I forgot I’d be doing promo, too.
I’ve a new anthology appearance coming up in July! Preorders will start in June for Divine Desires, from Forbidden Fiction.
My story in this one is a reprint — Fools Rush In, which I greatly enjoyed writing, and which first appeared in Like a Cunning Plan, from Circlet.
I’ll share more information as I get it. Whee!!!!
This was also happening.
New from me, and available tomorrow in all the virtual places…
In ancient times, when the Gods walked the world, the God of the Underworld kidnapped a girl named Persephone. He carried her off to the Realm of the Dead and through trickery, forced her to remain with him and become his Queen.
Everyone knows the story.
Or do they?
From Pagan Writers Press.
Yeah, it’s been almost a month. I know. Bad writer.
It’s been busy. The line edits on The School have gone off to editorial at Forbidden Fiction. We’ve been talking about changing the title there, but nothing has gelled yet. I have a couple that I like, but we have to nail it down. That will come soon, I think.
There have been a couple of story sales in the past month. One I can’t say because there hasn’t been a contract signed yet, but the other two… well, I’m proud of those, and very excited. I will have TWO stories appearing in the upcoming Marketplace anthology No Safewords 2! One of them revisits Thomas and Eugenia from O, Promise Me!, my story in the first No Safewords anthology. The other story… well, I’ll leave you on tenterhooks for now.
In other news, I found out today that House of Sable Locks has made Erotica for the Big Brain’s Best of 2014 list. I’m very excited about that!
Now, being as it’s been a busy year, and a stressful couple of months, I decided that once the line edits were in, I was going to take the rest of the year off. Reset my brain, read for pleasure, not do anything except for edits.
So… what does an erotica writer do when she’s resetting her brain?
Bake, mostly. LOTS of gluten free cookies:
Almond Cranberry biscotti.
Carob oatmeal lace cookies. Carob because both males in my house are allergic to chocolate.
Italian three color cookies before assembly
And after, covered with white chocolate. I forgot to take a picture after I cut them.
Flourless peanut butter and jelly cookies
And coconut macaroons.
Tomorrow, I’ll be making my mother’s recipe for jelly cakes (which probably have a proper name, but she never called them anything but jelly cakes), and on Tuesday, I’ll be making cookies for the teachers at my son’s school.
Why yes, this is how I relax.
…will mean something entirely different soon.
My newest novel, The School, has been acquired by Forbidden Fiction. Manuscript is delivered, contract is signed, edits will begin whenever they begin.
The School is a dark, post-apocalyptic fantasy, featuring my first ever Asexual character.* Very dark. REALLY dark. I went all in on the dark.** To the point that I had three beta readers back out when I warned them. Now, most of the time, I don’t know where the dark comes from. For this one, I do.
A year ago in December, my sister and her husband both caught that nasty flu. My sister ended up in the hospital, and I jumped on a plane and flew from Florida to North Carolina to help out with their daughters. Which involved taking the girls to church — three times in one day (Mass, rehearsals for the Christmas pageant for the younger, and religious education for the older one).
So, six times in one day, I passed the Stonewall Jackson Youth Development Center.
The history of this place is lurid at best. And not long after came the discovery of bodies at the Florida School for Boys.
Add them both together, and you have The School.
“Be a good boy, or you’ll get sent to The School….”
The short story Infernal Machine, which originally appeared in the anthology Carnal Machines, has been accepted into the 2014 Best Men’s Erotica from Burning Book Press!
Infernal Machine was written by my close personal friend Elias A. St. James. (wink)
I’ve got a novella coming out next week. From Dusk ’til Dawn is part of the For the Love of the Gods anthology from Ishtar Press, the romance imprint of Pagan Writers Press. From Dusk ’til Dawn will be released as an e-book stand-alone novella, then will be rolled into the print anthology.
And here is the LOVELY cover that Angelique Mroczka made for me!
