Ally – Page 9 – A. L. Lester

#RAtR: Weird Internet Searches

This month’s topic for Read Around the Rainbow is the brainchild of Addison Albright—and I’m really looking forward to her post revealing whatever prompted this suggestion! As some of you already know, #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, and I will link to everyone’s post on this month’s topic at the bottom of this page.

So. My weirdest internet search? For this question, I usually talk about researching butter lamps for The Flowers of Time and making my own butter from scratch and then rendering it to ghee and making a lamp in a jam-jar with a bit of string. I got a bit obsessed. I’ve downgraded that particular search to ‘only mildly obsessive’ over the last few years though, as things have moved on!

photo of brown metal cage with lighted candle — Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

I’m pretty sure that everyone who writes about murder or death has a disturbing search history story; and for The Quid Pro Quo I joined the team. I researched what a body would look like after being submerged for twenty four hours. I don’t recommend googling this for fun—I can still see some of the images in the articles I read and it was deeply unpleasant and upsetting.

When I’m researching things I know nothing about I find it very easy to get sucked into a rabbit-hole where I spend an unnecessary amount of time on subjects that are only going to be mentioned in passing in the story. I need to get the background straight in my head in order to be able to drop a couple of colourful details in there. If it’s something I know a bit about already, even if that’s only incidental knowledge, it’s much easier to know what it is I don’t know, if that makes sense?

For example, Out of Focus is set in the world of contemporary theatre. I know quite a bit about how the technical side of that works and I knew what I didn’t know…I went off and found out about scissor lifts and health and safety regulations and it took me a couple of hours. In contrast I spent two days searching and reading up on how eighteenth century women dealt with menstruation for The Flowers of Time—not because it featured in the story particularly, but just because I felt as if it was something that would impact my characters even if I never mentioned it.

I think that’s partly why I’ve set seven books in the post-WW1 period now. I’ve done my research and I feel confident with the background colour of the era. Yes, okay, I have to toddle off and read up on what treatment you’d use for migraine, or whether medicals were required by then to join the army. But I’ve got all the building bricks in place, I know where to find the resources and I’m comfortable.

It’s a very nice feeling, being able to hunker down in a setting you’re reasonably knowledgeable in and just get on with the narrative. I think that’s why I’m enjoying writing my short contemporary stories so much—the only searching I did for Surfacing Again for example, was to use Google Earth to walk the old pilgrim route to Lindisfarne.

When I have the time and inclination I try to gather my research sources together for particular books and time-periods. You can find them under the menu Interesting History Stuff at the top of the page. It’s a bit of a work in progress and it’s not comprehensive, but it also serves to remind me what I looked at 😊.

So what am I going to leave next in my browser history? Honestly, I don’t know. This year I have crashed and burned a bit as far as longer projects are concerned, but I had planned to write the final book in the Bradfield trilogy, so if that happens I’ll be going back to the 1920s. And perhaps a companion book to The Flowers of Time, which is going to take a bit of a jump-start as I’ve forgotten quite a lot about the 1780s. I feel as if I want to get those done, interspersed with contemporary Celtic myths and the Theatre Fach world, before I begin a completely fresh project. However, it might be that I just stick with the contemporaries for now rather than forcing myself to concentrate on anything longer.

Watch this space and you’ll be the first to know!

http://www.amyspectorauthor.com/blog2To find out what’s in the internet search histories of my Read Around the Rainbow colleagues, visit their blogs here! K. L. Noone, Addison Albright, Nell Iris, Ofelia Grand, Holly Day, Fiona Glass, Ellie Thomas, Lillian Francis, Amy Spector.

Read Around the Rainbow. Writers and bloggers of LGBTQIA+ Romance.

Nell Iris Guest Post: It Rained All Night

Thank you so much, dear Ally, for allowing me back into your space to talk about my newest release It Rained All Night. (You are most welcome, Nell!)

This story features a trope I usually don’t write: class differences. I’ve written about it exactly once before, but that was in one of my rare fantasy stories, and it felt more natural in that situation. It Rained All Night is a contemporary story, and it doesn’t come naturally to me in this context. I’m aware that class differences are a real thing—both IRL and in books—but the poor MC meets billionaire MC isn’t something I read a lot, which means I don’t write it either.

But Henrik, the narrator in It Rained All Night, told me he was filthy rich, and I had to listen to his voice. He started as a regular gazillionaire (hah!) with a private plane at his disposal, but in the final edit, after I got my manuscript back from betas, he morphed into something more. He turned out to be nobility.

