Newsletter number eight
May. 14th, 2010 03:11 pmNewsletter number eight and, at least in theory, this is mid May - even if the heating’s back on and I’ve got my jumpers back out of the closet.
News
I'm taking part in Spring Showers over at Coffee Time Romance. I've posted an excerpt of Lessons in Love here. Please drop by and ask me anything you want to about the Cambridge boys (or anything else!) It'll be there till the end of the month and I'll drop by regularly to post answers.
There’s a new Samhain newsletter, which will focus and feature upcoming and new releases - both in eBook and Print - as well as free downloads and contests. You can sign up here.
On Monday 24th I’ll be talking to the local chapter of the Romantic Novelists Association on the subject of e-books. I’ve been getting some really good feedback from people about what they think the pros and cons are so, if you’ve anything you’d like to say, do let me know and I’ll add it to my presentation. (I’ll need a stiff gin and tonic, first…)
Back catalogue
The story I’ve enjoyed writing the most is a little short called ‘Wolves of the West’, from the anthology Queerwolf. Here’s a snippet:
The chairman rapped the table with his gavel. “I bring this meeting of the Western Lycanthropes to order.” Anyone observing the handsome, studious faces around the table would have felt there was no apparent disorder to deal with. The only indications that this wasn’t some dry, departmental meeting came from the occasional, anxious glances which the participants cast over to the windows, where a bank of cloud obscured the night sky. That and the fact that their clothes were neatly piled behind their chairs, ready to be claimed the next day, should it prove necessary.
“Gentlemen, we begin with a paper on the Red wolf, Canis lupus rufus.”
Rory’s mind began to wander. He’d heard many a paper–scientific, historical, literary–over the years, as they’d waited for the leaden English skies to clear. This one didn’t enthuse him. Not like the occasion when someone had presented a cogent–if only in their eyes–case that Esau had indeed been one of their brethren, which would explain the hairiness. A thesis countered by another member who’d sworn blind that Esau had been a Neanderthal. Harsh words and blows had ensued, turning to snarls and bites as the moon had broached the clouds. Things rarely got that exciting.
Well, Rory reflected, casting a surreptitious glance around the room, we’re hardly an exciting bunch. Most of his associates worked in museums or universities, although one particularly enterprising lad had secured a job behind the meat counter at Harrod’s. That was one way of mixing business and pleasure. Given that those present shared more than just the tendency to be influenced by the full moon, it might have seemed surprising that none of them were employed in the entertainment industry. Yet, while it would be easy to hide your sexual inclinations in a profession awash with the gay and eccentric, how could you take the stage as Romeo if the lunar calendar didn’t work out? You might find yourself appearing more like Chewbacca.
“Long term analysis of mitochondrial DNA…” the speaker droned on.
Rory looked out at the dark, lowering sky; not even the brightest moon could penetrate that yet. There’d be plenty of wet commuters, scurrying home under hats and umbrellas. Still, a community of like minded–or like skinned–people could find worse places to live or work. If only the little patisserie sold pain au pate de fois gras or the French ice cream shop produced a monthly batch of chicken and raspberry ripple, it might be well nigh ideal. There was also the positive advantage that when the full moon coincided with a football match, you could travel home and no-one noticed the difference.
Whether local house prices would be quite so buoyant if anyone realized how many of the flats off the high road were occupied by those of a lycanthropic inclination, was unlikely. There would always be the worry that, no matter how well bred these creatures were, they might frighten the au pair, who’d head back to Croatia, or wherever, leaving no-one to look after little Georgina.
At least their sexual orientation would be less of an issue, its significance reducing as you got further west, where the rainbow flags flew proudly. There was another community of similarly inclined–in both senses–gentlemen down South, who benefited from the same open-mindedness of their neighbors, although no-one was sure what the reaction would be should these men take to the beach in all their hirsute glory. Maybe the little old ladies would just think someone was exercising a pack of particularly shaggy greyhounds. Anyway, the Wolves of the West mob regarded their southern brethren with disdain, convinced they were common, plebeian and too fond of fish and chips.