And the blurb:
When Delan stumbled into the Temple, he wasn’t expecting to be welcomed as a Temple servant. He wasn’t expecting his only duty to be to serve Lyander, cloistered son of the High Priestess. He wasn’t expecting to fall in love.
And he wasn’t expecting that he was going to have to choose: love, or saving the world.
If you are on Facebook, you can check out the virtual release party, starting August 16th.
Yesterday was a real up and down day. I found out that Philip the Foole, a well-known BDSM expert and a long-time net friend, had passed away unexpectedly on Sunday the 14th. I have known Philip (virtually, anyway) for so many years not that I’m not even sure I can put a number to it, and the last time I spoke to him, it was through Laura Antoniou’s Facebook page, where he told me (and everyone else) how much he liked “Oh, Promise Me!”
Hard to get my brains around the fact that he’s gone. I’d always hoped to meet him in person.
A few hours after I learned about Philip, I got the email from Pagan Writers Press that they were interested in the novella I sent off to them a few months ago. The sale of From Dusk ’til Dawn is therefore a little bittersweet.
What’s upcoming on the Schechter writing radar?
Well, my next novel, the steampunk erotic romance House of Sable Locks, will be coming from Circlet sometime soon. How soon? Not sure. I sent the page proofs back in a couple of weeks ago, which means we’re in the home stretch. But we’ve been having trouble finding a cover. I mean, just WHAT do you put on the cover for a book where the hero is a half-trained Mad Scientist, and the heroine is a machine?
Yeah, that was a FUN book to write. Skirted some real legal issues there, too. There were a few chapters that had to be gutted and rewritten to avoid the whole “It was legal when this book happened. It is NOT LEGAL NOW!” gray area.
After that, I’ve got another novel in the slush at Circlet. This one is a paranormal BDSM M/M romance called Heart’s Master, and I’m pretty pleased with it. Especially since it took six years to write! I’m trying to be patient, but patience is not my strongest virtue.
Another M/M romance went off to Circlet too, a few weeks ago. That one is a high fantasy novella called Sapphires and Gold. When I started it, it was supposed to be erotic horror, but apparently, while I can do erotic pretty durned well, I cannot write horror to save my life.
I seem to like writing M/M, because another novella went off to the Pagan Writers Press a few weeks ago, too. That one was From Dusk ’til Dawn, and it was another high fantasy.
And right now, I’m writing a science-fiction BDSM erotic novel called Tales from the Arena. I’m hoping to have this done by June 1, so that I can focus on my son for the summer. So, that being said, I need to get back to work!
Okay. First off, a reminder. Due to technical difficulties, Princes of Air DOES NOT release today. Soon as I know when, I’ll let you all know.
Remember what I said last week about it getting harder to find an excerpt without spoilers?
Yeah, this week? Durn near impossible. So, there’s one SMALL spoiler in this one. What we have here is part three of Princes of Air: The Raven and the Fox.
Remember Turlach the charioteer? He does indeed get to meet Petran the harper, the Morrigan’s middle son. Petran, for reasons I’m not going in to here because that would be a HUGE spoiler, has been fighting the mate-bond he feels for Turlach. This is where he gives in.
Oh, and as a note: Petran’s song to Turlach is adapted from two songs found in the book The Love Songs of Connacht, collected and translated by Douglas Hyde, and published in 1904.
****
“I understand now. Except for where I don’t.” He looked at me quizzically. “Petran, we’re bonded already. Even if you decide to never seal the bond between us, it’s too late. We’re mated. I know it. You know it. How does denying it protect you at all? If something happens to me, the bond is still going to be severed.” My jaw dropped, and I realized just how right he was, and just how stupid I had been. Turlach laughed at the look on my face, then leaned over and kissed me gently before saying, “Petran-my-love, you’re an idiot.”
