Well what do you know? Here it is the 7th of January already! 2015 is well and truly under way, and I’ve revamped this post from the archives because it’s a post that I need to re-read for my own benefit every year, and I hope it will be something to encourage readers as well.
The gym was overflowing with New Years Resolutioners yesterday when I went to Kettle Bells class; all around the world new diets have been begun as soon as the New Year hangover wears off; people stop drinking, stop smoking, begin learning Spanish or French, people promise to take better care of themselves, spend more time with good friends, waste less time in front of the telly, read more, exercise more, write more, and the list goes on. On January 7th the universal urge to be ‘better’ in the New Year is nearly palpable in the soggy English air.
And I’m behind somehow, as I have been for the last few years. New Years Eve passes me by in a daze and so does New Years Day, and in the midst of it all I have this vague notion that I should do something, or at least think something profound. That urge to reflect on what has been and plan how the New Year will be better is always there, but somehow ends up subsumed in the immediacy of everything else going on as the old year hear hammers down to the wire and the new one barrels down on me. Hope and excitement at new beginnings is so much a part of our human nature that the end of a year and the beginning of another one can’t help but be the time when we anticipate, plan change, and dare to dream of what wonderful things we can bring about in the next year. In fact there’s a heady sense of power in the New Year. I think it’s the time when we’re most confident that we can make changes, that we really do have power over our own lives. It’s the time when we’re most proactive toward those changes, those visions of the people we want to be. I think that’s because it’s the one time of the year when there is a clear delineation between what has been and what will be – even if it is really rather arbitrary.
Before I actually began to sell my writing, back when I dreamed of that first publication, back when there seemed to be a lot more time for navel gazing than is now, I was a consummate journaler. I filled pages and pages, notebooks and notebooks full of my reflections, ruminations and navel gazes. And nothing took more time and energy than the end of the year entry, in which I reflected on how I did on the year’s resolutions and planned my resolutions for the next. This was a process that often began late in November with me reading back through journals, taking notes, tracing down some of what I’d been reading during that year and reflecting on it. Yeah, I know. I needed to get a life!
By the time New Years Day rolled around, I had an extensive list of resolutions, each with a detailed outline of action as to how I was going to achieve it. I found that some of those resolutions simply fell by the wayside almost before the year began — those things that if I’m honest with myself, I know I’m never gonna do, no matter how much I wish I would. Others I achieved in varying degrees-ish. But sadly, for the most part, a month or maybe two into the year, that hard core maniacal urge to be a better me no matter what cooled to tepid indifference as every-day life took the shine off the New Year.
It was only when there stopped being time for such ginormous navel-gazes and micro-planning that I discovered I actually had achieved a lot of those goals that were my resolutions simply by just getting on with it. As I began to think more about how different my approach to all things new in the New Year had become the busier I became, I realised that I had, through no planning on my part, perfected the sneak-in-through-the-back-door method of dealing with the New Year. The big, bright New Year changes I used to spend days plotting and planning no longer got written down, no longer got planned out. Instead, they sort of implemented themselves in a totally unorganised way somewhere between the middle of January and the middle of February. They were easy on me, sort of whispering and smiling unobtrusively from the corners of my life. They came upon me, not in a sneak attack so much as a passing brush with someone who would somehow become my best friend.
All together, I’ve written more that a half a million words this year. Needless to say, I’m my own harsh taskmaster. I’m driven, I’m tunnel-visioned, I’m a pit bull when I grab on to what I want to achieve with my writing. No one is harder on me than I am – no one is even close. And yet from somewhere there’s a gentler voice that sneaks in through the back door of the New Year and through the back doors of my life and reminds me to be kinder to me, to be easier on me, to find ways to rest and recreate and feed my creative self. I’ll never stop being driven. The time I’ve been given, the time we’ve all been given, is finite. And that gentler part of ourselves must somehow be a constant reminder of comfort and forgiveness, of self-betterment that comes, not from brow-beating and berating ourselves, not from forced regimentation, but from easing into it, making ourselves comfortable with it. We, all of us, live in a time when life is snatched away from us one sound-bite, one reality TV show, one advert at a time. Often our time, our precious time is bargained away from us by harsher forces, by ideals and scripts that aren’t our own, and the less time we have to dwell
on the still small voice, the deeper the loss.
