As you’re probably aware, #RAtR is a blogging project I am doing with a few friends who also write LGBTQIA romance. You can find everyone by clicking here or on the image to the right.
This month, we’re all blogging about writing advice we take with a grain of salt… and…I’m not sure about this one! Do I say I rigidly follow all the rules? And have people think I’m a formulaic work-to-rule sort of writer? Or do I say I pick and choose what received advice I follow, and have people think I’m arrogant and self-important and not a proper writer?
It’s a dilemma! Probably the first advice I should actually listen to is to ignore imposter syndrome 😊.
In all honesty though, there’s so much completely conflicting advice out there for people who write, whether they’re published or not:
Write every day. It doesn’t matter if you write every day. Attend a writing group. Write alone. Self-edit. Always have an editor. Have lots of social media. Don’t bother with social media. Write different genres under different pen-names. Put everything under one pen name. Hone your skills in fanfiction. Take a course. Self-publish. Look for a publisher. Get an agent. Don’t bother with an agent.
And Oxford commas…well. That’s how decades long feuds begin.
I think the only thing you can say for certain is that what suits one person won’t suit another and the less you get hung up on all the dos and don’ts, the happier and more confident you’ll be.
I’m definitely not confident enough to self-edit for example. But I know several people who do, very competently. The writing every day thing…well. My life is very, very fragmented right now and that’s impossible for me. But it doesn’t make me any less of a writer. Everything is still ticking away inside my head and when I do sit down with my laptop I often find it springs more fully formed onto the page than it does if I’ve been writing every day. Not always! But sometimes.
So, I’d have to say that the only thing I’d take with a grain of salt is to follow all the advice you’re given. Pick what works for you and have the confidence to say ‘I tried that and it was rubbish for me, it didn’t work’.
It’s not a competition, there are no rules that dictate conformity or success. If you’re happy as you’re actually writing and happy with what you’re creating, then…that’s working. You’re a successful writer.
Here’s everyone else who wrote this month. Click through to read what they have to say!
Are you looking for a low angst gay romance with a trans MC set in a little Welsh town? With a truly terrible community orchestra? I’ve got you covered.
Second Wind
What do a shy French-horn-playing accountant and a single-dad trans trumpet player have in common other than both being members of the community orchestra at Theatr Fach in the little town of Llanbaruc?
Gethin’s been more or less hiding from life since his marriage broke up a couple of years ago. He’s joined the orchestra because his sister told him he needed a hobby rather than sitting at home brooding about his divorce.
Martin is careful who he dates because of his gender and his teenage daughter. He came to Llanbaruc as a stage manager for the Theatr Fach twelve years ago. He’s got a good set of friends here. Shannon’s a good kid. They’re a team.
Martin and Gethin hit it off. Will their mutual baggage prove too much to sustain a relationship?
A gentle m/transm romance in the Theatr Fach universe.
“Martin!” Julie, the lead violin, waved him over. “This is Gethin,” she said, her hand on the arm of a tall, thin man nervously clutching a French horn and peering out from behind a thick pair of glasses. He resembled a nervous heron. “He’s new,” she added unnecessarily. “Can you take him under your wing a bit?”
Martin shot her a look. She was a very competent, friendly woman with no tact at all.
“Of course,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Gethin,” he held out a hand and Gethin took it. “I’m Martin. Trumpet.”
“Gethin Jones,” the thin man said, shaking his hand a little too hard. His palm was warm and firm and he was clearly apprehensive. “Erm. French horn.” He waved his instrument vaguely at Martin. “As you can see.”
Martin smiled. “Come on,” he said. “Brass is over here. Let me introduce you around.” They started picking their way through the chairs. The brass section was made up of Martin and Alan on trumpet, Tim and Lucy on trombone, and Portia, a ten year old who played a tuba almost as large as she was. They were setting up music and gossiping about their week when Martin and Gethin reached them.
“Hullo hullo,” Martin said. This is Gethin Jones.” He waved vaguely at Gethin beside him. “Gethin, this is Tim, Lucy, Alan and Portia.” Everyone made noises of greeting. The room was beginning to echo with the sound of instruments being tuned and scales being played. It was a familiar cacophony.
“Are you Marion’s Gethin?” Lucy asked suddenly, leaning toward them to be heard over the cat-like screech of a young violinist and a burp from Portia’s tuba.
Beside him, Gethin tensed. “Not any more,” Gethin said brusquely, nodding. “But yes. I used to be.”
Lucy nodded, blushing. “Sorry,” she said. “My sister is Penny Wright. They went to school together. Penny told me what happened.”
Gethin nodded again. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, again. He didn’t add anything else. He seemed almost paralytically shy. But then, Martin would be reticent if he knew everyone was talking about his private business.
“I’ll go and get you some music,” Martin said, forestalling any more awkwardness. “Here, stick your horn down on the seat and grab yourself a music stand from the stack in there”. He gestured at the open door of the cupboard behind them.
The spare sheet music was on the table at the front. He made his way across the room, wending around chairs and people offering greetings until he could pick up a sheaf.
Julie met him there. “Is he all right?” she hissed at Martin, glancing past him over his shoulder at Gethin, an anxious expression on her face.
“Yes? Why shouldn’t he be?” Martin asked, frowning at her, puzzled.
“He’s Posey Morgan’s brother,” Julie hissed some more. “You know. Posey the health visitor?”
