I love the idea that much-loved characters will not leave you alone. S.A. Garcia describes how she was plagued by Alasdaire and Linden.
Canes and Scales Revisited
A year later my first Elf calls to me again in a fine sneak attack.
A year ago I thought that my star-crossed duo Alasdaire and Linden had found a perfect resolution. Their story had ended in a fine, fierce love scene set in a beautiful, forested valley. The characters received a fairy tale happy ending which they deserved after how I had tormented them. The battered, scarred and close to death pair managed to survive this evil author’s emotional and physical gauntlet.
Canes and Scales was my first published novella at Dreamspinner Press, wait, my first published novella anywhere. My gung-ho, damn the torpedoes, pick a cliché, yeah, it will fit, attitude deterred me from planning in a practical manner. I thought I had finished telling Alasdaire and Linden’s tormented tale. I gave the pair a sexy happy ending rolling naked in the grass. What more did the contented lovers want from me?
Ah, the greedy pair want a sequel.
Over the past months, I’ve tapped out a few fits and starts musing about the noble Halfling Elf and his royal lover’s future fate. Little random ideas, sketchy chapters, the usual false starts, fits and whatevers dumped into a file. A feeble plot outline sat in a lonely new folder occupied by the random ideas.
What the hell, too many other stories demand my attention. I had finally wrestled my first contemporary into life. Ouch, I do mean wrestle. Not that I didn’t enjoy the journey and of course I love my characters, but writing a story sans something supernatural lurking around the corner seemed weird. Yeah, my problem does sound silly.
On the active supernatural side, my neglected Victorian vampire trilogy cries out for a serious rip apart edit. Whimper, weep, the trilogy is finished. The “edit me, bitch!” screams are ugly.
Other speculative m/m novels sitting on what I call the mental runway want their take off clearance. One novel is at 60,000 words. Four, maybe five chapters will complete the novel.
How dare Alasdaire and Linden try to muscle into the tumultuous wordy action?
Oh, they dare. The problem is my first published characters understand my soft spots. Alasdaire’s Elven family history occupies a wonderful labyrinth filled with intrigue and menace. He knows his back story calls to me. His back story combined with Linden’s struggles to guide the shattered nation he is now king of create the perfect mess. Their determined push and pull is epic.
Did I mention danger and death? This duo thrives on drama.
Alasdaire and Linden work hard to plead their case. They are my first published, hence they are special. They have succeeded in driving a seriously huge plow along the mental runway to push aside other waiting contenders. Alasdaire lets Linden drive. He’s busy hammering out the next plot twist.
Ouch, the plot twists they whisper to me are irresistible. The fresh layers of emotional turmoil intrigue Diva Faboo to wake up and take notice. My drunken muse likes what she hears from the conflicted lovers. She’s merrily weaving classic gothic threads with steampunk glitter to create a crazy quilt filled with peril, disaster and romance.
Yes, tasty indeed.
Here’s a raw advance taste fresh from Alasdaire and Linden’s new mess.
Canes and Scales 2: When Thorns Pierce Flesh
Afratair, Supreme Elven Duke of the South, lifted a pale, trembling hand from the sweat-soaked sheets. “Find him.”
The waiting for death Elven nobles turned to stare at their liege in amazement. Three days had passed since the failing Duke Afratair had spoken to anyone.
The smiling Healer Hallenda sponged the relentless sweat from his patient’s parchment-hued forehead. “Find who, my supreme duke?”
Indeed, find who? Neideanire pushed up from his bored sprawl on the window seat. He arrogantly pushed aside the slender healer and leaned close to his uncle. “Whom do you want us to find, Uncle?”
Afratair’s pale fingers curled until one long-nailed finger pointed at the window. “Alasdaire.”
A shocked murmur rippled through the listening nobles. Neideanire scowled in disgust. He never wanted to hear that name uttered in his presence. His rage provoked unwise words. “What? Why should anyone waste time finding the half breed bastard?”
The furious Afratair pushed up far enough to slap Neideanire’s sneer from his lips. “H-h-he is my grandson.”
What a sorry truth. Neideanire stepped back in wary amazement. He had underestimated his dying uncle’s strength. “My sincere apologies, Uncle. Why do you want him found?”
Rattling breaths hitched Afratair’s narrow chest. “Find him and… and…bring him to me so I can e-e-e…” Ugly choking halted the Duke’s words. He collapsed down to the bed. Bloody froth seeped from his lips.
Yes, Alasdaire and Linden have hijacked my muse, my time and my life.
I don’t mind it at all. Epic love and loss deserves its due.
Trouble is the pushy pair also whisper about a part three. I’ll leave them to battle the seriously angry vampires and H.P. Lovecraft creature from the 60,000 word WiP.
If you want to read Alasdaire and Linden’s tale, here’s the link for Canes and Scales and my other Dreamspinner Press novellas:
My sexy demon novel Temptation of the Incubus is waiting for you at Silver Publishing. Yep, I have a thing for demons and Elves. Don’t get me started on that sexy merger.