Friskbiskit

It's Here! All the Colors of Love: A Gay YA Science Fiction Romance

All the Colors of Love, my first and most recent* gay romance, is finally available to readers everywhere thanks to persistance, lots of support, and Harmony Ink Press!

Amazon Link

Publisher Link

Blurb:

It sucks being the son of a super villain. At home, Harry spends half of his time getting medical treatments and the other half tied up in his father's underwater lair. It was different when his mother was alive, but she disappeared when Harry was six. He can't seem to stay out of trouble at school, and his new roommate, Antonin, thinks he’s a spaz, but somehow Harry has to find a way to stop his father's evil plans.

Antonin Karganilla wants to become a comic book artist, but other than that, being gay is the most normal thing about him. His uncle is an aquatic plant man, his aunt is a molecular biologist back from the dead, and his mom is an overprotective pain in the butt. Antonin's in boarding school and it's starting to look like he and this Harry kid might have a lot in common... and that means a whole new set of problems.

And here's an excerpt:

THE most fucked-up thing of all was that Harry almost felt relieved to find himself once again beneath his father’s thumb. Like returning to familiar surroundings after a whirlwind tour of a bizarre and fabulous land. He knew what was expected of him now. 

He and Antonin boarded a Sears jetliner out of Brussels. Before this, Harry had always been carted around on one of the Old Man’s microjets. He’d never been on a commercial jetliner before. How could something so big—three levels, each with at least a hundred rows in four sections—feel so small? The air had a flat, recycled smell, and people jostled him in the narrow aisle as everyone tried to heave their luggage into the overhead compartments and find their places. Antonin had taken advantage of a last-minute cancellation and gotten them seats in one of the side sections. 

“You take the window seat,” Antonin told Harry as he tried to maneuver his suitcase over his head to reach the luggage compartment. “You’ll want to say good-bye to the sun.” 

Harry took Antonin’s suitcase from him, put it in the compartment, and shoved his duffel bag in after it. He didn’t protest Antonin’s offer, eyeing the tiny seats dubiously. At least this way, if he was smashed up against someone, it would be Antonin. Maybe Antonin would fall asleep, and his head would just kind of accidentally wind up on Harry’s shoulder… and maybe Harry would pretend to fall asleep too, and he could rest his head on top of Antonin’s and let his hand just sort of droop down, onto Antonin’s thigh…. “How long is this flight?” he asked. 

“About three hours.” 

“Is that all?”

 

I'm ridiculously proud of this book. It changed the whole direction of my career. At the start of this post I called it my first and most recent book.* Why?

Well, way back when, in the early naughts, I wrote the first draft of this story and it was the first time I'd written a gay romance. The experience was unlike any other writing I'd ever done at that point. I had more fun with it than with my previous books. I felt free. At the time I was as surprised as anyone else to discover that my true calling was to write about guys in love with other guys, but I knew there was no going back. 

Sadly, when I pitched the book to my big seven editor, the first thing he asked me was, "Do they have to be gay?" Things didn't get better from there. My agent didn't think there was much market for gay romance, since most romance readers are women (I got that a lot in those days, and sometimes still do). After it recieved one rejection he declined to shop it further. 

If it had just been this one book, I probably would have let it go and gone back to writing strong female protagonists. But it was so much more than that. While all of this was going on I had also discovered slash fanfiction, and realized that I was not the only woman who loved gay romance. I can be quite stubborn when my heart is involved and I knew that I was not going to be working with this editor and this agent for long, because the vast majority of books I'd be writing from that point on would also be gay romance. 

I fired the agent and started exploring markets for gay romance. At the time, there wasn't much. Erotic romance epublishing was still relatively new and also had not yet twigged to the fact that there was a big market for gay romance among female romance readers. And when those markets did open up, well, since they were erotic romance, I could hardly send them my YA story. But I did start writing gay erotic romance and publishing regularly.

I set All the Colors of Love aside for several years, thinking that the book that had changed my life might never find it's own market. And then the tides shifted, and people woke up to the fact that young gay people need books that reflect who they are. And Harmony Ink and other LGBTQ YA imprints started springing up. And one day I looked around and realized, hey, there's a market for this book now. 

And here we are. :)

I want to thank everyone who's been by my side through this journey. You know who you are, and I hope you know that your support and belief, in me and in Colors, made today possible.

 

'Scuse Me While I WIP This Out...

Since I got back from Europe I have put the Evanscar and Fix story (a sequel to Amaranth & Ash) on the front burner and it is cooking merrily along. I have a big crush on Fix, as you may have already noticed. But how can I help it? True, the boy took forever to start talking to me, but now that he has, he keeps giving me stuff like this:

Fix listened to Evanscar's footsteps treading down the hallway. At the soft, distant click of his bedroom door closing, Fix tore off his clothes and threw himself on the bed, pushing his face into the coverlet where Evanscar had sat. He breathed in, soft and a deep, and caught the fragrance of Evanscar's body, like sandalwood and rain. It filled his lungs and his cock filled. He fumbled with his flies, taking his stout member in hand and squeezing the taut flesh. Longing, sharp and sweet, coursed through his body from the base of his cock to the tips of his toes and the top of his head. He arched his back and shoved his face even further into the bed, remembering that moment when he'd leaned forward and suddenly, somehow, Evanscar's beauty had enfolded him, soft and warm like the wings of a swan.

