It’s always exciting to see a new publisher diving into the market for LGBTTQ themed stories and I think that this one will bear watching.
This brand new press is headed by Louis J Harris, backed up by several experienced industry professionals with a team of technical experts/designers/editors to help out.
They are currently seeking submissions so if you fancy joining their stable of authors click on the graphic to be taken to their website. Or you can follow them on Facebook.
They are celebrating their launch by releasing a brand new New Adult romance by Cheryl Headford, Draven’s Gate.
All Keiron wants is a quiet life. Fat chance with a boyfriend like Bren. But if he thought Bren complicated his life, it was nothing to the complications that begin when he opens the door to a naked young man who claims to be his slave.
Draven is a fairy with his sights set on the handsome human who keeps a wild place in the garden for fairies. When Draven slips though a fairy gate into the city, and Keiron’s world, he sets in motion a series of events that binds him to Keiron forever, and just might be the end of him.
While Draven explores Keiron’s world with wide eyed wonder, Keiron does everything he can to keep Draven’s at bay, until the only way to save Draven and bring him home is to step into a world that exists only in children stories and animated movies – doesn’t it.
Something flashed at the window and he looked up sharply. There was nothing there, but there had been. In that fraction of a second between his head beginning to move and his eyes orienting on the window, there had been something or someone looking in. Someone with a small pointy face. Shit.
Take it easy, he thought to himself. If something was there he didn’t want to frighten it away before he found out what it was.
He took up the uneaten pizza, making a show of putting it onto a plate and into the fridge. The back door was open to let in the summer warmth, and the bin was next to it, out of sight of the window. He folded the pizza box, and headed for the bin – only he wasn’t going to the bin at all. He lifted the lid, so the sound carried out into the garden, but before he let the lid drop he dived for the back door.
Nothing was there, but there had been. There had been someone crouching under the window, peeping in. It was someone with long white hair, a pointed face, and unnaturally blue eyes. It was all seen in the blink of an eye, and after he’d blinked there was nothing there, and no sign there ever had been.
“I know you’re there. I’ve seen you three times now,” he called into the silence. “I know what you are.” Why had he even said that? It couldn’t have been anything but a figment of his imagination. Human beings couldn’t move that fast, and it was certainly no animal. Then what? A fairy? Hah.
Smiling at his own foolishness, he went back into the house and closed the door.
He was half way through the remaining pizza, drinking his third bottle of beer, and feeling pretty mellow, when there was a soft tapping at the back door. This surprised him very much. No one ever knocked on the back door. Why would they? How could they? They’d have to be in the garden, and there were only two ways into it, the door at which they now tapped, or a tiny gate right at the bottom which would have necessitated them traipsing right through the garden. Who would do that?
With a frown, gripping the bottle in his hand like a weapon, he walked through the kitchen to the door. He could see a vague form through the frosted glass. There was definitely someone there. He wondered if they’d disappear by the time he opened the door. He laughed at himself for the foolish thought.
When the door opened, Keiron froze. He’d never seen anything— anyone remotely like the creature who stood on his back door-step.
Cheryl was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was sixteen, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Cheryl has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.
Later in life, Cheryl became the storyteller for a re-enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, kept the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Cheryl lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, one hamster, two black cats, and a crazy dog. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close.