Sweden is a kingdom and has had noble, titled families for hundreds and hundreds of years, but in 1902 the last person became ennobled, and the nobility lost their official privileges, such as tax exemptions on July 1^st, 2003. They still enjoy some informal social privileges, and in 2022 there are still 657 noble families in Sweden.

And Henrik is one of them. His family still garners lots of attention from the press, and they’re very rich, not just from inherited money, but also from hard work. They’re always in the public eye, something Henrik doesn’t like, something that has kept him from trying to find a significant other because he doesn’t want to subject someone to a life of public scrutiny.

Then he meets Mikko, a regular middle-class, yoga-loving guy, and his life changes completely…

It Rained All Night

Can a chance meeting in the rain change someone’s life?

Meeting someone who can make him stop going is an eye-opener for Henrik. The man, Mikko, is his complete opposite, a steady rock in the wild rainstorm that is Henrik’s life, but the connection between them is both unexpected and instantaneous. Their encounter only lasts a few minutes, but before they part, they exchange phone numbers.

They live far away from each other, but soon they text and call daily, until Mikko is Henrik’s dearest friend and most trusted person. But a late-night question on the phone has Henrik re-evaluating his feelings. It’s impossible to love someone you’ve only met in person once…right?

Is the connection Henrik and Mikko forged long distance enough to sustain them when they meet again? And will their love be strong enough to give them the happily ever after they deserve?

M/M Contemporary / 7673 words

JMS Books:: Amazon :: Books2Read

Can a chance meeting in the rain change someone's life? It Rained All Night by Nell Iris.

Excerpt

It’s late when I finally get home. I tear off my white bowtie as soon as the door closes behind me and toss it on the entryway table. The peacock-y tailcoat suffers the same fate, and as I march through the apartment to my bedroom, I remove the cufflinks and the studs from my suffocating shirt, flip open the button on my pants, toss them on the bed after shimmying out of them, and by the time I reach the shower, I’m naked. I quash the guilt about throwing my fanciest clothes around like I was a teenager in a snit, but I’ll take care of them in a moment. I need to wash off the day first.
I turn the water to red-hot and step under the spray. I hate weddings. At least grand formal affairs that are mostly for show and less about celebrating love—the ones attracting the press like flies to a rotting corpse—the kind my family likes to put on. It’s not that I doubt that my cousin Emma loves her now-husband, but a white-tie wedding? Yes, we’re a rich, titled family, but we’re not the royal fucking family.
The warm water beats down on my tense muscles as I scrub off the ostentation of the evening, and I feel a little better after drying off. I pull on some soft sweats, take care of my fancy suit, then slip out onto the balcony. It’s chilly; spring has just sprung, and the rain-heavy air doesn’t help with the temperature. Raindrops are splattering against the glass roof, and the scent…the scent is intoxicating. It’s earthy and fresh, it’s washing away the old and dead to make way for the new and the budding.
I take a picture of the rivulets on the roof and send it to Mikko without a message. It’s late—a glimpse at the time tells me it’s close to one in the morning—and he’s probably already sleeping. He’s an early riser and never misses his yoga practice at five-thirty, so I don’t expect a reply. Instead, I sit on one of the chairs, dragging the other one closer so I can rest my feet on the seat, before reclining the back and closing my eyes, exhaling all the frantic energy of the day.
If I ever get married, it’s going to be a small affair. Just him and me and the witnesses needed to make it legal. No napkins printed in gold with our names, no long-winded speeches, no band playing, no press photographers. Just him and me and the I do’s and a light drizzling rain in a remote place where no one can find us…
I sigh. If I ever get married. I need a man for that, and I won’t find a man if I’m not looking, and I’m not looking because…
A gust of wind sprays me with chilly raindrops. I shiver but don’t go inside. Instead, I sink deeper into the chair and let the steady dripping on the roof soothe me.
I’m not looking because of Mikko.
I don’t know when it happened. When my feelings for Mikko veered from being friendly to something else. Something more. Something deep.
We stayed in contact after the yoga retreat; even though we’d exchanged phone numbers, I didn’t expect much, but he’s an avid texter and kept me updated about his long train ride back home after we parted. He was funny and thoughtful, and it didn’t take long until texting him daily was a regular part of my routine. Until I started expecting “good morning” messages with a picture attached of him contorted in one of the harder, fancier yoga poses. Until I started needing to chat with him for a few moments at the end of the day to unwind. Until he was the one I wanted to confide in, until he was the one I started to turn to when something important was going on.
Until he was the one I fell—
I push away the thought before I can complete it. It’s not possible to fall in love with someone you’ve only met once. It’s not.
Still, as I sink deeper into the chair, as the pitter-patter of rain against the roof chases away the stress of the day, I allow myself a second to acknowledge that I’m fooling myself with those kinds of thoughts.
But then my phone buzzes with an incoming call, I know it can only be one person. Only Mikko would call me at this hour.
“What are you doing up this late?” I ask as a greeting, as the tense set of my shoulders bleed away, leaving me relaxed for the first time all day.
“I was waiting for you to report back from the wedding of the century.” His voice is hoarse, sleepy, but happy.