Years of practice had made him an expert at diverting his arousal in Evanscar's presence. It didn't hurt that he had a ready supply of horrible memories with which to quell any stirrings from his precocious cock, but now, he let his fantasies drive out the demons of his past, and Evanscar, happy and triumphant after a successful appointment, traipsed into his imagination, took him in his arms and drew him down onto the bed. "Fix," he said, in that delectable contralto of his, "You must let me show you how good this can be."

 

'Scuse Me While I WIP This Out... The Fix Edition

Okay, so people talk all the time about close third point of view. Hell, I'm always going on about it to my students, urging them to drop filtering phrases like "she thought" and "he watched." The thing is, there's more to it than just language mechanics. You can include all the sensory details and immediate verbs you want and still not be entirely immersed in the pov character. 

There's an extra element, and it's not something you can get at through skill. It's the the reason what we do is in fact an art, also. It's what some people call character voice, and you achieve it not by writing in the correct way, but by understanding your character so well and empathizing with him so completely that you're not only experiencing what she's experiencing but you're also thinking like he does, making her word choices, taking on his inner as well as outer voice.

When it happens, it's magic. 

It happened for me the night before last with a character who has been very reluctant to let himself be known. So, without further ado, may I present to you, Fix Finder, the other protagonist of my sequel to Amaranth and Ash:

'Scuse Me While I WIP This Out...

I've just finished a complete read through of the rough (very rough) draft of the sequel to Amaranth & Ash, currently known only as Evanscar.

As a writer, I have a terrible time stepping back and looking at the big picture. I"m always getting caught up in the minutae, line editing whole sections that are doomed to be cut in the long run. So this time, I limited myself to only making notes. No actual changes in the ms. Some of those notes are in fact line edits, but a lot of them are more structural things.

At about halfway through the ms. things seemed hopeless. I went right into that whole this-was-a-mistake-from-the-very-beginning-what-was-I-thinking state of mind. I went to bed that night and miraculously awoke with the solution to the muddling middle of this book. And the even better news is that it requires more new scenes but not too much reworking of what I already have. Yippeee!

Now I need a really solid ending, but hopefully that will come as the rest of the book shapes up. I bolded the comments that are structural so I can tackle those first before giving in to my urge to fiddle with sentences.

So, to celebrate, here is a little snippet from the story, from a scene that will probably not wind up in the book (with line edits, of course!):

Fix Finder opened his master's wardrobe and gazed upon a kaleidescope of fabrics and patterns, all of them in the greens, golds, and reds that best complimented Evanscar's coloring. The aroma of anise and ginger, Evanscar's signature scents, filled his nose. He ran his fingers lightly over velvets, silks and linens, indulging his senses for a moment before turning to the serious business of selecting his master's attire for this afternoon's appointment.

It was Evanscar's first meeting with Valor Brimstoke, the leader of a fashionable set of young Elai lords, all of them landed aristocracy. Brimstoke's patronage could make Evanscar's career, which would in turn ensure Fix a long and prosperous tenure as his valet, something which he desired rather more than he should, perhaps.

But Evanscar was a good master. When he was unkind, which was seldom, he snapped at Fix, perhaps used[AH1]  an insult or two. He'd[AH2]  never struck Fix. Not once. He never asked Fix to do anything that was unseemly, humiliating[AH3] , or dangerous. He didn't even make Fix work all that hard. He was status conscious, so he kept Fix as a full-time, live-in valet, plus he had a gardener and a maid who[AH4]  came once a week. Fix had plenty of free time on his hands while Evanscar was out, and as long as he kept the place tidy, the food tasty, and Evanscar's wardrobe clean and pressed, the vasai didn't seem to care what he did with his spare time.

Fix selected the russet velvet under robe, then put it back. It was early spring and no one wanted to be reminded of winter's chill. He chose instead a double layered silk robe the color of new siltgrass shoots, a gold satin tunic, and the green brocade overrobe embroidered with a pattern of pussy willows. The dappled pattern would be another layer of camoflage for Evanscar's one physical defect — the freckles that he made every effort to conceal. Though all of this was merely for those crucial first moments when Evanscar stepped out of the hoverlift onto the grounds of Brimstoke Manor. Soon, these garments would be discarded and Evanscar's body and soul would overwhelm the senses of those present[AH5] .

"Fix, can you apply my powder? I can never get it as even as you do." Evanscar's voice floated in from the next room, a contralto as warm and smooth as the cherry wood panelling that graced their townhouse. 

Fix laid the garments upon the bench in the dressing room and went to attend his master's toilette.

Evanscar sat at the vanity, his long, supple body draped in a gossamer robe of peach which [AH6] highlighted the pink tones in his alabaster skin and did nothing to disguise the curves of his buttocks, breasts and cock. He frowned at his reflection.

