The idea of writing a pirate story had been there for a while, even before I had written anything at all.
After years of study on pirates and their history... well, I still feel the same. Sure, it's not as simple as what I've written above, but that's the gist of what I wanted to capture, along with the colourful tapestry of individuals who are drawn to the lifestyle. Highborn or low, broken, hopeful, jaded, greedy, courageous, psychotic, honourable, wise... I wanted to put a cast of characters in an environment where they could be themselves and see how it played out.
So I created the ship and its crew and put at the heart of it three lost souls who could brave the storm together: Jon, Tom, and Captain Baltsaros.
I also wanted to write up a fantasy world where I could flex my history muscles a bit and play around with the setting. It's something I've always loved doing in my art, mixing and matching pieces from history to make something new: Byzantine icons with modern elements, using archaic techniques to create futuristic pieces, pairing figures from history that did not coexist. And I wanted the world of Baal's Heart had to be like ours, where the existence of the supernatural is maintained by some, but not a proven fact... just a possibility.
So basically historical fantasy without dragons or wizards. :)
Yes and no... I found him extremely appealing, so I figured others would too, but I had no idea that people would take to the books as much as they did. I came into this author thing with very little expectation and I'm floored by the response. A big thank you to everyone for that!
I love that people love Tom so much. He's a really great character to work with.
Hm. Good question. I think Caged will always be my favourite, because it was my first, but Better the Devil You Know is a close second because that story has been brewing in my head for at least a decade and I'm really happy with how it turned out.
Straight up fantasy. I'm actually writing a book right now called Kestrel's Talon that takes place in a fantasy world. I'm about halfway through writing it and I am very curious to see what people think of it.
If there's one thing that I'm not lacking in is inspiration. I haven't written enough stuff to run out of ideas/get stuck yet. I'm still so new at writing... my head is going to burst with all the things I haven't written down yet. I have to force myself to step away for a few days, just so that I don't burn out.
Normally I get an idea of what I want the cover to look like as I'm writing. Sometimes I make myself wait until the book is done, so creating the cover is sort of like a reward for finishing. Sometimes, like I mentioned above, I need to take a break from writing and that's when I might create the cover. And yes - I've designed all my own covers.
What projects are you working on for 2016?
A completely unedited excerpt from
The Window in Between (The Actor's Circle #3):
Danny ducked and got into the backseat of the rented limousine, happy that the car was warm and dry. The weather had taken a turn, and the temperature was dipping further as the sun went down. Stuart’s cap was pulled low, and he was wearing a scarf, but the tip of his nose was red.
“You sure you don’t mind dropping me off?” asked Stuart, politely hopeful.
“Of course not! It’s not like you’re putting me out, Stu. You’re on the bloody way,” said Danny.
Stuart just chuckled and nodded.
Neville got into the driver’s seat, and they were soon off. However, it was slow going with the heavy traffic.
“So,” said Stuart into a break in the conversation. He gestured to the driver. “Does Neville accompany you to on trips or is he local?”
“Aye, he’s from Essex, but he comes back to the States with me,” replied Danny, watching a few scattered raindrops hit the windshield.
“Ah. And does he ever join you for meals, or do you always make him sit by himself?”
Danny turned to Stuart with his brows raised.
“He eats when he’s off duty.”
“Sorry, I’m just curious. I’ve never had a driver… Or a bodyguard. Does he live with you?”
“Aye.”
“Ah. And… do you two never just… hang out together?”
Danny looked up at the rear-view mirror and met Neville’s eyes.
“No,” Danny said, and then continued with: “I like to think of life as a limousine. Though we are all riding together, we must remember our places. There's a front seat and a back seat and a window in between.”
Stuart laughed.
“That’s rather classist of you. What’s that from?”
“Sabrina,” said Danny with a tight smile. “John Williams says it to Bogart who’s sitting in the back seat. But I just mean that I like to keep things professional. Neville’s paid for his services… not to sit on his arse and drink a pint. Mixing business and pleasure—nothing good comes of it, aye?”
“I suppose. It just seems—” Stuart made a vague, almost embarrassed gesture.
