Monday, May 22, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Staple




It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



 Welcome back! “Staple” is our word this week. Today I’m sharing a snippet from First Season, the second Harrisburg Railers book. I’m coauthoring this M/M hockey romance series with Rj Scott and am thrilled to be able to share excerpts with the Tuesday Tales readers!

In today’s post, we get to see some interaction between the two leading men, Adler Lockhart, a Railers player, and Layton Foxx, a social media expert working with the Railers.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!




One of the equipment managers slid some guards on my blades and I thumped off, face red, stomach all sorts of knotted up, my goal the dressing room. Honestly. It had been my plan to shower and go home to talk to Apollo. Then I’d eat, come back to the barn, and go out there and beat the sass out of Philadelphia. But then I saw Layton Foxx in that tiny room and all my plans kind of went left of center. I stopped on a dime, took a step in reverse, and walked into the press room. His head came up and his eyes – they were incredible stormy gray eyes with thick dark lashes – flared when he saw me. He grabbed the stapler.

“Okay, see here’s the thing…” I used my stick to shut the door. “I don’t think you get how hard it was for me to tell you that I was gay.”

“I really wish you’d open the door.” He held onto that stapler like it was a Ruger or something. “We’re done for the day.”

“Yeah, I thought so too but how you treated me is stuck in my chest.” I thumped on my breastbone with a gloved hand. Layton eyed me nervously. He was so damn enticing in an uptight, corporate way. He needed me to peel him out of that spiffy suit, lay him over that ugly desk, and make love to him until he was loose as a damn goose. I bet he bottomed. I hoped he did. Also, he needed to let go of that stapler. “Are you going to shoot me in the eye with a staple or something?”

“What? No.” He put the stapler down but left a well-manicured hand resting on it. He had nice fingers. Soft looking, like he never did dirty work or tinker with engines. Not that I tinkered with engines either but my hands looked like hockey player hands. Scarred up from fights and being slashed by opposing players. “You need to go though.”


Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey & Rj Scott

*~*~*

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




Saturday, May 20, 2017

Tuesday Tales Bookstore







The authors of Tuesday Tales are kicking off a new and exciting monthly feature. We'll be sharing cover art, buy links, and an excerpt from books that came to life in Tuesday Tales. This month I'll be highlighting the third in my M/F To Love a Wildcat series, O Captain! My Captain! in the TT bookstore. 

Make sure you go back to the main blog to look over the other wonderful books written by the  talented Tuesday Tales authors. 



*~~*



Free with Kindle Unlimited or $3.99 without KU subscription  






“Oh yah, you telling that little girl to tell me,” he recalled, waving a hand the size of a hubcap from me to him and back again. “You think that’s a grown-up, womanly way to handle it?”

 “Maybe not, but at least I made the effort!” I shot back, losing my train of thought as I stared into his eyes. They had small flecks of gold amid the jade. 

“Oh yah, yah, yah. You made the effort! That was some piss poor effort,” he huffed. “It’s a good thing that I didn’t really think you was all that sexy to begin with.”

 That stung a lot more than I wanted to admit. “Oh yeah? Well, I didn’t think you were all that sexy either with your face hair and crazy Scandinavian Rose Nylund manner of talking!”

We stared at each other for the longest moment of my life. And then some bizarre need to kiss each other grabbed us both and threw us into each other. My back hit the wall of the elevator. Derrick’s arms were wrapped around me like twin bands of steel. His mouth was moving over mine, seeking and tasting. I shoved my fingers into his hair to pull him down to a less neck-wrenching level, then I gave him the access he had been searching for. 

*~~*

Friday, May 19, 2017

You're My Best Friend...Sometimes






I have a great affection for secondary characters. They’re a vitally important part of my books, some even going on to have their own books because they’re so popular. *hugs Mario McGarrity* I take great care when making those best friends or roommates that interact with my guys and gals. Is there anything better than a great friend, a wacky roommate, or one of those eccentric goalies?