I stared at him in shock, and his lips twitched. A moment later, we were roaring with laughter, great whooping gales of mirth that cut off abruptly when Turlach kissed me, pushing me backwards onto the bed. He straddled me, catching my wrists in his hands and forcing them over my head, pinning me to the bed. I didn’t struggle, even though I could have overpowered Turlach easily. Instead I let him take control, losing myself in his touch and in the taste of his mouth, as sweet and as tart as good cider. His tongue caressed mine and I moaned against his mouth.
“Turlach?” I heard Diarmuid’s voice and felt Turlach stiffen in surprise. He rolled off of me and sat up, letting me rise so that I could see my brother in the doorway, his eyes wide.
“A Ri?” Turlach said slowly, his face crimson. He glanced sidelong at me and tried not to smile.
“I… ah…” Diarmuid started, then shook his head and grinned. “I came to tell you that we heard from Dun-Righ. Your father is fine. He sends his regards.”
Turlach let out a long breath and slumped slightly; I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He smiled his thanks at me and then turned to Diarmuid. “Thank you, A Ri.”
“You’d best start calling me by my name, I think,” Diarmuid answered. He gestured at the two of us. “I’m glad to see that you two have… settled your differences,” he said, smiling. He left, and I leaned back on my elbows and laughed. Turlach lay down next to me, pressing up against my side and draping one arm over my midsection.
“I’m glad, too,” he said. “Shall we continue to settle our differences?”
“Not here,” I answered, rolling towards him and kissing him quickly. “My house.”
“Why there?” Turlach asked, getting up and helping me to my feet.
I slung my arm over his shoulders and steered his towards the door. “Because my bed is bigger,” I answered. “And because my harp is there.”
“Your harp?” Turlach stopped and looked up at me. “You’re going to play for me?”
“If you’d like that,” I said, tugging him along with me. “You get to decide if you want it first or after.”
“Oh, such decisions!” Turlach laughed as we walked. Inside my house, I let Turlach make himself comfortable while I took my cloak off and laid it aside, then took my harp from its box. As I lifted the harp, the dried flower fell out onto the floor; Turlach stooped and picked it up and handed it back to me.
“Is that the rose I put in there?” he asked, sounding surprised. I smiled and nodded, sitting down with my harp in my lap. It had been a long time since I’d played, and it took me longer than I’d thought to tune it to my satisfaction. When I looked up, I was surprised to see Turlach stretched out on my bed, completely naked. He smiled and stretched like a cat, posing for me.
“What’s this, then?” I asked, leering at him.
“I thought it would save time,” he answered, visibly preening under my gaze.
“It’s distracting.”
“I could put my trews back on,” he offered.
“No. It’s also inspiring,” I ran my fingers over the harp-strings, just barely touching them with my nails, thinking about Turlach, about what I felt for him, what we could have together. The words rose up within me, struggling to be free. I smiled and started to play:
Oh, love of my love, do not hate me,
For love, I am aching for thee;
And my love for my love I’ll forsake not,
O love, till I fade like a tree.
Since I gave thee my love I am failing,
My love, wilt thou aid me to flee?
And my love, O my love, if thou take not–
No love for my dear love from me.
O dear love, take my love,
Love of my heart, thy love,
Love without fear or failing;
Love that knows not death,
Love that grows with breath,
Love that must shortly slay me;
Love that heeds not wealth,
Love that breeds in stealth,
Love that leaves me sorrowing daily;
Love from my heart is thine, and such a love is mine
Is found not twice–but found, is unfailing.
I finished, rested my hand over the harp-strings to dampen the sound, and looked up to see Turlach staring at me, slack-jawed. I blinked in surprise and set my harp aside. “Turlach?”
“That… that was beautiful,” he whispered. “All for me?”
I stood up and crossed to the bed, sitting down and pulling him to me, whispering into his ear, “All for you. Always for you. I’m sorry, a shiorghra.”
The endearment made him smile, “Forever? I like the sound of that.”
I nodded. “It will be forever. When you become my mate, you take on my immortality.”
His eyes widened, “Immortal. But…?”
