Early Reflections #BOW

 

Typing THE END never gets old. There's always a point in the writing of every book, somewhere between 50-60k words, when I become convinced I can't finish. But then I do, and then it's time for editing, and proofing, and promotion, and diving into the next project. Right now, my priority is getting Blood of Wolves into everyone's hands, and then, after, working where and when I can as the holiday rush begins. 

As I've wrapped up this third installment of the Drake Chronicles, I've been thinking a lot about the direction in which I want to take this series, and my intent with it. Despite some violence and bloodshed, and the ever-increasing prevalence of necromancy courtesy of one bratty Corpse Lord, this series is much lighter in tone than some of my other fare - and that is most definitely by design. Themes of power, and privilege, and leadership are certainly present, but the overall tone of the series is far less grim than, say, GOT. (Some day I'll blog coherently about the ways the show ignored all the books' references to history and classic literature and just bulled right ahead with a misguided attempt to create a purely post-modern epic fantasy, but today is not that day.) Sons of Rome is fantasy rooted in the real world, with all the real world's baggage and blunders; I wanted the Drake Chronicles to feel more like a fairy tale: true escapism with a softer edge. 

Another thing I decided, early on, was to keep the books to a more manageable length. SoR is full-tilt fantasy pacing along the lines of Jordan or Sanderson. Fat, doorstop books that fully explore the histories and motivations of our characters. I'm taking the same approach to character development here, with the Drakes, but it's less doorstop, more bite-size installment form. It IS still fantasy, however, which means the story is ongoing, evolving, and I'm not sure, at this point, how many books it will contain. I originally said "upwards of five," and that's definitely true, but I've seen it referred to as a trilogy, or as a definite five-book series, and neither of those is true. I don't know how long it will be - as long as it takes to resolve all the character arcs. 

That's the common thread running through all my work: the focus is on the characters. The themes may be different, the tone, the style, even, but it's always character-driven. Dartmoor is - well, let's face it, despite my early efforts to spin it as some sort of sultry Southern epic - more or less just cheap debauchery at its finest. Down and dirty contemporary with (mostly) tidy storylines in each book, genre its main appeal. Hell Theory is weird, dystopian erotica. Sons of Rome is my big, ponderous, diesel-engine slow-build series, where I get to play with all my favorite tropes, themes, and storytelling devices. And then there's the Drakes, sweet and fluffy as fresh snowfall, but with that dangerous undercurrent that makes fantasy so damn fun to read. 

I'm off to crawl into my editing spiderhole, but be on the lookout for BoW teasers and updates and so forth. I'm very excited about the way the title of this book ties into the story itself. Every story needs werewolves. Given enough time, I think I could even figure out a way to put wolf shifters in Dartmoor 😉

#BoW Teaser: The Consort and the Corpse Lord

 *Has not finished the book yet*

*Holds out lengthy Oliver and Náli-centric teaser as peace offering*

So far, Oliver had learned several truths about flying:

One: ascent and descent were the most thrilling aspects. When your stomach dropped, and the world tilted, and the dragon’s strength became most apparent.

Two: once up at a good flying height, where the drakes could glide along without working too hard, flapping only occasionally and maintaining a steady elevation, the thrill of peeking down through the clouds lost some of its shine. Oliver didn’t want to say it got boring, but, well…it was rather quiet. With just the rush of the wind in his ears, and the monotonous slap of cold air against his face.

Speaking of which…

Three: flying up in the high, cold air for long periods chapped his lips and his cheeks, and left his eyes dry and stinging.

“Gods, I can’t do this anymore.”

Four: when he wasn’t besting anyone in a duel, or playing the imperious Corpse Lord, Náli was an absolute brat.

Updates and Such

It's been a minute since I've done an update post that wasn't something quick on Twitter or FB, so I thought it might help to consolidate the info and hopefully get everyone up to speed. 

Long story short - it's been a busy summer, with contracting crews in the house off and on since March and lots of around-the-farm projects to tackle before cold weather sets in. Throw in being sick, and I've been far less productive when it comes to writing than I wanted to be. Last year, for only the second time ever, I managed to release five projects - but that's not usual. I'm a lone wolf indie without a "team" behind me - by design, at this point, because I enjoy doing things my way, thanks very much - and so the whole publishing process isn't the speedy, book-a-month churning-out of work that's come to be expected from indies and self-pubbers (also, more "authors" than you think are groups of ghost-writers working in tandem to produce books at an alarming rate, so, those "standards" are skewed...).

