#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.

Buy Southern Magicks #1 : Add to Goodreads

Read Around the Rainbow: Do you have a writing plan for next year?

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 are writing about our writing plans for next year!

Ugh. Well. You can ASK about them. It’s a good question isn’t it? Last year was awful for us, given we had Ally’s Gallstone Summer and then Littlest’s Respiratory Illness Autumn. I did pretty well writing to begin with I think—in March I released Out of Focus, the first of the Theatr Fach novellas; and then in May I released Warning! Deep Water, one of the Naked Gardening Day stories (they’re now in a box set!). I had a while whilst I was hopped on morphine after my hospital drama where writing seemed to come very easily; so I wrote another Theatr Fach novella, Second Wind; and Sleeping Dogs, a Celtic Myth short story for Halloween; plus a couple of other things that are for a side-project that’s not up and running yet.

After that, Littlest was poorly and everything fell apart a bit. Erm. A lot.

So now, 2023 needs a plan and I’m the person to knock it in to shape! I have invested in a Bujo, courtesy of my early-morning office friends Ofelia and Nell. And I am sketching out All The Things. See all the blank pages Frenchie is looking after, ready for my thoughts and plans!

Having said that…I’m rubbish with deadlines. We have such a lot going on family-wise that I find them really stressful. I loathe the idea of letting other people down and I like to organise my life so if I miss a deadline it doesn’t impact other people.

The only thing that’s time-dependent at the moment is that I am on the verge of collaborating with some friends over a Valentine’s Day short story giveaway that’ll be on Bookfunnel if it comes to fruition. We are just voting on what theme we want to do.

I also really want to do another collection with the Naked Gardening Day Team (Holly Day, Nell Iris, K. L. Noone and Amy Spector). We have yet to settle on a topic though! It’s likely that it’ll be a ‘day’ again though, so that’ll be a hard deadline too.

Then…I want to do another Theatr Fach story set in Llanbraduc; another Celtic Myth story; and I want to get my teeth into the third and final one of the Bradfield Village novels. That’s a year overdue now on my personal schedule and it’s bubbling along in the background. After that, I really want to revisit the 1780s and write a companion novel to The Flowers of Time that either explores the relationship between Edie Merton’s brother Henry and his friend Bennett Carruthers, or is another story featuring Edie and Jones. Perhaps a mystery? I don’t know yet. I do know I want to go back to that time period though.

I didn’t write anything long or anything historical in 2022 and I’m missing it. I feel like I really overdid things in 2021 and retreating to shorter, contemporary stories has been lovely, very refreshing and a great deal of fun. I’m starting to feel the pull of historical settings again now though and yesterday a book about the East India Company fell off my bookshelf and landed on my foot; so perhaps the Gods of Writing are giving me a hint! I aim to write about a thousand words a day when I’m in the swing of things in The Morning Office with Ofelia and Nell, whatever project I’m working on.

I’d also like to get the audiobooks of the Bradfield Village trilogy underway; but that’s finance dependent as well as narrator dependent and has been hanging in the wind for over a year now as I’ve been too tied up with family things to organise anything. (A quick punt at this point for the audio of Lost in Time, which is 99c at various places until the end of the month!)

Whatever your projects and professional or personal goals this coming year I wish you all the best with them. Thank you for staying with me through what’s undoubtedly been one of the toughest years of my life.

You can catch up with my fellow #RAtR writer’s plans by clicking on the links below.

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 with Holly Day / Ofelia Grand

Today Holly Day is visiting to tell us all about her recent release. Holly is the second pen name of my friend Ofelia Grand. This post should have gone up on the 19th December; but because my head was full of cold I clean forgot. Please give her a warm welcome today instead!

Hi Hollyfelia! Thanks so much for coming to the blog today! Can you tell us a little bit about the split personality you’ve got going on and how that came about?

Thank you for having me! 🥰

It started about two and a half years ago. This was in the middle of the covid lockdowns, and while I’m in Sweden, where we never had a real lockdown, we were still encouraged to work from home if we could, not see people unless we had to, and keep our distance. At the time, I was working on a mushroom farm, and we mainly delivered to restaurants, and since people were supposed to stay at home and not eat in restaurants, we more or less stopped production. The result was that I didn’t have a job. Nell Iris didn’t have a job, and the lovely A.L. Lester 😘 didn’t have a job, so we met up in the mornings and wrote together.

One sunny summer day, I was writing a Christmas story, and I was in a flow. When you’re in a flow, you don’t want to step away from the story, but I’d promised my girls that we were gonna go to the playground, so I grudgingly did my duty as a mother 😆 and went to the playground.

