Welcome to my blog. Here you'll find a diverse assortment of characters from all my stories. You'll meet brooding vampires, love-stricken ghosts, mystical guardians, deceptive demons, honor-bound lycans, sexy selkies, devilish aliens, brawny barbarians, as well as a few good old fashioned cowboys. So I invite you to grab a cup of something pipin' hot, pull up a chair, and get lost in my vivid imagination.
2) How long have you been writing? What got you in to writing?
I started writing in 2003. I tell people this is my third career. I have four grown children and I was an accountant for forty years. I am an avid reader of romance novels and when I got involved in gay rights, I found that most of the gay novels ended in tragedy. When I mentioned that I wanted to write a gay love story with a happy ending, my GBF said “go for it.”
3) What was your first published book? Looking back, is there anything you’d change about it?
My first book was Acceptance: One Man’s Quest. I think you can always find something you wish you had included, particularly a dialogue.
4) What or Who has influenced your writing?
In 2003, I ended up in a Yahoo group with a couple more straight women, a couple of lesbians, and almost 3,000 gay men. Hearing some of their stories, I was moved to write about them. Stories of parents disowning their gay sons, stories of gay bashings, stories of long-term relationships, the story of a sister who bore a child for her brother and his partner.
5) Where do you get your ideas?
Like I said, I get a lot of them from gay friends. Mostly, they come to me when I’m lying in bed trying to get to sleep.
6) What hinders your writing? (distractions? noise?)
I could be funny and say my cat wanting a treat. Most of what distracts me is other people planning things for me. Like one morning I was just going good and found out that my great-grandson was in a play at his pre-school. Of course, I had to drop everything and go.
7) What genre are you most comfortable with? What would you like to explore?
So far I’ve only written m/m romance. I tried to stay away from too much sex, but several of my gay friends told me I needed to stop sounding like a straight grandmother. This last book also included some history and a bit of the paranormal in the inclusion of Pagan rituals and reincarnation.
8) Are you a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of writer, or do you have to use an outline to put your collective thoughts into some semblance of common sense?
I usually don’t start with an outline. I’ll start with the beginning, but then I’ll think of something that’s going to happen in the future and skip ahead leaving a blank. In other words, I’ll write chapter one first, but the next chapter I write may end up being chapter ten.
9) Which of your books is your favorite? Why?
It’s hard to say. I think the one you’re working on at the time is your favorite. I like Acceptance because it shows that even the most homophobic father can accept his son. I like First Impressions because it shows that for every homophobic encounter, there are straight allies ready to step up. I like Catriona’s Curse because of the history.
10) Do you incorporate some of yourself into your characters? Personality traits? Likes? Dislikes?
I’m not sure about putting myself into them except for my passion for gay rights. I know I draw from the personalities of my friends for some of my characters.
11) What do you think is the perfect hero/heroine? Why?
I don’t think of looks so much although I do tend to gravitate toward good looks. I think the characteristics of a good hero/heroine are honesty and compassion. Someone who’s kind to people and animals and tries to do the right thing.
12) What is your latest release? Please share the blurb and purchase info with us.
My latest release is called Catriona’s Curse.
When Sunny Nelson walks into the house built by an ancestor, strange things start happening. First, he senses an attraction to April Davis. He hasn’t been attracted to a woman since he discovered the difference between boys and girls. Of course as soon as he sees her brother, Jeff, he forgets April. Later, as he turns the old house into a B&B, he starts having dreams and visions about people who lived in the house. As he and Jeff attempt to build a relationship, Jeff becomes upset when Sunny reverts to the Pagan rituals taught to him by his grandmother.
Together April, Jeff and Sunny work to discover the secret of Catriona’s Curse.
13) What do you have in the works?
Right now I’m working on a story of Danny, a high school senior who comes out by breaking the nose of a soccer teammate. He goes on to meet his dream man, goes to college, and they eventually get married in Massachusetts.
14) Do you have any suggestions/comments for prospective authors?
It’s never too late. I didn’t start until I was sixty years old. Don’t give up your dream.
JUST FOR FUN:
1) If you could be an animal, what would it be? Why?
I think I would like to be a bird, like a hawk or an eagle. They seem so majestic. I don’t think I’d like to be a predator though.
2) If you could change three things in the world, what would they be? Why?
