Please welcome Kay Berrisoford!
When Jessica asked me to blog here today, I went into a panic—and not just because Jessica’s writing is brilliant or that she’s a bit of an idol to me. When I sat down to type, my mind went blank.
My third book this year, Simon, Sex, and the Solstice Stone, came out a week or so back, and I certainly hadn’t run out of topics related to writing the book. Oh no, I had plenty of other solsticy and stone circle-y goodness to share with the world, but I couldn’t put a coherent sentence together. After an extensive tour, I was all blogged out—and, to be honest, a bit of nervous wreck. While I wouldn’t describe myself as shy as such, I’m one of those people who’ll walk away from a social situation with my hand slapped to my forehead. Even when I’ve enjoyed myself, I labor over every word I uttered, thinking, Ugh! Why did I say that? Silly, I know, but it’s just how I am—and after a fortnight blogging and tweeting about my new book, I’d reached that state a thousand times over. Making matters worse, painkillers could no longer save my wrists and shoulders from the aches and pains caused by typing. My creativity had all but dried up.
I even asked myself that fateful question: why do I do this writing thing?
Then I recalled the first time that Jessica kindly invited me on her blog. A week or so after the release of my first published book, Bound for the Forest, I wrote about how my previous manuscript, an m/f regency romance, had been rejected. In the aftermath, I’d thrown my worries about what publishers and readers wanted out of the window, and I wrote Bound for the Forest for myself. In short, I wrote it for love.
I needed to recapture that feeling last week. So I turned off the internet. I stopped panicking. I got out my WIP, Lord of the Forest, the third in my Greenwood series, and I wrote a scene I’d been looking forward to very much indeed (I’m not going to let on exactly what it entailed. However, my favorite scenes to write are invariably hot passionate mansex or extreme angst and character torture!) At the end of one paragraph, I found myself bouncing around the room. Oh, medieval England, I love to roam your forests and castles, to populate them with gorgeously attractive men, and then strip all their clothes off. This was fun!
The painkillers started working once more, and I’ve had a few productive writing days—so here I am, ready to blog and relishing the joys of promoting Simon, Sex, and the Solstice Stone, as part of Loose Id’s Xmas 2012 collection. I have to admit, over the past year, I’ve lost touch with that love more than once. Each time, I’ve managed to claw it back. If I’m not enjoying myself, why should my readers? And knowing that a few of you out there might smile (and maybe squirm) as they read, as I smiled (and no doubt squirmed) as I wrote, makes the process more than worthwhile.
Thank you so much for letting me blog here today, Jessica.
Simon, Sex, and the Solstice Stone (published by Loose Id, m/m paranormal/time travel, 45k) and all of Kay's books are available at: Loose Id, Amazon, Amazon.co.uk, Fictionwise, All Romance, Sony, and Barnes and Noble
Blurb: A glbt solstice story for fans of the magic of true love!
Simon’s holiday season is looking grim. His boyfriend’s dumped him, and his self-esteem is rock bottom. Stuck in the UK where nobody celebrates Thanksgiving, the shy, geeky student drowns his sorrows at an ancient stone circle. When a gorgeous stranger, Aubrey, shows up and attempts to seduce him, Simon is flattered but also freaked—especially when Aubrey claims to be from an historic sex cult who’d uncovered the true powers of the circle. It’s a time machine. Aubrey intended to travel back three hundred and sixty-five days, but an error propelled him forward three hundred and sixty-five years into a world alien to him.
Simon reluctantly takes the lost time traveler under his wing, and Aubrey teaches Simon the ways of sex, love, and magic. Simon’s never felt so alive, but as their bond grows, Aubrey remains determined to perform a dangerous ritual and return home at the winter solstice. Fearing he’s no more to Aubrey than a sexual sacrifice, Simon must discover the dark secrets of Aubrey’s pagan past. Only then can Simon choose between risking all for the man he loves or a lonely Christmas without him.
Excerpt:
“Wh-why have you brought me here?” stuttered Simon. “You should have called an ambulance.”
Confusion clouded Aubrey’s sharp eyes, but he seemed to dismiss Simon’s words. “Here, drink.”
Aubrey picked up a plastic bottle of mineral water that had been in Simon’s bag, unscrewing the top with his teeth. Simon took it, and Aubrey cupped a hand about the back of his neck, lifting him so he could take a swig.
