Ally – Page 3 – A. L. Lester

RAtR: As a reader, what’s more important to you, the story itself or the way it’s told?

I’m late to this one as Mr AL and I are trying, for the fifth time in twelve months, to have a holiday that doesn’t end in rearranging because we got COVID (May22), me turning yellow with Gallbladder issues (Also May 22) or flying home because Littlest is admitted to intensive care (Oct 22 and Jan 23). So far we are on day #3 and we’re good, though, so I feel I can turn my concentration to the topic!

For me, I think my enjoyment of a story is a mixture of plot and presentation. I could end the post very satisfactorily there and leave you hanging :). However for example… I will forgive eg proofing errors and awkward grammar if the plot is sufficiently gripping. I find it hard to read through those and concentrate on the story if it’s not got me by the heart. And clunky plotting is going to stop me reading even if the prose is lyrical in of itself. So I guess we conclude that plot is more important for me.

I’m not going to give examples of books I haven’t got on with, because that’s mean and there’s a strong personal preference involved. However, I’ve got some other preferences in my reading that I occasionally get completely turned around by and then question my whole self :).

For example…I would say I don’t usually like stories written in the first person. But I LOVE S. E. Harmon’s Spookology series. And Shattered Glass by Dani Alexander. And the Dalí series by E. M. Hamill. They are all extremely well told.

And I would say I don’t like stories with neo-pronouns because my brain just has a sort of wobble and takes ages to process them, despite being quite happy using them IRL. However, I’m just re-reading Foz Meadows A Strange and Stubborn Endurance and I love it. And of course, there’s The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin, which is one of my desert island books.

And I don’t like Epistolary novels, which is ironic given I’m maybe writing one ATM and also that I love A Land So Wild by Elyssa Warkentin.

So… I think we can say it’s all about the story itself for me.

Finally, here’s an image of my current view.

If you’d like to read what the other members of the webring are writing about this month, for now please click on the #RAtR link on the right and follow the links to their blogs. I’m writing on my phone and adding all the links is a bit beyond me right now, although I’ll have another go later on.

Ellie Thomas visits with her new box set, Gentlemen in Love!

Thank you so much, lovely Ally, for having me as a guest on your blog today. (You are most welcome, Ellie, I’m sorry I’m late posting!) I’m Ellie, and I write MM Historical Romance novellas. My first box set of previously published Regency stories is now on release, so I’ll be chatting about the six stories comprising Gentlemen in Love.

There are various settings in my collection of Regency romances. One Summer Night is set in Regency London. The story involves the politics of the ton and the weight of power in Whitehall, as civil servant Martin falls for aristocratic Will, after a heated chance encounter.

Then there’s the popular scene of the Regency country house party. Two of my stories, A Christmas Cotillion and A Midwinter Night’s Magic share that backdrop in contrasting ways. In A Christmas Cotillion, my MC Jonathan gradually comes to terms with past heartbreak as he considers the opportunity of a new relationship with farmer’s son, Nick.

A Midwinter Night’s Magic centres on forced proximity, where long-parted lovers, Matthew and Crispin, are stuck together at a country house party over Christmas due to snowfall, despite mutual hostility. To add insult to injury, they’re expected to engage in a recital of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It takes a bit of Shakespearian magic from Puck for these two to reconcile, which was a lot of fun to write with my copy of the play to hand!

There are more countryside settings in A Marriage for Three, which takes place in the Wiltshire country town of Marlborough and rural Worcestershire. Charlotte, an independent-minded young woman, is pressed to consider a practical offer of marriage from a close family friend Anthony, despite his long-term romantic involvement with his steward, Simon. I enjoyed exploring the ties of family and mores of country life in this story, together with three likeable characters.

Fashionable resorts are always a popular setting for Regency stories. As I grew up close to some of these in the West of England, it’s hardly surprising that I would pick familiar destinations. Shore Leave has a slightly earlier setting in the latter years of the 18th century, which coincides with Bath’s heyday. It was a delight to navigate the elegant streets and Assembly Rooms of Bath, where Jacob and Sebastian meet and gradually fall in love.

