Sunday, October 23, 2016

Silent Sunday

*Gathering Leaves*

Thursday, October 20, 2016

NaNoWriMo, Word Counts, & Jell-O Shots

Looking at the calendar last week, I noticed that October had somehow arrived. Wasn’t it just July like ten days ago? I’m not sure where the time goes but I do know that the older I get the faster it whizzes past. So, being the glutton for punishment that I am, when I saw it was the tenth month I skipped on over to the NaNoWriMo site, and got my info for this year all plugged in. If you’re taking part, feel free to send me a buddy request—

I’m going to be writing the second book of my upcoming Brighton Wood Blades M/M hockey series, Breakout. I’m super stoked to start working on it! This story has been demanding to be written ever since I sketched out the book outlines for the BWB series. You’d think one of the leading men were some kind of queen or something. *wink* Now I just need to get my head into NaNo mode.

Why I do this to myself year after year is anyone’s guess. Obviously I love writing. Or stress. Or the knowledge that thousands of other authors are typing away like mad just like I am to meet that sixteen hundred word per day goal that spells success. And that brings me to another topic listed in that header.

Word counts. I have a love/hate relationship with them.

On one hand, I like them because they keep me motivated. I like seeing that little colored bar rise. I use word count meters on my blog to help my readers see how my current book is progressing, and to make me feel like I did something good when I watch the purple bar get longer. And I will frankly admit that participating in NaNoWriMo yearly has taught me discipline. In my humble, having discipline is one of the most important attributes an author can possess. So learning to churn out X amount of words every day is a good thing.

But, on the other hand, it’s a trial for me at times because of how my mind works.  You can ask my online sprinting group about my silly process. When we sprint my friends always come back with how many words they got in. Ole Organic Olivia here will mosey in and say “I got to the point where I need to stop and think about what happens next! Go me.” Which is about as vague as an answer from Donald Trump about any policy his campaign supposedly has. Oh snap. Vicki went there.

When I sit down to write, it’s all very loosey-goosey. I know what I want to say that day. Once what I have to say is down on the page, I’m pretty much done. That’s a problem if you’re working to put in two thousand words a day (my set goal for NaNo) and what I had to say only needed six hundred words. It’s at this point that I start calling NaNo and myself bad words.

Yeah, my head is a wonky place, I know. What about you? If you’re an author how do you feel about NaNoWriMo, word counts, and lapping Jell-O shots from Henrik Lundqvist’s navel? Bet you were wondering how I'd work that last header reference in, weren't you? 

Feel free to let your imagination roam...

Monday, October 17, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

It's time for more from my current WIP Playmaker, an F/F hockey romance This story might contain crude language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. Today the girls have their first date at a local hoagie shop. 

It`s our picture prompt week and the excerpt must reflect the image and be under 300 words.  Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!

            “You look like a librarian,” Hannah said when I reached our table. I glanced down at the frumpy white blouse and brown skirt.
            “I have a dress code that I have to follow at work,” I explained, feeling as square as the tables.
            “I think it’s hot. If we put some glasses on you and had you bending over a stack of books I’d have wet dreams for a month,” she leaned over and kissed me. On the lips. In front of everyone in the hoagie shop. For some insane reason I leaned into the kiss, into her, and it was amazing. Her lips were soft, her breasts small but firm. When we broke apart a long, long moment later, my face was hot and Hannah was smiling like a cat who had just discovered a field of catnip. “Okay, I so have to paint you draped over a chaise wearing that look that you’re wearing right now.”
            I should have said something sexy, or provocative. Instead I went with this gem. “I play hockey for a living.”
            “Oh, so you’re not some uptight librarian. Well, that’s okay. I like hot jocks.” She sat down and patted the chair next to her. After scoping out the reaction of the patrons to the girl-on-girl kiss and seeing that no one seemed to give two shits, I sat down, grabbed a paper menu jammed behind the napkin holder, and stared at the food selections. I doubted anything on the menu would be as enticing as Hannah’s lips.

Copyright 2016 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

See you next week!