Martin shook his head. “Not my area,” he said apologetically. “Never met her.” He couldn’t remember who Shannon’s health visitor had been. An older woman though, no-one who could have been the sister of someone Gethin’s age.
Julie scowled at him, apparently blaming him for his lack of knowledge. “Well, she said he needed to get out of the house,” she continued, still hissing. “His wife left him two years ago and he’s become a recluse, she told me. I suggested he come along here to help take him out of himself.”
Martin bit his lip. As a gentle first step back in to a social life, he had his doubts about the suitability of the orchestra. One of it’s other activities was going to the pub after practice on a Friday and drinking steadily ‘til closing time. And there was a country-dancing-for-exercise sub-set of members he tried to avoid ... they’d invited him along to one of the sessions and he’d been crippled for days afterwards.
“So?” he said. “He seems perfectly normal.”
“The wife took off with his best friend,” Julie told him, shooting another guilty look over his shoulder at the brass section, who were settling the newcomer in their midst like a chicken in a nest of ferrets. Martin stopped himself turning properly to look at them, watching out of the corner of his vision.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Martin promised. “Does he actually play?”
“He brought it in to the shop to have it serviced,” she said. “He seemed to know what he was doing. And Posey said he played at school. But I don’t think he’s done much of anything for a while.” She pulled a face. “He’s an accountant.”
The Naked Gardening Day Box Set is out on 5th November!
Remember the five gay romance stories we released back in May to celebrate World Naked Gardening Day? Well we have gathered them together in a box set. We had a bit of to-and-fro-ing about what to use for the cover, but eventually we all agreed this was a superb image–radishes and forearms! What more could you want!
They are all MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.
Back when they came out, we did some visiting of each other’s blogs to chat about our stories. You can find everyone’s guest posts here on the blog with a little bit about each story and an excerpt.
If you follow me on social media at all, you’ll know that Littlest has been in hospital for a couple of weeks now. She went in with a respiratory infection that necessitated us flying back from our holiday/respite break and she’s having trouble throwing it off. She’s been in and out of the local ICU, swapping between there and the children’s ward HDU. There isn’t a dedicated PICU locally and we are waiting for a bed in the children’s hospital in Bristol. They are snowed however, because the Children’s Respiratory Illness Season ™ has come early this year.
She doesn’t currently need non-invasive ventilation and is on nasal oxygen of either the high-flow or low-flow kind; IV antibiotics; and having a lot of chest physio and suction. Her SATS keep swinging up and down and she is getting very tired. Last week we had a very difficult conversation with her doctors about the pros and cons of invasive ventilation. It needed to be had, but it was emotionally gruesome.
I’m updating every couple of days on tiktok, more for myself than anyone else really–it feels good to talk about it a bit, it releases some of the pressure inside me. She’s a strong-minded little girl–not so little now at fourteen–and we are hopeful she will throw this off. But also, we have been living with the knowledge that she is life-limited since we were first referred to the children’s hospice when she was four.
Every time she is poorly like this, her overall health and wellbeing steps down. Even if she throws it off, it’s probable she won’t ever regain the strength she had before. One of the reasons Bristol want her there is so they can assess her for overnight non-invasive ventilation when she is well enough to come home.
I am swinging between bursts of activity on social media and managing to write as displacement, to not being able to do anything. My own health still isn’t back to normal after my Gallbladder Summer and I’m having to pace myself. Consequently Mr AL is spending most of the time in hospital with Littlest–because of her communication issues and special needs she needs someone who knows here there pretty much all the time. I’m trying to do a few hours in the morning and early afternoon and he’s doing the late afternoon and evening; and when we don’t have help from one of her lovely carers, the night as well. No-one needs me overdoing it and having a seizure on the ward, although they’ve been very nice when I have.
Talking Child is bottling it all up, as are we all I suppose. Every so often they have a meltdown, completely understandably. We are taking it in turns.
That’s the news, anyway. If you’d like to contribute to a crowdfunder to help with additional carer costs and for hospital food when we don’t have enough spoons to take sandwiches and a thermos, I have set one up here. Alternatively if you’d like to support us by buying one of my books, you can find them here. Any help is very gratefully received <3.
As you’re probably aware, #RAtR is a blogging project I am doing with a few friends who also write LGBTQIA romance. You can find everyone by clicking here or on the image to the right.
This month we are, obviously, writing about our favourite creepy or Halloween story. This is a dead easy post for me to write, as I have an outstanding all-time-favourite Halloween story–The House on Druid Lake by Isabelle Adler.
It’s kind of a cosy mystery as well as a Halloween story, which should be counter-intuitive but turns out not to be at all.
The House on Druid Lake
Oliver’s a bit of a mess–his last relationship was abusive and he’s moved from Florida to Baltimore for a new job and a fresh start. He moves into a flat in an interesting old house, sight unseen except for the photos in the listing on the internet. The very attractive landlord is a bit odd as are the rest of the tenants. It was such a set-up…creaky old house, mysterious tenants…I loved it and immediately began working out what particular kind of entity each person was.
The house turns out to be the target of an unscrupulous developer and Oliver and his new landlord have to outwit them. Nym, the landlord, has his own secrets and hang-ups and I found their relationship development satisfying and well-rounded. There are some pleasingly inexplicable little bits…I don’t like my magic systems to be spoon-fed to me and there were little loose threads independent of the main story that gave me things to ponder once I’d finished. It’s a very happy Halloween book and I love it!