So my resolution, my only resolution every year is to listen more carefully to that gentler, quieter part of me, to forgive myself for not being able to be the super-human I think I should be, to settle into the arms of and be comfortable with the quieter me, the wiser me who knows how far I’ve really come, who knows that the shaping of a human being goes way deeper than what’s achieved in the outer world, and every heart that beats needs to find its own refuge in the value of just being who we are, of living in the present and coming quietly and gently and hopefully into 2015.
The really great thing about writing a collection of short stories is that you can stretch yourself in all sorts of directions, writing from many contrasting points of view. In my Introduction, I warn the readers of my fantasy anthology Fierce Enchantments not to trust the narrators of the stories therein, and I mean it! Some of them are simply unreliable, some are ignorant of real-life modern moral standards, and some are downright wicked. You have to make your own judgment when reading the stories…
The book opens with a cold, cold voice – Too Much of Water is a fairy tale told in the embittered priggish tones of an old biddy sitting by the fire, warning her young audience not to go down the pagan primrose path to damnation. Some, in contrast, are burning hot: The Last Thing She Needs is an agonized, guilt-riddled confession by a sadist vampire-hunter who has bottled up both his lust and his love for years, not daring to confess what will truly make him whole. Guinevere in Knight Takes Queen is mired in a confused mess of a cuckolding triangle, because no one in Camelot has the vocabulary for bisexuality or BDSM, and they try to frame everything in terms of sin and honour. At Usher’s Well is drenched in rain and grief and pity, the narrative of a servant girl whose three lovers drown at sea … and then come back for one last tryst. The world of The Military Mind is a quasi-fascist future one where individual liberty and choice have been sidelined in favour of keeping the human race alive in the face of alien invasion – so psychic Peyton is prepped by a lifetime of biological and psychological conditioning to take up her role as comms officer and sexual plaything for a squad of horny marines. The Merry Maid is another fairy story, but this one told with playful humour. And Sycorax is a Shakespearian tale retold by an inhuman monster: don’t expect any mercy or sympathy from her.
Just because these are ten smutilicious erotic tales doesn’t mean I want them to be true. Just because they are fantasy doesn’t mean I morally approve what goes on in them! But I do love listening to the protagonists’ many voices, however strange or frightening, and I love giving them shape on paper because I think they deserve to be heard.
xxx
Janine Ashbless
Excerpt from Fierce Enchantments:
(from the story Sycorax)
But Prospero I have not forgotten. No.
The Isle is mine. It is the Omphalos—the navel of the world. I rule from the earth, by night. The sky above and the day: they belong to Ariel. Belonged, I should say. I … I think we had other names once, long ago. I do not remember them. It does not matter. All stories are leaves on one tree, and the branches may be long but they are all fed by the same roots. Names come and go, like dead leaves. It is perhaps better to forget them, in the end.
Are you hungry, little man? I have a haunch of meat here that is well-cooked and only a little gnawed upon.
Yes, it is from the wreck of your vessel.
Do not ask that. You are hungry, or not. And the night is long, and my story only just started.
Ariel ruled the Isle by day, and I ruled by night. At dusk and dawn we met, as husband and wife, to act out our carnal dreams. At sunset I would ride astride his long beam, and at sunrise he would pin me flat and plough my deeps. His seed came forth in great quantities, I recall—like sea spume, or like the white fluff of poplar-trees blown upon the wind. When I dug my long nails into his golden flesh, then the dawn would come up blood red.
I had many children by him. Have you not read that this Isle is full of noises? We are surrounded by legions; if you have not seen them yet, then it is because your mortal eyes are too dull. But this is the sorrow of it: Ariel let live only those babes I spawned that resembled him, that were of his delicate and airy nature. Those childer that bore my stamp—the dark and earthy, the heavy of flesh—those he hated, and devoured at first sight.
No. For years I bore this, until even I grew weary. And with age fewer and fewer babes were birthed at all. So when at last I whelped my youngest son Caliban, and saw that he favoured me and not his father, I knew that I must hide him to preserve his life.
