasping for words.

“I…I…feel confident that if the signora likes my previous work, she will be satisfied with my humble efforts on her behalf.”

“Don’t emulate your patron, boy.” Her voice was amused and sarcastic. “He knows half of what he thinks he knows and thinks half as well as he speaks. I did not say I liked your work. Merely that I had seen it.”

I bristled at this, my youthful pride getting the better of me. “The signora surprises me then by allowing such an amateur to paint a member of her family.”

I heard my patron gasp and he attempted to intercede. “Signora. Excuse him. He is young, stupid—” but the signora laughed again.

She ignored him and held out a hand in lace gloves for me to clasp. I did so, hardly daring to do otherwise, knowing a swift eviction from the box was the least I deserved. With surprising strength she pulled me up close to her chair. Keeping my hand trapped in hers, she traced my cheek with a finger.

“Strength of mind. Yes. I had heard as much. A proper respect for your own talent. A good thing. Now, my question remains. Can you paint this face?”

I expected her to keep me captive, but instead she pushed her hand against my cheek, forcing my face to the side. Then she pointed at a figure in black which I hadn’t seen. He—for the matter of his sex was all I could ascertain at first—must have been obscured by the side curtains. The gas lamps were behind him and his face was in darkness. The radiance of the lights shimmered like a corona behind his hair. For a second, even without the detail of his features, he looked like a Russian icon, blazing with saintly radiance.

Then he stepped away from the curtains. The light hit the sides of his face, and my world, as I had known it, ended. My mouth dried. My eyes felt as though they were being seared from the insides out. A darkness crept over me, as if I’d looked too long at the sun, and just for a moment, I thought there was some enchantment cast upon me, a spell where just to look upon him had robbed me of my sight.

It would have been ironic indeed if such beauty could rob a man of his vision. Men were not born to be so beautiful. Such exquisite features were the masks of gods and heroes, not mere mortals suddenly stepping into a pool of light in a chilly opera house. As I stood there gaping like a schoolboy, my heart pounding and a heavy pressure rising in my loins, there came a low chuckle from behind me.

“Well, child?”

I tore my tortured eyes from his face. I glanced around in some confusion—no one else seemed to find his appearance surprising or miraculous.

“Can you paint him or not?”

My patron went to step forward but the signora’s hand stopped him dead. She leaned forward to hear my reply.

I swallowed and answered her at last, but I could not look up again, not at her and not at him, terrified that if I did I might wake and find that I was only dreaming. I was breathlessly aware that the beautiful man had moved back into shadow.

“I can paint him, signora.” A small headache began behind my eyes.

“You think so?” Her voice was steel behind silk and she raised my head with a strong finger beneath my chin. Her eyes were deep as the sky and her gaze penetrated mine, perhaps searching for something she didn’t find. “I wonder if you are as arrogant as they say.”

“I can paint him,” I repeated stubbornly, “but I will never capture him.”

You can find Erastes here:

 www.erastes.com

I’ve got a bit of a scoop today. A month or so ago I came across (I dare hardly say that with my guest around) a funny gay short story called Cocks and Cars. The author, Daniel deLoite, is something of an enigma with no website or blog and no presence on Facebook, Twitter or anywhere else as far as I can tell. I wanted to interview him and couldn’t, so felt a bit disappointed after my successes with James Lear and Erastes.

A couple of days ago I was in one of my favourite haunts in Soho (and no, I’m not telling you which one) and got chatting to a couple of rather nice guys. Asked what I did for a living, of course I was proud to tell them I’m an author. “You’re Tristram La Roche?” one of them said, his mouth agape. I nodded. “I love your books. I’m Daniel deLoite,” he said, offering his hand. Well, I don’t know if it was the alcohol or just that he was so overawed being in my presence (ahem) but he agreed to give me an interview. Fortunately, I had pen and paper with me. This is the first interview I’ve done face-to-face and I think you can tell the difference. Now, be warned – he is a one-off and he speaks his mind! If you are easily offended you might want to skip it.

Tris: Daniel, this is such a stroke of luck. Thank you for agreeing to this.

Daniel: No problem, Tris. Most of my strokes are lucky, if you get my meaning.

Tris: Erm, yes, quite. Now, I have to ask you because I get this all the time, is Daniel deLoite your real name?

Daniel: It is now.

Tris: Could you maybe expand on that, just a bit?

Daniel: OK, since it’s you. When I read your first book, On My Knees, I looked at your name and thought, what a great name. Up until then I’d been a plain old John Smith, and that wasn’t my real name either. You see, my real name was Seth Sathersthwaite, so you can imagine why I wanted to change it and why I initially chose something plain.

Tris: So you chose Daniel deLoite just because you like my name? Tsk!

Daniel: You should be proud, Tris. And it’s all down to you that I started to write.

Tris: It is? How come?

Daniel: I thought, Jesus, if this old queen can flog this crap -

Tris: OK, OK! Can we talk about your writing now and try to be serious? I am intrigued by the title, Cocks and Cars. Wherever did you get the idea?

Daniel: We’re car fanatics. We also used to look at a lot of the gay websites like Gaydar and Gay.com and stuff, as well as some of the photo galleries. Whenever we had a computer problem and took it in to be repaired, the guy in the shop  – who fortunately knew us well – always said that he knew what he’d find on our computers, cocks and cars. I like the way it rolls off the tongue – I’m very oral, you know.

Tris: Yes, I think anyone who reads your stories will gather that. So, is Cocks and Cars autobiographical?

Daniel: Yes and no. Yes, some of those situations I’ve been in, I know some people like the characters in it. No, because I think it could be biographical for about 90% of gay men, I don’t think it’s unique to me at all.

Tris: Someone said to me that it was sex devoid of any emotion.

Daniel: And? So what? I’m sick of all this pansy romance that clogs up Kindle. Most gay men enjoy sex for the sake of sex and that’s what I decided to write about. That’s what I liked about your writing.

Tris: But I don’t think my stories are devoid of emotion.

Daniel: No, and you could get away with being classified as romance in my view, but you tell it more like it is. Your gay men are real and I can relate to the way they feel and act. I cannot relate to hairdressers with long eyelashes and a lisp going all gooey over a boutique owner with a six pack and a poodle. For fuck’s sake! Talk about stereotyping. It’s no better than having all the black people in your stories singing spirituals, or gypsies selling pegs.

Tris: So, in fact, all you are saying is that you write gay erotica, not gay romance.

Daniel: If that’s the category you want to put me in, I’m fine with it. What you will never catch me writing is any of those what I call sick bag stories, where everything follows a strict formula and all element of surprise has been surgically removed. I mean, purleeze!

Tris: Sick bag stories?

Daniel: Every book should come with a free paper bag to puke in.

Tris: Don’t you think romance is valid, though? It has a huge readership?

Daniel: I’m not saying that and I don’t mean to disparage those who write it. It’s just not for me and I don’t want it shoving down my throat – I don’t mind having things shoved down my throat, but not this. And I really don’t see why I should pretend. I’m clear about my tastes so at least people who buy my stories know what they are in for.

Tris: Which is probably just as well! So, tell my readers what they’re in for if they buy Cocks and Cars.

Daniel: It’s just a bunch of gay guys, old friends, gathering for a dinner, their stupid banter, their obsession with cars and sex. I like to explore characters, to reveal how shallow and lonely people can be even when they appear to outsiders to be totally different. I think it’s called black humour.

Tris: It is funny, it made me laugh out loud several times, and it is also explicit in parts.

Daniel: You mean like when the MC sprays his cum in the air?

Tris: Erm, well yes, that’s one bit I suppose.

Daniel: My nickname used to be Supersoaker-

Tris: I don’t think we need to know that, Daniel. Now, listen, you have a new story out and you’ve called this one…Dick. I guess that’s not the name of the MC?

Daniel: That depends on how you look at it. Dick certainly makes plenty of appearances.

Tris: Does this one have a plot?

Daniel: Ooh, you bitch! Come on, Tris, erotica doesn’t need a plot it just needs sex. However, I like to think that my offerings are well written and encourage the reader to turn the page. Dick is all about a young, hung guy who finds out what he likes and we follow him as he gets as much of it as he can. I hope it’s gripping in some form, even if it just makes the reader grip something.

Tris: Two short stories so far. Any plans to write something longer?

Daniel: I don’t think size is important, it’s what you do with what you’ve got that matters. No, I’m too much of a fidget to write anything much longer than 8,000 words. I’ll keep producing them and can always stick them together in an anthology for those who like to hold something thicker in their fingers.

Tris: Yes, I can see you’re itching to be away now. Look, thanks for your time, Daniel. are you going to tell my readers where they can find you?

Daniel: Not bloody likely! I’m far too shy for all that. But I will let you have an excerpt from Dick, if you want it.

