From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent comes the newest book in the Random series…
Giving up is hard…but giving in is even harder.
When did my life become a demented episode from The Mindy Project?
Moving to Boston to begin grad school meant I was supposed to start a new life — not dig through a past I thought I’d left behind four years ago. But when I saw the poster for Random Acts of Crazy, all I could think about was the drummer, Sam Hinton, the boy I’d loved in high school and who disappeared with my heart.
Who knew I’d become the living version of Magic Mike?
Seeing Amy Smithson at my gig and watching her win a kiss from my bandmate, Liam, was a gut punch. Four years ago we squared off in a high school debate that had higher stakes than we ever imagined, and here I was…wanting what I’d walked away from. Are there too many secrets between us to allow her to trust me again?
And can I trust myself?
The second book in the Random series after the wildly successful New York Times and USA Today bestseller Random Acts of Crazy, Random Acts of Trust is a New Adult romantic comedy that explores the love between one man, one woman, and ends with one Happily Ever After (and no cliffhangers or chickens!). Fate took their lives by storm four years ago and put an unbreachable gulf between Sam and Amy. This 87,000 word/346 printed page book asks: Can time really heal all wounds…or are some scars too deep?
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
Many thanks to KD for letting me come over to share my latest story news!
It is with great pleasure- and no little amount of pride- that I can announce the release of a brilliant new anthology of erotica- Gratis: Midwinter Tales.
“Christmas has come early: Nine writers work together to create the must-read Free Holiday release of 2013. Every one of the twelve stories contained within Gratis: Midwinter Tales serves as a satisfying bite out of each author’s repertoire, to tempt and seduce and sweep you off your feet. Our stories comfortably straddle both erotica and romance genres and cover a variety of themes. Some are innocent, others seek to force you to your knees, but all have something in common: they’ll make you feel.
Gratis: Midwinter Tales comprises works by Chloe Thurlow, E.A. Chapterhouse, Elizabeth Woodham, Hedonist Six, Jason Jaxx, Kay Jaybee, KM Dylan, Livilla Sanders and M.J. Carey. We hope you’ll find a new favourite author, or nine, within these pages.”
Contents
Snow Falls Softly by Chloe Thurlow, In the Mood by E.A. Chapterhouse, Wicked Games by Elizabeth Woodham, Virgin by Hedonist Six, White (Lights Out) by Jason Jaxx, A Pair Well Met, Blinked, and The New Year Dancers by Kay Jaybee, The Future First Lady of France by KM Dylan, Glove, and A Penheligon Christmas by M.J. Carey.
I was extremely flattered when I was invited to take part in this erotic enterprise- and what company I’m in! Just check out this list of biographies from my fellow authors- and their tasty story blurbs…
Chloe Thurlow-
Bio- Chloe Thurlow is an insomniac and writes her books in the dead hours of night to the sound of the planes flying low over the Thames into Heathrow. She is the author of five erotic novels and a cult blog at www.chloethurlow.com
Blurb- Snow Falls Softly
It is the night when Jools feels as if she is gripped in the hands of destiny, a night of uncontrollable passion, a love so deep it feels as if her soul is bursting. It begins to snow as Josh takes her in his arms and kisses her eyes, her neck. He draws her top over her head and her breath catches as his long kiss caresses the hollow of her throat. In two days, Josh will marry another woman unless Jools can convince him to stay or the snow that falls and keeps falling prevents him from going.
Livilla Sanders
Bio- I don’t exist. We’ll never meet. I am a figment of my owner’s imagination. She loves cats and chocolate.
My erotic stories, ‘The Spanish Artist’ and ‘Cassie’s Call’, are available now, and I’m working on a collection of short stories, ‘Casual Collisions’, due out very soon.
Blurb- Irrecusable
‘Irrecusable’, my contribution to Gratis: Midwinter Tales, is told by Kate Parkinson. She encounters the alluring sexual force that is Séverine Rogers, a star character who features in ‘Cassie’s Call’, and the focus of my forthcoming novel ‘Séverine’. Kate is persuaded to attend a New Year celebration, and is targeted by the charming and charismatic Séverine, who embarks on a captivating seduction abundant with erotic possibilities, exposing a compelling world of secret desire she has only ever dreamed of.
