An aperitif

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Hey gentle reader. How are you? I’m pretty good, thanks for asking. In fact, my new book is currently at number three in lesbian romance on Amazon.com, so that’s pretty fucking cool. Oh, you’d like to read it? Well, here’s a sample to get you started.

Chapter One

Charlie Black was sleeping deeply when her phone rang. She was incensed at the interruption. She’d been in the midst of quite the dream about Lucy. Lucy naked, to be more precise. In real life, she’d seen Lucy undressed many times. But somehow, in the dream, it was all just a little more vivid, beautiful, perfect. Lucy was exactly what Charlie wanted her to be. Just the right mix of angelic and devilish. In real life, Lucy was great. Cool, funny, sexy. It was just that in a dream, she was perfection. Charlie’s idea of perfection, at any rate.

The dream seemed to be set in the past, just at the moment before they’d gotten together. Before Charlie knew for sure that the thoughts she was having about Lucy might be returned. Those thoughts that were about a beautiful life together in the daytime, but at night went to an altogether more salacious place. Charlie didn’t know which feelings were more powerful. Was it love or sex she wanted from Lucy? She didn’t know for sure. But she decided it was the first one. Because the first would inevitably lead to the second one anyway. Why not try to imagine it was the purest motives that led to the need to get Lucy out of her clothes? Wasn’t it all kind of the same thing anyway?

It had been a slow jog to the finish line. They’d been in kind of the same circle for about three months. They were friends of friends of friends. But Charlie had noticed her immediately. Anyone would have. She was a tall redhead, cheekbones for days, a coy smile that hinted at sexy depths. But Charlie didn’t intend to do anything at first, being that she was in a relationship. But once she was single again, there was no reason not to pursue her. And coming off the back of being dumped by Megan, her girlfriend of eight months, Charlie had a feeling that Lucy was the answer to the blue mood she’d been in. And she was right. Lucy was something sweet to the thoughts at a time of irritating melancholy. And so they’d danced around it for those three weeks that Charlie was single, the occasional ‘hi’ at a party, the sideways glances at a barbecue, the shy smiles at either end of the bar. It had been perfect. Lucy could fulfil every need that Charlie had just by standing in Charlie’s eye line, looking gorgeous.

Eventually Charlie had decided, aided by more than a little beer, that she was done fantasising. She wandered up, full of booze-fuelled confidence, and struck up the first real conversation they’d ever had. God knows what about. They’d talked flirtatiously for about twenty minutes and then Lucy had said, ‘I’ve got a bottle of sassy red at mine, if you’re interested.’ It was the perfect pick up line, leaving Charlie to wonder if Lucy herself was the sassy red she’d be having shortly. And indeed she was.

Charlie had been flat out drunk by the time one of them made the lunge for a kiss. To this day, she wasn’t sure which one of them had made the first move. She awoke the next morning, naked, unsure where she was. Then she’d turned to see the shape of Lucy underneath the sheet and thought ‘Well, I guess it’s on then.’

And it was indeed on, so it seemed, because they’d been dating for about four months now. And all Charlie’s fantasies and projections turned out to be way off, but it didn’t matter, because Lucy was great fun anyway. Maybe they didn’t have much in common but that didn’t bother Charlie too much because they had chemistry, which was much harder to find. You find a spark, the rest usually slots into place. That was Charlie’s ethos.

And Charlie was thinking that maybe Lucy might actually be someone special, maybe even wife material. It wasn’t the first time that she’d had that thought about a girl, but this time felt different. Yes, maybe she’d gotten it wrong a few times before, but wasn’t that always the story before you found Miss Right? She’d just been kissing the compulsory frogs until she’d found her princess.

And in dreamland, Lucy was most certainly the one. It was as though Charlie had re-written the first hook up. It started in the bar, but this time, Charlie was sober as a judge and smooth as silk to boot. And Lucy was innocent and virginal. Until she wasn’t. And the kiss had been a perfect coming together of two people who had finally found water after years of wandering the driest deserts of love. From there, the seduction had been slow and elegant. And when they finally got to business, every move was right on the money. But suddenly, Charlie was dragged from a starring role in the most beautiful porn film ever shot by that shrieking ringtone.

Charlie rolled over with a moan, her long lean frame almost falling out of the bed, and picked up her phone. She almost threw the bloody thing at the wall before remembering how expensive it was. The phone read ‘BRIDE-ZILLA CALLING.’ That was her younger sister Maddie’s current nickname. She was three weeks away from the big day with her fiancée Josh, and in all truth, she wasn’t being exceptionally demanding. It was just that at the moment, the wedding was all she talked about. Charlie could understand it in a way. It was an expensive and detailed event to organise. But that didn’t make it any less boring to have to listen to.

Charlie, still sleepy and annoyed, almost didn’t pick up. But ignoring her sister’s phone call felt mean. She answered reluctantly.

‘How’s the planning going? Have you managed to book the fire-eater yet?’ She half said, half yawned. Maddie ignored Charlie’s joke.

‘Jesus, did I wake you? It’s eleven AM!’

Charlie checked the time on her watch for confirmation. It was indeed practically noon. But Charlie had good reason to need some extra sleep. It had been a late night. Lucy had invited Charlie over for an evening in front of the TV. Which was of course code for ‘come over and have a sex marathon.’ Charlie had wanted to sleep over, but Lucy said she had plans to go for a run in the morning. Charlie had taken the hint and dragged her exhausted bones home. But she wasn’t about to tell her sister about her sexcapades.

‘You know how it is, I’m a nocturnal creature.’

‘Yes, I do happen to recall that from the hellish years I spent sharing a house with you. Look, I was just calling because I’m leaving in a bit and I wanted to check if you needed a lift?’

Charlie’s mind was a blank.

‘You’re not working today, are you?’

‘No, not today’ Charlie said.

Charlie was a personal trainer. It wasn’t exactly her passion, but she found that she was good at motivating people with even less get up and go than she had. Those people tended to be rich men and woman with very little time to train, but a desperate need to at least try to keep themselves in shape for their new trophy husbands and wives.

