New year, new stories

I’m not usually the sort of person who celebrates New Year’s Eve and this year it was a bit peculiar anyway, because Mr AL spent it in a hotel near the airport so he could collect Talking Child from her Big American Adventure. I had an early night and woke up to find TC’s flight had landed and they were on their way home. It was the best New Year’s present I could have had, really.

This is the first morning I’ve got up to write in the office for a couple of weeks—I had a horrible cold in the week before Christmas and it knocked me completely off track. I have been having serious problems with the third Bradfield book that my editor and I finally tracked down to the fact I don’t actually like my main character; which is a bit of an issue. I have decided to put it on the backburner for a bit and try and reframe her in my mind whilst I write something else in the interim; but I’m still not sure what.

This year I have in my mind that I am not going to write any series. It’s going to be the year of the stand-alone story. And I want to write something new. I’ve been dealing with monsters and the border and all that for six years now and whilst I love my magical world it’s time to try something different, even if I come back to it in a while. That’s why I wanted to write Bradfield #3 early this year and be able to draw a line under it for a bit.

I want to write the companion novel to The Flowers of Time and expand the mm romance between Edie’s brother Hugh and his friend Carruthers. That involves immersing myself in the 1780s again and is something I’ve been looking forward to for a while. And I have another idea I’m calling Space Gays that I haven’t fleshed out yet…I thought it might be a trilogy though, so that’s a no-no for a while under my current rules!

In my half-started folder I have a post-pandemic dystopia I began well before covid hit. I really want to finish it; but since covid I haven’t been able to even look at it…too close to home. I thought I might try and finish it; but I have serious doubts about anyone wanting to read that sort of thing at the moment. Last week’s newsletter poll more or less confirmed that! And I want to write some more Celtic myths. I’m really enjoying them and people seem to like reading them. They’re very satisfying to write.

In among all these ideas, JMS Books has some interesting submission calls this year; particularly one for time-travel romances. I am now wondering about that…but time. I need a way to fold time.

So. That’s my vague writing plans for the new year. I also have more audiobooks on the backburner—I have a lovely person lined up for The Fog of War and I’d like Callum to voice The Quid Pro Quo for me if he’s available.

I do have a spreadsheet that I’m putting things in to so I don’t overwhelm myself; which is basically what happened toward the end of last year. I tend to fill my coping mechanism up to the top and then when something unexpected happens there’s no room and everything overflows. Leaving myself some headroom is definitely a better strategy.

Among all that we have been shielding Littlest again against Omicron. She’s had two jabs and hopefully clinically vulnerable children in the UK will be able to have a third soon, which will put my mind at rest.

I wish you all the very best for 2022. Let’s hope it’s a bit less stressful than the last couple of years.

British Accents now and then

One of the things I love about working with Callum Hale on my audiobooks is his ability to throw himself into pretty much any British accent and bring the character to life. To my British ear each of the people I’ve created sound exactly as I’ve envisaged them as he brings them off the page.

I asked him to make Rob, from Inheritance of Shadows ‘less ooh-arr’ and he toned the accent down so to me at least, Rob doesn’t sound so much like a heavy-handed son of the Somerset soil. And I wanted Will Grant in the 1920s London Trilogy to sound more like Lord Peter Wimsey. Callum obliged, perfectly. (These are my two favourite of all my characters, ever, incidentally).

The question I’m always asking myself about my writing though, is how right can I get it? I want the history in my books to be accurate, unless I’m deliberately twisting the universe out of true with magic. I think this is the same question historians have to ask themselves about looking at anything in the past. We are both looking at things through our own rose-tinted spectacles, coloured with our own experiences and social expectations. My characters in these books grew up in Victorian England. What did they really think about the Empire? What did they talk about in the pub? What did they really sound like? How did they really smell? We’re fudging it, the whole lot. Historians and archaeologists because of lack of data. And writers because of lack of data and because we don’t want our main characters to be unsympathetic to modern audiences.

Anyway…during one or other of my late-night sessions randomly browsing the web, I came across this programme about Edwardian accents. A regional English language specialist in Germany during the First World War, a real-life Professor Higgins, suddenly realised he had a huge pool of untapped research material in the German army’s British prisoners of war. In this documentary you can actually listen to their voices.

I was very interested in how the modern specialists in the programme say the regional accents of the past are broader in the recordings than they are now. It’s as if the rising tide of London-speak has swept the broad vowels of the regional accents back from the centre of the country, into the more remote west of England. So although to me, Rob sounds about right, a farm labourer from Somerset who’s self-educated and likes to read, to his contemporaries he’d probably have sounded out of place. You can listen to Callum’s reading of him here, in the first chapter of Inheritance of Shadows.

I think, listening to those long-ago voices in the programme, it’s important to remember these men were prisoners. That’s one of the filters we mustn’t discard. Were they doing this work in the language lab out of the kindness of their hearts? Because they were bored and wanted an occupation? Because they were threatened in to it? Because they were offered extra rations or privileges? Are these their actual accents? Or are they performative, a joke on the professor? They’re immensely touching, whatever their origin and I hope you enjoy it.

You can buy the 1920s London audiobooks at Authors Direct.

Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border, The Hunted and the Hind by A. L. Lester. Narrated by Callum Hale.

Announcing The Quid Pro Quo

So, here’s some news! The Quid Pro Quo will be out on the 20th November and here’s the cover and an excerpt!

It’s the second in the Bradfield trilogy following The Fog of War and stars Walter, Sylvia’s nurse-friend; and Simon, a local detective who visits Bradfield to investigate a murder.

The Quid Pro Quo

Village nurse Walter Kennett is content with his makeshift found-family in tiny Bradfield. However one midsummer morning a body is found floating in the village duck pond, dead by magical means.
Detective Simon Frost arrives in Bradfield to investigate a inexplicable murder. The evidence seems to point to Lucille Hall-Bridges, who lives with doctor Sylvia Marks and nurse Walter Kennett at Courtfield House. Simon isn’t happy—he doesn’t believe Lucy is a murderer but he’s sure the three of them are hiding something. In the meantime, the draw he feels toward Walter takes him by surprise.

Walter is in a dilemma, concealing Sylvia and Lucy’s relationship and not knowing how much to tell Frost about the paranormal possibilities of the murder. He isn’t interested in going to bed with anyone—he’s got a complicated life and has to know someone really well before he falls between the sheets. He’s taken aback by his own attraction to Detective Frost and angry when Frost appears to twist the spark between them to something transactional in nature.

Will Walter be satisfied to stay on the periphery of Lucy and Sylvia’s love affair, a welcome friend but never quite included? Or is it time for him to strike out and embark on a relationship of his own?

The second in the Bradfield trilogy, set in the Border Magic universe. With a transm/m couple. Read The Fog of War first and/or add The Quid Pro Quo to Goodreads.

As Simon was replacing the device on the telephone table a pretty young woman put her head out of a door at toward the end of the hall. “Sylv!” she said, “Do you want tea? I’ve boiled the kettle.” and then when she realised he wasn’t who she thought he was, “Oh, I do beg your pardon! I thought you were Dr Marks!”.

“She’s still in the surgery,” Simon nodded across the hall.

The woman emerged into the hall. “Lucille Hall-Bridges,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m a friend of Sylvia’s. I help with the house.”

Simon took her hand in his. Her grip was sure and warm. “Detective Frost,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hall-Bridges. She had a recent bruise running from her jaw to just below her eye, entering the black-and-purple stage.

“I’ve made a pot of tea,” she was saying. “I don’t know whether anyone will want any, but I do like to feel useful and tea is so…normal-making, isn’t it?”

He nodded, slightly bemused at her chatter. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “Very normal.”

She gave a perfunctory tap on the surgery door, opened it and disappeared inside without waiting for a response. “Sylv, Walter, I’ve made tea. Would you and your detective like to come into the drawing room?” Her voice faded, presumably as she joined them in the examination room.

There was a pause. Then, “Oh!” he heard her say. “Oh.” She sounded a little shocked. “What’s happened to her hands?” she asked.

“Scraped on the bottom on the pond I think,” Simon heard Dr Marks say. “She was face-down in the water.”

“Oh.” Miss Hall-Bridges’ voice was small. “Sylvia…there’s…she’s…I can feel…do you think…?” Her voice trailed off and Dr Marks spoke over her, clearly away they might be overhead.

“Let’s not worry about that now, shall we? The policeman is sending her down to Taunton to a postmortem. You go and take the tea-things into the drawing room. We’ll just cover her up.”

The Quid Pro Quo by A. L. Lester. Trans MC, historical, paranormal, 1920s England.

Audiobooks with new covers now available wide!

I have some very exciting news…all three of the 1920s London books are now available wide in audio with new covers!

You can find most of my audiobooks at my Authors Direct page—all three 1920s London books can be bought for $20!—but they are also available wide at Apple, Hoopla, Scribd, LibroFM, Kobo, Chirp etc. and I think Audible have them on Whispersync—I am perpetually confused by how they work. I know some audio-library services are carrying them too. I hope you enjoy listening to them as much as I’ve enjoyed hearing Callum bring the characters to life!

You can listen to the first half hour of Lost in Time here at Bookfunnel.

Lost in Time

Gruesome murders taking place across 1920s London draw Lew and Alec together through the desolation of the East End and the smoky music clubs of Soho. They both have secrets that could get them arrested or killed. In the middle of a murder investigation that involves wild magic, mysterious creatures and illegal sexual desire, who is safe to trust?

Not Lew, who is struggling to get to grips with life a century before he was born. Or Alec, who wants Lew in his bed, despite liking him for murder.

You can listen to the first half hour of Lost in Time here at Bookfunnel!

Buy Lost in Time from Authors Direct – Buy Elsewhere

#1 in the Lost in Time series. m/m paranormal, historical, romantic suspense of 53,000 words, set in 1920’s London.

Shadows on the Border

In 1920s London Lew and his lover Detective Alec Carter are working out the parameters of their new relationship. Lew is torn between staying in the past and trying to get back to 2016. Alec is wrestling with the idea of being in love with a magician. Meanwhile Alec’s sergeant, Will Grant, is drawn to the mysterious Fenn, a hunter from the Outlands.

Moving through the contrasting rich and poor areas of post-First World War London from West End hotels to the London docklands, the team need to work together to prevent more killings and choose what — and who — they may need to give up to find any kind of peace.

Buy Shadows on the Border from Authors Direct – Buy Elsewhere

#2 in the Lost in Time series. m/m and m/enby paranormal, historical, romantic suspense of 58,000 words set in 1920s London. Sequel to Lost in Time, which should be read first.

The Hunted and the Hind

Inadvertently tumbling through the border into the Outlands after Fenn, Sergeant Will Grant of the Metropolitan Police has spent three months imprisoned by the Frem. When Fenn frees him, they step through the border to the Egyptian desert. It’s a two week ocean-liner journey back to England, with the possibility of magical pursuit. Will the journey give Fenn and Will time to resolve the feelings they have been dancing around since the day they met?

Buy The Hunted and the Hind from Authors Direct – Buy Elsewhere

#3 in the Lost in Time series. m/enby paranormal, historical, romantic suspense of 40,400 words set in 1920s London. Sequel to Lost in Time and Shadows on the Border, which should be read first.

Three audiobook covers, Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border, The Hunted and the Hind.

The Hunted & the Hind: Editing sometimes means losing the good bits

Another post about The Hunted and and Hind, including a big deleted scene this week. I have just finalised the audiobook with Callum and so it will be going up to Findaway Voices in the next week or two and appearing at all your favourite online retailers soon after that.

Audiobook cover, The Hunted and the Hind

Hunted is the third in my 1920s London trilogy that began with Lost in Time. They are historical books with a paranormal twist and Hunted is the one with the most paranormal shenanigans and therefore, for me, the most difficult to write. Eventually it came in at just over forty thousand words, edited down from just over fifty.

It was so, so painful to cut out all those words I’d hammered out in the early mornings last summer and I really felt like I’d wasted my time. I’d got sucked down a rabbit-hole of too much fantasy world—in all my other books, not just the 1920s ones, the paranormal world is glimpsed from this one and is supposed to be a tip-of-the-iceberg type arrangement where neither characters nor readers can see all of it. But at the end of Shadows on the Border, poor Sergeant Will Grant got sucked through the border (or maybe he jumped through?) after Fenn, who was returning home. I knew I wanted them to be together, but I also felt it was a cop-out to just have them pop back into 1920s London from Fenn’s world at the beginning of the next book as if they’d hidden in a cupboard for a while and then re-emerged.

I ended up writing quite a bit of what turned into backstory or maybe an alternate timeline set in Fenn’s world. A few of the scenes have ended up in the finished book, but a lot of them were cut—this one for example and the one below. And the not-popping-out-of-a-cupboard problem was solved by having them re-emerge from Fenn’s world in Egypt and having a two week journey back to England.

Luckily this has given me lots and lots of deleted scenes to share! The only thing I kept in the final book from this one is the lim-moss that provides the lighting. Here it is! And do keep an eye out for the audio book in the next few weeks if you are an audio type of person!

Deleted Scene

Will leaned his head back against the wall. It was lovely to be properly warm. He didn’t think he’d been warm in all of his body at once since they’d come through the Border. “I fell.” He stated the obvious. “I fell and I put my shoulder out. I, er. I rather lost track for a bit.”
Fenn was looking at him with that steady, slightly unnerving gaze. “Come, Will. Come and bathe.” He extended a hand and Will grasped it, grateful for the help getting up. Fenn was in some sort of loose robe affair, not quite dressing gown, not quite thobe. Will still wore the remnants of his slacks and shirt.
“Let me help you?” Fenn asked him.
“Yes. All right.” He could do with the help. Fenn stepped close and put his hands inside the padded coat, on his shoulders as he slid it off down Will’s arms. He laid it on the stone bench beside them. Then he started to unbutton Will’s shirt, fumbling a little with the tiny mother of pearl buttons. Will half-shut his eyes and enjoyed not having to think of anything. “That should probably be burned.” he commented as Fenn laid that aside too. “It all should, really. I’ve been wearing it for days”.
“It is certainly not in the cleanest of conditions.” There was a smile in Fenn’s voice as he put his hands on Will’s belt. “This next?”
“I can do it.” Will’s voice was not quite steady as he took over. There was something very comforting about letting Fenn look after him. Dangerous, his hind brain told him. Dangerous to get used to it.
“Very well.” Fenn waited for him to push his trousers down and step out of them and then started unbuttoning his combinations, gently easing them over his duff shoulder. “There. It hurts?”
“Not as much as it did.” He scrunched his face up. “I’m almost getting used to it, it’s been in and out so much.” He carefully pushed his underwear down to his ankles and stepped out, naked.
“Come.” Fenn took his elbow and guided him down some shallow steps in to the pool. The warm water lapping higher around him was an almost erotic pleasure. He sighed. The pool was about chest depth and large enough to comfortably float and splash about. There seemed to be a sunken stone bench around the edges. Fenn drew him to it and sat beside him. The light was coming up from underneath.
“What’s causing the light?” he asked, with idle curiosity.
“We call it lim-light. It’s a kind of moss. We use it everywhere – you just need a little piece of it and it spreads steadily. Very convenient.” Fenn laid his head back on the edge of the pool and sunk down a little further, shutting his eyes. “Graces, I missed this. Your people do not have good baths, Will Grant.”
He sounded so complacent that Will chuckled a little. He could feel the aches soaking out of him already. He splashed Fenn with a small wave that lapped over his face, making his silver eyelashes clump together as he laughed softly and opened his lids a little, directing his sleepy gaze at Will, eyes still protected by that inner eyelid. “It is true. You know it is true. Since, since the Romans! You have not had proper baths.”
Will snorted at that. “You aren’t allowed to read my mind in order to be smug at me.” He chided.
“It was on the surface. You were shouting.” Fenn shut his eyes again, glimmer of humour fading. “You did not ask me about Keren.”
“No.” Will was solemn now, too. “No. I didn’t. I just assumed. When you didn’t come back. Is he still alive?”
“No. No, he is not. He tried to escape when he realised that I could not come back and the carnas got him by the shimmer, out at the Eastern Point, where I first went through. Malach said it was quick.” He passed a hand over his lashes, rubbing dampness off them. “I loathe Malach. I always have. They are always so reasonable.” He sat up and pushed off with his feet, moving to the other side of the pool, unable to stay still. “I understand their position. Of course I do. But to use my sibling to force me in to something I would have done regardless.” He put his hands over his face. “I am at a loss, Will.”
Will stood too and went over to him, waist deep in the warm water. What could he say? There was nothing to say to a man who’s brother, little more than a child, had been killed by those things. And for no reason. Just another senseless death. He found that he had said it aloud. “A senseless death.” He put his hand on Fenn’s shoulder, a firm, comforting grip.
Fenn moved closer, resting his head on Will’s shoulder, his hand on Will’s neck to hold him close. Will brought his other arm around him and clasped him tightly, in silence. It was perfectly peaceful in the cavern, like this. No sound except the deep green lapping of the water and the steady breathing of two people who had lost more than either of them deserved. Fenn stepped back a little, opening up the space between them. “For all that you have done for me, Will Grant …” he raised his gaze from the surface of the pool and met Will’s as he stretched out a hand and very lightly touched Will’s wet shoulder. The water droplets glimmered with lim-light as he removed his hand. Will shut his eyes briefly at the intensity of the sensation. When he opened them again, Fenn was watching him. His nictating membrane was open in the dim light of the cavern and the beech green of his eyes was as startling as the first time Will had seen it. Neither of them moved. They were both breathing as if they had been running. “For all that you have done for me, Will … I am thankful.” His voice was lower than before.
He dropped his eyes to his fingers as he raised them out of the water again to Will’s shoulder, running them slowly down over his pectoral to his nipple. Will watched too, biting his lip and concentrating on keeping his breath steady. The long, elegant fingers circled around the little peak, pearled with water. “Fenn.” He said.
“Will.” Will could hear the hunger in his voice, hidden under a smile.