Want to say a big thank you to the folks at Rainbow Book reviews for the blog hop. I got to go read a lot of neat posts, and many fine folks stopped by my blog to say hello. I really appreciate all the comments and encouragement, and it's great to know so many people see things the same way I do.
Today I got nothin'. I'm wrung out from work and I'm frazzled with my upcoming MRI and all. So I offer this.
Happy Hump Day!
XXOO
Julia
www.juliatalbot.com
Hey y'all!
A few weeks ago I signed up for the Rainbow Reviews Blog Hop. Check out the linky here!
The subject of this particular blog hop is What Writing GLBTQ Literature Means to Me
Okay, y'all, this is where I admit that if semantics makes me twitchy. I know, I know, literature in this instance is meant in a very general genre sort of way, but I'm not sure I qualify. It's a bit of a misnomer.
I write romance. I write all kinds, from het to menage to gay and lesbian. I'm best known for my m/m, which makes me happy, and that's where I'll delve into what writing the stuff I write means to me in a GLBTQ sort of way.
I write gay romance because I believe everyone should have a happy ending. I write it because I love love, and two men in a relationship appeals to me on a deep level. I write gay romance because I like the way it takes away my necessity of identifying with a female heroine.
But mostly I write gay romance because I'm a member of the LGBTQ community. I live with my partner of nine years, who is a woman. I have been part of a "B" relationship. I know how hard it is when you don't see yourself reflected in what you read.
When I started writing m/m, it wasn't well-accepted. In fact, it was downright vilified in many places. I still hear people at conventions who say they read or write menage, but the boys or girls, whichever there are more of, don't touch because it's "gross".
Love is love, y'all, and it's not gross, even if you wouldn't do it yourself.
That's why I write GLBTQ fiction, whether it qualifies as lit or not.
Thanks so much to the folks at the Rainbow Reviews Blog Hop for letting me regale y'all with my story.
Edited to add my contest! Shoot, y'all, I'm dumb. How about a 25.00 Torquere gift certificate! Comment to win!
If you want to read my books, check out my website at www.juliatalbot.com
You can also find my stories at www.torquerepress.com, www.changelingpress.com and my upcoming m/mf menage Fever for Three at www.ellorascave.com
XXOO
Julia
The problem is, the sequel never took off in my brain. Now, this is a problem mainly because I promised the sequel to TQ, so it's mentioned in the first book. It's languishing on my hard drive.
I dislike disappointing people. And I know that there's this implicit contract with the reader when I finish the first story on a cliffhanger of sorts. When I don't do what I promise, the implied contract is broken. I don't want to be that author, who makes promises and doesn't keep them.
On the other hand, when a story goes fallow, it's hard to flog it back to life. And it's not doing justice to the story to beat it out of a dead horse. It shows that you weren't in the moment, and the story suffers.
I know the obvious answer here is to take that promise of a sequel out of the story, but I really do plan to finish it.
So what does a writer do?
Thoughts?
XXOO
Julia
www.juliatalbot.com
I refused to take my sore foot to the doctor for weeks, and now I have a touch of bone infection. I'll get the joy of surgery.
I hate doctors, y'all. Pathologically. Oh, not the people. It's the smell. I hate the antiseptic smell, the sour odor of illness. I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just afraid of how it will happen ;)
On a better note, the time spent sitting up waiting for the antibiotics to take effect have given me time to write. I have three new stories in the works, and one promises to be a novel!
In the meantime, wish me luck with the foot! Pray I don't have to sit in the hospital for a few days. I'll go nuts!
XXOO
Julia
www.juliatalbot.com
Just got back from Authors After Dark in NOLA! I love New Orleans and this time I got to see Marie Laveau's grave, which I had never done before. I also got to take a carriage ride, eat lots of red beans and rice (and wheat-based stuff, which I try to avoid, but in NOLA it's like crack) and see lots of drunk folks on Bourbon Street.
The best part was the actual con, however. Stella Price and her amazing cadre of volunteers did a fabulous job of setting up a great event. BA Tortuga and I hosted the opening event at the reception, and we had a blast talking with readers and giving out books.
So, I'll tell you a secret. I suck at con reports. Instead, I'll give you a ticky list, because those I adore!
The best things that happened to Julia at AAD, con-related
The opening reception, where 200 books disappeared in literally the first five minutes, and we gave out 400 swag bags full of stress bulls and werewolf chip clips
Being on panels with amazing m/m and menage writers like Andrew Grey, Damon Suede, Mia Watts and Jennifer Armintrout
Listening to my girl BA Tortuga do readings. She was a hoot, and she had the room in the palm of her hand! I loved Sophie Oak, too, who I hadn't read yet, and who gained a new fan in me!
Watching my homegirl Dakota Cassidy accept her bookie award by pointing out that she'd beaten other candidates, and later tweeting that people on Bourbon thought she was a call girl
Hanging out with all of the amazing authors, readers, and bloggers who came to NOLA because they love books!
The booksigning! Oh, y'all, that was so fun, and I hope everyone who got a book from me loves it!
Top non-convention related events in NOLA
Angelo, the cab driver of extreme joy who told us all about the Quarter back in his childhood days, thus inspiring a short story I have to write and have no idea where it will go
My new best friends from all around the French Quarter including Joann at Desire Oyster bar, Lloyd at Oceana, Derron at the Royal Sonesta Hotel, and Doc the mule.
Getting to meet my girl's niece, who also happens to be our research intern
All of the naked people who ran through and around Bourbon street!
You can see why it was a roller coaster of a good time.
Y'all should so come to Savannah next year!