JMS Books:: Amazon :: Books2Read

About Nell

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bonafide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.

Find Nell on social media:

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#SampleSunday: Warning Deep Water

For #SampleSunday this week, I have the first bit of Warning! Deep Water for you in a blatant attempt to tempt you into a pre-order now it’s up on Amazon :). Meet George and Peter, finding their feet again after the second world war.

Book Bingo! Warning! Deep Water. Gay romance, 1940s England, Hurt-comfort, swimming, cute dog, salad vegetables! Celebrate World Naked Gardening Day!

Chapter 1 – The Stranger – George

George wrote the final cheque, put it in its envelope and wrote the address on it, threw it in the stack to be posted, and pushed the pile of paperwork away with a sigh. There, that was it. The month’s bills paid. And a bit left in the bank. A good month, then, especially after such a long, hard, winter.
He rubbed his hands up over his face and into his hair, easing the tension out of his forehead by pulling at it. It needed cutting. He’d ask Mrs Leland to do it for him when she came back in the morning. For now though, he’d been inside all day…it was time for a walk round the place, check that the vents and doors on the greenhouses were closed, and stretch his legs.
“Come on Polly,” he said to the dog stretched out in front of the Rayburn as he stood up. “On your feet!”
She raised her head and looked at him enquiringly, not sure whether he was really going out and not just moving round the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“Walk time,” he told her. “I’ll put my boots on and we can go. I want to see how they’ve got on with planting the Christmas chrysants.” It seemed like it had been lettuces and tomatoes for interminable years now—they’d started growing them at the beginning of the war to feed the troops stationed locally and had only been allowed to keep a minimal amount of flowers planted every year to keep their stocks fresh. This was the first year he’d been able to plan for a Christmas flower crop since 1939.
Once Polly could see he wasn’t kidding her, she got to her feet and stretched as George collected the heavy ring of keys from the hook beside the door and got his boots out of the boot cupboard. She was an old dog now, going on twelve…he should probably think about getting a pup, but he was comfortable as he was and didn’t want the bother of training one. Just as well, for over the past winter they’d spent most of the time hunkered down by the fire when they weren’t trying to clear the snow off the glasshouse roofs to avoid collapse. Perhaps later in the year, if things continued to look up, he’d think about it more seriously.
He took his slippers off and slid his feet into his wellingtons. He didn’t bother with his jacket, it was quite warm for the front end of May, even though it was late in the evening, just getting dark. Polly snaked around his legs and out of the door, waiting for him on the path. “Come on then, girl,” he said. “Let’s get going.”
They wound their way idly down past the break room toward the packing shed first, enjoying the mild evening and the dimpsy light. The lettuces they’d picked today were stacked in crates, ready to take down to the wholesaler in the morning. He shut the door, with the little lift needed to ease it onto the threshold and get it to latch. Locked it with the big, bent key. Made sure the tool shed was padlocked. Shut up the hens.
He looked into the big boiler house they used to heat the houses they were using for tomatoes and threw a bit more coal in. It had been a clear day, warm for the time of year, but he didn’t want to let the boilers out quite yet, it was still chilly at night.
Shutting the doors and releasing the levers to lower the ceiling vents in each of the long glasshouses, he made his way around the looping path until it turned and he began to make his way back toward the house.
Polly ran on ahead as usual, her initial stiffness worked out of her joints by this point in their evening perambulation. As she got to the top of the path by the smaller glasshouse where they grew on the young plants, she began to bark.
It wasn’t her rabbit-bark or her squirrel-bark. It was her here’s something odd bark.
George lengthened his stride to catch up with her.
“What’s up, girly?” he asked. “Fox?” It wasn’t her fox-bark, either.
As he drew level with her and turned the corner, he saw what she was barking at. There was someone in the pump house with the big water tank, at the end of one of the houses of young tomatoes. He could see them moving through the glass walls.
“Oi!” he shouted, as he began to run toward them, wellies slopping as he ran. “Oi! What’s going on?” The figure inside, who hadn’t seemed disturbed by the dog, moved sharply, clearly swinging round to face him.
He reached the door and pulled it open. It was a man. He had just climbed out of the mossy, green depths of the ten-thousand gallon tank. He was dripping wet, and completely naked.
George slammed to a halt as if he’d hit a brick wall, staring open mouthed.

