Advent Calendar Day 12

So did you all enjoy yesterday's fabulous coda? ;-D  No? But seriously there will be a coda in that spot shortly. I am now done with my holiday shopping. Round of applause please?

I caint heah you.

I CAINT HEAH YOU!

I am feeling happy today -- and even better, I am conscious and mindful that I am happy. In addition to finishing up the trial (and errors) that is Christmas and holiday shopping, I am starting a new non-fiction project next year (too early to discuss) and making other plans and devising strategies. This is that time of year. I'm on vacation but I'm not really on vacation. I have audio files to listen to, covers for translations to arrange, ads to run, etc. It never stops once you become your own publisher.

The other thing I did yesterday was sign up for two services that I think will improve the quality of life around Chez Lanyon. One is Farmbox Direct. And the other is Blue Apron. I think they will both result in us eating healthier and more delicious foods. I guess they probably are a little bit pricey but I look at it two ways: what is the point of working all the time, if we can't afford some quality of life improvements around this joint? And two, if we are eating smarter and healthier, it is worth every penny.

If you have your health, you have everything. One of my grandmothers used to always say that. When you're kid, it's highly amusing. As you get older, you realize there is something to it.

Anyway. That was yesterday. Today IT'S RAINING. It's pouring. My old man is snoring. I am happy. It is going to be a day of sitting in front of the fire and writing codas or listening to audio files. Haven't quite determined which yet. I have a birthday party to go to this evening. I am starting to unwind a little -- and there are still technically three weeks to go before I am back to work on Winter Kill.

 Today, I thought we could perhaps share our favorite holiday play lists.

Here's the one L.B., Harper, and Joanna (and me) came up with for the Comfort and Joy anthology. Do you have a Christmas or winter holiday play list? Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

PLAY LIST:
"It's beginning to look a lot my Christmas" by Michael Buble  (Joanna Chambers)
"Brothers and Sisters" by Twin Atlantic (Harper Fox)
"Nothing Like You and I" by the Perishers (LB Gregg
"Baby, It's Cold" by Dean Martin (Josh Lanyon)
"Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle" by Friar Alessandro (Josh)
"White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes (Joanna)
 "Stay for a While" by Nikhil Korula Band (Lisa)
The opening of Bach's Christmas Oratorio (Harper)


The giveaway today will be three print books from my print book catalog -- meaning one print book each to three lucky commenters. Remember you can contact me for your winnings through my website contact page.

You're still welcome to comment even if you already own everything in my catalog. I really do enjoy reading your comments. The one on holiday traditions and the impromptu storywriting were fantastic.

Advent Calender Day 9 - Excerpt

I was Christmas shopping yesterday, so I didn't have time to do much on the Advent Calendar, so we're going to just go with an excerpt. This is from Icecapade. It was part of Carina Press's His for the Holiday anthology. I did that one with LB Gregg, Harper Fox and Z.A. Maxfield. :-)

We'll keep it simple today. One randomly selected commenter will win a copy of Icecapade to keep or to have gifted to a friend.

BLURB:

On the eve of the new millennium, diamond thief Noel Snow seduced FBI special agent Robert Cuffe, then fled into the dawn. Now a successful novelist, Noel uses his capers as fodder for his books, and has modeled his hero's nemesis (and potential love interest) on Cuffe. Though he leaves Robert a drunken phone message every New Year's Eve, Noel hasn't seen or heard from him in a decade.

So he's thrilled when his former lover shows up at his upstate farm one Christmas Eve. Elation quickly turns to alarm when Robert accuses Noel of being responsible for a recent rash of diamond heists. Robert is all business and as cold as ice: it seems his only interest in Noel is to put him behind bars.

Innocent of the crimes, and still as attracted as ever to the oh-so-serious lawman, Noel plans a second seduction—providing he can stay out of jail long enough!

EXCERPT:

 

When he finished tying a neat mountain climber’s knot, he started to move away. Robert hooked a hand beneath his arm. “Hold it.”

He reached for Noel’s waist and double-checked the knot.

“It’s not Everest you know.”

“I know. It’s at least twenty feet down and there’s loose rock and ice.”

Noel nodded. “If this keeps up, I’m going to start thinking you care.”

“Always the wiseass. Just watch what you’re doing.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Please be careful,” Francis said as Noel squatted on the ledge.

“It’s okay, Francis.” Noel swung a leg over the edge. He kept his gaze trained on the tree the rope was tied to.

Mind over matter. You know what you’re doing. You’ve done it hundreds of times.

He ignored that sickening shift, the conviction that his equilibrium was sliding out from under him. His gaze dropped to his gloved hands gripping tightly to the outthrust rock. Snow dusted the black wool and he could see every sparkling crystal blazing like diamonds in the sunlight.

Slowly, cautiously, he felt with his right foot for a toe hold. There was another disorienting slide, but he knew—logic told him—that regardless of the message his body was sending, he was perfectly all right. He was not moving. The hillside was not moving.

A hand clamped down on his wrist.

Noel looked up.

Robert was leaning down, his head blotting out the sun, throwing his face in shadow. Even so, Noel could make out the predatory gleam of his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Huh?” Noel was confused. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” Robert leaned closer as though trying to read his face. “There’s something wrong with you. There’s a problem with your equilibrium, isn’t there?”

Talk about lousy timing. “It’s no big deal. All I have to d—”

“Get up. Get out of there.” The hand locked around Noel’s wrist, tightened. He couldn’t free himself without struggling and no way could he afford any fast moves balanced as he was.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Francis asked, looking worriedly from Noel to Robert. Daisy trotted up and down the opening, whining, Even the llamas were gargling at him. In another time and place it might have been funny.