Fix could not fathom what gave him displeasure. The rich auburn waves of his chin-length hair framed his heart-shaped face and complemented the emerald green of his eyes. The slight upturn of his nose and the point of his chin lent a sauciness to his beauty that suited his personality perfectly. Evanscar was everything a vasai should be — vain and spoiled and achingly beautiful. He knew what a vasai was for and he loved his duty.

Fix took a deep breath and fought down his innapropriate reaction — the one drawback to being in service to Evanscar. He focused his gaze on the pot of powder his master held out to him.  The stuff cost a small fortune. He took it and carefully applied a thin layer of the concealing powder over the freckles that graced Evanscar's cheeks and the bridge of his nose, doing his best not to notice the warmth radiating from Evanscar, nor his scent or the full swell of his lips. Proper pel were supposed to be immune to sexual desire, but Fix had never been a proper pel. He stood back with no little relief.

Evanscar peered at his reflection and pouted. "More. I can still see them."

"No vai." The words slipped out while he was distracted, with nothing to blunt them.

Evanscar raised an eyebrow.

"More powder will do nothing further to conceal them, and will only make vai appear made up. Vai must trust me in this matter, no one will be looking at vai's freckles." Fix waited to see if three years of steadfast service and sound advice had earned him the privelige[AH7]  of disagreeing with his master.

Evanscar sat back in his chair and expelled a breath. He stared at his reflection a moment, then closed his eyes. "Very well. What have you chosen for me to wear?"

---

 [AH1]tossed off

 [AH2]But

 [AH3]Arent’t these basically the same?

 [AH4]Both of whom

 [AH5]No one would be looking at his freckles then.

 [AH6]. It

 [AH7]spelling

 

'Scuse Me While I WIP This Out...

I've shifted gears from Evanscar to what is currently known only as "the dragon story." This is from the opening scene:

Rav fought to control the waver in his voice. "I have read the book of which you speak." He was beginning to understand how some Viking warriors could succumb to a berserker rage, with the appropriate provocation. "And that collection of half-truths, insinuations, and outright lies is unfit for me to wipe my—" He stopped. He had been about to swear, and worse, end his sentence with a dangling participle. He was completely out of control.

Writing Update

Finished a shitty first draft of the next Unlawful book yesterday, and back at Evanscar today -- 2,500 words. I'm less than 10,000 words from my target for this draft, though I'm not at all sure I only have 10,000 words of story left to tell, so we'll see. Going to try to wrap it up this week (or at least get to my target of 75,000 words) so I can get back to the Unlawful sequel and start unshitifying it. :)

Revisions!

Loose Id has moved the release date for His Own Devices up to Nov. 20! 

So that means that I have to finish the first round of revisions tomorrow.

That sound you hear is my brain turning to mush.

Crawling back into my writing cave now...

Wordcount!

Set myself the goal of 2,500 words for today.

I wrote 3,100.

:D

Excuse Me While I WIP This Out

In celebration of completing a crappy first draft of a new project, here's an excerpt:

    Charlie sat with his parents at the dining room table. He looked at the collectible plates on the wall, the silver tea service and the Hummel figurines in the china cabinet, the avacodo carpet and the gold brocade curtains -- it was all so familiar, and at the same time, so alien. He felt like an astronaut retuning to earth after a thousand-year voyage. But it had only been six months since they kicked him out.

 

 

Yelp of Distraction

So I'm cooking away on my daily work count -- up to 773 words! -- and suddenly, WHAM, I'm watching funny videos on YouTube.

What happened?

I blame this:

 

Hang in There

Feeling like you're never going to figure it out? Don't worry, you're in good company. Below is a telegram from Dorothy Parker to her editor. And yes, incompetent is misspelled. By D. herself or by the telgram agent, we'll never know.

Ganked from the Dorothy Parker Facebook page. Thanks to M. for the link.

Gearing Up

Finally, some first draft writing. Got a very slow start with the new WIP today. Then took a big chunk of the afternoon to take care of some promo stuff. Now finally, I'm starting to feel a little bit of a flow. 

Diving back in now.

 

Update: Just reached my daily goal of 2,500 words! 

Blasphemy

Just right now, I'm sick of reading. I feel like all I've done for the past three months is read, analyze, and edit text, day in and day out. I'm at the point now where I feel like a text processing machine. My eyes flinch at the sight of print. I'm out on my deck as I write this, and my gaze keeps on straying upward, to the leaves of the trees, blowing in the breeze. 

I am so ready to leave revising behind for a while and get on to some uncritical, fluid, first draft writing!

 

Submission

As of this afternoon, I have four projects under submission, ranging from a short-story reprint, to a novel.

To market, to market!

Behind Broken Podcast: The Final Podcast

Well I hope you've enjoyed this tour behind the scenes of Broken. As you may have noticed, a lot of the things I planned ahead of time wound up being different in the published novel. That's all part of the process, I guess. So, to wrap things up, I thought I'd take us out with a description of a scene that never made it into the book at all, in any form.

(Please note, the following podcast contains spoilers for the novel Broken.)

 

Scene That Didn't Happen 1:56

 

Broken is avalable now at Loose Id. Half of my proceeds for the first four months of sales will be donated to the Polaris Project, combating human trafficking and modern day slavery.