Secondary characters many times become the voice of reason to our protagonist. They help calm our hero down, pick them up, cheer them on, and sometimes point out the errors of their ways. Those supporting characters keep our hero from being too perfect. They keep them grounded and relatable while sometimes providing help in solving conflict. Just like in real life, our buddies give us a hand when we need it the most.

But, on the other hand, not all secondary characters are friendly. Some are real jerks who push and prod our hero into action, create plot twists, or add drama or upheaval to the story.

In First Season, Harrisburg Railers #2, the book I’m currently coauthoring with the delightful Rj Scott, I have a secondary character who’s a very important part of one of the leading man’s life. I have plans for this supporting character to be the one person that Adler can turn to when faced with the crazy and wild emotions he’ll be feeling about Layton. Hopefully, Apollo will be able to give his best friend some good advice, and if the advice fails, he can boot Ad in the ass when needed.

Who are some of your favorite supporting characters? I’d love to hear about them – and how you feel about secondary characters – in the comments below.









Monday, May 15, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt




Welcome back!



This week is our picture prompt week and all posts must be 300 words or under and reflect the chosen image. In this final snippet from An Erie Uprising, we get a small glimpse of things after the first night of the battle the shifters and their allies have waged against the Elder Counsel.

Thanks so much for dropping by!





Several of the old folks spit on their fingers and made circles to ward off the vampires. That made me think of Rugby and the staff. They had done the same with the merfolk until they grew to know them. There was so much distrust among our kind. Suspicion and fear just for being different. Seems even those in our shifter community had biases. Odd that. Perhaps we all could stand to learn to be more accepting.

“Right, well, you heard my friend Vincente, the Elders remain. Since we don’t know how that fight will go, we need to find hiding places. Pick somewhere that you can wiggle into comfortably. It might be a long wait until it’s safe to come out.”

They broke off and wandered away among the rock formations. I snuck off to strip and shift. Penelope and the old mink – I’d not gotten her name – waited for me. Little Miss Fennec had shifted as well. The first slim beams of sunlight danced on her red fur. My, but foxes were beautiful creatures. Penelope and Mama Mink joined me in searching among the crags and crevasses. We located a nicely sized crack in the rocks that ran far back into the stone. The ladies wiggled in first then I joined them, blocking off the opening with my body. If anyone reached in they’d get a damn good bite. And woe to the fool who pulled me out. I was now all about the spraying first and asking questions later.

The three of us nuzzled and wriggled close, sharing our body heat. I managed to sleep but it was a fitful rest. Every little sound caused me to jerk awake, sniff the air, and squint out into the brilliant fall sunshine warming the rocks. It was during a short period of deep sleep that I was ripped out of the toasty little nook by my tail. That was the wrong end of a terrified skunk to be yanking on, I can tell you that. Whoever had this polecat by the tail was going to regret it.

Copyright 2017 ©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.



Friday, May 12, 2017

Why Would You Write a Character Like THAT!?








Last Sunday I did a radio interview and had an amazing time answering questions from readers and friends. There were so many questions that I didn’t really have time to answer them as well as I would have liked. I thought I’d tackle a few here on the blog and get a bit more in-depth. So, we’ll start with one that was asked by Rachel. She said that Victor Kalinski was a marmite character – which for those like me who may not have never heard the term before means he’s either loved or loathed – and did I set out to write him that way?

You bet I did! Victor wasn’t my first “Love them or Hate them” type of character, though. The first one of those was Viviana Land, the leading lady in Pink Pucks & Power Plays, book #1 in the To Love a Wildcat series. Viv is a bit self-serving to say the least. She’s brash, stubborn, and a bit selfish. Did I mean for her to be that way? Yep! I love a character that you have to dig into to see the good because in real life not everyone is sweet as butter almond cookies. 

People are complex. Some are nice, some not. Viviana and Victor are a couple of complex characters who don’t make loving them easy at first. Thank goodness Dan and Alain took the time to get to know the good person under the hurt and fear.

You have to peel away layers to get to know the real Viv and Vic. They don’t make liking them easy. They’ll use humor or insults to keep people at bay to keep their hearts safe. And I think that makes them far more interesting than bland, old, vanilla Mary-Jane Goody-Two-Shoes or Tad Heartthrob. The fastest way to put me off a book is to have the protagonist be too sweet and innocent. I like gritty characters filled with flaws that hide a good heart buried deep, deep down. Characters like Victor and Viviana.

