Medieval Romance

I'm waiting to hear about the release date for my science fiction romance The Antaren Affair so, as is my habit, I'm working on something about as far removed from my last project as possible. It's a medieval (erotic) romance set in 13th-century England tentatively titled The Captured Bride. I've already blogged about the, er, scene involving transparent clothing and a horse trough, which was great fun to write. I'm inordinately proud of it, so thought I would post the excerpt here.

Without warning, a shadow fell across the entrance to the passage, an arm’s length from where she stood against the wall. Her eyes widened. It was the knight. Langlois. He strode to the wooden trough used to water the horses. Grasping it by the sides, he leaned forward and dunked his head.

Alais swallowed. The linen pulled against lean, tight buttocks as he bent over the trough. Her eyes followed the line of his thigh, the smooth curve of his waist, then up, along the burnished arc of his back. Straightening, he shook his wet hair out of his face.

He had lost the leather tie that held his hair back. It was more than a way to secure his hair, she thought. It civilized him. Now, nearly naked, his hair spread over his neck and shoulders like the mane of some wild animal, the power in him that she had sensed earlier was magnified ten-fold. And it had a dangerous, untamed edge.

He rolled his shoulders and the muscles rippled as he flexed. Alais’s fingers scrabbled against the wall of the stable for support.

Langlois reached for a bucket, filled it and emptied it over his head. The water streamed in rivulets down his body—down the hard, corded muscle of his chest. Down the sensuous curve of his spine. He gave a sigh of pleasure and Alais caught her breath.

He ran his hands through his dark hair. Droplets of water flew in all directions.

“Like what you see, my lady?”

Alais froze. She darted a glance at the courtyard. No one was close enough to hear him.

Except her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and flattened herself against the wall of the stable. Perhaps if she didn’t acknowledge him, he would go away. Either that or she would miraculously become invisible.

She heard him laugh, as though he knew what she was thinking. “I know you’re there. The queen’s ladies don’t venture down to the stables often. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Perhaps some mending to do?”

Annoyed, Alais opened her eyes and drew herself up. “I detest mending.”

Langlois gave a deep laugh that caused an odd thrumming sensation low in her belly.

“Fair enough.”

He still hadn’t turned around. He stood, hands on hips and head bent as water dripped from his body. The sun, now rising over the castle walls, gilded his skin. Alais wondered whether he knew what a glorious sight he was. Probably.

Langlois turned and Alais’s eyes dropped instantly to his hips. He had managed to soak his braies at the trough. The linen was plastered to his body, outlining muscular thighs and the thick ridge of his c**k.

Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath. Her eyes, in defiance of her will, remained fixed upon the impressive bulge.

“You’re a bold one,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall of the adjacent outbuilding.

His words broke her strange paralysis. She lifted indignant eyes to his face.

“I most certainly am not.”

“Do you always stare like that?”

Alais felt her cheeks burn. Holy Mother, but the prioress would be horrified if she knew what Alais was thinking.

“I am merely curious,” she said, keeping her voice steady and trying for just a touch of insolence.

“Oh?” He had that amused look on his face again.

Alais’s trepidation disappeared and her irritation returned. She hadn’t spent all of her life in the convent, for heaven’s sake. She knew that men prized…size. Just last week she had ignored two whispering chambermaids who were comparing the attributes of a young squire.

“I was wondering about the reach of your…” Alais paused, as though searching for the right word. “Sword.” She hadn’t realized how dark and expressive his eyes were.

Langlois’s face went blank for a split second before he grinned. “And how do you find my…sword?”

Alais’s temper flared. He was mocking her.

One side of his mouth curved in a wicked smile. His nose had been broken, she realized. It should have lessened his attractiveness. It didn’t. Nor did she find the stubble darkening his jaw objectionable.

What was wrong with her?

“Your reach may be fine,” she replied sharply. “I cannot judge. But your sword is…lacking.”

New Science Fiction Erotic Romance

I'm very excited to announce that my publisher has accepted the manuscript for my next book, which is a science fiction erotic romance called The Antaren Affair. I'm completing edits this week and crossing my fingers that this one will be published as quickly as my last one.

I blogged a bit about the plot last month. In a nutshell: the setting is the planet Antares, where negotiations are underway between the Antarens and the Sarkadian Empire for access to some critical areas of interstellar space.

Our hero, Colonel Avar Rakosy, is an imperial negotiator and linguist with a military background. The planet Antares is male-dominated, but the colonel gets a surprise when he arrives in his quarters to find that the Antarens have sent him a woman as a "gift" to "serve" him during his stay.

Meraya is a kebara, a member of a class of subservient females in Antaren society. Avar finds himself enchanted by her and, against his better judgment, he, er, advances relations between the species. I'll post the official blurb as soon as it's approved. I'm hoping that the cover will come in this week.

The other project I'm working on is set in medieval England--knights and ladies! The hero is Stephen de Langlois, a landless knight who falls in love with a wealthy heiress, Alais of Pembroke. Unfortunately, Alais is promised to the king's half-brother. I had great fun writing the opening scene, in which Alais stumbles upon Stephen sparring, shirtless, with another knight. It being a hot day, he then decides to dunk himself in a horse trough. Which means that he's soaking wet. And all he's wearing is a pair of worn linen braies.

Alais gets an eyeful, to say the least.

Rejection

Agent Nathan Bransford, who maintains one of the best publishing blogs on the internet IMHO, posted a link to a list of 50 famous writers who were rejected multiple times before experiencing publishing success. For those of us still struggling to publish, such a list is a reminder that we're not alone.

I doubt that I'd persevere through as much rejection as some of these writers have suffered. This list goes to show that for many works, it's a matter of finding the right combination of editor and author. I also like to think, however, that most of these authors worked through those long years of rejection to improve their writing, polish their manuscripts, and become as adept with the written word as they possibly could. That's something that we all need to do. All the time.

Here's hoping you find some encouragement here if you're an aspiring writer.

Purple Prose

Ah, purple prose. Those ornate, over-the-top descriptions that stop the reader mid-sentence. Romance writers have, in the past, been offenders, though they are certainly not the only ones. Writing about sex does seem to bring out the worst in writers, even those who are otherwise perfectly decent wordsmiths.

The truth is that it’s difficult to write good sex scenes. Our anatomical vocabulary is somewhat limited, ranging between the clinical and the outright offensive. So it’s understandable that writers would try to vary their prose by providing more creative descriptive passages. Thus we have ‘throbbing manhood,’ ‘love cavern,’ and ‘pulsing pinnacle of desire.’ You get the idea.

All About Romance used to run the annual Purple Prose Parody Contest, which was replete with cringe-inducing howlers. One of my favorites is “The Spinster's Tutor" by Tina Engler, which spoofs Robin Schone's style. To fully appreciate the parody, you have to have read Schone. But even if you haven't, you can still appreciate phrases describing the hero's manhood as "an avenging one-eyed god" or the hero himself as an "excellent marksman...[her] maidenhead as his target."

N.B. Don't try to drink coffee and read the parodies at the same time.