Hope you all had a wonderful and relaxing Memorial Day! This morning I’d like you to help me welcome Sandra Garcia. Sandra has provided links and an excerpt for her newest release, An Elf for all Centuries..
Fish Out of Water Writing
I remember standing in an elevator with a fellow author at the Authors After Dark convention, a romance conference held for readers and authors. We did the name tag peek and realized we didn’t recognize each other’s names. We smiled in polite hello.
“Hi, I’m S.A. Garcia, how are you? I am sorry, I don’t recognize your name; what do you write?”
Writer X responded that she wrote romantic paranormals involving shape shifters for AAAA Press. Then she asked, “What do you write?”
“I write m/m romance for Dreamspinner and Silver.”
Her face adopted this odd, “oh that stuff,” expression, really, her lips pursed and the skin at her temples tightened until she cocked her head at me. “I never understand how you can write the sex scenes in those stories.”
I smiled back. “Plenty of research and imagination.” I wanted to exclaim, “And guess what, I am a lesbian so I don’t even deal with male anatomy!” But since we had just met and she already looked ready to bolt, I restrained from the complete info dump.
I had supplied her with a truthful answer. Because unless I write f/f romance, I will need to research and use plenty of imagination. Some people don’t comprehend why a woman, especially a lesbian, wants to write about two men having the time of their life in bed, or in the kitchen, or the forest, or wherever the fancy to strip down and make love strikes them. Then again, those same people are probably the people who have a problem with the whole idea of LGBT people in general.
At this point in life, I try not to worry about those people. Of course, they outnumber the caring, supportive people who embrace a live and let live sensibility. I have dealt with the cruel, uncaring people in person by using something I also have; my intellect. A few choice words shuts down certain naysayers in a speedy manner.
Yes, here I am avoiding my own question. Why do I write m/m romance? The thing is this is not something I “discovered” and decided to start writing. I started writing m/m romance back when I was in high school, yes, before I really understood how tab A inserted into slot B, well, except through what I had read in books. Back in 1978, a suburban teenager didn’t have a great deal of access to certain information. I snuck around the problem. I also wrote m/f romance. I just loved writing stories filled with romance, partings, angst, and ultimately true love, well, at least for the stories that I ended. Many of those early, badly written stories languish unfinished in notebooks. I feel bad for those characters. They are in limbo. I am so nasty.
I think above all when I started out and came out, I just wanted everyone to enjoy romance. Wait, let me place myself on the psychoanalytical couch for a second. Perhaps by writing my way through m/m romances, I somehow started to come to grips with myself. Did I find it hard to express my emotions through f/f stories? I believe that might be the truth.
Here it is, a good thirty odd years later, and I’m publishing m/m romance. I am happy to say my current stories feature rounded characters, mature storytelling, better grammar, semi-coherent punctuation, and far less deus ex machina malarkey.
Am I being truthful in my emotions? I can’t be anything but truthful. I select, by and large, not to write big sweeping statements about gay men being different. I want the characters in my written works to suffer their share of conflicts, but I don’t want them to suffer only because they love the same gender. Perhaps that is where I slip into a little denial of my own.
Perhaps I need that to remain happy at this time in my life. Maybe the process will someday allow me to write that f/f sword and sorcery fantasy screaming for release. Yes, I believe that to be the truth. Someday I want to write romance across the genders.
Someday, because everyone, no matter what, deserves a happy ending.
Now I would like to tease you with a bit of my new novel “An Elf for All Centuries” which released on Saturday, May 26.
Elven super model Prince Fabion’s day is perfect until wizard Matradorian kidnaps him from his penthouse. Surprise, Fabion is a spiritual match for elf king Henda’s dead lover. Only he can save the dying Henda. The problem is Fabion lives in the thirty-ninth century. Henda lives in the nineteenth.
When he lands in the nineteenth century, Fabion controls himself from punching Matradorian, saves Henda and falls in instant lust with his romantic fantasy. After all, this is a romantic comedy.
When Fabion realizes his polluted, on the verge of ruin thirty-ninth century is gone, the super model pitches the temper tantrum of any century until he realizes sexy Henda accepts him as his true lover. Being the virile, handsome Henda’s lover fills Fabion’s emotional gap. Despite the lack of facials and hot water, the former super model adapts to living in the backwards century.
Soon Fabion learns the nineteenth century is more dangerous than his vanished thirty-ninth century. Who wants to kill him now? And why?
The limo halted next to a faded grass expanse. A century ago, the grass lawn may have looked green, but these days not enough sunlight helped its feeble struggle. Now the grass had given up trying for the green. Even the spiky weeds littering the plot drooped in despair. Across the ragged approach, a tattered tree line listlessly soared into the yellowish mist obscuring the sun’s rays. A shabby sign topping the copper gate announced, “Welcome to Park Haven.”