And yes, I have gotten plenty of bad reviews because of how Victor and Viv act. I won't apologize for them because they are who they are. Also, if Vic heard me apologizing for him being him he'd boot me in the backside! 

What about you? Do you like a deeply flawed protagonist? Or do you prefer they be squeaky clean and pure as the driven snow? Let me know down in the comments.











Point Shot Trilogy











                                                  Pink Pucks & Power Plays

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Blue Line Collection #1 Cover Reveal!






Add to Goodreads: Blue Line Collection #1

Four must read rereleased M/M erotic hockey romance stories in one reasonably priced collection coming in June!


There’s no sport quite like ice hockey. The speed, the action, the physicality, the blood, and the rabid fans. Add in sizzling hot M/M romance and you’ve got the setting for some amazing romance tales! In the four stories contained in this collection, you’ll experience the ups-and-downs of finding that one true love through the eyes of four different men, ranging in age and experience, from collegiate players to the pros.


Readers should be over 18 due to mature language and gay sexual situations. The set includes:


Crashing the Crease
Long Change
Shutdown Pair
Heir Apparent


Monday, May 8, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Mother




It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



 Welcome back! “Mother” is our word this week. Today I’m sharing snippets from my new M/M shifter romance, An Erie Uprising, which will be the final novella in the Lake Erie shifter series.

In this excerpt, Templeton is fleeing the scene of a rebellion bomb that has just destroyed the OTTER (Office for Transmogrification Registration) building where he worked. He’s desperate to get back to Lupei Manor and check on his parents and Mikel, as well as the others who call the manse home.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!



I curled into a ball, stuffing my nose under my tail, and tried to keep my brain active. It was a short ride, and thankfully so, for as scattered and shaken as I was, I’d been having trouble focusing on staying awake. When the truck bounded and bounced in and out of a pot hole, I squeezed myself back between the kegs a bit more and waited. The door on the rear opened and light flooded the back. I grimaced at the sunshine. The driver was whistling. I hunkered down, belly flat to the icy cold flooring. The keg I was hiding behind moved. I arched my back and stamped my feet. The driver took one look at me and dove out of the back of the delivery truck cussing like a sailor.

Long nails scrabbling for purchase, I hustled my fuzzy ass out of that truck, hit the ground with a ‘Fwump!’ and then took off in the direction of home. Running down the road I warmed up, my thoughts got a bit clearer, and my worry grew heavier. Once I smelled familiar land – and the heavy scent of wolf – I left the roadway and used the rocky shore of Lady Erie to guide me back to Lupei Manor.

The looming mansion was shrouded in fog as a cool front rolled over the still warm water. I paid no heed to the mist or the gargoyles sitting so high above. I hit the doors at a dead run, leaping and scratching, chattering wildly, trying to get someone’s attention. After a moment, it came to me that I could shift and turn the damn door knob, which I did. Eru was standing on the steps running a feather duster along the hand-carved balustrade when I ran inside, panting madly, my backside bared to her gaze. As was my frontside. She screamed and shoved her pointed face into the feather duster. I cupped my genitals and bellowed for Rugby. As soon as I saw him rushing down the stairs, I spoke to him.

“Find me some pants – and some brandy - and then meet me in the library,” I said while backing away from the tiny girl with her face firmly buried in ostrich feathers. Rugby took Eru by the elbow and led her back to the second floor. I turned tail and bolted to the library to wait for my trousers and my loved ones to arrive. Loved ones! By Fenris, my parents! What had become of them? I dove for the old black phone sitting on a petite little side table just outside the library. The dampness of the keep was creeping through my bare feet and up the back of my thighs. Lifting the handset from the cradle, I spun the dial several times and bounced from one foot to the other.

When my mother answered I nearly wept. “Mom, are you safe?”

“Templeton! Oh, thank the Elders!” I grimaced at the old saying. “Your father has been calling your mobile phone ever since the news about the offices came over the radio.”