Or…not.

“Change of plan,” Robert said, brisk and businesslike. “I’m climbing down and Noel will hang onto the rope.”

“The hell.” Noel’s normal pragmatism gave way to affronted male ego.

Infuriatingly though, the rope looped around Robert’s large gloved mitt was already being retracted. He held his other hand out. His own balance apparently unshakable. “Come on, Noel. Let’s not waste any more time. You trying to climb down there is a very bad idea and you know it.”

Noel. It sounded natural coming from Robert. It sounded…nice. Which didn’t change the fact that he was totally incensed at being treated like he was helpless.

“No way. I can handle this. I just have to go slow. I’ve still got more experience than you have.”

“You have no idea of my experience. Now get up here.”

“You won’t fit through this opening.”

Robert laughed. “Now you’re being rude because you’re pissed off.”

Partly. Not entirely. Robert was going to be a tight fit. If he was in the least claustrophobic, it would be a no go.

“Chop chop. Little lost llama is waiting.”

“Oh for—” Noel slapped his gloved hand into Robert’s and let himself be drawn the rest of the way up. That change in angle and speed of movement sent his stomach plummeting and his balance skittering away. He had to close his eyes for a second, and that—as always—made it worse.

He stumbled up over the edge as Robert rose. Noel reeled into Robert’s solid chest. A hard supportive arm fastened around him and for a moment he leaned there while the world went spinning away. He could feel Robert’s heart pounding against his own through the canvas of his field jacket and the leather of Robert’s coat.

After a few seconds he became aware of Robert’s lips moving almost soundlessly against his ear. “If you think the earth moved just now, imagine what’ll happen when I fuck you.”

Noel’s head snapped up. He stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Had Robert…had he really whispered that or was Noel dreaming? Maybe Noel had slipped and knocked himself out because there was absolutely nothing to read on Robert’s face. Nothing but that funny glitter in his eyes.

Maybe Noel was finally losing it.

Or maybe Robert really had made the most astonishing statement Noel had ever heard.

 

Advent Calendar - Day 7

Today I'm sharing opening snippets from the four stories in COMFORT AND JOY, the new holiday anthology I did with L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers. And the giveaway is a copy of the anthology from a randomly selected comment below.

Remember the book can go to you or to a friend with your holiday compliments.

From Rest and Be Thankful by Joanna Chambers:

“You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”

Cam stared at the back of the plumber’s head, glad the man’s attention was still on the ancient boiler. Glad he wasn’t watching as Cam visibly swallowed against the hard lump that had materialised in his throat at this news.

“How much’ll that cost?” Cam asked.

He’d waited three days before he’d called Alan Glenn, a near neighbour and the only plumber for miles around, hoping beyond hope the heating might spontaneously come on again. It was only with this unexpected cold snap that he’d finally given in, worried by the prospect of burst pipes.

Alan looked at Cam over his shoulder. He was one of those men whose hair went white early, but his skin was smooth and unlined and his bushy eyebrows were black, making his age difficult to judge. Those startling eyebrows drew closer together as he totted up the cost in his head. “It’s an old system,” he said at last. “I reckon you’re looking at fourteen, fifteen hundred, all in.”

Cam pressed his lips together and gave a short nod. He’d been praying the problem would turn out to be something minor and cheap to fix. No such luck.

Luck wasn’t something he’d had much of lately.

 

 

From Out by Harper Fox:

 

My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

I’d been doing all right until yesterday. The run-up to Christmas always turns the big Edinburgh hotels into pressure cookers, backstage at least; front of house, we try to present a genial, welcoming face to our public, and here at the Royal Barlinney we succeed.

Recently that’s been due to my efforts, I can say without lack of modesty. I started as junior housekeeper five years ago, and I scrubbed as many toilets and made as many beds as any of the domestic staff under my shaky command. I learned by doing everyone’s job as well as my own. I cleaned miles and miles of carpets and Italian marble floors. Changed light bulbs, fixed leaky taps, once brought ambassadorial aid to a foreign princess fleeing a murderous regime. As well as my bilingual English and Gaelic—the latter just a frosting, ceud mìle fáilte to charm the Americans—I picked up enough French, German, Arabic and Italian to help out most of our visitors with most of their basic needs. I learned from the kitchens upwards all the workings of our vast flagship hotel, which sails above the city’s railway lines like an ocean liner lit up from within by a thousand crystal chandeliers.

And two years ago George Brace, the Barlinney’s manager, rewarded all that initiative by promoting me to housekeeper-in-chief. I think it nearly killed him.

 

 

 

From Waiting for Winter by L.B. Gregg:

 

The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar. The night was young, the restaurant was bright, and Winter Kendrick filled the entry with his massive shoulders and his giant presence and his unbelievably appealing two-day shadow. He didn’t speak to the hostess. He barged in like he owned the place—which he could have—and swept the room with his icy gaze. He was in a suit and tie, as if he remembered how much his corporate dick persona turned me on and had dressed accordingly. His sharp, pale eyes locked on target, and he brushed through the meat-market singles, practically swatting the riffraff out of his path in his single-minded pursuit of a sure thing.

Me.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Not exactly the heartwarming declaration of love or the long-awaited, well-deserved apology I needed. I almost laughed, because he was an overbearing prick, until I realized he expected me to jump up and follow him.