Oh, have you seen my boy then? Don’t look so green. Think you he is ugly? I do not. Are not his teeth strong and keen? Isn’t his skin, hued with all the shot-silk colours of oil upon water, soft and smooth? The eyes that he opened upon me that first night, in such perfect trust, were as golden and beautiful as the eyes of a toad—and if two eyes are deemed lovely, must not many be even more enchanting?
I gave to Ariel a stone wrapped in blood-stained birthing cloths, and watched as he swallowed it whole. The babe I hid anew within the caverns of my body. And inside me, Caliban grew. But at last the night came when I could carry his weight no longer, so huge of limb was my child; so I birthed him a second time, half-grown. Even then, we both knew he was not safe. We went under cover of darkness to Ariel’s crag, and as the first light of the sun touched the sky with grey, Caliban seized his sire and I split a great pine tree, and together we thrust Ariel into the cleft and closed it tight. It was over in moments: when it was done Ariel was entrapped and my child was safe.
You think I played my husband false? Don’t bother to answer: I see it in your eyes. Well, you may be reassured to know that I have suffered great pangs over the years for my part in the betrayal. I missed his cock within me and his hands upon me; the ache of my loss brought forth great groans of anguish from my innermost being every dawn and dusk. For twelve long years.
That was when Prospero came to this Isle, with his infant daughter in his arms.
Listen well and mark this: the deposed Duke of Milan was no great sorcerer, however he styled himself afterwards. He was a second-rate alchemist—a mumbling book-wizard—a natural philosopher whose philosophy went no further than his own self-importance. But he was a man, and my cunt ached beyond bearing for the rough touch of a man. I saved his life, building him a cell in which to hide him from my own son; bringing him the fruits of the Island; fetching the contents of his leaky vessel from where it had foundered upon the rocks of the bay. I even let the girl-child live, though Caliban licked his drooling chops at the thought of such a tender mouthful. I forbade my boy to harm either of them.
In return I asked only that Prospero service my appetites. It was, I admit, not as easy for him as for my poor Ariel, for he was not so well-endowed. But he was a man of ingenuity and imagination, and where cock would not suffice, fist and forearm would. I demanded only that he persevere in his efforts.
In return for my mercy he betrayed me.
Cover Blurb for “Fierce Enchantments”
Inside the covers of this, Janine Ashbless’ third collection of erotic short stories, you will find delight and terror and lust – and perhaps even unexpected tenderness.
The wayward daughter of Shakespeare’s sorcerer Prospero; a runaway slave who becomes king only for as long as he can stay awake; a servant girl whose three dead lovers return for one last tryst; vampire-hunters haunted to the point of madness by what they have been through; warriors in a desperate future war for the survival of humankind – and one very dangerous frog prince – all appear in this collection of erotic stories that will take you to the edge and then pull you over into the glittering darkness beyond.
Weaving worlds of fantasy, Janine Ashbless draws from fairy stories, history, myth and the darkest depths of her imagination to bring you tales of passion and desire that will enchant, shock and dazzle you.
Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure – and that’s “fantasy” in the sense of swords ‘n’ sandals, contemporary paranormal, fairytale, and stories based on mythology and folklore. She likes to write about magic and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.
Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000, and her novels and single-author collections now run into double figures. She’s also had numerous short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance, Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology Geek Love.
Her work has been described as: “hardcore and literate” (Madeline Moore) and “vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death and love.” (Portia Da Costa)
Happy 2015 Everyone! 2014 has been a year busy enough and full enough to feel like three, and looking back makes me a little bit dizzy. I think a lot of writers live in the moment — especially when we’re in the middle of writing a story. I find that I often forget all about what happened three days ago and am totally unmindful of what will happen three days in the future. Makes planning a bit of a challenge from time to time, but it does mean that I’m great at being totally tunnel-visioned.
This year, I thought I’d review the year in pictures rather than do quite so much navel gazing, and I’ve always been a sucker for photo albums. So grab a cuppa, sit back in the recliner and let me show you my 2014.
The year began with two major launches, both very different. The first was my novel, Fulfilling the Contract, which is book 2 in The Mount Series.