Tris: That would be great, thanks. I enjoyed bumping into you. Good luck with the writing.

Daniel: Cool, cool.

 

Dick by Daniel deLoite

Available from: Amazon

Word Count: 8,600 circa.

Blurb

He’s young, he’s hung and he’s discovered he loves the one thing all gay men and hetero women love, the big ‘D’. Follow his exploits as he learns his craft around the cruising areas and cottages of the city. This darkly comedic erotica is not for the faint hearted.

Excerpt

I breathed a sigh of relief when we got to the flat and found it as quiet as a grave. Even so, I still unlocked the door to my room as furtively as a dog crapping in its master’s shoes, and I locked it again as soon as we were both inside.

“This your first time?” he asked, unbuckling his belt.

“First time bringing someone back, yes, if that’s what you mean.”

“You straight?” What the fuck? I’d just sucked his dick, albeit briefly, and had brought him home. How could I be straight? “I am,” he said. “I need to get home before my girlfriend starts to wonder where I am.” He’d wasted no time while delivering this mini biography and his remarkable appendage was already out in the air. He stepped out of his trousers and pushed me to my knees. “You’re a great cock sucker,” he said, parting my lips and thrusting his nob back and forth between them.

Now, I’d read somewhere in a sex manual that to prevent hurting your partner’s cock you should, during fellatio, cover your teeth with your lips. I thought I’d try it. I soon came to the conclusion that whoever wrote that had either never tried it themselves or were working under cover for some puritanical fanatical religious organisation. In no time the inside of my lips were as shredded as if I’d been sucking off a cheese grater. I think I hid the pain well enough and I managed to perform normally without any complaints from…Lordy, I didn’t even know his name!

“Let’s sixty-nine,” he said, repossessing his dick and pushing me onto my back. He straddled me quite aggressively and I panicked a bit, not too much to spoil it though. I now had a view of his arse and low hanging balls as he tugged to free my own dick. He took me in his mouth and – remember this was my first blow job from another guy – I almost came immediately. So it was true! (Sorry, ladies). But before I could enjoy it he hoisted his hips in the air and speared my face with his dick. Now I really panicked. He had too much length to be on top of me and, as his body sank ever lower and he fucked my mouth like a randy dog, I began to choke. I couldn’t breathe because his loose sack and heavy balls covered my nostrils, couldn’t swallow (stop it!) and when I tried to make him get up he just ignored me. He was much stronger than me and had all the advantage of position. I could feel my erection waning.

I really thought I might die there on the floor, choked to death by a stranger’s cock. I had visions of my flatmate finding me pinned to the floor by an ownerless penis.

Click for Amazon Page

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Tris: My guest today is another Etopia Press author and another Brit, Elin Gregory. Her novella, Alike as Two Bees, has recently been published and has been selling well. Elin, welcome chez Tris.


Elin: Thank you very much for inviting me, Tristram. I’m very pleased to be here.

Tris: Would you first of all clear up one thing that’s really intrigued me? In your author bio at the back of your book it says you live in a beautiful place between England and Wales. Is there some mysterious land that doesn’t show up on any map of Britain?  

Elin: Not any more :) . The border is engraved on the map, now, pinning it down once and for all, but it’s not long, historically speaking, since it used to swing back and forth between England and Wales and sometimes bits fell through the gaps. Monmouthshire, my home, was particularly contentious and it wasn’t until 1967 that it was officially recognised as being part of Wales. Also I live near the pretty ‘kingdom’ of Hay on Wye, second hand book capital of the world. I like borders – if it’s neither one thing nor t’other it’s nice to think it might display the best qualities of both.

Tris: How long have you been writing?  

Elin: Ever since I learned to write so – oh dear – over 50 years! Before that I made up stories and told them to anyone who would listen.  Making up stories is a nice, quiet, and above all cheap, way for a child to amuse herself when her parents are busy. The plus side of writing a story down is that, when one is satisfied with it, one can let other people read it – if anyone wants to. I have a pile of partially completed manuscripts. I may take another look at some of them.

Tris: Why did you decide to write historical fiction?  
Elin: It seemed natural to me to write about the things I knew. No :D I’m not THAT old, but the house I was brought up in was built in 1625 and if I climbed over the garden wall I could go and play in the remains of a medieval castle. When one hears about some historical event – say, the execution of King Charles – and thinks “There were people living in my house when that happened. I wonder what they thought about it?” it doesn’t take long before one starts to try and fill in the dialogue.
Now I work in a museum in a Georgian hunting lodge in the remains of a different medieval castle, built on the edge of a Roman fort. Ideas for historical subjects are ten a penny – all I have to do is look around.

Tris: And why Greece? I assume you know it well?  
Elin: I have to put my hand up to having been a big Mary Renault fan ever since I got my little paws on a copy of The King Must Die. When I was about nine I desperately wanted to be Theseus! Or maybe brave little Hippon. Also I ‘did’ Classics (but not the languages, I’m unfortunately monoglot :( ) as a mature student for my degree. I have to admit that it’s also a draw to be able to write about a period when two men contemplating entering into a relationship would attract approving nods as long as the correct forms were observed.
I wish I did know Greece well. It’s high on my list of places to visit should I ever win the Lottery.

Tris: How much research went into Alike As Two Bees?  

Elin: I still have all my books from my degree and memories of what I read, so I went back to the books to check half remembered facts. Also I was lucky enough to have seen and chatted with a sculptor as he was making a piece for one of our displays. That was in 2009. I thought that what he was doing might come in handy at some time so I made notes. The hand carving techniques hadn’t really changed since the days of Pheidias, nor had the tools. But no matter the amount of research one does, it’s easy enough to slip up. One hopes one will notice any errors before publication but, if it’s after, one just has to take the criticism stoically.

Tris: Alike As Two Bees is a gay love story, an MM as they are known. You have a long association with glbt fiction and writers, and you’re involved with Speak Its Name. You yourself are not gay but married with grown up children. Can you explain what it is that compels you to write this kind of story rather than a standard boy meets girl historical romance?

Elin: I don’t like reading (let alone writing) standard boy meets girl historical romances. Never have. Talking to friends who do like them, there often seems to be some element of identification with the heroine. I can’t do that. I have always identified with male characters in what I read – see above about wanting to be Theseus. My ideal story would be an action adventure story but with the intensity of emotion one finds in some kinds of romance. Insert a female love interest and she either becomes something to do between battles – like Sophia in the Patrick O’Brien novels – or a trope – the feisty heroine raised as a boy by a doting father who taught her to ride/shoot/fence etc etc as well as any man – like Teresa in the Sharpe novels. I find it much more believable for the relationship, either close friendship or love, to be between two men.
That was the analytical reason. The emotional one is that I read Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff when I was small and cried my eyes out over two minor characters, Galt and Levin, who were in love with each other. They were as brave as any other men in the company and it was tragic that, the book being much of its time, they had to die. I want to write their story – or the stories of those like them who have behaved with exemplary courage and grace even if society might have disapproved of where they bestowed their affection.

Tris: Some MM stories are highly explicit. In fact, from my experience I’d say a lot are (at the expense of other content in some cases) and one could get the feeling that some writers are involved in a kind of pissing contest to see who can be the most explicit. You haven’t done this. Alike as Two Bees is as discreet as a Victorian butler. Was this a conscious decision and, if so, why?  

Elin: Alike As Two Bees it was never intended to be erotica so I wrote what I felt I needed to write in the scene and left it at that. I don’t think I’m much good at writing sex for its own sake. I’ll write a sex scene, and make it clear what’s going on, if the plot calls for it. For instance in a WIP I have several sex scenes that I hope will demonstrate how a relationship develops from “I haven’t had a shag for weeks and you’ll do” through “friends with benefits” to a deeper commitment. I hope it will work and I’ll ask someone who knows about that kind of thing to look the scenes over to check that I haven’t written anything glaringly ridiculous.
It worries me that that my very mild story will automatically be lumped in with the erotica. It’s bound to arouse expectations that the story won’t fulfil.

Tris: Is there a difference between erotica and porn?  

Elin: Assuming that we’re talking about things that are generally accepted as legal, and assuming that it is accepted that this is only my opinion and doesn’t reflect on anyone else – not really. It all comes down to taste. There’s that rather flippant definition – “If I enjoy it, it’s erotica, if I don’t, it’s porn”. I think there’s an element of truth in that for most people. But, basically, whatever floats your boat is fine with me. I just reserve the right not to look at it/read it if I don’t feel like it. However, I’m less tolerant of subject matter where lack of consent is presented in a positive or titillating manner. Informed consent is key.  Make it “safe, sane and consensual” and it’s good to go. But again, that’s just my level of comfort. There are plenty of people who enjoy reading rape, torture and abuse and class it as erotic whereas it gives me nightmares.