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Silent Sunday

*Mushroom on a Stump*

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The Perils of Penelope Pantser

I am finally, finally, finally done with Open Net. Excuse me while I slither from my chair to the floor like an exhausted asp. *slips silently to the floor*

Never have I struggled so with a story. I have quite a few books to my credit now, and most fly along at a remarkable speed. Not this one. And I know that all the serious plotters out there are giving me “That Look” and thinking that anyone who writes as organically as I do is a big ole fool. After three revisions, I might tend to agree with them. Pity my muse does not.

Actually, the problem with Open Net wasn’t the storyline, it was one character. August’s love interest, Sal. For some reason he was terribly resistant to giving up his secrets. The book started out as a May-December. Salvatore quickly set me straight about his age. Okay, fine, we'll change that. So we did some revisions and made him twenty-four to my sweet Augie’s twenty-two.

I thought he was happy, but nope. There was something stewing with the plotline that he didn’t like. He dug in tenaciously and slowed the words down until I threw up my hands and once again switched things around. Now, he seems to be content with his role and my boys can have their happy, happy, happy.

That’s the curse of being an organic writer. Sometimes when you’re letting the characters decide how things run, they act up. Many will lead you down a side path that ends up somewhere south of "How Did We End Up Here?" and others will just flatly refuse to let the story flow. Such was the case with Salvatore Castenada. And he’s generally such a sweet, sexy young man. Look at this face. Does this look like the kind of fellow who would stir up such a stink?

Now Victor, yeah. I could totally see Vic tossing himself around until he got his way. To be honest, I find Victor one of my easiest characters to write. What that says about me I don’t wish to dwell on. Yep, being an organic writer is tough sometimes. It does make for more work when things veer off the well-scripted path. On the other hand, when the character is totally in charge  it is a damn wondrous thing! Being the vessel through which a fictional voice speaks is amazing.

Even with the occasional difficult character, I know I won’t be changing to being a deep plotter any time soon. My muse will not write the same story twice, so deep plotting is a death blow to any book I hope to write. It’s amazing how one authors precise and plotted process is another authors slow and painful death.  

To help celebrate the fact that Sal, August, and I have finally written "The End", here’s an exclusive sneak peek at Open Net, Cayuga Cougars #2. This excerpt hasn’t been professionally edited yet, so if you stumble over any glaring errors, blame it on Sal. *wink*

 Oh, by the way, this is my inspiration for August. I know, he and Sal are one beautiful couple. Trust me, these two young men are going to hit you right in the feels. And yes, there is gay sexual stuff and dirty talk coming round the bend. You know the drill...

