Friday, 24 February 2017

"You've hardly started on his secrets": Blog-tour roundup #2

Félix-Hilaire Buhot (1847-1898), Illustration for 'Le Diable Amoureux' (The Devil in Love)
This is the fun bit of a blog tour - I finally get to share all the super-sekret things I have been hoarding about my book! (Well, some secrets, because there are way more to come; just you wait for Bk.3!😈)

On Jennifer Denys' blog you can read about what goes into writing the second book of a trilogy. I'm normally clueless about writing tips for aspiring authors, but this is what works for me.

And on Samantha MacLeod's blog you can read an interview with my heroine Milja in which I torture her a bit more, because I can't get enough of making her life difficult in my plots ...

Actually that may be a writing tip: TORTURE YOUR CHARACTERS!


Ebook Buy Links:AmazonAppleGoogle PlayKobo

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

"You'll essentially be breathless": the Blog-Tour begins!

*sound of heavenly voices going AwwwwWWWWWAaaaw*
Arild Rosenkrantz, Angel with a Sword of Fire, c. 1935
My blog tour for the release of In Bonds of the Earth kicks off divine style with a PODCAST interview hosted by the heavenly Rose Caraway, who managed to raise my spirits from my hellish pit of illness. She's so enthusiastic about this series!

"Reading these two books was like watching a movie, folks. There’s action, sex, sensational knowledge-bombs, twists, and turns–you will essentially be breathless during and definitely after reading!"
And then today I'm featured on devilishly good horror/SF/thriller writer Simon Bestwick's blog, with an article that reveals exactly the lengths and depths I had to go to to research In Bonds of the Earth. Not for the very squeamish...

Thanks to Rose and Simon! XXX

Ebook Buy Links:AmazonAppleGoogle PlayKobo



Sunday, 19 February 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's excerpt is from my Arabian Nights romance novel Heart of Flame. Since the publisher Samhain is shutting down at the end of this month, this is your last chance to see or get your hands on this novel until I reprint...


Ahleme has been abducted by a djinni, who is trying hard to persuade her to become the mother of his children...




So close to begging permission of her, his discomfort revealed itself in the drawing back of his lips, a flash of fire in his eyes. The sharp points of his incisors served Ahleme as a belated reminder of the horror of her situation. She looked down at his open palm over her smooth thigh and noted the curved claws that tipped his fingers. If he gripped her hard he could rip her open, she thought, her mouth drying. She shrank away minutely.

‘No. Please don’t. No more.’

For a moment shadows chased across his skin and she thought he was going to explode, but he swallowed hard and held his temper. ‘Then let me touch you,’ he said, drawing one finger across the small of her back. ‘Your beauty drives me mad with love.’ His breath was hot on her bare shoulder. ‘I’ve watched you and watched you, and wanted so much to -’ He sensed her flinching. ‘Are you still frightened? Don’t you want to be loved like this?’

‘Don’t,’ she whimpered. It couldn’t be mistaken for a command. His lips brushed her shoulder, silk on silk.

'Then carry on with this chess game with me,’ he whispered, the purr of his voice igniting little flashes of sensation across her skin, ‘and the moment you win then I will leave you in peace. Hm?’ When she made no answer he reclined on his elbow again, so close to her that she could feel the radiant warmth of his body. ‘Your move.’

It was a slim chance of a dignified way out of her situation, but it had to be seized. Ahleme knew she wasn’t bad at chess—often it was the only way to pass the long hours in the palace—even if she had no outstanding talent. She narrowed her eyes and considered the pieces, finally making a move.

Unhurriedly, Yazid reached past her for his rook. But when he withdrew his hand he placed it on the small of her back. Ahleme jumped a little.

‘Please don’t touch me,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It’s distracting.’

He chuckled, and his teasing fingertips withdrew. There was the faintest hiss of skin on silk and a long exhalation of breath from behind her. Ahleme’s eyes widened: recent experience was branded on her mind. ‘Please don’t do that either,’ she whispered.

‘You said not to touch you. It’s hardly fair to stipulate what else I might touch. Your move.’

They played in silence for a few moves—or near-silence, anyway. Ahleme was torn between wanting to win and wanting to get her moves done quickly. The quicker the better, she told herself. Yazid was more leisurely: of course, in every way it was in his interests to play for as long as possible. Her one advantage was that his chess-moves were unfocused and grew more so as his breathing became irregular. She heard the click of his tongue as he moistened his dry lips.