His approach had worked before, sure, but I kept my ass on the stool, elbows on the frigid Carrara marble, and lifted my drink. In a bistro like Leunig’s, playing it cool was as much a part of the scenery as the amber light and expansive wine list. I could be cool. “I see you left your manners in Berlin. That whole Me Tarzan act—”

“Is exactly what you like, don’t pretend otherwise.” Winter’s glittering gaze found mine in the mirror over the bar. Silver light threaded his recently shorn hair, and he was all hard jaw, crisp cotton, smooth silk tie, and knowing smile. He looked fucking hot, like moving on from our relationship had been kinder to him than it had to me. My mouth dried and I took another sip of scotch. A frown line pinched his perfect brow. “Since when do you like scotch?”

 

From Baby, it's Cold by Josh Lanyon:

 

“No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I said. “And for your information, this wasn’t my idea.”

“Where’s Poppy?” Rocky peered past me into the rain, looking for my grandfather, Fausto Poppa—of Poppa’s House. You’ve seen the program. Everyone’s seen the program. It’s America’s longest running cooking show. It’s been on the air longer than there’s been a Food Network.

I said tersely, “Poppy’s sick. He’s got the flu. Why else would I be here?”

Rocky drew himself up to his full height. Which is…my height, which is medium. Yes, he wears it better, although why assorted piercings and tattoos should make a guy look taller, I don’t know. What I did know was that his green eyes were level with mine—and it was very weird to be this close to him again.

 

 

 

 

 

Guess the Author - Round One

So we're going to have four rounds today of GUESS THE AUTHOR. Today's game is a little harder than yesterday's in that these lines are not likely to be in the excerpts you've seen so far.

Match the correct Author to the following lines. The first four people to come up with the correct match win their choice of ebook from any one of our backlists BARRING the new stories in this anthology. ;-)

1 - He couldn't wait to be out in the city again, was even looking forward to queuing for Gomorrah, sharing that weird buzz of anticipation with the other clubbers as they waited to be let in, taunted by the fat, driving beats that escaped every time the bouncers opened the doors to let someone in or out.

2 - He smiled and shook his head, a right jolly old elf. If I’d had an eject button on the dash, he’d have sailed straight into the trees.

3 - It was snowing. Every kid in X had by this time given up on a white Christmas, but here it came: a spiraling flurry of glitter, orange and silver and diamond blue as each spinning fragment caught the light.

4 - My eyes jerked open and I sat bolt upright. A dark, burly figure filled the driver’s window and a Fair Isle-gloved hand was banging on the glass.



Your possible choices are:
Josh Lanyon
Harper Fox
LB Gregg
Joanna Chambers

Answer in the comment section below.

You can only win once, but you can enter all four rounds. The next round is over at LB Gregg's house. Don't trip over the reindeer sleeping on her lawn.

NEW RELEASE - COMFORT AND JOY (holiday anthology)

Once upon a time, my dear pal LB Gregg and I came up with a plan to write a pair of spooky, funny Halloween stories -- a sort of mini-anthology -- and market them as a Fright Night Double Feature sort of thing. The stories turned out to be Mummy Dearest and Dudleytown. I won't go into the horror story of why that project didn't work out, but the desire to do something together stuck. And every year we've talked about doing something thematic and fun like...Catalina/Cowboy/Christmas...hmmm...yeah, what about Christmas?

And this year we actually decided to do it. Of course, us being us, we immediately started scheming and plotting to drag more pals into it. Because...the more, the merrier. Especially at Christmas. Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers were enlisted coz isn't that wonderful symmetry: two Americans and two Britishers? We are all about the symmetry.

And the eggnog.

I only bring this up because I have folks asking if I am going into the publishing business now, and the answer is a most emphatic not at this time. Probably never. But now and again it's fun to get together with friends and do stuff.

And the "stuff" we did this year is a winter holiday anthology called Comfort and Joy. Four heartful helpings of romance and seasoned -- er, season's -- greetings.

I'll be adding buy links within the next day or so, but meanwhile there are celebrations and parties going on and as usual lots of goodies are being given away, so even though the book is not out yet, I don't want you to miss out on the fun.

So here's what's happening over at Goodreads.

And more fun starting tomorrow over at my Facebook Fan Page.

Next week LB, Joanna, Harper and I will be coming up with some fun stuff too, so stay tuned to your Yule Log.

Meanwhile, the first four people who can accurately match the following first lines to the correct story will get an audio download code for any one of our audio books. Enter your guesses in the comment section below:

1 - “No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

2 - My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

3 - The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar.

4 - “You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”


And your story choices are:
Rest and Be Thankful, Out, Waiting for Winter, Baby it's Cold Outside

TASTE TEST - Baby, it's Cold

Coming this weekend. "Baby, it's Cold" is part of the Comfort and Joy anthology. Yes, you will be able to purchase it on its own, but this is a really heartwarming and delightful anthology with stories by L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers (three of my very favorite authors), so if were you, I'd buy the whole thing.

Before you ask, no, it's not available for preorder. The book launches on Sunday (Santa willing and the crick don't rise).

I do have a little taste for you. ;-)


Talk about Kitchen Nightmares! TV Chef Rocky and Foodie Blogger Jesse have been pals forever, so it should have been the most natural thing in the world to kick their relationship up a notch. Instead, it turned out to be a disaster. But Christmas is the season of love, and someone’s cooking up a sweet surprise…

I was putting the bottle of champagne in the freezer when Rocky said from behind me, “What are you planning on cooking?”