“I’m fine. Just a little shaken. Mom, I want you and dad to throw some clothes into a bag. I’m going to send Rugby to fetch you and get you on a plane.”

“Templeton what happened at the OTTER office? Mikel? Is he safe? They’re saying it was a rebel bomb. Do you know anything about that? Why? Why do people have to blow things up? Why can’t they just all get along?”

“Because change always comes with loss, Mom. Please, get some clothes packed. Rugby will come get you and take you to the airport in Erie. Fly down to Texas and visit Cousin Felicity.”

“But Templeton, those hog-nosed skunks are always so uppity.”

“Mom,” I had to inhale to calm myself. “Just go to Texas. I’ll pay. I need to know that you’re safe.”

“Okay, Templeton, we’ll go visit Felicity. Promise me you’ll stay far away from all this uprising stuff.”

“I’ll do what I can about the uprising, Mom.” She sighed so I assumed that she’d been placated. “Now go pack. Rugby will be there in thirty minutes.”

“Call me when this unpleasantness is over.”

“I will, I promise. Give Dad a hug for me. I love you.” I gently replaced the handset into the cradle. The major domo stepped out of the shadows to my right, clothing draped over his arm. I never flinched. I guess once one has had a bomb go off twenty feet from him, an elderly Elven halfling appearing out of nowhere loses its shock value.

“You heard my conversation with my mother?” I asked while shaking out then stepping into a clean pair of dark blue khakis. He handed me my spare spectacles which I quickly slid on.

“Yes, Master Reed. I’ve already made the reservations for the flight to Corpus Christie and used Master Lupei’s black American Express.”

“Good man.” I pulled an old sweater over my head. “Get my parents on that plane. I’m entrusting you with their care.”

“I shall deliver them safely onto the airplane. Master Reed?” My head popped out of the sweater’s stretched neck. “Is it true that a bomb detonated in town?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s true.” I touched the scab on my cheek. “Things will never be the same for any of us here in the manor. Now go. I’ll go rouse the rest. May the Elders… I mean may the gods of the North watch over you.”




Copyright 2017 ©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.




Friday, May 5, 2017

Book Spotlight - Pink Pucks & Power Plays





Kindle Unlimited - Pink Pucks & Power Plays

Add to Goodreads 


Viviana Land just can`t seem to say no to her younger sister. Somehow, the curvaceous society page reporter gets lassoed into serving as her niece`s Busy Bee scout leader. One overheated engine later, Viviana and her girls find themselves in the Green Hills Ice Rink. Enter Alain Lessard, the charmingly handsome defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats, who is donating his summer to coaching the youth league. 

When our intrepid reporter is given the opportunity to write the break-out story of her career, Viviana leaps at the chance. Thinking it would be easy to flirt and tease some juicy tidbits out of Alain, Viviana soon finds herself falling for the sensual, younger, kind-hearted man. Will she put aside her virtual pen for a chance to stay at her new paramour`s side? Or will Viviana finally get away from those mundane bakery opening articles by using the man she may possibly be in love with?

R-Rated Excerpt:

One just never knows when one offers a man a whistle wetter what form that wetting will take. Whereas I had envisioned a long, tall flute of some lovely, mid-priced champagne from my fridge to refresh Alain’s tongue—he had something a bit less alcoholic in mind. 

“It looks like I have one bottle of bubbly left from a New Year’s Eve party, or two bottles of raspberry spring water,” I announced from the chilly confines of my refrigerator. “Personally, I’d go with the champagne. The flavored water tastes off to me for some reason.” I reached for the bottle on the top shelf, and then pulled out two chilled flutes from the half dozen I leave in the fridge. “So, what do you want to wet your whistle with?” I asked, waving the bottle, cold air blowing over my calves. 

