Lilies of the valley are instrumental in The Sun God, hence the image. I’m still working on this story in preference to Vaal of the Depths and Redemption 4. I hope you will forgive me, those of you waiting for the next in either series. I have to write where the inspiration is strongest, or I’ll get nothing done.
The Sun God is not in the fantasy genre. I started this story as a project to step aside from the fantasy genre, while tongue-in-cheek referring to Greek mythology, my favourite reading material as a teen. It’s a work set in modern Canada and tells the story of a young man who was rejected when he came out as gay. It’s not the story directly after he was rejected, but many years later after he survived on the streets, found a shelter, finished highschool and tried to get a higher education. He chose a protector at the age of nineteen, and it was the wrong choice. He’s now twenty-four, and while working on a contract out of town and out of province, he comes across a real protector, someone who gives a shit, and he’s desperate to keep the man for himself, rather than simply be rescued.
I wrote new stuff for the story in December, stalled and then finished up the scene I started back then. I have started a new scene.
Things I’ve had to research/remember for this story: bronze sculpture/foundries, electric garage door openers, how parking tickets are paid in the Montreal airport, which side of compass we exit the parking structure, plant zones, plants (in particular pumpkins and perennials), types of roofs and their materials, Quebecois architecture, political ridings, etc. A riding is an electoral division in Canada.
There’s been more, the primary that of BDSM customs, themes, beliefs, opinions. I’ve researched this over and over so as to stay as close to the actuality of the scene while breaking with the customs for this story, because this story is about untrustworthiness and choosing carefully who you should trust. It’s about faith and looking for acceptance. And of course it’s about love.
I started this story when I was still interested in writing hot sex scenes, so there are some. Not that I’m disinterested in those, but I tend to look at whether the scene helps the plot before I bother writing them.
It’s become a balancing act lately. Some people may have purchased earlier books looking for the same quantity of plot and sex as I was writing six years ago, so I try to balance the later books the same, but I don’t always succeed. This story is a romance, so I’m sure more opportunities will arise, but I’m not fussed about adding any in if they don’t fit.
About Lulu: the latest ePUB versions are now on iTunes, so I have stopped worrying about that. Now I have tax forms to catch up on and that’s about the only thing distracting me now. I shall start working on those Monday.
I shall post a small excerpt from The Sun God here. This is about 25 k into the story. Keep in mind that my protagonist didn’t eat for more than a day, is physically debilitated from long-term slow starvation, had heat exhaustion earlier and has had a stressful day in general. Jacob, the love interest, is forty-three and recently divorced, not gay, but an openly curious bisexual with no self-esteem issues. This is sort of work safe, if you don’t mind swear words.
~~~~
Ferris bit into his third samosa and chewed, eyelids fluttering down in bliss. So good. God, so good. He hadn’t had anything this delicious to eat in weeks.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
He looked across the table and smiled, happiness no doubt oozing from his eyes like multihued rainbow lava spewing from a mirthful volcano, or like the gob of messy food drool that slipped out from the side of his mouth. Damn! Show the man what a disgusting pig you are, why don’t you? he thought, wiping his chin hastily.
Jacob grinned and drank his coffee. His gaze drifted away to examine the pedestrians strolling on the warm sidewalks of Toronto despite the heat wave. Darkness hadn’t driven off the humidity or reduced the temperature. Jacob had shoved Ferris into the nearest restaurant on Church Street after getting off the subway at Wellesley Station. The spicy scents arriving from the kitchen were heavenly before they opened the door, but Jacob had chosen the place for the air conditioning as much as for the promise of delectable food.
Ferris swallowed his too huge mouthful and jammed in another. The vague chatter of other customers faded from his mind. He barely noted the chime of the door opening and shutting again. A few seconds later, however, when the presence intruded onto the third chair at their table, his contented, sleepy mind focused faster than if he’d had a ruler slap on his bared ass. He stopped chewing.
Jacob’s head turned from the window and toward the uninvited guest. The coffee cup lowered to the table, and a nostalgic smile of welcome replaced the dispassionate expression. The visitor stared at him and said, “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”
“Trina.”
“Oh, my God! Someone get me a gun!” Trina said with her deep voice.
Ferris dropped the samosa. Jacob only grinned wider.
“Why are you more gorgeous now than at twenty-seven? Someone help me shoot this man! He’s supposed to be fat, wrinkled and unsexy.”
Jacob laughed, leant forward and hugged her. Ferris watched Trina’s face, his eyes still huge.
“Bastard,” Trina said, wrapping her free arm around Jacob. With her other, she clutched her green silk purse tighter. Her heavily frosted eyelids fluttered down. Ferris recognized bliss on a face other than his own.
“You’re the one who stopped writing or answering calls,” Jacob said. He settled back in his chair, his smile lopsided and wry.