Elizabeth Woodham
Bio and Blurb– I adore writing and work in a number of genres. Writing erotica is stimulating; I like to explore age-gap scenarios and feature older man, younger woman relationships in ‘It’s a Sin’ and ‘Eleanor’. ‘Wicked Games’, my contribution to Gratis: Midwinter Tales, is driven by a desire to share a little of Matthew Fletcher’s back story. Told from more than one point of view, my aim is to take you deep inside his character. We first meet Matthew in ‘Eleanor’, a novella, where he introduces Eleanor Grant to control, dominance, bindings, and wild sex, in an escalation of wicked games. Matthew and Eleanor’s story continues in ‘Falconworth’, an erotic tale set in a medieval manor, sprinkled with a dusting of history and mystery, due for release in 2014.
In a moment of calm, away from the hustle of the day before Christmas Eve, a woman lays a tribute to her dead lover in the cemetery. Her memories are bitter-sweet, his hold upon her still as strong as ever. She knows she needs to finish mourning and find her way back to life. A young man watches her as she reflects upon the past. She sees him.
A Penheligon Christmas.
Set on Christmas day 1998, a few years before the events in the novel: House of Penheligon: Danielle’s rules, this short story tells the origin of Lizzie, maidservant to the House. Alicia Penheligon has returned from London and is keen to play Santa Claus to her sister Danielle, her cousin Imogene and the rest of the household.
Hedonist Six-
Bio:
Hedonist (or simply “H.”) is an author of Erotica / Erotic Romance based in rainy England. Addicted to caffeine, chocolate and impure thoughts, she likes to write short stories and serial novels dealing with those aspects of the human condition that we all think about, yet dare not discuss openly. No-one is perfect, neither are her characters, which makes them all the more relatable and well-liked by her fans.
Blurb-Virgin
After nearly four years with Jeff, everything fell apart. I found myself single, scared, but somehow liberated as well. Rather than stumble into another ill advised relationship, my best friend Sally helped me find focus. I would spend the next few months “finding myself” sexually. That’s how The Rebound List was born.
And -this- is how my journey begins: with a virgin. Number one on my naughty bucket list…
What (or whom) would you do to celebrate your freedom after your first serious relationship breaks down?
E.A. Chapterhouse
Bio- A geologist, archaeologist, explorer, mountaineer and writer, I travel a lot and am usually found on a plane, it seems, more than on the ground, where, ideally I want to be. My archaeology and exploration is a fortunate consequence of my work as a geologist. I write for my job, while writing erotica is my hobby.
My erotic stories are dedicated to the muse; she who inspires me and without whom, these stories would not exist.
Blurb: In the mood: A moment in time, as if unfolding a calendar to find a secret day within, EAC and the Muse go to a celebration for a legend of the big band era. Their shared moment is captured by memories, sounds, colours and an intruding photographer.
KM Dylan
Bio- K M Dylan is a former model turned author. She is half French, half American and lives in NYC. Ms. Dylan’s career in fashion and her sexual adventures have provided the inspirational material for her erotic novels. For more information about K M Dylan and her books, visit her Facebook author page at www.facebook.com/KMDylan or her blog kmdylan.tumblr.com where she posts NSFW thoughts and pictures that inspire her erotica (for adults only).
Synopsis for The Future First Lady of France
Fashion supermodel Katie Wolfer’s scandalous journey of sexual awakening takes a sharp turn as her charismatic fiancé, Victor de Goncourt, begins campaigning to be elected the president of France. His baleful grandmother, the Duchess, demands that Katie clean up her act, and Katie wonders, does she have what it takes to be the first lady of France?
This story picks up where the first two volumes of Katie’s fictionalized erotic memoirs (the Cult of Beauty series) leave off, but it stands on its own.
