Lots of snow here in New England. So far, about a foot has fallen.
Usually, I’d be quite upset. Snow is fun and beautiful to look at but driving in it is awful. Shoveling is hazardous to your health.
Today, however, I’m celebrating the return of winter. I’m grateful it’s no longer eerily warm. Fifty degrees in January was crazy.
I know it won’t last. Meteorologists are saying it will be near fifty again by the end of the month. But for today, it’s really cold. And I’m happy about that.
Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.
Alexander's future is all set: finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry. Keeping the peace is his priority. Until he meets Cheyenne.
If secrets are kept, they can never be together. If their secrets are exposed, chaos will reign in both families.
Either way, life will never be the same.
House of the Rising Son is the first book in the LGBTQIA+ urban fantasy series Living After Midnight. Warning: This book features quirky supernatural creatures, a Thanksgiving dinner that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus that will rock your world.
Hook:
Were-tigers were not the inconspicuous type. If they were in the club, those assholes would be right in front.
From center stage, Cheyenne looked through the dark hair hanging over his eyes. He searched the rock crowd for the hostile faces of his father’s henchmen. So far, so good. No Were-tigers in sight. Instead, he saw tears trickling down the cheeks of women, and men holding cold bottles of beer against their foreheads.
His band jammed in the background, each member a talented musician, but the fans watched only him. They screamed and begged him for a sign of favor—a glance, a smile. He bit his lower lip, concealing a satisfied grin. He could ask them for all their worldly possessions, and they wouldn’t hesitate to oblige. But he wanted nothing except their lust, which fed him, and that was already his.
“I know what you want.” He moved his hands across his body, pushing up his black T-shirt to reveal a glimpse of stomach—and the promise of more. He teased, “I said I know what you want!” The crowd roared.
Cheyenne let his desire seep into his green eyes. “But you can’t have it.” The room exploded with cheers and applause.
He brought his palms together in front of his chest and bowed his head in mock humility as he savored the sweet, creamy taste of his fans’ longing. He rewarded them with a carnal, hungry gaze, then picked up his white Stratocaster. Fuck being an incubus, he thought. I’m a rock star.
Get House of the Rising Son here:
https://books.apple.com/us/book/house-of-the-rising-son/id6445258059
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/house-of-the-rising-son-trevann-rogers/1122604899
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/house-of-the-rising-son-3
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XPZX3G5
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/trevann-rogers
It’s my pleasure to welcome Solange to Living After Midnight. We’re in the same writing/critique group, so I’ve read a great deal of her work and I am here to tell you—she rocks.
Thanks, Trevann, for the invitation to guest blog today.
So… I have a Fairy Godmother addiction and I’m not ashamed to admit it. There. I said it and I’m not taking it back.
In fact, I’m especially partial to well-meaning, slightly dotty, dear old things who misplace their magic wands in their lingerie drawers, and whose eyes sparkle every now and then when they’re on the verge of concocting the Perfect Romance for one of their charges and can’t quite contain their excitement (or their charms).
As my favorite Fairy Godmother has said countless times, ‘please allow me to introduce myself.’ I write as Solange DewBerry, and I’ve been at this for more than fifteen years. I first dreamed of writing romantic fiction when I was a tweenie and read my first bodice ripper. Literally, they ripped bodices back in those early days of romance writing. Now I know better, given that most corsets at the time were made from buckram and whalebone, and whoever deigned to do the ripping would end up with bloody hands. But I ramble on, a bit like my Fairy Godmother.
As an adult, I started writing straight up contemporary romance, but quickly grew bored retelling the same old story dressed up in new clothes. I needed something new. Not westerns, not regency, not medieval or the myriad of romantic genres. I’ve never been one for shifter drama, and for a while it seemed as if everyone was writing about vampires. Nope, not for me. Then there was urban fantasy. I like to read it but not write it. Aliens looking for human women to fill their harems, nuh-uh. Demons—well, not exactly my thing, but more on that in a moment. Evil pixies… maybe someday. Then one day, it was as if a magical being whispered in my ear: ‘what about us Fairy Godmothers, Dear Girl, don’t we deserve our turn?’ And thus Mrs. Florence Electra McGillicuddy, Order of Cinderella, Level 6, Emeritus, was, for lack of a better term, born.
To best describe her, I’d say Mrs. McG (as she likes to be called) is a cross between Mrs. Doubtfire, Aunt Bea, and Flora, Fauna and Merryweather, with maybe a bit of Amelia Peabody thrown in. She wears floral frocks with lace collars, half-moon glasses, and sensible shoes with sup hose. And when she goes calling, be it next door or to the next state, she always wears a hat with a bit of netting, and white gloves. She prides herself on her PHEAs—her Particularly Happily Ever Afters.
To her dismay, Mrs. McG, was after several hundred years and many thousand successfully executed romances, summarily retired from FaGoMA, the Fairy Godmother Guild, for being rather too radical and rambunctious for the normally staid association. As a consolation prize, they gifted her an old Queen Anne Mansion, hoping to keep her tucked out of the way and out of trouble. But retirement can’t keep the Old Girl Down, and she is now Proprietress of One-Nineteen Chestnut Street, a home for Deserving Young Women of Reduced Means (when speaking she tends to Emphasize some words more than others)…a renegade to the end. Which of course means she can now concentrate on creating PHEAs for her boarders, whether they want her to or not, and without the pesky oversight of The Guild.
I’ve published several short stories featuring Mrs. McG over the past three years and have perhaps a half dozen full-length manuscripts of her matchmaking tales which I hope to introduce to the world. The first of these is now available on Amazon: Dream a Little Dream of Me at One-Nineteen Chestnut Street (for Kindle. Here is the paperback link).