Limo driver, NICK CHASE’s bad night gets worse when he picks up TANYA POVIC at a bar only to discover the explosive sex they share lands her in breach of her very strange contract. Blaming himself that Tanya will lose the large completion bonus earmarked for her mother’s surgery, Nick negotiates with her boss, the tough and mysterious ELSA CRANE, to allow him to fulfill Tanya’s contract and secure her bonus.
Elsa runs Mount Vegas, which offers voyeuristic pleasures for a price. Nick’s job, with Elsa and her quirky team, is to give clients something worth watching through the plate glass windows of Vegas’s luxury hotels and beyond. The learning curve is steep and kinky. As Nick and Elsa’s relationship sizzles and ignites more than hotel room rendezvouses are exposed. In this sequel to The Initiation of Ms Holly things get positively dangerous as Rita Holly and her team are called in from London to lend a helping hand. Bets are being placed. Will Nick fulfil the contract? Will he and Elsa take the gamble? And will they find a way to win at the high stakes, double or nothing, game of hearts?
The second launch was my first ever attempt at a serial, Demon Interrupted, DI is a Lakeland Witches story, which began on the 2nd of February and finished on Halloween. I reran it over Christmas so people could read it all together. It was a very exciting way to write a story, and I found myself feeling quite bereft when I finished it. I’m hoping to do another series on my blog this year.
Blurb:
What secrets does a man have that would cause him to chooses to live under a spell that magically erased his past? When that spell is broken Ferris Ryder must choose to remember all that he was, all that he has done and all that drove him to willingly forget. If he chooses not to remember, the consequences will be dire for himself and the Elemental Coven, who are now his family.
Is the mysterious Elaine, who both fears and desires Ferris, a ghost with a past all her own, or merely a figment of his fevered dreams as he struggles against time to remember the past he fears or destroy the very people for whom he chose to forget.
In March it was time for Eroticon 2014! An event I always look forward to, and one that always gives me a chance to get together with, if not all, at least most of the fabulous Brit Babes. That always results in scheming and planning something totally naughty. This year, I had the absolute pleasure of leading a panel discussion on Sex and Spirituality with my dear friend and fabulous writer, Victoria Blisse. The panel was well attended, and the ideas bounced around in the room about that fabulous connection between sex and spirituality were exciting and inspiring. On top of that it was just a wonderful chance to reconnect with old friends and make new.
In April, I made my usual pilgrimage to Oregon to visit my sister. We make it a point to do lots of road trips, lots of movie and popcorn sessions in her TV room, lots of long chats over coffee and lots of walks in the High Desert sunshine. This year for her birthday, we threw caution to the wind and drove the two and a half hours to Crater Lake National Park, even though we knew it would be buried under snow. With 12-foot snow-banks along either side of the road and the car park at the crater rim, we followed the snowy path to views that were totally stunning, lunched in the lodge, and enjoyed the cool early spring around this stunning lake. The trip was meant for a birthday pressie for my sister, but I felt like it was as much a gift for me as it was for her. A definite return-trip will be necessary, and possibly a story???
I got back from Oregon just in time to prepare for Smut by the Sea in Scarborough, which is another one of my favourite naughty events each year. I was very privileged to be asked to teach a workshop on finessing sex in fiction. As usual the workshops, the reading slam, the tombola and just the opportunity to spend time with other writers and readers of erotica was a real treat.
If that wasn’t enough, my fabulous husband and I took a little detour on our way home from Scarborough into Dracula country with a very brief, but very rewarding visit up the rocky coast to Whitby It was little more than a tasty tease of gothic deliciousness, and definitely requires a return visit, but I was inspired nonetheless. On the way home, we drove through the North York Moors, a drive that took us only hour. The last time we crossed these moors, it was on foot, and it took us four days!