‘Check,’ she whispered.

Without a word he rose to press his face to her back, his lips to her skin. Ahleme stiffened, pulled away and half-turned to snap a warning, frightened glare at him and at once Yazid fell back supine on the bed, his eyes fixed on her and aglow with need.

She looked. She shouldn’t have done, but she did: the merest glance down to his groin. He was still clothed, for which she was profoundly grateful. His fingers rested over his lower belly, frozen in mid-caress. Quite visible under the silk was the bulk of his arousal, outlined by the sheen of the silk: flat against his belly, straight as a beam, and to Ahleme’s inexperienced eyes improbably large. She clenched her jaw and tried to turn away but somehow couldn’t stop looking.

Yazid’s fingers strayed to the drawstring of his shalwar. He cleared his throat. ‘Take this,’ he said huskily.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

‘Oh come on, my virgin princess. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what you do to me?’ He traced his length reverently with his fingers and it twitched beneath the silk, making the breath catch in Ahleme’s throat.

He was right of course. She was horribly, shamefully curious. Like every other young woman of rank she’d seen pictures in instructional books intended to prepare girls for their marriage duties, but those tiny painted miniatures with their garden settings and their sharp outlines and their convolutions of limbs seemed to bear no relation to this here now, so simple and huge and solid. The suggestion that this was her doing, that this was some sort of power she had over him, squirmed deep in her belly. She felt too hot all of a sudden despite her scanty clothes.

‘Have you seen this before?’ His voice was husky.

Her chin jerked to signify No.

‘You’re cruel, my princess. You torment me like this, then you do nothing to comfort me.’ Despite his mass and his muscle he seemed oddly vulnerable and exposed, lying down while she sat at his side, hip to hip. He was laid out for her scrutiny. She couldn’t help wondering what he would feel like under her hands if she ran them over that smooth torso. Were his muscles as hard as they looked? Would that rippled stomach resist the pressure of her fingers? Would his-?

She caught the illegitimate thought and in a panic squashed it, flushing. But she didn’t look away.

Slowly, watching her face for reaction, Yazid wrapped the end of the drawstring tie around two of his fingers, turn after turn. Then he began to pull. The silk string went taut, then lengthened. Knots popped. Suddenly the generous gathered material about his waist was free, and loose enough for him to draw the cloth down, revealing himself.‘There. That’s what you do to me, Flower of the Earth.’

His fingers looked pale against the iron-grey flush of his flesh. Ahleme’s mouth had gone dry. He looked … Muscular was the only way she could put it: like the neck of a proud stallion it invited her touch. She curled her fingers into a fist. It fascinated her. She could feel somewhere deep in her mind things shifting about, pieces sliding into place, doors opening: a mystery had been revealed at last. She needed time to take this new knowledge into her soul.

‘Want to touch it?’ Yazid’s hand moved as if he were caressing a small but strong animal. He shifted his shoulders and grey shadows flickered up his torso from his crotch to his ribs. ‘You want to find out how hard it is? How much it wants to be inside you?’

The manifest impossibility of something that size fitting into any woman almost made her laugh: it seemed like another limb. She bit her lip. He reached out his left hand and trailed the back of his knuckles over her thigh. His right hand moved upon himself, up and down, up and down.

‘Then just let me look at you,’ he rasped. She licked her lips; for some reason this made him groan.

‘Let me—let me -’ His eyes looked dark and his throat was marbled with blue. ‘Oh God—touch me…’ And that couldn’t be taken for anything other than a plea.

Ahleme was moved almost to pity.

Her hand was moved by something else though; a curiosity all of its own. Bewildered, she saw it steal out. She hadn’t meant to do it, she hadn’t consciously intended to lay her fingers on that hot, charged length. She hadn’t allowed herself to really think about what it would be like. And yet—there she was doing it. Her fingers must have felt icy cold to him because he was like burning silk under her touch, silk that moved over a mahogany hardness. She coiled her hand around its girth and squeezed, testing the obdurate mass. Squeezed again.