Tris: So, what can we look forward to from you in the future?  

Elin: Quite a long way forward, I’m afraid. I’ve several stories in the pipeline set in different historical eras. None of them class as romances since the heroes are putting more effort into staying alive than they are into getting together. Closest to completion is a full length novel about pirates (summer 2011 I put on an exhibition about pirates and didn’t want all the research to go to waste), but I also have half a novel about 7th century conflict in Northumbria between the Celts and Saxons, part of a spy caper set in 1928 London and plans for stories set during the Second World War, and in 1st century Rome. I have no idea which one will be finished first. Heck, I might have a rush of blood to the head and write sparkly vampires or something! I doubt it but …

Tris: Thanks for dropping by and chatting, Elin. Before you go, please tell us where we can find you and, of course, that all important book!  

Elin: I’m about the place at http://elingregory.blogspot.com/ (Blogspot)
http://elin-gregory.livejournal.com/  (Live Journal)
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100003403011749&sk=wall (Facebook)
or Twitter as @ElinGregory
I had a website too until some ratbag hacked it and made it unusable. :(

Oh, and the book!

Alike as Two Bees
By: Elin Gregory
Published By: Etopia Press
Published: Mar 02, 2012
ISBN # 9781937976194
Word Count: 19,664
Heat Index: mildly spiced – korma rather than vindaloo

Blurb:

Horses, love, and the tang of thyme and honey…

In Classical Greece, apprentice sculptor Philon has chosen the ideal horse to model for his masterpiece. Sadly, the rider falls well short of the ideal of beauty, but scarred and tattered Hilarion, with his brilliant, imperfect smile, draws Philon in a way that mere perfection cannot.

After years of living among the free and easy tribes of the north, Hilarion has no patience with Athenian formality. He knows what he wants—and what he wants is Philon. Society, friends and family threaten their growing relationship, but perhaps a scarred soldier and a lover of beauty are more alike than they appear.

Available from Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/Alike-as-Two-Bees-ebook/dp/B007FN4U92
Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Alike-as-Two-Bees-ebook/dp/B007FN4U92/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1330778174&sr=8-1
Are http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-alikeastwobees-739038-145.html
B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/alike-as-two-bees-elin-gregory/1109203391?cm_mmc=AFFILIATES-_-Linkshare-_-TnL5HPStwNw-_-10:1
and Kobo http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Alike-as-Two-Bees/book-pHxwYP54VESBjFXkqCbhcA/page1.html

Thank you very much, Tristram, for your hospitality. It’s been fun. :)

I‘m pleased to welcome back chez Tris my friend and author Tara Lain. Tara’s latest release, Fire Balls, is already hot property on Amazon, and today she’s going to give you some background to the story plus a hot excerpt. First of all, here’s a reminder about who Tara is:

Tara Lain

Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with EROM in 2009 and, through perseverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote published in January of 2011. Then she capped off the year by being voted Best Author of 2011 in the LRC Awards and had her Genetic Attraction Series named runner-up for Best Series of 2011! A very good year. After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas, she says on her tombstone it will read, “Yes”.

And now, heeeere’s Tara! 

Thank you so much for having me back, Tris.  Every writer has heard the question again and again. How do you think up those stories? Where do the ideas come from? And every writer will probably answer the same way–from everywhere. But I think a particularly fun story about how the ideas spring to life comes from my brand new book, Fire Balls. So let me tell you where this story came from.

Some of you may know that last year I wrote a novella called Volley Balls. That idea was inspired by a friend who sent me a video of an Aussie Bums swim trunks ad.  I created a story of a gay art gallery owner in beautiful Laguna Beach, California who meets two Australian volley ball players on the beach. Since the setting of the story is so great and people liked the book, I decided I wanted to write a sequel to Volley Balls. Clearly, the title had to involve balls! LOL. So I sorted through the words that go with balls. Fortunately, I had lots to choose from. Fire Balls leaped out at me. Oh boy, I could write a story with a firefighter. YUM! I love contrast in my heroes so I decided to make my point of view character as unlikely as possible. In Volley Balls I had introduced a character I loved named Rodney who is my hero’s best friend. We don’t learn a lot about him in Volley Balls so I knew I could create a whole story for him. But we do know that he is small and feisty. Here was a perfect contrast to a hunky alpha firefighter. But what’s the story?

I decided to make Rodney a painter. Since David the gallery owner was his friend that would make sense. Then where does the conflict come from? I know Rod is self-assured but he’s small. What if he paints gorgeous men and considers himself unattractive? Suddenly I thought of the famous play, Cyrano de Bergerac, in which the great swordsman is also a poet and artist but thinks of himself as unworthy of love because of his huge nose. He tries to set up his friend with the woman he himself loves. Bingo. There was the framework for a story–minus the nose.  An artist who is also a black belt in karate adores a hunky firefighter but thinks the man could never love him back so he tries to play matchmaker between the man he loves and his good friend, the handsome surfer. Cyrano and the firefighter. That’s where this book idea came from.

If you would like to win a copy of Fire Balls, please leave a comment here on Tris’s blog with your email (don’t forget the email.) You will be entered in a drawing this coming Friday. Then, if you go over to Beautiful Boys Books and leave a comment with your email you will receive ANOTHER entry. There’s more. To learn all the chances to win, check my website at http://www.taralain.com. Look under events. Thank you, Tris, for welcoming me here again and thanks to all of you for coming to say “hi”.

Rodney Mansfield is tiny, flamboyant and, oh yeah, a black belt in karate. He is also one of southern California’s greatest artists. Too bad the work of art he really wants is firefighter, Hunter Fallon. But the gorgeous “straight gay” guy could never want the Runtback of Notre Dame, so when Rodney’s handsome, surfer friend, Jerry, develops an unexpected passion for the beautiful firefighter, Rodney breaks his own heart by helping Jerry land his man. And then Rod makes it worse by embarrassing Hunter when he protects him from a firehouse bully. Hunter hates gay guys like Rodney – doesn’t he? Then why can’t he get the powerful pipsqueak’s face out of his mind… and cock out of his ass? And why does he risk his job and his life to rescue Rod from a burning building? Isn’t it time for him to admit he’s not an alpha male after all and that he is the property of the artist?

Rodney glanced over to see how his model was doing. Total heart stop and brain malfunction. Perfect. Every line and curve. Every angle. Hunter’s body was so lean that each muscle stood out against his tan skin like a piece of sculpture. The pose twisted his torso just enough to make his narrow waist seem even slimmer against the breadth of his shoulders and his hard, curved pecs. His legs were long and looked carved from marble. Even his feet were perfect. Oh God. Rod wanted to suck each toe in homage.

And in the middle of all this art, surrounded by light tan skin and at the end of a happy trail of silken dark hair, was a magnificent cock lying relaxed against Hunter’s right leg. He was a low hanger, a real shower. Long and graceful, framed by loose balls and a soft pubic nest, this was a penis of the gods. Rodney wanted to paint it all alone in every possible posture. Yeah, preferably erect. Shit, he had to quit staring, or at least pretend the staring was professional and not prurient. Sure, right.

Hunter’s cock might be relaxed but the rest of his body was vibrating with tension. Rodney tried not to think how much he would like that to be reversed. Had to put the guy at ease before he had a coronary.

He grabbed his camera from the worktable and started snapping. “Looks great, Hunter. Perfect. Just relax as much as you can while I snap some photos. I’ll use these to work on the painting when you’re not here. I can use the shots to get general massing and proportion but I like to have the model live to put in texture and shadow. Nothing beats life for that kind of detail.” He was babbling but he hoped it would help the guy relax.

The beautiful body seemed to melt into the daybed, his arm over his eyes relaxed, and his fingers opened. Rod drew closer to capture a close-up of that graceful, powerful hand, then hurried back to the table and grabbed the sketch pad, leaving the camera behind. God, those long fingers. He stared at the calluses that seemed in conflict with the dance-like beauty of the relaxed hand. Scribbling, he committed the pose to paper before shifting his attention. A fast interpretation of Hunter’s carved mouth, the top lip intriguingly fuller than the bottom, giving the architectural symmetry of his face an unexpected pout. A quick swirl to capture his cleft chin, then a loving sketch of the gorgeous collarbone that defined the hard, muscular shoulder.

Down and down. Rodney hummed. Hunter seemed unconcerned, his breath having slowed. Maybe he needed a good nap. Man, look at those abs. That was a twelve-pack, baby. Down the happy trail and…he stopped sketching in awe. What a cock. Had to capture it. His fingers flew over the paper as he quietly chuckled. Yeah, he’d like to capture it. In his hands or mouth. He did study after study glancing up to be sure Hunter wasn’t watching Rod fixate on that dick.