One of the highlights of 2014, for me, had to be winning the ETO Best Erotic Author award for 2014! It was a privilege to be nominated along with amazing writers, Brit Babes, and dear friends, Kay Jaybee and Lucy Felthouse but to win was totally unexpected! At first it didn’t register. How could be my name being called? I sort of remember walking to the stage. After kissing my husband. Shell shocked. Hoping I wouldn’t trip over my own feet, wondering if I could remember how to speak. Me, speechless! Can you imagine such a thing? What made the whole evening even better still was that not only were three Brit Babes nominated for the award, but I got to celebrate the win with four Brit Babes, Victoria Blisse, Kay Jaybee & Lexie Bay and Tabitha Rayne. There was much dancing and carousing, and I’m still stunned every time I look at the beautiful shiny award with my name on it.
This year has seen a lot of travel, more than I realised, beginning with my trip to Oregon and thenScarborough, then in July, there was a wonderful walking holiday in the Lake District to research a new series I’m planning to set there, and mostly to get my feet back on the fells and reconnect with one of my very favourite places on the planet. Staying with our fabulous friends, Vron and Brian Spencer, gave me an opportunity to pick their brains for the new series. I was once again reminded why I find the place so incredibly inspiring. In fact, it is also the setting for my m/m novella, Landscapesfrom the exciting new Brit Boys:On BoysBook Bundle just now released.
Landscapes Blurb:
Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?
In September we made our first ever trip to New York City — my lovely husband to train for his 3rd degree black belt in Karate and me to write, play tourist and be inspired. I didn’t expect to fall in love, but I did! I totally adore New York City. I can honestly say it has joined my list of favourite cities, and I can’t wait to go back. Raymond got his 3rd degree, I got to explore, spend some quality time with Maxim Jakubowski and his lovely wife Delores, and I got the inspiration for my first seasonal novella ever, A Valentine For Christmas, which is now available in the Cariad collection, Love Under the Mistletoe
All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?
In October I made another trip to Lyme Regis for my annual writers retreat and spent the time working on Grace Marshall’s latest novel, Interviewing Wade, which has been SO much fun to write. I’ve had requests from readers for Wade’s story ever since the first of The Executive Decisions novels came out, so it was very exciting to finally let Wade whisper his story in my ear. Interviewing Wade will be released in February 2015. Very much looking forward to that release. Here’s a little teaser for Interviewing Wade :
The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pheuma, Inc, But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives…
Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.
October was a busy month with the month-long Things That Go Hump in the Night event on my blog — a full month of fantastic guest authors celebrating paranormal erotica with me as I re-launched the Lakeland Witches trilogy with new titles and covers.
It was also an opportunity for Raymond and me to head up to Wales for a fantastic weekend with Brit Babe, fab writer and good friend Lily Harlem and Mr. Harlem, in which the writerly among us schemed and planned and talked writing into the night.
I don’t get a lot of time to write shorter fiction anymore, but this year I wrote two short stories for very special editors, whom I love working with, Maxim Jakubowski and Rose Caraway.
My story, The Trespass: When a sudden summer rain causes an unexpected trespass, a reclusive sculptor, who can’t bear to be touched and a walker suffering from depression forge an intimate connection.
Contains my story, Cherries in Season: A veg and fruit connoisseur has a real taste for cherries in season and the sexy green grocer who sells them.
In November, I headed off to Manchester for Smut Manchester, another opportunity to be with other naughty writers and readers, all thanks to the efforts of Victoria and Kev Blisse. This time I had little to do but one reading from To Rome with Lust and the rest of the time I got to enjoy the wonderful workshops offered, the great readings and just the chance to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. Writers tend to live isolated lives, so it’s especially good when we get the chance to be together and talk craft.
As I mentioned above, I also released the third novel in The mount Series, To Rome with Lust, in early December, which I’m very excited about, and very pleased to see it doing so well and following in Holly’s footsteps, since it was also four years ago in October when The Initiation of Ms Holly , the first book in the Mount Series, was launched.
We ended 2013 in Rome. Liking that tradition of going away on holiday at the end of the year, we ended 2014 with a much-needed holiday, in which Raymond whisked me off for Christmas in Dubrovnik. It was my first trip back to Croatia in a very long time, and it was fantastic to be back. The weather was sunny and warm and the hotel had a lovely view of the Adriatic. I’ve shared masses of photos on FaceBook. While we were there, we were also able to make trips into Montenegroand Bosnia Hercegovina. For more photos of all three places, follow the links.