Again, I chose Regency Cheltenham for The Thrill of the Chase, Adrian and Guy’s story. It’s set in 1813, slightly before the building boom and the elegant terraces so familiar to us today. At that stage, apart from a few speculative developments and several spas, Cheltenham mainly consisted of the High Street, which makes it even more difficult for shy Adrian to avoid embarrassing confrontations with Guy, the forceful object of his unfulfilled desires.

Gentlemen in Love

In Regency England, whether about their daily business in London, attending a country house party or visiting a fashionable spa town, an array of gentlemen meet their match and attain a happy ever after.

Some couples find new love, while others rekindle a long-lost spark in this collection of six light-hearted MM Regency romances from Ellie Thomas, containing the following stories:

A Christmas Cotillion: Thirty-year-old Jonathan Cavendish has long given up any thought of romance. He grudgingly accompanies younger cousin Freddy to a Christmas country house party, as Freddy is infatuated with the lovely Belinda.

To his surprise, Jonathan catches the eye of Nick, a local farmer’s son. The initial attraction seems to be mutual, but can Nick break through Jonathan’s defences and teach him to love again?

A Marriage for Three: When Anthony Wallace proposes to Charlotte Grenville, she is shocked. Lottie has always seen him as an older brother, and she is also aware of his romantic devotion to his Anglo-Indian estate manager, Simon Walker. Should she accept this financial arrangement merely to support her ailing family? And will her growing attraction to Simon be a threat to all their happiness?

A Midwinter Night’s Magic: Matthew Lewis is trapped at a Christmas country house party by snowy weather and forced to take part in a reading of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. To make things worse, his lost love Crispin Marley, to whom he has sworn undying hatred, is among the guests. Can some fairy magic from Puck help the estranged couple to make amends for once and all?

The Thrill of the Chase: In 1813, when modest Adrian Lethbridge visits fashionable Cheltenham to help launch his young cousins into society, to his surprise, he catches the roving eye of Captain Guy Ransome. The ex-army officer is everything Adrian yearns to be; devilishly handsome, experienced and confident. So Adrian is in disbelief that the attraction is mutual. But can he summon the courage to act on his desires?

One Summer Night: After a passionate encounter with a stranger in an alleyway one summer night in 1801, Whitehall clerk Martin Dunne is shocked when he encounters the object of his desire at a society function, complete with a powerful father and a pretty bride-to-be. Is his seducer not to be trusted? And have Martin’s dreams of future encounters and possible romance crumbled to nothing?

Shore Leave: Jacob Longley, Naval Lieutenant, is all at sea in the fashionable Bath Spa. As he attempts to steer his younger sister Letty through the social whirl with a close eye on her reputation, his striking looks can’t help but catch the attention of the exquisite Sebastian Fforde. Will either man break through the other’s reserve? And could their mutual attraction blossom into love?

Buy Gentlemen in Love

Excerpt from A Christmas Cotillion

Mr Hammond’s chance came when Jonathan was on the dance floor, already partnered for the next dance. Belinda, for once, was unaccompanied but still standing up, as though eager to join in. Mr Hammond was near her, but unfortunately looking in the other direction.

Jonathan glanced over in helpless frustration, not wanting to abandon his young dance partner in the middle of the floor just as the music was about to start. As he again looked from one to the other, he caught the eye of the handsome farmer’s son. He was serving refreshments amongst those who had taken part in the last set of dances. He followed his direction of Jonathan’s scrutiny clearly with a sharply raised eyebrow.

As if receiving intelligence, he nodded at Jonathan decisively, put down his tray on a side table and eased the few yards through the gaggle of couples approaching the dance floor and tapped Mr Hammond on the shoulder.

