Realms of the Raven

Sorry for the delay - it’s been a heck of a week. Keep your fingers crossed for my kitty to recover.

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

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Leather, Lace and Leaves
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson

There had to be one hell of a joke playing out and Sabine not only didn’t get it, she seemed to be the butt of it.

It was almost too much to take in. The shop’s windows were swathed in what appeared to be a cross between a late Victorian bordello, a funeral parlor and a BDSM club. Heavy burgundy swags, complete with pom-poms dangling every inch, were offset by black lace sheers with studded leather tie-backs. The entire backdrop seemed to come from another universe than the delicate tea cups and saucers arranged on the leather-lined window display shelf.

Leather, Lace and Leaves.

“A goth tea house?” She shook my head in disbelief. “Only on Capital Hill.”

Maybe I just have the wrong address? She glanced down at today’s email on her cell phone. No such luck.

A girl dressed in layers of rustling black and red satin skirts and a leather corset brushed past her and proceeded to open the shop’s door without giving Sabine even a second glance. The scent of amber and cured leather in her wake made Sabine’s nose twitch. She was never going to get used to her new sense of smell.

Well, her symptoms were only getting more and more intense. Someone had to have an answer for her, no matter what kind of nutcase they seemed on the surface. Maybe this tip was the one that would give her the information she needed.

Out of habit, Sabine started to take a deep breath then remembered what had happened the last time. She’d coughed for an hour. Instead she settled for throwing her shoulders back and flung the shop door open, standing aside and praying to not be inundated with a tidal wave of “Eau d’Occult Shop”. Nag Champa made her eyes water now, in any concentration.

A shallow breath. Then a deeper one. Wow, for once she’d not fear passing out from breathing too shallowly. In fact, she liked the delicate aromas emanating from Leather, Lace and Leaves.

Entering the shop felt like she’d been dropped into a different world. The walls of the hostess area were lined with shelf after shelf of tea cups, all carefully arranged on their saucers. The riot of color and pattern was almost dizzying. The front of the lectern had a sign mounted on it, the beautiful copperplate script somehow not clashing with the black leather and studded mat that surrounded it.

Odder still was how she suddenly felt…normal. Normal in a way she’d thought gone forever. At peace. Comfortable. The tension seemed to flow from her in a rush. Even the ache through her shoulders seemed to disappear.

Sabine broke free of her amazement long enough to pay attention to the small sign on the top of the lectern that invited patrons to choose whichever cup suited their fancy. She began to examine the cups in detail, taking a few down to run her fingers along the rims and down the handles. One cup in particular called to her and she kept returning to it again and again. The delicate scene painted on the fluted cup fascinated her with its strange portrayal of what appeared to be a cat with fairy wings. Not at all like her normal slightly hippie, slightly geek style. Not that tea was her style either.
Why not use this one? Her mind finally made up, she took down the saucer that accompanied the cup and, as if signaled, the black velvet drape across the doorway-shaped opening opposite her parted and a tall, slender woman gracefully seemed to flow through the gap.

“Good afternoon. My name is Aliya. Welcome to my tea house.” Even her voice was relaxing with a musical quality Sabine couldn’t identify.

“I see you’ve chosen a cup. That’s not one that gets picked very often.” Aliya smiled slowly. “Are you here for a reading? Or for passage?”

“Passage?” Sabine struggled to make her mind focus again on what had seemed so urgent only a little while ago. “A friend of my family, Thomas Bedlam, said I should come here and ask if the owner could tell me anything about these strange episodes I’ve been having and all these changes in my body.”

“Oh dear. Where are your parents?” Aliya’s smile seemed to fade a little.

“Dead. They both died when I was in college.” Sabine fought against the desire to relax, to be soothed. She had to find some answers before she really went nuts and killed herself – or someone else.

Aliya reached up and tucked her jet black curls behind her ear, all the while watching her as if she was looking for something. Waiting for something. It wasn’t until Aliya lowered her hand that Sabine realized the other woman’s ear had quite a few dainty rings lined up along the outer edge – but that it was inhumanly pointed as well.

Or maybe that’s really a Saturday Snippet.

I’ve been sick all week and I have a sick cat I need to take back to the vet in a few minutes. So I’m late - but I’ve never missed a week and refuse to now.

Back in a bit.

Jennifer at CK2S Kwips and Kritiques gave Tort & Retort 4.5/5 Klovers and says:

TORT & RETORT is the second book I have read by new author Maura Anderson, and once again she impresses me with a fun and sexy romance that still contains a level of sweetness sure to satisfy the romantic in most readers.

