My new romantic spy novel Screaming Angels published!
To celebrate, I will be giving away one, signed copy of Screaming Angels to my Newsletter readers in a competition on 16 October at 5pm BST. To sign up for the Newsletter before then, click here or go to the menu at the top of this page.
Brina didn’t remember what keelhauling was, but she decided she didn’t want to know. Many of the ship’s crew stared at their feet while others dragged her to the bow. “Do you think this a good idea?” she heard Devlin say to Brindley. “Suppose she dies? She probably will!” “Then we won’t be docking in Tasman.” “She’s only a woman!” “Shut up Devlin. Do it now!” The crewmen lowered Brina over the bow by the length of rope attached to her wrists while another sailor guided the other length of rope to the stern. He worked it under the moving ship’s hull and pulled it taught. “Ready!” he yelled from the stern. Six men lowered Brina to the crashing bow-waves, while three others hauled on the stern rope. Her feet touched the cold water, so she began to take deep breaths, taking her last a moment before her head went under. After that, she understood little of what happened, except that the sea battered her against the barnacle-studded planks of the hull and her lungs began to scream with the agony of asphyxiation. She held on as long as she could, feeling her chest convulse with its primitive urge to breath. The last thing she saw was a patch of light in the bottle-blue water behind her thrashing legs. “You’re a lucky bitch!” a male voice said. “The Captain wouldn’t have revived anyone else but you!”
“I need a shave.” “Let me show you. Take this off first.” She tugged on the collar of his jumpsuit. “Oh no! You’re not getting me naked that quick.” “Ha! You’ll see us naked before too long. Don’t be shy.” “No!” “Alright! Just strip to the waist then.” Omah unfastened the sticky front tab and peeled the smooth, metallic top down to his waist, rubbed his bare chest out of embarrassment and gave Archivist a lopsided grin. Now look in the mirror and say, “Shave!” “Shave! Hey! What’s this! I have a white mark on my chest. Like a key!” “Yes. I thought it was kinda cute when we were shown your body in one of our first briefings.” “Oh god! You mean you’ve seen me naked?” “Sure! All of it. And you’re quite a healthy man.” Omah blushed and replied. “But what does this mark mean? Do you have it?” “No. You’re the only one. We don’t know what it means. You had it when you came to u- … . Oh there, now you’re jumping the gun! Or making me! Let’s do the shave.” “But wait a minute! At least it’s something not blue! And Controller; he seems very emotionless and blank. Are you all robots?” Archivist’s laugh sounded like the delicate titter of a teenage girl. “It sometimes feels like it.” “Androids then? Cyborgs?”
— Mesago meets slavegirl Brenda and Omaya has to whip slavegirl Tina when she sneaks into his room, late one night. —
Omaya raised the whip and struck again, this time on the narrow part of her back, just above her hips. She let out small cry and shuddered. Omaya struck her until he had counted to ten, by which time red marks lined her back from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine. Omaya could resist no longer. “Turn over!” he ordered. “Yes master.” Tina turned over and covered her breasts with her forearms, a reflex that she hadn’t intended. “No!” Omaya said, falling upon her. He began to kiss her breasts, her belly and moved down to use his tongue where she could not resist. Tina moaned softly and closed her eyes. Having satisfied himself that she was moist and ready for him, he moved up to her face and kissed her red lips. Tina opened her eyes and stared into his. He saw her eyes open wider as he entered her and began to move rhythmically up and down, thrusting with all his unspent frustration and desire. He arched his back as he began to climax. Tina gripped his wrists and shuddered, accepting his lifeforce with a fervour that made her grit her teeth and utter: “Oh! Master!” Omaya lay down beside her but after only a few minutes, Tina began to wriggle down to his hips.
I’m very pleased and proud to announce that my latest book, Screaming Angels, will be published by A-Argus some time in the summer. This story is a historical account of one the strangest deals the British ever did with Soviet Russia, with a romantic twist. If you love romance, this will be right up your street. And if you love aviation tales, especially about Cold War jets, you will also love it.
On a personal note, this book has caused my quite a lot of strife! I already knew about the Rolls Royce Nene engine fiasco, and then I had a strange dream. This became the inspiration for a new book, but the first draft didn’t electrify me, or my beta readers. It seemed to lack emotion, and the plot needed a twist. I sought inspiration in classic romances like Wuthering Heights and Lady Chatterley’s Lover and, six rewrites later, it has a lot of feeling and a great twist! I think I finally got it right. Read on if you want to sample some excerpts!
Buy the paperback or eBook online at Amazon before 1 Feb. Then go to my Facebook page and post a selfie of you with the book and the title “I bought December Radio” (or message me on your Instagram or twitter page – my social links are on the right margin of this page). Or Email a copy of the receipt: firstname.lastname@example.org. Don’t forget to include your choice of reward.
Lazlo Ferran, Romance, Vampire, Werewolf, Magic and Science Fiction writer writes a guest post on Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar’s blog: ‘How to Write Strong Female Characters‘ This article shows what difficulties are faced and some possible solutions when writing female characters from a male feminist point of view.
I will not be posting very often for a while, because I will be focusing on writing RIP and completing the spy novel, set at the beginning of the Cold War, which is set to be published sometime late in 2016 or early 2017.