With a cry he erupted. Like quicksilver, she thought with the part of her mind that was watching in surprise everything that had happened, everything she was doing: Just exactly like alchemists’ quicksilver. It splashed on his belly and puddled in his navel and tricked down his sides to the bed as he heaved and arched—and then in moments it sublimed, vanishing from his skin into the air. Leaving him trembling and hot with fresh sweat and staring.
 
And a voice inside her that she hardly recognised cried out in awe and triumph: I did that! I did that to him!



One day...

If I'm really really lucky, I might be able to catch a few days of actual fiction writing soon.

*sobs*

Friday, 17 February 2017

Let slip the dogs of smut

This is me last night, recording a podcast across the unending void of Skype, for the Sexy Librarian 😊



Since I reluctantly paused in writing The Prison of the Angels (Book of the Watchers 3)  I have written 18 blog posts for the upcoming launch tour of Vol.2 : In Bonds of the Earth. My brain is like soup and I'm feeling quite ill this week, frankly, but luckily Sexy Librarian Rose buoyed me up with her enthusiasm!

The IBotE BLOGTOUR kicks off on Wednesday 22nd February at Simon Bestwick's place and runs until I'm clean out of people who will talk to me.

The Official Facebook Launch Party is on 1st March and EVERYONE is welcome to drop in - we will be having competitions and silly games and I'm sure as hell getting the cocktails out, because I'm planning to do a video reading of at least one excerpt!

So do please contact me if you'd like to host me in the blog tour:

janine dot ashbless at gmail dot com
Meanwhile I will go back to my glass of wine ... 😉

"I will free them all."

When Milja Petak released the fallen angel Azazel from five thousand years of imprisonment, she did it out of love and pity. She found herself in a passionate sexual relationship beyond her imagining and control – the beloved plaything of a dark and furious demon who takes what he wants, when he wants, and submits to no restraint. But what she hasn’t bargained on is being drawn into his plan to free all his incarcerated brothers and wage a war against the Powers of Heaven.

As Azazel drags Milja across the globe in search of his fellow rebel angels, Milja fights to hold her own in a situation where every decision has dire consequences. Pursued by the loyal Archangels, she is forced to make alliances with those she cannot trust: the mysterious Roshana Veisi, who has designs of her own upon Azazel; and Egan Kansky, special forces agent of the Vatican – the man who once saved then betrayed her, who loves her, and who will do anything he can to imprison Azazel for all eternity.

Torn every way by love, by conflicting loyalties and by her own passions, Milja finds that she too is changing – and that she must do things she could not previously have dreamt of in order to save those who matter to her.

In Bonds of the Earth is the second in the Book of the Watchers trilogy and the sequel to Cover Him With Darkness.

Wednesday, 15 February 2017

So long, Samhain


It's a tough time for romance publishers, it seems. Not only did Ellora's Cave close its doors in January, Samhain is now following suit. They tried downsizing but it didn't work. The market is swamped with self-published novels of varying quality, and Amazon has traditional publishers by the short and curlies.

I have only one book with Samhain; my Arabian Nights romance Heart of Flame. So your chance to get your hands on it (in its current format) is running out! All rights will revert to me in March, but it'll need a new cover/publisher/me to finally get my finger out and learn self-publishing... There may be some delay!



 By day, Taqla uses her forbidden sorcery to move freely about the city of Damascus in the guise of an old sage. Her true identity known only by her faithful servant woman, Taqla is content with the comfortable, if restrictive, life that keeps her safe from the control of any man. Until she lays eyes on a handsome merchant-traveler. Suddenly her magical disguise doesn’t rest so easily on her shoulders. When long-time widower, Rafiq, hears that the Amir’s beautiful daughter has been kidnapped by a scheming djinni—and that she will be given in marriage to her rescuer—he seeks the help of “Umar the Wise” to ensure he will be that man. Yet as he and the disguised Taqla set off, he senses that his prickly male companion is hiding something. In a moment of dire peril, all of Taqla’s secrets are stripped bare—her fears, her sorcery and, worst of all, her love for Rafiq. Yet the princess’s life hangs in the balance, and there is no running away or turning back. Even though passion may yet betray them all…




This is Samhain's official letter to readers:

"Greetings, Samhain Readers.

It's with a heavy heart that we announce Samhain Publishing will be closing at the end of February. Due to the declining sales we’ve been experiencing with this changing market we’ve come to the sad conclusion it’s time to call it a day.

The last of our new titles launch February 21st; I hope you will check them out and support them as you have so many other Samhain titles through the years."

