Odds are, with a few seconds' thought, you can work out what WB is. No, it's NOT Warner Brothers! (Please don't sue me, mmm-kay? Thanks , , ,) It's the bane of every author out there, and statements I've made in the past to the contrary, in recent months I've actually had a couple of fairly nasty but mercifully brief interludes with it. But this whole Lesbians Vs. Zombies project got me to thinking about ways to take WB and make it work for you. After all, without the thoroughly outrageous premise and conditions our own Ruby Green attached to this project, "Dead Means Dead" wouldn't even exist . . . and it certainly wouldn't have been the sexy, scary romp it turned into! So, with that in mind, here are five ways to kick WB to the curb!
5) The jumble
When you're really stuck for something to write about, take a bunch of concepts and throw them into a hat or a bowl. Write down a list of possible twosomes, threesomes, or moresomes. Then do another list of occupations or mythical creatures. (Or do one list for each. Hey, go for broke!) Then do a list of times or places you'd like to visit. (Again, you can do this for each if you like.) If you want to get really deep into this (and completely surrender to the hand of Fate to create your plotline) you can also add lists of body characteristics, hair and length, eye color and shape, favorite kinds of clothing, and so on.
An example: I just did this for myself. I came up with an FFM pairing concerning a firefighter in Dublin, Ireland, who's fallen in love with a Siren marine biologist from Ancient Greece and now based out of Columbia University. The complication is her girlfriend, who's a mermaid stripper from Brooklyn. They all wind up going back in time to the Civil War and having to survive traveling the Underground Railroad to Canada. If they make it to Canada, there's a shaman waiting for them to send them back, with (moral lesson here) learned.
Would I actually attempt to write this story? Well . . . at some point, maybe. Right now, the idea of the sheer volume of research involved in learning everything I would need to about Dublin, the Civil War, the Underground Railroad, and marine biology is far too daunting for me to even consider. But, hey, one night I might get bored and find myself with a couple hours to kill, right?
4) Ask a friend
There's nothing saying you can't ask somebody to give you something to write about. In the writing world, we call that a "prompt." You may use any, all, or none of the ideas given, or their ideas may spark some of your own. "What if" followed by "what then?" at its finest. But if you do this, make sure they're not planning to use it in the future, and DO be sure to give them a nod in the acknowledgements! ;)
3) Go to the mall.
Yeah. A card-carrying member of the straight male persuasion just told you to go to the mall. Or the park. Or a busy downtown street. Anywhere you can sit with a pad of paper and a cold beer or a hot cup of coffee and watch the people go by. See that geeky, slightly balding businessman in the two-thousand-dollar suit and the wingtips that cost more than your last car payment? Watch his eyes and his face. What kind of woman does he react to? Or what kind of guy? How does he react? Or how about the woman who walks by him with an upturned nose and a look of disgust. Maybe she knows him. Maybe they had an affair at one point and she still loves him, but doesn't know how to try to get him back.
People-watching is a great way to get ideas, folks! If you're really, truly stuck, getting out of your comfort zone and finding an environment that serves your story while not putting you at personal risk is a good way to shake some of those words loose.
2) Just do it.
A lot of people use programs like "Write Or Die." The entire point of these programs is, you've got to be thinking ten to fifteen words ahead of the cursor. Especially if you use the sprint mode, which prevents you from going back and editing unless you want to watch a half page or more of fresh writing vanish into the Blue Nowhere because you realized you used "lippenschnitzen" fifteen times in three paragraphs and tried to fix it. Your first draft with Write or Die and its clones is likely to look like utter crap, no matter how polished you think you are. But if you can mine out the good stuff and fix the bad, you're going to find you've got a lot more usable material than you think!
1) The Internet
Of course, the Internet! Where else would you look for the entire sum of human knowledge? Find something that's trending on Twitter or blowing up Facebook and write about that!
When doing this, choose your topic carefully. I would suggest, if you're going to attempt something like this, you take your overarching inspiration story and mash up the elements as in #5. This will help you create a story that's uniquely your own, and offers an almost unlimited source of fresh material.
Because we all know truth is always stranger than fiction, right?
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Where Noble Romance Publishing's fine authors gather to talk to readers, blog on pertinent subjects, discuss their latest releases, and just have fun.
Showing posts with label j.s. wayne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label j.s. wayne. Show all posts
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Something About A Woman... By J.S. Wayne
If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm a BIG fan of the female species. Yes, you ladies have your things that drive me just a little bit (more) insane: your ability to cry over anything, everything, or absolutely nothing; the silent treatment, otherwise known as "if you don't know why I'm mad, I'm not telling you"; and Glee and just about every show on Bravo.
Confounding as I sometimes find women, and the broad-stroke portrait I just painted notwithstanding, I do have a great deal of admiration for them. The fact is, most women of my acquaintance are strong-willed, dauntingly intelligent, and perfectly capable of taking what they want from life. I don't know many fifties housewives or demure, retiring women. The women I hang out with can match their men drink for drink, argue philosophy and football play calls with equal facility, and have no qualms whatsoever about dropping the occasional F-bomb to emphasize a point.
Now, this doesn't mean I don't admire a woman who behaves like a "lady," whatever that means in modern society. What it does mean is I don't think the less of a woman who doesn't keep her legs demurely crossed and never speaks unless spoken to. The fact is, I've always preferred women who said what they had to say, even if I don't always appreciate what they're saying.
We've all heard the old Victorian saw about what a man wants: A lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedchamber. Personally, I disagree. This, I believe, is the crux of my love affair with erotic romance. Nearly without exception, the women I create in my writing are women I would like to meet (and bed) in real life. They bring the elements I most admire in womankind to life in all their chaotic, confusing, contradictory glory. They're women who know which fork goes with what course and the proper way to place a napkin in their lap at an elegant restaurant, but will, with vindictive fervor, scream "Shit!" if they happen to drop cocktail sauce on their white linen sheath. They don't really care what society thinks of them or their choices. They see what they want, and they go for it.
This also extends to my female characters' choices in lovers. To hell with Emily Post and Dear Abby: These are real women with real desires and real emotions. If they decide they want the man or woman I've paired them with on the first date (and they almost always do, heh heh heh), then the rules be damned, they'll spend the night.
Frankly, I love writing about women. I enjoy digging deep into my memory and conjuring the peculiar scent of an old lover's perfume, the curve of her hip as she rolls over in the morning, or her drooping eyelids after a particularly energetic interlude. Writing about women is a very sensual experience for me, in the fuller sense of the word, not merely the erotic one. When I do so, I find myself smelling the perfume I wish to evoke, feeling the warm silken firmness of her skin yielding beneath my fingertips, tasting the slight salt tang at the curve of her neck, and hearing the tiny sounds of pleasure she makes.
I've said before on this blog that for me to find the stories I create arousing to the reader, they first have to arouse me. And nothing stirs my creativity or my libido like that mysterious and elusive creature I try to fix on paper with words, like a butterfly pinned to a entomologist's collection card.
It all comes back to that mysterious something about a woman.
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Confounding as I sometimes find women, and the broad-stroke portrait I just painted notwithstanding, I do have a great deal of admiration for them. The fact is, most women of my acquaintance are strong-willed, dauntingly intelligent, and perfectly capable of taking what they want from life. I don't know many fifties housewives or demure, retiring women. The women I hang out with can match their men drink for drink, argue philosophy and football play calls with equal facility, and have no qualms whatsoever about dropping the occasional F-bomb to emphasize a point.
Now, this doesn't mean I don't admire a woman who behaves like a "lady," whatever that means in modern society. What it does mean is I don't think the less of a woman who doesn't keep her legs demurely crossed and never speaks unless spoken to. The fact is, I've always preferred women who said what they had to say, even if I don't always appreciate what they're saying.
We've all heard the old Victorian saw about what a man wants: A lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedchamber. Personally, I disagree. This, I believe, is the crux of my love affair with erotic romance. Nearly without exception, the women I create in my writing are women I would like to meet (and bed) in real life. They bring the elements I most admire in womankind to life in all their chaotic, confusing, contradictory glory. They're women who know which fork goes with what course and the proper way to place a napkin in their lap at an elegant restaurant, but will, with vindictive fervor, scream "Shit!" if they happen to drop cocktail sauce on their white linen sheath. They don't really care what society thinks of them or their choices. They see what they want, and they go for it.