Luckily, just then the music started and Jonathan saw his expressive face indicating a social dilemma. He nodded towards Belinda and then pointed to the momentarily abandoned tray as if explaining why he could not partner the young lady for himself. When all had been made clear to Mr Hammond, he received a grateful smile from the young man, as though Mr Hammond was doing the favour. He then turned back to collect the tray and offered the contents to the thirsty crowd.

It was neatly done, with Mr Hammond now obliged by his very good manners to ask the young lady to dance. Mr Hammond braced himself and made his way to Belinda, face flushed with embarrassment as though expecting a rebuff. Instead, he received her hand and a warm smile. Jonathan didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the couple reached the floor, unimpeded.

After a hectic country dance, Jonathan and his puffing partner retired from the fray. He was satisfied to see Mr Hammond and Belinda remain on the floor for the next set of dances, now conversing with apparent ease. As he looked at this with a feeling of pleasure, a glass of sparkling wine was placed in his hand with a murmured, “That was a good notion.”

He looked around in surprise to see the farmer’s son right next to him. Close up, his eyes were very blue indeed and his wide mouth was curved in that increasing familiar smile. Jonathan felt as tongue-tied as Mr Hammond had been previously in Belinda’s presence as he stiffly thanked the young man for his assistance. He seemed unfazed by Jonathan’s constraint.

“Just call me Cupid, or rather Nicholas, or even Nick, if you prefer,” he said with another dazzling grin, before turning gracefully to serve refreshments to the guests behind Jonathan.

Buy Gentlemen in Love

About Ellie

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.

Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

Website : Facebook : Twitter : Goodreads : Bookbub

#ReadAroundTheRainbow: Someone insults your main character. How do they react?

Read Around the Rainbow

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 talking about how one of our characters might react if they were insulted. This is quite a hard one for me because once I’ve finished writing I tend to let the characters lie and move on to something else. If they have more to say, then I write them another book, or a short story. So… I’ve been having a conniption about this for the last month and now here I am the day before the post is due, sat in a coffee shop still having a conniption.

So… for the purposes of this post I’m going to write about Lew and Alec. They are my very first characters from Lost in Time, the first of the London Calling trilogy and they live in the early 1920s.

Alec’s a police detective, in his mid-thirties. He joined the force as his first job (although his family wanted him to be a barrister) and was a military policeman during the war. He’s a measured sort of person, pretty buttoned up, but he does have a temper. He’s hardened or numbed or scarred, however you want to describe it, by his time at the front like most of his contemporaries.

Lew is a newspaper photographer/journalist. He’s a bit younger than Alec, in his late twenties or early thirties by this point. However, he was born in the mid-1980s. He’s a quiet sort of person too, much less assertive than Alec and with a completely different life direction. He ended up in the 1920s because a magical accident pulled him back through time from 1916 to 1921.

When I started writing Lost in Time in 2016 we were in the middle of the centenary of the First World War. I was very conscious of the men I knew in my childhood who had been through that experience and the stories my grandmother, who lived from 1894 to 2000, told me. In later years I also became friends with Mr AL’s great aunt, who’s father was very twisted out of shape by his wartime experience. Essentially there was a whole generation of men with PTSD. I had the idea that I wanted to contrast that experience with someone born a hundred years later. The time-travel bit in the book was pretty much incidental, a plot device to allow me to explore that contrast, which soon spiralled out of control into a fully fledged universe of hidden magic.

So where does that leave my characters in their reactions to hostility directed toward them?

Alec is definitely on much more of a hair trigger than Lew. There’s a scene in the book where he finally loses his rag with Lew, goes for him physically in the police station and has to be dragged off him. I think I drew that from my conversations with Mr AL’s great aunt, who talked about how her father came home from the war with a drink problem and a terrible temper. Apparently one of the women on their street told her off when she was angry with him, telling her that before the war he was the most gentle, genteel man she’d ever met and it was his experiences that were making things hard for him, and the rest of his family, now. So I’d say that Alec is rather like that; he keeps his trauma bottled up and quite trivial things can set him off. His natural inclination is to be a calm, steady person, but his experiences have made him much more of a loose cannon.