For Charlie, the career choice was a simple coming together of the fact that she had a very naturally fit physique and a need to pay the bills. So she got her training license and found some clients that appreciated her ability to make the workouts fun and not too challenging for them. It was a good fit for her. Because it was easy. Charlie prized ease above all else.

But today she was free. And she’d kept the day free for a reason, probably. Then she remembered why. It was the first Sunday of the month. That meant lunch at the ‘rents. But the realisation came too late. Maddie had clocked on.

‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ Maddie said without surprise.

‘No! Is Josh coming?’ Charlie said, trying to change the subject.

‘Yeah. Why, were you planning to bring someone?’

That hadn’t occurred to Charlie, but maybe she should invite Lucy? The family had to meet her sometime, after all.

‘I might ask Lucy if she wants to come.’

‘Who’s Lucy?’

Charlie wanted to reach down the phone and flick her sister in the eyeball.

‘My girlfriend. I have mentioned her.’

‘Did you? Oh yeah, Lucy, of course. Must have slipped my mind. It’s this bloody wedding’ she lied tactfully. ‘It’s pushing everything else out of my brain. But you should definitely bring her to Sunday lunch.’

‘I’ll give her a call right now, see if she’s free.’

Charlie and Maddie said their goodbyes and Charlie dialled Lucy as she looked in the mirror. She looked knackered. She couldn’t show up to lunch like this. Her Mum would be down her neck anyway about something; she wasn’t going to give her any help by showing up looking like she was coming from a walk of shame.

Lucy wasn’t picking up, so Charlie shot her a quick text inviting her to lunch with the family and jumped in the shower.

 

An hour later, Charlie was about to leave, her long chocolate locks freshly washed and blown dry, her tiny, sleepless mahogany eyes made less small with the application of make-up. She looked like a person again.

She’d had no reply to her text to Lucy, so she tried to call again. Lucy didn’t answer so Charlie decided to leave her a voice mail.

‘Hey, it’s me. Did you see my text about lunch? I’m heading over now so if you do hear this, my Mum and Dad’s address is in the text, head over if you’re free.’

And off Charlie went.

 

‘Charlie! Shoes!’ cried Dawn.

Charlie slipped her shoes off quickly. She didn’t know what it was, but she could never seem to remember her Mum’s rule about shoes in the house, even when she lived there. As a teenager, the cry of ‘Charlie, shoes!’ went up so often, it became Charlie’s nickname from her Dad, Ed.

‘Hey, it’s Charlie Shoes!’ Ed said on cue, coming out to give Charlie a bear hug of a greeting.

‘Dad, you know I hate that, she said into her father’s chest. Charlie was tall, but her Dad was a whopper, a lean man of over six feet. Charlie took more after him physically than her mother, who was petite and demure. Except when she was shouting at Charlie. Then she seemed about eight feet tall in Charlie’s mind.

‘You’re late. Hello, love’ she said, adding her kiss to Charlie’s cheek. She somehow always managed to combine a criticism with warmth, which left Charlie in a frequent state of emotional confusion. ‘Your sister said you might be bringing someone?’

‘I don’t think she’s coming. Couldn’t get hold of her.’

Dawn nodded, secretly relieved. She wasn’t sure she was up to meeting another of Charlie’s girlfriends. Mainly because she always ended up hating them. They always seemed like such cold creatures. She couldn’t understand why her daughter seemed to keep choosing these icy women.

Of course, if Dawn had asked anyone else that question, the answer would have been quite obvious. But luckily, she never did.

 

‘Leg, Josh? Or are you a breast man?’

Poor Josh, Charlie thought. Ed had put him in an incredibly awkward position with one of his standard jokes. Josh was sat with his future wife and mother-in-law, and his soon-to-be father in law had as good as forced him to say something inappropriately sexual in front of them. There could be no way out as far as Charlie could see.

Everyone turned to see what his response would be.

‘Actually, Ed, could I have a wing if there’s one going?’ said Josh casually.

Charlie wanted to high five the man. He’d done the impossible in a high pressure situation, and he’d done it with grace. And that was one of many reasons that she thought he was the perfect man to marry Maddie. He loved her for a start. But nearly as important was the fact that he always made it seem easy to be around their parents. Charlie’s girlfriends had never managed that. But maybe Lucy would be different, Charlie hoped.

As though Maddie had read Charlie’s mind, she suddenly asked ‘So where’s your main squeeze, then?’

Before Charlie could reply, Ed jumped in.

‘Megan’s not coming.’

Charlie winced internally.

‘I broke up with Megan five months ago, Dad. I did tell you.’

Ed looked surprised. Dawn, having been briefed on the girlfriend swap by Maddie ten minutes ago, said softly to her husband.

‘The new one’s called Lucy.’

Charlie tried not to take the bait of ‘the new one’ but she couldn’t help it.

‘She’s not just the new one, Mum. She’s The One, probably.’

Charlie knew you couldn’t really hear the sound of eyeballs rolling, but she felt like that’s what she was listening to. And she knew that was the reaction around the table without looking, because what she’d just said would have made her gag if it had come from anyone else. But that was family. They had a way of making Charlie reach for her inner dickhead.

‘Oh, really? So this is a real girlfriend, not one of your…’ Dawn trailed off, knowing full well what she was trying to say, but unable to find it within her to utter the term ‘Fuck Buddy.’

Charlie charged on.

‘Yes, she’s an actual girlfriend. She’s thirty-two, she’s a vet and she lives in Park Hill.’ Charlie blurted, groping for the most broadly summarising facts about Lucy. ‘And we’re getting pretty serious. So you should try to remember that name, Dad. Lucy.’

Ed looked like he’d just realised his parachute was only a backpack.

‘I do try, Charlie.’

Maddie had watched her Dad, who had never had much luck with social delicacy, struggling to know what to say to his daughter and she felt she should try to bridge the gaps of understanding that were crumbling around him.

‘It’s not Dad’s fault, Charlie. You are a bit of a serial monogamist.’

There was a pause after that comment as Charlie sat with her hurt in silence. The implication of Charlie’s fecklessness had been clear. Yes, she’d had a few girlfriends. But it wasn’t her fault she hadn’t had Maddie’s luck. Maddie, who met Josh four years ago and settled down into smug coupledom from that day forth. It was easy to sit in judgment when you had everything. And now Maddie had humiliated her in front of the whole family.