Jason Jaxx
Bio- Jason Jaxx is a self-published erotica author. Due to a stressful job that offers little creative outlet, he views writing as a welcome release and challenges himself to explore different themes and styles. http://wordsfromthewhiteroom.wordpress.com
Blurb-White (Lights Out) A late night walk through the snow finds Jack alone with thoughts of love, lust, pain and possibility.
And- then there’s me of course- I have three stories within Gratis…
How long would you wait in the cold on New Year’s Eve in the hope of getting a glimpse of an erotic ceremony that might not even happen? In The New Year Dancers a new sexual acolyte is adopted in the mists of a midnight forest. An arranged marriage takes an unexpected twist in A Pair Well Met, a force fantasy retelling of A Taming of the Shrew, and something not entirely human is in control in Blinked…but what is it…
Why not treat yourself to this incredible erotic compendium of skilfully constructed smut…the e-book won’t cost you a penny, and the paperback is so beautiful, it is worth every cent…
Three lesbian erotic short stories from popular writer Lucy Felthouse.
Girls Rule, Boys Drool
Boyish dyke Toni is working at the local golf club, serving champagne to arrogant, privileged folk when she spots Clarissa. She’s one of the posh people, but she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else—anywhere else. Toni’s immediately smitten and wants to put a smile on the older woman’s beautiful face, so she decides to show Clarissa just why girls rule and boys drool.
Making An Impression
Joely’s holiday has consisted mainly of chilling out by the hotel pool, having the occasional swim and reading lots. That is, until a hot brunette arrives and suddenly, Joely has trouble concentrating on anything else. Her gaydar non-existent, Joely decides on an unusual course of action to find out whether the newcomer bats for the same side as her.
Fear as an Aphrodisiac
Girlfriends Nikki and Sonya are on holiday in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. They’re having fun sightseeing, until a super-scary tourist attraction sends Nikki into meltdown. Once outside again, Nikki slowly starts to feel better—and, much to her surprise, horny. Quickly realising that the fear has acted as a potent aphrodisiac, she decides to take advantage of that fact, right there in the middle of the city.
Finally, Nikki and Sonya found the turning off Edinburgh’s Royal Mile that they needed. They’d expected a road, but Mary King’s Close was nothing more than a narrow passageway that looked like it led to the next street along. Glancing at one another, it seemed both girls suspected they were in the wrong place—despite the name of the alleyway—but as they headed along the close, they came across more signage and discovered they were wrong. The signs proclaimed that they were indeed at The Real Mary King’s Close, and this time they exchanged a relieved look and moved inside the tourist attraction.
After paying their money, they were put into a group that was already waiting, and after a few minutes was called to attention by a member of staff. The young man, dressed in incredibly old-fashioned attire welcomed them to the attraction and gave some brief information about what they should expect from the tour, as well as some health and safety spiel.
Then they were ushered deeper into the building and down some stairs. Another peculiarly-dressed actor met them and gave his talk. The group soon learned that Mary King’s Close had been a town of sorts, a collection of streets and houses, named after the most prominent local—Mary King. It had functioned well, this part of Edinburgh—in its day. But it had also befallen hard times and tragedy, including the Black Death. It was rumoured that people affected had been bricked into their houses to prevent the disease spreading further. It had never been confirmed nor denied, but the very idea sent a shiver down Nikki’s spine.
As they advanced into the underground town—now covered over by modern Edinburgh—they learned more about the inhabitants, their lives and, in some cases, their deaths. By the time they were shown the shrine of a young girl, covered with offerings both old and new, Nikki was clinging onto Sonya’s arm so hard that the other girl gave her a nudge.
“Oi, you’re hurting me! What’s the matter with you?”
“Sorry,” Nikki replied. “I’m getting a little creeped out, that’s all.”
“A little? The way you’re squeezing my arm, I’m beginning to think you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
“I said I’m sorry. God. Don’t you think it’s spooky down here?”
A meaningful glance from the tour guide shut them up. Nikki dropped her hand to Sonya’s and held it. The group continued through the subterranean labyrinth, listening to more tales of the past, the things that had happened within the very place they stood, over four hundred years ago.