Inspiration
I love animals, particularly these little blighters. Love them so much that I add captions. (Am seven, really)
News
I'm taking part in Spring Showers over at Coffee Time Romance. I've posted an excerpt of Lessons in Love here. Please drop by and ask me anything you want to about the Cambridge boys (or anything else!) It'll be there till the end of the month and I'll drop by regularly to post answers.
There’s a new Samhain newsletter, which will focus and feature upcoming and new releases - both in eBook and Print - as well as free downloads and contests. You can sign up here.
On Monday 24th I’ll be talking to the local chapter of the Romantic Novelists Association on the subject of e-books. I’ve been getting some really good feedback from people about what they think the pros and cons are so, if you’ve anything you’d like to say, do let me know and I’ll add it to my presentation. (I’ll need a stiff gin and tonic, first…)
Back catalogue
The story I’ve enjoyed writing the most is a little short called ‘Wolves of the West’, from the anthology Queerwolf. Here’s a snippet:
The chairman rapped the table with his gavel. “I bring this meeting of the Western Lycanthropes to order.” Anyone observing the handsome, studious faces around the table would have felt there was no apparent disorder to deal with. The only indications that this wasn’t some dry, departmental meeting came from the occasional, anxious glances which the participants cast over to the windows, where a bank of cloud obscured the night sky. That and the fact that their clothes were neatly piled behind their chairs, ready to be claimed the next day, should it prove necessary.
“Gentlemen, we begin with a paper on the Red wolf, Canis lupus rufus.”
Rory’s mind began to wander. He’d heard many a paper–scientific, historical, literary–over the years, as they’d waited for the leaden English skies to clear. This one didn’t enthuse him. Not like the occasion when someone had presented a cogent–if only in their eyes–case that Esau had indeed been one of their brethren, which would explain the hairiness. A thesis countered by another member who’d sworn blind that Esau had been a Neanderthal. Harsh words and blows had ensued, turning to snarls and bites as the moon had broached the clouds. Things rarely got that exciting.
Well, Rory reflected, casting a surreptitious glance around the room, we’re hardly an exciting bunch. Most of his associates worked in museums or universities, although one particularly enterprising lad had secured a job behind the meat counter at Harrod’s. That was one way of mixing business and pleasure. Given that those present shared more than just the tendency to be influenced by the full moon, it might have seemed surprising that none of them were employed in the entertainment industry. Yet, while it would be easy to hide your sexual inclinations in a profession awash with the gay and eccentric, how could you take the stage as Romeo if the lunar calendar didn’t work out? You might find yourself appearing more like Chewbacca.
“Long term analysis of mitochondrial DNA…” the speaker droned on.
Rory looked out at the dark, lowering sky; not even the brightest moon could penetrate that yet. There’d be plenty of wet commuters, scurrying home under hats and umbrellas. Still, a community of like minded–or like skinned–people could find worse places to live or work. If only the little patisserie sold pain au pate de fois gras or the French ice cream shop produced a monthly batch of chicken and raspberry ripple, it might be well nigh ideal. There was also the positive advantage that when the full moon coincided with a football match, you could travel home and no-one noticed the difference.
Whether local house prices would be quite so buoyant if anyone realized how many of the flats off the high road were occupied by those of a lycanthropic inclination, was unlikely. There would always be the worry that, no matter how well bred these creatures were, they might frighten the au pair, who’d head back to Croatia, or wherever, leaving no-one to look after little Georgina.
At least their sexual orientation would be less of an issue, its significance reducing as you got further west, where the rainbow flags flew proudly. There was another community of similarly inclined–in both senses–gentlemen down South, who benefited from the same open-mindedness of their neighbors, although no-one was sure what the reaction would be should these men take to the beach in all their hirsute glory. Maybe the little old ladies would just think someone was exercising a pack of particularly shaggy greyhounds. Anyway, the Wolves of the West mob regarded their southern brethren with disdain, convinced they were common, plebeian and too fond of fish and chips.
Inspiration
I love animals, particularly these little blighters. Love them so much that I add captions. (Am seven, really)