Alain never uttered a syllable. His eyes grabbed mine. My heart leaped around like a frog on meth in my chest, and then he was all over me. My back hit the kitchen wall soundly. I held a bottle of champagne in my left hand and two crystal goblets in my right. Alain had me by the waist. My arms were looped around his neck. My leg was hiked up the side of his hip. He was more than mildly thirsty from his week on first base. He was nearly dehydrated. His tongue wrestled with mine aggressively. I pushed the cold bottle of Bollinger against the back of his head, egging him into kissing me harder and deeper. The light from the refrigerator was the only illumination aside from a small plum nightlight I keep lit beside the sink. I hoped like hell the salami didn’t get too warm. 

I nearly dropped the bubbly when he lifted me from the floor to the counter. His mouth never left mine. He was so damned thirsty. His hands roamed up and down my thighs. My head bounced off a cupboard. I clumsily dropped the bottle and glasses. A goblet rolled into the sink as I dug my fingers into his dark curls, sealing his mouth over mine. When he skimmed the edges of my panties with fingertips rough as pine bark I whimpered. The kiss broke. 

Alain licked a path of fire from my mouth to my neck, his right hand now massaging my hip as my coffeemaker moved inch by inch closer to the sink. I raised my leg higher on his side. He didn’t hesitate. The backs of his fingers brushed against my neat wax job. Some sort of interstellar light show happened behind my eyelids at that moment. I cried out, one hand wrapped around the base of his neck, the other sliding up his ribs under his shirt. 

“Get this off,” I snarled, yanking madly. He continued kissing me while trying to shed his shirt. Eventually we got the damned thing out of the way. I think his swanky Stetson was in the car, or the living room, or the foyer. My mind was muddy, and really, who gives a shit about a hat? I finally had my hands on Alain Lessard’s chest. God was it divine! Firm as hardened steel, rippled and covered with a lovely dusting of hair that sprang back as my fingers greedily raked through it. 

“Tit for tat?” he panted. I tugged my sweater over my head and pitched it. “Ah, you are so lovely. I adore big breasts.” He sighed as if he had stumbled into Nirvana via my cleavage. 


Wednesday, May 3, 2017

New Release - Playmaker is Now Available!





Venom fans and those who love LGBTQ+ romances are going to be happy to hear that Whitney and Hannah's novella is now available! This is my first F/F romance and I must confess that I totally fell in love with these two young women. I think you might too!






You can grab Playmaker now at the following retailers:


Buy Links:





Blurb:

Secrets. Sometimes keeping them in confidence is a good thing. Other times secrets can slowly allow a woman’s soul to rot. Whitney Beaupré has been hiding a big secret for years, one that’s beginning to wear her down both on and off the ice. Pretending to be something she’s not is exhausting. Wanting to be free but afraid to break out of her prison is terrifying. Seeking love but then hiding from it is crushing to the spirit, yet Whitney feels compelled to keep living the lie.

Until the night Hannah Kym appears in her life. Whitney’s attraction to Hannah is deep, fierce, and instantaneous. The Temple art major is everything Whitney has dreamed of and more. But those old fears keep clawing at the Venom center, keeping her locked in the closet despite the passion and affection she feels for Hannah. Can love finally break the shackles holding Whitney’s heart and soul captive?



Monday, May 1, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Cry




It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



 Welcome back! “Cry” is our word this week. Today I’m sharing snippets from my new M/M shifter romance, An Erie Uprising, which will be the final novella in the Lake Erie shifter series.

In this excerpt we’re treated to a conversation between Templeton and Mikel after a rather unpleasant scene at the dinner table involving the resident vampire.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!