Maddie realised she’d said the wrong thing.

‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t mean to…’

‘No, it’s fine. I suppose if you’ve been engaged for a million years, it can be difficult to remember how hard it is to find someone decent.’

Another silence fell over the table. Until Charlie’s mouth, acting, it seemed, independently of her, said ‘Actually, this is a bit more serious than any of my other girlfriends because we’re moving in together.’

Every head swivelled to look at Charlie.

‘Well, that’s big!’ Dawn said. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

Charlie wanted to take back the lie, but it was too late.

‘I’m saying it now.’

Ed, just about caught up with the new events in his daughter’s love life, clapped his hands together.

‘So when will we be meeting… err..’

‘Lucy!’ Charlie almost shouted.

Maddie, although very interested in this development in her sister’s life, found that her wedding-skewed brain had an important question, one that would need to be asked if she was able to find any peace.

‘How about the wedding? I’ve given you a plus one since you never sent back the RSVP, but there’s still time to cancel it… she said, a slight warning in her voice.

Charlie had meant to post the RSVP for herself and Lucy months ago, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Which was ridiculous. Obviously Lucy would be coming, even if they hadn’t actually talked about it. And maybe she should broach the idea of them moving in together while she was at it? Perhaps it had come about in a strange way, but it was on the cards anyway, right? They were definitely getting serious.

‘Of course’s she’s coming. Her name’s Lucy Fisher. And you can mark that in ink.’

Charlie didn’t know it then, but she would live to regret those words bitterly.

 

When Charlie’s phone rang again later that day, she picked it up with no sense of foreboding. She saw Lucy’s name and felt nothing but delight. She never saw the axe coming down, not for a second.

‘Hi, hot stuff.’

‘Hi.’

Charlie thought Lucy sounded slightly off in tone, but she wasn’t one to read into that type of thing too heavily.

‘I’m glad you called, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day-’

‘Charlie. I need to talk to you about something.’

That’s when the penny finally dropped. She’d heard that sentence before. And several variations on it.

She was about to get dumped. Again.


 

Enjoy that? Here’s the link to read the book, available to buy for a shockingly reasonable price or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.

http://amzn.to/28MdMP8

 

 

 

Going Live

The Plus One cover

It’s been a while, gentle reader. Apologies for that. But hey, I was writing a book for you to read so you can’t get too mad at me, can you?

So today’s post will be an account of the week I’ve just had, a look at how I self-published my newest book on Amazon.  It’s called ‘The Plus One’ and it’s a lesbian romantic comedy novel. It’s the tale of Charlie, the girl who always gets dumped. But this time, she thinks she’s found something real with Lucy, her girlfriend of four months. But after loudly telling her cynical family that this time it’s different, you guessed it, she gets dumped. That’s bad enough, but having declared she’ll be bringing Lucy to her sister’s wedding, she can’t bare the humiliation of going stag and admitting she’s been given the boot again.

And then she discovers Rent-a-Date, a website that hires out actors to pretend to be your partner for special occasions. Charlie is relieved to find a way out of the embarrassment of confessing that she got it wrong with Lucy. So after booking herself a date from the company, she’s guaranteed that a hot woman will show up to the wedding with enough knowledge to pretend to be the real Lucy, at least for the length of the big day. But when Charlie turns up at the church, her date has a surprise in store…

So that’s the book, here’s an account of getting the damn thing up online for purchase.

Sunday

The book is finally finished after several months of writing. And now I just need to get it proof read. Luckily, my girlfriend is skilled at that. And god love her, she makes the time, proofing it over several arduous days of careful reading.

Monday

She finishes proofing. Now I have to proof her proof. And make sure all the formatting is properly done. While I’m doing that, my girlfriend, who is also good with graphic design, puts a book cover together for me. And I love it.

Tuesday

I finish tinkering with this and that and I feel ready to release it. I upload the book through Kindle Direct Publishing. Now they have to review it and clear it for release. It could happen any time in the next twelve hours. I don’t want to constantly be refreshing, so I enjoy some gaming time to take my mind off the wait. At some time in the early evening, I get a message from a friend who has apparently already bought it. I guess I missed the release!

Monday

I wake up and check the sales reports on Kindle Direct Publishing. It’s pretty good. I’m in the top 20 lesbian romance charts on Amazon. I spend all day refreshing the sales and watching my rankings move, as well as tweeting the release to my Twitter followers. But I won’t know how good a day I’ve had till the next day, when sales have finished.

Tuesday

I check my sales, which are divided into two parts. Units Sold and Kindle Edition Normalized Pages (KENP). The second category is for people with a Kindle Unlimited account, which calculates how many pages are read and pays you about half a cent per page.

My units sold on the first real day of release are one of the best days of sales I’ve ever had. The KENP is over triple my best day ever. And I reach number 12 in the rankings, my best chart position to date. Yesterday was a good day.

Wednesday

I check yesterday’s numbers. The numbers aren’t quite as good for Tuesday, but that’s usually the case for the second day. But still very good numbers for me. And the reviews are starting to come in. Mostly positive. One absolutely scathing. But you can’t please everyone, can you?

Thursday

Today, I pretty much ignore the numbers. I’m pleased with the books debut and its now time to start thinking about the next one. Because that’s the nature of this. I’m still learning, and every book does a little better than the last. So I keep going.

It’s time to start all over again.

So with that, you know what’s coming now. Buy the new book, readers!

US: https://t.co/M1P05V1O3I

UK: http://amzn.to/28PLIwj

Another Snippet

 

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Hello there. Still very busy with the new book so today’s post will be an excerpt from my second book ‘Hawke’s Game’.

Enjoy.


Chapter Four

 The elevator doors opened on floor three of the building and I strode into the reception area. I’d had twenty minutes in the car to build up quite a head of steam and I was here for answers, real ones. They were reneging on an agreement and they hadn’t had the good grace to sit me down and explain exactly why. And now they were about to find out that I was not someone who would allow myself to be treated like this without speaking up.