“You know when you make that face you look just like your mother?”
I threw the man jogging at my left a dark look. Sal’s laugh was a sharp bark.
“You do recall that I’m adopted?” I asked with attitude as we ran up to the border of Lake Marten. Sal slowed and then stopped when the lake came into view. “Pretty, huh?”
“Wow,” he panted, his sweaty hair stuck to the side of his head. “Oh my God, is that a moose with a baby?”
I trotted up to stand beside him, looked at where he was pointing, and then nodded.
“Yeah, it’s a moose.” I bent down to touch my toes and stretch my hamstrings. When I straightened, Sal was taking pictures with his cell, his face glowing from either the two mile run or the sight of the mama moose with her calf. Maybe both. “Not too many of them wandering around Elmira, huh?”
“Not a one,” he laughed then walked to the edge of the lake. I moseyed up to stand beside him. A gentle wind moved over the water, moist and fresh, kind of chilly when it rustled over damp clothing. “It really is beautiful here.”
I studied his profile. “Yeah, it is.” He threw me a sideway glance, smiled, and returned to snapping images of moose, lake, towering pines, and a long pier that ran out into the water. “You about done taking pictures?” I asked while pulling my shirt over my head.
“Um, maybe?” Sal turned to face me. I toed off my sneakers then bounced around on one foot, then another, peeling off my sweaty socks. His dark eyebrows shot up his brow when I wiggled out of my running shorts and briefs. “Is this some sort of pagan Canadian tradition?”
“Sure, we can call it that. Or we can call it skinny dipping.” I ran out into the lake. The water swirled around my thighs and splashed up over my balls. It was brutally cold. My nuts ascended into my body as fast as they could. I heard Sal laughing at my squeals from the shore. Needing to show him that I really owned my shit, I drew in a deep breath, and dove into the freezing water. When I surfaced about six meters from the rocky shore, I cleared the water from my face, then paddled around to face Sal. Who was still on the shore, the coward.
“You coming in or what?” I shouted while treading water. He began stripping and with a shout that scared the moose and her calf, leaped into the water. He came up right in front of me.
“Holy fucking shit, this water is frigid!” Sal gasped as lake water ran down his face and neck. He swam a little closer. I stole a kiss. Then another. And then one more. “You think we could get out of this ice plunge?”
“Will you fuck me on the shore?”
“If my junk hasn’t frozen off and fallen to the bottom of Lake Antarctica, sure.”
“Drama queen,” I tossed back at him after I broke for shore. He followed along with ease. I reached the shore first. Lake Marten slapped around my thighs. I turned to watch Sal rise out of the cold, clear lake like a water god.
He stepped right into my arms. He was cold, his skin pimpled with gooseflesh but his mouth, oh his mouth was hot. As was his touch. Every caress of his hands over my skin set me on fire. He cupped my naked ass while rubbing his tongue over mine. Our cocks, rising slowly now that we were out of the bitter cold lake, bumped together.
I was hot and so horny. We hadn’t had sex for something like a week. I grabbed his hips, pulled with a grunt, and ground my cock against his. Sal groaned into my mouth, his teeth dragging over my tongue. I took him by the arm to the first bit of grass we could find.

If you’re an author, are you a plotter or a pantser? What process works best for you? I'd love to hear what you think in the comments below.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Great M/M Hockey Romances for a Great Cause!

You can get your copy of Changing on the Fly today!

I am so proud of this collection and all the love and hard work that went into it. When Avon Gale and I discussed this idea well over a year ago, I thought it might just be a passing fancy. A wishful thought. But when we put out the call to see if any authors would be interested, we were thrilled to find so many generous writers willing to take part! And more are signing up for next year! 

Remember, all the stories, editing, and cover art was donated. All monies raised will be given to a charity that promotes inclusiveness in sports. With your help we're hoping to send a sizable check to our charity and help gay athletes and coaches find acceptance in the locker room. 

Thank you ahead for your support of this worthy cause. 

Buy Links:

Changing on the Fly is a celebration of romance, featuring six M/M stories about hockey players falling in love on – and off – the ice. All proceeds from the anthology will be donated to a charity that supports inclusiveness in athletics.

The anthology will be available starting in October, 2016, for a limited time only.

It includes the following stories:

Even Strength by Cherylanne Corneille
Next Season by Avon Gale
Going Home by Heather Lire
On Broadway by V.L. Locey
The Brother and the Retired Player by Mary Smith
Take a Shot by Samantha Wayland


V.L. Locey’s On Broadway:

"You're about as far from being just a guy as I am from being able to play “Rocket Man” on harmonica.”
                "Is that the song your mom named you after?" I fell back to the bed, feet dangling to the floor and hands clasped behind my head.
                "Good guess." He appeared behind me after a moment. I tipped my head back to look at him. His green eyes were darker now, smoky jade and hot with desire. "You're really sexy in a Toby McGuire Spider-Man kind of way."
                "I don't have any superpowers," I replied as he leaned over and placed his hands on either side of my head.
                "Not true," Rocket whispered before covering my mouth with his. My eyes drifted shut as my fingers knotted up the bedding. His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue skilled, his taste a subtle blend of Korean buffet. "You're Riley Zeally," he murmured between nibbling kisses that made my heart pump faster, "the face of professional hockey."
                I reached up from the duvet to push my fingers into his hair. "I want you," I panted between his short, maddening sweeps of my mouth.