Impersonal? Lonely? Sad? thought Danny, his irritation sparking. “It’s just fine,” he said, frowning at Stuart.
Stuart just nodded quickly and gave him a faint smile. Thankfully, the limo came to a stop a moment later. Stuart gathered his shopping and tugged the neck of his coat closed.
“Thanks for lunch, Danny. It was nice to see you.”
Danny gave him a genuine smile. It wasn’t Stuart’s fault that Danny was on edge. He was just tired and stressed.
“My pleasure, Stu. Keep your pecker up, mate. And good luck with that man of yours,” he said, squeezing Stuart’s proffered hand. Then he gave him a saucy wink. “And… Welcome to the club.” Stuart gave a startled-sounding laugh, and then just nodded before getting out of the car.
Danny watched Stuart walk a few paces away and pause, searching for his keys.
“New North Place, sir?” asked Neville.
“What? Why?”
“You have that interview with Vice magazine,” his driver looked at him in the rear-view.
“Feck. I forgot about that. What time?”
“Half three.”
His phone showed that it was only just two. After letting out a long, frustrated sigh, Danny nodded.
“Aye. I can have a pint or three at the Old Kings Head until it’s time.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” Neville’s eyebrows were high.
“Jaysus fuck. Your opinion is not fucking wanted. Just drive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Danny opened the door to his hotel room at the Ritz and angrily dropped his key card on the small table in the entrance. He’d said some incredibly stupid shite in the interview, all of which that smug sod would no doubt print. Neville passed him and went into the big sitting room of the Berkeley Suite, his driver’s cap in hand. Danny followed him, cursing under his breath as he stood in the doorway.
Of course they would ask about Luke. Everyone and their fucking dog wanted to know if Danny was still single, and instead of giving a simple, polite “yes” like his agent had counselled, Danny, fuelled by perhaps one too many pints, had gone off on a crazy rant about how relationships were poison and being single was all good craic. Before he could rein himself in, he’d gone on about how he was getting laid nightly, and then did some awful back peddling when the gobshite interviewer questioned whether that made him a good role model for the teens who loved the werewolf character he played in the long-running SyFy show Street Wolf. Aye, they’d love to hear about Danny getting his hole plundered by a new man every night. Thing is… it wasn’t true.
There’d been no one since Luke.
Danny rubbed his face and looked up at Neville. The man’s eyebrows were raised expectantly, and Danny gave him a nod before he walked out of the sitting room and back towards the master bedroom. He opened the closet door.
“That’s the last bleedin’ interview I do,” he hollered to Neville in the other room. Danny began unbuttoning his black-and-white pinstriped shirt. “I swear to Christ. I’m a fecking idiot, goin’ on about all that shite. Fucking hell. Then that arse Eddie had to go and leave that bloody vague message”—Danny gritted his teeth as he undid his black trousers and let them fall—“Jaysus, why’d he wait until almost five to tell me I’m needed tonight? He better not be wantin’ to reshoot that bloody fucking scene over again! I don’t even have a bleedin’ line! Just stand there looking like a right arse…”
Danny flared his nostrils, breathing heavily. He unzipped the steel-grey suitcase that sat atop the folding luggage rack and rifled through it. When he found the reinforced leather paddle with the metal studs, he smiled grimly at it. It had good heft and it always left behind colourful bruises. Danny smacked it against his palm a few times. He really needed to work through some serious stress.
Leaving the room in only the black jockstrap he customarily wore under his clothes, Danny walked back to the sitting room. When he got to the door, he saw that Neville had made himself ready.
Danny dropped to his knees, placed the paddle between his teeth and crawled on hands and knees towards the huge, shirtless man standing by the settee. He’d picked Danny because of his exaggerated musculature and brutish looks, thinking it would add to the experience. When he reached Neville’s feet, he sat back on his haunches, took the paddle out of his mouth and held it up with both hands. Neville took it without a word, staring down at Danny with a sneer. He pointed to the white sheet covering the couch.
Hastily, Danny climbed up and positioned himself so that he was facing away from Neville. His heart was pounding in excitement—he could hear the surge of blood in his ears and his mouth was dry. He needed this.