The girl on reception (Selina, I think her name was) saw me coming and her face dropped a little. She’d clearly had a heads up about my arrival.

‘I’m here to see Jill Fraser.’

‘Errm, do you have an appointment?’

‘Selina, can I be honest with you?’

She nodded and I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on her desk.

‘We both know that I did have a meeting here this morning. And then it was cancelled, along with my book, in a pretty spineless manner. But I’m going to have the meeting anyway’ I said calmly.

She looked pensively at me

‘Well, Jill is out for the morning.’

I felt sorry for her. She was yet another person who had nothing to do with this decision but had been put in my way. Plus, she’d always been nice to me. Maybe even a bit nicer than was necessary for a new author. With that in mind, I leaned into her even further.

‘Selina, I know this is nothing to do with you’ I said kindly. ‘And the last thing I want is to get you in trouble, but I just want you to be straight with me. She’s here isn’t she?’

She didn’t answer, which was still an answer.

‘OK, I’m going to walk into Jill’s office right now. And you can tell her that you told me she was out. But, mega bitch that I am, I wouldn’t listen to reason and I went to find her anyway.’

I winked at her and her mouth twitched up at the corner.

I walked down the corridor and threw Jill’s door open. She was at her desk, mid phone call, and she looked up in astonishment. I stood there, not saying a word, waiting for her to speak first. She spoke into the phone.

‘Michael, I’m going to have to call you back.’

She put the phone down and gave me her most professional smile.

‘Julia! I’m so glad you could come in.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Is that so? Then we’re still having the meeting you tried to cancel? Fantastic.’

I sat down in front of her desk. She’d obviously acclimated to the changing situation and was now going to pretend that it was going as she planned. The only indication of her tenseness was the hand she ran inelegantly through her shoulder length grey hair.

‘I presume by now you’ve heard the news? I’m so sorry, Julia, I know it’s a blow.’

I smiled viciously.

‘It’s more than a blow, Jill. It’s a breach of contract. We have a written agreement. You gave me an advance.’

She picked up on that last point quickly.

‘Yes, we did, and we want you to know that we won’t be asking for that back, as a gesture of goodwill.’

I sighed, irritated.

‘I don’t care about the money, Jill. I want to know what happened. Everything was fine last week. What changed?’

‘There have been some changes at the top and missives have been sent down to tell us that we need to ‘slim down’ our output. And unfortunately, there happens to be another title with some crossover appeal with your book and it’s further along. So we made a tough decision.’

It sounded plausible but then why had she been so sneaky about it all? There was more to it.

‘What changes at the top are you referring to? You’re editor in chief, surely this comes down to you.’

‘We’re owned by a larger company, Julia. We’re just a hand on a body. I still have to answer to someone.’

I sighed, frustrated.

‘You know I can sue, don’t you?’

She nodded and for the first time, she looked at me properly and I glimpsed the human underneath the businesswoman.

‘I know you can, but if I were you, I’d walk away. Our pockets are deeper than yours. It’s not going to be worth it, Julia.’

I sat back in the chair and shook my head.

‘Come on, Jill. What really happened?’

She looked torn and that confirmed to me there was indeed more to this than she had let on. I played the last card I had.

‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

I watched as she made a difficult decision.

‘Look, our parent company did had some personnel changes. During those times, there’s usually some reshuffling that dribbles down and we have to shelve some projects as a result. That all true.’

She looked down at her hands, and a little shame crept into her voice.

‘But I lied. There was no novel similar to yours. I was given specific instructions to kill your book.’

I stared at Jill, aghast. She looked uncomfortable. It was obviously risky for her to reveal this to me.

‘Why?’

‘Reading between the lines, someone at the top really does not like you.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know any more than that, Julia. I’m sorry.’

I was shocked. Who would do this to me? And why? Suddenly, an even worse thought occurred to me.

‘This parent company. Do they own any other publishing companies?’

Jill rubbed her temple.

‘Yes. All the major ones, and a lot of the smaller ones.’

I stood up, suddenly feeling a sweat run down my back.

‘So the odds that someone else is going to print this book, or anything else I write, are pretty much non-existent.’

She paused.

‘It’s not impossible.’

‘Just unlikely.’

She nodded. I turned to leave.

‘I’m sorry, Julia. This is why I couldn’t deal with speaking to you this morning. It’s shitty to have to break something like this to someone when you don’t even know why. And I had a feeling you were going to see straight through it.’

I barely heard that, my head was already elsewhere.

‘Don’t worry about it, Jill. Like you said, you’re just a hand. I need to find the head.’

I walked out.

 

Chapter Five

I was sitting in the car outside my house. I’d been there a few minutes. I didn’t want to go in because Lauren was there and she was going to ask about the meeting. I was going to have to explain that the book was dead, and because somewhere along the line, I’d pissed off the wrong person. It sounded bad in my head.

But I was only delaying the inevitable. I climbed out of the car with a heavy heart and went in the house.

I walked into the living room to find Lauren reading on the sofa. She looked up at me with a smile that fell quickly away when she saw my face. There was no point in putting a mask on right now.

‘Are you OK? You look like someone died.’

I sat down next to her.

‘That’s not far from the truth. The book deal is off.’

She was aghast.

‘What? Why?!’

‘Someone at the top of the food chain has apparently decided to destroy my career.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That’s what Jill told me. Someone who owns the publishers made it clear that I was not to be published. By anyone.’

‘Who?’

‘She doesn’t know. But I’m going to find out.’

Lauren stared into space for a moment, acclimating to this change.

‘And then what?’

‘I’m not sure.’

She sighed, still shocked.

‘That’s dreadful.’

I slumped down on the sofa.

‘Yep.’

She paused.

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I just told you, I don’t know yet.’

‘No, not about that. I meant in general.’

‘I haven’t really had time to think about that. This happened less than an hour ago, Lauren.’

But she was stuck on something.

‘But, does this mean you’re not going to be an author? You’re just going to keep working for The Informer? I mean, do you think that’s what you’ll do?’

I looked at her for a second, her furrowed brow and thousand yard stare, and I understood exactly what her problem was. She’d never liked me working for the scandal website but I’d always been a real writer doing it to pay the bills. In her mind, I’d been an about-to-be-published author. Now, I was just a gossip writer. I was still the same person, but the frame she’d had me in had changed.