“We can be killed, but we stop aging at some point. I think at about forty or so. Diarmuid hasn’t really changed much in the past few years,” I answered. “Now, is forever acceptable to you? You won’t get tired of being married to an old harper?”
Turlach sputtered amusingly for a moment, then stopped and pointed at me, “You… you’re teasing me!”
“Yes. Yes, I am,” I answered, grinning.
He laughed and started tugging on the lacing of my jerkin. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
This is getting harder — pulling excerpts that DON’T have spoilers in them!
Now, I’ve been told that there is a technical problem, and the book may not drop next week as planned. It will still be sometime in November, though.
So, here is another tease — an excerpt from part two of Princes of Air: The Courtship of the Raven King. In this part, the oldest of the Princes, Diarmuid, has decided that it is time for him to take a wife. But first he has to find her, and he’s taking advantage of a royal wedding in the hopes of meeting the right woman. His brothers have… volunteered him to guard the baggage, so instead of flying, he’s riding in a chariot. And things don’t go the way they were supposed to (do they ever?)
Part two of Princes of Air. Coming November from Circlet Press.
****
The next day was uneventful, and much more bearable. I spent most of the morning in the air, pacing the chariot and keeping watch that way, until we reached a part of the road overhung with trees. I could no longer see clearly, so I landed and rode with Turlach in the chariot. The previous night seemed to have opened the way for us, and he was much more talkative today, telling me about himself and about the country through which we drove. He was just twenty, he told me, younger than I’d originally thought. He was the son of a charioteer, and he himself had been a charioteer since he’d turned fifteen. My lack of a charioteer of my own fascinated him, until I told him that I didn’t even own a horse, and wouldn’t know what to do with one if I did.
“You’ve really never handled a horse?” he asked, amazed.
“What need do I have for a horse?” I asked in response. That drew a laugh out of him, and he offered to teach me to drive.
“Not here, though,” he amended. “This road needs watching, and we’ll be in the bogs soon. Tomorrow, in the forest. Now, tell me more about this brother of yours?”
“You’re very single-minded,” I accused, laughing. He laughed with me, then graced me with an innocent smile.
“I’m a charioteer. The horses do all the work when we’re not in battle. What else is there worth thinking about?”
“Petran is twice your age,” I pointed out.
He went from innocent to wanton in a moment, leering at me, “Even better. I like older men. They have more experience, and they know so much more. I can’t wait to meet him.” He glanced at me. “Why are you going to Dun-Righ so early? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“I don’t mind. I’m hoping to find a wife.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding sagely. “And you’re hoping that one of those high-born fillies at Dun-Righ will suit you?” He shrugged, “I watch them, even though they don’t interest me. And you’d be better off looking someplace else. Those girls… all they want are a high-born husband to give them children and status and a baile of their own to rule. There isn’t much… substance to them. They’re all silk and paint and not a brain in their pretty heads. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, frowning slightly, “I do. I’ll have to see for myself.”
He glanced at me sidelong, then shrugged, “If you think you must. But I’ll warn you. I’ve seen too many good friends taken to bits by those high-born bawds. Guard your heart and your purse, Diarmuid Ri na Fiach dubh.”
His epitaph amused me. It wasn’t often that people actually called me what I am–King of the Ravens. In my own home, I was simply the oldest brother. In the village of Scath, I was the overlord and protector. Outside that circle, I didn’t know what was said about me and mine. I’d never thought to ask, never had anyone I could ask who would be able to answer me truthfully.
“Turlach, what do you know about us? About me and my brothers?” I asked, suddenly curious beyond measure.
“Just what they say,” he answered, shrugging slightly. “I’ve heard a lot of things. People tend to talk around us, you understand? This is the most conversation I’ve had while driving in years.” He frowned, obviously thinking. “I’ve heard that you’re all sons of the Battle Queen. I’ve heard that you’re normal men, and that you just claim to be Her sons, and that you make people believe you through trickery. I’ve heard that you’re all great sorcerers, and that you have the High King in your thrall. It’s the first that’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. There’s something about you, something… different. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before,” he smiled and met my eyes. “Let me know if you ever decide to get a chariot. I’d be honored to drive for you.”