Some periods of total darkness with recounts of history later, and Nikki was a nervous wreck. She’d always had an overactive imagination, and although she’d never seen a ghost—despite Sonya’s words—she believed in them and was really succumbing to the eeriness of the ancient place. She had gotten to the stage where she fully expected to see the spectre of little Annie—having left the site of her shrine—peering around a corner, beckoning to her. Or the chilly finger of a plague victim trailing down the back of her neck. She grew so paralyzed with fear that she fell silent and didn’t take in a word of the rest of the excursion—simply holding onto Sonya’s hand as they walked through the rooms and tunnels.
When they eventually emerged into the outside world once more, Nikki heaved a sigh of relief. “Sonya, darling, take me for a drink, now. A stiff one. A double vodka and coke sounds perfect right now. Maybe even a triple.”
“Were you really that scared?” The other woman looked disbelieving.
“What do you mean, were? I still bloody am. I’m sure I’d have found it interesting if I wasn’t so busy being terrified. I’m surprised I didn’t wet myself.”
“Aww, babe.” Sonya pulled the other girl into her arms. “I didn’t realise you hated it that much. We could have left if I’d known.”
“No,” Nikki shook her head. “It’s okay, I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just got to the stage where I blocked it all out. But I’d still really like a drink, if you don’t mind.”
Sonya gently pushed Nikki against the wall of the alleyway and hugged her once more. “Okay, we’ll go for a drink soon. Let me hold you for a few minutes, first.”
The other girl said nothing, just relaxed into her lover’s embrace and slowly, very slowly, felt the fear ebbing away. With not a small amount of horror, she realised that she was turned on. Her knickers were damp and sticking to her, and the heat emanating from between her legs was unmistakable. What the actual fuck? She kept quiet, instead nuzzling into Sonya’s neck and pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there.
“Ooh,” Sonya said, shuddering, “that was lovely. What was that for?”
“For being nice.” Nikki’s voice was muffled, and she kissed her girlfriend again.
“Hey,” Sonya said, grabbing Nikki’s hands and squeezing them, “you’d better stop that, otherwise I’m going to get turned on. And that’s the last thing you want right now. I’m trying to be understanding here, sweetheart.”
Nikki came to the conclusion that she didn’t mind if Sonya got turned on, not at all. In fact, some sexy fun might just take her mind off the creepy underground place they’d just visited. It was damn weird that being scared had turned her on, but the more she thought about it, the more she figured it kinda made sense. Nothing, in her opinion, was scarier than death, and the French word for orgasm translated to ‘the little death’—so it was widely accepted that sex and death were connected. Sex was about life, death was about, well, death. So, in an attempt to stop thinking about things that confused the hell out of her, she was going to embrace life, wholeheartedly. And if that meant experiencing the little death, then so be it.
“I don’t mind,” she whispered into Sonya’s ear.
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Sonya replied, grabbing her shoulders and moving her back so she could look at her face. “You don’t mind what?”
“I don’t mind you getting turned on.”
*****
Author bio:
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over eighty publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
It seems only a few weeks ago I was over here talking about Spontaneous, the first book in my trilogy, Suited to You. Hang on. It was only a few weeks ago! And here I am again, thanks to the wonderfully welcoming KD, to tell you about the second, which has just come out.
In Exposed, Tara continues her sexual exploration, guided by the skilful hands of The Suit, aka Patrick Lark.
Exposed asks the question: can a girl have her cake and eat it? Or, more significantly, can she allow herself to have her cake and eat it? Perhaps it’s a particularly British trait, but sometimes us women feel guilty or become disbelieving if things seem to be going too well. This is Tara’s problem in Exposed.
The sex is great, her relationship is great, but then, like too many modern women, she starts to think too much: This is too good. That’s not right. It can’t be right. Something is bound to go wrong. And rather than accept and enjoy it, it confuses her.
How many times have we done that in our own lives? If things are going swimmingly, we think there must be a catch.
The Suit seems to be the perfect man. Or is he? Tara can’t believe it, and as he won’t just talk to her and open to her – bloody men! – it leads her to emotional confusion and doubt.