‘Does it matter if that’s what I do?’

She shook her head quickly.

‘No, of course not!’

But it was too late, I’d seen that glimmer of doubt. I stood up.

‘Where are you going?’

I barely glanced at her as I walked out of the living room, headed for the door, and a place free of the judgement I felt from her.

 

Half an hour later, I was in a dingy bar, already into my second double vodka. I was trying to use the alcohol to stop the awful thoughts crashing around my head but it wasn’t working. My mind continued to turn on my problems, calculating my next move. Problem one, the book, and the person responsible for this shittiest of days. I’d done a little googling on my phone as I drank and discovered that Barret and Foster was owned by Murphy House, a multinational, and that it’s CEO Phillip Murphy had recently died of a heart attack at eighty-two years of age. There was no news on his replacement available yet. It was going to take more than a quick search to discover who had decided to fuck me on this biblical level.

Problem two, Lauren. It was possible that I’d seen something that wasn’t there, but I didn’t think so. It was also possible that I’d simply caught her in a bad moment, and that she was having her own shocked reaction to my bad news. But I was concerned that it went deeper than that.

I quickly finished my drink and ordered a third one. I necked that and ordered a fourth. The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured it anyway. I found I was beginning to feel a little drunk, and with it came self-pity. I began to feel like my whole life had collapsed, seemingly in a matter of hours. I’d had everything and now nothing.

On that thought, a light, lilting, beautiful female voice popped my miserable little bubble.

‘Julia?!’

I turned from the bar and standing in front of me, like the ghost of sorrows past, was Penny Stone.


 

What happens next? Only one way to find that out… ‘Hawke’s Prey’ and ‘Hawke’s Game’ are both available on Amazon as well as Kindle Unlimited.

UK:

US:

The Truth about Writing

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OK, today’s post may not be a pleasant read for writers. Because I’m going to talk about why writing sucks as a job.

Before you click out of what potentially might be some negative bitter bullshit, let me make my case. I’ve written before about what makes writing a great job and I stand by everything I said. But for new and aspiring writers, they need to know what they’re really getting themselves into. They need both sides of the argument. So if you read this article and decide that you don’t care or that I’m just plain wrong, that you still want to write, then that’s an excellent sign. You’re tough. You’re going to need that.

So buckle your seatbelts. Here we go…

  1. Get Used to the Word ‘No’

If you’re choosing this life, get ready for disappointment. A lot of it. Wave after wave of rejections. But everyone knows that, right?

Well, here’s something you may not have heard. That sometimes that ‘no’ can come after a lot of yeses. Sometimes you get interest. And that becomes a meeting. That turns into talk about an offer. It can all seem so positive. And it can still fall apart. You can still end up with a big, fat NO. And you won’t always understand why. And that will sting the most.

  1. A Distinct Lack of R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Every time I speak to my grandma, it goes like this:

Grandma: Any news with the writing?

Me: Nothing at the moment. But there’s a few things that might happen, I’m waiting to see.

Grandma: OK. So anyway, your auntie Susan’s got piles again…

She doesn’t say it, but she’s wondering if anything will ever come of this writing nonsense. And so do the rest of my family. And some of my friends.

Because they cannot hold a book you wrote, or see a movie you penned, as far as they know, you’re just messing around with this writing thing until you get a real, quantifiable job.

Some people won’t have that attitude. My girlfriend, for example, is about as supportive as they come. She reads everything I write and tells me how much she likes it. And I can tell that she means it.

But for a lot of people, what you do seems like a childish fantasy. Whether they say it to your face or just with a look in their eyes. And it can be very wearing to deal with that as time goes on.

  1. The Green-Eyed Monster

People in every type of job will understand this one. You work hard, do your best and it’s still not good enough. Someone else gets the job, promotion, raise, or even just praise that you think you deserve. It’s impossible not to feel jealous and angry about it sometimes.

For a writer, that’s happening all day, every day. Every time they read a book, article, watch a movie or TV show or hear a song, they are taking in the work of a writer who has had some level of success. When you’re not in that position, when you can’t seem to get your break, it’s tough to be surrounded by that. Especially when you think that person has done bad work. That writer, with less talent than you think you have, has made it. You haven’t. It’s fucking frustrating.

As an example, E.L James has, at the time of writing this, a net worth of $95 Million. And she’s terrible. I’m not afraid to say it. She’s one of the worst writers I’ve ever read in my life. But she’s rich and I’m broke. And it boils my blood.

  1. The Pit of Eternal Doubt.

Every writer who puts pen to paper with the ambition that other people will read their work, does so under at least some presumption that they have something to say that is worth hearing. That can’t always be true of every writer. So how do you know if your one of the ones with a distinctive, original voice? The answer is… you don’t. And you might never know that. Self-doubt will rear its head again and again. Many times in your life, you’re going to ask yourself the same question. ‘Am I a bad writer?’

On good days, that answer might be no. Those days may get more plentiful as you grow more confident in your work. But still, that question will still come back to haunt you one day. Even when you think you’re past it.

You can shrink the beast of self-doubt, but you’ll never, ever kill it.

And I will make that the end of my list, even though I could go on. Maybe these points are tough to hear, maybe you don’t agree. But it’s my experience.

Here’s the good news, though. If you can hear all that and it doesn’t put you off, you have a level of pig-headed stubbornness that you’re going to need to be a writer. It will serve you well. Go forth, young writer. The force is strong in you.

And hey, I don’t want to end on a completely disheartening note so I’ll leave with this thought. I know all this and I still write.

Read it and weep. No, wait. Just read it.

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Hey, lady lovers. I’m a little busy at the moment, writing a new book (more info to come on that) so today’s post will not be the usual article, but a sample from my first book ‘Hawke’s Prey’. It’s chapter five, so not something you’ll get from Amazon’s ‘Look Inside’ thingy.

Enjoy.

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I’d just finished ready Penny’s story when Chloe walked in. I barely noticed. All through the meeting, I was on autopilot, my mind straying to what I’d just read. It had knocked me sideways. It had been bold, brave, funny and sad. No student in all my time at Medford had ever written something this daring in their first term. And who would have thought it could come out of someone like Penny? She appeared such a classic good girl.