And that’s the year in a nutshell. Funny how I didn’t realise just how much had happened until I reflected back on it. I’m stunned and amazed at all the good things that have filled my year, that fill my life, and I’m very, very happy that all of you have been a part of my life through the year. Thank you for reading, commenting, and visiting A Hopeful Romantic. You all are amazing!
Happy New Year! I wish you love and happiness and all things good in 2015!
Written on Christmas Day 2014 in the Hotel Rixos Libritas, Dubrovnik, Croatia
I’m sitting on the terrace at the Hotel Rixos Libritas in Dubrovnik, Croatia. It’s the first time I’ve ever gone away for Christmas. It was Raymond’s suggestion, and an inspired one it was. I’ve not been back to Croatia since the war. Before that it was my home for four years. It’s where I met and married Raymond. A Louisiana Boy and an Oregon Girl had to go all the way to Croatia to meet and fall in love.
I can’t lie. Coming back is something I’ve put off for all these years, afraid of what I’d find, afraid of the change and haunted by those last memories as we left ahead of the tanks, as the place I loved fell apart before my eyes. I remember making one last phone call at the post office – no one had a phone at the time — to my former roommate, who was Bosnian. I was surprised we were able to connect at all. I told her we were leaving, asked if her family was safe. We’d been good friends. We didn’t know if we’d ever see each other again. The phone line went dead before we could say good-bye. Then Raymond and I packed two bags each and left everything else in the flat. One of the refinery drivers where Raymond had been working at the time drove us to Belgrade, which was the only airport still open. That night, while we slept safely in the Intercontinental Hotel, the national highway closed and the tanks rolled. Yugoslavia fell a
part, horrible things happened to people I loved, and I walked away.
I suppose I was a coward not to return earlier, but I never claimed to be otherwise. And even though Dubrovnik is a long way from the Bosnian boarder where Raymond and I were living after we married, I felt the knot in my stomach tighten as we sat down at the airport at Cilipi. Then we got into the taxi and the world righted itself as I spoke my rusty Croatian to the driver, and he understood, as the music playing on his radio was Croatian, as I saw signs in the language I’d loved and lived in for four years and I read them in whispers so that my tongue could feel the language again. The sea was a deep rich blue off the rocky Adriatic coast and our driver told us in Croatian that it was always blue when the temperature of the water dipped below fifteen degrees. He spoke and I understood, and spoke back awkwardly at first. Some of my words were missing and the grammar was rusty, but the rhythm, like a heartbeat was still there.
It’s my first time in Dubrovnik. I lived in Croatia four years and never visited because I thought I had all the time in the world. When I lived in Zagreb, I couldn’t imagine wanting to be any place else. And being back now, it’s not hard to remember why I felt that way, why I loved the place and the people so much.
It’s easy to look to the future in Dubrovnik. The city is vibrant and the people are friendly and energetic. Even after being under siege for nine months during the war, the place has been rebuilt and no one would question for a moment that it is the Pearl of the Adriatic. The food is that delicious blend of Croatian, Italian and wonderful seaside flavors. The café bars are full of locals and a fair amount of tourists even in the off-season.
But yesterday we took a trip to Mostar in Bosnia Herzegovina, and looking to the future was much more difficult. The buildings are all recent, rapidly built, and in varying stages of completion. Most everything was destroyed during the war, and the remains of bombed-out buildings are everywhere. Mostar is now a city divided – Catholics on one side, Muslims on the other, and the bridge, the incredible stone bridge that stood for 500 years before it was destroyed in 1993 is once again rebuilt. But there’s no looking at it without being reminded that something so seemingly indestructible could be destroyed so quickly. As I watched the film of that destruction, I was reminded again just how
thin the veneer of civilisation really is, and how incredibly fragile all that makes us human, all that rises us above ourselves, all that makes us more than blood and bone really is.
As we explored the Old Town, on the left hand side of the city, the church bells began to peel. Not seconds later, on the right side, the call to prayer sounded from multiple minarets, and the two in my head became a cacophony of noise breaking the peaceful winter air, while all around us people went about their business trying to make a living in a place where unemployment is over 40%
The bridge is rebuilt, but something was destroyed that may never be rebuilt, and I guess that’s why I stayed away so long because I remember what it was like before the destruction. The stone sign on the bridge carved in English reads Don’t Forget 1993 and I can’t help wonder what should a people remember and what should be, if not forgotten, at least mourned, and moved beyond. How much suffering is caused from remembering too well, or from remembering selectively?