Our site will go dark at the end of the day, February 28th. Please take a few moments and visit, buy what you might have been planning on getting someday in the future, but download and back up your bookshelf because you won’t have access to it after February 28th.

Thank you for all your support through the eleven years we’ve been open. It’s been a pleasure to bring to market new voices in publishing and new works from familiar authors. From start to finish, we’ve always kept what the reader wants in mind and hope you enjoyed what we had to offer."


Buy 'Heart of Flame' at Amazon US

Monday, 13 February 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today Samantha MacLeod is back with her latest story, Persephone Remembers the Pomegranates, which is published TOMORROW for Valentine's Day.


You’ve heard it was the pomegranate.

Those six juicy, ruby seeds, staining my lips and fingers. Sealing my fate. Damning me.


Well, maybe so.


But that’s not entirely the truth.



He had a chariot, a great black chariot leaping and dancing with blue flames. It have terrified me once, but his hands held my arm as I climbed to the seat, and I was not afraid. I suppose we must have vanished through a cleft in the earth, descending to the underworld. We must have crossed the River Styx, gone past the great three-headed Cerberus.

I noticed none of it. Once we mounted the chariot, he pulled me onto his lap and pressed his lips to mine, and all I remember of the journey was the way he made my body burn. My legs wrapped around his waist, my chest pressed to his, and I felt his arousal throbbing against the loose weave of my chiton. His breath caught in his throat when I moved my hips against his. As I ran my fingers down his back, his body responded to my touch, my lips, my fingers, as though I were the driver and he the chariot.

I didn’t even notice when the chariot stopped. I was kissing his wrist, feeling his pulse hammer jaggedly beneath his pale skin, listening to his gasping breath when he caught my chin in his hand and turned my head to face his. He kissed me and, as he kissed me, he stood, lifting me. I let him carry me, feeling his strong body move beneath me.

He walked with me until we were in a great, dark room, a room filled with burning candles and the heavy scent of flowers, lilies and roses. It was a room, I would slowly realize, he had prepared just for me. A room filled with things he imagined I would enjoy, with flowers I loved, with fabrics that would feel good against my naked skin.

But at the moment all I cared about was him, his lips and fingers and hands, his hard body against mine. He lay me on the enormous bed in the center of the room, and then he followed me down, his hand traveling up my robes for the first time.

I gasped as his fingers danced over my inner thighs. But he hesitated before my sex, running his fingers lightly over the curls of my hair without pressing, without entering. His hands pulled back my chiton, slipping the fabric over my hips and off my shoulders until I lay before him naked and trembling. Only then did he remove the himation from his own chest, revealing the pale lines of his muscular abdomen and strong arms.

I knew what men and women did when they were naked. I’d seen it often enough, with the animals. Athena and my mother explained it in cold, clinical detail. Both of them emphasized the pain I’d experience my first time, and the drudgery I could expect after that. So I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat when I saw his hungry eyes.

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“What happens now?” I said, and then I cringed at the sound of my own voice. I sounded like such a child.

He smiled. “Now, I kiss you,” he said.

I sighed, relieved. I thought I knew kissing.

Once again, I was wrong.

His lips started on my neck, caressing the sensitive skin beneath my ear, and his breath on my collarbone made my entire body shiver. He traced my shoulders with his lips, his tongue dipping to the hollow in my clavicle. His lips moved to the swell of my breasts, taking one nipple gently into his mouth, cupping the other in his strong hand. I moaned again, that strange, animal noise, and his teeth closed gently around my hardened nipple. My hips began to rock of their own accord; I was losing control of my own body, first my voice and now my pelvis.

His lips traced a line of kisses between the swell of my breasts and down my navel, down to the delicate mound of hair between my legs. I gasped as his head dipped between my wet thighs. I’d never known you could be kissed there.

And, oh, when he kissed me—

My eyes closed as heat and pleasure rocked through my body. His lips and tongue moved inside me, and my hips swayed under his touch, rising and falling, coming to meet him. I didn’t know my body could burn like this, could feel so good. I lost the ability to speak, my voice a rough stream of moans and cries and then near soundless whispers of, “Yes, yes, yes…” Don’t stop, I thought. Don’t ever stop. The room spun as he brought his hand to the crest of my sex, pressing gently.