While there I kept thinking about how I could write holiday stories all year round and not grow bored. My mind started spinning, and by the time the girls were ready to go home, I had this idea of a pen name who wrote stories for different holidays. I would call her Holly Day since she was meant for holidays LOL

The whole one-story-a-month idea came later. I finished the Christmas story I was writing as Ofelia and wrote a Valentine story as Holly. Then I wrote a story for Kiss a Ginger Day, which is in January. And then I saw Extraterrestrial Abductions Day which is in March. I wrote all three stories in 2020 and realised I had one story a month in the first quarter of 2021 before we’d reached 2021, and that’s what set off the whole one-story-a-month thing. We’ll see if I can keep it up, I’m a little behind at the moment 😊 but so far we’ve had 24 stories in 24 months.

Let’s have some seasonal questions. How do you and your family usually celebrate the midwinter season? Do you decorate the house?

Normally, we’re celebrating with my mother at her house, but she passed away a month ago (#FuckCancer), so this year, we’re a little lost. And hubby will be away working from the 23rd to the 26th, so this year, it’ll only be me and the kids.

We decorate. We have a tree, a real tree, stars in our windows and lots of candles and such. I think it’s pretty similar to the rest of the western world.

What we do that most outside of Scandinavia don’t is celebrate Saint Lucy’s Day on December 13th. It’s a bit weird, not the celebration as such – I love celebrating Lucia – but that we do it. Sweden is one of the most secular countries in the world, only about 9% go to church, so it’s a bit strange that we’re celebrating an Italian saint.

Lucia is beautiful, and the children dress up in the schools, and parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles get to come to see them sing.

Like this:

What’s your favourite food at this time of year?

Ah… I’m a problematic person. Swedish Christmas food is very meat-based. We have ham, meatballs, jellied meats, sausages, and on, and on the list goes, and I’m a vegetarian. I’m also lactose intolerant and gluten intolerant, so there go most other foods. People love to have me over, promise 😆

But traditionally, we also have a lot of kale and Brussels sprouts and such, so that’s mostly what I eat. And I make some vegetarian stuff like mustard grilled Quorn that mimics the traditional Christmas food as well as some things that aren’t normally included in the holiday foods.

Most importantly this time of year isn’t the food – though many people would disagree with me on that – but the glögg. It’s a Scandinavian type of mulled wine, and I can be without most of the traditional holiday food, but not that 😊

Have you asked for anything in particular as a present this year? If you could, what would you want wrapped under the tree for you on Christmas morning?

Eh… no. I’m not really big on things. All I need is my phone, my laptop, and an internet connection, and I already have that.

I would like a huge greenhouse, but I have no good place for it in the garden. If I’m just gonna dream though, I’ll say a greenhouse. I have a small one and it’s not in a good place, so the plants I have in the garden usually grow better than the ones in the greenhouse 🙄

And chickens. I want more chickens. Chickens aren’t as much fun this time of year though when it’s cold and snowy, and the water keeps freezing, and so on, but you can never go wrong with chickens LOL

Tell us about your current release?

It’s a gay paranormal romance novella called Willow Road and it celebrates Crossword Puzzle Day on the 21st December. I wrote it for JMS Books Advent Calendar.

It’s an interspecies fated mates story. Jeremiah hasn’t left his house in over a decade. He went to a shifter school where he was bullied for being the only human, and a group of shifters locked him up in the school basement. Life never went back to normal after that.

Zeeb is the chief of police. When he learns that someone is putting ads in the paper encouraging people to ring Jeremiah’s door right next to the crossword puzzle they know he’s solving every day, he’s furious, and goes to talk to Jeremiah. That’s when he realises Jeremiah is his mate. The problem is that as a human Jeremiah has no idea he has a mate, and he wants nothing to do with shifters, and Zeeb can’t have a human mate since the other shifters wouldn’t respect him if he did. So… best not to let Jeremiah know he’s Zeeb’s mate, right? Well, it was the initial plan, but as we established above, initial plans sometimes change.

Willow Road

Jeremiah Pace hasn’t left his house in thirteen years. He doesn’t trust anyone, least of all shifters. School was a nightmare, and despite never interacting with anyone in the village, the bullying continues in his adult life. Someone is putting ads in the paper, encouraging people to drop by his house for one service or other, but Jeremiah never opens his door.

Zeeb Hemming is a lone wolf and the new chief of police. He’s only been in Stoneshade for six weeks when he learns about the ads and goes to knock on Jeremiah’s door. Not because of what today’s ad said, but to get to the bottom of what’s going on. Human or not, Jeremiah deserves to live life in peace. The moment Zeeb nears Jeremiah’s house, he knows he’s his mate. But he can’t have a human mate.