In the night, I woke to a neighbourhood dog howling in the darkness. The hairs on my arms stood at the sound that seemed so lonely and desolate. This morning, we woke to the church bells ringing in Christmas Day. Right now church
bells are ringing all over the city, and I’m looking out over the peaceful Adriatic to the islands and the mountains beyond. Coming here was a gift, and I have laughed and I have cried and I have found a place where I can begin to heal from wounds that seem so negligible in comparison to the wounds of those who have lived through the destruction and lost so much. And yet the four years I spent in the Former Yugoslavia have moved me more deeply and changed me more completely than any other experience in my life. And though I’ve been away for a long time, I’ve taken the place with me in my heart every day since. To return as we have in a time of celebration and reflection, to have the place I loved restored to me with all the wounds, the battle scars and the vibrant laughing memories is truly a gift of new beginnings.
In the time of new beginnings, I wish all of you good memories, healing of wounds and hope and love for the New Year.
Today’s the day! I’m very excited to announce the launch of Brit Boys: On Boys! Eight sizzling novellas by eight naughty authors, including yours truly! Don’t miss the fabulous M/M fun!
Brit Boys: On Boys
From east to west and north to south, these British boys are having a blast in and out of the bedroom with the men of their dreams. They’re topping and bottoming from London to Cardiff, living out fantasies in the wildest fells and hooking up while serving HRH Queen Elizabeth II.
With passion and lust the name of the game, nothing is off limits. Throw in honed muscles, high-strength testosterone and an accent to die for and there is nothing they can’t do and no one they can’t get in this world or another.
Don’t miss Brit Boys: On Boys—a smokin’ hot box set, containing 147,000 words/440 pages of unforgettable M/M erotic romance from eight popular British authors.
Bodywork
By Ashe Barker
Alex is doing okay. His body repair shop makes enough to live on, he has a decent apartment, life is fine. That all changes when he runs into Graham in a supermarket car park – literally. He offers to fix the damage to Graham’s car free of charge. The sparks soon fly, and the heat between them has nothing to do with welding equipment.
Breaking the Marine
By M.K. Elliott
Brandon Rosen hadn’t planned for his final night before enrolling in the Royal Marines to involve a hot stranger and a pub car park. And he certainly hadn’t planned for that same hot stranger to turn up at the barracks in the form of his Drill Instructor, Corporal Will Stewart. In the testosterone fuelled environment of the training camp, can Brandon and Will overcome past pains and face up to what they really want? Or will the Royal Marine Commando School break their relationship before it even gets started?
Love on Location
By Lucy Felthouse
When Theo Samuels heads off to film on location in the village of Stoneydale, he’s expecting drama to take place on camera, not off. But when he meets gorgeous local lad, Eddie Henderson, he struggles to ignore his attraction. A relationship between the two of them would be utterly impractical, yet they’re drawn together nonetheless. Can they overcome the seemingly endless hurdles between them? Or is their fling destined to remain as just that?
Landscapes
By K D Grace
Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?
The Chase
By Lily Harlem
Steve’s killing time working in a comedy club. Why not? It makes him laugh and both the clientele and the comedians are not just fit but also great company. One stand up joker decides to create a wild goose chase for Steve and his ex Robert. Cavorting around Cardiff on a frosty night, however, does more than just show them the way to a threesome, it also reveals the reasons why they should give each other one more shot.
Dish of the Day
By Clare London
Richie’s sunk all his hopes and savings into a new restaurant in south London promoting British ingredients and recipes. His best friends Craig and Ben should be around to help him celebrate the grand opening, but it looks like it’s all heading for disaster – until his friends step in to tell him some home truths. Then they’ll help him relax and enjoy their loving, intimate menu instead.
E2
By Sarah Masters
When Archie meets Dan after The Change, he realises there is no such thing as a random meeting of soul mates, it’s all mapped out in the stars. Now all he’s got to do is hope those orbiting planets stay in alignment and true love finds him again.