I couldn’t quite hide my jump, but I managed to say calmly, “It’s a surprise.”

“Well, always with you. But what are you hoping to cook?”

“Steamed mussels in white wine and garlic.”

His green eyes lit up. They almost glowed.

“Someone knows what you like,” I said.

“It’s practically the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

We grinned at each other and for a second it was like old times. “You know,” I said, “you’d have been welcome tonight. We were friends a lot longer than we were whatever we were. Mama was saying yesterday it won’t feel the same without you there on Christmas Eve.”

“Let alone without you there.” Rocky’s gaze was curious.

“That couldn’t be helped,” I said.

“Because of this mysterious romantic dinner Poppy was paid a fortune to cook.”

“Yep.”

Rocky snorted. He had changed his blue flannel shirt for one of red and white plaid, and he had shaved. He smelled of soap and aftershave. But then he believed he had company coming.

“Believe what you want to.” I turned away and began hunting for the bowls and pans and spoons I’d need. Rocky watched for a few seconds and I tried not to get self-conscious. I’d known him half my life, so it really didn’t make sense that he could make me nervous just by staring at me. But he could. In fact, that had been part of the problem between us. All those years of easy companionship had vanished like sugar in water once we’d tried to take our friendship to the next level. It had been a big disappointment to both of us, I think. We should have been great together. But somehow it had been worse than starting from scratch.

“So how’ve you been?” Rocky asked finally, going to the wine rack.

I shrugged. “Good. Busy.”

“I saw you won Saveur’s Readers’ Choice for best written blog. Congratulations.”

I glanced at him. “Thanks.”

Rocky studied the wine labels, selected a bottle, brought it to the counter. I moved away, filling a pan with water and turning up the stove burner.

Rocky poured a glass of white wine and leaned back against the counter studying me.

“We’re going to have sides? I’m impressed.”

“You’re getting it all. Starter to sweet. Okay? Poppy picked the menu.”

“So then he’s delirious?” Rocky’s expression grew earnest and concerned. “I had no idea he was so ill.”

I laughed, set a glass bowl over the pan of gently simmering water, and dropped in broken pieces of semi-sweet chocolate. I’d done some of the prep work at home so I wouldn’t run out of time or get distracted and forget some vital step. I’d figured Rocky would probably hover. Expecting a chef not to hover when you’re preparing a meal is like asking a boxer not to take a swing. I added the diced butter, a pinch of salt, and left the mixture to melt while I set about pressing sponge fingers into the walls and bottom of a deep earthenware dish. The dish—like practically every other piece of crockery in the place—was decorated with pine cones.

“Tiramisù?” Rocky asked.

I nodded. Did some more pressing. The sponge didn’t stick very well. I gave up and moved to the stove, gave the chocolate and butter a stir, checked on my coffee. I removed the pot, added sugar, swirled the mixture in the carafe. Some of the liquid spilled out the spout. Rocky opened his mouth, then closed it.

I remembered I had to add the Vin Santo and I hastily set the coffee aside to scramble for the wine—trying all the while to look like nearly forgetting the wine was all part of my master strategy.

I found the wine. Rocky watched without a word as I dived past him to grab the corkscrew.

I got the wine open, and splashed some of it into the melted chocolate. Rocky cleared his throat. I stirred the chocolate and wine, glanced up at him.

“I got it.” I grabbed the coffee pot and poured the hot, sweet coffee over the sponge which was once again beginning to peel from the walls of the dish. I pressed the soggy sponge back into place, managing not to yelp at just how fucking hot the coffee was.

Rocky began, “Are you sure you—”

“Nope. I got it.”

I snatched up a potholder and removed the glass bowl from the pan, drizzling chocolate all over the coffee-soaked sponge. Cautiously, I smoothed the chocolate out to the edges, trying not to tear the sponge to pieces. When I’d managed to cover the sponge with an even layer of chocolate, I set the dish aside to cool and wiped my forehead.

Finally the sponge was sticking to the walls of the dish, so that was something. I found the carton of eggs and snagged two small bowls. I cracked a couple of eggs.

Rocky made an amused sound. I looked up. “That you do with flair, I gotta say. Always.”

“Ha.” Me and Audrey Hepburn. But cracking an egg with one hand was one of my two party tricks. The other was flipping pancakes. Well, there was a third, but it had nothing to do with cooking.

I separated the eggs, whites in one bowl and yolks in another. I had Rocky’s full attention now. Well, I’d had his full attention from the start, but now I had his considering appraisal.

“Egg whites in tiramisù?” he asked.

“I know it’s not traditional, but this is the way my mama makes it.”

“I thought that might be her secret ingredient.”

“Unfortunately now I can’t let you leave this cabin alive.”

“With you cooking, my chances were only fifty-fifty anyway.”

“Okay,” I said. “Enough with the jokes about my cooking.” But it felt natural, comfortable, joking back and forth like we used to.

Rocky grinned back and swallowed a mouthful of wine.

AUTHOR, AUTHOR! Harper Fox

This week our guest is my dear friend Harper Fox. I think Harper is one of the most gifted writers I know, which makes the fact that she is also one of the most humble and appreciative all the more touching. She also has a wicked sense of humor and an unholy love for a gritty and goofy British crime drama from the 1970s called The Professionals.

Harper's latest book is a brilliant romantic saga of Vikings and monks called Brothers of the Wild North Sea. She's been talking about this book practically as long as I've known her, and it's turned out to be both a critical and commercial success. In fact, Publisher's Weekly gave it a starred review.