Anyway. Suffice to say I'm not where I want to be, which means Blood of Wolves is still in progress. I'd hoped to have it out in August, but I'm still writing, and I don't have a set date. I don't really do set dates as a general rule, because I'd rather take the time a story needs to develop rather than rush toward an arbitrary finish line. So, right now, I'm going to say October, but please be aware that this is subject to change. 

I've had quite a few questions across mediums about The Wild Charge, and my answer is the same as when I began posting the book: I don't know when the final product will be available for sale. I'm posting each chapter as it is written, and it is not my primary project. Some weeks I get out two updates, and some weeks I don't work on it at all; it just depends. It's free to read on Wattpad, and you can find it HERE, for now.

As for Lionheart...man, I hate to say it, but I haven't written more than a handful of sentences for that big boy all summer. Sons of Rome is my pride and joy, my favorite series, my favorite group of characters - but it is an incredibly time-intensive, mentally-demanding project. The threads of past and present, the blending of real history with the paranormal bits I've invented demand a more tranquil writing environment than what I've been able to foster this year. I need to get some other projects released, and then clear some time in my schedule so I can work on LH and LH only for a little while. I'm so, so appreciative of the patience for those of you waiting for it - all wonderful three of you, lol. I love this series to bits, but I know its audience is incredibly tiny, so, sadly, it's had to get pushed to the back burner over and over the last two years. 

All that's to say: I don't have release dates for anything. I will be putting something out this fall, hopefully soon. BOW is the closest to complete, and also the priority right now; The Wild Charge has low interest on Wattpad (as I predicted earlier this year), so it's just a whenever I feel like it sort of thing, and LH is on hold until I can give it the time it deserves - epic fantasy is not a quick, dirty endeavor, and it IS epic fantasy, not to be confused with anything else. 

That's all for now. Everyone have a great weekend, I'm going back to work. 

Here's a BOW teaser to tide you over:

Percy lifted his head, buckles on his new bridle jangling as he swung around to look at Erik – to greet him, Oliver realized, as the drake leaned in close and huffed through his nose, breath stirring Erik’s hair. Erik lifted his free hand – because he carried something tucked under his arm with the other, Oliver saw – and placed his palm gently on the end of Percy’s nose.

An Announcement

I have an announcement. 

Ooh, boy, the flu kicked my ass for two weeks. I had a few days in there when I started to feel a little better, and then would backslide. But now it seems I'm finally back on track. For obvious reasons, I didn't get much writing done in those two weeks, which puts me behind my personal goals, which is annoying. But I did do a lot of reading - a lot of fanfic reading - and a lot of thinking. About a lot of things.

I've always loved fic. I love the creativity, and the bite-sized chunks of character deep-dives; the ways writers expand on characters I already love and fill in all the gaps of story canon. From a writing standpoint, that's always been the way I work best: telling a story one chapter at a time. Blocking off a few months to write an entire manuscript in solitude, hoping people will actually read it once it's done is grueling. I've honestly never understood the way some readers reject installment-form stories: I would rather a story never finish, but have given me what enjoyment it could than never have read any of it at all. Better to have loved and lost, right? 

When I started back to work, I spent half a day reading through the docs in my WIP folder, and, on reckless impulse, opened up my Reese and Tenny doc. I said months ago that I was washing my hands of that series because I'm sick to death of the hassle and bullshit people have given me about it. Like hell was I going to set aside my fun fantasy projects, block off four months, and write a book that I'm still not convinced will actually be read. But I read through that doc - I've got 23k words done on it - and...it didn't suck. In fact, I really liked it. Because even if I'm sick to death of being considered a one-trick pony, even if there are moments when I don't even want to speak the word "Dartmoor," Reese and Tenny were the thing I was looking forward to. I wrote Lone Star and Homecoming for the sole purpose of setting up their book. 

I have a love/hate relationship with Dartmoor. I never wanted to write an MC series, but when the jackals swooped in and started lifting whole-ass scenes from my fanfics to put into their self-pubbed biker books - when a few had the audacity to ask if they could "have" my ideas if I was "done with them." Then? That was the gauntlet throw-down. I was going to take my ideas back, and I was not going to write an MC romance series - I was going to write a series about a messed-up found family that happened to be bikers. 