OK, enough. “Hunter, move if you need to,” Rod murmured.

“Huh?” The arm came off his eyes, and he raised his head. “Oh man, I think I was nearly asleep.”

“Sorry to wake you. Go ahead and sleep and I’ll just draw.”

He sat up. “No. I better stretch or I’ll get really stiff. Sorry. I just got off a double shift. Didn’t realize I was so tired.”

Rod pointed to a clothes tree beside the platform. “Need a bathrobe?”

Hunter gave a shy grin. A-fucking-dorable. “Nah, I guess not. We’re both guys.”

Rodney struck a pose with hand on hip. “But since we’re both gay guys the implications are slightly different, wouldn’t you say?”

Hunter shook his head. “No fishing in another guy’s pond.”

Rod’s heart tripped. “You mean you and Jerry?”

“No, I mean Bill. He seems like a great guy.”

Rod smiled. “He is, but we’re just friends.”

Hunter sat on the edge of the daybed, that gorgeous cock hanging down between his legs. Distracting much? Rod busied himself blocking out the figure on the huge canvas.

“I thought you two were on a date.”

“Yeah. Our first and last. Dutch from now on. We realized we make better pals than lovers.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Rod looked up. “Nothing to be sorry about. Not everyone fits.”

“But wouldn’t you have liked it to work?”

He stopped drawing. Would he? “I kind of have a thing for someone else. Unrequited. But it makes getting into a relationship harder.” He spoke the truth.

“You need to find someone who appreciates you. A talent like you doesn’t come along every day.”

“Yeah, well, maybe.” A small crack opened in his heart.

“Shall I lie back down?”

“Need the bathroom or anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Hunter lay down.

Rod looked away. Shit. He would not cry. Deep breath. He returned to the canvas and tried for a rakish smile. “Besides, I imagine Bill’s a top. We would have killed each other. He’d push me down and I’d fight and grab him. It would have been ugly. Blood all over, both of us trying to dominate.”

Silence. Deafening silence. Rod glanced up. Hunter lay in the prescribed position, arm over eyes. But his formerly relaxed cock had risen to half-mast. What had gotten him going? Bill? Being a top? Killing each other. Hmm.

Let’s find out. “I’d try to stick my cock in his ass, and he’d be trying to grab me and hold me down. What a battle.”

Sure enough, the slow rise continued. Rod edged closer. Crap, the fireman wasn’t just a shower. Look at that gorgeous thing. Closer. What would happen if he touched? He wanted to touch so badly. His hand rose as he took another step.

E-mail:                   tara@taralain.com

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You can buy Fire Balls from Amazon and other resellers.

I don’t know about you but I never read blogs that talk about what tea the author’s been drinking or how sick their cat has been. To me it’s inconceivable that my readers would have the slighest interest in my morning shower or breakfast. When I browse, I look for subjects with a bit of meat on their bones. The other day I came across a gobsmacking blog item called RWA Shouldn’t Be in the Business of Discrimination. Now, when I see the word discrimination I sit up and pay attention. The post appears on The Amazon Iowan and is all about how one of the Chapters of the Romance Writers of America has banned same sex stories from their competition. This seems relevant to us here chez Tris, so I contacted the author, Heidi Cullinan, and invited her over. I’m pleased to say she accepted.

Tris: Welcome, Heidi. Thank you for agreeing to be my guest today. Would you mind starting off by telling us a little about yourself – who you are, what you do?

Heidi: I am, as my twitter bio states, “Wife, mother, professional amazon.” I write novels, ten so far and they’re all LGBT themed. Mostly m/m, though I have bisexual heroes, lesbian heroines, the whole alphabet soup. I co-own a “sexual liberation blog” with Marie Sexton we call Coffee and Porn in the Morning (cupoporn.net). I’m also the president of Rainbow Romance Writers, the online special interest chapter of RWA for LGBT romances. And an Iowan. I really like being an Iowan.

Tris: I think it’s quite hard for some Brits to understand the huge gap between where we stand on equality and where the US stands. Some of your States and politicians seem positively primitive to us, and the religious right would make us laugh if it weren’t so serious. I guess this latest move by the RWA chapter is fuelled by that?

Heidi: I think so. The story is now that the chapter members didn’t want to be associated with LGBT, which gets really skeevy when you see that LGBT authors have won from them in the past. As for where the religious right comes from, I think you can blame the pilgrims. Though jokes aside, a lot of this has to do with cultural shifts and that much talked about divide in America, but it’s not the 99% verses the 1% or anything quite so sexy. It’s more about the emptying out of small towns, the changing demographics of Safe White Places. I think LGBT is such a lightning rod because the metaphor fits so handily. Invisible “enemy.” Masculinity  and femininity “perverted.” Religion “threatened.” All those things come from culture, not THE GAY, but a real-time enemy is so much more comfortable. Believing that eradicating THE GAY will fix everything is so much more palatable than the fact that the world is changing and nothing but nothing will bring back the comforts some of these people know and love. That and they’re given a lot of permission by politicians, religious institutions, and television networks. That helps just a little bit.

Tris: In 1979 we elected a homophobic government which, though it took its time about it, brought in the infamous Section 28 of the Local Government Act 1988. I’ll quote the relevant section:

A local authority “shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality” or “promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship”.

As a result, many groups had to close or limit their activities or self-censor. A number of lesbian, gay and bisexual student support groups in schools and colleges across Britain were closed owing to fears by council legal staff that they could breach the Act. This was only finally repealed at the end of 2003! Hard enough to imagine, but the USA elected a homophobic president at the start of the 21st century and kept him in office until 2009! How much of a setback was George W Bush to the cause of GLBT rights and do you think this latest move by RWA would have happened without President Bush’s terms in office?

Heidi: Wow, that’s a nasty act. Glad it’s gone.

I don’t think President Bush was a specific bully. I think he’s another lightning rod but for the other side. I’ve watched him speak since leaving office, have seen footage withheld from when he was in office, have heard more of his voice and less of the people who controlled the view of his Presidency, and I think he’s more like the rest of us than we care to know. I think he believed he was doing the best thing he could do at every point of his Presidency. And more importantly, a lot of people believed that too. To me that’s the true problem with LGBT rights: too many people think limiting them and even eliminating them isn’t just good it’s necessary. That has to change. It is changing, I think, but incredibly slowly.

For the record, I don’t believe RWA sat down and thought, “Yes, let’s squelch LGBT rights.” RWI did, surely (The Oklahoma chapter.) I think RWA just didn’t want to bother with it. They made a legal reading that said, “It’s okay if you do it.” The thought of how moral that was wasn’t on the page, and I don’t think they care so much that now it’s being brought into the forefront. They are, I’m quite certain, angry at me for blogging what I did. Had I known this was what would happen, I’d have taken a hell of a lot more time on that post and done a lot more double checking. I had a few facts wrong, like who said what to whom and when. Basically though the end result remains that RWA doesn’t have an anti-discrimination policy, and last year when asked point blank if chapters had a legal standing to refuse same-sex entries, the executive director said yes. If that’s not abetting discrimination, I don’t know what is.

Tris: Okay, let’s take a look at your post on the subject. Is there anything you want to point out before we do?

Heidi: That I was really ill when I wrote it and overtired and had absolutely no idea that it would be viral. That’s about it.

Well, and thanks for interviewing me and giving us some higher profile. The best thing to come of this is that our membership feels full to bursting with support. And we went from feeling down and defeated to feeling like we were sailing on an amazing tide. Thank you, Tris and everyone, for that.

Tris: It’s my pleasure, Heidi. Glad to be able to offer support. Here’s that all important blog post of Heidi’s:

RWA Shouldn’t Be in the Business of Discrimination

– Note: MTM will no longer accept same-sex entries in any category.

from the contest rules for the More Than Magic contest hosted by Romance Writers Ink Chapter of RWA

It’s taken me several days to be able to write this blog post, and the worst part of it is that my job isn’t done with this. As president of the Rainbow Romance Writers, RWA’s chapter for LGBT chapter, it’s my job to address the situation. I intend to, but I admit, at this point I keep reading that above line and feeling heavy and tired and depressed. I try to tell myself it’s because I’ve been felled by a pretty impressive cold for over a week and that it’s what’s making me tired. It’s a good story, and I wish I could buy it. But the bald truth is that I read that line, and every time it just hurts all over again.

The membership of RRW has been braver than me. Several members have emailed to ask why the change; one member got a reply. She was told it was a hard decision, but some members of the chapter felt “uncomfortable” with same-sex entries. That word keeps resonating too. Uncomfortable.

Well, I have to say, RWI. Discrimination makes me pretty uncomfortable too.