The cool liquid refreshed and wet Simon’s dry lips, but his head hurt as much as ever. As for Aubrey? The man seemed frantic to keep Simon with him.
After screwing the lid back on, Simon threw the bottle down and slumped back into the man’s lap. “Look, you can take the phone. I’ve got nothing else of value.” Well, there were the car keys in his pocket, but he was not going to draw attention to those. Strange the man hadn’t already taken them. “Just…please let me go.”
“I am not robbing you.” Aubrey stroked Simon as he might a feral cat ready to sink fangs into him any minute. “Neither would I keep you here against your will.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Simon rolled off the man’s lap, catching himself on his hands, and then collapsed face-first into the carpet of leafy mulch. Feeling Aubrey’s touch on his shoulder, he turned over and glared.
Aubrey reached toward him, then snatched his hand back. “Wounds like this can be dangerous. You must—”
“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Simon moaned, pressing his hand to his head. “We’ve known each other for five minutes, and you stuck your tongue down my throat.” He’d not complained about that bit at the time, but it seemed a moot point now. “And why are you carrying a knife? It’s against the law. Don’t you know?”
Aubrey slid his hand to the hilt. Simon’s blood congealed to ice, but the man drew the dagger only to place it on the ground between them. “If it ails you so much,” he said, “I throw it down.”
Simon grabbed the weapon and examined it. Though the cutting edge had been sharpened, stained with something dark red that looked disturbingly like blood, the flat was dull and mottled through heavy use. As for the handle, with its spiral motif and slender hand guard that curved up around the hilt like a bow, Simon could jump to only one conclusion.
This weapon had been meticulously crafted and dated from the English Civil War. It looked like the kind pikemen and musketeers carried as a backup. Simon regarded Aubrey’s dress anew. The man’s short trousers had buttons at the knees, much like seventeenth-century-style breeches. The white shirt, which the rain had set clinging to Aubrey’s shoulders, could have dated from any time in the past six centuries but didn’t appear of modern cut.
“Are you with the Sealed Knot or something?” Simon placed the dagger down on his side farthest from Aubrey. “Is that why you’re camping here? You’re in one of those history reenactment groups?”
Aubrey sucked in a shaky breath and drew his fingers across his lips. “You speak of many strange things. Pray tell me. What year is this?”
“Eh?” Simon wrinkled his nose. “It’s 2012.”
“Oh ye gods.” Aubrey’s weather-bronzed face whitened.
Suspicion stole through Simon’s veins. “What’d you think it was?”
Aubrey looked so helpless. He inched his shoulders up in a shrug, and his voice cracked. “Yesterday it was 1647.”
The man’s meaning impacted Simon like a second blow to the head. “Say what?”
“I…don’t know.” Aubrey scanned the ground as if seeking answers amid the leaves and fungi. “I was supposed to go back. To undo…” He trailed off and was quiet for a long moment, squeezing his lower lip between his teeth. “Something went horribly wrong.”
“You bet it did.” Simon performed the mental mathematics. “Just assuming I believe you, and I’m not saying I do, you’ve been sent forward three hundred and sixty-five years.”
“I was supposed to go back three hundred and sixty-five days! I have to get home.” Aubrey covered his face with his hands, and Simon resisted an impulse to reach out, to comfort him. This didn’t strike him as a man easily reduced to despair.
But that was not the issue. Simon was still a captive, kind of. And Aubrey tore time? He’d actually completed that andaga ritual?
Well, the Stones were powerful—Simon harbored no doubts about it—and Aubrey did remind him of Doctor Who, but… No, the Stones were not a time machine. That was just insane.
He made a renewed attempt to raise himself. “I’m the one who needs to get home.”
“No!” Aubrey grabbed him, gouging into his waterproof jacket. “Since I got here, you’re the only person who’s understood anything of what I speak. I need you.”
Aubrey pleaded with his eyes and his lips, his anguish as tangible as a punch to Simon’s solar plexus. Coupled with his ravishing looks, it was all too much to bear. No way could this guy need him. At best Aubrey had to be a rival student taking the piss. Shit, maybe Pete put him up to it. At worst he was a psycho toying with his prey.
Simon twisted from Aubrey’s grasp, forcing words from a fear-tight throat. “Get away from me.”
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