But, through it all, she can’t let go of the sex. Great sex. Exhibitionist, risky, exposed, daring, incredible sex. Can she give it up? Should she?
Here’s a little snifter for you. Here, The Suit (Patrick) has pulled Tara away from an artist in a gallery just as the man thought he was going to get some action.
Excerpt:
Patrick held my hand tight and walked me fast through the museum. We started practically to jog.
The Suit was grinning broadly and I giggled as we rushed faster and faster. We were soon outside and, breathlessly, I turned to him and crossed my arms, exaggerating my disapproval. ‘You are a wicked, wicked man.’
‘For you, anything.’ He smirked before kissing me.
‘That poor, lovely guy. That was cruel.’
‘Didn’t you say I had to be a cruel bastard to run a corporation?’
‘Yes, but hiring and firing people is one thing, leaving someone abandoned with a massive boner is something else. And anyway …’
‘What?’
I pouted. ‘I was rather looking forward to tasting him.’
He stepped into me, cupping my face with his hand and searching my eyes. ‘What? Are you thirsty?’
‘Always.’ God, I wanted cock and come. The craving was insistent.
The corner of Patrick’s mouth turned up. He hailed a cab. We climbed in quickly.
He’d unzipped his trousers as soon as the door shut. I didn’t think. As the rigid shaft lurched out, I dropped my head to it.
‘Shit, dude!’ cried the driver. ‘You can’t fuckin’ do that in here!’
‘We won’t tell if you don’t,’ replied The Suit, his words forced out as I engulfed his cock in wet heat.
‘Jesus … how the fuck am I supposed to concentrate on the traffic with that goin’ on?’ moaned the driver, a young dreadlocked guy with a large tiger tattoo on his right arm. ‘I wanna look!’
I barely heard him. I sucked and sucked, sinking right down on the glorious hard prick so that it edged into my throat and made my eyes water. It wasn’t the first time I’d sucked The Suit off in the back of a car.
‘Taste it, Tara, taste it all.’
I wasn’t in the mood to go slow. He wanted his quick come and so did I. I wanted that taste. My fingers curled around the shaft and pumped, and I pulled my cheeks in tight while my tongue enthralled his tip.
‘Man, you got yourself a sweet little cocksucker there,’ declared the driver, managing to keep one eye on us and one on the road. ‘Ma-an! Ain’t every day I’m treated to somethin’ like this.’
Lucky Patrick, lucky Tara and lucky cabbie.
Exposed – Book Two of the Suited to You trilogy is out now from Xcite Books.
Demelza Hart can be found on Facebook, Twitter, and at her blog. Do come over and say hello. Sated, the final part of the trilogy, is out in the new year.
It was my pleasure to be a part of the wonderful Guildford Writer’s Group for several years and getting to know the very talented writer, Amy Kernahan, was one of the highlights of that experience. At the time, Amy was writing her wonderful travelogue, Orion is Upside Down, so once a fortnight the whole group got to experience Amy’s amazing pilgrimage, with her father, to Antarctica. I couldn’t be more pleased to introduce you to Amy and the story behind Orion is Upside Down. Welcome, Amy!
Antarctica was once the very essence of inaccessibility. One of its poles (the Pole of Inaccessibility) is named so. Did you know that Antarctica is home to more than one pole? It’s home to more than one Pole as well, assuming Arctowski Base s occupied. Several years have passed now since I visited, but the Polish research station on King George Island is still going.
The working research station may or may not be on the itinerary, but Antarctica is now firmly on the tourist trail and sojourns there are as common in print as they are becoming in actuality. So why is my journey, made only shortly after the first so-called ‘cruises’ to the White Continent, and my journaling of it any different? What qualifies me? To my knowledge, no Antarctic chronicler in print has ever seen their own island home reflected in the islands of the sub-Antarctic. But for the Gulf Stream, the Outer Hebrides, where I was born and raised, would, like South Georgia, be permanently robed in glaciers. As it is, they are a twin to the Falklands. Thus I have an affinity with the land itself.