This also extends to my female characters' choices in lovers. To hell with Emily Post and Dear Abby: These are real women with real desires and real emotions. If they decide they want the man or woman I've paired them with on the first date (and they almost always do, heh heh heh), then the rules be damned, they'll spend the night.
Frankly, I love writing about women. I enjoy digging deep into my memory and conjuring the peculiar scent of an old lover's perfume, the curve of her hip as she rolls over in the morning, or her drooping eyelids after a particularly energetic interlude. Writing about women is a very sensual experience for me, in the fuller sense of the word, not merely the erotic one. When I do so, I find myself smelling the perfume I wish to evoke, feeling the warm silken firmness of her skin yielding beneath my fingertips, tasting the slight salt tang at the curve of her neck, and hearing the tiny sounds of pleasure she makes.
I've said before on this blog that for me to find the stories I create arousing to the reader, they first have to arouse me. And nothing stirs my creativity or my libido like that mysterious and elusive creature I try to fix on paper with words, like a butterfly pinned to a entomologist's collection card.
It all comes back to that mysterious something about a woman.
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Friday, January 6, 2012
364 Days Later . . . By J.S. Wayne
Twenty-four hours from now marks the one-year anniversary of the email that started this wild ride you and I have shared this year. It was from Rebecca Dampier, Noble's acquisitions editor, and started with the word "Congratulations!" Looking back, it's hard to believe that in just one short year, I've gone from a hopeful writer to a multi-published author with a small but fiercely loyal following.
Like most writers, I've had my moments of doubt about the wisdom of my chosen path. I've had stories I thought were sure things come to naught, and stories I didn't give a chance in Hell of doing anything receive amazing reviews and praise from all sides.
I've explored my boundaries, and so far, the only thing that has proven to be utterly beyond me is "sweet" romance. I have been fortunate to win fans, make some new and wonderful friends, and had many people entrust me with their secrets, fears, and confidences. For this, I am profoundly and deeply grateful.
So, let's talk about the year ahead, rather than the one just behind us.
First up: On February 13th, my entry for the Lesbians Vs. Zombies line, "Dead Means Dead," will be available from Noble. This dark, apocalyptic tale is an exploration of the resilience of the human heart and our need for love, perhaps most of all when all hope seems to be lost. I'm particularly excited about this because once again, I'm getting to share stage time with the infamous KevaD. Joining us on this jaunt are XCognito, Jadette Paige, Amber Green, Dana Dye, and a host of other great authors, so I hope you'll check them out!
Second: I'm currently putting the finishing touches on the second book in The Wildsworn series. I was shocked by the wonderful response "Dancing On Flames" achieved;" as I write this, "DOF" remains in the Top 10 Noble Romance offerings on All Romance Ebooks, making it by far the best-selling work I've ever written. Not bad for a work I honestly didn't expect to go anywhere at all! So I'm hoping to have Silver and Air, a full-length novel following the aftermath of Russell and Ion's forbidden passion, sent out to beta readers by the weekend and submitted by the end of next week. Cross your fingers, folks, and keep watching for updates!
Third: I'm very proud to say that one of my "side projects" is coming to fruition. Although I don't make a point of "plugging" those projects here, this is one I think my readers will be particularly interested in. As of this writing, three of a projected seven stories for a forthcoming anthology to benefit Writing Out Child Abuse have been completed, and I expect to have the last four shortly. Again, this is in no way associated or affiliated with Noble Romance, so I hope y'all don't mind me bragging this up a little. :)
Amber Green, R. Renee Vickers, Gillian Colbert, and a couple of others (whose names I don't know yet or I'd shout them out too!) have all contributed tales to this anthology. ALL proceeds from this anthology are going to benefit charities to provide hope, aid, safety, and comfort to survivors of child abuse all over the world. So far, the stories are looking wonderful, and I'm both very proud and deeply humbled at the number and quality of the authors who've answered this call. If you'd like to know more about WOCA or our work, simply go to http://wix.com/writingoutchildabuse/intro, and PLEASE follow us on Twitter @WOCH2. And, just in case you didn't know: I'm donating 20% of all author profits from my ENTIRE backlist to the cause as well.
I've gotta say, folks, it's been a wild ride. I've done things I never expected to do, learned a lot about myself, and all in all, I'm looking at this coming year with a lot of hope and a very strong feeling it's going to be a great year. And I owe a lot of that to my friends at Noble and to you, my readers and fans.
Let's give 2012 Hell, y'all.
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Like most writers, I've had my moments of doubt about the wisdom of my chosen path. I've had stories I thought were sure things come to naught, and stories I didn't give a chance in Hell of doing anything receive amazing reviews and praise from all sides.
I've explored my boundaries, and so far, the only thing that has proven to be utterly beyond me is "sweet" romance. I have been fortunate to win fans, make some new and wonderful friends, and had many people entrust me with their secrets, fears, and confidences. For this, I am profoundly and deeply grateful.
So, let's talk about the year ahead, rather than the one just behind us.
First up: On February 13th, my entry for the Lesbians Vs. Zombies line, "Dead Means Dead," will be available from Noble. This dark, apocalyptic tale is an exploration of the resilience of the human heart and our need for love, perhaps most of all when all hope seems to be lost. I'm particularly excited about this because once again, I'm getting to share stage time with the infamous KevaD. Joining us on this jaunt are XCognito, Jadette Paige, Amber Green, Dana Dye, and a host of other great authors, so I hope you'll check them out!
Second: I'm currently putting the finishing touches on the second book in The Wildsworn series. I was shocked by the wonderful response "Dancing On Flames" achieved;" as I write this, "DOF" remains in the Top 10 Noble Romance offerings on All Romance Ebooks, making it by far the best-selling work I've ever written. Not bad for a work I honestly didn't expect to go anywhere at all! So I'm hoping to have Silver and Air, a full-length novel following the aftermath of Russell and Ion's forbidden passion, sent out to beta readers by the weekend and submitted by the end of next week. Cross your fingers, folks, and keep watching for updates!
Third: I'm very proud to say that one of my "side projects" is coming to fruition. Although I don't make a point of "plugging" those projects here, this is one I think my readers will be particularly interested in. As of this writing, three of a projected seven stories for a forthcoming anthology to benefit Writing Out Child Abuse have been completed, and I expect to have the last four shortly. Again, this is in no way associated or affiliated with Noble Romance, so I hope y'all don't mind me bragging this up a little. :)
 |
| If you like this button, PLEASE post it on your blog or website, and show that YOU believe children everywhere have the right to feel and be safe. |
Amber Green, R. Renee Vickers, Gillian Colbert, and a couple of others (whose names I don't know yet or I'd shout them out too!) have all contributed tales to this anthology. ALL proceeds from this anthology are going to benefit charities to provide hope, aid, safety, and comfort to survivors of child abuse all over the world. So far, the stories are looking wonderful, and I'm both very proud and deeply humbled at the number and quality of the authors who've answered this call. If you'd like to know more about WOCA or our work, simply go to http://wix.com/writingoutchildabuse/intro, and PLEASE follow us on Twitter @WOCH2. And, just in case you didn't know: I'm donating 20% of all author profits from my ENTIRE backlist to the cause as well.
I've gotta say, folks, it's been a wild ride. I've done things I never expected to do, learned a lot about myself, and all in all, I'm looking at this coming year with a lot of hope and a very strong feeling it's going to be a great year. And I owe a lot of that to my friends at Noble and to you, my readers and fans.
Let's give 2012 Hell, y'all.
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Thank You!!! By J.S. Wayne
There are moments a writer lives for.