Lew though, is much more sanguine generally. He’s been through the care system, he’s was a journalism student and he hasn’t been through the physical and emotional meatgrinder Alec and his contemporaries have been subject to. He’s pragmatic in the same way Alec is; but his trauma is different. He comes across as a much softer person, although inside he has a core of steel. His reactions are more tempered generally. Yes, he loses his temper. But it’s not cataclysmic for him, it doesn’t leave him feeling blown to pieces afterwards like it does Alec.

Scroll on down to read the snippet from Lost in Time that inspired this post.

Here’s everyone else who wrote this month. Click through to read what they have to say!

Nell Iris : Ofelia Grand : Lillian Francis : Fiona Glass : Amy Spector : Ellie Thomas : Holly Day : K. L. Noone : Addison Albright

Lost in Time: Alec finally loses patience with Lew

(CW: Violence)
They sent a uniform to wait for Tyler at his flat, but in the end, he came to them. Alec watched him walk into the detective pen proud as you please, cap and goggles dangling from one hand, fishing in a leather bag slung cross-wise across his body with the other. He didn’t see Alec until Alec walked right up to him and planted him a facer.
He stared up from the floor between two desks, kicking backwards as he propped himself up on his elbows against the grubby carpet to escape further blows, eyes slightly glazed from the punch and papers and photographs spilling out from the bag all over the place.
“You lied to me, you bastard.” Alec’s opening lacked style, but it got straight to the point. “You did know him.”
He pulled Tyler up again by the front of his overcoat for the pleasure of slamming him face down on to the nearest desk and wrenching his arm up behind his back. He was driven by an almost unstoppable desire to manhandle him. The other man had been pushing his buttons since they had first crossed paths and both his anger at being lied to and his frustration at the case exploded into furious violence. There wasn’t much space—the office hadn’t been laid out with prize-fighting in mind, a small, calm part of his mind observed—and he ended up with Tyler flat on the table, pressed underneath him with his arm wrenched up behind his back, both gasping for breath.
“You fucker! You lying bastard! Did you kill him? You’ve known him from the start and I’ve been running round like a blue- arsed fly trying to work out what’s going on. What the hell is happening?” He jerked his arm up a bit higher, eliciting a yelp of pain that the other man tried to mute. “Start talking, else I’ll break your arm.”
It felt good to be hurting someone. He stifled the thought.
Tyler’s arse and thighs were taut against him as he held him down and the man shifted uneasily as Alec added more pressure to his arm. He had got like this in France sometimes. Every so often he’d become overwhelmed with the monotonous daily grind of investigating Tommies who’d crossed the line—who’d turned their hand to investigating Tommies who’d crossed the line—who’d turned their hand to a little unsanctioned murder, other than Jerry, of course; or been caught forcing the local girls, or worse. There’d always been something dirty and disgusting he’d been tied up with and it had sickened him. He’d been able to hold it in check for long periods, sometimes longer than others. But eventually, his disgust and frustration had always boiled up from the black, sticky pit of silence he jammed it down into every morning when he first rolled out of his tiny camp-bed and put his feet on the floor.
He’d beat a man unconscious once—he’d been caught forcing a child in one of the little French villages close to the lines and he’d been shot, in the end. But Alec had worked him over first. He’d had to be pulled away by his sergeant. He was ashamed of it. He believed in the rule and process of law; but in France that had been ramshackle at best and he had been as ramshackle as the structure of military discipline within which he’d been working.
The only thing that would empty out the sticky, tarry pit of self-disgust had been violence. Or sex. Or sexual violence. The man underneath him gasped and writhed again and Alec realized he was still putting an almost breaking pressure on his arm and pressing close against his arse. He took a breath and stepped back a little, easing his grip.
“Okay, you bastard!” The man’s language didn’t shock him. “Back the fuck off and let me go and I’ll talk. For fuck’s sake!”
He stepped back another half step and then another and released Tyler’s arm cautiously, tensed for a continued attack. Instead the man pushed himself to his feet and cradled his arm against his chest, turning round and glaring at Alec venomously. “You arse. You didn’t need to do that.” He was clearly in pain. “I knew you’d find out eventually. I needed to check a few things, first.”
Grant stepped up next to Alec and put a hand on his arm. “Perhaps it would be better to take this into your office, sir?” He took a painful grip on Alec’s elbow and propelled him through the door for at least a semblance of privacy. Grant looked at Tyler, who was cradling his twisted arm against his chest and looking decidedly ropey. “You, come here!”