Homophobia – there’s too much hate in the world. We need to learn to accept those who are different.
I get upset with people who cannot accept other religions. I am a Christian, but I realize that not everyone believes as I do.
The politics in America.
3) What would be a perfect date for you?
At my age, I’ve given up on dating. But if I had a choice, I would probably opt for dinner and a movie.
4) Is there anywhere you’d like to visit? Why?
I would love to go back to Scotland. I was there nine years ago and loved the country and the people. There were a lot of things I missed that I would like to see.
5) Do you have any obsessions? What are they?
Just gay rights.
Genre: Paranormal Contemporary, M/M, Gay Romance
Format: Ebook and Print
I knew it would be dark before I got back, so I grabbed the flashlight out of my car and headed across the pasture. When I got to the brook, Fetcher lay on a blanket spread on the grass. I smelled the scent of cinnamon from the candle burning on the witches’ stone. Also on the stone was a bottle of wine, two glasses and some food. Sunny stood totally nude in the middle of the brook facing away from me toward the west. In the glow of the setting sun, he looked like a god. Although I didn’t know much about Celtic gods, I seemed to remember the name Lugh as a being similar in nature to Apollo, the Greek God of Light.
Fetcher gave a soft woof as I approached and Sunny turned.
I caught my breath at the sight of Sunny’s muscular body. I thought him attractive Labor Day in his surfer trunks, but seeing him totally naked and aroused, I realized what made the front of his jeans fit so snugly. Droplets of water dripped from his hair and ran down his chest like shiny silver ribbons in the rays of the setting sun. My body responded at the sight of him. A feeling of anticipation caused my stomach to flutter.
As nonchalantly as I could, I asked, “Isn’t it a bit cool for skinny dipping. Besides, the water isn’t deep enough to swim in.”
“The water’s fine; come on in.”
Although I wanted him, I wasn’t ready for him to see my body’s reaction to him. “I think I’ll pass,” I answered.
Sunny maintained a steady gaze as he taunted, “Chicken.”
I stared back into his eyes. I felt hypnotized and started removing my clothes. As I stripped, I walked toward the water. Sunny held out his right hand. I took it and stepped into the water. As I started to speak, Sunny placed the index finger of his left hand over my lips, “Shhh.”
This story takes place in the 1970s, meaning I had to be careful in putting in things like cell phones, pods, pads, laptops, things that didn't exist then. I can remember during that time period when a microwave oven was the newest thing, the size of a suitcase, a big one, and many people was afraid of them. What kitchen doesn't have one now? My husband always likes gadgets (as long as they aren't electronic) and couldn't wait to get one. I had to find a place on the cabinet big enough to hold the thing, at lease two feet wide and over a foot tall and deep. Now they're the size of a breadbox. Ten to one, there are a few of you out there than have never seen a bread box or know what they were. Even then they weren't used often, but days were when every home had one in an effort to keep their bread fresh. That was about the same time we used CB radios. No cell phones, remember. As a small business owner, communicating between home, husband, and workers was a far cry different than today. We lived in Oregon at the time, the western side where mountain made receptions difficult, much the way it would have been for Ward and the other rangers in Traps. One day my husband called into base; that was me. He was about twenty miles from me in one direction, our worker twenty miles in the opposite direction. My husband kept saying--and finding yelling--come back. I finally yelled in frustration--I'm trying to. Our co-worker was sitting in his truck laughing. He could hear both us but contact neither. And the kids now a days think they're abused if they can't get cell signal.
Returning from war, Ward wanted as little to do with people as possible and retreated to the forest. As a park ranger in the 70s, he tolerated the people while protecting the animals. Avoiding people as much as possible, he wanted to take pictures, write a book on the wild life, and stop the poachers. Having his publisher saddle him with a woman to retake the pictures he spends months on was an insult. Having her save his life when he fell into a trap set by the poacher was embarrassing, especially when he fell for her harder than he’d fallen into that trap. Ward wanted to stop the poacher; the poacher wanted to kill him, and Callie was caught in the middle. Little did the poacher know, she was as capable of fighting back as Ward and a private war started.
“Is it against the law to trap with those?” she asked.
“It is here,” he said darkly.“Damn poachers!”
She wasn’t sure if he meant it was against the law because he was there or because it was against the law in a federal park.She decided not to ask for clarification.“I take it from your tone of voice you aren’t referring to the occasional deer out of season.”