I've become addicted to the adrenaline rush of fighting against impossible deadlines until all hours of the day and night, sending off a story and praying it would past muster. The consecutively bigger thrills of getting the contract, the advance check, release days, and the sweet joy of hearing from people who've enjoyed my writing enough to tell others about it. I've even come to enjoy the excitement of parlaying my romance writing career into other endeavors and causes, such as my contributing author status for the weekly arts and poetry blog http://theriverjournal.org and my work with Writing Out Child Abuse. For me, it all comes back to the sweet agony of never knowing whether you're going to sink or swim, and for someone who's always been a bit of a gambler, there is no greater rush.
But, as exciting as all this is, one thrill had always eluded me.
The highest any of my work has ever made it at Noble to date was #9. While I was proud of that achievement, I confess I had higher hopes for Angels Cry and "Ancient Magic." Neither of which, to date, has seen the Top 10.
I did mention I'm kind of an addict, right? Add to that, I'm also the competitive sort. Not the kind who'd run someone I was racing off the road, but when I commit myself to something, I refuse to settle for anything less than my absolute best effort. Ask anyone who's ever played chess with me more than once.
Anyway, I was taking a break from "Silver and Air," the next Wildsworn story, and a title-TBD story for the forthcoming Lesbians Versus Zombies line to take a swing at a comedy story about a ghost who's into BDSM and his new, sexy roommate. I'd gotten about two thousand words in when I noticed a flashing orange light in the bottom right of my screen. It was an email alert, and I clicked on it just to see what was going on.
"EEEEEEE You're #1!!!!!"
*What the hell?!?!?!*
So I bounced over and clicked on the message. It was from H.C. Brown.
I didn't get any further than "Hey, you're number 1 at Noble this week!" before I opened a new tab. I set a land speed record and probably did some permanent damage to my clicking hand getting over to see for myself. As soon as the page loaded, a lump rose in my throat, my jaw dropped, and a perfectly idiotic grin spread over my face. (Say what you will about impossible simultaneous actions, that's how it went down.)
I never learn. For some reason, it seems the less I expect from a story, the more it actually does. So it has gone with:
"Angels Would Fall" (No one's going to pay good money for a story this short. First Noble contract.);
"Espiritu Sancti," from Red Roses and Shattered Glass (Is this even really romance? Second contracted story; released ahead of "Angels Would Fall" by exactly two weeks.);
"Angel of the Morning" (Fun, throwaway story. #9 at Noble Romance. Twice, in two non-sequential months.);
and "Dancing On Flames" (What the hell do I bring to the gay romance table that H.C. Brown, Bryl Tyne, Amber Green, Margie Church, and KevaD haven't already done a LOT better? #1 at Noble Romance.)
The point is, maybe someday I'll learn. But I wouldn't put any serious money on it.
In the meantime, I owe some profound and heartfelt thank-yous:
To Bryl, Margie, KevaD, H.C., Renee Vickers, and everyone else who believed enough in Russell and Ion's story and my ability to tell it to put up with my, let's be honest, whining, and keep me going long enough to finish it.
To the people who've reviewed it, including H.C. Brown and Mandy Rosko, clamoring for MORE! More's on the way. Promise. :)
And, last but by no means least, to the readers, who took a chance on "Dancing On Flames," and in the process helped me achieve a dream I've cherished ever since I started writing for Noble. I'm so proud to see so many people reading and hopefully enjoying my work. If any of you are new readers, I hope you'll take a look at some of my other work!
Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart.
Now . . . to see what new worlds I can conquer!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Come on, now. You didn't seriously think I was going to leave without breaking you off a taste, did you? ;)
In the aftermath of a raid on a band of child slavers, Russell and Ion of the Chosen of Fenrir find themselves baring their hearts and souls—and their bodies—to one another. In doing so, they violate one of their clan's most sacred laws: Look not to your own kind for love.
Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Earth Mother will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt.
Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same . . . .
The camp was a tightly huddled affair, well concealed among the trees and hard against the leeward side of a hill. Around the fire echoed the coarse laughter of men and the weeping of children from inside the tents.
Guards stood at regular intervals around the camp's perimeter, holding torches to give light. From atop the hill, the outer ring of torches clearly defined the size and shape of the camp, which featured a blazing bonfire at its center. The men's voices rang out as they told vile jokes, each planning what he would do with his cut of the take from the latest group of child slaves they had "acquired."
As remote as the area was, well away from any roads or paths in the rugged foothills, the men thought themselves to be alone and safe from observation. Though as with so many other things humans believe, they were wrong.
Had any of them troubled to look up, they might have seen the sleek outlines of two immense wolves silhouetted against the three-quarter moon rising just over the top of the high hill. If the watcher had been particularly observant, he might have noticed that these wolves did not behave precisely as wolves should.
For now, however, the two wolves went unnoticed.
For now . . . .
The black wolf gave a low growl and shook his flanks, the hair along the ridge of his spine bristling with disgust. His posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as his blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in his smaller brethren. Slaver scum, came the ominous mental retort. Looks like our information was right.
When do you want to attack?
The black wolf swiveled its muzzle up and studied the rising moon. After a long moment, he replied, No time like the present. You up for this?
Russell chuffed, the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down on the camp and focused all his will on a plea to the Mighty Mother. Bring forth your breath, Mother, that it may shroud our attack. In his mind, he began a low chant that built quickly in power and volume.
Below, thin ribbons of mist crept into the camp. In moments more followed, until a billowing cloud of fog enveloped the tiny enclave. The merrymaking in the camp cut off, to be replaced by cries of consternation and alarm at the unnaturally fast-rolling fog.
Russell looked at Ion, who stood proudly, head erect as he glowered down at the camp. No matter what form Ion wore, he looked every inch the warrior he was. Will that cover our entry adequately?
Ion's jaw lolled open in a wolfish grin. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let's make an end of these fools.
I thought you'd never ask. Let's dance.
Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way cautiously. Russell placed his paws gingerly on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneath him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and a blanket of tiny ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down altered his course, for he feared dislodging one and sending it tumbling down the hill. Might as well bang a drum to let them know we're coming if we're going to be that clumsy, Russell grunted in his head.
This was not Russell's first raid. Far from it. Back in the Caves of the Chosen, he had a belt festooned with trinkets and trophies of the many battles he'd fought since finding his way to the Chosen enclave a year earlier in the traumatic aftermath of his first transformation. He had earned his clan name honestly and early when he'd stolen two letters from a neon sign that advertised a massage parlor where many of the "employees" were children. After seeing them all safely out, he had set the place ablaze with cleansing fire. Although the moniker "Brings-The-Sign" was originally intended as a small mockery, he carried the name with sincere pride.
Tonight was the first time that he'd ever gone out on patrol with Ion, though. The black wolf was a legend within the Chosen of Fenrir, frequently vanishing for weeks at a time from the borders of the Chosen lands. When he returned, he did so with fascinating tales to tell. But he always backed up his tales by the macabre souvenirs he carried in his pack; at any moment, he could pluck any item from a vampire fang to a crow's feather out of his collection and give a detailed accounting of how, when, where, and under what conditions he came by it.
As a living legend, Ion was often predicted by the Elders not to return from whatever errand he'd been sent on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have longevity or glory, rarely both, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that an average wolf could only hope to survive. Time and again, Ion had demonstrated his resourcefulness and cunning; thus far, these qualities had kept him alive where a lesser Scion of Fenrir would surely have fallen.
Russell entertained a brief moment of pity for the men whose camp they were about to invade, earning him a hard, sidelong glare from Ion. He shook his head hastily. Don't make the mistake of thinking I have any sympathy for them. I'm just thinking that between you and me, this isn't even a fair fight.
Ion snorted. Perhaps not. They are unlikely to carry silver ammo, but at least half of them have firearms.
Russell almost missed a step in surprise. But you're immune to silver! It was a well-known part of Ion's myth. He had actually seen the Head Elder, Speaks-To-The-Wind, cut open Ion's palm with a silver blade. Where almost any other Chosen would have borne an angry scar for the rest of their days, Ion had healed from the without so much as a blemish.
One blue eye rolled around to study him. You're not, came Ion's silent retort.
There was more emotion in those two simple words than Russell would've expected from this grizzled veteran. You almost sound like you care.