Lost in Time (KU) from the London Calling Trilogy (Box Set)

#ReadAroundtheRainbow: How to romance a romance writer

Read Around the Rainbow

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.

When we were deciding what topic to pick this month, half of us were really twitchy about this one. It turns out that lots of romance writers are really cynical and don’t much like hearts and flowers in their non-fictional lives. There was a general flurry of oh, I’m not sure I can write about that! And then one of us confessed that they weren’t romantic at all and lots of other people followed suite.

Reader. It was me. I was the first.

A very long time ago I had a couple of screwy relationships where there was a lot of performative romance in public and a lot of unkindness behind closed doors. It turned me off the whole caboodle. It hardens your heart to declarations of love and devotion when a the same time you have someone chucking you over the sofa at home.

Mr AL and I have been married twenty years this year. I didn’t want to get married for the opportunity to float down the aisle on a cloud of orange blossom. I wanted to get married so if I ended up on life support, he’d be the person who got to decide when to turn the switch off. We talked it over for a few months and eventually, he proposed.

I’ve told this story before. It was New Year’s Eve and we were walking home from a friend’s house. It was sleeting sideways and we were both very drunk. He got down on one knee under the No Dogs Fouling sign on a lamppost on a backstreet and popped the question. I was so unsteady on my feet I had to hold on to it to stay upright. The next day we were both so hung over neither of us mentioned it for ages because we weren’t sure we hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. Then the day after that, we went and posted the banns and booked the registry office for three months time. We asked a dozen people along and afterwards we went to the pub.

I wouldn’t have a wedding ring for a decade because I was sure I’d lose it and then become convinced the marriage was jinxed. I’m not sure that’s anything to do with romance though, more paranoia?

To me, romance is the doing of small things, not big performative gestures. It’s a smile across a room full of people when you catch each other’s eye. It’s a bunch of flowers you’ve picked from the garden because the sun was out and they caught your eye and you know they’ll make someone smile. It’s making a sensible supper when you’re both tired and beat and no-one has eaten a vegetable for days. It’s noticing someone’s in pain and finding their medication for them. It’s a proper letter saying you’re missed when your loved one is away from home.

Those are the things that count. Grand gestures are just that, gestures. It’s being there when it counts that’s truly romantic.

Here’s everyone else who wrote this month. Click through to read what they have to say!

Nell Iris : Ofelia Grand : Lillian Francis : Fiona Glass : Amy Spector : Ellie Thomas : Holly Day : K. L. Noone : Addison Albright

Interview: Ashton K. Rose talks about the Southern Magicks trilogy!

Today we welcome Ashton K. Rose to the blog to talk about their new release, the first in the Southern Magicks trilogy and tell us a bit about themselves. Welcome, Ashton! (Ashton is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour. You can join the Rafflecopter draw here!)

1. Why are you doing this interview? (A new book? A new website? A re-release? Just for fun?)

At the end of August, I released my debut novel, The Southern Magicks, which is the first book in an LGBTQIA+ Urban/Paranormal Fantasy and Mystery series I’m writing.

2. What started you writing?

I dabbled with creating stories my entire life, but I didn’t start writing fiction regularly until I was thirteen because I became a serious poet at eight. (Editorial comment: EXCELLENT!)

3. Where do you write? (Office, bed, garden, mountain, coffee shop, in a pool, at the dining table?)

It’s not that interesting. I have a small corner in my room with a desk and my computer.