Trina angled her face away in a surly refusal of guilt. Ferris’s awed gaze momentarily rose to the impressive gathering of gold-beaded braids wound in a thick chignon at the back of Trina’s head, then fixated on the luscious lips pouting within the face of a tall and slender black houri wearing a green sari. His attention dropped to the visible anatomy beneath the sheer fabric at the bosom. Her areolas and nipples had been dusted with the same fine pink sparkles as on the lips. The breasts were not augmented, but Ferris looked at Trina and still saw a goddess, and his heart all but died in his throat, where it had lodged with a lump of badly swallowed food.
He couldn’t compete with that. How could he possibly compete with that? A woman with everything a man needed to please a man. Exotic beauty, poise, allure, and a big black dick. Ferris’s agonized gaze drifted to Jacob.
“Do you work here?” Jacob asked.
“Oh, shut up. I own this place.”
“Seriously? Well, the food is excellent. Coffee too.”
“Who is this?” Trina asked, targeting Ferris with a sharp stare. “If this is Paul, he sure has stopped looking like you, and in a very bad way. Have you been starving this child?”
“Trina, this is Ferris Drummond.”
“A pleasure,” Trina said in a tone that conveyed the opposite. “And what are you doing with a sickly puppy, Jacob?” Her eyes locked on him again. “Is this a rescue? Are you in the middle of another rescue? Why don’t you try rescuing girls instead of little faggot boys? Go break the heart of someone who has a chance at your cock for a change.”
A protest escaped Ferris’s lips despite years of conditioning to be quiet and unassuming in public with his master. It was a whisper only, but audible in the hushed confines of a small city restaurant in which even the kitchen staff craned from doors to eavesdrop on the spectacle.
“Kitten,” he said.
Trina daggered him with another stare. “Kitten?”
Ferris thought he might faint. The restaurant, the mesmerized customers, the walls, tables, chairs, even the soft light from the chintz-shaded overhead lamps seemed surreal. “Yes, Ma’am,” he whispered.
Trina’s voice rose. “Kitten?” She lifted off her chair. Ferris’s gaze seized upon a sexy slit skirt beneath the gauzy sari. The glimmering cloth exposed a smooth length of thigh, artfully powdered with more rosy sparkles. “Oh, my God! Someone get me a gun! I have to shoot myself right now!” Trina whacked Jacob over the shoulder with her purse. Loose change tinkled in concert with clacking cosmetic cases. Some coins fell out and danced away under neighbouring tables. “You crossed the line? You crossed the line with that?” She whacked him again. “Why did you cross the line with that? I loved you!”
“I was happily married when I met you, Trina.”
“Was?” Trina sat with a dazed expression. “You’re divorced?”
“Yeah.”
“Praise God!” She shot off the chair again and grabbed his upper arm. “Come with me to the bathroom. I’m going to suck your cock right now.”
“Trina, I’m—”
Trina angled lower and kissed Jacob silent.
Ferris’s reality collapsed into one tiny universe of misery. Yet somehow, when he’d always been silent and obedient in his apathy, this time he found his body moving, as if his mind had fractured, as if—somewhere in the depths of his being—another Ferris existed, a Ferris who would stop at nothing to preserve his chance at true happiness.
The small table toppled against the window, which shook but did not shatter. Dishes broke. Food splattered. Customers inhaled in surprise. Someone said, “Fuck!” And Ferris twisted clawed hands in Trina’s perfect coiffure and tried to rip it from her scalp.
“Fuck, ow!” Trina cried. Her fist punched Ferris in the gut. Pain seared through his abdomen. His grip loosened.
“Awesome! Trina’s in another cat fight!”
“I’m posting this pic!”
“Ferris!” Jacob pressed between him and Trina.
“A cat fight over a straight guy? Pathetic.”
Trina stumbled into the clear and pivoted toward the person who had just commented. “Pathetic? Did you just call me pathetic, you little bitch?”
Jacob grappled with Ferris, who tried to climb over him to get at Trina.
“I’m sorry,” the little bitch said. He was actually a tall man.
“You damn right, you sorry.”
“Ferris, easy there.” Jacob lifted him off his toes and staggered away a few feet. Ferris attempted to snag Trina’s hair, sari, anything one last time, then wrapped his arms and legs around Jacob’s shoulders and hips. Jacob regained his balance and faced Trina, his possessive burden firmly clasped. Ferris looked at the spectators staring in at him from beyond the window. A vague image of Trina superimposed over some. His grip on Jacob tightened.
Trina checked her chignon for damage, lowered her hand and said, “Damn, that is one vicious little kitten, Jacob. And isn’t he adorable clinging to you with every limb he owns?” She laughed and then ordered the gawping staff back to work. “Come on! Why you all standing there? Get this table upright and the floor cleaned.”
“I want a raise.”
“Like fuck you getting one.”
Ferris listened to Trina cuss out her staff, feeling dizzy, wasted, shell-shocked. The watchers in the window grew indistinct.
“Ferris? It’s alright, Ferris. I’ve got you,” Jacob’s reassuring voice breathed against his ear.
He turned his face in toward Jacob’s neck and shut his eyes.
The Soulstone Chronicles 