With the character of Gayle Osborne, Ms. Anderson delivers a heroine that many women will identify with – a woman trying to balance her professional identity with her private persona, keeping the two worlds separate lest her personal interests somehow detract from her professional credibility. In this modern world, professional women are somehow thought less of if we have feminine interests, but it is those ‘frivolous’ interests that keep us in touch with our femininity as we trudge through the corporate world day after day. Gayle’s own inner struggle with these two sides of herself is something that is bound to resonate with many of the female readers.

Tyler is a very likable hero, doing and saying all the right things without once seeming ‘to good to be true’. He just comes across as a great guy who is totally in love with Gayle. Would that we could all find our own Tyler!

There are some twists to the story that are very interesting, and although I figured them out pretty early in the story, I found them no less enjoyable when they were finally revealed in the end.

TORT & RETORT definitely gives Maura Anderson a place on my authors to take note of list, and I eagerly anticipate future stories from her.

You can read the entire review here.

WitchyGiggles from Alternative Reads has reviewed Tort & Retort and says (in part):

This was a delightful comedy of deception begetting an unusual brand of justice. The lengths to which these two go to hide a true portion of themselves is all too realistic, while the sex was stimulating. Miss Maura, ma’am, what’s not to love in being an erotic romance reviewer? (Delicate snort here) We are, after all, absolute “puddy tats”. More, please.

You can read the entire review here.

I guess I should admit that I’m planning to write the stories of the other reviewers :)

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

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Giving Thanks
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Troy was sprawled face down across Derek’s side of the bed. The chocolate brown sheets were wrapped around his hips, just high enough to ruin Derek’s view of his gorgeous, tight ass. As Derek stood there, Troy mumbled something then turned onto his side. A long arm reached out and drug Derek’s pillow to his chest, only to wrap his arms around it with a muttered “Love you”.

A huge lump filled his throat. He loved Troy so much. Hell, he’d fallen for the black-haired, blue-eyed devil on their second date. Head-over-heels irrevocably in love. How had he let his family’s feelings take precedence over Troy’s for so long?

Deep-rooted anger flared in his chest again. How dare his father demean Troy? Even if he’d thought Troy was just his long-term roommate. Then to just write him off because he didn’t approve of his sexual orientation? What the hell part of “love” did his father not understand? Could his father have just walked away from his mother?

Being “out” to his family was something he’d have to get used to. A small sense of relief was replacing what had been an ever-present fear of discovery. But now he was afraid that he’d lost the rest his family. He had no control over their reactions and whether they could accept the fact he was gay or not. No control over whether his father’s reaction would be echoed by his siblings and mother.

At least he no longer had to pretend. No more hiding. No more trying to remember to not touch Troy with his family around. That was a little piece of freedom he would savor. And no more hurting Troy with his cowardice. Troy had always respected his wishes and hidden their relationship but Derek knew it had seemed like he’d chosen his family over his lover. That would no longer be an issue.

Whether he had a job anymore was another matter entirely. Derek pushed that thought away. Plenty of time to worry about that later.

He focused his attention back on the sexy man taking up most of their king-size bed. The man he wanted to touch, to taste, to savor.

Just imagining the smell of Troy’s skin, the taste of his cum, the sounds he made gave Derek a raging hard-on. With a quiet groan, he stripped off his work clothes and freed his aching cock from his suddenly far-too-restrictive boxer-briefs. By sheer force of will he didn’t touch himself. He didn’t want a self-administered hand job, he wanted Troy.

A quick shower got the lingering smells of onion and garlic off his skin. Soaping up his body only made him ache all the more.

Drying himself was worse; it felt like his skin was twice as sensitive as normal. The scrape of his razor across his late-night stubble sent chills down his spine and straight to his cock.

Finally ready, he eased into bed behind Troy and nudged him back over to his own side of the bed. With a moan and mumble he couldn’t understand, his lover released the pillow and rolled onto his back.

Ah, how convenient.

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

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Life Lines
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

“Do you ever date anymore?” Kyle’s voice sounded much too carefully casual for Alex’s taste.

“I’ll date when I find someone I want to spend time with.” Alex pulled a couple of Corona’s from the fridge, wiping them dry and popping their caps off before taking a long pull from one of them. A deep breath braced him a little, then he turned to set the second bottle on the counter in front of Kyle. Only sheer force of will kept him from blurting out a lot more than he wanted the other man to know, even if there was a hope of Kyle being able to cope with the knowledge.

Bright blue eyes glanced up from below the shaggy ash-blonde bangs, the natural curl making it look like he never combed his hair. Kyle trailed his long fingers up and down the cold beer bottle, caressing the glass like it was a lover’s skin.