So, without further adieu...Harper Fox.

Didn't you start out as a poet? How did you end up wearing that viking helmet and quaffing meade?

Well, it's so embarrassing - I was meant to reincarnate as Charlotte Brontë but the karmic angel only had time for initials that day and... Well, here I am - Conan the Barbarian. Seriously (as far as I'm capable of serious), I did start out as a poet, yes, and I remain very proud of the work I had published in some tiny but reputable Northumbrian magazines which have since plunged into nonexistence for want of funds, thus adding to the poignancy of the whole situation. But I've always been an ordinary poet, or a poet of the ordinary, and I don't have separate sections of my brain assigned to poetry and prose. No, it all seems to come out of the same murky well, and in many ways Brothers Of The Wild North Sea is a poetic novel. Robust, hairy and sexy, but poetic, if poetry is the compression/channelling of much meaning and emotion into clear and lucid language and the ability to bring that far-flung shore right to your door. :-D Seriously seriously, I just like mead. And how I look in horns.

What do you tell literary pals who smile pityingly at you when you admit to writing romance? Or do you admit it?

I *do* admit it! I do, I do. My first admissions were overcompensating challenges: "I write ebook porn! Wanna make something of it?" Then I switched to defensive mode: "Yes, they're *categorised* as romances, but if you take the time to read them you may find they transcend their genre in sensitivity and substance." Now, through sheer exhaustion, I tell the truth. "I write erotic romances between men, mostly for the US ebook market." I do in fact have that archetypal literary pal, who to give her credit never smiled pityingly, but for whom I proved a bitter disappointment simply because a woman of my gifts is meant to starve in a garret, not catch a lucky niche wave in a genre she loves and do pretty well out of it!

What was the most interesting or surprising thing you learned while researching Brothers of the Wild North Sea?

God, I wish I could say it was a fascinating sidelight on religion or archaeology, but in fact it was underwear. I won't go into details - what, you think I'm gonna blow all my best bits right here?! - and you'll have to read the book to find out, but let's just say that Caius and Fen have something in common in that department.

Is it true your new home is haunted?

At the risk of sounding completely unhinged, I'm afraid so. Yes. Absolutely. The radio-monitor incident was horribly true in every detail. Mrs H and I avoided the subject with each other for months then had one of *those* conversations: "What? You feel like you're being watched from behind when you sit in that chair too? You too catch someone moving from the corner of your eye in the yard? You feel that chilly, heavy sensation in the front room?" Now, granted, we're both hysterical Lit grads scoring fifteen out of ten on the susceptibility scale, but it's getting a little odd. The lady who lived here before us did so happily for a very long time, but she had fourteen Alsatians and - well, let's just say "created her own atmosphere". It's okay. We're airing the place.

 Boxers or briefs? No, seriously. Why should this question be reserved for male authors? Why shouldn't everyone have to answer?

Why indeed? If I'm putting myself out there as a female author of M/M lit, I damn well should have to answer this question, and the answer is... BOTH! Oh, yes, both. When you have to write as many sex scenes as I do just to feed the kiddies and keep the missus in mink coats (*joke!!!* on both counts!) you need plenty of beneath-the-trouser variety just to keep things sparky. Or... Oh! Were you asking for my personal preference? Boxers, definitely. Cojones as big as mine need room to breathe. (Josh, if I've gone too far, please just censor that last bit.)

I wouldn't dream of it, my darling! ;-)

Are you a fulltime writer?

I am. Carve those two words with pride upon my rain-lashed, mossy tombstone, if you will. Er, in due course. I get up at six in the morning and write until nine. Those are my golden hours and if I miss them I spend the rest of the day in a dismal, self-flagellating slough of despond, having failed to answer my purpose in existing. I am actually that serious about it. I find I need to have two projects on the go - one "live" book and one either in the planning stages or finished and in edits, so after paying my dues to the house and Mrs H in terms of gardening/grouting/guttering, I'll attend to project #2 in the afternoons, and evenings are mostly given over to my braindead stuff, like marketing (as anyone who's witnessed my efforts in that department will testify). So, yes - I'm fulltime in the sense of spending my whole working day  as a writer, and also in the scary sense that my writing is now the sole income for our household. Did I say scary? I mean, of course, wonderful. Okay, scary *and* wonderful. Wonderful because I am *so* bloody proud and happy to have the privilege of supporting myself and the people I love in this way, and scary because - at the moment - it's a subsistence wage, a real scrape. But it's there, and it's getting better. Josh, you told me when I set out in this game that backlist was key to income, and I was all, like, "Dude, ain't nobody got time for that sh*t!" And I was right. I didn't. I had to do my Evil Day Job for another three years while I built my backlist. So - um - actually, that means *you* were right...

What's the last piece of music you listened to? Did you sing along?

"Work" by Iggy Azalea. Ought to be ashamed, a woman of my age, but there you are - I love it. "No money, no family, sixteen in the middle of Miami" - ah, I remember how it was, other than the giant generation gap and the totally different circumstances. Not only did I sing but but I tried the hooker-heel strut up and down the greenhouse in my wellies.

How did you and the missus meet?

Ah. Short, true story - just shy of twenty nine years ago, she emerged from a dark corridor in our university building, and her blue eyes shone with their own light, and her hair was like sunshine on a wheatfield, and that was it. Love at first sight. Happens!

What are you working on now?