Without warning, the black wolf wheeled in front of him and barred Russell's way. His lips curled back in a snarl, and he revealed long, sharp, white teeth. I do care, you fool! I've had to bury more than my share of Chosen who got careless or cocky. It fell to me to sing their souls to the Moon. I was the one who had to tell their kin what had befallen them. I was the one who had to carve their names in the Glade of the Fallen. You cannot even imagine how that feels; I bear their loss with me with every step I take.
Russell's stupid impulsiveness had inadvertently gained him invaluable insight into the warrior's mind, but at a terrible cost. Ion had always been one to keep his feelings close to the vest; it was one of many reasons most of the Chosen steered well clear of him. Ion had made a science of keeping people at arm's length. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. Is that why you go places that even other Chosen would think twice about treading without the full might of the Clan behind them?
Ion stared at him for a long, brittle moment before nodding. It is. My way of atoning for failing my brothers and sisters.
A very human lump rose in Russell's throat. I think I understand.
With a derisive shake of his head, Ion turned away and flicked his tail angrily, heading back to the task of getting to the camp. No you don't, whelp. And I pray to the Mother and the Moon that you never do.
There was nothing more to say, and the night was wearing on. Although the confrontation had occurred literally at the speed of thought, even thoughts takes time.
Head in the game, Russell, Ion growled. We're almost there.
I've become addicted to the adrenaline rush of fighting against impossible deadlines until all hours of the day and night, sending off a story and praying it would past muster. The consecutively bigger thrills of getting the contract, the advance check, release days, and the sweet joy of hearing from people who've enjoyed my writing enough to tell others about it. I've even come to enjoy the excitement of parlaying my romance writing career into other endeavors and causes, such as my contributing author status for the weekly arts and poetry blog http://theriverjournal.org and my work with Writing Out Child Abuse. For me, it all comes back to the sweet agony of never knowing whether you're going to sink or swim, and for someone who's always been a bit of a gambler, there is no greater rush.
 |
| Oh yeah. It's like THAT. |
The highest any of my work has ever made it at Noble to date was #9. While I was proud of that achievement, I confess I had higher hopes for Angels Cry and "Ancient Magic." Neither of which, to date, has seen the Top 10.
I did mention I'm kind of an addict, right? Add to that, I'm also the competitive sort. Not the kind who'd run someone I was racing off the road, but when I commit myself to something, I refuse to settle for anything less than my absolute best effort. Ask anyone who's ever played chess with me more than once.
Anyway, I was taking a break from "Silver and Air," the next Wildsworn story, and a title-TBD story for the forthcoming Lesbians Versus Zombies line to take a swing at a comedy story about a ghost who's into BDSM and his new, sexy roommate. I'd gotten about two thousand words in when I noticed a flashing orange light in the bottom right of my screen. It was an email alert, and I clicked on it just to see what was going on.
"EEEEEEE You're #1!!!!!"
*What the hell?!?!?!*
So I bounced over and clicked on the message. It was from H.C. Brown.
I didn't get any further than "Hey, you're number 1 at Noble this week!" before I opened a new tab. I set a land speed record and probably did some permanent damage to my clicking hand getting over to see for myself. As soon as the page loaded, a lump rose in my throat, my jaw dropped, and a perfectly idiotic grin spread over my face. (Say what you will about impossible simultaneous actions, that's how it went down.)
I never learn. For some reason, it seems the less I expect from a story, the more it actually does. So it has gone with:
"Angels Would Fall" (No one's going to pay good money for a story this short. First Noble contract.);
"Espiritu Sancti," from Red Roses and Shattered Glass (Is this even really romance? Second contracted story; released ahead of "Angels Would Fall" by exactly two weeks.);
"Angel of the Morning" (Fun, throwaway story. #9 at Noble Romance. Twice, in two non-sequential months.);
and "Dancing On Flames" (What the hell do I bring to the gay romance table that H.C. Brown, Bryl Tyne, Amber Green, Margie Church, and KevaD haven't already done a LOT better? #1 at Noble Romance.)
The point is, maybe someday I'll learn. But I wouldn't put any serious money on it.
In the meantime, I owe some profound and heartfelt thank-yous:
To Bryl, Margie, KevaD, H.C., Renee Vickers, and everyone else who believed enough in Russell and Ion's story and my ability to tell it to put up with my, let's be honest, whining, and keep me going long enough to finish it.
To the people who've reviewed it, including H.C. Brown and Mandy Rosko, clamoring for MORE! More's on the way. Promise. :)
And, last but by no means least, to the readers, who took a chance on "Dancing On Flames," and in the process helped me achieve a dream I've cherished ever since I started writing for Noble. I'm so proud to see so many people reading and hopefully enjoying my work. If any of you are new readers, I hope you'll take a look at some of my other work!
Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart.
Now . . . to see what new worlds I can conquer!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Come on, now. You didn't seriously think I was going to leave without breaking you off a taste, did you? ;)
~Blurb~
Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Earth Mother will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt.
Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same . . . .
~Excerpt~
The camp was a tightly huddled affair, well concealed among the trees and hard against the leeward side of a hill. Around the fire echoed the coarse laughter of men and the weeping of children from inside the tents.
Guards stood at regular intervals around the camp's perimeter, holding torches to give light. From atop the hill, the outer ring of torches clearly defined the size and shape of the camp, which featured a blazing bonfire at its center. The men's voices rang out as they told vile jokes, each planning what he would do with his cut of the take from the latest group of child slaves they had "acquired."
As remote as the area was, well away from any roads or paths in the rugged foothills, the men thought themselves to be alone and safe from observation. Though as with so many other things humans believe, they were wrong.
Had any of them troubled to look up, they might have seen the sleek outlines of two immense wolves silhouetted against the three-quarter moon rising just over the top of the high hill. If the watcher had been particularly observant, he might have noticed that these wolves did not behave precisely as wolves should.
For now, however, the two wolves went unnoticed.
For now . . . .
* * * * *
The silver wolf stole a glance at his larger, black cohort. What do you think, Ion?The black wolf gave a low growl and shook his flanks, the hair along the ridge of his spine bristling with disgust. His posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as his blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in his smaller brethren. Slaver scum, came the ominous mental retort. Looks like our information was right.
When do you want to attack?
The black wolf swiveled its muzzle up and studied the rising moon. After a long moment, he replied, No time like the present. You up for this?
Russell chuffed, the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down on the camp and focused all his will on a plea to the Mighty Mother. Bring forth your breath, Mother, that it may shroud our attack. In his mind, he began a low chant that built quickly in power and volume.
Below, thin ribbons of mist crept into the camp. In moments more followed, until a billowing cloud of fog enveloped the tiny enclave. The merrymaking in the camp cut off, to be replaced by cries of consternation and alarm at the unnaturally fast-rolling fog.
Russell looked at Ion, who stood proudly, head erect as he glowered down at the camp. No matter what form Ion wore, he looked every inch the warrior he was. Will that cover our entry adequately?
Ion's jaw lolled open in a wolfish grin. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let's make an end of these fools.
I thought you'd never ask. Let's dance.
Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way cautiously. Russell placed his paws gingerly on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneath him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and a blanket of tiny ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down altered his course, for he feared dislodging one and sending it tumbling down the hill. Might as well bang a drum to let them know we're coming if we're going to be that clumsy, Russell grunted in his head.
This was not Russell's first raid. Far from it. Back in the Caves of the Chosen, he had a belt festooned with trinkets and trophies of the many battles he'd fought since finding his way to the Chosen enclave a year earlier in the traumatic aftermath of his first transformation. He had earned his clan name honestly and early when he'd stolen two letters from a neon sign that advertised a massage parlor where many of the "employees" were children. After seeing them all safely out, he had set the place ablaze with cleansing fire. Although the moniker "Brings-The-Sign" was originally intended as a small mockery, he carried the name with sincere pride.