Alex stepped behind the counter, hoping to hide before Kyle noticed the hard-on that ridged the front of his jeans. He’d hidden his lust for Kyle for over a year now and he didn’t want to scare the younger man away at this point.

With a heavy sigh, Kyle took a sip of his own beer, then sat it back on the counter and proceeded to pick at the edges of the label. “But you used to date, or at least have play dates. The other boys talked a lot about you.”

Lightning seemed to hit Alex in the chest. He missed having a boy but only wanted one anymore. One that was off limits forever. But what a boy he would be…

Kyle stopped picking at the paper label long enough to tug his shirt cuffs down to the top of his hands. That gesture had become a frequent one over the last few months, so much so that Kyle no longer seemed aware of doing it. The more uncomfortable he was, the more often he seemed to do it.

“I’ve just not been in the mood for play.” Alex chugged the last of his beer, hoping to cool the fire in his balls. The mere thought of Kyle’s tall body in nothing but leather cuffs and boots made his dick hard as a rock. The mental image of his friend writhing under him, reveling in the sensations Alex could lavish upon him, nearly made him come.

But it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.

Alex set his half-empty beer bottle down and took his time pulling the hair tie from his ponytail, then smoothing the escaping red strands back from his face and retying it. It bought him the time needed to get his lust back under control.

Kyle took a long swig of his drink, then a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Alex.”

He peeled the rest of the label completely off the beer bottle, then stuck it back on upside down. Smoothing it, he opened his mouth as if to say something, only to close it again.

Worry made Alex frown. Had he scared Kyle somehow? It had only been a year since Kyle’s boyfriend had gotten high on drugs and attacked him. Alex searched his memory but he’d been careful, painfully careful, to always keep their relationship that of non-threatening friendship so Kyle could heal.

After another false start, Kyle finally managed to squeak out some words. “Have I ruined your sex life, Alex?”

He couldn’t think for a moment, frozen in place by the blunt question. “What? How the hell could you ruin anything?”

Kyle played with his shirt cuffs again, tugging and straightening them. “You’re a Top but you never date, you never play, you don’t even go out to parties. I know you’re doing it for me, but I don’t want you to have a permanent case of blue balls for my sake.”

Alex gaped at him.

A sad smile curved Kyle’s lips. He lifted the beer to his lips again and his sleeves slipped back. The thick white scars on his wrist made Alex’s heart ache.

I want to thank my friend, Kaye, for being my guest today and giving us her take on writing in First Person.

Hello! I’m Kaye Chambers. I’d like to thank Maura Anderson for inviting me to talk about my favorite topic: writing.

I am a first person author. This week, in light of Tiger by the Tail, I’ve been asked a lot of first person questions and urged to blog about it. Before I get started, I’d like to point out that I’m not Jim Butcher, Laurell K. Hamilton, Katie MacAlister, Keri Arthur…well, you get the point. There are masters of First Person out there and they’re not me. *grins* This is simply my take on writing the hardest point of view there is.

I get asked a lot, “Why First Person? I mean, that’s breaking the cardinal rule.” The answer is easy, “Because that’s the way the story needed to be told.”

Not every story can be told in first person. First person isn’t simply taking your third person limited narrative and changing it to a single POV and substituting “I”. In fact, the best advice I can give on whether or not you should write your next project in FP is to ask if you’ve tried it in third, yet. If a story can be told in third, it should be. It’s not even up for debate. If you, as the author, can write it in third person or even picture it that way, then the character isn’t strong enough to be the single point of focus for the story.

Some stories can not be told in third person. The voice of the character is just too strong. The first manuscript I wrote in first person was started twelve times in third person before I turned to one of my writing circle friends, Colleen, in a wail, “It always ends up with ‘I’.” By the end of the first chapter, the heroine was telling the story so strongly that there wasn’t any other room for anybody else to talk. Her advice was to try it. It was the first project I ever finished. It won an award and I’ve never looked back.

Recently, Samhain Publishing published my third completed manuscript, the second in first person, Tiger by the Tail. I was somewhat shocked by the reception it has received. I love Sasha, but she’s a voice inside my head. If I hated her, we’d have a problem. I wasn’t expecting the world to slip into her skin like I do.
And that’s what makes first person special. It’s like curling up with your best friend over a cup of coffee and talking. She’s telling you a story, or ‘he’ if you’re a Harry Dresden fan, which I happen to be. When I read a good first person, I feel like I’ve made a friend when I’m done. One I’d like to visit again and again and again.

So, you’re thinking of giving it a whirl? Good! The hard part is figuring out how to pull it off. We all have our own voices as authors. In third person, how we turn a phrase is what makes us shine and what we carry with us from manuscript to manuscript. Even third person limited is told from our perspective as authors. Unlike third person omniscient, we can’t be God, but we do control the characters senses. We control what they notice at any given moment no matter how they notice it.