My "live" project is my A Midwinter Prince sequel, The Lost Prince. Doing interviews with you is obviously very stimulating, Mr L, because I didn't realise until twenty seconds ago that the thing I've been calling AMP2 for months and months even *had* a name. But I like The Lost Prince. It's simple, and as you'll see, does exactly what it says on the tin. I love Laurie and Sasha very much and seeing them through the next stage of their relationship, the tough stuff that lies beyond first romance, is pretty intense. I'm beyond the halfway point now and am about to commit myself with an **ANNOUNCEMENT** - drum roll, naked Chippendales leaping out of cake - that I'll release The Lost Prince in August. Project #2 is my next novella, pinned up on the drawing board and decorated with a million post-it notes and enough arrows to keep the Wars of the Roses in business. This will be called Serpentine, and is set in the wonderful, magical countryside of the Lizard in Cornwall. I'm tackling a period piece for the first time, a post-WWII story, and I can't wait to get cracking on it.

What do you love most about writing? What do you like least?

Most - the dreaming stage, the planning, when everything is fluid and possible and my plot and protags are vibrantly alive to me. I think most writers will know what I mean - that golden time before you have to start making stuff make sense. :-D And the least - oh, the opposite of that, when the outline is written, the deadline is set, it's six in the morning and you have to write a sex scene with a migraine and no inspiration. Doesn't happen often, thank God, but you really meet the pure hard work of writing then. In a weird, bad way it's actually good, because it reminds me that, outside of those ecstatic times of being plugged right into the creative vibe of the universe, this is a job like any other, a possession and a privilege, and I need to treat it as such.

 

Have you ever broken a bone?

Yes, once. Very dramatic story. I was about seven years old and I walked through a field full of horses. Something spooked them and one of them ran me down. You know how horses are meant to do anything rather than step on a prone human body - well, mine had missed that memo, and I broke my collarbone. Now, remember this was back in the days before they had proper medicine, so I had to be kept in bed and immobilised for about three months because the bone had swung down near my lungs. I don't remember anything at all about this time except some brightly coloured building blocks, which I'm told I played with obsessively. Wouldn't read, wouldn't pay attention to my home tutor, nothing. I'd been quite bright up to this point, honest! I suppose it was just a shock response, and I did emerge, although I still gaze yearningly at Lego. But maybe I was in some kind of authorial larval stage, pupating the future, and those building blocks were symbols of brilliant plots to come! (Unlikely, yes, but I do clutch at straws from time to time in a desperate bid to explain myself to myself.)

What do you think is the most important thing to remember when creating fully realized main characters?

A convincing choice between boxers and briefs. Motivation is everything, really; you can't just have the guy turn up in scarlet Calvin Kleins one day for no reason at all. Seriously? The ability to step inside an MC's skin. That's all. Does it feel right in there? Does he walk, does he talk, does he feel and function as vibrantly as you do, or are you trapped outside him, painting his picture from there? If you're inside, you can conjure his perceptions, motivations, complexities - I won't say effortlessly, because it often hurts to make that transition and it doesn't always work - but certainly with conviction. I try to write novels where the MCs exist strongly in their own right and aren't just vehicles for the story. I know it's worked if, a couple of years after the book's been published, I can reach out with my mind and be quite sure what Tom and Flynn from Driftwood or Cam and Nichol from Scrap Metal are doing right now; if the characters have quickened so that they exist for me - and hopefully for my readers - beyond the limits of the book.

 

What is your most favorite dessert in all the world?

Oh, goodness, a really nice creme-de-five-star-review served up with royalty-cheque custard. :-D But I'm also a sucker for Mrs H's bread-and-butter pudding, made with Mighty White bread and big fat juicy raisins and nutmeg.

Is there any genre you'd like to tackle but you're kinda sorta afraid?

I'd like to write an out-and-out ghost story, and maybe Serpentine will be it. Maybe. I fear it because the feedback I get from readers is that they're not keen on paranormal elements in my work, and if there's one thing I value in this life, it's my readership. Hey, I have a readership! I'm faint and giddy even now at the thought. And I'm pretty scared of alienating or p*ssing off a good portion of the amazing people with whom I interact, with whom I've formed real friendships and whose opinions mean so much to me. But the idea of telling such a tale has a huge appeal for me - I was raised on MR James and Conan Doyle, and I love the little shiver down the spine, the glimpse beyond the veil, that a really good ghost story can deliver. Maybe my mission will be to convince the folks who don't like paranormals that they might just like *this* one...

 

Tell us something surprising. Anything. Go on. Surprise us!

I'm Aurignacian! Researching my family tree was a pretty short and depressing exercise, so I decided to skip all that recent malarkey and jump back 40,000 years or so via the National Geographic's human-genome DNA project. Yes, I - and several million other people, but it still feels kind of special - belong to the culture that produced the oldest-known example of figurative art, the Chauvet cave paintings and (debatably) the world's first musical instruments. Are you surprised yet? No? Okay, try this - you can't draw a counter-clockwise circle in the air whilst simultaneously circling your ankle clockwise.

Or *can* you?

Many thanks to my good friend and mentor Josh for hosting this interview and making you try!

And To All a Good Night!

It's time to bring the holly jolly Men Under the Mistletoe mini blog tour to an end. I want to take this  opportunity to thank Harper, KA and Ava for making this a very special holiday season. It's been my pleasure to take part in two of these anthologies, and each one has been a delight. It's kind of a new holiday tradition!

I also want to thank you, our readers, for playing along with our reindeer games and, of course, buying the book!

On behalf of Ava, K.A., Harper and myself, I hope that your holiday season is filled with love and laughter -- and that the New Year finds you happy and healthy!