XXOO
Julia
5- Demon hunter action sequences
4- smokin hot demon hunters
3- angsty I shouldn't want you scene
2- smokin' hot demon hunters
1- read it so you can read the sequel I'm writing now about Janus, the head trainer from One Up, it's called Keeping Score: Two Down, and it has demons, mummies, and Cillian, Janus' blind boyfriend...
Go. Shoo. Read book one so they accept book two
XXOO
Julia
My new book at Changeling Press is out! It's a m/m, called Keeping Score: One Up.
I love this one, y'all. It's not too long, but long enough. It's funny, smokin' hot, and a great romp.
Here's the official description:
Rhys is a demon hunter, and he works alone. That's the safest thing, after all. Hunters who get attached end up dead. Which is why hooking up with super-hot fellow hunter Noah is a really bad idea.
Noah thinks Rhys is a stud, even if the man never can manage to make a kill on his own. He also knows that there's safety in numbers, and that two can be better than one. Can he convince Rhys that being alone isn't good for anyone before one of them gets hurt?
Here's the cover from the talented Karen Fox
And here's the fun part. An excerpt:
God, Rhys hated the full moon. It wasn't just the weres that drove him crazy, though that was enough to make any hunter want to pull his hair out. No, all sorts of crazy shit came out on the full moon, especially the ones around the autumnal equinox. Lifting his head, Rhys scented the wind, catching a whiff of decay. Not garbage or architectural waste; this was human. Shambling. Zombie. He pulled his machete out of its scabbard. The best way to deal with zombies was just to move fast. Otherwise the stench just got bad, and things got gooey. This should take maybe five minutes, and then he'd have his quota for the night. After that he'd head back to the boarding house and get some shut-eye. Sleep was his one indulgence these days, and Rhys loved to wallow in it. The smell got stronger, and he flipped his blade end over end a couple of times, just waiting for the thing to turn the corner. Maybe he'd get a bite to eat, too. Tiana had said she would make meatballs. There was nothing like a crazy Yemeni/Italian lady to make amazing lamb meatballs with this insane tomato-feta sauce. The scrape of a shoe sole on concrete came from just around the way, and Rhys took a ready stance, ready to incapacitate and decapitate. The thing came into sight, pieces of flesh and goo hanging off it, and Rhys shook his head. How did people not see this shit? Oh, he knew about the whole Veil of Sanity thing, with all of its random capitalization, and he knew he had a special psychic sense and all, but man, this thing smelled bad. He raised his machete, his arm muscles smoothly obeying the command from his brain. Too bad he was too late. The sound of steel slicing through rotted flesh sounded all right, but not from Rhys' blade. No, the head of the zombie landed at his feet, and Rhys looked up the length of a flashy katana blade into the smiling face of another fucking hunter. "Hey, man! Sorry if I stepped on your toes. All I could smell was this guy." The guy had a deep voice, a pair of deep dimples and a bushy head of blond hair. Hello. Asshole, but pretty. "I had this." Rhys was no closer to his damned quota now. Fuck a duck. "I said sorry." The guy's high-wattage grin faded a bit, but he gamely held out a hand. The one not holding the big blade covered in gore. "I'm Noah." "Rhys." They never gave last names. Hell, he'd bet Noah was no more this guy's real name than Rhys was his. He didn't even think his real name anymore, at least not that he knew of. Maybe somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind he knew it, but it would take a lot to dig it out. More than most vamps or psychics were willing to do, anyway. He did shake Noah's hand, at least. That was a mistake, because a little shock ran up his arm and his cock jolted awake, giving a nice little surge. Damn. Being attracted to a civilian could be a disaster. Being hot for another hunter was more like suicide. "So, are you working this part of town, or are you just passing through?" Rhys raised a brow, trying not to snarl. Hunters didn't answer personal questions. "I live here." "Right here?" Noah cracked up, waving his blade. "Sorry, I crack myself up. We ought to get this out of sight, huh?" "Your kill, your mess." Turning on his heel, Rhys walked away, his shoulders hunched. He needed to get his damned quota. Then maybe he could go have a meatball or two. * * * Noah stared at the mess on the street and sighed. At least with a decapitated zombie clean up was easier. The demon virus that reanimated them started eating itself when the head was no longer attached, and the limbs were spongy enough to remove easily. It took him ten minutes to get the thing in a dumpster, and by the time they emptied it there would be a few scraps of clothing and some fingernails. Once he'd gotten all the remains in the big trash bin, he decided he needed a place to wash up and something to eat. He took a deep breath, ignoring the rot smell from the dumpster. He had an idea about where he could find a place to wash up. He just sort of had to open up his senses a little and find that hot hunter. Rhys. It was a good name as names went. It was Welsh, and sometimes meant "dragon," but he would bet Rhys wasn't Welsh. Maybe Irish-Italian. Pretty, though. Very pretty, and really uptight. There was the lickable thing, too. Yummy. Honestly, if this Rhys had anything close to a shower, Noah could make the man smile. Noah opened up, let his senses guide him. He wandered down an alley, through an intersection holding a used bookstore and a convenience store, and headed toward a leaning brick building that had to be a boarding house. Excellent. The air buzzed with hunters, but he ignored the lot of them, focusing on a single bright light. Noah slipped past the sleepy-looking lady at the front desk, which was a little counter that had been put in by the stairs. The stairs led him to a back bedroom, set at the end of a hall, next to a window with a fire escape. Smart. Here, kitty, kitty. Come play with me. I have this itch. Noah was reaching for the doorknob when the door flew open, a crossbow aimed at his head. "What do you want?" "You." Honesty was the best policy, right?
XXOO Julia