Tonight was the first time that he'd ever gone out on patrol with Ion, though. The black wolf was a legend within the Chosen of Fenrir, frequently vanishing for weeks at a time from the borders of the Chosen lands. When he returned, he did so with fascinating tales to tell. But he always backed up his tales by the macabre souvenirs he carried in his pack; at any moment, he could pluck any item from a vampire fang to a crow's feather out of his collection and give a detailed accounting of how, when, where, and under what conditions he came by it.
As a living legend, Ion was often predicted by the Elders not to return from whatever errand he'd been sent on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have longevity or glory, rarely both, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that an average wolf could only hope to survive. Time and again, Ion had demonstrated his resourcefulness and cunning; thus far, these qualities had kept him alive where a lesser Scion of Fenrir would surely have fallen.
Russell entertained a brief moment of pity for the men whose camp they were about to invade, earning him a hard, sidelong glare from Ion. He shook his head hastily. Don't make the mistake of thinking I have any sympathy for them. I'm just thinking that between you and me, this isn't even a fair fight.
Ion snorted. Perhaps not. They are unlikely to carry silver ammo, but at least half of them have firearms.
Russell almost missed a step in surprise. But you're immune to silver! It was a well-known part of Ion's myth. He had actually seen the Head Elder, Speaks-To-The-Wind, cut open Ion's palm with a silver blade. Where almost any other Chosen would have borne an angry scar for the rest of their days, Ion had healed from the without so much as a blemish.
One blue eye rolled around to study him. You're not, came Ion's silent retort.
There was more emotion in those two simple words than Russell would've expected from this grizzled veteran. You almost sound like you care.
Without warning, the black wolf wheeled in front of him and barred Russell's way. His lips curled back in a snarl, and he revealed long, sharp, white teeth. I do care, you fool! I've had to bury more than my share of Chosen who got careless or cocky. It fell to me to sing their souls to the Moon. I was the one who had to tell their kin what had befallen them. I was the one who had to carve their names in the Glade of the Fallen. You cannot even imagine how that feels; I bear their loss with me with every step I take.
Russell's stupid impulsiveness had inadvertently gained him invaluable insight into the warrior's mind, but at a terrible cost. Ion had always been one to keep his feelings close to the vest; it was one of many reasons most of the Chosen steered well clear of him. Ion had made a science of keeping people at arm's length. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. Is that why you go places that even other Chosen would think twice about treading without the full might of the Clan behind them?
Ion stared at him for a long, brittle moment before nodding. It is. My way of atoning for failing my brothers and sisters.
A very human lump rose in Russell's throat. I think I understand.
With a derisive shake of his head, Ion turned away and flicked his tail angrily, heading back to the task of getting to the camp. No you don't, whelp. And I pray to the Mother and the Moon that you never do.
There was nothing more to say, and the night was wearing on. Although the confrontation had occurred literally at the speed of thought, even thoughts takes time.
Head in the game, Russell, Ion growled. We're almost there.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Where's this story going?
Not many people realize it, but I don’t unilaterally fall in love with my stories. Don’t believe me? My hard drive is riddled with fragments and false starts that have never seen daylight, simply because they weren’t up to my standards or something was inherently wrong with them.
Take, as a case in point, “Ancient Magic.” I started this story back in June, with pure intentions and what I thought was a good idea. The problem was — it involved vampires.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with vampires. Check out my backlist, both here at Noble and elsewhere, and you’ll see vampires are a big part of my writing. But that was part of the problem: I’ve already got an established vampire mythos I use. (No, they don’t sparkle.) To create a vampire who would work within the framework of the world I was in the process of constructing, I would have had to go back to the drawing board, so to speak. Besides, I’d already done vampires for the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology, so I wanted to try something unique.
So what did that leave?
Angels? Nope. As much as I love them and exploring their erotic potential, I’ve already got plenty of those in my backlist, thanks just the same. Werewolves? Heh. I’m holding off on doing any more of those until I see how “Dancing On Flames” performs. Ghosts? Been there, done that, also in the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology.
I winced, cursed, swore, damned my absolute stupidity, questioned whether or not I was worth my keyboard, poked, prodded, and generally freaked out. Every combination I could come up with that seemed to fit with the “Timeless Desire” theme opened up whole new vistas of suckitude, and for the first time in my professional writing career I started to seriously consider the idea I might not be as immune to writers’ block as I’d like to believe. For me, this simple statement is an admission tantamount to a deathbed conversion.
Then the answer occurred to me. So simple and laughably obvious that I’d managed to completely ignore it.
Why not make the main characters human?
*Gasp.*
Sure, in most of my stories, there’s a human or quasi-human protagonist. But they almost invariably have some special talent or capability that removes them from the average press of humanity. In the case of “Ancient Magic,” I decided to go a different route and make my characters fully human, devoid of special or unique talents. No telepathy, no fangs, no magic. Just two people who were intended to be something more than what fate made them, but nevertheless capable of amazing but not supernatural deeds.
In fact, the only things I kept from the original three and a half thousand words of what started as “Night Eternal” were the setting and Varath’s name. The setting was inspired by the image of a ruined Greek temple; antiquity has always fascinated me, so Hell or high water, that element of the story wasn’t to be touched. Varath had a perfectly good name, so why waste time seeking something better?
While I was having my mental slugfest with my muse over the whys and wherefores of the story, my time to finish the story was inexorably running out. The contract had already been inked; the clock was ticking, and lost in the fog of battle with my recalcitrant plot, I didn’t notice until an email arrived in my inbox.
“When are you going to have the story done?”
Sometimes, you just need a good, sharp poke with a long stick. So I sat down and started to work. In two days, “Ancient Magic” was completed. I fired it off and anticipated a scathing email which boiled down to “WTF do you think you’re trying to pull?”
You’d think I would’ve known better; after all, Bryl hasn’t kicked back one single story I’ve subbed for Noble yet, so it would stand to reason after five accepted submissions it probably wouldn’t happen now either. But the first few days after I put in a submission are always characterized with a slightly panicky air of “Oh, shit. This is where everyone’s finally going to realize I’m a living monument to ineptitude and shouldn’t be permitted anywhere near the company of real authors.”
It’s admittedly a little melodramatic, but it’s part of my mojo. The stress over whether or not my work will be judged worthy inspires me to work all the harder, and some of my best writing has come out of post-submission jitters. And frankly, I fear the day when I don’t get that gut-clenching shrieking fear when I send out a manuscript, because that will be the day I lose my edge altogether.
Did I succeed with “Ancient Magic?”
You tell me.
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Don’t forget to leave a comment for your chance to win some great prizes, and then click the Special Blogs button to continue on the “Timeless Desire” blog tour!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Timeless Desire Collection
Noble Romance's new Timeless Desire collection turns up the heat with a selection of fantastic new titles for every taste. Here's a quick look at what this exciting new line has to offer.
A DANC
E WITH BOGIE AND BACALL
by KevaD (sensual romance, ghosts, spirits)
Radio DJ Scott Kincaid's first caller of the night is a lady who died forty-nine years ago. The second wants to knock his head off. And he thought falling in love would be easy.
Maureen and Frank Johnson shared the kind of romance most people believe only exists in movies. Until a ballroom fire took Maureen's life.
Franci Johnson grew up hearing her grandparents' love story a thousand times and wishes to find the kind of undying love Frank and Maureen had once upon a time.
DJ Scott Kincaid just wants the ghost following him to go away. But Maureen thinks the hunky DJ might be just the answer to her granddaughter's dreams.
A DANCE WITH BOGIE AND BACALL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
A MINUTE AF
TER MIDNIGHT
Brita Addams (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex romance)
A fateful decision haunted Logan Chalmers for years. A high school reunion brings Reid Wright back to the old hometown, but will Reid even remember Logan or has he moved on to the bright future they were to share?
Following the rejection of the man he'd loved for most of his life, Reid moved away to seek his fortune. The hurt and anger allowed him to move on, but years later, only thoughts of Logan could bring him back for the reunion – that, and timeless desire.
A MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
AN EVENING AT
THE STARLIGHT
Brita Addams (sensual romance, second chances)
John has a hard time forgiving and forgetting, and his wife Christie's tired of trying.
