Today I'm being interviewed over on Let's Fox About It!
Come and see me talk about some of the things that inspired my retelling of Medusa and more!
Create My Own Perfection is available for preorder in the following places:
iBooks: https://bit.ly/36qysfh
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2GRdbCY
B&N: https://bit.ly/2Uo3RcIToday I'm being interviewed over on dovelynnwrites!
Come and see me talk about why I mixed greek mythology with selkies, how long I've been interested in medusas and more!
Create My Own Perfection is available for preorder in the following places:
iBooks: https://bit.ly/36qysfh
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2GRdbCY
B&N: https://bit.ly/2Uo3RcIGolden Goose
Sam pelted down the storm drain as fast as e could go, eyes peeled for the opening to the sewer itself. Spotting it at last, e slowed just enough to lower emself down, feeling with eir feet for the ledge. It was narrow, and damp with the stinking, sloshing, dregs of the sewer water and e scuttled along the memorised route.
Somewhere along here there should be a suitcase containing the spare radio to contact eir bosses - if e could find it before the hounds caught up with em. E glanced back over eir shoulder, ears pricked for the telltale cry of discovery, and then hurried on.
E had to get the information through - and hope that the traitor didn't intercept it. Only then would Upstairs know where, and when, and how to target their precision strike.
The suitcase, when e found it wedged into a tiny hole, was intact, as was the radio and the coding pages. Sam took a moment to catch eir breath, and then hurried on, finally clambering up through a manhole, and along a different storm drain into the cellar of a wrecked safehouse.
Eir fingers shook as e set it all up for contact, and e scrubbed grimly at eir tear-streaked face. Once this was done the hounds would probably catch em and tear em down like the rest of eir cell. Like the rest of eir friends. E had survived the last attack only by sheer luck, and luck like that couldn't last.
E took a breath, calmed emself, coded the message with steadier hands, and opened the channel. "Goose reporting in. Message is as follows..."
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Create My Own Perfection - my aroace retelling of Medusa - now has a cover!
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You can preorder the book in the following places:
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Once there was here and yet was not,
A boy whose name, they say, was 'Jack'.
He grew his beans in tiny pots
And never now felt any lack.
Jack was nimble, and Jack was quick.
He lived in a studio flat.
No cow was there, nor magic trick,
Just a single, smiling, city rat,
A cutting brought from his beanstalk,
And a grin both bright and bold
As if to say (if beans could talk)
Now who's the goose? I've got my gold.
Climb Every Tower
Robbie fiddled with the candy cane tucked in her shirt pocket to identify her to her contact, then tipped her head back and stared up at the tangle of ironwork disappearing into the fog above her. Rumour claimed that every girder was forged from the souls caught by the Puppets, and every time someone new was caught, the Tower got that little bit taller. She certainly couldn't see the top of it, not from down here.
Ten more minutes, she told herself, and then she was retreating to her fall-back position.
It was only five minutes before she heard quiet footsteps, and then her sharp ears caught the mumur of someone directing the Puppets. She flinched despite herself, as the mist began to swirl on both sides of her.
She was trapped. Her contact had either been caught, or had betrayed her willingly. She looked upwards. If she was going to be caught and turned into part of the Tower anyway, she might as well explore it of her own free will first and satisfy her curiosity. She reached for a girder, and began to climb.