Samantha Wayland’s Take a Shot:

 “There already is someone who loves to spend time with you, who loves hockey and your friends and their ridiculous pranks. Who gets that you have to travel and that you’re tired!”
Tim blinked, appearing utterly bewildered. “Who?”
“Me, you asshole! Me.”
Tim threw his hands in the air. “What about you?”
“I appreciate you exactly as you are. I love our life. Our friends. You. Even the super fucking irritating things, because apparently there is something wrong with me. I love that you can’t hide what you’re feeling, almost ever. And that you say what you’re thinking, even when I can’t do the same. I like living with you, a fucking neat-freak nudist, and working with you, and there’s never been a time, not once, that I was tired of being around you. You’re gorgeous and you’re kind and you’re the best person I know. So shut up about there not being someone who can appreciate everything about you. There already is. And unfortunately for you, it’s me.”

Heather Lire’s Going Home

“What the fuck, man?” Blake growled at Dex.
“What?” he asked, innocently. Too innocently. “I was just making conversation with an old friend from high school. One who helped both of us graduate.”
If he’d known when he started this trip down memory lane that he’d be running into the person who’d had a staring roll in the epic disaster that had been his last night in town, he’d never have started it. Micah had also held a staring roll in every single one of his sexual fantasies back then as well.
“Fuck you, Dex.”
“Think about it like this…this is a new start for both of us. A chance to fix the things in our lives that we fucked up. Me with my career and you with Micah.”

Cherylanne Corneille’s Even Strength

He took a few laps around their end of the rink to loosen his legs. On his fourth pass around the net, he picked up a stray puck and carried it on his stick before shooting it into the net. Boone bumped his shoulder and nodded toward the glass as they rounded their end of the rink again.
What the hell? He glanced in the direction his teammate indicated. Two men around his age wearing New York’s jerseys held up a brightly colored sign that said simply, “Thank you, Nate.” He puzzled on the meaning until he made another lap. One of them also held a small rainbow flag.

Mary Smith’s The Brother and the Retired Player

Our lips touch, and the spark is struck. He pulls me closer and grips my hips. I can feel his hardness already, and my dick twitches at the contact. Our kiss intensifies as our tongues touch. I hold him closer, and the light scruff of his pale beard tickles me. I never want to leave this spot, but finally, I pull back.

Avon Gale’s Next Season

Nick stopped as Sparrow went to get into his Escalade, which he’d somehow remote started the second they got out of the building. Nick drove a 2002 Ford Focus and was lucky if it started when the key was in the ignition.
“So, uh,” Nick said, not wanting to just walk off but still as uncertain as he’d been in the locker room about what to say. “See you in Philly, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Sparrow muttered, yanking the door to his luxury SUV open with too much force. “See you in Philly, kid.”
Nick managed to get his own car door open, grabbed his ice scraper, and turned the car on so he could blast the heat. He watched Sparrow drive away, leaving tire tracks in the snow.

V.L. Locey
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

Avon Gale

Avon Gale was once the mayor on Foursquare of Jazzercise and Lollicup, which should tell you all you need to know about her as a person. She likes road trips, rock concerts, drinking Kentucky bourbon and yelling at hockey. She’s a displaced southerner living in a liberal midwestern college town, and she never gets tired of people and their stories -- either real or the ones she makes up in her head.

Cherylanne Corneille

Cherylanne Corneille has been writing almost as long as she has loved the game of hockey, so it was inevitable that she would eventually combine two of her favorite pastimes into one hobby. She will watch almost any game but prefers to cheer on the Carolina Hurricanes, Anaheim Ducks, Tampa Bay Lightning, and Tyler Seguin.
When not writing or watching hockey, she enjoys running and has completed 18 half marathons.  She also loves Stars Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Captain America.
Cherylanne lives in Central Florida with her cat, who was almost called Puck or Hanifin but sometimes answers to the name Phasma.

Heather Lire

Heather has traveled all over the world, speaks several languages, collects romance books like they’re going out of style, and has multiple book boyfriends. Ok, she hasn’t been all over the world, except in her mind. She does however speak multiple languages and collect romance books. Her long-suffering husband and sons roll their eyes at all her book boyfriends. When she’s not busy on her next novel she can be found in her classroom where teaches one of those many languages, at one of her sons many sporting events or on twitter talking about what else, romance books.