I smiled back at him, “And does that offer have anything to do with my brother, the harper?”
He managed to look affronted before breaking into laughter, “Perhaps a little. But I like you, too. None of the high-born I’ve driven have ever been so…” he paused for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder, a most raven-like gesture. “…So friendly. Most of them don’t care anything for someone who isn’t as high-born as they are.”
I nodded. I had the same impression of many of the people I’d met in Eogan’s court. “I understand. I like you, too. And I’d be honored to have you drive my chariot. As soon as I get one.”
He laughed again and drew back on the reins, drawing the horses to a stop, “I’ll hold you to that, too. Now, we’re about to enter the bogs. I’ll need all my attention on the road, and you’ll need to keep a watchful eye. There are bog-men in there who prey on travelers, and we’re too tempting a target for them to let us pass. I’m going to drive as fast as is safe, but still…”
“Bog-men?” I looked at the road ahead and stared in shock–there was no road! “Turlach…”
“There are markers on the safe passage,” he answered my unspoken question. “I know what to look for but I need to pay attention. And yes. Bog-men. There are safe ways to get a small party through the bogs, but no way to safely bring through a large enough attack force to clear out the bog-men.” He frowned slightly and looked at me, “I’m going to need to go pretty fast, and it will be a rough trip. Will you be all right?”
I took one of the light spears from a socket built into the side of the chariot and grabbed hold of the chariot rail with my other hand, “I’ll be fine. Go.”
He grinned, then shouted to the horses; the chariot lurched forward and into the bogs.
* * * *
I am never riding in a chariot ever again.
I still planned to get one, and to bring Turlach into Dun-Morrigan as the charioteer, but I swore in my mother’s name that never again would I ride in one of these torturous contraptions. That was what I repeated to myself as we bounced and jolted through the bogs, following a road that I couldn’t see. I never once saw the markers Turlach mentioned, never knew just how it was that he was navigating without having us end up drowning in the murky waters that I knew lurked under the mossy surface of the bog. I couldn’t see how anyone could ever live in this place–either Turlach was telling tales, having fun at my expense, or these bog-men he mentioned were all mad. But I kept my watch, even though there was nothing to see. The land around us was flat, with few, sparse bushes. There was barely anything that could hide a man, let alone a band of bog-men.
Up ahead, I could see a line of trees growing steadily closer, and knew that we’d be out of the bogs soon, and into the great forest where we’d spend our last night on the road. I scanned the area ahead of us, then glanced behind. As I turned, a sudden movement caught my eye–I turned back and saw nothing but more scrubby bushes waving in the breeze.
Just as I realized that the bushes we had already passed hadn’t been moving, that there was no breeze, the bog exploded. Men surged out of the water, shedding their camouflage and brandishing spears and swords. I hurled my spear and killed the one closest to us, then had to grab for the rail as Turlach snapped the reins and urged the horses into a gallop.
“They won’t follow us into the trees!” he shouted. “We’re almost there!”
I nodded, holding on with one hand and taking another spear with the other, watching the way we had come to make sure that there was no one following. I heard Turlach shout, turned, and had just enough time to see the fallen tree that had been hidden from view in a natural dip in the road, and the armed men there. Before I could do anything, Turlach screamed and fell, a spear in his shoulder. I fumbled for the reins and dragged back on them as I’d seen Turlach do, but we were going too fast. There was no way to stop. The horses leapt, clearing the tree easily.
The chariot was not as lucky.
My last memory was of the chariot hitting the tree, and of being thrown through the air. I’d been trying to save Turlach, and hadn’t shifted to raven form, so I fell, landing hard on my right shoulder. I remembered hearing something crack, then everything was swallowed by pain and darkness, and I knew nothing more.