I’m not naive. I know that everyone, no matter how they look, has their little secrets. But she had put them out into the world, it was right on the page for all to see. It wasn’t that it was about sex, it was that it was about shame. She’d looked her shame in the eye and acknowledged it. It took a lot of writers their whole lives to take that kind of chance in their work.

‘…So what do you think?’

I realised that I hadn’t heard a word that Chloe had said and she was expecting some sort of reply.

‘Well, I’ll need to give it some thought. Why don’t you email me a roundup of your thoughts so I can consider it more carefully?’

Chloe looked flummoxed and it was clear that she hadn’t really come in here looking for advice on her story. More than likely, she’d come in here to do a little flirting, test the waters. At any other time, I would have considered this small reveal a crucial move in our chess game, but right now, I didn’t care. Chloe could wait. I wanted to talk to Penny about her story. I ushered Chloe out and picked up Penny’s pages again, wanting to give it another read before I saw her.

 

Three o’clock came around and sure enough, there was a tap on my door.

‘Come in, Penny’.

Her head popped around the door as if she wanted to see my face before fully committing the rest of her body to the room. I could see she was trying to read my mind but I gave her nothing. I’ll admit it, I was playing with her.

‘Take a seat.’

She came in and sat down and it was clear without taking her pulse that her heart was racing in her chest.

‘So I read your story…’

I left a pause and I could see she was on the edge of her seat.

‘…And I loved it.’

Penny’s mouth dropped open and it was obvious she had been taking for granted that my reaction was going to be negative.

‘You… You liked it.’

‘No, the word I used was ‘loved’, Penny. I loved it. There’s perhaps a few places I could make some suggestions for tightening, but all in all, it’s a strong piece.’

Penny said nothing. The girl looked shocked. I let her have a moment before I pushed on.

‘So my question is, what do you want to do with this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean there are competitions you could enter with it. You might win, you might not. But either way, it’s a good piece and people should see it.’

Penny looked terror struck.

‘There’s one competition in particular that I think you should enter it into. The prize is four days at a writer’s retreat where you write a story with intensive teaching from some good writers. And me.’

I smiled at my little joke but Penny didn’t smile back. She was clearly starting to panic.

‘You know I’m doing a business degree, don’t you?’

‘Honestly, Penny, I don’t care what degree you’re doing. I just like to encourage talent where I see it. You can think about it if you like. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do. It’s up to you.’

Penny nodded and I could see there was conflict in her.

‘Can I ask you something?’

She looked at me nervously.

‘Ok, yes.’

‘Why did you take my class if you’re doing business?’

She was quiet for a moment and she looked out of the window of my office, toward a lawn where people were laughing. She looked wistful.

‘I guess I just feel like there are things inside me that I can’t say. Things I need to say. Writing lets out the parts of me that don’t have anywhere else to go.’

The sentiment moved me. It was clear to me then that Penny Stone was not your average eighteen year old. And I should know. I get to know them pretty intimately. Suddenly, Chloe popped into my head and she didn’t seem so exciting anymore. She seemed silly.

Penny suddenly looked embarrassed.

‘It sounds stupid.’

I shook my head, trying to pull myself back together.

‘It’s not stupid. It’s the same reason I started writing.’

That inspired her to give me the only real full smile I’d ever seen on her face and for the first time, I saw beyond her glasses and her conservative dress. I saw what I would have seen right away if I hadn’t been so consumed with superficial details. Penny was beautiful. My newly open eyes could now see her large jade green eyes, her full sensuous lips and perfect milky skin. The thought shocked me. I didn’t want to see her that way, as another target. She was clearly very unworldly and her story had made it clear she’d never had sex. She could never be my plaything. But in the moment that she smiled, something had broken open in me and I had a disturbing feeling that it could not be closed. I needed to get her out of my office quickly.

‘So, think about it and get back to me?’

She nodded and stood, turning to the door. Then she seemed to change her mind and turned back to me, looking me squarely in the eyes.

‘Whatever happens, thank you for reading my story. It means something to me that you like it.’

As she said that, it was as though our roles were reversed. I was the one who couldn’t look her in the eye. I gave a simple nod and she turned and swept out, a new confidence in her step. I leaned back in my chair, feeling undone. The thoughts that had poured into my brain in the last few minutes were completely unwelcome and I was angry with myself. I suppose the problem was that I actually liked the girl and somehow that meant that an affair with her would be wrong. And that’s if she even returned the attraction. It was strange to feel doubt about that, I’d always felt supremely confident that I could have whomever I chose. And Penny left me doubting everything.

I tried to push my mind towards Chloe and how it would feel to have her in my bed, but the whole idea of trying to seduce her now seemed pointless. I’d been targeting first years for seduction for six years, I had my methods and my rules. There were systems in place. And Penny Stone had ruined all that in the course of an afternoon.

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Like that? You know what’s coming now… a blatant plea for you to buy it!  ‘Hawke’s Prey’ and the sequel ‘Hawke’s Game’ are both available on Amazon as well as Kindle Unlimited.

UK:

US:

But whether you wanted to read more or not, I’d love to hear what you think of it.

 

What do we want?

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I’m a relative newcomer to writing lesbian romance novels. I’ve written two books and working on the third at time of writing this. It wasn’t where I started my writing career remotely. So why did I choose this genre? Simple. I wanted it to be better.

As lesbians and bisexuals, we live in a world that largely doesn’t recognise us an important audience. How many movies features lesbians/bisexuals as the protagonist? Done that calculation? Now subtract the ones that were indie movies. Shrank a lot, didn’t it? Now, let’s think how many of them were romances or romantic comedies. I’m talking big glossy Hollywood movies where the girl gets the girl. You won’t need all the fingers on one hand to count them. Now think about all the movies in that genre that feature girl meets boy. Whoo, that’s a big, breath-taking number! Because everyone likes a little escapism, a little romance. And so do lesbian and bisexual women. But we’re simply not catered for. I’m not going to get into why here, it’s way too complex and gargantuan a topic. But I will say this, literature could fill that gap while we wait for movies to catch up to our need for them. And to an extent, it does. There’s a lot out there. But as a reader of those books, I can see a few problems that I’d like us to try and fix. It doesn’t apply to every book, there are plenty of good lesbian themed reads out there, but there are some pervasive problems within the genre. Here’s what I think they are.