“Are many endangered species lost this way?”
“Yes.”He turned and walked off again.
Thinking he was too mad to give her more than the shortest of answers, she followed and received a surprise when he started talking.
“When the trappers started in this valley, it was teeming with otter, beaver, mink, and fox, anything with a pretty fur.Their numbers have dwindled to what you can count on your fingers. The same assholes poach bear primarily, cut out one small part of their guts, the gallbladder, leave the rest to rot. Other assholes powder the gall to sell as an aphrodisiac, both for money with total disregard to the fact they’re driving them into extinction.A single gall will be worth hundreds of dollars in the right market. ”
Callie made no comment, watching as he veered off, climbing up the bank to a tangle of logs left by some long ago flood.One hand went up to hold the lens he carried for her inside his shirt from sliding when he ducked beneath a log.His knitted cap brushed the log and started a cascade of snow.
Callie had an unobstructed view of him reaching up to brush the snow off he as stumbled slightly and the log above him fell.
For a moment, Callie couldn’t comprehend what had happened.One second he was there; the next he was gone from sight, under a log and snow falling from the surrounding brush and trees dislodged when the log fell.He was buried.
She took a step forward and tripped on the ski she forgot she had attached to her foot.Kicking off both skies, she ran, floundering several times to her knees in the snow.When she reached the log, it wouldn’t move.She dug and found his head, buried face down in the snow, and he was unconscious, not breathing.
The log had his arms pinned under him, and the weight of it was close enough to his neck he couldn’t lift his head free of the snow even if he hadn’t been knocked out.He was suffocating, and she couldn’t turn his head far enough to free his face.Nor could she turn it far enough to give him mouth to mouth to start him breathing again.
She put his cap under his face to keep his mouth and nose free of the snow and scrambled over the log.Reaching under it to press on his ribs in an awkward attempt at resuscitation, she accomplished nothing.The log was too wide to reach high enough to force air out of his lungs, and his backpack was in the way. She could see why the log wouldn’t roll on down the hill over him.His pack held it.She emptied the pack ruthlessly, splitting open the bottom with the knife from his belt.Indifferent to the cost of the contents, she tossed everything out of the way, scrambled back over the log to his head and pushed with her shoulder.The log slid to his hips.The weight off his lungs might have enabled him to draw in air, but the snow in his mouth and nose kept him from breathing freely.
She straddled him, working her arms under him to jerk her fists up into his diaphragm.Water from melted snow and snow crystals sprayed from his nostrils and lips.He still didn’t breath.
Changing positions again, she moved back to his head.His arms could be broken, and moving them could maim him.She had to move them, pulling them above his head to draw air into his lungs.She knew he could have broken ribs and pressing on them to force air out, clearing the passages more, could also drive jagged bone edges into his lungs.With no other choice, she pressed.Press on his lungs; drive the air out.Pull up his arms; draw air in.She could be killing him by doing it, but he would die if she didn’t.
Fear and panic didn’t hit her until he had coughed and sputtered his way back to breathing.She sat with her hands in fists on her knees, staring down at him.“Damn you,” she told him.“I don’t want to feel.”
Her voice choked, and her eyes filled with tears.Her body shook while she pulled in deep breaths catching in sobs.She wouldn’t feel.Any emotion was a hole in the dyke, letting others flood through.She wouldn’t allow it.She hadn’t for three years, and she wouldn’t again.
She had the dyke repaired when he began to stir back to consciousness.She had to get that log off him, and the job wasn’t going to be easy.One end was hung up against a standing tree.The log wasn’t going to roll or slide any further.
Larriane AKA Larion Wills, two names one author, thousands of stories
2. How long have you been writing? What got you started?
My first short story was published October, 1987, which is – what? – twenty-five years ago. Yikes! It was called ‘An Accident of Love’ and was published in ‘Mandate’ magazine, a now defunct men’s magazine that published nude male photos and short fiction. A number of these mags thrived in the 1980’s, before the proliferation of still photos and dvd clips on the internet.
I was inspired to write when I bought one of these magazines and read a story. “I can do better than that,” I told myself, and so I set out to prove that I was right.
