Archive for April, 2016


Welcome to this week’s Rainbow Snippet! *winks* Just had to give a little bit of a shout-out to one of my personal heroes, the Notorious RBG.

This week’s Snippet goes all the way back to the beginning of UNDERTOW, the first time Rhoann sees Mac. Mac’s in the ruins of Purgatory, which is where Lucien was injured (Lucien was the head bouncer at the club, before it was destroyed at the end of MANTLED IN MIST, and Mac was the lead bartender); he’s just found the duffel bag Lucien used to keep a change of clothes in, and he’s in tears over a t-shirt he found in the bag. “Feel safe at night – sleep with a Marine.” And Rhoann is watching from hiding.


The scent of salt water, human tears, struck Rhoann like the crash of a storm-wave.

“Lucien…” The human’s voice broke.

Rhoann watched, rapt, heedless of his own tears. Wanting to heal the human’s heart. But that was no Fae desire, and no Fae could give the gift of such a healing.


And, as always, a couple of links for you!

Rainbow Snippets on Facebook, for more LGBTQIA+ goodies —

And WOLF, BECOMING — where mythic fantasy meets modern Russia —


And, finally, a look at my muse for Mac. Mac is, of course, older than the amazing BT Urruela (and I claim no copyright in this images, that would be the equally amazing Michael Stokes) — but apart from a few years’ difference in age, this is definitely how I picture Mac. Enjoy!



I’d like to share with you all an excerpt from “Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound,” my contribution to the Summer’s Day m/m romance anthology. But first, there’s another Shakespeare reference that’s been heavy on my mind these last few days, and I wanted to give that pride of place…


Good night, sweet Prince… and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.


Now, for a bit of Clarence Edward Limont, his old school chum and current director Jeremy, Clarence’s Ariel Jaymes, and some of the delights of a lengthy career in the theatre…


The little table bumped and slid as Jeremy pulled up a chair and seated himself beside Clarence, his fist wrapped round the neck of a bottle of Smithwick’s.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Clarence grumbled.

“Why so gloomy? I thought things went rather extraordinarily well today.” Jeremy went to take a swig from his bottle, but from his expression found it empty, and motioned to the bartender for a refill.

“Are you always blind, or do you need regular practice to stay in good form?” The words came out sharper than Clarence had intended. Or maybe not. Clarence’s subconscious was on the pushy side.

Jeremy blinked at him. “I don’t recall any major disasters today. We made it through first blocking with no one getting killed or committing murder. Which is an achievement, more often than not.”

Clarence’s thoughts, at the moment, were full of the light going out of his Ariel’s eyes. “When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

“Really, Clarence? Juliet?” Jeremy put up a brow. “Something’s turned you into an ingénue?”

Clarence shrugged. “Hardly. I’m a bit past that sort of thing now, aren’t I?”

Jeremy shook his head with a gusty sigh. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to read your mind. I was never any good at that.”

Clarence had almost forgotten how Jeremy’s diction managed to make even statements sound like questions. And how irritating that could be. “I’m just sick to death of the pettiness of the theatre, that’s all.” His drink was mostly water, now; he swirled it around, staring at it without seeing it. “Just once, I’d like to be in a production where no one’s trying to look better by stepping on someone else. Just once in a forty-year career.”

“Oh, dear. I think we need someone to pull the thorn from the lion’s paw.”

Yes. Jaymes, if you don’t mind.

“I’m not a fucking lion, I’m an actor trying to do my fucking job, and just maybe get some fucking enjoyment out of it for a change!”

He hadn’t meant to be quite so loud, but good intentions were of little consequence to the people for several tables around, judging from the looks he received. Ah, well, his voice was an instrument, tuned to play to the last seat in the last balcony without any need for a God-forsaken lavalier microphone.

Jeremy finally looked taken aback. If Clarence had been just a little less out of sorts, he might have snorted at his old friend’s expression, a bizarre mix of placatory and panicked.

“Clarence.” Jeremy set down his bottle and extended his hands, palms down, patting the air as if he were trying to calm a possibly-but-maybe-not-harmless lunatic. “Are you saying you’re… not happy? With the production?”

Clarence snorted. He couldn’t help it. “Jeremy. My dear. Old. Friend.” He shook his head, setting the glass down and pushing it aside, hoping the bartender would notice and send over a replacement. “I cannot recall the last time I was happy with any production. I would be delighted to simply be not unhappy.”