I just can’t get over the balls of stating, right there in black and white on a freaking website, “no same-sex entries.” No Irish need apply. Whites only. Pick your discriminatory phrase and insert it right there, because they all fit. Does that seem harsh? Probably only if you’re not gay or passionate about the rights of LGBT persons.

Here’s the truth. LGBT romance is growing more and more every day, but don’t let anyone try and delude you it’s anywhere but at the more sunlit alleys in the ghetto of the publishing world. Despite our very good sales within our digital-first houses, we aren’t even on the map for most New York publishers. Anyone within the genre knows too that LGBT romance gets plenty of flack from LGBT literary. It’s the same fight mainstream romance has with the mainstream lit fic genre (much like snotty religions, they don’t think they’re a genre, just the True Disciples of Book) except LGBT romance gets some nice kicks in the teeth for having straight women in the room. I’d point out a whole hell of a lot of us are bi, but if you know anything about arguments within the alphabet soup, you know that gets a lot of sneers too.

So it’s nothing short of a fine slice across the hand to be skimming through places LGBT romances might submit entries for contests, trying to get more exposure and out of the ghetto—this one is for published books and last year an m/m novel won—only to find a big fat NO GAYS sign.

When I asked about this, I was told the board made a ruling on same-sex entries in contests and said basically that chapters could make their own judgments based on genre. The heading of the issue was labeled “same-sex entries in contests,” so there’s no question this is the clause that made RWI feel they could pop that line I opened with onto their website, sigh in relief, and move on with their day. Make no mistake. RWA national said this is kosher.

Do you?

I don’t mind someone reading my novel and disliking it. I don’t mind entering a contest and not being chosen. I don’t even mind someone seeing that my books have same-sex romances in them and saying that’s not what they want to read. But I do mind someone discriminating on principle alone. I do mind someone telling me that I’m a genre one can just skip but not recognizing me as a genre for the RITA awards, making me compete against people who have no idea what a ghetto looks like and how hard it is to get out of one. But to say “here you’re a genre, you can’t play” and then “here you’re not, so have fun with your teaspoon while everyone else gets a backhoe” is not fair. And not right.

It hurts. And it’s wearing. I’m supposed to be professional and I’ll get there, but right now I’m just Heidi Cullinan, author and reader and very tired person. You know what, RWA? We write damn good stories. We work very hard. Do we have some stinkers in our midst? Oh yeah. And you know what? So do the m/f books, and you know it. You know what, judges of RWI who are uncomfortable reading about same-sex relationships? I’m uncomfortable with you judging my work like that without reading it. I’m uncomfortable with you pasting RWA on yourself and then saying, with RWA national’s blessing, that you don’t want to read that gay stuff.

What LGBT romance needs are more readers. What we need is exposure and opportunity. We aren’t asking for special treatment, and believe it or not, we aren’t even asking for a genre label. Yeah, it’s hell competing against the full press in the RITAs, but we’re okay with doing it. In fact, we’d rather. We’re willing to work. We’re willing to throw ourselves at the walls of ignorance and nose-wrinkling and discomfort because boys and boys and girls and girls are kissing and wearing each other’s clothes and revealing they’re gender queer. Yeah, we’re in our ghetto alleys, but we are here and determined and ready to work to show you how much we have to bring to the table. And we’re ready to do it over and over and over until people listen.

So give us a chance, eh? You’re “uncomfortable” with our pairings? We’ll work hard to change your mind. But you have to work too. You have to let us play. You have to admit you’re taking our dues and calling us full members, and you need to treat us like them. You need to not hang “no gays” signs on your contest windows. And if you do, you need to be called out on it.

Are you an author of LGBT romances? Are you a reader of them? Are you an advocate of LGBT rights? Please write to RWI’s contest coordinator (jackie.rwimagic@netscape.com). Please write to RWA. Please don’t yell and throw glass. You can be hurt, but please be civil. One little pebble thrown becomes an excuse to call us the bullies. And you know? I don’t even think RWA or RWI are the bullies. I think they’re not thinking. I think they’re thinking of themselves and keeping things quiet and easy. I think they don’t think for one second saying “no gays” is the same as hanging “whites only” over a toilet.

If you know that’s exactly what it is like I do, tell them. Politely. Firmly. Over and over and over again.

RWI, RWA: Let same-sex entries into your contest. Change your policies. Don’t discriminate.

Please.

Visit Heidi here:

http://www.rainbowromancewriters.com/

http://cupoporn.net/

Some years fade away with a quiet whimper. Others go out with a bang. Despite the general decline and atrocities that plagued the world, 2011 for me held some good moments – like breaking out as an author, to name but one. So I felt that 2011 chez Tris should hurtle into history with a resounding bang and a fanfare. Metaphorically speaking, that is. And what better way to create a buzz than to invite the inimitable Erastes round for a little celebratory drinkie?

In case there is one of you out there who doesn’t know, Erastes is a highly accomplished author of historical gay fiction. Since she started writing in 2003 she has had no fewer than four novels published, four novellas and umpteen short stories. Her latest novel, Junction X, had me glued to my Kindle, so I can’t wait to get inside her (and it’s a long time since I said that about a woman).

Erastes. Maybe shopping for a new camera would be permissible?

Tris: Welcome, Erastes. I appreciate you accepting the invitation. I imagine you are very busy preparing for 2012.

Erastes: Thank you my dear – it’s good to be here. Pass the mince pies please. And don’t be stingy with the sherry!

Tris: Ah, just as well I got the litre bottle. Now, having just read Junction X, your name becomes more relevant than ever. In the book you raise the highly charged issue of pederasty, in the modern sense of sexual abuse of a minor. Yet, as we know, the ancient Greeks had no such qualms, no laws about age of consent and so on. You deal with the issue in such a caring way as part of a genuine love story that, if you didn’t point it out, some readers might miss it. Did you find it difficult to get Junction X published, and have you had any backlash?

Erastes: Yes, I found it difficult to get it published. I’ve been touting it around half–heartedly, really, for about three years or so. It spurred me on to get an agent, who signed me up on the strength of the book, but although we had several nibbles from good mainstream publishers, it was more the fact that it was “tragic gay love story and we’re past all that, surely?” that they cited as an excuse not to publish it—they all said it was beautifully written, which was encouraging.  In the end, I sold it to Cheyenne Publishing and ironically I could have sold it to them without an agent. But having an agent is a step forward, so that’s not all bad. :D

No backlash, no, which I was expecting, but was relieved not to get (so far). Don’t forget that this whole “under 18 is child abuse” only applies in a minority of states in the USA – most are 16 and 17 these days.  But when you are dealing with pre-Stonewall/pre-Wolfenden it’s a moot point anyway, as back in 1962 it was illegal even if Alex had been 21.

Tris: *sighs* It is astonishing what reasons some  publishers give to turn down bloody good books, isn’t it? And at the same time the book clubs and stores are crammed with celeb tripe that I wouldn’t use to prop up a broken table. Personally, I like tragic and even outright depressing. As you mention, Junction X is set in the period before the legalisation of homosexuality in Britain. Poor Edward was criminalised simply by his nature. How conscious were you at the outset of this dual conflict?

Click To Buy

Erastes: When you write gay historical fiction you are (or, at least, you should be) always aware of this. As a gay person you are aware of who you are every moment of the day—because it’s who you are of course—and before legalisation (in the countries where it is legalised) knowing that what you were was illegal and considered immoral, an abomination and could ruin not only yourself but everyone around you must have been truly dreadful. I imagine what it must be like to be suddenly transported to a country where it’s dangerous to admit to be gay today, and that helps with the process.

Diana Gabaldon does it well in the Lord John novels – even though I find him a cold fish and he truly needs shagging and often, and by someone who knows how – as everything he does, every conversation he has, is tainted with his “unnatural desires” – he’s always on guard, worrying that people will guess his nature – which probably helps add to the cold fish effect, I guess.

Tris: As you know, I just had my first historical gay novella published, and I enjoyed writing it tremendously. I’m hooked and am definitely going to write more. Why did you decide to concentrate on the historical?

Erastes: Well, I’m not a fan of contemporary fiction. I don’t live much in the real world—I don’t go shopping, wander around the high street, don’t have a circle of real life friends, so reading chick-lit and that kind of thing baffles me a little because it’s rather alien to me.  I’d wanted to write for many, many years and had tried once or twice before, but had never found my niche—so once I’d decided to write gay romance/fiction it was as natural as breathing to begin in my comfort zone of the Regency. I read Austen and Thackeray and Elliot a lot, so it was like coming home. I didn’t stop to think until I was about half way through Standish that perhaps no-one else was writing it and getting published might be an issue…

Tris: Oh, I’m with you on that. I loathe shopping, am not at all into consumerism and quite often wonder what the hell I’m doing in this world. So, would I be right in saying no science fiction or shape shifters for you then?