K.A. put it so beautifully:

Every year, one of my blog posts falls on the day before Thanksgiving. Every year, I can’t think of anything I’m more grateful for than my readers. At this time of year when custom asks us to consider our blessings over the year, make resolutions for the year to come, and honor those important to us with gifts, I can think of nothing that makes me feel more blessed as a writer than the honor of having wonderful readers. I promise to continue to write the best books that are in me, always striving to improve.

I’m sure between now and the end of the month, one of my previous couples will be filling my brain with a what-we’re-doing-for-the-holidays kind of story, and I’d love to slip that in your stocking as a free short.(Hmm. Some of my characters in a stocking. What a delightful image.) I’ll post it on lj or on my turn on Slash and Burn and send a link here to Josh to post on Just Joshin. Some of my best stories have come from readers asking if a certain character is getting a story, so if any of you have a couple you’d like to hear about celebrating the holidays, please let me know in the comments or drop me an email.

My very best wishes that your season and your years to come are merry and bright.

And Harper, always eloquent, added:

KA has said it so brilliantly already that I can only really second her thanks and good wishes to the wonderful readers who have made this year so amazing. I’ve been writing in the M/M field for a couple of years now and I’m just bowled over by the loyalty, enthusiasm, and sheer niceness of the people who not only buy and read my books but take the time to email me or seek me out on Facebook or talk to me via my Livejournal to tell me they enjoy my writing. I’ve done my best to respond to every single one of those messages. I appreciate them so much (and if I’ve missed anybody, please forgive me and give me a nudge!)

 All I can do by way of return is tell you all that your support , both emotional and in terms of sales, is making it possible for me to contemplate edging a little further out of my day job and a little further towards full-time writing, so in future I hope to be able to give you many more of the stories you’ve been kind enough to tell me you love. I wish all the very best and warmest of festive seasons, wherever you are.

It's been our great pleasure to share the Men Under the Mistletoe release with you. Thank you all very much -- and Happy, Happy Holidays!

Christmas Kisses

Happy Holidays! Today Men Under the Mistletoe releases from Carina Press. The anthology features romantic holiday stories to warm your heart and tingle your toes by Ava March, KA Mitchell, Harper Fox and yours truly.

We’re promoting the anthology with a mini blog tour starting right here and right now. Along the way there will be snippets to read and the occasional prezzie to giveaway -- check the bottom of this post for the week’s scheduled stops.

Anyway, today’s topic is Christmas Kisses. There’s something inherently romantic about Christmas, I think, though I’m not exactly sure why that is. It’s not romantic in the way Valentine’s Day is. The romance of Christmas is tied in with a sense of nostalgia -- that longing for the way things used to be -- for home and family and all good, familiar things. It’s the time of year when we finally stop to count our blessings, and it’s also the time of year when we almost can’t help but evaluate our lives against our childhood dreams.

It can also be a lonely time of year if you’re far away from family and friends, and maybe that’s part of where that wanting someone special and all our own comes from. Someone to open presents with on Christmas morning and kiss under the mistletoe Christmas night.

Anyway, that’s the day’s topic. Christmas Kisses. You’ll find some tantalizing oscillatory excerpts from the anthology below.

Oh! And today I’m giving away one of the rare print editions of the anthology. To be eligible for the random drawing you must A - Follow the blog (look to the right hand sidebar and follow the directions) and B - leave a comment.

AVA MARCH

In the beginning of My True Love Gave to Me, I tried to capture the intensity of first love. The rush of emotion, the innocence of youth, the all-encompassing need to be together. In Alexander and Thomas’s case, it’s 1817 and the holiday season, which means a continual press of social and family obligations. Finding time alone with no one else being the wiser is almost impossible. In this excerpt, Alexander arranges some time completely alone with Thomas. It’s first time since they’ve arrived in London from Oxford when they have more than a brief stolen moment together.

A cool draft of air swept into the entrance hall as the butler opened the front door. “Mr. Norton, your carriage.”

It was all he could do not to dart out the door. His father’s black town carriage stood at the ready at the foot of the stone steps. Another one of their hostess’s footmen had the door already open. Rather than immediately enter, he paused to give the direction to the driver then followed Thomas inside, settling on the black leather bench opposite him.

The door snapped shut.

“Why are we going to Drury Lane Theatre?” Thomas asked.

“We aren’t.” He closed the shade on the window in the narrow door, cloaking the interior in almost full darkness. “I needed to give the driver a direction and it will do as good as any.”

The carriage lurched forward.

“But—?”

Alexander pounced on Thomas, cutting off his words.

Knees straddling muscular thighs and with his hands cupping that strong jaw, he pressed his lips to Thomas’s. Greedy and impatient, he flicked his tongue against the seam of Thomas’s lips.

With a groan, Thomas opened his mouth. A silken tongue brushed his own.

Hot and intense, sensation washed over him, filling his chest, his heart, his soul. A moan shook his throat.

By God, it was only like this with Thomas. No other had ever come close to rousing these feelings within him. Making his pulse pound through his veins and need claw desperately at his throat. This was where he belonged. With Thomas. In the man’s arms.

HARPER FOX

Harper’s tag for this scene from Winter Knights read “A less-than-obviously-romantic Christmas Kiss from Harper – this one takes place in a cave, and isn’t even between the book’s two main protags.” But I think you’ll agree that this scene where rescue-worker Arthur desperately tries to calm Gavin down after a rockfall, and one thing leads to another, is anything but unromantic.