Samantha Wayland

Samantha Wayland has three great loves in life; her family, writing books, and hockey. She is often found apologizing to the first for how much time and attention is taken up by the latter two, but they forgive her because they are awesome and she clearly doesn’t deserve them.
Sam lives with her family—of both the two and four-legged variety—outside of Boston. When she’s not locked away in her home office, she can generally be found tucked in the corner of the local Thai place with other socially-starved authors and an adult beverage. Her favorite things include mango martinis, tiny Chihuahuas with big attitude problems, and the Oxford comma.

Mary Smith
Best Selling Author, Mary Smith, has been coming up with stories her whole life. She has written A HOCKEY TUTOR and THE NEW HAMPSHIRE BEARS SERIES along with numerous other titles, as well as co-authored THE PENALTY KILL TRILOGY, OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN SERIES, and THE NINTH INNINGS SERIES with Lindsay Paige. When not busy writing or rooting for the Chicago Blackhawks you can find her with her nose stuck in her Kindle.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Tuesday Tales - Gold

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

 Welcome back! I’ve just started a novella called Playmaker, which is a Venom book and will center on Whitney Beaupré, one of the women we’ve come to know in the Venom books. This week we’ll get to see how Whitney and her leading lady meet.

This is my first lesbian romance and I am already in love with Whitney and her future lady love! I hope you fall for them as well over the next few weeks. Since this is an LGBTQ romance, there may be some same-sex frolicking taking place. If that offends, now is the time to skedaddle along to another Tuesday Tales offering.

Our word prompt for this week is “Gold”.

I tipped the driver nicely then slid out of the back seat, my gaze now riveted to the bar tucked between a bookstore and a clothing boutique. I breathed in the aroma of freedom for thousands. I was now in the “Gayborhood”, an area of the city near Washington Square, where gay life and businesses abounded. The city had even recognized the area and added gay pride rainbow street signs and crosswalks. It amazed me that all of this beautiful gayness was found just four blocks from City Hall. I ran a hand over my spikey brown hair and walked into Sapphire, my favorite lesbian nightclub.
            Sapphire had a cozy, sexy vibe. The bar area sat directly on the right when you walked in. There was a dance floor back and to the left, separated and yet easily accessible from the bar. Food was served until midnight. The servers and bartenders wore sapphire-colored vests over thin white shirts and black slacks.
The club was hopping already, which set me on edge just a bit. I slipped around the crush at the bar and seated myself at a small table by the dance floor. A thin girl with gold hair in the Sapphire employee garb took my order for a cosmo. I turned my head to study the dance floor. Women of all sizes, colors, and shapes bounced around to a dance remix of Deborah Cox’s “Play Your Part” as my foot bounced to the beat.
            My cosmopolitan arrived. I handed the server a twenty and continued to sit in the shadows, enjoying the dancers and my cocktail. Everyone seemed to be paired up already. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe I should just finish my drink and go home before someone recognized me as a Venom player and—
            “Did anyone ever tell you that you have an amazing brow?” A small Asian woman sat down across from me, startling me out of my ruminations. She was adorable, I saw that right off. Her face was round, her hair short and dyed aquamarine. Her mouth was drawn into a studious pucker. She shoved her hand across the table. “Also, your mouth is perfectly aligned with your nose. Hannah Kym.”
            “Thanks,” I muttered and shook her hand. She smiled and it lit up the club.
            “Would you consider posing for me sometime?” The music died off and applause broke out for the DJ’s choice. I cocked an eyebrow. Hannah Kym snickered as a white strobe light moved over our tiny table. When she smiled, her apple cheeks nearly obscured her beautiful brown eyes. It was beyond cute. She was beyond cute. “Okay, I know that sounds like some lame come-on that a guy would hit you with. I’m really an art student. I’m in my junior year at Temple, and I’d love to paint you sometime. You have this amazing face. Sensual, sad, sophisticated, sullen.”

Copyright 2016 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

See you next week!