I've been incredibly proud of certain scenes and moments. But over the years, realizing that the series was never going to be what people wanted, being bullied, and harried, the shine wore off. The bad outweighed the good. I didn't want to write a series *just* for the biker aspect - I wanted to write for people who genuinely loved the characters and were willing to follow them down some genre-atypical roads. 

I was honestly surprised by the number of people who reached out, after my March blog post, both in public and private, urging me to change my mind. Some of those people asked for more Dartmoor. 

And some of those people wanted to read the rest of Reese and Tenny's story.

So. I'm doing this for the Reese and Tenny lovers. Because I love them, too. And because, despite all the bad, I know there are quiet, kind fans out there who I'll be letting down if I don't see this thing through. 

But we're doing it on my terms. I will not be badgered into anything. I'm not setting out to write an MC book - no checking boxes on anything. These boys were raised as assassins and spies, and those themes are going to be front-and-center. I won't be delaying my other projects, so The Wild Charge will be published chapter-by-chapter on Wattpad, just like Snow In Texas and Tastes Like Candy. I'll start by posting the chapters I already have completed, and, if there's interest and enthusiasm, then I'll keep writing and adding chapters until the story is complete. 

Here's the thing, though: I'm not going to tolerate any nonsense. If anyone feels the need to leave a snide or disparaging comment on my FB page or blog, I'm deleting it. There are public spaces where you can say whatever you want, but, to quote Ghost, my personal pages are "the United States of [Gilley] and your First Amendment rights do not apply here." If you don't like M/M books, don't like "spy shit," and are mainly concerned with the Motorcycle Club aesthetic of the series, then I'll say upfront that this is not the book for you. If you can't read until the whole thing's available, fine, but you don't need to come tell me that. 

Like I said before: this is for Reese and Tenny. It's for the sweet readers who really are interested in them. I have no idea if that group of readers is large or small, but I guess we'll find out. I'm also doing this for me, because, if I stop worrying about delivering a bog-standard "MC read" for the general audience, then this is going to be a kickass, smutty action/adventure story with a wild plot and plenty of Devin Green's brood. 

The prologue and first two chapters just went up on Wattpad. Be forewarned that this is an M/M romance with explicit sex, lots of violence, intrigue, spec ops and spy action, and a healthy dose of childhood trauma. Usual trigger warnings apply: graphic sex, torture, gunplay, you know, all that. Mercy is a trigger warning all on his own. 

When you're an artist, the weigh to expectation can feel crushing. It's important to remind myself every so often that I don't have to do anything that I don't want to; the weight can only crush you if you let it.

Fans, thank you.

Haters, to the left. 

A storm is brewing, and the Lean Dogs find themselves in the center of it. What at first seemed like a routine clash with a cartel proves to be part of a much more sinister - and more powerful - operation than any of them expected. The Dogs have a choice: back out now, play dumb...or go full-on vigilante. 

Tennyson Fox has a new name, a new home, a new family...and, if he can admit it to himself, the chance to love and be loved. He and Reese - trained assassins both - will be at the spearhead of the Dogs' move on Abacus, and the two young lovers have to balance their burgeoning relationship with the thing they do best: killing. 

Book nine of the Dartmoor Series picks up right where Homecoming left off. A non-standalone M/M romance set in the world of an outlaw motorcycle club and the dark underworld they rule. 

Read it Here

How to talk about my writing without really talking about it

 

How to talk about my writing without really talking about it (and to talk about my current fangirl hyperfixation):

About a year ago, I broke down and bought a Funimation subscription. It’s been so worthwhile, but today I want to talk about one anime in particular.

Except, really, this isn’t a post about that anime at all. Not really. You’ll see.

I watched the first episode of BNHA (My Hero Academia) and thought: hmm. On the one hand: superheroes!, which, I’ve loved comics since I was a very little kid. On the other hand: I don’t know these characters, it’s all new, the world isn’t familiar yet, and…Izuku cries…a lot. I was conflicted. But, after my initial hesitance with the first ep of Fullmetal Alchemist, I decided to keep going. Why? Because every story I’ve ever loved wholeheartedly was one that left me hesitant at first.

Anyway: I kept watching…and then kept watching. And then was binging. And found a show – and a manga, because I started reading when I ran out of episodes – that contained all of my very favorite things. A big ensemble cast full to bursting with characters that I loved. Characters who were flawed, but trying, and who were all different. Characters who started out as sides, but, once they had room to show their stuff, proved just as lovable as everyone else.