Doe and Royal's love story reaches through the years and gives hope to a young man who's lost hope in his relationship. An Evening at the Starlight and a tale of a once in a lifetime love that wouldn't die might be exactly what John needs to move past the hurt and cherish the love he has.
AN EVENING AT THE STARLIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
ANCIE
NT MAGIC
J.S. Wayne (erotic romance, magic)
More than two decades have passed since the Hodans invaded the peaceful kingdom of Jurav. In their zeal for conquest, they have mercilessly rent the Juravian national character asunder, starting with the temples of their gods.
Varath's uncle raised him to one day assume his father's mantle—command warden of the Temple of Noradi, the most beloved goddess of the Juravian pantheon and the deity of heart, hearth, and the fires which burn in both.
Melody would have been High Priestess to Noradi, and her own family has groomed her with equal care against the day when the Hodan hordes will be expelled and she can assume her rightful place as the most powerful figure in the entire nation . . . and as Varath's bride.
When Varath departed to serve in the Hodan army, Melody saw it as an unconscionable betrayal. Now Varath has returned to take his father's place as the sole guardian of a temple where no one dares enter, and he has made overtures to claim the other half of his bequest: Melody herself. But can Melody see past the deceptions and lies his rebellion has forced and learn to love the man who seems to have turned his back on his own people?
ANCIENT MAGIC: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
DESIR
E DAMNED
KevaD (erotic romance, m/m, military, same sex romance)
Satan wants the warrior Taka to bow before him. But Taka bows to no one except his gentle lover Har.
For thousands of years the two men have been doomed to a life of torment. While one walks the earth, the other suffers under the devil's lash. Their only respite is an occasional night; a random, beautiful, love-filled night, knowing that with the dawn one of them must die in battle and return to Satan's wrath.
On the war-torn fields of Gettysburg, the two lovers are reunited once again. But this time something beyond Hell's reach has happened. Something so wondrous, Satan may finally get his wish.
DESIRE DAMNED: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
FAMIL
IAR LIGHT
Sarah Ballance (sensual romance, second chances, thriller)
Seven years of longing comes down to just one night.
Laney Kent returns to Barrier Shoals hoping to reunite with her first love, Bridger. She anticipates his reception might be chilly, but what she doesn't expect is to become the victim of a deadly obsession … or that this night with Bridger could be her last.
Bridger Jansen tangled a lot of sheets trying to forget about Laney, but his heart knew what the rest of him refused to admit: he could love no one else. He's determined not to forgive her for leaving him without explanation, but when he fails to protect her from a viscous attack, the person he can't forgive just might be himself.
FAMILIAR LIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
IMMOR
TAL
Bryl R. Tyne (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex relationships)
Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn't about to let Ivis go. As Ivis' powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton's instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan's favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton's left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?
IMMORTAL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
LOVE THROU
GH TIME
Lucy Felthouse (erotic romance, ghosts, spirits)
Westbury Manor is a stately home with a fascinating past, and when book conservator Emily Stone starts uncovering it, she's startled by what she finds . . . .
Emily arrives at Westbury Manor with a job to do. She's to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She'd expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.
LOVE THROUGH TIME: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
SAVIOR
Jess Anastasi (sensual romance, angels/demons)
Cadmiel, the Angel of Destiny, knows better than anyone does what a bitch fate can be. Five hundred years ago, the only woman he ever loved was killed, shredding his soul and leaving a void in place of his heart. Now Archangel Michael comes to him with a shocking and forbidden proposal. He wants Cadmiel to travel back in time and save Emilyn. Though Cadmiel wishes beyond all reasoning to do as the archangel asks, messing with time goes against his own beliefs and the very foundations of angel lore. But Michael doesn't give Cadmiel a choice and thrusts him through time and space, back to 2012.
The first time Emilyn saw the gorgeous man, she was affected on a level she couldn't comprehend. Cadmiel isn't like any other guy she's ever met, and he makes her wish love at first sight were true. But there are forces at work she never dreamed real. In the space of a day, she goes from normal, every-day college student, to a pawn in an apocalyptic war between angels and demons.
Emilyn's very life is in Cadmiel's hands. Will he risk the future of the entire universe to save her, or let her die and destroy himself in the process?
SAVIOR: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
TIME T
O LIVE
H.C. Brown (erotic romance, BDSM, m/m, same sex relationships)
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 for
m 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.
TIME TO LIVE: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
Can't decide? Check out the whole collection by clicking here.
Posted by Sarah Ballance, who cordially invites you to subscribe to her blog for a weekly shot at a $10 gift certificate to Noble Romance. To subscribe or for full details, click here.
A DANC
E WITH BOGIE AND BACALLby KevaD (sensual romance, ghosts, spirits)
Radio DJ Scott Kincaid's first caller of the night is a lady who died forty-nine years ago. The second wants to knock his head off. And he thought falling in love would be easy.
Maureen and Frank Johnson shared the kind of romance most people believe only exists in movies. Until a ballroom fire took Maureen's life.
Franci Johnson grew up hearing her grandparents' love story a thousand times and wishes to find the kind of undying love Frank and Maureen had once upon a time.
DJ Scott Kincaid just wants the ghost following him to go away. But Maureen thinks the hunky DJ might be just the answer to her granddaughter's dreams.
A DANCE WITH BOGIE AND BACALL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
A MINUTE AF
TER MIDNIGHTBrita Addams (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex romance)
A fateful decision haunted Logan Chalmers for years. A high school reunion brings Reid Wright back to the old hometown, but will Reid even remember Logan or has he moved on to the bright future they were to share?
Following the rejection of the man he'd loved for most of his life, Reid moved away to seek his fortune. The hurt and anger allowed him to move on, but years later, only thoughts of Logan could bring him back for the reunion – that, and timeless desire.
A MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
AN EVENING AT
THE STARLIGHTBrita Addams (sensual romance, second chances)
John has a hard time forgiving and forgetting, and his wife Christie's tired of trying.
Doe and Royal's love story reaches through the years and gives hope to a young man who's lost hope in his relationship. An Evening at the Starlight and a tale of a once in a lifetime love that wouldn't die might be exactly what John needs to move past the hurt and cherish the love he has.
AN EVENING AT THE STARLIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
ANCIE
NT MAGICJ.S. Wayne (erotic romance, magic)
More than two decades have passed since the Hodans invaded the peaceful kingdom of Jurav. In their zeal for conquest, they have mercilessly rent the Juravian national character asunder, starting with the temples of their gods.
Varath's uncle raised him to one day assume his father's mantle—command warden of the Temple of Noradi, the most beloved goddess of the Juravian pantheon and the deity of heart, hearth, and the fires which burn in both.
Melody would have been High Priestess to Noradi, and her own family has groomed her with equal care against the day when the Hodan hordes will be expelled and she can assume her rightful place as the most powerful figure in the entire nation . . . and as Varath's bride.
When Varath departed to serve in the Hodan army, Melody saw it as an unconscionable betrayal. Now Varath has returned to take his father's place as the sole guardian of a temple where no one dares enter, and he has made overtures to claim the other half of his bequest: Melody herself. But can Melody see past the deceptions and lies his rebellion has forced and learn to love the man who seems to have turned his back on his own people?
ANCIENT MAGIC: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
DESIR
E DAMNEDKevaD (erotic romance, m/m, military, same sex romance)
Satan wants the warrior Taka to bow before him. But Taka bows to no one except his gentle lover Har.
For thousands of years the two men have been doomed to a life of torment. While one walks the earth, the other suffers under the devil's lash. Their only respite is an occasional night; a random, beautiful, love-filled night, knowing that with the dawn one of them must die in battle and return to Satan's wrath.
On the war-torn fields of Gettysburg, the two lovers are reunited once again. But this time something beyond Hell's reach has happened. Something so wondrous, Satan may finally get his wish.
DESIRE DAMNED: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
FAMIL
IAR LIGHTSarah Ballance (sensual romance, second chances, thriller)
Seven years of longing comes down to just one night.