Dream a Little Dream Of Me.
This is the story of Poppy Jones, an orphan without family, struggling to make it in the big city. She’s a photographer who is searching for an elusive fountain in one of the city’s many parks. Poppy isn’t sure it’s real or if she might have once dreamt it. Poppy knows nothing about her own history. Her foster mother always had promised to tell her, but died before she revealed Poppy’s secret. Now, her foster mother left Poppy the worn-out house that sheltered innumerable children over the years. Poppy is cleaning it out to sell it but comes across more than one hidden surprise as she does.
Enter Hank Klein. Hank is a gymnast who competed in the Olympics and won Silver. He’s come back to the city, where his ailing mother lives. She’s asked him to look into a twenty-year old mystery: one of her students was murdered, and her toddler daughter went missing. Hank is trying to puzzle his way through that, and to put together a future for himself, when he quite literally runs into Poppy and breaks her camera lens. Not only that, but he swears Poppy is the woman who has been showing up in his dreams. He is immediately taken with her.
Romance, a few laughs, a couple of charms, and some sexy times ensue. The good times end when the Demon shows up and ruins everything. He not only demands Poppy turn the old house over to him, but he wants Poppy as well, and hints at a few peculiarities in Poppy’s family tree. Not only that, but Mrs. McG discovers Poppy is protected with layer upon layer of tattered but very powerful protective charms. The question becomes, are they protecting Poppy, or protecting the world from her?
Please join Poppy and Hank, along with Mrs. McG doing her well-meaning best to find romance for her favorite border, but it seems all her well-established charms are going haywire around ‘The Dear Girl.’
And if you love it, please leave me a fabulous review on Amazon.
Here are other titles by Solange, all available on Amazon. Mrs. McG makes a guest appearance in a few of them:
The Conrad Brothers:
You’re the One for Me: Berry Samuels, writing romance novels under the nom de plume Solange DewBerry, meets Maurice ‘Moe’ Conrad, contractor and all around great guy. Berry has this peculiar ability to bring her written characters into the world, including her first published hero and heroine, rancher Brad and fashion model Trista, as well as Privateer Captain Conrad and the sultry Svetlana. Unfortunately, Trista takes a liking to Moe instead of her love interest. Moe hasn’t a clue what to do when this gorgeous, larger than life blond goes after him. Berry brings the whole crew to life to get things straightened out.
Waitress in a Doughnut Shop: Jenny Ellsworth works in a coffeeshop. It’s the only life she’s ever wanted and things are great, except for one thing. Or perhaps two. The man she loves from afar: architect Joey Conrad. Joey can’t seem to say no, or break up with his annoying girlfriend until one foggy day. And then Jenny’s childhood best friend, Karma, comes to town. Or does she? Jenny can’t remember her at all. Everyone who knows about Berry’s secret ability swears Karma is one of her characters, but she swears that’s not so. There’s a mystery here even writer Berry can’t figure out, but she’s determined that Joey and Jenny will get their Happily Ever After.
Meetings in Moonlight: Ana is an ethereal beauty in Berry’s romance novel-in-progress. The writing isn’t going well. For some reason, all the words Berry write somehow get changed overnight, and not for the better. Middle brother Pete Conrad read the drafts and doesn’t care that Ana’s not real. He’s in love with her, and will do anything to be with her, including jumping into Berry’s computer so they can be together. After all, Ana’s love interest is a total bore and all wrong for her. Berry’s abilities to bring her characters into the world don’t include actually making them human. Will Berry spend the rest of her life writing scenes for the two of them? How in the world can true love prevail?
First We Kiss: Rhea Hansen-Chalmbers is tiptoeing through life and her work in her mother’s law practice, trying to maintain emotional neutrality. It’s imperative she do so, for terrible things happen when the applecart is upset—like knives flying through the air, or every dish in her cupboard dancing a conga-line before smashing themselves on the floor. Or hurting those she loves. Woodworker Paul Conrad, recovering from a car crash, has loved Rhea from afar, not knowing why she suddenly dropped him as a friend all those years ago. He’s about to find out. He’s asked Berry to stay out of the way of his romance but she can’t seem to help herself. When Paul discovers Rhea’s secret, will he run, or will he stay?
No One Else Will Do: Priya Kumar is doing her best to run the family Laundromat/bar, trying to stay out of sight of the man who loves her, lest he discover her secret. He wouldn’t be the first man to run when he learns she can read minds, and she doesn’t think she could bear to have it happen again. There’s also the fact her younger brother is determined to undermine the family business. Contractor and musician Sammy Conrad, youngest of the Conrad brothers, has loved Priya from afar from the first time he brought his lucky red drawers into her establishment. Is he brave enough to love her and save her from her fate?
Everything I write evokes a mood, and that mood requires songs. There are also certain songs that elicit a feeling about a character, or perfectly describe the relationship the characters have with each other.
Sometimes, I listen to music when i write. At other times, my writing compels me to listen to music. For instance, if I’m stuck, I’ll listen to a song that I think represents what my character is going through and gain inspiration.
The playlist for my upcoming release, Waiting on the Son, is a little bit of all of those things. Waiting for the Sun, a song by The Doors, speaks to the feeling of being on the precipice of something wonderful. Drive by Incubus talks about the fear of taking charge of one’s life—an ongoing glitch in Cheyenne’s psyche. Stay Alive is Zander’s plea to Cheyenne as he embarks on his quest.
I invite you to check out the Waiting on the Son playlist. Let me know what you think!
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