Jeremiah pleads with Zeeb not to stir anything up. Yes, the ads are bad, but things can always get worse. Zeeb is furious someone is mistreating his mate and is willing to skin anyone who has any connection to the ads alive. But how is he to convince Jeremiah to trust him when he talks to Zeeb through a gap in the window instead of opening the door to his house?

Buy links

Gay Paranormal Romance: 19,909 words

JMS Books :: Amazon :: books2read.com/WillowRoad

Cover of Willow Road by Holly Day

Excerpt:

The next day, Dolph and Boris were both missing when Zeeb walked through the door into the police station. Rica was sipping on a cup of coffee while leafing through a stack of papers.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” She gave him a quick smile before focusing on the stack of paper again.

“Where’s Dolph and Boris?”

She put down the paper she’d been reading and studied him. “They had to go out.”

“Had to go out?” Had to? It was seldom anyone had to in Stoneshade.

She tilted her head. “They were laughing about something in the paper, and then two minutes ago they had to go talk to someone.”

Zeeb gritted his teeth. “They were laughing.”

She pursed her lips. “They’re always laughing at things in the paper, aren’t they?”

Scanning the table, he spotted a folded paper underneath another stack of paper—almost as if they didn’t want him to see it. He grabbed it and quickly turned the pages.

“Jesus, what did the paper ever do to you?”

“It’s the ads. If there’s another ad, heads will roll.”

Rica gave him a confused look. “The ads?”

“They’re harassing that poor soul on Willow Road.”

The confusion deepened. “Which soul? Who is living on Willow Road?”

“Jeremiah Pace.”

She shook her head. “Never heard of.”

Zeeb sighed. Would the entire village play oblivious? “The human who went to school with Dolph.”

Her eyes widened. “They put a human in a school for shifters?”

Zeeb growled at her. “Thirteen years ago, there was some sort of attack on him, and he hasn’t left his house since. Don’t tell me you don’t know this.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t live here thirteen years ago.”

Freezing in mid-turn of a page, he looked at her. “You didn’t live here?”

She shook her head. “I’m not from here. I met Samuel while backpacking in Italy. I got to Venice on a train, one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, and I knew the minute I set foot on the platform my mate was there. You know the spark?”

Zeeb shook his head. He hadn’t met his mate, so he didn’t know, but he’d heard enough stories to guess, and the dreamy look on her face made him smile.

“Anyway, his grandfather had a farm a few miles from here, and when he passed away, Samuel wanted to take over. It’ll be six years in April.”

Nodding, Zeeb turned another leaf of the paper. He’d been told Samuel had his cows in the pasture beyond the row houses during the summer months. “So, you don’t know anything about the ads?”

“This is the first I’ve ever heard of any ads.”

“And you never read the personal ads in the paper?”

She shook her head. “Can’t say I do.”

“You didn’t see the ad yesterday about full-service massages?”

Rica burst out laughing. “Full service? Don’t tell me we have a bordello in Stoneshade.” Then she sobered. “Shit, we don’t, do we? I worked a trafficking case while living in Phine. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

“No, not that I know of. It’s some idiot putting ads in the paper saying people can come to Willow Road 1 for full-service massages, but an agoraphobic guy named Jeremiah Pace lives on Willow Road 1.”

Rica’s eyes bled into the icy blue of her wolf, and Zeeb took a deep breath. Finally, someone who reacted the way they should. He found the page with the crossword and scanned the ads. “For fuck’s sake.”

“What?” Rica came to stand next to him, and he pointed at an ad. Committed sub looking for Dom. Loves role play. Please, be my carpenter and ring my doorbell. Willow Road 1. I’m waiting for you.

“Oh, God.”

“Was it what Dolph and Boris were laughing about?”

She breathed in deep and pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I didn’t look. They’re always laughing at something, and I needed to check some facts for the…” She gestured at the pile of papers next to her cup, and Zeeb nodded.

“Where is the newspaper office?”

“In town, I think.”

In Alderdon? It was a thirty-minute drive one way. “I’m going to talk to them. I’ll swing by Jeremiah’s first to make sure he’s okay, then I’ll go into town. I have my cell.”


About Holly

According to Holly Day, no day should go by uncelebrated and all of them deserve a story. If she’ll have the time to write them remains to be seen. She lives in rural Sweden with a husband, four children, more pets than most, and wouldn’t last a day without coffee.

Holly gets up at the crack of dawn most days of the week to write gay romance stories. She believes in equality in fiction and in real life. Diversity matters. Representation matters. Visibility matters. We can change the world one story at the time.

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