3. What was your first published book: Is there anything you’d change about it?
My first attempt was titled ‘Fantasy Man’ which I sent to Jerry Douglas at ‘FirstHand’ magazine. He sent it back to me with a very kind letter to the effect that I had written a very good sex scene. What it needed was a story to go with it. I took this to heart and had another go at it. The second time the story was accepted and I was hooked.
If I could have another shot at it, I’m sure there are many things I’d change. I’m an obsessive editor of my own work and can always find something that needs to be changed.
4. What or who has influenced your writing?
I think my writing has been influenced by all the hundreds – thousands? – of books I’ve read. I don’t set out to emulate any one author, but I do try to learn from any source available.
5. Where do you get your ideas?
I’ve always had an active imagination and writing has given me the opportunity to put it to a profitable – well, slightly profitable – use. Ideas come to me every day in every way imaginable. I’ll see people on the street interacting in interesting ways and that gives me an idea. Or, I’ll be reading the newspaper or a magazine and an event or locale might get me started. Nobody is immune to my prying, naughty mind.
6. What hinders your writing?
I enjoy peace and quiet for the actual process of putting words on paper. Nothing, however, stops my mind from churning out new scenarios for novels and short stories. Ideally I would be able to devote more time to my writing, but I have to keep the cash flowing over and beyond my royalties, so…
7. What genre are you most comfortable with?
I’m most comfortable with M/M erotic contemporary romance, but I have tried a bit of everything. I’m also quite a history buff so I have set a number of my stories in other eras. I have a few ideas floating around that incorporate science fiction themes. Horror scenarios – especially werewolves – are especially interesting to me. I love the idea of men turning into beasts – sexy beasts, of course!
8. Are you a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of writer, or do you have to use an outline?
I guess I’m a bit of both. I almost always have a germ of an idea when I begin to write, but when the creative juices begin to flow, the characters have a tendency to take off and go their own way. Even when I’m writing a tale to go with a particular illustration – which I often did for the editors of ‘Advocate Men’ when they were seeking a tale to go with artwork they had purchased on spec – the characters frequently just get up and take off with the story in ways I hadn’t anticipated. They occasionally take the story over a cliff or up against a stone wall, but I’m usually able to reverse course and have another go at it. Those, of course, are the times I drag out an outline and do my best to enforce some discipline. Even with the outline, my characters often tend to push me around. Entire characters and plot threads sometimes just appear on the scene, demanding to be noticed. Just the other night, while I was writing a scene set at a political fundraiser, Veronica grabbed me, almost literally by the arm, did a star turn for about a page and a half, then meandered off the stage. I hadn’t even considered her presence until she was there. She let me get an important plot point into the mix in a much more natural way than a paragraph of mere description. Maybe she’ll be back, maybe she won’t. Is this normal – or do I need some serious help?
9. Which of your books is your favorite? Why?
My favorite book has to be The Adventures of Miles Diamond: The Case of the Missing Twin. My good buddy Miles is befuddled and generally behind the eight ball, but he is devilishly handsome, a true sexual athlete and he has oodles of the hottest sex imaginable with gorgeous guys in dozens of exotic settings. Miles may not always get the point, but he inevitably gets the guys. He also has a fairly hilarious relationship with Rudy Vale and Jackson, his often unwilling cohorts in detection. I must admit that I have been almost everywhere Miles has been in his world travels, including that hash farm in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. That, however, is Miles’ tale to tell in The Case of The Missing Twin, available at Extasy Books. (Is that a plug? Is that appropriate? Do I have any shame? Guess not.) Miles has a couple more adventures in the works, so keep yourself posted on his raunchy progress.
10. Do you incorporate some of yourself into your characters?
I am present in one way or another in most of my characters. I have a very active fantasy life and, of course, I am in some way involved in all those fantasies. I think most authors invest something of their real or imagined selves in their work. Otherwise, there would be no authenticity in the writing. I’m no murderer in real life, but I can easily imagine the rage that might drive someone to the act, then scheme and lie to avoid punishment. I may not like all my characters, but they are all a part – large or small – of my own mind and imagination.
11. What do you think is the perfect hero? Why?
To me, there is no perfect hero, because there are no perfect humans. To be interesting, a hero needs flaws. Unless the hero is a knight in shining armor, he is bound to be imperfect. These flaws lead to growth and an increasing awareness of their situation and surroundings. Faults also lead to empathy and understanding of the faults of others. Perfection, much like virginity, is a negative virtue at best.