4. What do you like to read?

Mainly any type of speculative fiction or mysteries about amateur/private detectives. My favorite genres are Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, and Gaslamp Fantasy. I was drawn to reading indie and self-published novels because there hasn’t been a lot of traditionally published queer speculative fiction for adults until recently. I really enjoy reading books by Gail Carriger, K.J. Charles, Jordan L. Hawk, Derek Landy, Drew Hayes, K.D. Edwards, Benedict Jacka, Ben Aaronovitch, Agatha Christie, Allie Therin, Joanna Chambers, Alexis Hall, and David R. Slayton.

5. What are the three books you’d take to a desert island? Why would you choose them?

Soulless (Parasol Protectorate, #1) by Gail Carriger is the book that made me realize adult fiction could be fun, and it’s one of my favorite books.

The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant. I’ve read this book several times since I discovered the series in 2017, and it’s always an enjoyable book to come back to.

I have a complete hardcover edition of Sherlock Holmes stories, so I’d bring that as well.

6. Writing is an intrinsically solo occupation. Do you belong to any groups or associations, either online or in the ‘real’ world? How does that work for you?

A few years ago, I used to be part of a fantastic in-person writers’ group in my small town. A group of older ladies who taught me more about writing than I learned from the handful of classes I took during university. The group ran on a weekday afternoon and didn’t really attract a large amount of new people, so numbers slowly dwindled because of life events. I took over running the group for a couple of months to keep it alive, but I had to start a new job. Since then, I’ve only really been in online writers’ groups. I’ve found a great space within the queer indie writing community on Twitter with other writers who are working on their first few books. Because of the platform changes on Twitter, I’ve ventured out into other groups, joining a popular Facebook group managed by the hosts of a writing podcast I listen to.

I enjoy writers’ groups because I love interacting and learning with/from other writers, but I’m not sure about large groups like the nearest one in my city because I’m worried it will lack the conversation and personal interaction that originally attracted me to attending a writers’ group.

7. What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

I’ve always enjoyed reading and playing RPG and simulation games like the Sims series, Dragon Age, and Fallout. This year I started learning watercolor painting and drawing so I had a hobby that got me away from my computer. I pretty much only read ebooks, and I felt a lot of eyestrain and fatigue spending most of my free time looking at a screen.

8. Tell me a little bit about your most recent release. What gave you the idea for it? How long did it take to write? What did you enjoy about writing it? What did you hate?

The Southern Magicks is an LGBTQIA+ Urban/Paranormal Mystery series for adults set in Australia starting in 2018. Apart from the supernatural aspects, it’s set in a world pretty much identical to ours, only the pandemic doesn’t happen. I found it depressing and difficult to write that event into the series, so I stopped trying and found I could write this story again.

My main character Dexter is a trans man whose grandmother secretly taught him how to see and control ghosts. After he is saved from an attack by a demon/monster, Dexter is forced to work for the coven of mages who control local magic users through their wealth and positions of power. Dexter’s abilities are part of a branch of magic known as Death Magic, which is very useful for an exorcist in an old town.

I’ve been writing stories set in the Southern Magicks Universe since late 2017 when Dexter walked into my head almost fully formed. Between 2018 and early 2021, I slowly uploaded a condensed version of the first three books as a web novel.

When I had the money to publish, I separated the main three storylines to extend each of them to novel length. My new release, The Southern Magicks (Book One of The Southern Magicks Series), is the first of these. I’m currently editing books two and three, which I hope to release during 2023 if my budget allows. I’ve planned for the series to be around twelve books, and I’ve written drafts for almost half of the series.

The Southern Magicks #1

How do you prove your innocence when you don’t even remember whether you did it or not?

After a demon attack reveals Dexter’s secret – that his Gran taught him magic – the twenty-three-year-old librarian is forced to work for the local magical law enforcement agency in order to prove his loyalty, and hopefully save his grandmother from execution.