The driver glanced back at the three passengers. “Are you sure you want to stop here, Prince Fabion? This lonely spot always worries me. I hate leaving you here.”
Fabion waved his right hand in agreement. “Yep, Matt, we need the exercise.”
Hestran whined in annoyance before Fabion could even count to one. The quick reaction set a new fine whine record. “Ooooo come on, Fabion, sweeeetie. Damn, you want to walk through horrid, old Park Haven to reach the Sequoia? Are you insane? That’s toooo faaaaar.”
His sulky boyfriend’s high-pitched complaint made Fabion want to jam his fingers in his ears. Naw, the act seemed too rude even for Fabion’s selfish sensibilities. Instead he managed to smile at his bratty Hestran. “Come on, look at the weather! This afternoon the air quality is almost pretty. I can nearly see blue, well, all right, no, but I can imagine the color ruling the sky like in times past. Today I want to enjoy a walk through the park.”
Fabion hadn’t strolled through Park Haven in over a month. How sad. He needed to commune with the remaining nature on a more regular basis.
Lanaro leaned around the pouting Hestran and scowled in displeasure. “Fuck, you always need to act different, dude. Everyone knows that no well-bred elf walks into Park Haven from the east gate. This is the common, human gate.”
Fabion saw Matt’s professional face slip for a second. Why did Lanaro always act like such a prick? It was one thing to dislike humans, but insulting them to their face defined rudeness.
Lanaro deserved a tongue lashing and not a fun one. Hestran’s tiresome pouting had forced Fabion to agree to provide Lanaro a free ride from New Yorkshire’s snooty Shadyside district. Just his bad luck that Lanaro’s agent occupied the same building as Fabion’s. Fabion’s agent owned two floors, Lanaro’s agent owned a closet-size space. How dare the pedestrian elf think that he occupied Fabion’s regal league? Duh, Fabion was a well-bred prince, so there.
As he sniffed in disdain, Fabion tossed his red mane in practiced dismissal. “Hey, I don’t need to act different. I am different, because I am exceptionally special. I enter where I want, got it?” He pretended to ring a bell at the slackers. “Ding, ding, ding, this is the end of the line. Move your pretty asses from the limo. My man Matt is going home for the day.”
Fabion leaned forward. He flashed a massive bonus into his driver’s hand. Behind him Lanaro’s gasp added the perfect spice. Matt deserved the bonus for enduring those insults.
“Go have fun, dude.”
“Thanks, Prince Fabion!” Matt saluted Fabion. “As usual I’ll wait until you enter the park before I pull away.”
“As usual I commend your wise idea. Catch ya later.” Fabion exited into the ocher afternoon. Today even the air celebrated for him. At that moment, he doubted if anyone else in New Yorkshire acted giddier. His life embraced triumphant coolness, well, except for Lanaro’s presence.
Fabion leaned down to see what was happening inside the limo. Hestran and Lanaro remained sprawled on the seats like sullen children overdosed on pixie dust. Fabion almost slammed the door and told Matt to drive on and drop the ornery duo somewhere nasty like Dog End Quay.
“Will you two move your pretty asses? Exit on this side. We need to hustle into the park.”
Hestran’s wide eyes conveyed panic. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, sweetie, we run for protection, because some ass-wipe might take a shot at us. Get out but remain low.”
Fabion crouched and watched the other elves huddle beside him. He adored this dare. “On my count. One. Two. Three. Run!”
The trio darted across the grass toward the gate. Before they reached the protection offered by the remaining trees, a shot disturbed leaves from an overhead oak branch. Hestran shrieked in alarm.
No surprise, the elf-hating lunatic who roamed the hill opposite the entrance had shot at them. Inside the park, the limp, half-moldy leaves and runes deterred any further shooting.
Safe again! Fabion turned and shouted in snotty glee. “Up yours, you sorry asshole! You missed me again. Ever think about taking lessons?”
Fabion turned back to his companions and snickered. “See, dudes, that’s why I told you to run. The nut-bunny hasn’t hit me yet, but someday the goofball might get lucky. Yo, don’t worry, his silly bullets are useless in here.”
Thanks for reading and thanks for Ane for inviting me here today.
Short Bio: I can never decide between red or white wine. The same applies to my art: creating visual art and word art occupied my professional life until in 2009 word art triumphed. Six published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the challenge.
An Elf for All Centuries
S.A. Garcia’s World of Words
Facebook: Sandra Ann Garcia