Erastes:  Oh, I’ve written both. I started in fanfic (Harry Potter fanfic) after all, so supernatural creatures were second nature at the beginning. My first fanfic novella was about Remus Lupina werewolf.  But when I wanted to write something original, I found I couldn’t convert the two or three novellas that I’d written without still leaving it obvious that they were converted fanfic, so I did an original Regency instead.

I’ve written two sci-fi short stories (only one of which is published at the moment, in Queer Dimensions) which are about a couple of space cowboy/smugglers/traders. It’s very Space Opera (although started BEFORE I ever saw or heard of Firefly I hasten to add). One day I’d like to do a volume of short stories about these two, each one a standalone, but with an over-arching plot throughout.  I don’t care much about the sci, though. I’m like the person who replied to a Star Trek fan when he was asked how the artificial gravity worked with “Quite well, thank you.”

My latest novella, coming out in March with Carina is also paranormal. It’s a vampire novel, (I know, I know) but there’s (hopefully) not too much cliché in it. It’s more an exploration of good and evil and who is doing bad things to whom and why. I promise you no-one says “mine!” in the entire book. And I can assure you that although light is important, no one actually twinkles.

Tris: Can we now turn to the old debate about M/M versus gay fiction? Is there a difference? If so, what is it and, perhaps more important, does it matter?

Erastes: I don’t think it matters in the grand scheme of things and if you were to have a discussion with someone on the Costa Coffee or the Man Booker panel, I don’t suppose they’d know or care, but yes, there is becoming a marked difference and I think some authors are a bit confused where their work falls. Most people are happy, and know their place, but the m/m market is so new it is evolving all the time; people are writing it who are supremely talented and more and more people are trying the genre each year so that is bound to happen.

What I dislike about the term m/m myself is that it predisposes a taint of “oh, that rubbish” in the same way that category het romance does for some more snobby readers, and that probably says more about them than the category. And to be brutally honest, there is a proportion of crap being written in m/m—and that’s what draws the scorn, because one person has read an amateurish girlie-men story and hated it and blogs about it. But no one seems to stop and think that there’s a proportion of crap in every single genre being written.

At the moment, I believe that readers expect m/m to have a happy ending, but even that is drifting away and the edges are blurring. Books like my Junction X are puzzling both the gay literati and the m/m cadre because they can’t put it in either “gay fiction” or “m/m” – and that’s how it should be. I’m not a great pigeon-hole believer. It’s perfectly fine of course if you are happy to write HEA but I can’t help it, I’m always picking away at the edges of a thing until the boundaries break!

It is an interesting time, and frankly I’m glad that I’m around to see this genesis.

Tris: Yes, that strikes a chord with me. I’m not naturally disposed to HEA, though some of my stories are, or at least HFN. The Hun and The General caused a few sweats when I started to work with my editor on it but I think we got the right balance in the end. Erm, slight change of tack; in your opinion, is there a difference between erotica and porn?

Erastes: Ah, well, you’re asking probably the wrong person there. I don’t really know and, like the question above, I think there’s been so much of a shift in the last decade or so that the boundaries are again blurry.

Once it used to be said that porn was about sensation and erotica was about feelings, and that men liked one and women liked another but you simply can’t use such generalisations any more. I don’t think you ever could but women were not so open as to admit that they would read graphically described sex, and publishers didn’t publish it on the open market. It existed, but it was passed around from schoolgirl to schoolgirl, we didn’t go into shops for it. With the internet, we are much more able to buy whatever level of description we like without having to be embarrassed and this lack of embarrassment often spills over into our homes. We might be more likely to hide the lurid copy of a Mills and Boon than the book with the cover of the two naked man-titty hunks on the cover.

Books have become more explicit, both mainstream and romance. Once upon a time Mills and Boon would firmly close the bedroom door on you, and any “inappropriate” bodily reactions were dealt with in very flowery euphemism, but now we can read everything that the Virgin Billionaire’s Secret Bride did and, ahem, felt – if we so wish.

I have quite a lot of gay so-called “porn” books which I bought, and received as presents from friends when I first started writing, and some are admittedly little more than one-handed reads, but many others are stories in their own right, with gay sex described in better terms than “nuts like hairy lemons”. So I think that – no, there’s very little distinction between porn and erotica these days. I think both are usually written to titillate and arouse, after all.

Tris: *makes a note to buy new razor blades* What do you say to those who argue women have no business writing about gay men’s sex lives?

Erastes: Lemon-size? Truly! *impressed* I’d say that what people write is nobody’s business, so keep their beaks out of it. That’s the short answer. My longer answer would be “why the hell not?”

It’s not a good enough riposte to simply say “men have been writing about women’s sex lives for a lot longer” but it’s a good place to start. Surely if we write a heterosexual novel, we are writing about men’s sex lives as well as women? I’ve always considered myself at an advantage to write about gay sex – I actually know what it’s like to make love to a man.  I do consider that women who have never made love to a man might pause and reflect whether they are writing anything real, and I particularly object to these 14 year old fangirls in slash writing who simply copy the ideas from everyone else and have never had sex with anyone.  Like all writing, if you can’t write exactly what you know, then you should at least have had sufficient life experience to be able to carry it off.

People can, do and should be able to write about any damned thing they please, and come the day when someone says to me “you can’t write that” I’ll be thinking about getting on that spaceship.

Tris: Does a romance have to have a happy ending?

Erastes: Category romance, yes. It is too deeply entrenched now for anyone to change the publishers’ and the readers’ minds about that. If it’s got “Romance” on the cover then the reader is going to expect at least a Happy for Now (HFN.)

It’s one of the reasons I don’t like to read a book with the Romance label, because I actually like the journey in a book. I might hope and pray that my protagonists are going to end up together and that they will live as happy as anyone can—let’s face it, no-one really ever has a HEA!—but I don’t want to know. I remember reading Ruth Sims’s book “The Phoenix” which she originally self-published, and it didn’t have the Romance label, so I was on the edge of my seat all the way towards the end. It’s a much more fun journey for me to read like that.  Romance can bore me because no matter how the blurb tries to instil a sense of danger for me “Will our plucky heroes be able to fight time, giant snakes, the world ending and overwhelming evil and find each other before their universe collapses?” All I do is roll my eyes and say “Well, der, of COURSE they will, it’s got Romance on the cover.”

However, I believe most readers would disagree with me.  They like to know it will end well, they like to know the ending. I know several people who don’t trust me as a writer (although they buy my books, LOL) and they will immediately skip to the end to make sure that I’m giving them a happy ending before they start reading. That’s like ripping a bit of the wrapping paper off a present in my mind. I like the surprise.

Tris: Since you started writing in 2003, how has the business changed?

Erastes: Well, the digital age has well and truly come for a start. When I started out, there were only a few e-publishers. My only claim to fame was that Ellora’s Cave wanted to publish Standish, and it was going to be their inaugural gay romance title. At the time they only published in digital form and I wanted print or print/ebook so I turned them down. I believe they wanted the ending altered too, but I can’t be sure about that it was a while ago. Perhaps that was the biggest mistake of my career, too. But we’ll never know!

Before I sold Standish to PD Publishing in 2005, I concentrated on selling short stories, and Torquere was one of my first publishers. Back then they published their anthologies on disc, and I had visions of all the anthologies I owned, framed and on the walls like gold records. Sadly that didn’t last long and they don’t use discs any more.

Overall, gay fiction seems to be creeping into the mainstream. Not as fast as I thought it might, but gradually. The door is open and we are sneaking in. Ann Herendeen went from self-published to being picked up by Harper, the Lord John novels are very popular, Harlequin (under their Carina flag) are publishing gay books and they are doing very well, and Lambda are now accepting LGBTQ novels for their awards written by anyone, not only gay people. So things are improving.

Tris: E-books. Are you a convert?

Erastes: Hmm. Not exactly a convert. I have a Kindle, because the lovely and very generous Aleksandr Voinov bought me one because I hate reading on my PC—and all the PDFs I get for Speak Its Name were being read on the PC—so I do use the Kindle a lot. But I like print books. I’ll never get rid of them. Any book that I know is going to be a keeper, such as The Dresden Files, or a Pratchett, or (until the last book) the Ice and Fire series by George RR Martin, and any classic novel – I will always seek out a hard copy.

I know it’s the future, but I hope to goodness that paper books don’t disappear. I was around when vinyl was king in the music business – I’ve re-bought David Bowie’s Space Oddity in more formats than I like to recall, spent probably upwards of fifty quid on one album—and I worry that books are going the same way. This year it will be one format, in another couple of years we’ll all have to replace our libraries with another format—and so on. I can’t see that being good for the longevity of books in general. Whereas with music, I’ll only upgrade my “keeper” albums, many albums languish in the attic never to be upgraded—and it may be the same with books. I don’t like that future.