Laney Kent returns to Barrier Shoals hoping to reunite with her first love, Bridger. She anticipates his reception might be chilly, but what she doesn't expect is to become the victim of a deadly obsession … or that this night with Bridger could be her last.
Bridger Jansen tangled a lot of sheets trying to forget about Laney, but his heart knew what the rest of him refused to admit: he could love no one else. He's determined not to forgive her for leaving him without explanation, but when he fails to protect her from a viscous attack, the person he can't forgive just might be himself.
FAMILIAR LIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
IMMOR
TALBryl R. Tyne (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex relationships)
Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn't about to let Ivis go. As Ivis' powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton's instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan's favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton's left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?
IMMORTAL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
LOVE THROU
GH TIMELucy Felthouse (erotic romance, ghosts, spirits)
Westbury Manor is a stately home with a fascinating past, and when book conservator Emily Stone starts uncovering it, she's startled by what she finds . . . .
Emily arrives at Westbury Manor with a job to do. She's to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She'd expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.
LOVE THROUGH TIME: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
SAVIOR
Jess Anastasi (sensual romance, angels/demons)
Cadmiel, the Angel of Destiny, knows better than anyone does what a bitch fate can be. Five hundred years ago, the only woman he ever loved was killed, shredding his soul and leaving a void in place of his heart. Now Archangel Michael comes to him with a shocking and forbidden proposal. He wants Cadmiel to travel back in time and save Emilyn. Though Cadmiel wishes beyond all reasoning to do as the archangel asks, messing with time goes against his own beliefs and the very foundations of angel lore. But Michael doesn't give Cadmiel a choice and thrusts him through time and space, back to 2012.
The first time Emilyn saw the gorgeous man, she was affected on a level she couldn't comprehend. Cadmiel isn't like any other guy she's ever met, and he makes her wish love at first sight were true. But there are forces at work she never dreamed real. In the space of a day, she goes from normal, every-day college student, to a pawn in an apocalyptic war between angels and demons.
Emilyn's very life is in Cadmiel's hands. Will he risk the future of the entire universe to save her, or let her die and destroy himself in the process?
SAVIOR: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
TIME T
O LIVEH.C. Brown (erotic romance, BDSM, m/m, same sex relationships)
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 for
m 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.
TIME TO LIVE: BUY LINK & EXCERPT
Can't decide? Check out the whole collection by clicking here.
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Sunday, November 6, 2011
"Timeless Desire" Blog Tour!
If you saw Sarah Ballance's post the other day, you already know about the "Timeless Desire" blog tour. But, just in case you missed it, we're doing it again, folks! More great prizes and a new lineup, plus not ONE but TWO sexy collections of stories for your reading pleasure, are on tap this month, so be sure to go to http://nobleromanceauthorsblogtour.blogspot.com/ and check out who's in the mix and what the prizes on offer are! Then start following the blog tour on Tuesday; my first guest will be the lovely and talented Brita Addams, and the guest list and the prizes on offer are sure to please every taste and style.
All the stories from the "Timeless Desire" line will be represented, including my latest release, "Ancient Magic," and each of the authors involved is bringing their own unique spins on how we write, what our off hours look like, and how we keep the stories YOU want to read coming. I'm really looking forward to this, and I can tell y'all one thing:
November's never been hotter!
All the stories from the "Timeless Desire" line will be represented, including my latest release, "Ancient Magic," and each of the authors involved is bringing their own unique spins on how we write, what our off hours look like, and how we keep the stories YOU want to read coming. I'm really looking forward to this, and I can tell y'all one thing:
November's never been hotter!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Noble November Blog Tour - FAQ and $25 Giveaway TODAY!
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Thursday, October 20, 2011
Keeping It Real By J.S. Wayne
One of the biggest challenges to a writer is authenticity. Writing a story set in modern times or our own hometown should be cake: we live there. But when you want to write about a different plane of existence or another time, you have to be able to put yourself in the moment.
Some people do this by performing exhaustive research.
The upside: They can tell you every fact, figure, and statistic you'd ever want to know about ______. They've made it their business to know everything relevant there is to know about their topics of interest, and are determined to keep their stories accurate and true-to-life.
The downside: Hard-core researchers can get so tied up in keeping the story factually accurate that they forget to put in the nuances of character and setting that separate a good story from a great one. We've all read at least one: that novel that was technically solid and factually flawless, but read more like a history book with dialogue than the escape from reality it's supposed to be.
Some people do this by putting themselves into the scene.
The upside: These are the people who are most likely to be able to put you fully into a scene and help you suspend disbelief. They have a great imagination and a sense for the immediacy of any scene they happen to be writing.
The downside: These authors tend to get extremely wordy. Stephen King and Anne Rice, I'm looking at you. Thirteen pages on the pleats in a pair of corduroy pants or a page and a half about the exact color of Spanish moss. Really?!
Some people blend the two.
The upside: A solid factual command of the subject matter. The timeframe, vocabulary, dress and cultural mores are all faithfully rendered, but you also get the feeling of being there.
The downside: Creative license and anachronism run rife in these works. The clothing may be meticulously and accurately described, but that hauberk might actually have been plate mail at the time in question. Similarly, the weapons and language may be precisely rendered, but the singlet the main character's wearing probably should have been a jerkin.
Some people say "The hell with it" and just write whatever sounds good.
There's nothing inherently wrong with this. Particularly in the fantasy and sci-fi realms, readers tend to be willing to forgive a lot that would never fly in a contemporary or historical context without a lot of extraneous explanation about whys and wherefores. So anachronistic language or behaviors tend to be less noticeable in these stories, especially when the author intends them to be anachronistic in nature (ie, a fantasy spoof a la Monte Python). The downside is that if it's not done right, the result can be completely unreadable.
With "Ancient Magic," my novella releasing on Monday, I combined elements of all these. I covered a great deal of factual ground to lay the groundwork and set the proper historical context. At the same time, I had to imagine the feel of a crude blacksmith's hammer or a beaked battle-axe, the smell of mutton roasting over a spit, or the kinds of perfumes that might have been worn in a quasi-medieval setting by ladies. And, perhaps most important of all, I had to be able to channel an air of suspicion and mistrust, where every word and gesture has layers of meanings and even an innocent glance can appear sinister.
Keeping it real is important, but so is telling a good story. So my question today is, Which is more important to you as a reader? Factual accuracy, or a story that draws you in to the point you don't notice if some of the dialogue or the weapons seem out of place?
To celebrate the impending release of "Ancient Magic," I made a trailer for your viewing pleasure!
In the meantime, I'm over at http://tabithablake.blogspot.com today. I'll be guesting at Black Velvet Seductions on Tuesday, talking about putting the visceral elements of a story together. And I'll be there again a week from Saturday, sharing one of my favorite recipes! I hope you'll come by and say hi. In the meantime, happy reading!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Some people do this by performing exhaustive research.
The upside: They can tell you every fact, figure, and statistic you'd ever want to know about ______. They've made it their business to know everything relevant there is to know about their topics of interest, and are determined to keep their stories accurate and true-to-life.
The downside: Hard-core researchers can get so tied up in keeping the story factually accurate that they forget to put in the nuances of character and setting that separate a good story from a great one. We've all read at least one: that novel that was technically solid and factually flawless, but read more like a history book with dialogue than the escape from reality it's supposed to be.
Some people do this by putting themselves into the scene.
The upside: These are the people who are most likely to be able to put you fully into a scene and help you suspend disbelief. They have a great imagination and a sense for the immediacy of any scene they happen to be writing.
The downside: These authors tend to get extremely wordy. Stephen King and Anne Rice, I'm looking at you. Thirteen pages on the pleats in a pair of corduroy pants or a page and a half about the exact color of Spanish moss. Really?!
Some people blend the two.
The upside: A solid factual command of the subject matter. The timeframe, vocabulary, dress and cultural mores are all faithfully rendered, but you also get the feeling of being there.
The downside: Creative license and anachronism run rife in these works. The clothing may be meticulously and accurately described, but that hauberk might actually have been plate mail at the time in question. Similarly, the weapons and language may be precisely rendered, but the singlet the main character's wearing probably should have been a jerkin.