Buy the naked gardening day box set

The World Naked Gardening Day novellas

The Naked Gardening Day stories are a collaboration between Holly Day, Nell Iris, A. L. Lester, K. L. Noone and Amy Spector. They comprise five MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.

All the World Naked Gardening Day stories

#SampleSunday: An Irregular Arrangement

For #SampleSunday this week I’ve got the first chapter of An Irregular Arrangement for you. It’s free when you subscribe to my newsletter.

An Irregular Arrangement: Chapter 1 : Val

“I do not think,” announced the vicar’s wife from the lane with some gravitas, “that you should be up there, young man.”
Val peered down from the top of the crumbling orchard wall where she was balanced, reaching over to get the very last apple. “Blast!” she exclaimed quietly and aloud said, “Just one more? It’s the last one. Mr Scott’s only going to let them all drop and then turn the pigs in, I heard him say.”
Mrs Downs sighed. “Oh, it’s you, Miss Wilkinson. Hurry up, so I can pretend you’d already finished by the time I saw you.”
Val flinched at being called Miss Wilkinson but did as she was bid and carefully scrambled down the way she’d climbed up. The apples were gathered in her cap and she passed them to Mrs Downs as she took a moment to brush her clothes free from dust. Mrs Downs observed quietly as she straightened her trousers and pulled down her waistcoat. Val eyed her cautiously. The vicar and his wife had only been in the village a few months and although everyone seemed to think they were decent sorts; decent sorts generally didn’t have much truck with people running round in unsuitable clothing and stealing apples.
“Flora Downs, by the way,” the woman offered a hand to shake, and Val took it. “Do call me Flora, please. I’m very pleased to meet you properly, we’ve only seen each other in passing. Would you like to come for breakfast?” Flora said, after a moment contemplating each other. “The vicar is away today…I’ve just walked him to the station, actually…and it would be nice to have some company.”
Val looked at her. She didn’t look much older than Val. Val was twenty-one but probably appeared younger with her hair cropped short and masculine clothing. “Valentine Wilkinson. Val. Hello. I’d love to,” she said in a burst of honesty, finally shaking the hand she was still holding. “But I need to drop the apples into Mrs Porter behind the smithy first. She’s not doing well since the new baby came and the other two young ones are hungry all the time. I said I’d see what I could do help.”
Flora gave Val an assessing look. “Come on then,” she said. “We can do that and then go and have some porridge at the vicarage. I’ve met most people by now, but I haven’t managed to pin you down.”
Val made a muffled yelping sound and juggled the apples to avoid answering. She’d made a categorical mistake in being noticed at all. Fading into the background was one of her special skills. She pulled energy from the border and thought herself small and people seemed to ignore her. She’d been so focused on the apples though, that she’d forgotten to keep it up when Flora spoke to her and now she was stuck. Although… Val glanced sideways to the small woman striding along beside her, skirts kicking around at a modest length above her ankles in the dust of the road, boots and dress pretty but practical, long hair turned up sensibly under a neat cloche hat, clear skin, pretty smile…it perhaps wasn’t the disaster it could have been.
“Have you met Mrs Porter?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t. I was told she probably wouldn’t appreciate a visit because she goes to the chapel, not the church.”
Val nodded. “That’s true. But none of them are talking to her because they realised she caught for the baby after her husband had died.” She grimaced. “No-one asked her what happened, they just judged her. I found out what was going on yesterday.”
“Well,” said Flora. “We need to get that sorted out as soon as possible, then. I’ll talk to the vicar when he gets home. We can help her if she’ll allow it.”
Val nodded. “I brought some bread and things this morning and dropped in and then I remembered the apples and thought I’d get them before the pigs. The children aren’t very old.”
****
It wasn’t long before they were in the vicarage kitchen. The ancient range was lit and Lily Richards, who came in every day to look after the house, was taking off her coat. “Morning, Missus, morning Miss Wilkinson,” she said. She didn’t quite meet Val’s eye. Quite a few of the more respectable villagers wouldn’t, these days. They didn’t like the trousers and they couldn’t see Val as a man, in the way that people who hadn’t know them growing up usually did if they met her dressed as she liked to dress.
“Good morning, Lily,” Flora said. “Are you going to get on with the bedrooms this morning?”
“Yes, Missus. I was going to strip the sheets from yours; and Sally’s coming to do the laundry in a couple of hours. I’m just going to light the copper for her.”
Flora nodded. “Wonderful, thank you. I’ll make a cup of tea and give you a shout when it’s brewed, shall I?”
“Lovely, thank you, Missus.”
“Take a seat,” Flora gestured to the long, scrubbed kitchen table. “We eat in here unless we’ve got company. The dining room is like something out of Dickens, it’s so gloomy. We get the sun in here.”
The room was on the corner of the house and faced both south and east. The early autumn sun was pouring in. It shot the soft brown of Mrs Downs’ hair through with red highlights, like a fox’s coat glinting russet against a hedgerow.
Val sat whilst Flora pottered about putting porridge in a pan and boiling the kettle.
“Don’t you have servants for this?” Val asked.
“Only Lily. I don’t much like having people in and out of the house, to be honest. I grew up keeping house for my father, so I’m happy taking it on for Tim and me.”
Val nodded. One of the reasons she spent so much time out of the house was that it was always flooded with people. The servants, then Mama, and their brothers’ friends. Val didn’t like the crowds and she didn’t like the way it felt, dressed up in girl’s clothes as Mama insisted, with the young men all looking at her like dogs eyeing a biscuit.

