I’m supposed to be working. But instead I’m infuriated because my Twitter feed is full of quotes from some SFF author who says romance is a shitty genre and *bless the little women who put so much effort into writing it* but our products are crap. I haven’t even looked who it is because honestly… another day, another Author-with-a-capital-A being condescending. I really couldn’t care less about them. Continue reading →
We’ve all seen those signs at the side of the road, cheap paper flyers promising “Earn $$$ Working from Home!” Every other website seems to promise you can be rolling in cash if you just monetise your Pinterest account or learn Java or join some remote phone sales hotline.I don’t know anyone who’s ever seriously considered calling a number from one of those flyers, or taken those websites seriously when they suggested that ordinary people just like you are earning $10,000 a month working a couple of hours a week in their free time!
They’re scammy, right? Except for the past three years, I have been working at home (sometimes even in my pyjamas!), and I don’t intend to quit.
I love my job. I’m prefacing with that because I don’t say it enough, but I am quite literally living the dream. I get to write books, see them published, and know people buy them — enough people that I can afford to do this full-time. Long may it last!
Before I quit my job — not because writing was making me a bazillionaire, but because I was so damn sick of the place I couldn’t think, they’d laid off everyone at my level except me and doubled the workload at the same time, and they refused me the only pay rise I’d requested in six years when I was already being paid considerably less than the going rate for my position — I wrote around work. That meant writing until three or even four in the morning, then getting up at seven to be in the office for eight. I did that for two years and at the end of it I was exhausted, and barely managing two novels a year. When I had my hissy fit and quit, a world of time opened up before me. Continue reading →
Two years ago today, I left my day job for the last time. I’d been published just shy of two years by that point (my first book, Blood & Ash, was released on 26th June 2011), I had a #1 LGBT title under my belt (What He Wants), and I was feeling
frustrated enough with my job brave enough to take the plunge.
That map shows every country in which I’ve sold a book since then. Continue reading →
I’ve not done a publishing post in forever. It’s not really what I talk about anymore. However, given even the NYT is weighing in these days, why not?
Everyone seems to be talking about Kindle Unlimited, an “all you can eat” way of getting ebooks. For $10 a month, Amazon will provide unlimited access to a library of some 700,000 titles. As an author, I can participate in KU by granting Amazon exclusivity and accepting whatever they feel like paying me for that right.
From the Honourable Mentions:
~ “I was immediately hooked by the old-style English but perfect writing style of this first book of probably a series which I am going to definitely follow.”
~ “The author drew me completely into the setting to the point I felt like I was there.”
~ “A killer lurking in the shadows, traumatized man, blood, murder and homophobic people… It seems there is no place for love but the author managed to write a gripping love story. Love it!”
Hugo and Tommy are thrilled 😀
Reviews keep coming in for the Free Men series. Joyfully Jay, Love Bytes, MM Good Book Reviews, On Top Down Under (NSFW!), Sinfully Sexy, The Blogger Girls, Men Over the Rainbow, Helena’s Heat, and Diverse Reader have all given The Slave five stars!
Don’t forget to check out my Goodreads profile for a couple of unpublished bonus scenes from the series!
And now for something completely different. This is the opening of my latest WIP (anticipated release January 2015), a contemporary romance between a children’s author and a building surveyor. Without further ado, meet Owen 🙂
I hadn’t wanted to be famous. Honestly. There I was, scribbling away in my little garret, the walls papered with rejection slips, a forty year old typewriter on my desk because I cared more about appearance than substance and somehow my cheap and cheerful little laptop didn’t set the right tone. I was a writer: I might never be rich or famous or far from the breadline but I was an artist, goddammit. I had a rep to protect.
So I’d sit far into the night, admittedly working by the light of a 60-watt bulb rather than a guttering candle, but I drank the coffee and smoked the cigarettes and dreamed of ending my days lounging, louche and indolent, sipping metallic red wine in a dark and dingy cafe on the banks of the Seine, surrounded by those who understood my artistic temperament and calling; those who asked no more of me than I strike the correct pose.
Saying I got bored of living off baked beans and freeze-dried noodles and sold out shatters the illusion, but that’s what I did. I went from being a skinny twenty-eight year old living in a poky flat on the cheap side of London to being a skinny twenty-eight year old with a couple of million in the bank in the space of a year.
I know, I know, I’m disappointed in me too—but fuck if I didn’t love it.
I can’t say that word now. Fuck. Can’t swear, can’t drink, can’t smoke. At least, I can’t be seen doing any of those things. Not in public. You think image management is limited to actors and tweeny pop stars? You’re wrong.
I was going to write the Next Great Novel, win the Booker Prize. I was going to be the Allan Hollinghurst of the Noughties. People were going to speak my name in hushed tones and the reviewers at the TLS were going to wank over my words.
I didn’t happen. I sold out. I wrote a fucking children’s book and it sold a bazillion copies.
It ruined my life.
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So there’s been a lot of nonsense doing the rounds about women in m/m. Aren’t we bored of this yet? I’m not addressing the issue again, suffice it to say the day I stop being allowed to write about men is the day men stop being allowed to write about women, or aliens, or animals, or, y’know, anything except other men.
What I do want to talk about is an equally tired old argument I see bandied around time and again, that women like to write two men together because the relationship between two men is more equal than it is between a man and a woman.
So, anyone who’s been following me on Facebook or Twitter recently will have seen the hashtag #MonsterWritingWeekend cropping up. It started as a challenge I set with the awesome AJ Rose over Memorial Day Weekend, when we were bitching about how slowly the WIPs were progressing. We decided to challenge ourselves to the impossible: write 45,000 words in three days.
— Kate Aaron (@fairkatrina) May 24, 2014
Writer: noun. A person who transforms coffee into words.
So I got tagged by the lovely Anna Butler, whom I had the pleasure of spending time with at last year’s UK LGBTQ Romance Meet, in a post about writing methods. Apparently I’m supposed to tell you all about how I do what I do, and “wing it” is not an appropriate answer. Heh.
And now for something completely different… Here’s the first scene from my latest WIP, as yet untitled. It has yet to go though final edits so might be a little rough, but I thought it was about time I introduced Tam to the world 😀
TRIGGER WARNING: The scene itself is PG13 but we’re talking slaveworld here, so it’s dark, with short flashbacks alluding to rape/violence. Ye have been warned!