And my body exploded.

I shook under his touch and flooded with heat, my breath pressed out of my lungs, my mind a blank red emptiness. I thought for a moment I had died. Then I took a deep, jagged breath and opened my eyes to see him next to me. Yes, I thought. Yes, him.

I reached for his neck and pulled his face to mine, kissing him deeply. I tasted myself on his lips, salt and a touch of distant sweetness. I kissed him until my body began to burn again, and I felt his lips curl into a smile.

“Persephone,” he said, his voice rough. “I would make you my queen.”


Buy Persephone Remembers the Pomegranates at:

Amazon US :: Amazon UK

 Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.


Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.

Samantha MacLeod's website
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Amazon author page

Friday, 10 February 2017

Please still be magic!


This week I risked my entire writing career and had my shower enclosure torn out and a new one installed. Then I had to repaint the bathroom of course...

Why's it a risk? Well, if you're a writer one of the questions you get asked most frequently is, "What do you do to get over writers' block?" And the answer for me is, "I take a long shower."

I had a magic shower, you see. Every time I got stuck on the logistics of a scene, the choreography of some sexual gymnastics, or the flow of a piece of dialogue, I could be sure that all I needed to do was stand under the water for long enough and it would all sort itself out in my head, like a miracle.

Will the magic work with the new shower? I don't know yet!

I have high hopes of the inspirational laminate backing board though (no more tiles and grout for me, suckas!). It's blue with a white marble effect, but as I told Mr Ashbless, "It just looks like there's been a gigantic cum-fight."
 

And now nobody can unsee that 😈😈 😈

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

"Exactly what you want from your sexy angels"



Reviews have started going up on Amazon!

"Did the sequel live up to its promise? Well, emphatically. Intensely, bravely and daringly. Janine Ashbless is a writer who is staunchly committed to her characters, her plot and her action. This book just chews on the marrow of its idea – there is such wealth of detail and research, and it revels in the characters’ chemistry. In romance terms, it deals with the whole struggle of loving an angel so convincingly... Azazel hasn’t lost any of his heroic attraction and Milja is both realistically human and impossibly courageous and… well, sorry, but she’s kinda feisty. A Buffy for the new century, perhaps. Well, not exactly, but I like her. I’m gnawing my fist waiting for book three. Then there’d better be a movie.

What are you waiting for? Buy it! Quick!"



"I pre-ordered this from the publisher, knowing I'd get it sooner than the official release date. And Oh. My. Goodness. I'm so pleased I did..!
My biggest concern was that it wouldn't be so incredibly all-encompassing and immersive a storyline as Cover Him With Darkness but I wasn't disappointed. From the very beginning, it's as hot, raw, sexy and intelligent as the first book.
And like the first, the storyline has the echoes and trappings of the fairytales and bible stories we've been taught and have read but it digs deeper, retelling the old myths with new insight; an obvious labour of love and research for the author."



Thank you Jo Murphy and Anna Sky!

Monday, 6 February 2017

Blue Monday: Piper Denna guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Piper Denna, with an excerpt from her short story His Undoing. It appears in the gloriously provocative anthology Sacred and Profane: Erotic Priest Romance, edited by Torrance Sené.


 Ten stories of temptation, romance, and blasphemy featuring Sonni de Soto, Piper Denna, Torrance Sené, Charlotte French, Bronwyn Green, Leandra Vane, Mira Stanley, Jordan Monroe, H K Carlton, and Jillian Boyd.

Not even men of the cloth are exempt from God’s greatest gift: Love. In
Sacred and Profane: Priest Erotic Romance, you’ll find stories of clergymen stepping outside their vows, pastors weaving divinity into their seductions, nuns and parishioners confessing to their body’s every earthly desire, and more.

Are you aroused by the blasphemous dance of sex and religion? The dangerous edge of eroticism contained within submission to something beyond oneself? The taboo juxtaposition of holy and sensual? Then
Sacred and Profane welcomes you.


She looked back at him, brows raised.

“Don’t believe you could lead me astray, Shasta.” Her half-smile faltered, so he rushed on. “I mean, because I’ve already gone astray... in spirit, at least.”


“A... alone?” She crossed her arms over that gorgeous chest.


He shook his head. Sucked in a deep breath. “With you.” And a few dozen other females, back in the porn-phase. But she didn’t need to hear about that now.