Antarctica is more than the penguins.
Antarctica is more than history.
The Nordnorge
Been and gone is what is called is called the Golden Age. (But who’s to say the best is not to come?) Sir Ernest Shackleton, in whose Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition’s wake the bark of my journey sails is an archetypal giant of polar exploration. But alongside my awe of Shackleton, I have the simple affection of a shared heritage with Thomas MacLeod, Able Seaman on board Endurance, Shackleton’s ship. Shackleton, known for bestowing nicknames upon his crew called him ‘Stornoway’ after his wee… my wee… our wee home town.
So there are my credentials: Antarctica herself and one of her lesser-sung heroes are a part of what I call ‘home.’
Out of whose womb
The Peregrinatio is the ancient Celtic search for one’s true home. Orion is Upside Down chronicles mine.
Blurb:
This sea story from the bottom of the earth takes the reader on a philosophical voyage through many realms, religious and secular, mathematical and poetic, natural and mechanical. Something akin to a Scottish Bill Bryson, Amy Kernahan, who was born and grew up on the Isle of Lewis, the largest of the chain of islands off the northwest coast of Scotland, sets out with her travelling companion, her father, to journey in the Antarctic and follow her dreams of seeing, and even standing in, the places where Sir Ernest Shackleton had been.
Casting Shackleton in the role of Virgil to her Dante, she follows his trail through the ice fields around the Antarctic Peninsula, a vision here on earth as hellish as the frozen Lake Cocytus at the centre of Dante’s Inferno. Along the way, the might of the sea, and the glories of the Antarctic set Amy pondering themes of Judeo-Christianity, seeing Antarctica as a remnant of Eden, unpopulated by both mankind and sin. The mathematics of nature reveals itself to her, and she is awed by the prophetic soul of Coleridge and his Ancient Mariner.
Paradise Bay
Amy has set out on her journey believing it to be a pilgrimage to Shackleton’s grave, but as she sojourns beneath striking southern skies where even the familiar is alien, she realises that she is on another more spiritual pilgrimage, called by the ancient Christians of her homeland peregrinatio, the search for what they called ‘the place of one’s resurrection’ or true home. The outcome, although perhaps not surprising, is not quite as clear cut as it might have been.
Polarising Filters Kick Butt
Excerpt:
We were surrounded by giants. Nootaikok, the Inuit god of icebergs, and his court. Tradition describes him as ‘large and very friendly.’ I wondered which space-time continuum that was in. Certainly not this one. I had mourned the results of his handiwork since I was six years old. Nordnorge lay motionless, like one prepared for martyrdom, unarmed before the executioner, yet daring to bring her petition to a god not renowned for mercy, whatever tradition might say.
Shackleton’s Grave
Of course, the couple of hours of outward inactivity were taken up with the crew’s preparations for landing, out of sight down in the car deck, but standing out on deck beneath the lifeboat that had offered so little shelter as we rounded Cape Horn, in the stillness that seemed to be as much a part of the place as the mountains and the water were, it was easy to imagine that the ship was holding parley with the god of the ice, bargaining for the safety of her passengers. Nootaikok acquiesced and the landing began, but the little boats, that the previous evening had gambolled around like puppies, seemed subdued. They waited patiently for their charges under the lee of Nordnorge’s hull, huddling in to the mother-ship for protection.
Be careful, she warned them. If your propellers hit the ice…
Ice littered the bay. As well as the bergs, many of them level with the ship’s superstructure, the water teemed with brash ice, up to three feet exposed, and the comically named ‘bergy bits’ that filled the taxonomic gap between brash and true bergs, anything over fifteen feet. And then there were the infamous growlers, barely visible submerged ice that lurked just beneath the surface, like the submarines of some hostile alien power.