Hello, Snippetteers! This week’s seven sentences (maybe I ought to write fewer two-word sentences…) take place right before Rhoann (a half-Royal Water Fae, for those of you new to the SoulShares) starts healing Lucien, who’s been in a magickally-induced coma for months. Thing is, his healing only works in water – which means he’s had to change Lucien, enable him to breathe water. Which meant changing Mac, Lucien’s partner and Rhoann’s SoulShare, so Mac could be with Lucien during the healing. At the moment, all three of them are at the bottom of the Pool, in Central Park; Mac is holding on to Lucien, while Rhoann has moved off a little way to get some privacy, to prepare for the healing.


Mac looked up – he couldn’t help himself – to where Rhoann hung motionless in the water, arms wrapped around himself, his blond crest of hair waving gently in the water like a fin. The most gorgeous man Mac had ever seen in his life. Magical, which for some reason that was beyond him made perfect sense instead of being something out of the X-Files. Shy – but he kissed like there would never be another kiss to say what needed to be said. And he looks cold. Or lonely. Or scared.


And here are my usual couple of links for y’all:

Rainbow Snippets on Facebook – the place to hook up for more LGBTQIA+ goodies, this week and every week:

And if you’d like to meet Mac and Lucien, here’s a link to MANTLED IN MIST (SoulShares #6) on Amazon: or at the publisher’s Web site:


I’m trying to decide whether or not to register for GRL this year. I’m way too late for any kind of an author spot, of course, but there still appears to be room for general attendees. And at least a snowball’s chance of snagging a supporting author’s slot if I get on the wait list. So that’s not the issue.

And I love conventions. Just love ‘em. Thrive on ‘em. I’m like a freaking convention energy vampire, except I don’t drain anybody, I just live off all the free-floating bliss. So that’s not the issue either.

The issue is whether the money would be well-spent. Or, as I tend to frame the question, whether the ‘career’ I have is worth the investment. If I still had every penny I’ve made on all my books since I was first published, and put it toward the cost of attending GRL, I’d be able to pay for my registration, and my gas, and maybe my hotel if I find a couple of roommates. That’s if I’d been banking everything I made for the last four years.


I hesitate to ask “should I even be calling myself an author?” Because in one sense, I already know the answer to that question, and it’s silly to ask it. I AM an author. I have published six novels, three novellas, several short stories, three more novels under contract. And I love to write more than I love just about anything else, kid, cats and computer excepted (and the cats and the computer made me say that). I write, I write every day, and I will continue to write until they put me under the ground (and even then, it would probably be a good idea to dig me up after a little while to see if I scratched anything on the inside of the coffin lid).

Maybe the way to phrase the question is “Am I the KIND of author who should be doing conventions like GRL?” The kind of author for whom a big convention is a good investment. And I’m not sure that’s an answerable question. At least, not for someone who consistently comes up short in the self-confidence department. If I thought I would be ‘discovered’ by a wider audience by showing up at GRL, that would be a factor. But I can’t afford to sink a ton of money into a roll of the dice, and that’s what this feels like it would be, especially if I don’t have an author spot. (And if I DID have an author spot, then it would basically be a much more expensive roll of the dice, as far as I can tell…)

Yes, having a good time is important. (See entry for “free-floating bliss,” above.) But one of my many psychological quirks (it’s what you love about me, come on, admit it) is that it’s almost impossible for me to spend money just to have a good time. Even when I go on vacation, there has to be a reason. I have to accomplish something. Otherwise it’s wasted money. So just going to soak up the bliss isn’t an option.

But… part of the problem I’m having with my writing right now is that I’m not taking myself seriously as an author any more. (An “author” of the out-there-published-with-a-growing-readership kind, not an author of the I-write-because-I-can’t-imagine-NOT-writing kind. That kind, I take seriously.) And I’m trying to figure out how to get that mojo back – and I’m pretty sure one way to do it would be to recharge my batteries with a whole bunch of people who love the same thing I do. But when I’m starting from a place of no self-confidence, what that feels like is spending a ton of money to do something that maybe there’s no point to doing at all. I write because I love to write…. but I publish because I love the thought that there are people out there who love to read what I write. And if I get down to Kansas City, and go through five days of “Rory who? Oh, did you say you write? How nice.”


So to those of you who have already gone to a GRL, or are planning to be in Kansas City… does anything I’ve said resonate with you? Any advice? (Feel free to post below, or on Facebook, or whatever your preferred method of communication might be…)

Many thanks for listening. And we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled hotness anon – promise!