Locked Out
By Josephine Myles
Getting accidentally locked out of his hotel room on Valentine’s Day night is embarrassing enough for teacher Martin Cooper, but the fact he’s stark naked makes it even worse. It doesn’t help that the one person he runs into is Rod, the gorgeous man he’d been checking out earlier in the hotel pool. But when Rod offers Martin a refuge, the night heats up. Now if only Martin could get the hang of this seduction business…
And now here’s a little excerpt from my story, Landscapes:
The moonlight was bright and Reese’s night vision was good, but the path was rocky and steep. He stumbled and went down on his arse, catching himself on one elbow and cursing as the sensation of pins and needles shot up his arm. He forced his way to his feet slipping and sliding the last hundred meters on the dew-drenched stones. He was just about to call out, just about to shout Alonso’s name when the man moaned softly and Reese stopped in his tracks. Not only was Alonso no longer curled on his side, but the man was naked. He lay flat on his back, his knees bent, bare feet resting on the bench, one arm flung over his face, the other curved down low across his belly, his fisted hand moving up and down the length of his cock.
Reese froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. Alonso Darlington was beautiful, like no one he’d ever seen. His body was sculpted, not like polished marble, but with the ruggedness of the rocks of the fells, like he labored to be free from himself, like one of Michelangelo’s prisoners. The muscles of his belly tensed and relaxed and convulsed and relaxed again in response to his stroking. The movement of muscle beneath skin on his biceps and his forearms, on the rise and fall of his chest, on the tensing of the chorded muscles in his neck and throat as he swallowed was like a hypnotic dance. The muscles in his thighs twitched and bulged as he rocked and arched upward until Reese could see the clenched half-domes of his buttocks. He could smell the nutmeg and yeast scent of his heat, charged through with the crackle of ozone. He stood frozen on the spot, his own cock responding to the sensory overload, even as his brain demanded he give the man his privacy, demanded with a sense of half-frightened urgency that he leave as quietly as he could, but it was too late.
Alonso’s arm fell away from his face and Reese could feel the nearly physical press of his gaze.
I’m sorry,’ he managed around a tongue that felt too big for his mouth. ‘I saw you, and I thought that … I’ll go now,’ but even as he said it, Reese stepped forward, feeling reeled into the man like a fish on a line. Alonso eased himself up on one elbow, not taking his hand off his cock, not taking his eyes off Reese. ‘I should leave,’ Reese croaked, but instead he stepped nearer.
In a move that was not quite human in its grace, Alonso sat up and nodded to the bench next to him.
Cautiously Reese sat down struggling to keep his eyes off the man’s cock. He could still feel Alonso’s gaze on him as though he were the one who was naked. ‘I thought … When I saw you out here, lying on the bench at this hour … I was worried.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Reese, but there’s nothing wrong with me. My … afflictions, don’t trouble me much. I’m not ill. In truth, I’m the epitome of health. I’m just … different.’
‘I’m sorry. Of course you would be out after dark. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ll go now.’ But before he could stand, Alonso’s hand shot behind his head with lightning speed, fingers curling in Reese’s sleep-mussed hair, and in that instant of reaction, the second Reese gasped for his breath, the man’s mouth was on his, warm and hard and terrifying in its command, a command Reese could do little but respond to. Even as fear battled lust low in his belly, he parted his lips, opened his mouth, welcomed the search and conquest of Alonso’s tongue, his own the white flag that instinctively yielded all else beyond the breach, all territories beyond the invasion.
post from the archives because it’s a post that I need to re-read for my own benefit every year, and I hope it will be something to encourage readers as well.
the year entry, in which I reflected on how I did on the year’s resolutions and planned my resolutions for the next. This was a process that often began late in November with me reading back through journals, taking notes, tracing down some of what I’d been reading during that year and reflecting on it. Yeah, I know. I needed to get a life!
snatched away from us one sound-bite, one reality TV show, one advert at a time. Often our time, our precious time is bargained away from us by harsher forces, by ideals and scripts that aren’t our own, and the less time we have to dwell
Excerpt from Fierce Enchantments:
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