He lifted me carefully into his arms. My mouth found his and he pushed me back for a second, then groaned and sought me for himself. I buried my hand in his hair’s rough silk. Shuddering, he kissed me, his fingers clenching on the collar of my shirt. He laid us

down on the debris-strewn floor. Dust and small stones were still falling—seeing this by lamplight, I choked in terror, but he hushed me. “No. Look at me. Just look at me.”

His clear grey eyes, his smile, were enough to stop the roof from caving in. They would hold up the sky. I imagined him as Orion, or Bootes, the shepherd-god who bore his namesake star Arcturus, stretched out across the starry night, and I seized him.

KA MITCHELL

The first kiss in "The Christmas Proposition" is more about a kiss that they don't share, mirroring the words that neither of them were willing to risk saying during their first time together. It also gives the reader a chance to see how things went down (ahem) the first time Mel and Bryce met.

Mel is a waiter at Skipper's Diner and he's just helped a waitress handle a bunch of rowdy drunks. But as it turned out, one of the men wasn't drunk, and Mel knows him very well.

The bags thudded and clanged as I tossed them up into the dumpster. The air froze the inside of my nose, almost enough to make the smell bearable. I might have been expecting it, but my heart still leapt into my throat when a hard warm body pressed into me, shoving us through the back door, pressing me up against a stack of empty crates from Doyle’s Dairy.

The smell of him, sweat and dirt and man, chased away the leftover stench that leaked from even frozen garbage.

The back door banged shut behind us.

“Still fucking cold,” he said.

“It’s winter.” Not my best comeback. I’ll warm you up had a lot more charm. But my heart still pounded and the smell of him, the feel of him against me had way too much of that circulation focused on my dick. My brain was suffering oxygen deprivation. At least, that was my story, and I was sticking to it. It had nothing to do with whose body had me pinned against the crates.

The body that was sliding down, the man who, without a word or a kiss hello, was dropping to his knees for me. Why kiss me hello? He hadn’t bothered to say good-bye.

I knocked the cap off his head. Even in the dark, his hair gave off those beautiful auburn highlights I remembered from two summers ago.

Bryce reached behind me and untied my apron, letting it drop to the floor before working back around to my fly. His breath flowed hot and damp over my cock.

 

The instant before those full lips closed around me, I whispered, “Just like the first time, huh?”

 

 

 

JOSH LANYON:

Though Mitch and Web were best friends and boyhood sweethearts, their relationship ended bitterly. They haven’t seen each other for nearly a decade and their lives have gone in very different directions. Mitch is on the run from a busted romance but somehow he finds himself falling for Web all over again.

The first kiss was tentative. The second kiss not so much.

They had kissed as boys, but back then the simple pleasure of mouths pressed together and shared breath had been fraught with their own insecurities about who and what they were. Kissing had somehow seemed more gay than the other things they did, and neither of them had been totally comfortable with it.

So it was a surprise to realize how familiar the taste of Web’s mouth was. Twelve years ought to make a difference, seeing that it was unlikely Web still lived on chili dogs, Dr Pepper and Goodart’s Peanut Patties. But Web still tasted sweet as Mitch parted his lips with a gentle tongue. He closed his eyes, savoring Web’s instant, generous response. Yes, they’d both learned a few things over the years. Web’s tongue touched his own. It really didn’t get a lot more personal than tongues twining in the dark, moist heat of two men’s mouths.

Mitch broke the kiss with reluctance and one final, teasing lick. The hardness under his caressing hand began to throb more urgently, and he was conscious only of wanting to make this good for Web. The best ever. Maybe he had been a moody, difficult kid, but he had loved Web with all his heart, and if he hadn’t taken the time to show it then…

*****

Don’t forget to join the blog and comment below for a chance to win a print copy of Men Under the Mistletoe.

The schedule for the rest of the week looks like this:

Ava March on Home for the Holidays -- December 6th

KA Mitchell on Scene and Setting -- December 7th

ALSO ON DECEMBER 7TH we’ll be blogging at Carina about what the boys will be doing next year -- and we’ll be exchanging cookie recipes. Seriously.

Harper Fox on Dark to Light -- December 8th

And a final Happy Holidays from all of us on December 9th right back here where you started!

Men Under the Mistletoe Scavenger Hunt

Today kicks off promotion for Men Under the Mistletoe, the male male holiday anthology being published through Carina Press the first week of December. This year the stories are by Harper Fox, KA Mitchell, Ava March, and yours truly. I'm hoping you'll enjoy them as much as last year's wonderful offerings.

Anyway, KA was the one who hit on the idea of a scavenger hunt to kick off the promo efforts. The hunt begins today. It's pretty simple.

THE MEN UNDER THE MISTLETOE
SCAVENGER HUNT

Who doesn't need a little something extra in their stocking this time of year?

Come visit the authors of Men Under the Mistletoe and enter to win a $100 gift card to the e-book retailer of your choice. (Hey, you could buy an e-reader for that!) Two entries will also be randomly selected to win a free download of the Men Under the Mistletoe anthology.

In order to play, visit each of our websites and read the excerpt for our holiday releases. Then fill in the entry form with the correct answers to these four questions based on our excerpts. The winners will be randomly selected from the correct answers. All entries must be e-mailed by 11:59 PM EST on December 2.
Good luck and come see what we have waiting for you under the mistletoe.
 

You can start at any of our websites. Here's the link to mine. But from there you're on your own! We have to make it a little challenging, after all.

There's lots more fun to come as we count down to the book's release, so don't touch that dial!