However, when someone tries to frame him for crimes he doesn’t remember committing, Dexter realizes he’ll have to start an investigation of his own. Joined by his beloved husband Eli, their best friend June, and his journalist cousin Kat, he desperately tries to prove his innocence…which is kind of difficult when gaps in his memory make him doubt everything he thinks he knows about himself.

The race against time begins. Can Dexter and his team uncover the criminals weaving the web of guilt around him before it’s too late, or is he going to lose everything and everyone he cares about?

Buy Southern Magicks #1 : Add to Goodreads

Warnings: Assault, violent imagery, panic attack on page, police brutality

Scroll down for an excerpt!

Author Bio:

Ashton K. Rose (They/Them) is a Queer author who writes Australian paranormal, urban fantasy and mystery fiction filled with LGBTQIA+ characters.

Ashton currently lives in sunny Queensland able to enjoy the best of the Australian bush and beach. Ashton spent their first fourteen years being raised on a remote farm shaped around the remains of an old mining town. Surrounded by the skeletons of past lives and their matching ghost stories, Ashton developed a love for fantasy, horror, and dark fairy tales from a young age.

Carrying a love of ghost stories into adulthood Ashton started writing novels about magic, vampires and ghosts. Ashton decided to set The Southern Magicks in a world heavily inspired by the backdrop of the Australia bush/beach and the speculative fiction Ashton has consumed over a lifetime.

Author Website : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram : Goodreads : Amazon

Excerpt

Chapter 1, Scene 1:

I knew Nora Rowe had died in her home without anyone telling me.
I unlocked the door and my stomach dropped as I took in the sight of the small dim living room of her kit home, filled with books and old newspapers. The acrid smell of cigarettes and wood fire smoke filled my nose as I weaved my way through the stacks. Mismatched flatpack bookshelves that warped under the strain of thousands of books lined the walls. Her living room held no other furniture apart from an old TV and a worn leather armchair—the carpet covered by stained, threadbare rugs.
I flicked the first light switch I saw twice.
Why had I expected the power to work?
I walked over to the windows and pushed the dust-caked lace curtains aside.
My eyes watered as the sun poured into the room.
In the kitchen, the doors of the cupboards hung open. The only things left behind were a few cheap plastic items scattered across the scratched lino.
I stepped on a plastic cup on the floor. I wobbled on my feet for a few sick seconds before I grabbed the counter to steady myself. The sharp aluminium edge bit into the skin of my hand.
This place was a death trap!
She had over twenty library books I had to separate from the donations. My legs shook as I walked to the shelves closest to the door.
I ignored the erratic beating of my heart and the part of my brain telling me to run and pulled out my keys to flick the small key chain light on. I placed it between my teeth and examined the spines for library tags.
When the light hit the grimy glass of a small photo frame on the shelf, I saw something move behind me. I kept my eyes fixed on the glass and used my thumb to clear a spot of dust.
If it hadn’t moved, I could have ignored the human-shaped shadow reflected in the glass.
As a kid, I’d been hassled about seeing things and having an overactive imagination. When I was seven, Gran told me the truth. I shared her secret ability to see ghosts.
I turned to look at the woman who sat in the armchair.
This Nora was a couple of years older than the one who celebrated her birthday in the photo. Her gaze focused on the TV, which would have been new the year Queen Elizabeth was coronated.
I kept my gaze locked on her, blinking one eye at a time.
I slowed my breath and took a careful step backwards to the door. The back of my calf hit something that drove several points of pain into my skin.
The stack of books I knocked over sliced through my composure just as easily as it did the silence in the room, the hard covers and spines slapping against each other as they hit the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Nora stood and turned to face me.
I knew I’d given the game away when I jumped out of my skin and almost dropped my keys.
I made a noise like a dying rat.
She knew I could hear her.
The first thing Gran had taught me was not to let a ghost realise you could sense them. It was dangerous—a trigger for the ire of a vengeful spirit.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your son gave us the key.”
“Worthless piece of shit. Letting strangers into my house. He stole my grandma’s dinner set for drug money before my body was cold. I saw him put it in his car before he called someone to deal with the mess.”
“I’ll just be going now.”
“Actually, I’ll be going.”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
I tried to breathe, but my lungs refused to move.
I couldn’t breathe!
The edge of my vision went black as I gasped for air. I fell flat on my front. I was so focused on trying to breathe, I almost missed the presence pushing at the back of my mind. It started small, a hint of a suggestion. The temptation to give in grew. This was her body. I was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Dexter wasn’t real. Nothing more than a thought exercise to see what it’d be like to be a man her grandson’s age. With each second, it pressed harder, and the urge to give in grew.
Forget.
It would be easy to give in and never have another worry again. All the pain and pressure of life could vanish if I relaxed and let her take control.
No!
I shivered as I tried to move my arms to push myself onto my hands and knees. I focused on the door. It was only a short crawl. I had to do it. For a second, my vision went entirely black.
No!
I gathered all the strength I had and screamed. The remaining air expelled from my lungs. I took a sharp breath. I moved my stiff arms and pushed myself onto my hands and knees.
I was Dexter; I was real, and this was my body. Nothing would take that away from me.
I closed my eyes and pushed back the ghost. I wrapped a mental net around the invasive presence in my mind and forced it back through the hole where it had entered. A hole it had dug in a part of my mind I didn’t even know existed.
One arm forwards, one leg forwards, and breathe.
Move. Breathe. Move. Breathe.
I made it to the threshold and pulled the door open. I slid headfirst down the concrete stairs to lie on my back.
The pressure in my mind slowly vanished as I fell.
I opened my eyes.
Pale blue sky, almost cloudless.
My eyes watered from the bright light.
The perfect day was oblivious to my plight. The mid-autumn day was hardly different from late summer. I could’ve laid there for hours, but the hot concrete felt like it was melting the skin off my back where my shirt had ridden up. I rolled onto the dead grass beside the cracked front path.
Sweat ran into my eyes as I sat up. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my vision.
I could still feel the cold air wafting from the open door. I had to shut it. Mrs Gregory was looking for any excuse to fire me. I stood and walked to the threshold.
All I had to do was grab the handle, pull it closed, remove my hand from the handle and step back.
One quick movement.
I could do it.
As I stared, my eyes adjusted to the dim. She stood just inside, her hard eyes focused on me.
She smiled.
I stepped forwards and grabbed the door handle. Her hand shot out towards my arm.
Her pale, icy fingers clamped around my left wrist. I tightened the grip of my right hand around the door handle. I tucked my chin to my chest and threw myself backwards down the stairs, using the weight of my body to swing the door closed. My shirt ripped as I fell backwards; the sleeve stayed in her hand as my arm slipped free.
The air expelled from my lungs as I hit the ground.
I lay on my back and my lungs refused to work. Fixed to the spot in terror, I gasped for air as my body refused to perform. A function that was usually thoughtless had become my only thought, the pinpoint the world had narrowed to.
There was a dizzy relief as I breathed again, and after a few minutes I slowly stood.
Blood ran down my exposed arm, the only part of my body that had hit the thin concrete path.
Ghosts could touch me! Physically hurt me!
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, forcing back the panic attack that bubbled in the back of my mind. I knew about the possession, but the touch? Why hadn’t Gran told me? I needed to call Gran, but I knew she couldn’t help me. She hadn’t talked to me about magic since her accident when I was seventeen.
I suspected the accident was magic-related, but she’d kept silent about it.
She’d looked at me sceptically any time I’d mentioned magic afterwards, as though I spoke of childish whimsy and needed to grow up.
So I had.
I’d left Dunn and become a librarian, a nice stable job for a responsible young man who liked books.
A normal young man who had resigned himself to a life of pretending he couldn’t see the dead.
I’d somehow ended up with nowhere else to turn and ended up back in this town.
Now Gran was in America with Aunt Myrtle, so it was hard to get help.
I drove back to the library to pretend I’d been out for my lunch break.

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