But for convenience—like when I’d forgotten that Pratchett’s “Snuff” was released and I could just buy it from my bed, instantly on the Kindle without having to worry about ordering it or driving to the shops–then yes, ebooks are a great boon. I just don’t want my house to have one small shelf with my Kindle on it, instead of rooms of shelves, and piles of books—my friends—everywhere.

Tris: Tell me about Speak Its Name?

Erastes: When I first started getting published and wanted to send my book out to review sites, there were a lot lot fewer that accepted LGBTQ in 2006 than there are today. I noticed too that there were literally no sites specifically for gay historical fiction. Unsurprising I suppose as the genre wasn’t recognised. So I decided, at first, just to make a list—I used Switchknife’s list as a core, and then started adding to it, surprised both that there was so little of the genre, but a lot, lot more than I was first aware of. Since then I’ve been adding to it when I find new titles, and they are now coming out faster than I can keep up with, faster than I can review or find reviewers for, which is marvellous. I like to think that Speak Its Name has helped to promote the genre, to push it into the public consciousness a little quicker than it would have happened naturally, that it has encouraged writers to give the genre a go, and perhaps discouraged some other writers too!!!

Our four, four and a half, and five star reviews are rare beasties. We are tough. I make no excuse or apology for that. I started that as an idea and I’ve kept to it. If you are writing an historical novel, then it needs to be an historical novel and the history referred to needs to be as accurate as it possibly can be.  We won’t point out every single anachronism in a book—because I don’t believe in piss-take reviews, or hatchet jobs, but we will mention if we think it’s obvious that the author hasn’t even searched on Google for their facts, let alone done any decent research. Our readers deserve that information—if I go round giving every single book 3 stars and up, then how are they going to trust me when I say a book is actually good? Readers aren’t stupid. Some readers are willing to overlook anachronisms (especially, LOL if they don’t spot them themselves) and that’s fine, but most readers of the genre aren’t so forgiving. And they can tell the difference between an author who has made one or two silly errors of mis-research (and I’ve done this, several times) and an author who hasn’t bothered to check anything at all, and just wants “Pretty men in historical costumes.”

Tris: You’ve mentioned your vampire novel. What else can we expect from Erastes in the coming year?

Erastes: Writing of some sort, I hope. I’ve had the worst 12 months of my life writing-wise in 2011. (That is, since I began writing earnest in 2003.)  I’ve written very, very little. I haven’t even finished the novel I started in 2010, even though it only needs about five more chapters. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and that’s the truth. I need to roll up my sleeves and stop whining and get on with it. I’d like to get the Work In Progress published in 2012—because I like to have 2 books published if at all possible, but it might be too late now (It’s set in 1921, and is very, very loosely based on Hamlet) but I have plans for perhaps a 1950’s show-jumping novella which could be a lot of fun. My last few books have been unremittingly gloomy in many ways, so it would be good to do something lighter.

Tris: Thanks very much for coming in, Erastes. Now, while I screw the lid back on this bottle of sherry, can you tell my readers where to find you – and your books, of course!

Erastes: Might as well put it in the recycling, dear – it’s empty! Get two next time! *hic*:D

My website and blog is at www.erastes.com – I have a livejournal and a dreamwidth account only they – whilst mirroring the writing blog – tend to include more chatty and personal posts, they are both under Erastes too. You should be able to get all the links you need there, I have lots of excerpts, and links to the publishers’ sites, buy links, review links etc.

Don’t forget, if you are a fan of gay historical fiction, or you don’t know if you are or not, to check out Speak Its Name (www.speakitsname.com) use the cloud on the left and seek out the higher starred reviews – you are bound to find something nice.

(Tris: Erm, yes, and you could also buy ‘The Hun and The General’ by a certain Tristram La Roche! I wait with baited breath to see what Erastes makes of it.)

Happy New Year Everyone!

The Men Himself

Today I am very excited to have James Lear as my guest – or rather guests. James is the author of the global bestseller The Back Passage, but you may know of him, or one of his alter egos, for other reasons. James Lear is just one name under which Rupert Smith writes, and he has had many books published including some high profile TV tie-ins. His novel Man’s World won him the Stonewall Writer of the Year Award in 2010 and he’s had plenty of other praise heaped upon him. So, let’s find out more…

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Tris: Welcome, James – or is it Rupert?

Rupert: Rupert is my first name, James is my second name, my family always calls me Jim. I don’t really mind!

Tris: Okay, let’s stick with Rupert then, which is the name you use for literary fiction. You write erotica as James Lear and commercial fiction as Rupert James. Why did you decide on a name for each genre?

Rupert: I’d love you to believe that it was anything as deliberate as a ‘decision’ to write under different names but to be honest it was all more or less accidental. I wrote my first few books as Rupert Smith. During that time, I was having difficulty getting a deal for a novel, and a friend introduced me to an editor who was looking for some new erotic fiction. I wrote one, it was accepted and published under the name James Lear because at the time I was working for a big corporation and I was a bit nervous about how they’d react. Over the next few years, the Lear and Smith names developed in tandem, each with their own audiences. Later on, I tried my hand at some mainstream commercial/women’s fiction, and my agent thought it might help us to get a deal if she sent it out without the baggage of the Smith and Lear books. She thought, quite rightly, that I was classified as a gay author, and the industry has very narrow, blinkered ideas about markets. So Rupert James was born.

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Tris: Well, so many good things in life happen by accident, don’t they? But I first came across you, if I may use that expression, when I discovered The Back Passage. I know there is much more to you than that one book, but I have to say it made me laugh out loud. Not many writers can do that, so you gained a fan immediately. Where did you get the idea for the book?

Rupert: First and foremost, I’m a big fan of Agatha Christie, and I always thought her books were fraught with erotic potential. There’s something about the mechanical nature of a good whodunnit that lends itself well to the pattern of seduction and interrogation that forms the structure of that novel. There were a couple of other major influences: firstly the film Gosford Park, and secondly a TV documentary series called The Edwardian Country House, which was a reality show that put people into the roles of butler, footman, hall porter etc in a big stately home. Some of the men in it were really cute, and the whole hierarchical structure is obviously good for sexual tension. I sent it out to a few publishers who turned it down: one of them said ‘a novel set in 1920s Britain will never sell’. Fortunately it was taken up by Cleis Press and they’ve been James Lear’s publishing home ever since.

Tris: Just let me stop choking on that comment on the saleability of a Britain-in-the-‘20s novel. Jesus! Ahem…Your writing covers a pretty wide spectrum and perhaps we should stress here that not all your books are gay fiction. Can you talk a bit about your work across the board and how you manage to juggle everything?

Rupert: To be honest, my main concern at the moment is making a living. The publishing industry, at least in the UK, is in a bad state, and I’ll write anything that I think will get a deal. Anyone who takes the trouble to read my work with an open mind will see that the style is actually quite consistent – I favour strong narrative, traditional structures, a lot of dialogue, not too much description – and there’s always a lot of humour. In terms of career management, I’m usually writing one book, revising the last one as part of the production process, and thinking about what to do next. When I’m in full-on writing mode, I work fast – up to four or five thousand words a day. For the last few years I’ve written two or three books a year. I’d actually like to slow down, or even take a break for a while. I think my writing would benefit in the long run. Unfortunately, unlike a lot of writers I’m not independently wealthy.

Tris: Well, you’re not exactly in an exclusive club there, Rupert. Membership card? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Now, your first novel, I Must Confess, was published in 1998. What did you do before you became a writer? I mean, what makes you what you are today? Who is the real Rupert Smith?

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Rupert: I was a journalist for many years, and before that I was an academic, which I didn’t like and wasn’t much good at. Journalism was great: in the 90s and 00s I wrote millions of words on a huge range of subjects, I interviewed thousands of people, and I got to know the entertainment industry from the inside out. That’s what inspired I Must Confess, which is a satire on all that stuff. Some of the people I met as a journalist were lovely, talented individuals, but there were also a lot of narcissistic, self-deluding monsters, who of course are much more fun to write about—

Tris: And actually much more common, in my experience. Talking of which (sticks tongue in cheek), you ghosted the aborted Michael Barrymore autobiography, you produced a 20th anniversary book for East Enders, you have praise from Paul O’Grady – is your day-to-day life filled with celebrities?

