First, I want to thank KB for letting me be the first guest at his new blog! Don’t mind the ostrich, she’ll be fine in the corner. Um, I do have this little problem with the rabid Tasmanian devil, though. Yeah, the strippers are fine over on the sofa, and where do you want me to put the beer keg?
- Drop the keg next to me. Hey, watch the toes, son! I'll get the red Solo cups and entertain the strippers. Keep an eye on the ostrich. No sand here, so I don't want the bird sticking its head up my as...er..ah. why is the Taz Devil looking at me like I'm lunch? He...he... nice Taz Devil..good boy.
Er..ah... J.S. you have the floor, maestro.....
Er..ah... J.S. you have the floor, maestro.....
Cool. Now that’s settled . . .
Working Together
Writing is one of the most solitary professions on Earth. Oh, with the advent of the Internet, it’s better, but you’re still going to spend a whole lot of time isolated from anything not directly related to getting the words on the page. There’s a perfectly good reason why, in my first nine months as a contracted author, I’ve nailed down seven contracts and have submissions out at two other houses: I just didn’t have much to do besides write until recently.
But the fact of the matter is, human beings need socialization in order to function. Look at Edgar Allen Poe or Vincent Van Gogh if you want some spooky pictures of what a person who tries to live in absolute isolation turns into. Severed ears and bad absinthe habits. Hey, my ears aren’t much to look at, but they’re mine, dammit!
Luckily, there are more opportunities for author collaboration than ever before thanks to the Internet, including blog tours and hops, websites, and email communication. Anthologies, while not the most lucrative things for authors to do, certainly help to get peoples’ names out there in front of the reading public. These are a case of one hand washing the other: the better known the authors involved, the more everyone profits.
I’m very big on participating in as many collaborative ventures as I possibly can. What attracts me varies from project to project. In one case, it may be the subject matter; in another, the other authors involved; and in yet another, I may see an opportunity to break out of my shell a little and try something completely different. Whatever the reason, these ventures invariably lead to great promotional opportunities that a writer working alone simply can’t get.
Even better, the camaraderie these events offer between writers in the form of getting to know them better and looking back at the end with a worn-out grin and a “Damn, we done good!” is something that just can’t be matched. Only another writer can understand what a writer goes through, and the emotional ups and downs that accompany the writing process. So getting to know and understand your fellows a little better results in a lot of witty banter, back-and-forth chit-chat, and great ideas being formulated.
The Timeless Desire blog tour is such an event, and I’m very proud to be part of it. Bryl Tyne, H.C. Brown, Sarah Ballance, KevaD, Jess Anastasi, Brita Addams, Lucy Felthouse and myself are all having a lot of fun bouncing back and forth between each other’s blogs, sharing our deepest and most intimate secrets and sexy excerpts from our latest work, so I’ll hope you’ll come by and join us for weeks three and four! You can check it out here: http://nobleromanceauthorsblogtour.blogspot.com/ , and don’t forget to check out all the great books on offer for the “Timeless Desire” line!
In the meantime, I have a new story scheduled for release on November 28th from Noble Romance Publishing! This is my first foray into m/m romance, and I’m both really excited and scared out of my ever-loving mind to see how it’ll do. The excerpt is unedited, so don’t be surprised if there aren’t a few changes in the released version. In the meantime, I hope y’all enjoy it!
Thanks again to K.B. for having me by today! You can check me out at http://nobleromance.com/authors/155, on Twitter @jswayne702, or on my blog at http://jswayne.wordpress.com. Oh, and, uh . . . watch out for the ostrich! She’s a little fussy when she doesn’t get some beer.
J.S. My pleasure to have you here. Thank you for gracing the pages of my new and improved blog! Oh, I'll take the strippers home. Hey, its cool, bro. No problem. I'm sure you have to write...no really, its no big deal. No, REALLY, I'll drive...
While J.S. and I fight over the keys, and who takes the ostrich and Tasmanian Devil back to the Zoo, why don't y'all take a sneak peek at this delicious excerpt from Dancing on Flames:
(Special Content Alert: M/M sexual intercourse and graphic violence)
Book Blurb
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 Mother Earth 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. . . .
Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same. . . .
Excerpt
The silver wolf stole a glance at its larger, black cohort.
What do you think, Ion?
The black wolf gave a low growl and shook its flanks. Its posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as its blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in its 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 to study the high-riding moon. After a long moment, he thought, No time like the present, Russell. You up for this?
Russell chuffed, a sound that would have terrified any of the men below. It was the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down at 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 which quickly built in power and volume. Below, a thin streamer 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-moving fog.
Russell looked at Ion. Will that cover our entry adequately?
Ion snorted. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let’s make an end of these fools.
The silver wolf winked. I thought you’d never ask.
Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way carefully. Russell placed his paws carefully on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneat
h him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and small ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down made him go around, for fear of 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.
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 coming here, a year earlier. He had earned his Clan name honestly when he had stolen two letters from the 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 he bore was originally intended as a small slight, he carried it with pride.
Tonight was the first time that he’d ever gone out 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 always had fascinating tales to tell. But those tales were always backed up 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 the item.
As a living legend, the Elders often predicted that Ion would not return from whatever errand he went out on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have very short life spans, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that the average wolf could never hope to get out of. 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, he thought. I’m just thinking that between you and me, this isn’t even a fair fight.