Here was the kind of hero content the Marvel Cinematic Universe utterly failed to deliver to me, and I was hooked.

Season five is airing now, with new eps every Saturday, and it’s got me so hyped I’m rereading chapters of the manga and rewatching favorite episodes – especially this past week, when I’ve been laid up with the flu and feeling bad. Last night, I rewatched “Suneater of the Big Three,” because I love Tamaki, and “Red Riot,” because I love Kiri. Gosh, season four was good. My favorite characters are Bakugou, Shouto, Kirishima, Endeavor, and Hawks. And Izuku. Deku. Who, at first, was a kid I didn’t know crying too much, but who is actually the most earnest, driven, hardworking, big-hearted sweetheart who defies all the hang-ups of the “chosen one” trope and is just the best main character ever.

The thing about this story – which originates in the manga and has been carried forward in the anime – is that it unfolds slowly. Five seasons, 318 chapters, and the kids are still in their first year at UA. It isn’t a blistering, get-to-the-point sort of story. Thank God. I tend not to prefer those. No, this is a thorough, varied story that has poignant, deeply emotional moments interspersed with silliness and fluff. It’s a story about aspiring heroes who’ve dealt with so much, but who are still very much teenagers, and of their mentors: heroes who, while revered, are very real and flawed people. The juxtaposition of Endeavor acknowledging his faults and beginning to atone with the knowledge that Hawks always idolized and felt saved by him is just – chef’s kiss, truly. Deku and Bakugou’s childhood friends, to enemies, to now respected rivals and allies dynamic is perfection.

Not to mention: the villains are very well-thought-out, too. Dynamic, and with very tangible backstories. I don’t root for them at all, but you can’t help but empathize when you see their backstories. It’s such well-rounded, compelling storytelling throughout. I have been surprised again and again by the moments, and characters who’ve moved me. Nighteye. Fat Gum. Aizawa. Heck, All Might. I never expected to care so much about All Might, but I really do. I don’t really watch scripted dramas anymore, because I can’t stand the post-modern, grimdark approach of most. Not since binging FMA have I felt such love for a show/story.

But this isn’t a post about BNHA. This is a post about stories. About the fact that, sometimes, though the bigger picture isn’t clear at the outset, it’s so worth it to start down a path and accept the fact that you’ll have to learn about things along the way. The version of me that wondered about episode 1 didn’t know how eager I’d be to wake up early last Saturday to watch episode 101. That first episode – the first five, ten episodes – couldn’t account for all the action and emotion that was to come. Because that’s the thing about long-winded stories: they build on all that came before it. What might have seemed subtle or confusing at first can blossom into something truly amazing. Some stories don’t give it all away in the first five minutes. Sometimes, you have to keep going, and the cumulative effect is something impactful and lasting that you never expected.

That’s the kind of story I want to write. That’s the kind of story, right now, that I am writing. And that is why I love stories that are just a little bit fantastical and unreal. That’s why I’m so looking forward to Blood of Wolves and Lionheart. Because the stories I love best take their sweet, sweet time.

New Book: Vanish Into Light

 And with that, the trilogy is complete! 

The final installment of the Hell Theory trilogy, Vanish Into Light, is now live, and you can grab it HERE.

The series began last year on a bit of a whim. In Hilary Mantel's The Mirror & The Light, she details Thomas Cromwell's confiscation of Catholic relics across England, one of which being the figure of Saint Derfel astride his stag, one of King Arthur's lesser-known knights. Derfel - post-death, in his saintly form - was said to be able to venture down into the depths of hell and retrieve souls. 

In the novel, the line reads:

He thinks about Derfel, his powers. Why would you want the damned fetched back from Hell? There's a reason God put them where they are.

Immediately, I decided I HAD to write about that. What resulted was our funky little tale about murderers, and lovers, and angels and demons wearing human skins. Beck is a very loose, modern interpretation of King Arthur, though his name - his last name - is a reference to Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was brutally murdered by knights in the service of King Henry II...King Richard I's father. (Will I ever stop twisting and circling back to certain figures and themes? Never.) And whose skull was (possibly) dug up and desecrated by Cromwell. 

As for the other characters: Rose is of course Guinevere, and Lance is Lancelot. Gallo is Galahad, and Tris is Tristan. Gavin is Gawain - again, loosely interpreted. Captain Bedlam is Bedivere. Kay is a stand-in for Arthur's brother Kay. And Morgan is Merlin.  