In first person, how your character turns the phrase is what makes them real. How do you separate your voice from theirs? You don’t. You have to trust yourself to be true to the character. It’s like role playing on a grander scale. In order to make first person truly successful, you have to put yourself aside and acquaint yourself with your character on a very personal basis. At a recent workshop I attended given by Bob Mayer, he described it as the most intimate POV as well as the hardest and most limited.

Why is it limited? Because no one else gets to see, hear, think, or define anything. Every tiny detail of your story has to be woven in through subtle details. It’s like painting a portrait. Every detail and brush stroke means something to the grander design. Some details are more obvious than others. For example, your heroine has POV rights – it’s her story – but your hero is thinking he’s going to do something rash. In third person, we’d simply give him some internal thought or dialogue or a POV shift. In first, we don’t have that luxury. We have to build all our secondary characters bold enough so she (and the reader) knows them well enough to pick up on their expressions and body language to address it to the reader. Even if she doesn’t point blank say, “I know he’s up to something,” she can note the details – he won’t meet her gaze, shifting from feet to feet, making a lame excuse to bolt out the door. Without being overt, your heroine tips the reader off to mischief.

Now, I’m also going to make a rather obvious point here about voice. As a first person author, I can’t write the same heroine under a different name with a different premise. My voice has to change according to every POV character. Even though my characters all tell their story as “I”, they aren’t the same person, so the flavor has to change with them. How do you change it? It goes back to the role playing mentioned above. Knowing your character well enough to slip your skin as a person and an author and write from their eyes is how you change your voice every time out of the box. I guess you can say it’s like being a schizophrenic who has permission to embrace the crazy side of themself. Yes, I talk to the voices in my head and let them have a turn at the helm.

This brings me to another point about why first person is so intimate. How deep is deep enough into your character? In third person, we’re allowed a little bit of a narrative filter. In first person, it’s a deal breaker. Falling into narrative telling instead of actively showing (from the POV character) will kill the tone and mood of a first person story. It’s the most common mistake. You just can’t treat a first person story like a third.

It’s another reason why first person is so limited. Until you actively try to write first person, you don’t realize just how much you, as the author, narrate a story. In my opinion, the only way you can successfully write first person is to be deep into character and trust yourself to write the scene true to the spirit of it.

A lot of authors write alternating point-of-views, switching from third to first and back again. That’s not a bad idea if you need to have the reader step back and see things differently or you need to interject plot elements that your point of view character can’t possibly know. By inserting that bit of narration, you also allow the reader to become better acquainted with other characters and other elements in the story.

I’m going to break off here and bring up another type of first person novel – alternating first person views. This opens up the field a bit. It’s adding a different narrator for elements just like using an alternating third person. I am not a fan of it. Why? Because unlike using alternating first and third, you’re not creating distance with your reader in the alternating view. In general, you open the story from the focus point of view and create that initial connection with the reader, create that bond, and then you break it and expect the reader to shift their emotional connection to the alternating persona. It doesn’t work, in general, at least not for me.

First person is like falling in love, one little bit at a time. With each scene, the reader takes that little baby step into emotional involvement. It’s why publishers print, “An Anita Blake Novel,” “A Harry Dresden Novel,” “An Aisling Grey Novel,” or a “Riley Jenson Novel” on the cover of a book. Even if you hated the author’s last book, you’re going to buy it…even if you hated the last one in the series.

Why? Because they’re our friends and we want to know what they’ve been up to.

Title: Tiger by the Tail
Author: Kaye Chambers
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
ISBN: 1-59998-919-0
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Buy it here!
Kaye’s website.

Publisher Blurb:
Alexandra “Sasha” DeStephano has long been exiled from her own kind, thanks to parents who had no wish for her to grow up in the “tiger mafia”. Now that she’s been issued an engraved invitation to appear before the society elders, she finds herself plunged into a dangerous battle for power, urged on every side to give up her birthright to make room for a new regime.

On every side, that is, except Colton Reyes, a rogue alpha. Cole plants the idea in her mind that, under the current leadership, the tiger society is headed down a one-way street to disaster. And she is their only hope.

Spurred on by a man who flips all her sexual switches, Sasha steps up to the plate-and finds herself promoted from Tiger Princess to Queen. The resulting consequences are far more than she ever imagined.

In this game of danger and intrigue, almost no one can be trusted. Cole’s best chance to protect her? Pretend to claim her as his mate.

Except pretending is the last thing on Sasha’s mind.

