As an author, I believe I see things a little different to most people. On the beach, most would see blue sky, sand, and waves. I see the retreating waves leaving a wash of gold in their wake, the rainbows in the bubbles of wash and the seagull hovering on an updraft of air. I believe authors collect and store such images deep inside their subconscious.
I have no doubt an active imagination begins in childhood. I find myself delving into my childhood memories many times during the creation of a story. Those images never leave us, or those wonderful times when we truly believed anything was possible. I'm sure if you asked one hundred people if they believed in faeries, you would be surprised at the result. I sure do . . . come on now ' fess up . . . do you believe in faeries?
I had the fortune to have a mother who told me wonderful bedtime stories. If ever I fell ill, she would send me little handmade cards signed 'Faerie Blue Eyes.' My fondest memory is pushing a doll's pram around the garden at three years old. The grounds of the Victorian three-story house had many pathways that weaved around rose gardens. Toward the back fence, blackberry bushes sat in clumps with spiky tendrils waiting to snag the clothes or pull the hair of each passerby. Beneath the ancient oak trees, acorns littered the ground and pointed brown toadstools rose from patches of bright, green moss.
"Don't disturb the faeries." Mother pointed at the toadstools. "That is a faerie circle. At night the faeries come out and dance in the moonlight."
I would walk by, then pause and look over my shoulder, in the hope of glimpsing an ethereal being. At night, I would often press my nose to the window and peer at the garden. How different the night is to a child. The moonlight diffuses colors to every shade of gray; long shadows change the familiar rose bushes to gargoyles ready to pounce with each passing breeze. Trees blackened by night, reach up to the sky waving in silent devotion. The sounds of insects echo through the night, or could that be the sweet voices of faerie song? An owl hoots, and then appears, wings spread wide against the full moon. Across the lawn, moonbeams bathe the grass transforming each drop of dew into a myriad of diamonds. Is it any wonder the faeries dance at night?
Those of you that read my books know my faeries are a little different to most. Human in size they feature in stories of love, and always finish with happy ever after.
I enjoy living with the faeries, and now I can share my stories with you, I love it even more.
Now when it comes to BDSM......
My book in the Timeless Desire Collection is Time to Live
Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.
Confused by his body's reaction to the men at his gym, Seth seeks help from the only gay club he knows—Floggers. Is the man crazy? Seeking answers, the sweet, vanilla virgin marches into the BDSM club to speak to the owner Rio Knight.
Realization that he has been on the wrong team all his life comes in the form of a six-foot-seven Adonis by the name of Matt Duffey. Instantly attracted to the leather-clad alpha male, Seth must leave his old life behind and embrace his newfound sexuality
Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big dom's arms.
Buy link; www.nobleromance.com
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