“Oh.” Her smile broadened. “So you were thinking with your...” She looked down at the front of his jeans, no doubt noticing he was hard for her. Unable or unwilling to voice the words, she blushed.


“Thinking with my dick?” His breath caught, saying it out loud. “Yes.”


“Maybe it’d like to get out and do some talking?” She stepped closer, cupped him, and all of last night’s heat came rushing back. “A little handshake?”


He caught her face between his hands, kissed her plump, sweet lips, the corner of her mouth, back for a taste inside, a suck at her tongue.


She’d worked his jeans open, her hand slipping under the waistband of his briefs and then those soft, small, hot fingers slid over his head, wrapped around him.


“Shasta.” Heat arrowed through his gut; his balls tightened. Hell. He couldn’t lose control of himself now, in her hand.


“You sure about this... What should I call you?” Her eyes met his as she squeezed, tugged.


Not pastor. He half laughed, relieved for the minor distraction. “Just Luke is fine. Or Lucas. And yes. I’m sure. You?” If she wanted to back out, he’d have trouble walking away upright, but he’d go.


“Yes.” She kissed him and he tried to focus on kissing back, but her hand on his cock filled the world, stroking, sliding through precome.


Would she like it if he came in her hand? Girls in porns wanted it on their chests or faces, but he didn’t feel like that was realistic. “Shasta,” he managed. “If you keep doing that...”


“Oh.” She broke away from his mouth, looked around the room. “Here. Sit.” With a small push, she directed him to a dining chair. When he’d sat, she helped him work his jeans down to his ankles, then when he’d toed off his shoes, she pushed the jeans to the floor. Before he could process that she wasn’t going to get naked or climb on or finish the hand job, she’d knelt and covered him with her mouth.


“Fuck.” He hadn’t uttered that profanity since his teen years, but it seemed fitting now. Her mouth, so wet, so hot, so... sucking while it moved. Her hands, cupping his balls just tight enough. And Lord, she made hot little sounds of want while she did it. He found himself sliding down in the chair to give her more reach, more depth. When she nudged his legs apart, he spread them and she knuckled below his balls and sweet hell he knew if she went for his hole he wouldn’t stop her but one of his balls was disappearing and the blood rushed through his ears and he thrust into her mouth, moaning like a crazy man. And then it was zipping out of him in hot wonderful streaks he couldn’t see but he could hear her gulping and the thought of it in her throat made him come harder, made him want to fill her, every hole.


She let go of him with a little sucking pop, looked up at him with eyes round, pupils dilated, lips red and swollen.


Satisfaction warred with searing need to own her, to complete her, make her scream his name.




Buy Sacred and Profane in paperback or e-book at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
iBooks

About Torrance Sené, editor:
 

Torrance Sené (www.dieromantic.com) resides in the southeast USA. When not writing, she can usually be found feeding her addictions to tea, British telly, Marvel, and books. Her other work is found in Best Erotic Romance 2013 (Cleis Press), Paranormal Erotica (Mischief Books/HarperCollins UK), Love Slave: Passion and Love Slave: Heatwave (Lit Select), Exchange of Power (Torquere Press), and Love of the Game (Sexy Little Pages). She is currently at work on her first full-length novel set to be released in spring 2017.

Friday, 3 February 2017

A year in my wood

In December 2015 we bought a wood. I tried to take a photo every month at the same spot - I seem to have lost some of them, but this might give you an idea of the seasonal changes:

February
March

May

June

August
September
November
December

January

Wednesday, 1 February 2017

Blogalogalog

William Blake: The Great Red Dragon and the Woman clothed in Sun (1805-1810)
Hah - that picture rather reminds me of the cover for In Bonds of the Earth ;-)

I have had to put aside my WIP on Book 3 for the moment, as I'm prepping a load of blog-posts for the In Bonds blog tours. Posts of my choice, author interviews, character interviews, excerpts...

Promo is no writer's favourite bit of the job, but some of this work is proving interesting and useful for the final volume. Character interviews get my inside my protagonists' heads, author interviews put forward questions that make me consider my process more deeply, and post subjects ("So, how are the angels in your novel different to everyone else's?") help me be more conscious of my themes.

It's going to feel so weird when it's all over and I move on to another series! Wot, no more angels?! Surely not!

Same artist: The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed With the Sun