Guest Blogger: Nica Berry

My pal Nica Berry has had a couple of new books out since the last time she visited, and today she's joining us to tell us about them, as well as to share her thoughts on writing m/m.  Welcome Nica!

(Note: In consideration for #Amazonfail, Loose Id, Nica's publisher, is offering 10% off all lgbt titles through the end of today.)

Thank you to all for stopping by today, and thank you to my good friend Jessica for inviting me back to celebrate the release of my newest novel from Loose Id, NORTHERN LOVE.

And, perhaps, to prove an exception to a prevalent belief—that M/M is written largely by straight women for straight women.  True, the majority is; it seems a lot of ladies enjoy the idea of two hot guys doing it.  Me, I admire guys from a more artistic point of view.  I like to look at the pretty ones because, well, they’re pretty.  But beyond that?  I’d rather take home a cute girl.

So why does a queer girl read and write M/M?  For several of the same reasons straight ones do.  I like to read to escape my world; I’d rather visit someone, somewhere else when I write, too.  And writing M/M gets rid of those pesky power dynamics and all of the gender stereotypes when both sexes interact.  I’m not interested in girl issues; or, at least, I haven’t read about or found a way to write women in a way that satisfies me.  So I write guys, and I like them vulnerable, cracked, and hiding deep, dark secrets.

I confess to being a psychology junkie.  I’ve checked out piles of books on multiple personalities, autism, PTSD, personality disorders, and whatever else I can find in the psychology aisle at the library.  I like to know what makes people act the way they do, and a lot of it shows up in my books.  My two most recent releases play with several sexual and psychological dynamics not limited to domination and submission, grief, regret and anger, and learning to accept and return love while being true to oneself.

Loose Id calls NORTHERN LOVE a shape-shifter fantasy paranormal.  I call it M/M/M steampunk—that is, fantasy in a steam-powered Victorian-era setting—which moves to the frozen north as Jerek, reeling from his lover Emmanuel’s betrayal, sets off in search of the fabled Ice Citadel.  He finds it along with mute, shape-shifting Piaktok, who teaches him more about love than he could have imagined.  But when snow-blind Emmanuel tracks him down and earns Piaktok’s sympathy and intimate attentions, Jerek’s jealousy risks both his new homeland and the lives of the men he loves.

I was lucky, in that I had so much fun writing this one that it came out fairly easily.   CONSORT, in contrast, took several months and three beta readers to help me iron out the plot problems I knew I had but couldn’t see.  Persistence proved fruitful.  CONSORT is set in mythical ancient Greece and tells the tale of Tenthus, a shepherd seduced by a muse--a male one, of course--and then cursed by Zeus to live as a cicada does, on sex and song, until he can find a suitable human lover.  Phaedrus might be the perfect consort for Tenthus, except that he’s been ordered to kill Tenthus, not fall in love with him.

I couldn’t have asked for better covers than the fantastic ones done by Anne Cain, who managed to capture the characters and feel of the books exactly.  Feel free to visit me online at www.orossy.com/nicaberry.  And as an added treat, here’s an excerpt from NORTHERN LOVE, out now!

*  *  *  *  *

The scent of fish sizzling in a pan brought Jerek out of a strange, twisted dream in which he’d been chained again and Emmanuel had laughed and laughed. Dreaming of him brought back

all the pain of his betrayal. He clenched his fists, driving his nails into his palms in an effort to distract himself with a different kind of hurt.

Emmanuel. Gods. If Jerek ever saw him again, Emmanuel would be made to regret every bit of his wrongdoing. Jerek had seen more than a few punishments dealt out aboard the Tophet, and knew what hurt the most and harmed the least.

Frying fish hissed, bringing him out of his reverie. His stomach growled. He hadn’t had anything besides gruel in… Gods. He didn’t know when.

Piaktok crouched beside the fire. The firelight played over his naked body, inciting a different sort of hunger within Jerek. He’d never been with anyone but Emmanuel and had never considered straying. But Emmanuel wasn’t here. Jerek doubted he would see his lover again, and if he did, he was more of a mind to punish Emmanuel for his betrayal rather than embrace him.

Piaktok scraped the fish onto a large shell that served as a plate. The scent was so strong and tempting that it was all Jerek could do to wait politely for Piaktok to help him sit up to eat properly. Worse was the wait while Piaktok picked the bones from the tender white flesh.

At last, Piaktok allowed him to eat. Jerek took the shell. He used his fingers to scoop fish into his mouth. It was good. Better than good. The fish nearly melted on his tongue. He felt like a glutton eating so fast, but he was hungry, and it had been so long since he’d tasted anything so delicious.

A few moments of that, and Piaktok swiped the shell from his hands. The Northerner waved his hand in a gesture of caution. He held his thumb and forefinger close together.

“But I’m starving!” Jerek protested. To his dismay, Piaktok picked up a scrap of fish and held it to Jerek’s lips. “All right. All right. Little bites.”

Piaktok fed him. At first, Jerek was embarrassed. He wasn’t that weak, after all, but then he saw Piaktok’s quiet enjoyment. The Northerner truly cared about him, a complete stranger who’d been hurt and needy, and was determined that Jerek not inadvertently harm himself.

And when a piece of fish stuck to Jerek’s chin, Piaktok didn’t use his fingers to pick it away. He used his lips.

The shock of another man’s mouth against his sent a flush of desire through him. He felt ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. His injuries had yet to heal, and the pain hadn’t left yet. He’d never given himself to another man. He knew nothing about Piaktok, a Northerner with ways far different than his own.

But Piaktok was warm and alive and vibrant, and Jerek needed him.

Piaktok fed him another few mouthfuls of fish, then calmly took Jerek’s face between his hands and kissed Jerek on the lips. Jerek closed his eyes and savored the sweet sensation that flowed through him.

The Northerner leaned his head back just enough to meet Jerek’s eyes. He didn’t let go, but from his expression, he was wondering if Jerek was all right or if things were moving too fast.

“You’re fine,” Jerek told him. His voice had dropped an octave. “Please…”

Piaktok’s mouth returned to his. Jerek kissed him back…and soon discovered why Piaktok could not speak.