Rupert: Oh, and before that I’d written a couple of very left-field life stories, one the autobiography of singer Jayne County, and the other the biography of British physique photographer John S Barrington. But no – my life is anything but star-studded. All of that celebrity stuff arose from my journalistic career. I knew loads of celebrities, and I went to the parties and generally had a ball. Now I’m a full-time author I live like a hermit, frankly. Sometimes I pop out and do what I call ‘live journalism’, interviewing interesting people in front of an audience, and it’s a good balance to the solitary life of the writer. I knew Paul O’Grady quite well from the mid ‘80s, when he was starting out in the London pubs – I used to see him perform as Lily Savage in the Royal Vauxhall Tavern and elsewhere, and got to know him pretty well then. If we ever bump into each other now, he’s very happy to reminisce about the good old days. He hasn’t changed at all. This probably sounds nauseating, but he really is one of the nicest people you could ever wish to meet.

Tris: Rupert, would you mind just passing me that bucket..? Sorry, I do have some tissues somewhere. Right, where was I? Oh yes… I am dying to read Service Wash but it’s hard to get hold of. Can you put the story in a nutshell?

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Rupert: It’s about a sensitive not-so-young writer who gets commissioned to ghost the autobiography of a really ghastly soap star. He gets caught up in her very messy lifestyle with disastrous consequences. It’s very funny, but it’s probably the bleakest thing I ever wrote. I love it, but the publisher didn’t seem to know what to do with it. With luck, I’ll get it out as an e-book in the next year or so: that seems to be the way to breathe life into my backlist.

Tris: Please tell me the moment it’s out and it I’ll be the first to stick it on my Kindle. So, in or about the year 2000 you were finding it hard to get mainstream work published and your foray into erotica began, and James Lear was born. Subsequently you, like me, have been taken up by the US publishing industry. In your opinion, what’s the future of the British publishing industry, and indeed of the industry as a whole?

Rupert: In my darker moods, I think the whole industry is fucked. The big publishers are saving their resources for an ever-smaller pool of writers, the guaranteed money spinners. They’re not buying the kind of mid-list stuff that I do, so there’s a lot of writers not getting advances and a lot of agents not getting commission. Editors really need to get their heads out of the sand, because we’re close now to a situation where new talent is going to bypass traditional publishing routes and go straight to e-publishing. And the really big writers like JK Rowling have already done it. There’s no interest in nurturing talent: if you don’t sell a million copies in the supermarkets in your first six months of publication, they stop returning your calls. That said, we have a small but strong independent sector, and I’m very lucky to have found a home with Arcadia Books, who do my literary stuff in the UK. I don’t know what the future is for the industry as a whole, but I guess, like everyone else, that e-books will be the dominant form. They cut out materials, printing, warehousing, distribution and so on. It’s a completely different publishing model. The one thing that’s missing from e-publishing is the ‘seal of approval’ that a proper publisher gives a book. So much self-published work is just rubbish, and without the brand values of a decent publisher it’s hard for readers to know what they’re getting. That said, if the publishers don’t sort themselves out soon, they’re going to be extinct.

Tris: Although, we should be clear that e-publishing and self-publishing are two different things. The better e-publishers are now pulling away from the crowd and I sense that their endorsement will start to carry as much weight as the big traditional publishers. In fact, I think it’s happening. So, if you could ask the British commercial publishers to do one thing, what would it be?

Rupert: Apart from ‘buy my damn books’, it would be to look beyond the supermarkets. The stranglehold of supermarket buyers is largely responsible for the diabolical state of British publishing. I don’t think we’ll ever return to dinky little bookshops where you can sit in leather armchairs, but there’s a whole world of online retailing out there with diverse audiences to be exploited. If they could see beyond rigid ideas of ‘sections’ they could sell a lot more books.

Tris: The mention of sections makes me think of genres and to my next question. The argument goes on as to whether there is a difference between what has become known as the M/M genre and gay fiction. Where do you stand on it?

Rupert: Good books transcend labels. I’ve read a lot of nonsense on blogs, in which people get their knickers in a twist about this subject. The way I distinguish between my James Lear books and my Rupert Smith books is that the Lear books put sex first; they’re very carefully designed to turn the reader on. The Smith books are much more about story and character in more general ways. That said, there are very sexy bits in the Smith books, and there’s very strong narrative in the Lears. Sometimes I think ‘gay fiction’ is used to describe books published by ‘proper’ publishers, and M/M is used to describe the other stuff. I try not to worry too much about all this, because at the end of the day it’s a pointless distraction. In the words of Oscar Wilde, books are either well written or badly written.

Tris: I think we can all agree on that. Sometimes I remind myself of the old sherry advert when I get on my hobby horse and say quality counts. You mention turning the reader on. Is there a difference between erotica and porn?

Rupert: Of course not. ‘Erotica’ is the more genteel term, and ‘porn’ is used as a put-down. I can’t stand this false distinction that one is better or subtler or cleverer than the other. Your book is either sexy, or it’s not.

Tris: Does a romance have to have a happy ending?

Rupert: Yes. I’d say it’s one of the defining qualities of romance. You have a situation in which the lovers can’t get together, they go through various trials and misunderstandings, and then, thanks to the intervention of some outside agency, they resolve their problems and get together. The whole point of the story is to raise a very strong desire in the reader for resolution, and if you thwart that then you’ve wasted your time, and the reader’s. A lot of crap is talked and written about ‘subverting the audience’s expectations’. But if you’re doing your job properly, you’re the one who’s in control of their expectations. Don’t build towards one effect and then pull out another one just because you think it’s clever. Obviously you can have love stories with sad endings, but that’s not ‘romance’, that’s something else.

Tris: I hear you have some new books to look forward to in 2012. Can you tell us something about them?

Rupert: One Smith and one Lear. The former is called The Interlude, and it’s about a young woman who discovers that her grandfathers were lovers in the Second World War. I’m really proud of this one, I think it brings together a lot of my strengths as a writer across different genres and consolidates them in one book. The Lear is called The Hardest Thing, and it’s my take on the Lee Child/Jack Reacher school of macho thrillers. It’s set in the US, it’s got plenty of sex in it, but it’s possibly a bit more character/plot driven than the earlier Lears. I’m excited about it, and I hope people are going to fall in love with the hero. He’s very butch.

Tris: Well, I can’t wait for those. Looking back on 2011, what events will stay with you?

Rupert: It’s been a frustrating year in some ways, because of the shutdown of the industry, but I’m in the lucky position of having a couple of books coming out next year, so I’m surviving. In literary terms, the big events for me were Alan Hollinghurst’s The Stranger’s Child and Philip Hensher’s King of the Badgers, both of them amazing books. We’re so lucky to have those two writing at the height of their powers. In news terms, the defining event was the summer riots in the UK. We’re still dealing with the fallout from that, and I’m absolutely horrified to see that some sections of the press have become apologists for crime and are trying to shift the blame for the riots on to the middle class. Please! We were too busy working to earn the money to pay the tax to fund the bloody country. God, I’m such an angry old man!

Tris: Maybe we can both get taken on for the next series of Grumpy Old Men? I can gripe for England. Ah well, I guess the time has come to let you get back to your parties – sorry, work. Thanks for talking to me, Rupert. I wish you every success with your new books and hope 2012 turns you and your fans well and truly on. Before you go, please tell my readers where they can find you.

Rupert: My website is: www.rupertsmith.org.uk

I’m on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=609553618&sk=wall

There’s also a James Lear page on there: http://www.facebook.com/pages/James-Lear/113055228725291?ref=ts&sk=wall

I tried Twitter and it nearly drove me crazy! Mind you, when I have a book out it’ll be all hands to the pump, you’ll be sick of the sight of me.

Tris: Ssh! Don’t tell Rupert, but his Twitter link is this: http://twitter.com/#!/RupertSmith

And this is the book that I stumbled upon which led to me being a James Lear/Rupert Smith/Rupert James fan:-

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The Back Passage blurb:

Hardcore sex and scandal meet in this brilliantly hot and funny whodunnit. A seaside village, an English country house, a family of wealthy eccentrics and their equally peculiar servants and a determined detective – all the ingredients are here for a cosy Agatha Christie-style whodunnit. But, Edward “Mitch” Mitchell is no Hercule Poirot, and “The Back Passage” is no “Murder on the Orient Express”. Mitch is a handsome, insatiable 22-year-old hunk who never lets a clue stand in the way of a steamy encounter, whether it’s with the local constabulary, the house secretary, or his school chum and fellow athlete Boy Morgan, who becomes his Watson when they’re not busy boffing each other. When Reg Walworth is found dead in a cabinet, Sir James Eagle has his servant Weeks immediately arrested as the killer. But, Mitch’s observant eye pegs more plausible possibilities: polysexual chauffeur Hibbert, queenly pervert Leonard Eagle, missing scion Rex, sadistic copper Kennington and even Sir James Eagle himself. Blackmail, police corruption, a dizzying network of spy holes and secret passages, watersports, and non-stop queer orgies mark this hilariously hardcore mystery by a major new talent.