  1. The characters are boringly perfect

Many of the characters in these books are absolutely flawless creatures. Smart, kind, talented, beautiful angels. They only things that keep them apart are misunderstandings and circumstance. Jesus, that’s dull. I don’t know anyone like the people described in these books. And that’s because they don’t fucking exist. I recognise that a major part of romance is escapism. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some complicated, nuanced, real characters to fill that fantasy situation.

  1. Success comes so easy

Say for example our young protagonist wants to be a Ballerina. Yeah, she’ll start out as a struggling young dancer on page one but she’ll be on the rise about twenty pages in, and a major star by about halfway through. I’m not saying let’s turn our romances into kitchen sink drama’s but I cannot relate to the astonishing luck these people seem to have. Plenty of people have amazing talent in real life and I don’t have an issue with the fictional characters that have it. But to give them so little struggle to get to the top is frankly ridiculous. I think that to be satisfying, we need to see just a little of the real struggle that people real go through. Because if we’re in this for the fantasy, I strongly feel that we can still enjoy it and while staying in touch with reality. And in fact, that realism would actually enhance the journey we go on. Because we can invest more in believability.

  1. Pure love

Hands up if you’re in love. OK, now hands up if you’ve made mistakes within that relationship. I know what your answer is. But romance heroines, they don’t make the mistakes we do. Again, circumstances often get in the way, but they never do anything petty or cruel or selfish or just generally human. Again, the problems are often down to misunderstanding and outside circumstances. Can we please have more real love? We all fuck up. Let’s have it reflected in our romance novels.

  1. Soul mates

Fairy tales often end in the phrase ‘And they all lived happy every after…’  You know why? Because they’re intended for children. What comes after you meet someone and decide to be together is the beginning of the story, not the end, as every adult knows. But many romance books don’t seem to have clocked on to that fact. I hate this idea that once our characters realise they’re in love and want to be together, the music swells, the curtain comes down and that’s it. That is not it. Can we have a bit more about what happens down the road? Not just sweeping statements about how it all worked out and everyone was rich, healthy and happy forever. Life doesn’t work that way. It’s a series of up and downs and the only real end of the story is when you die. Can we be just a little bit more realistic about that?

I’m trying my hardest not to make these mistakes. Please tell me about your own thoughts. Better yet, tell me if you think I’ve made them too. I’m willing to be called out if I’m pot and kettling here. Because I love the genre. That’s why I want it to be better for us all.

Just Don’t

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I was going to write a do’s and don’ts post on writing. But then I realised that I really don’t want tell people how to write, because really, what do I know? Not much. I just keep going and hoping that I’m improving in some slow, immeasurable way. So no, I’m not going to act like I know what I’m doing or even worse, tell YOU gentle reader, how to write. But if you do want something like that, you could do worse than read Stephen Kings ‘On Writing’. But I’m not posting a link. That guy doesn’t need any help from me to sell a book.

But I like to think, if I’ve learnt anything, it’s what NOT to do. So this will be more of a list of trial and error than a ‘how to’. And all of these are lessons I’ve learned from my own mistakes.

  1. DON’T OPEN YOUR MOUTH

Do not talk too much about a story you’re planning to write. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve found the more you talk about it, the less likely you are to actually write it. So keep your trap shut if you don’t want to curse yourself.

  1. DON’T JUDGE YOUR CHARACTERS

Even if they’re an antagonist. Try to understand them, in all their flaws. Have compassion for them. If you don’t, they’ll never be anything other than two dimensional. Find their reasons for whatever they’re doing. Everyone has their reasons for even the worst behaviour. Never forget that.

  1. DON’T CREATE ANGELS

On the flipside of number two, never make your characters perfect. It’s fine to write your hero as a great person, even an amazing one. But perfection is unbelievable and ultimately unsatisfying to a reader. See rule number two for why. You want to make them wonderful, great. But whatever their fabulous traits, there’s always a flipside to them. Consider what that might be. For example, a character who’s hilariously funny is great. But why do they need to be funny? Is it really a sign of an underlying insecurity? Do they joke because underneath, they fear they are unlovable? For every positive, there is a negative. Remember that and your characters will always feel richer than a perfect fantasy.

  1. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT

Learn to be OK with bad work. Some days, you’re going to look at what you’ve done and think its complete crap. That’s OK. Just move on. Don’t get hung up on a bad page, or even a bad chapter. If you do, you’re going to stall. It will stop you going forward. You have to know that when the work is complete, it can all be fixed in the edit. WHEN THE WORK IS COMPLETE! Because that’s where you need to get to. A finished story, novel, song, poem, whatever your medium. That’s the first priority. Draft when you’re done. Do not get mired in problems early on. It can take you down if you let it.

  1. DON’T BE A PRINCESS

The converse of rule four. Do not be precious with your work. Do not imagine everything you do is pure gold. I promise you, it’s not. And you’ll never get any better with that attitude. Learn to see what could be better and what could be thrown out completely. So much of writing is in the edit. Keep your eyes open for anywhere you can tighten and improve.

  1. DON’T LET YOUR EGO RUN THE SHOW

This is the hardest ‘don’t’, learned over many painful hours and it has to do with external notes. They can be rough. Especially when the note giver is not being delicate with your feelings. But you will come to value the brutal notes. Because they are honest. And if you can learn not to take it personally, really listening to them will make you a stronger writer. To be clear, I’m not saying listen to every note. That’s also a bad idea.  But what you have to do is not let hurt feelings get in the way of knowing a really good note when you hear it. Try to remove your ego from the situation. Your ego is the enemy here. It wants to be told it’s wonderful and awesome. Of course it does. But if you want to produce the strongest possible work, ego stroking will hold you back terribly.

Those are my don’ts. What are yours?

