Today I decided to put together a little site as a companion to my books. Just for fun.
I hope you enjoy!
Bey
My Head
People always want to get inside my head. Women more than men, but they both say the same sorts of things:
"What's going on in your head?"
"I want to see what you see."
"Can I take a look inside your brain."
"Give me a look into your mind..."
Went out the other night with friends to pub quiz. Got asked a variation of the above by a slightly-drunken S.
B: Why does everyone want to see inside my head?
S: Because! I need to know...
M: Ohhh that's not a great idea. First off there are far too many walls in there. Then, if you do manage to get in, you'll never make it out alive. You'll stay trapped in there. Forever.
I like my friends.
My head is in a slightly weird place these days. I was planning on continuing with Sword but Stripped, the third book of the Baal's Heart trilogy, wouldn't let me go so I started writing that instead. I'm about a chapter in and so far so good. However, the weather's been fucking with my sinuses again so I've got a headache half the time which sucks.
It took me 82 days to write Caged. Sacrificed took me 173 days to write. I wonder how long Stripped will take me? When I wrote Caged, it was the only thing I was working on. I had two other projects on the go during the time I was writing Sacrificed. This time around... oh I have too many projects competing in my head. I should really focus on one thing at a time.
I am
A liminal space where pain courts fear, and pleasure flirts with madness.
I am nothing.
I am yours.
Whittled down to a single need, I feel what you want me to feel.
I am lost.
I am found.
The Tin Man’s Puzzle
This is how it works:
First I hurt you.
I find all your cracks and pull you to pieces; I unmake you.
I leave you a sobbing mess on the soft bed when I'm finished with you.
Skin wet. Heart slows.
Eyes gentled. Hands gentler still.
Now let me put you back together.
All your little puzzle pieces. The corners and edges and all the ones that look identical but that I know are as different as the sun and the moon.
Breathe. I have you. You did so well.
I am proud of you.
Are you ready? It's your turn to hurt me.
Only you have the key to open the tin man's chest and pull out what's inside.
Locke
Got my copy of Locke in the mail the other day. Great fucking movie.
Michelle at Joyfully Jay gives Caged 4.75 Stars
Every once in a while, there's a review that really touches me to the core. This is one of them.
"I have to start by calling attention to the writing itself. It’s exceptional. When I take a break from reading and have to take a moment to get reacquainted with my surroundings, it’s just not possible to be pulled any more into a story. The use of words landing in the exact perfect place, the small intricate details woven together, and the flow of moving from one page to the next, perfectly illustrates Deckard’s talent.
The story is set in a historical period, but does not focus or dwell on a lot of historical details. The well researched details are in the scenes themselves that slowly sneak up on you to give you a full picture of where you are. It’s the description of the laces and the material of the men’s pants, their boots, the type of shirt (or lack of shirt) they are wearing, the color of the bedding, the placement of items in a room, the detail on a window, and then all of a sudden Baltsaros walks into his quarters and you can picture him and what his room looks like without having been given a list and an information overload of details. That is an art form."
Beth Brock Gives Caged 4 Stars
Pirates, adventure, romance, gay sex, a titch of MMF, a splash of BDSM, and a dash of MMM. This book has everything. It’s refreshing to read a MMM Romance that blows convention out of the water...
Fan Mail Wednesday – picture-post edition.
Welcome to another round of fan mail Wednesday!
I just received what is probably one of the oddest questions so far, so I thought I'd turn my answer into a blog post.
Ann writes: You probably get asked what you actually look like all the time so I will ask a different question. What do you smell like?
Hi Ann! What do I smell like? Hmm. Well, most of the time I smell like:
and:
and:
and, if I'm being honest, probably a little of:
Thank you for writing to me, Ann! I love random emails. I'm glad you enjoyed Caged.
High School was a Blast
I recently got an invite to my twenty-year high school reunion.
Twenty.
Twenty fucking years.
Jesus.
So, since high school has been on my mind for the past few days, I figured I might as well write a post about it.
I liked high school. I think I might have actually loved it a little. Yes, you heard me right.
The actual lessons were always easy. I'm intelligent and a quick study; I was in a special program where I did intensive science classes for the last three years (bio-chem, intro genetics, college-level physics and gen chem), and I was tutoring advanced math. My English classes were largely Latin courses and Shakespeare. I was my art teacher's favourite student. I was on the honour roll. I won a bunch of awards at graduation.
I also held the record for the most absences in a year. Two years in a row. I was constantly in detention... mostly for creating mayhem. I was suspended. I was put on academic probation. I had to see a guidance counsellor twice a week for the last two years of school. Why? Because all my report cards said approximately the same thing:
Brilliant student when motivated. Does not play well with others.
When watching The Breakfast Club, someone asked me who I was in high school, I said: "Why do I have to pick?"
Death metal t-shirts, ripped jeans one day. Three-piece pinstripe suit the next. In the chess club and on the yearbook team. Organizer of fights off school property where I also acted as bookie. Was nominated to position of Peer Counsellor* for my grade and interviewed by a newspaper. Chronic stoner that helped to run acid and hash through the school.
I was suspended and forced to come into school over a holiday once, but the principal gave me the keys to the school so I could go work in the dark room instead of sitting in her office.
I wasn't popular, no, but I got along with a lot of people.
I was either a teacher's favourite student or their worst nightmare.
I got away with so much shit.
I had fun.
I tend not to remember the bad parts.
It was a time when I had no responsibility other than getting my school work done... the rest of the time was a barrel of laughs. So many good memories.
Getting stoned and skipping class to trip in the woods where I told ghost stories.
Hanging out with my friends, smoking our cigarettes, thinking were were all that.
All the art projects... plus getting really stoned and watching The Wall in art class.
Drunken school dances with furtive fondling.
But... am I going to my reunion?
No. I'm not interested. I'd like to leave the happy memories where they are... anyone that I wanted to stay in contact with, I have on Facebook. I don't get off on talking about work, kids, diseases, mortgages. And, while I got a little nostalgic writing this post, I'm also not one for talking about the Good Old Days™. I'm still right in the middle of them...
High school was a blast though.
*where I used my powers to pull students out of class to snag a friend of mine so we could go to my place and get so high on hash that I lay on my bed and came hands-free. Then was promptly sick.