I've always toyed with the idea of writing a King Arthur book - a proper one, in which, as fabled, he returns in service to his country at its time of need. But this, friends, is not that book. This is weird, and dark, and fun, and I hope you'll enjoy the conclusion. I'll leave the door cracked, in case I ever want to return, but for now, here's where we leave our trio.

(Side note, just for fun: I always have a tertiary character to whom I become attached, someone I end up liking much more than I should, and in this book, that's Damien.)

Reading Order:

King Among the Dead

Night In A Waste Land

Mystic Wonderful

Vanish Into Light

The titles are all lifted bit of Lord Alfred Tennyson's poem.

#TeaserTuesday - Blood of Wolves

 I have three main projects I want to put out during the remainder of this year - the beast being Lionheart, which I love, and which I'm seriously wondering if I'll have to split into two volumes in paperback form (Amazon only prints up to 835 pages). Given the sheer size and scope of it, I expect it in the fall.

But before that, we've got Vanish Into Light, the third and final volume in the Hell Theory trilogy (I always reserve the right to return to that world, later), and that's what I've been spending most of my time on the last few weeks. 

Also this year, hopefully late summer, is the third - but not final - installment in the Drake Chronicles. I'm not sure how many books this series will end up being - upwards of five, I'm thinking, because I'm having a blast with it and there's lots to explore - but for now, we'll just focus on book three: Blood of Wolves. This book picks right up where Edge of the Wild left off: in the mountains with Erik and Ollie; in an Aeres under siege; and in Drakewell, with Amelia, and her new sort-of friends, and her pack of dragons. There's so much still to come, and it's going to be fun. 

One of my favorite things so far is getting to write Náli's POV for the first time. 

 

For most, early childhood – those tottering years before the mind began keeping careful record of happenings – was a blur of color, and sense memory, and sound that triggered indistinct recollections later in life, with a few bright, crystal points that stood out, edged in a child’s technicolor wonder. Those were the first memories; the memories that stayed preserved and precious like oil portraits in one’s consciousness. Usually, these memories were of a parent, on older sibling, a nurse or a nanny.

For Náli, it was Mattias.

The image of a boy’s smiling face, his hair already styled like that of a Dead Guard: the head shaved close save for a single, thick stripe down the center of his skull, kept tightly braided at all times, a single tail that slapped against his back when he rode, or slid over his shoulder when he bent over a map to show Náli something. A boy’s smiling face, and a boy’s high, musical laughter; his hand warm and large and safe around Náli’s, as he urged him along. Safe. He’d always been that. Always the cup of warm tea when Náli was flagging; the cloak draped over his shoulders; the insistence on sleep; the strong arms that caught, and lifted, and carried him, when talking to the dead overwhelmed him into unconsciousness.

Always “my lord.” In the voice of a boy, of a teenager, of a man grown, larger, and stronger, and more alive than Náli had ever been, or would ever be.

For two centuries, now, the lords of the Fault Lands – their lives interwoven with the wax and wane of the fire mountain, with the safety of the entire duchy, and even the kingdom – had been guarded from all harm, and doted upon by an elite force of five warriors, selected as boys, raised with their charge the way a sheepdog was raised with lambs. The Dead Guard were trained as knights and assassins both; learned warcraft, and statesmanship at their master’s hand. They took no wives, and fathered no children. When their lord died, they retired to a life of seclusion, in a quiet valley called Naus Fell.

Náli’s Dead Guard were cousins Danski and Darri, Einrih, Klemens. And the captain – a captain since age ten, when he was named to the Guard, Mattias. He knew them all, their faces more familiar than his own reflection, but it was Mattias who’d impressed himself upon a toddling boy of less than a year; who’d scooped him from his crib and toted him around on his hip, as adept as any nursemaid, but more fun, always fun. Always with a story to tell, and a gentle hand cupped round the back of his head when Náli cried. He’d had nightmares his whole childhood, and it was Mattias who’d slipped into bed with him, and held him close, and whispered to him of far-off lands, where it was warm, and the fields danced with flowers, and no one ever had to draw magic out of their bones and wake the dead.

If Mattias had died at Dreki Hörgr, when Ragnar had forsaken them all, then Klemens would become captain, and another Guard chosen to fill the empty space.

If Mattias had died at Dreki Hörgr, Náli was going to dig his corpse from the snow and bring him back, so help all the gods, or he would die trying.