Why We Write

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Today kids, I’m going to attempt to tackle the most difficult and ridiculous of existential questions. ‘Why do I write?’

Part of me says ‘Who cares why? You do what you do. Don’t overanalyse it.’ And if I was a chocolatier or a submarine captain, that might be a good enough answer. But the very nature of a writer is to ask ‘Why?’

I’m also now asking myself ‘Why the hell am I not a chocolatier?!’ Maybe I’ll come back to that.

Anyway, why does a person pick a job like this? Because I have to be honest, the downsides are many. I’m often broke. I spend a lot of time alone. And when I tell people what I do, they tend to look at me like I just told them I make balloon animals. Incidentally, if you make balloon animals for a job, I envy you. It sounds like a life of wonderful stability compared to writing.

But I’m not a sadist. I picked this job because the upsides seemed worth the price. And what are those upsides, you say? Yes, you did. I distinctly heard you.

Firstly, I’m in charge. Not just of myself and my day, but of what I make. I have full creative control. I don’t need anyone else to come in and help me write. It’s all mine and in that way, I’m greedy. I like to have the whole cake. I don’t like to share. Yeah, maybe later on other people get involved, depending on what you’re doing. But in my normal work day it’s just my brain and a keyboard. There’s a lot of satisfaction in that.

Secondly, storytelling is cool. It’s that simple. Once the cave people had figured out how not to get eaten by woolly mammoths (I know that’s wrong but don’t correct it, that’s the picture I have and I’m sticking with it) and once they knew how to get food and stay warm and all the other crap you need to stay alive, they had other needs. They wanted entertainment. They wanted stories. Those stories started as pictures on the cave wall, like an early Peanuts cartoon. And from there it grew into the stories we have today, a thing the world can never get enough of, in all its thousands of forms. So the feeling of knowing that you can spin a yarn for other people, or just yourself, it’s damn comforting. Yeah, storytelling is cool.  No one will ever convince me otherwise.

Thirdly, writing is my way of understanding things. It’s how I comprehend the world, myself and everything in between. The more you write about something, the more you can pull out the details of a subject in a way that clarifies it for you. It’s a constant search for the truth, both small and large. And when you do it right, it speaks to someone else. I like that, but I’m looking to satisfy myself first in that department. I want to understand everything as much as I can. I want to see the world naked. And writing is like removing reality’s clothing, one slow, languorous, frustrating item at a time. So in that way, writing is a striptease? Jesus, that metaphor really got away from me. Anyway, to write is to understand. I like to understand.

So those are some reasons I write. It’s not all of them, because this is a blog post, not a book. It’s really only the tip of the iceberg. But it’s a slice of the awesome terrible reasons that I write.

A Day in the Life

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Someone who enjoys my books asked me a question recently, and it’s an interesting one for a writer. ‘What does your work day look like?’

The thing about writers is, how there day goes is entirely up to them so it can really vary person to person. But in an ideal world, here’s how I’d like it to be.

  1. I awake from eight hours sleep, refreshed and ready to greet the day.
  2. I do some manner of exercise to get my body and mind ready for work.
  3. I eat a balanced breakfast for optimal brain stimulation.
  4. I begin work early, pounding out three thousand words before lunch.
  5. I eat whilst contemplating what I’ve written
  6. I bang another two thousand words out in the afternoon session, bringing me to five thousand beautifully sculpted words.

But of course, I’m not a movie character. I’m only a real person, which I’ve always resented. So here’s how it goes at the moment.

  1. I awake from about six hours sleep. I’m still knackered.
  2. I eat breakfast, which does not include any manner of fruit, unless you count Lemon Curd.
  3. I consider writing. I walk the dog instead.
  4. I come home and consider writing. But I’m too tired so I drink an energy drink and watch an episode of ‘Adventure Time.’
  5. I can’t put it off anymore, I open a word document. I stare at it. I put on another episode of Adventure Time.
  6. OK, I actually start writing and I get out about five hundred words.
  7. I deserve a treat. Is there any chocolate in the house?
  8. There isn’t. A trip to the shop is in order.
  9. I come back and eat my chocolate, maybe with an episode of Adventure Time?
  10. I write another few hundred.
  11. It’s lunchtime already?
  12. It’s about two. I must write some more. After I look at this clip on YouTube. Oh and this one. And this one.
  13. Back to work! I’m on about a thousand words for the day. Break for an energy drink or three.
  14. Sixteen… Seventeen… Eighteen thousand words! Why is my heart beating this fast? Oh, right. The energy drinks.
  15. I’m tired, coming down from Red Bull. I just need to get to two thousand and then…
  16. Snore.

Sometimes I’m better than that. Sometimes even worse. Still, it’s my day. And I love it.

Around the block

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I’m asking myself the age old question, yet again. How do you get past writer’s block?

First off, I ask myself a different question. Are you genuinely blocked or just feeling lazy? I’ll  be the first to admit that in my case, it’s usually the second one. I’m damn lazy and when the only person asking me to write is me, it makes it hard to push myself. But eventually, a feeling will creep in  that is stronger than mere lethargy. It’s guilt. Guilt that I’m not doing the thing that I do. When I’m not writing, I know I’m wasting my time. And eventually, that will usually kick my laziness in the arse.

But sometimes, it’s something else. It’s a large brick wall that feels like it cannot be climbed over, tunnelled under, or broken through. And there’s not one solution to overcoming that big, evil bastard. Instead, maybe what we should be asking is ‘What the hell is writer’s block, anyway?’ Maybe that’s the real question. Maybe the key to overcoming it can be found in its answer.

To me, it’s not about running out of creativity. I don’t think that’s possible. To me, what sits at the bottom of it is plain old fear. That’s what makes your brain spasm up and refuse to spit out a few pages. It’s the worry that what you’re about to put down isn’t good enough. And that’s what I’m really grappling with every time I sit in front of a blank screen.

So what can you do about that? Its as simple and as hard as pushing right on through it. Ignore it, fight it, do whatever you can to banish the scourge of writing. To clarify, tell fear to go fuck itself. And if you can do that, maybe you don’t need to fear the dreaded block. Maybe it becomes a less of a large wall. Perhaps we can shrink it to the size of a little lego brick.