Some people say "The hell with it" and just write whatever sounds good.
There's nothing inherently wrong with this. Particularly in the fantasy and sci-fi realms, readers tend to be willing to forgive a lot that would never fly in a contemporary or historical context without a lot of extraneous explanation about whys and wherefores. So anachronistic language or behaviors tend to be less noticeable in these stories, especially when the author intends them to be anachronistic in nature (ie, a fantasy spoof a la Monte Python). The downside is that if it's not done right, the result can be completely unreadable.
With "Ancient Magic," my novella releasing on Monday, I combined elements of all these. I covered a great deal of factual ground to lay the groundwork and set the proper historical context. At the same time, I had to imagine the feel of a crude blacksmith's hammer or a beaked battle-axe, the smell of mutton roasting over a spit, or the kinds of perfumes that might have been worn in a quasi-medieval setting by ladies. And, perhaps most important of all, I had to be able to channel an air of suspicion and mistrust, where every word and gesture has layers of meanings and even an innocent glance can appear sinister.
Keeping it real is important, but so is telling a good story. So my question today is, Which is more important to you as a reader? Factual accuracy, or a story that draws you in to the point you don't notice if some of the dialogue or the weapons seem out of place?
To celebrate the impending release of "Ancient Magic," I made a trailer for your viewing pleasure!
In the meantime, I'm over at http://tabithablake.blogspot.com today. I'll be guesting at Black Velvet Seductions on Tuesday, talking about putting the visceral elements of a story together. And I'll be there again a week from Saturday, sharing one of my favorite recipes! I hope you'll come by and say hi. In the meantime, happy reading!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Thursday, October 6, 2011
First Look: "Ancient Magic"
Most of you around here know me as a writer of angels, demons, and some of you have even seen a vampire or two creeping around my Noble backlist. But today, I wanted to take a minute and tell you about my next release from Noble, scheduled for October 24th.
The story is called "Ancient Magic," and is a departure from the contemporary paranormal stories I usually write. What makes "Ancient Magic" so unusual for me is, this is swords-and-horses fantasy, a pond in which I rarely dip my toe. Of course, there's a paranormal angle, but whatever you're thinking, there's a pretty good chance that's not it. For all that, though, there's not going to be any mistaking this story for anything but what it is: a J.S. Wayne story. Complete with all the twists, violence, and hawtness you've come to expect from me. This is also my entry for the "Timeless Desire" series of novellas, and I'm looking forward to the November blog tour of the same name!
I don't have cover art for "Ancient Magic" yet, but I'm assured by the lovely and talented Fiona Jayde that I should within the week. Keep watching my spot over at http://jswayne.wordpress.com, because as soon as it hits, I'll put it up! Speaking of, on the 17th I'm hosting a VERY special guest over at my blog: Mr. Maxim Jakubowski. If the name doesn't ring any bells, Google him. If it does, you won't want to miss it. This is a huge honor for me, because I first read his erotica back when "erotica" to me meant "dirty stories to read to girls so I'd have a better chance of getting laid." And don't forget, I'll be back here on the 20th, and also blogging over at Tabitha's Nocturnal Nights!
In the meantime, though, I'm going to give you a little taste of things to come with this excerpt. It's still in edits, so there may be some slight changes from what you read here in the final, but I hope you enjoy it!
The story is called "Ancient Magic," and is a departure from the contemporary paranormal stories I usually write. What makes "Ancient Magic" so unusual for me is, this is swords-and-horses fantasy, a pond in which I rarely dip my toe. Of course, there's a paranormal angle, but whatever you're thinking, there's a pretty good chance that's not it. For all that, though, there's not going to be any mistaking this story for anything but what it is: a J.S. Wayne story. Complete with all the twists, violence, and hawtness you've come to expect from me. This is also my entry for the "Timeless Desire" series of novellas, and I'm looking forward to the November blog tour of the same name!
I don't have cover art for "Ancient Magic" yet, but I'm assured by the lovely and talented Fiona Jayde that I should within the week. Keep watching my spot over at http://jswayne.wordpress.com, because as soon as it hits, I'll put it up! Speaking of, on the 17th I'm hosting a VERY special guest over at my blog: Mr. Maxim Jakubowski. If the name doesn't ring any bells, Google him. If it does, you won't want to miss it. This is a huge honor for me, because I first read his erotica back when "erotica" to me meant "dirty stories to read to girls so I'd have a better chance of getting laid." And don't forget, I'll be back here on the 20th, and also blogging over at Tabitha's Nocturnal Nights!
In the meantime, though, I'm going to give you a little taste of things to come with this excerpt. It's still in edits, so there may be some slight changes from what you read here in the final, but I hope you enjoy it!
Blurb
More than two decades have passed since the Hodans invaded the peaceful kingdom of Jurav. In their zeal for conquest, they have mercilessly rent the Juravian national character asunder, starting with the temples of their gods.
Varath was raised from a young age by his uncle to one day assume his father's mantle—that of the command warden of the Temple of Noradi, the most beloved goddess of the Juravian pantheon and the deity of heart, hearth, and the fires which burn in both.
Melody would have been the High Priestess to Noradi, and her own family has groomed her with equal care against the day when the Hodan hordes would be expelled and she could assume her rightful place as the most powerful figure in the entire nation . . . and as Varath's bride.
When Varath departed to serve in the Hodan army, Melody saw it as an unconscionable betrayal. Now Varath has returned to take his father's place as the sole guardian of a temple where no one dares enter, and he has made overtures to claim the other half of his bequest: Melody herself. But can Melody see past the deceptions and lies his rebellion has forced and learn to love the man who seems to have turned his back on his own people?
There! His battle-sharpened eyes picked out a flicker of movement in the trees beyond the moon-silvered, ruined courtyard. He stretched one hand casually toward his battle-axe; at the first sign of anything amiss, the heavy weapon would be ready to his grasp. Aside from that slight motion, undoubtedly undetectable at the distance that separated him from the interloper, he stood as still and quiet as the stones that surrounded him.
Varath watched intently as she parted the delicate shadows of the sacred grove as if the moonlight had willed itself a pleasing form for his benefit. She drew closer, her feet making no sound on the ground beneath her as she came. Stark black and white resolved into myriad subtle nuances of silver, turquoise, amethyst, and onyx, crowned with a cascade of falling-star hair that rippled and flowed around her shoulders with every step.
Oh, she had all the requisite curves and loveliness, of that there could be no denial. But she was much, much more than merely a soft collection of pleasing angles and lines that drew his eye, his hand, his desire. She was a goddess, a dove amongst crows, a sensual virginal temptress. There was something eternal in the way she moved, an intangible hint that while she could touch and negotiate her way in this world, she was still somehow untainted by it. The dirt and filth that accrued to mere mortals and the grief and pain that layered their souls could find no purchase with her.
As Varath studied her approach with growing excitement, he wondered how this erotic apparition could possibly find any merit in him.
She stepped lightly over the tumbled ring of once-grand columns that had denoted the inner boundary of the temple's grounds. He noted that her feet were bare beneath her gown of deep purple, piped with silver embellishment at wrists, neckline, and waist. She wore one ring on each hand, and a silver bracelet of craftsmanship that no mere human could ever hope to duplicate encircled her delicate right wrist.
Varath's breath caught as she stopped just a hair's breadth beyond his arm's reach and offered him a shallow nod.
"Varath."
"Melody."
Melody favored him with a cool smile. "How have you been keeping?"
Varath grunted, taking refuge in his best, brusque military manner to conceal his desire to say something foolish . . . like, I love you. "I've been lonely. Can you even conceive of how stultifying it becomes to stand watch over this same ground night after night for as long as I have? If anything ever happened here, I would undoubtedly feel different." His tone lost some of its edge as she cut her eyes down toward the ground; he realized he had unknowingly hurt her with his abrupt, clipped speech.
"You—you've forgiven me?"
And, a parting thought: If you haven't checked out Angels Cry yet, you should take a look at the reviews that are coming in for it. I'm very proud of this novel, and hope that you'll give it a look!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
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