We watched him exit with class and speed. I rounded on Mikel, ready to give him a large piece of my mind. He held up a finger.
            “Keep it to yourself until we retire, Templeton. This is the evening meal. It’s the one meal I can enjoy as it should be, with refinement and taste, not upset and chaos.”
            “I’d say we’re far past a refined and tasteful meal now.” I pushed back from the table, threw my napkin over the damn bloody lamb, and made a dignified exit myself.
             I made it to the master suite, crying a bit as I swallowed rapidly several times, then ran into the bath off our bedroom, folding myself over the toilet just in time. I retched and gagged for a moment, my stomach knotting terribly. After I was done, I flushed, made my way to the sink, and brushed my teeth and tongue vigorously.
            A soft scratching sound tickled my ears. I spit, rinsed, and cranked off the taps before I turned to look at Mikel filling the doorway. And when I say fill I do mean fill. His shoulders were nearly as wide as the jamb and his red-black head brushed the top casing. He looked suitably contrite.
            “Are you not feeling well? Should I have Rugby call for a white witch?”
            “No, no witch is needed, I’m just… sick to my stomach.” I rested my backside to the marble countertop, my gaze moving over the man in the doorway. “The meat was too rare.”
            “I think it was more than the bloody lamb that sent you to the john to vomit.” He tugged the knot out of his tie then pulled it out from under his starched collar. “I think it was me.”
            “Mikel, there is not one thing about you that could ever make me sick.”
            “Oh? And the fact that I’m an elitist hypocrite doesn’t sour your stomach in the least?” He whipped the tie to the hamper in the corner then his suit jacket followed. When I couldn’t think of any response, he exhaled sadly and let his eyes drift shut. “So you also think that I’m a fraud. That I say one thing and then do another.”
            “Don’t put words into my mouth, Mikel. I never said such a thing, but there are times that you’re quite snobbish.” His amber eyes flared. “It’s true. And sometimes I find it terribly endearing. Like when you refuse to try any clothes on that aren’t imported from the Old Country or hand-tailored by Master Gnome.”
            “I cannot fit well into the clothes smaller men wear.”
            “Okay yes, I can see that to be case for suits, trousers, and shirts. But underwear and socks as well?” He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it yet again, and then clamped his lips tightly. Ah, he made me smile despite the churning in my belly. “See, that’s charming in its way. I understand it because that’s how you were raised. As the only blooded son of an alpha you were given the best of the best. You know no different. We can’t avoid our upbringing. It’s why I’m so frugal. Growing up on the salary of an OTTER scribe, we didn’t have luxuries. So to this day I still buy the cheapest shampoo, soap, or socks because spending money on things feels wasteful.”
            “But there are things about me that are not endearing.” He leaned a shoulder to the doorframe.
            “We all have less than endearing qualities, Mikel. I tend to talk too much, horde pennies, fixate on my hair, and stink.”
            “You stink because you are a skunk. That also is something that you cannot change.”
            “True, but there are things about me that I can change, just as there are things about you that you could work on.” I slipped my hands into my front pockets.
            Mikel chewed on that for a second. “His jibe about the servants…that was untrue, Templeton. I have tried to encourage them to seek employment elsewhere. They refuse. They wish to stay here and be at our beck and call. How is that my fault?”
            “Yes, I’ve run into the brick wall myself. And it’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the system we’ve all been trapped in for centuries.”
            He huffed in annoyance. “That vampire is akin to a burdock in my fur.”
            “He does have a knack for knotting you up.”
            “Shall I simply kick them out the door into the snow?” He shifted his weight to the other side of the doorway. I shrugged. “I pay them well. They want for nothing. This manse is theirs just as much as its ours. What does he propose I do?”
            “I honestly don’t know, Mikel. There’s no simple answer. Let’s just go to bed. We’re all tight as piano wires.” I pushed from the counter. He remained where he was, blocking the doorway with muscle and bulk.
            “I’ll instruct Mrs. Dunrite to cook the lamb a bit more next time.” He held out his hand and tried to look sheepish. As if a wolf could ever pull off that expression. I walked over to him and slid my palm over his.
            “Thank you. It wasn’t just the blood soaking into my spuds, it was the stress. I’m sure a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits will get me set to rights.”
            He led me from the bath to stand beside the bed. His fingers went for my tie. Someone knocked on the door to our suite.
            “Master Lupei,” Rugby called through the crack around the door, “I have some peppermint tea and a plate of almond wafers for Master Reed’s bilious stomach.”
            “How does he do that?” I enquired and got a shake of the head from the man peeling me out of my clothing. We crawled into bed, Rugby brought us our tea and wafers, and I dozed off on Mikel’s chest after partaking of the remedy. There I lay until morning, my dreams nothing but black space inside my head.






Copyright 2017 ©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.