Neville stroked his backside slowly with a rough hand, pushing down so that Danny had to adjust his knees a little wider. Eyes closed, Danny imagined what his ass looked like on display for his burly, powerful, dominant master. He licked his lips, nearly trembling with anticipation. Where would Neville hit him first? Would he use the studded side right away, or would he warm up with the smooth? Danny was nearly panting. He’d verbally abused his driver on the way back, hoping that it would add even more intensity to Neville’s strokes. The man was strong as an ox, but that was good. Danny needed to be beaten hard… hard enough that he could release the ball of stress in his gut. He’d be bleeding by the end of it, he was sure, but that was all right. No one would see the welts tonight—his character was fully dressed.
Behind him, he heard Neville shift, and he clenched his teeth, waiting.
“Are you ready?”
Danny almost groaned out loud in frustration. Muscular and beastly, sure… but Neville was as timid as a fucking mouse at times.
“How many bloody times have I told you not to bloody ask me that?” Danny growled. Those three words took the steam right out of the fantasy. The fact that Neville hadn’t added “sir” wasn’t even much of an improvement. Danny thought the big man was going to apologize, but he obviously caught himself, clearing his throat a little. Then, without any warning, the paddle slammed into Danny’s backside, and he let out a pained grunt.
Good.
He panted once, twice, before the leather made contact again. The smooth side, then the studded side in quick succession. It hurt like hell, but it was nowhere near enough yet. Danny crushed his eyes closed and lowered his torso until his face was trapped between his elbows, his arms outstretched and hands fisted in the white sheet.
What Neville lacked in finesse, repeating the same brutal strikes over and over again with the regularity of a metronome, he made up for in sheer power. Danny’s grunts rose to muffled shouts as his skin screamed in agony with every hit of the paddle. Soon he was covered in sweat, shivering with pain and out of breath. The slapping of the leather against his hot skin echoed in the well-appointed sitting room, and Danny had to keep his face buried in the couch so that he wouldn’t bring anyone running with his full-throated cries. He felt a trickle down the back of one thigh, blood or sweat he didn’t know, and shuddered. The paddle had become an axe, chopping into him. Danny could feel that limit approaching, the one where he thought he couldn’t take any more. He needed to go past that line. Needed the pain to break him. Push him. Push him further…
Danny opened his eyes and gasped. There it was: the powerful, freeing climax he needed so badly. He let out a strangled stop and crawled quickly forward, away from Neville who made no move to continue his paddling. At the end of the couch, he curled up in a ball, sides heaving as he lay there sobbing with relief.
It had nothing to do with sex—he never got hard or ejaculated during a session. No, it was a sort of climax that happened deep in his mind, like a balloon popping, freeing all the pent up stress in one glorious explosion that left him weak as a kitten and bawling his eyes out.
When Danny was finally able to catch a breath a minute later, he spoke without moving his hand away from his face.
“You’re fired,” he gasped, his breath shuddering in throat. “Paid— Huhh huhh paid six weeks severance. P-p-pack huhh your things and go.” He imagined Neville standing there awkwardly, just watching Danny cry for a moment, sweat dripping off his sloped forehead. However, the man had enough sense not to ask why. Danny had warned Neville that if he screwed up again, like asking him are you ready instead of just laying into him like he was supposed to, he’d lose his job. “Nothing personal, mate,” muttered Danny, eyes closed. “Just go.”
Danny heard Neville leave the room. With tears still running freely, he grabbed the corner sheet covering the couch to pull it over his body and pressed his face into the cushions. Wrapping his arms around himself, he burrowed inside the white cocoon he had created. His backside and thighs throbbed like hell, and he was completely knackered, but when the tears finally subsided, his soul would feel washed clean—then he’d have a kip on the settee before getting ready for work. All was right once more in the world.
Breathing deep through his nose, eyes closed tight, he realized he would need to get a cab to the Tower Bridge where they were shooting that evening. Maybe he’d been a tad hasty with Neville—the big brute wasn’t much of a Dom, but he was a bloody good driver. Danny could have kept him until morning. However, he heard the sound of the front door closing and knew he was too late. With a little shuddering sigh, he just hugged himself tighter and wept quietly.