12. What is your latest release?
Thanks for the chance to promo a new work. Safe Harbor was released by Amber Quill Press on December 11th, 2011. It is the erotically charged, highly romantic story of a young love sidelined by harsh realities and then dashed by a shocking act of betrayal on the part of one of the protagonists. When the men meet again a decade later they immediately realize that their mutual attraction is undiminished. However, their priorities have changed over the years and it is unclear whether they can rekindle their love, or whether it is fated to be merely a memory of happiness lost.
An excerpt is listed below.
JUST FOR FUN:
1. What’s the sexiest or most erotic thing anyone has ever said to you?
The sexiest thing anyone has said to me lately was last summer. I was walking home from work when a much younger guy passed me on the street, locked eyes with me and growled: “Oh, Daddy.” In the gay world, this is high inter-generational praise indeed!
2. If you could be an animal, what would it be?
A bird. Soaring above the world – what an amazing viewpoint!
3. What kind of superpowers would you like to have?
It would be interesting to read people’s minds. Or maybe it wouldn’t?
4. Is there anywhere you’d like to visit?
We’re off to Portugal in April. I’m really looking forward to it.
Blurb: For straight jock Mike Vickers, a chance meeting on the beach with a young man name Eric opened up a new world of possibilities. Until then, Mikes entire existence revolved around girls, football and the chance of winning an athletic scholarship, but his growing friendship with Eric, and his unexpected sexual attraction to the man, awakened his true nature and ushered in a summer of forbidden passion. But just when Mike began to embrace his newfound happiness, disaster struck, dashing all of his plans for the future and tearing the men apart. Now, a decade later, the men reconnect. Although the circumstances have changed their feelings for one another remain as strong as ever. Will they be able to keep their love alive in the present, or is it fated to be only a memory of happiness lost?
Excerpt: Rated R
“Eric. Pleased to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. I shook it. His grip was firm, but his hand was as soft as a girl’s. It was pretty clear he hadn’t been putting in a lot of hours doing manual labor to help his family out financially.
“Okay, Eric. Let’s have a look.” He patted the smooth stone next to where he was sitting.
I scooted over.
He held the sketch pad between us. Our bare shoulders touched. His skin was warm...
“Hey, man, that’s me.”
It was a drawing of me, standing with the water at my back. The detail was pretty amazing, almost like a photograph. It sure as hell looked like the face and body I saw when I looked in the mirror on my bedroom door every morning. He had even included the long scar on my right shoulder, souvenir of a set-to with a grappling hook last year at the marina. The hairs on my chest were there, in detail, and the fine line of fuzz that trickled down my belly.
“Do I really look that mean?”
“That’s not supposed to be a mean look. That’s a pissed-off look.” He chuckled softly. “You were pretty pissed when you first saw me here the other day.”
“Okay, okay. I admit it. Guilty as charged.” I looked over at him and grinned. “Do I still look pissed?”
He stared at me intently for a moment. “Nope. Goofy, maybe, but not pissed.”
“Goofy?” I reached over and grabbed him in a mock headlock. “You’re gonna have to take that back, Eric.”
“Never!” He laughed as he struggled in my grasp. I pulled him closer. His face pressed against my chest. He slipped his left arm around my waist and splayed his right hand against my belly.
“I am not goofy!”
“You are, too!” His breath ruffled the hairs on my chest, tickling me. “Okay.
Okay. I give up,” he gasped after several moments had passed. I let him go, but he didn’t jump away. Instead he put his hands on my shoulders, his face only inches from mine. He was flushed and he had a loopy grin on his face.
“Glad you finally saw it my way.” I was intensely aware of the pressure of his hands.
“You may not be goofy, Mike, but you sure are se…uh, crazy.” Eric’s face got even redder.
I stood, then turned my back on him abruptly. I’d sprung a rod for some reason. I tugged at the crotch of my pants, but it didn’t help much. I grabbed my T-shirt and held it in front of me. “I gotta be getting back. If I don’t show up to work I’ll catch holy hell from Mr. Peterson.”
I loped across the sand. I turned around once and saw that Eric was still looking at me. He raised his hand and waved. I waved back and kept on going. When I reached down a couple of minutes later to scratch my balls, I realized that my cock was still hard. ***
Thanks, Shannon, for the opportunity to appear on your blog. I really appreciate it.