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#AMA: Genres and Rainbow Representation

This week’s Ask Me Anything…You write both M/M and F/F. How are these two genres or markets different? And what are your top 5 book recommendations in each?

I guess firstly I don’t think of myself writing M/M or F/F per se. I think about myself as writing ‘queer romance’. I know that’s a pretty technical difference; but it does affect how I market my books. Some authors I know have different pen-names for the different romantic pairings or genres they write in; but I made a conscious decision that a) it would be too complicated for my chaotic self to maintain and b) it would make it more difficult for me to actually write. The reasons for a) are self-evident; and b) is because of my particular process I think.

Certainly historically I haven’t been a plotter. I do plot more now…I often begin a story by writing a blurb. I then move on to character sketches and perhaps location sketches. It’s all a bit free-form though and I’m not very good at sticking within the lines I’ve drawn for myself. I like to have the freedom to shoot off in a different direction if a plot idea comes to me or a character seems to require that. I sometimes begin with the idea that someone is one gender/sexuality and as the story unfurls it becomes obvious to me that they are different from the way I initially imagined them. Walter from The Quid Pro Quo is a case in point. Initially he was trans; and then I hit a historical issue with him being in the army on the cusp of the 20^th century where he’d have found it hard to have remained undiscovered. So I tried very, very hard to make him cis. But he wouldn’t have it and I had to fudge the whole joining-the-army thing to accommodate him.

Author wisdom has it that M/M readers are voracious consumers who spend a lot of time in KU; and that F/F readers are hard to win over but loyal once you have. I honestly don’t think I have enough experience to be able to comment on either of those things; but I do know that I don’t feel I fit precisely in to either of those categories. I do use the letters as a shorthand for readers to know about my characters at first glance; but I prefer to call my books with M/M pairings ‘gay romance’ rather than M/M romance. I don’t feel they are high heat enough to be ‘proper’ M/M if that makes sense?

I try and pitch my books as being about LGBTQIA people rather than any particular stripe of the rainbow and I do think that affects the way readers perceive them, and probably me as a writer too. I have a free story for subscribers who join my newsletter and to begin with that was a M/M offering. Last year I changed that to be a poly story with sapphic/non-binary and M/M relationships as I felt that better reflected my catalogue. I think it gives people who don’t know me a better idea of what they are going to find in my books and that can only be good.

I know not everyone likes to read and write across gender and sexuality pairings but it’s what I’m happy writing and that’s really important to me. Being true to my own identity is something I came to quite late and I am very conscious of it, although I have no truck with the idea that one can only write characters and genders from personal experience. It’s perfectly possible to write any character you want to, the only responsibility you have is to do it well. I like the variety that brings to my work and I guess identifying as non-binary, pan and grey-ace, I sit firmly in the meh, whatevs part of the spectrum. It’s nice to be able to write from and about different perspectives.

So this is where I sit and why, I guess!

Instead of answering the second question about my favourite books in the M/M and F/F genres, here are fifteen books I rate with LGBTQIA main characters and they are all excellent. They are in alphabetical order by title and are mix of different identities. Some of them I’ve blogged about in my #AmReading posts over the last few months, but I do hope you find something new here!

If you have an #AskMeAnything question, do drop me an email or pop in to Lester Towers to ask.