My Opinion:
I’ve known Kaye for a number of years and have been DYING for this book to come out. I really wanted to see how it turned out because it combines something I love (big cat shifters) with something I tend to shy away from writing myself (first person). Boy was I not disappointed!

Sasha starts out the story as an outcast, taken by her parents from Tiger society and raised outside it. But she finds herself cast in the role of a pawn in Tiger society power struggles. But Sasha is not about to passively let others play her and when she meets up with Colton, she finds there may be more at risk than merely herself. What can she and the sexy rogue tiger do to save their society?

I loved this story. I wasn’t sure what I would think because first person is often not done well and I can have trouble sort of “falling into” the story. Not the case with Tiger by the Tail. Sasha is sassy and has a real backbone. Sasha and Cole are hot together. I liked the complexity of the world and the politics but I wished we got some extra time to delve into it more. But my favorite is feeling like *I* am running in a tiger form!

I’m totally sold on the possibilities of well done first person, so much so that I’m going to give it a try too. Stay tuned on Wednesday where I’ve co-erced Kaye into writing a guest Writerly Wednesday post on writing First Person!

I really recommend this story!

You’ll all be glad (I think) to know that I got my splint off after hand surgery two weeks ago and am on my way back to normal function. This means I can type more!)

EIHWAZ	Eihwaz is the rune of steadfastness. It stands for strength, dependability, reliablity and can mean a good defense and setting achievable goals.
PERTHRO	Perthro is the rune of mystery and hidden meanings. It may stand for the paranormal, especially knowledge of future matters but can also stand for the feminine and feminine mysteries.
ALGIZ	Algiz is the rune of protection. It’s a shield that can guard and ward off evil. It can also mean you need to follow your instincts or guard positions or things you’ve achieved.

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

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Mirror, Mirror
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

She blinked her eyes, reaching up to rub the grittiness of sleep from them. Finally able to see clearly, she stared into the old oval mirror, trying to force away the swirls of magic that flowed through the glass like tendrils of fog twirling in eddies and wakes. The unseen currents of power made visible.

Oh so slowly, shapes began to form in the chaos. Areas of darkness and light separated into vague forms.

She trailed her fingers along the gilded edge of the mirror’s frame and willed the image to appear. What secrets would the mirror show her this time? What faces would she see?

Color seeped into the miasma, first pale and pastel but then enriching and darkening until she realized she was looking at the back of a woman’s head with dark, curly chestnut hair pulled into an elaborate braid and entwined with sprigs of violets and baby’s breath. The mirror cleared until she could see the woman bend over, almost disappearing from view before she sat back up, shoulders hunched in a semblance of defeat. Suddenly, the woman threw what appeared to be a fancy white shoe toward the far wall.

She nearly flinched back herself with a hiss of shock. What the hell was going on? She’d never seen anything like this in the mirror before. “What’s happening?” The question was purely rhetorical, she’d long ago given up hope of any real answer. Staring as if transfixed, she smoothed her hair back from her face.

The woman in the image threw her shoulders back and stood. Now it was clear she was wearing a slender, simple white dress. She reached her arms awkwardly behind her back and fumbled for the tiny zipper. A few fumbles and she managed to get enough of a grip on it to pull it down, revealing lacy, delicate underthings.

But instead of treating what must be a wedding dress with the loving care she expected, the brown-haired woman let it drop down her body and stepped back a little before giving it what looked like a vicious kick. Just a flutter of what looked to be expensive material could be seen at the edge of the mirror before the woman turned and threw herself down onto a seat—facing the mirror at last.

The face was similar to her own – the same green eyes and slightly hooked nose—maybe she was another relative of some sort. The mirror tended to show blood relatives. The other woman’s full lips were pursed and made her look tense and unhappy and her lashes were clumped with tears, the remains of mascara staining her eyelids.

The other woman pushed her hair back with no regard for the flowers or careful pinning of her curls, dislodging some of the violets and baby’s breath. A tear traced down her cheek as she stared at her left hand, rotating the large star sapphire ring on her ring finger. Finally the sad woman worked the ring off her hand and tossed it onto the vanity, out of the mirror’s view.

“Oh, what happened?” She couldn’t stop her question. Sympathy flooded through her. “Been there, done that. You’ll be better off without him if he betrayed you!” So what if the woman in the mirror couldn’t actually hear her.

The other woman looked up and seemed to meet her eyes directly. As if they had a connection. What was going on?

The woman in the mirror looked puzzled, then shrugged and reached her hand out, flipping the mirror over to face the wall. Its focus gone, the mirror clouded over with fog again, until the surface was an even grey and she was trapped within it again, sightless and alone.