Good morning, Snippetteers! — I’m afraid this morning’s Snippet requires a bit of setup, and once again I’ve gone over my sentence limit. But I wrote this last night — it’s from UNDERTOW — and as I was writing it, I knew I had to share it with y’all. *winks*

So, the setup… The first speaker in this snippet is Rhoann, the half=Royal Water Fae. He’s preparing to heal Lucien, Mac’s partner, who has been in a coma for several months. But Rhoann’s healing powers require water to work — in fact, he and Lucien are going to have to be under water the whole time. So he’s had to change Lucien, so that Lucien can breathe water the way a Water Fae can. But Lucien is water-phobic, so Mac has insisted he has to come along, so he can be there for Lucien. (Truth be told, he’s also more than a little nervous about his partner waking up from a coma in the arms of a drop-dead-gorgeous naked Fae.) In the snippet, Rhoann is getting the three of them ready to be taken to the bottom of the Pool, a small lake in Central Park in New York City, where he’s taken up residence. (The second speaker is Mac.)


“You will wish to remove your clothes. And Lucien’s…”

“Hospital gown.”

Rhoann arched a brow. “I have seen gowns. My mother wore beautiful gowns. That –” He gestured at the faded scrap of wet fabric bunched around Lucien’s extremely hairy barrel chest. “That is not a gown.”


And, to conclude, my usual coupla links —

Rainbow Snippets on Facebook — for more LGBTQIA goodies:

And WOLF, BECOMING, my Russian shape-shifter novella from Dreamspinner. (I just had an idea for another related story — if you’ve read WOLF, and would like to see something else set in that same world, please let me know!):

Good morning, Rainbow Snippetteers! — today’s Snippet is from a short story I’m working on as my Camp NaNoWriMo project this month. I’m taking part in an anthology of m/m stories based on Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets; each author has picked a favorite play, and the stories all incorporate the plays in some way. I chose The Tempest, and in my story, “Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound,” we meet Clarence Limont, a renowned Shakespearean actor from London who is beginning to think it’s time to pack it all in, but he’s agreed to play Prospero in an off-off-Broadway production of The Tempest as a favor to the director, an old school chum. And he just might be about to recapture some of the magic of the theater….

In this snippet, Clarence has just arrived for the first “table read” of the play with Jeremy’s company, an all-male Shakespearean company. (I’ve had to go a few sentences over my six, I fear — I hope you’ll forgive me the indulgence…)

Interrupted conversations and awestruck stares seemed to hang in the air as Clarence wrestled out of his too-heavy wool coat, and he stifled a sigh. Sometimes he wondered how far from the London stage he would have to get before he could be just Clarence Limont, and not the Clarence Limont.

The Battle of the Burberry over at last, he dropped into his folding chair, a good deal more slowly than he would have liked. No doubt the younger men around the table thought him decrepit… well, he’d earned a certain amount of decrepitude, he supposed.

Jeremy rubbed his hands together briskly, beaming. “Now that we’re all here, I’ll say it again, gentlemen – good morning. And, obvious though it is, welcome to the first table read for our production of The Tempest.”


And now for a couple of links —

Rainbow Snippets on Facebook, for more LGBTQIA goodies:

And HARD AS STONE, the first book in my SoulShares (m/m urban fantasy erotic romance) series:


Hello, Snippetteers! — your six sentences for today come from FIRESTORM (SoulShares #4), which is Cuinn and Rian’s story. By way of a little setup, Cuinn has just extricated himself and Rain from what could have been a thoroughly nasty situation in the Fae Realm, by the quickest means possible. Which involved opening a portal between the Realm and the human world (Cuinn’s the only Fae who can do that) and dragging Rian through it, bare-ass naked and dripping wet. And they land in Purgatory, Tiernan Guaire’s nightclub, pretty much right under Tiernan’s nose….


“You can quit staring now, your Lordship.” Or I can sandpaper your eyeballs, he barely managed not to add. SoulShare jealousy. Which he needed right now like he needed a third testicle. In the middle of his forehead. “Lord Tiernan Guaire, of the Demesne of Earth, meet Rian Aodán, Prince Royal of the Demesne of Fire.”


And a couple of links for y’all —

Rainbow Snippets, on Facebook, for more LGBTQIA goodies —

And if you’d like to read more of Cuinn and Rian’s story, here’s FIRESTORM —