South Georgia Rainbow
The ice here is glacial, ancient. I have heard people say of Titanic, ‘How could crashing into ice sink a ship?’ No one would doubt that crashing into a rock could sink a ship. Glacial ice, the stuff icebergs are made of, is harder than rock. It is not frozen water, it is compressed snow, the ice at and below the surface the oldest, the hardest, compressed over aeons by the mass of hundreds of feet of snow-becoming-ice above it as it makes its slow, unrelenting journey to the sea, gouging its path out of the rock, tearing away the surface as though it were topsoil. Anyone who doubts its destructive power need only look at the fjords of Norway, their sheer cliffs dropping to the sea – ice did that. Destruction that creates.
Stromness Warning
Tomas helped us ashore again, but he didn’t need to hold the Polar Cirkle boat’s nose quite as firmly as he had at Deception Island; she was making no attempt to bolt.
‘Welcome to Neko Harbour,’ he called out. ‘Our first landing on the Antarctic mainland.’
Close to our landing point stood a little wooden hut, painted bright red to make it stand out against the natural white, a white so bright it seemed almost unnatural. The hut was a refuge erected by the Argentineans in 1949. And what a refuge it must have been to anyone who had run the gauntlet of ice that guarded the Harbour. But now, like the crumbling remains of the station at Whalers’ Bay, it was home only to penguins and seals.
Thou rash intruder
The Harbour is named after a Norwegian factory ship which operated there between 1911 and 1924. Looking out into the bay I tried to picture her (tried because I didn’t really know what a factory ship looked like) lying there surrounded by the ice, which tolerated her with disinterest as it did now another Norwegian vessel. Nordnorge looked suddenly small, disappearing behind one of the aquatic white mountains that patrolled the bay.
They stood at the gates of Dis, the threshold to the nether-hell, Dante and his guide. No way to go but onward, for no-one can retreat out of Hell. You can’t go back the way you’ve come. If you do, you may leave Hell, but Hell will not leave you.
And as the demons at the gate appraised them with scorn, ‘Thou with us shalt stay,’ they say to Virgil.
No.
But did Shackleton, man of words and eloquence and frustrated poet himself, Virgil now to a reluctant Dante, ever think that perhaps he would?
The guide turns to his charge.
‘Have no fear, no matter what they do to me. I’ve been here before.’
Top of hill Paradise
Is that why we journey through Hell? So that once we’ve been there and know the way, we can guide another through?
The paradox of Antarctica began to manifest itself. A place that could be Eden, unsullied, un-fallen, could just as easily be Hell.
Or vice versa.
This terrifying place, with its monstrous inhabitants, was equally the last haven of peace and innocence. But we were banished from Eden.
This is the ice’s world, and we really have no business being here.
About Amy Kernahan
Amy was born and brought up on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland’s Outer Hebrides, but she’s now an ‘economic migrant’ to the South East of England, where she work as an assembly, integration and test engineer for a company building small satellites in Guildford, Surrey. That’s the ones up in space, not the dishes on the sides of buildings.
A fascination with technology led her to choose a career path that she believed would bring her to its cutting edge, gaining along the way a Masters in Aerospace Engineering from the University of Glasgow and studying for a time at the prestigious Ecole Nationale Supérieur de l’Aéronautique et de l’Espace in Toulouse. But the reality is somewhat different and whoever said the space industry is glamorous has never worked in it!
When she’s not writing or hidden away in a big white scrupulously clean laboratory wearing a silly hat and static-deflecting overalls, Amy does milage. She is now saying ‘never again’ to another marathon, but her year wouldn’t be complete without her trips to Cardiff and Liverpool to run in those cities’ half-marathons. And she likes to trek the long-distance paths of around a hundred miles, five to six days walking. In a world where we can hop on a plane and be almost anywhere within twenty-four hours, Amy likes to travel in the most primal, human way she can. Ironic, perhaps, for someone who spent four years of her life learning to design aeroplanes.
But Amy’s first love has always been the sea. You don’t get much more primal than that.
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent comes the newest book in the Random series…
It is with great pleasure- and no little amount of pride- that I can announce the release of a brilliant new anthology of erotica- Gratis: Midwinter Tales.
Chloe Thurlow-
KM Dylan
Blurb- White (Lights Out) A late night walk through the snow finds Jack alone with thoughts of love, lust, pain and possibility.
Blurb:
