World Letter Writing Day: A Flowering of Ink by K. L. Noone

Thanks to Ally for letting me stop by! I’m so excited about this project – last year’s Naked Gardening Day collection was such fun that we definitely needed to get the band back together, this time for World Letter Writing Day! Holly, Ally, Nell and I have stories out this weekend, and Amy will hopefully join us a bit later!

“A Flowering of Ink” is m/m contemporary romance, 26,839 words, and it starts with Burne, a scientist on an isolated island, and Devon, a lonely architect in a thunderstorm house, and a piece of misdirected mail. And then someone writes back…

For this story, I actually did a lot of research into, er, research – that is, what kind of work Burne would be doing, as a scientist, out on a small island off the coast of California! I did a lot of looking into the work that’s being done on the Channel Islands (the ones near California, I mean – Anacapa, Santa Barbara, San Miguel, and so on): everything from studies of rare isolated ecosystems to excavations of Paleolithic rocks! The National Parks website for the Channel Islands is great for that; there’s even a lovely little 24-minute film about the islands! I’m not really a scientist but I come from a family of them; my father is a certified nurseryman (that’s plants, not babies) and gardener, so some of that’s in the background too – and it was a neat little carryover, thematically, from the Naked Gardening theme last year!

I can’t wait to see what we come up with next year – already looking forward to it! I’ve loved getting to see the stories my fellow authors have dreamed up—always so different and fascinating, despite the same starting-point! And, of course, full of romance.

I hope you enjoy our stories—and here’s an exclusive excerpt from mine, below!

A Flowering of Ink by K.L. Noone

One misdirected card…and a chance at love.

Cover of A Flowering of Ink

Professor Burne Cameron loves his job and his environmental research. Unfortunately, three months of field work on a tiny island can get pretty lonely, especially when even his brother forgets his birthday. That is, until an unexpected letter arrives…and Burne finds himself fascinated by the mysterious sender.

Devon Lilian lives alone in a house he’s designed, full of roses and ocean views. His architectural designs are famous, but Devon has reasons for not going out in public. But when a misdirected birthday card for a Professor Cameron turns up at his house, Devon has to send it on…and can’t resist adding a note of his own, a gift for a scientist who might be equally alone.

As Burne and Devon trade letters across the sea, they fall for each other in ink and paper—but now Burne’s research is nearly complete, so he’s coming home.

And Burne and Devon will have to decide whether they can write the rest of their love story together…once they finally meet.

Buy Links: Amazon : JMS Books

Excerpt:

The mail boat did not come every day, and even the first arrival, three days later, was a disappointment; Burne knew rationally that that was too soon, given that the post took time and Devon probably hadn’t answered immediately, but he nevertheless felt a pang in his chest, a drop of rain piercing inside.

He did some comparative growth rate analysis, grumpily. He went for walks along the pebbled beach, down to the harbor amid the sound of lapping water, up alone into the rolling summertime green-gold hills. He had meals with friends and colleagues, and chatted about research and family updates and plans upon returning home: in one case a baseball game, in another case a family reunion.

He looked at his art. He ended up smiling: even if Devon hadn’t bothered to write back and this whole odd pen-pal conversation had ended, he still had those sketches. A gift. Because someone had been kind.

He did hope Devon would write back. He’d understand if not. He’d asked questions and been intrusive, and Devon no doubt had a life and no time for a random letter-exchange with a random scientist who rambled about flowers and had sand in his beard.

But he liked Devon, or he thought he did. He liked the person who shared his sense of humor, who’d shared art with him. He wanted to spend more time with that person. Even if only on a page, in ink and words and shapes.

Three days after that, he was lying on some sun-warmed rocks and sticking a monitor into the bed of a tidepool when Mike materialized behind him. “Mail came.”

“What? Ow.” Burne hit his elbow on the rock, shooting upright. “That’s early!”

“Nah, you’ve just been busy. Put something on your desk. Looks like a book. Feels like a book.”

“A book?”

“There’s dried grass in your hair.”

“There’s what? Oh—thanks, it gets everywhere—oh, damn, that’s not properly anchored—”

“I’ll fix it. Go on.”

“Really?”

“It’s what grad students’re for. Being helpful. If it’s a book, can I borrow it later? I’ve read everything I brought.”

“Maybe. Thanks again—”

“Comb your hair!” Mike yelled at his back, laughing. Burne contemplated the relative dignity of PhD candidates versus associate professors, and finally just ran away.

He did try to run hasty fingers through his hair, in his office. And then he wondered why—not as if he were about to have a video chat—and cleared his throat and sat down. Professorial. In charge of the situation. His chair creaked, snickering at him.

The small box on his desk had a post-office printed label. But the name, the return address—

Burne shut his eyes, opened them. Knew he was grinning, ear to ear. Did not care whether anyone, grad students or dried roots or computer data, saw.

He opened the box. He found the book, which had a letter tucked inside, which he discovered upon picking up the book and hastily catching the envelope as it slid. Pages opened; a beautiful spray of illustrated purple needlegrass, Nasella pulchra, displayed hand-drawn antique color for him. Entranced, Burne drifted through a few more chapters, basked in a fifty-years-ago author’s love of California wild oats and lemonade berry.

Devon had sent him a book. A gorgeous book.

And a letter. He pounced on it.

About K.L. Noone:

K.L. Noone teaches college students about superheroes and Shakespeare by day, and writes LGBTQ+ romance – frequently paranormal or with fantasy elements, and always with happy endings – when not grading papers or researching medieval outlaw life. She also likes cats, a good dark craft beer, and the sound of ocean waves.

Come say hi! Blog : Twitter/X : Facebook : Instagram : Mastodon : Amazon

Love, Isidor by Nell Iris

Hi! *waving happily* Thanks for inviting me to your blog, Ally, it’s always a pleasure to be here.

After we finished our Naked Gardening Day project, we wanted to work together again because it was so much fun, and after some back-and-forth about what theme to pick, we settled on World Letter Writing Day because who doesn’t like letters, right? 😍

I do, so I voted enthusiastically for a letter theme when we decided, and I was certain I’d write a proper epistolary story because I absolutely adore them. Instead, one of my friends unknowingly gave me another idea. She’s French and she told me a story about her grandparents, and how they were separated because her grandfather was sent to a forced labor camp during WW2. They wrote letters to each other when he was away, and many years later, the family found the grandfather’s letters in a box. My friend told me that she cried when she read them, and that she could feel the pain of the separation in them.

Saved letters, in a box, or tied with a pretty ribbon, is far from a new or unusual thing, but my friend’s grandfather’s letters stuck with me, and a box of letters snuck into my story.

Cover of Love, Isidor and a letter saying Dear Henri, don't go, don't don't go. Love Isidor. Available now! Second chances, epistolary, class differences, hurt-comfort.

Love, Isidor

Dear Henri, there was a man at the restaurant this evening who looked so much like you that I winked at him and laughed.

One letter from his ex, Isidor, is all it takes to turn Henri’s world upside down. It’s been a decade since they broke up, a decade since they couldn’t make their long-distance relationship work despite their best efforts.

Do you ever think back on the decisions we made and wonder if we could’ve tried harder?

Isidor was the one that got away, the one who’s impossible to forget, and Henri still questions the decisions they made back then. Could they have fought harder for what they had?

My darling Henri. I still dream of you after all this time.

Is ten years apart too long, or will old feelings reignite when Henri and Isidor meet again?

M/M Contemporary / 15111 words

Buy links: JMS Books:: Amazon :: Books2Read

Cover, Love, Isidor

About Nell

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males. She published her first book in 2017.

Nell is an author with a day job that steals too much time from her writing, her reading, her gardening, and her crocheting. She’s an introverted tea drinker who loves her family, her books, and her home in the Swedish countryside.

Find Nell on social media: Newsletter :: Webpage/blog :: Twitter :: Facebook Page :: Facebook Profile :: Goodreads :: Bookbub :: Bluesky

Excerpt:

“Did you expect me to reply to your letter?”

“I hoped, but…” He shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d write me an actual letter. I would have thought an email, or maybe a phone call asking ‘What the hell, Isidor?’ but your letter…it surprised me.”

“Good or bad surprise?”

“Good. I figured you’d just throw away my letter and go on with your life if you didn’t want to speak to me again. And you wouldn’t suggest our spot if you weren’t at least a little interested.”

He’s right, of course. Can he know me still, after all these years? Haven’t I changed at all? “Back to my first question that you ignored. Tell me something about yourself that I need to know.”

He doesn’t reply for several minutes, but I’m in no hurry; it’ll take several hours for us to reach Uppsala, which means I have a lot of time to take him in, to memorize all the new things that weren’t there when I saw him last.

Like the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes; they’re thin and fine, as though he doesn’t smile a lot, and his mouth, serious and somber, confirms my theory. The hint of stubble on his face and neck says he shaved before bed yesterday instead of this morning. I used to love it when he’d rub his stubbly face all over my body making me squirm and pant and hard.

But he’d also tease my ticklish spots, making me squirm for completely different reasons. His eyes would shine with mirth, and he’d laugh at me when I tried to wriggle away from him, begging for mercy.

He was always a serious person, but he’d let go when we were in bed. He allowed himself to be romantic and sentimental, but also silly and nonsensical. Has he allowed himself to behave like that since we broke up? Did he find another guy he could tease with his stubble and tickle to death with his thick fingers?

Jealousy flares up in my chest at the thought.

“I wrote you letters,” he says, yanking me out of my study of him. “Before this one, I mean, I wrote you many letters. But I never sent them. I couldn’t. They’re still in a box in my closet.”

“Wha…” My chin threatens to wobble, and I look away for a moment, forcing breath into my lungs so I can finish what I was going to say. “What made you send this one?”

“It was that guy in the restaurant I wrote to you about. My heart did this weird…” he gestures for his chest as though he’s trying to show me, “this weird…jump…when I thought it was you. After all these years, I wanted to rush over to you, him, whatever, and fucking beg you for a second chance if I had to. I didn’t expect such an…intense reaction. I thought I’d gotten over you.” He clenches his teeth. “Or hoped, is the more truthful word, I guess. And I hadn’t written a letter to you in years, so I thought I’d broken the habit. I hadn’t planned on sending this one either, but…somehow…I found myself putting it in the mailbox. As though I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Do you regret sending it?”

He glowers at me, not deigning to a verbal reply.

“Would you let me read the unsent letters?” My voice is so thick, I can hardly interpret my own words.

“Yes. Of course. They’re yours.”

Buy links: JMS Books:: Amazon :: Books2Read

It’s release day for the World Letter Writing Day Novellas!

It’s that time again! I’m very pleased to announce that the Naked Gardening Day Team are back. We had such fun working together last year that we decided to choose another day to write about this year and landed on World Letter Writing Day on 1st September.

Today I’ve got an excerpt for you below, and over the next few days I’ll be featuring posts from Holly Day, K. L. Noone and Nell Iris and I’ll also be visiting their blogs to talk about my own story, Reading it Wrong. This year we are very sorry to be missing Amy Spector, but we’re hoping her story will be released in time for the paperback anthology next year.

The four World Letter Writing Day novella covers

Without further ado…Reading it Wrong

A date turned down. A stolen letter. A reminder that nerds don’t just play board games. Reading it Wrong is a gentle MM romance set in the small town world of Theatr Fach.

Reading it Wrong. A date turned down. A stolen letter. A reminder that nerds don't just play board games. Reading it wrong is a gentle gay romance sent in the small town world of Theatr Fach.

Paul Cranford regrets asking Louise and Darcy Middleton to let the kids from his class have a look at the fifteenth century letter they’re selling at auction. If it hadn’t been for him, it would never have been in the theatre overnight to even get stolen in the first place.

Darcy isn’t keen on Paul Cranford. He’s never quite got over the way Paul knocked him back when Darcy tried to ask him out. But when the letter is stolen from the theatre and Darcy is hurt in the process, Paul steps up to help him and he starts to understand where he’s coming from.

Getting back the letter means they get to know each other better. Will that date Paul turned down happen after all?

A date turned down. A stolen letter. A reminder that nerds don’t just play board games. Reading it Wrong is a gentle MM romance set in the small town world of Theatr Fach.

Buy Links: Amazon US : Amazon UK : JMS Books : Everywhere Else : Goodreads

Cover of Reading it Wrong
Reading it Wrong: Chapter 1: Darcy
“How can a town support not one, but two antiquarian book sellers? It’s bloody ridiculous!” Darcy fumed at his sister as she peered through her glasses at the laptop screen.
He was so irritated he was pacing to-and-fro in front of the counter, waving his arms.
Louise started to answer, “Well, Hay does…” and then glanced up and over his shoulder, frowning at him in passing. “Hello there, can I help you?” she asked the person he’d failed to notice coming up behind him.
Darcy swung round as he stepped out of the way.
Oh. No. That was just what he needed.
Paul Cranford nodded to him politely but didn’t meet his eyes, instead smiling at Louise as he stepped up to the desk. “Er. Yes,” he said. “I’ve, er—” He glanced quickly and dismissively over at Darcy again, who’d folded his arms and was glaring at him. “Hi Louise, how are you?”
“I’m good thanks, Paul. How are you? How’s David? Is he still at the boatyard?”
Paul smiled at her. “Yes! They’re doing really well; they’ve got some big contracts in at the moment. I’m sure he’d send his best to you.”
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen him,” Louise said. “A couple of years, at least. He’s not a reader.” She grinned at him.
“He’s more outdoorsy than me,” Paul told her. “Always has been. I was a failure as a little brother.” He smiled as he said it, clearly joking.
“I remember from school,” Louise said. “He did all sorts of sport. I remember him badgering you to join in and you being happier in the library. What are you looking for today? Can I help you with anything? That new release you’re waiting for hasn’t come in yet,” she said regretfully.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not why I’ve come by,” he said. “It’s something different. I’m here for a favour actually.”
Darcy didn’t bother to stifle his huff of irritation. “A favour,” he said, flatly, at the same time as Louise said, “Anything I can do to help! What sort of favour?”
Paul glanced over at Darcy for a second time as he interjected and then looked back at Louise, ignoring him. That wound Darcy up even more, but Louise gave him a quelling look and said, “Be quiet please, baby brother!” and then turned back to Paul. “What sort of favour?”
Darcy growled under his breath. She never let him forget he’d been an afterthought to their parents and was fifteen years younger than her.
“Right, er. Well. You know I teach at St Baruc Primary. I… er. I heard about the letter that you’re selling.”
Louise nodded. “The letter… we’re selling it at auction, in the middle of the week,” she said. “At the theatre. On Thursday.”
“Yes,” he said.” “I. Er. I wonder if it would be possible for the children to see it before it’s sold?” he said.
“Why?” said Darcy, sharply. It wasn’t any of his business really, but Paul put his back up simply by existing these days and this was his sister and the letter he’d found. Nothing to do with Mr Paul I’m too good to date you Cranford.
Paul looked over at him again, polite enough to notice him this time. “Oh, hello, Darcy,” he said. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blushed. “Well,” he said. “It’s local history. It’s important.”
Darcy opened his mouth and then closed it again. He couldn’t argue with that.
“I mean…it’s not local, local. But from what I’ve read about it, it’s a very normal sort of letter, about family and Christmas and things like that. I think the kids would be able to identify with it. We’re doing a letter-writing project, you see.”
Louise was making a thinking noise. “Hmm. Yes. I can see that. It’s not here though. It’s at the bank.” She pulled a face. “I wonder… I can probably get it out the day before the auction for them to see. Would that work?”
Darcy made another muffled noise of dissent. It was a fifteenth century letter, for God’s sake. Letting a sticky-fingered bunch of pre-teens have at it the day before it went up for sale for thousands of quid seemed really unwise.
But Louise was nodding and Paul was nodding and giving Louise his mobile number and everything seemed copacetic between them. Nothing to do with Darcy. Nothing at all. He turned round and busied himself shelving the Victorian fairy-tale collection Louise had bought last week.
“Bye, Darcy,” Paul said, finally taking his leave. “See you on Wednesday.”
“Yeah, see you,” Darcy said, mentally snarking Not if I can help it.
They were both members of the Llanbaruc Boardgames Club that met in the theatre café on a Wednesday evening. Darcy ran the café, so he’d negotiated with his boss to let them meet there and have access to the bar.
He didn’t know exactly when he’d taken against Paul. Oh. Yeah, he did. It was the evening Darcy had suggested they go out for a drink together one night and Paul had looked at him as if he was something that had come in on the bottom of his shoe and said “Er. No. No, I don’t think so, thanks. I don’t, er… I’m not… erm. No. Thanks,” and reversed away from him so quickly he’d knocked into the game of Risk going on behind him and caused South America to inadvertently invade Australasia via Finland.

Buy Links: Amazon US : Amazon UK : JMS Books : Everywhere Else : Goodreads
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