jacquelineb: (stark raving sane!)

November is upon us. Two months left to go of 2012, and I’m feeling ambitious.

Or insane.

Or both.

It’s been a while since I seriously considered Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). A friend/former colleague commented on Facebook when I posted something about it, and I realised that we’d been working together when I did it in 2008. That was an interesting month. I remember at some point giggling hysterically (and not in a good way) while my boyfriend at the time hugged me and patted me gently. Ok, that makes it sound like I was having a breakdown, and really, that wasn’t it. But it was that moment that the dawning realisation hit me that I wasn’t, writing like that, going to churn out a perfectly formed novel by the end of the month. That’s perfectionists for you, though.

I did, however, make it, and I still look on the writing of it that year as my first ‘proper’ Nanowrimo success. I did it back in 2006 with the very first beginnings of the Dragon Novel (which looks so naive now compared to my plans for it these days), but I didn’t finish the story in those 50,000 words. I did with ‘Touch’ in 2008. It has become a trunk novel since, waiting for my attention to its plot and words (and the line I love to tell people as an example of the dreck Nano results in – ‘He picked up a handful of pens in his hand.’) I think one day I’ll return to it, and the world it is part of.

Funny though, the hook of the plot for ‘Touch’ is strikingly similar to ‘Stitched’, my WIP for Nanowrimo 2012. And I have to confess I’m slightly cheating a bit. I already have 35,000 words for it. That’s the first act and then some. So the plan for November is to get the novel done and to a draft of 85,000 words.

So far, I am on track (see my handy widget):

See also my participant page on the official site.

But Jacqui, that’s not *that* insane, you might say. You’ve done it before, and working full-time rather than part-time too. Shouldn’t this be a walk in the park?

Well, except for the fact that Nanowrimo never is, and also… I’m taking on two other things…

NaBloPoMo November 2012

The first is is NaBloPoMo. This runs every month of the year, the idea being to post on your blog at least once a day (so is National Blog Posting Month). Being a rather inconsistent blogger, this seems like a great idea – and coupling it with Nanowrimo I think works. I can always post my word count if I can’t think of anything else that day.

The second is an initiative of Shanna Germain, NaNoLoMo (National Novel Loving Month). The idea is to write a short review of a book you love each day of the month, to share you love and appreciation of the written word. Despite the ‘novel’ in the title, it is not purely restricted to novels, which is a relief for me, and also gave me the idea for what I’ll do this month. I’m going to be reviewing some of the books that have had an impact on me, starting from early picture books until novels I read this year. I have complied a list of twenty books so far, and there will be more. The trick is, really, not be embarrassed by my loves. That desire to seem sophisticated, or at least of possessing good taste, is strong, but I think for this month I need to keep those voices at bay and remember that our loves are what they are, and embracing them will no doubt make me and others a helluva lot happier.

So… that’s my month ahead. Thus far, Wrimo words done, and this blog posts counts for the blogging. Now off to do a review…

I did tell you I’m insane, right?

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (swing)

Touching the water


Marc remained very still as Brendan took a step backwards, and scooped his hands into the water. Brendan cupped the water, raised it like an offering, and let it spill over Marc’s shoulder. His hand followed, a soft and soothing touch on the scratches on Brendan’s arm. He did the same for other. An anointment, a blessing. Marc’s whole body swelled with humble gratitude, and quiet arousal.

The moonlight caught the parts of Brendan Marc would rarely have noticed; the glean of his fingernails, the brilliant whites of his eyes. And the water, drops like diamonds on his collarbone, and across his shoulders. Marc would have touched each drop, tried to capture each one in his hand, if Brendan would have let him. He wouldn’t, of course. You might tame someone, but that means you let them have their way, at least sometime.

It caused Marc little pain to do so.

Brendan reached around to Marc’s back. Once more, he cupped the water, and for a long moment, let his hands hover at the point where Marc’s neck began. He met Marc’s eyes, gazing up at him with such power, that Marc almost swayed in the water. He could have caught Brendan to him right then, but he would not.

When Brendan released the water, it cascaded down Marc’s back, between his shoulder blades, and crashing back into the pool, rejoining the particles it was once part of. Brendan swept his hands down Marc’s back, and, finding his hips, pulled Marc to him for a kiss.

Read on

Photo by Kr.B found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (autumn cliff)

Lake at dusk


Marc’s hand stiffened, knowing if he flexed he’d gripped Brendan’s face too tightly. As he let the sharp yet delicate sensation spread across his hand and down his arm, Marc evened his breathing, making himself gentler, softer, before he allowed his fingers to fall back so his nails glided down Brendan’s cheek. His thumb was still captive in Brendan’s mouth, and Brendan’s eyes were on him, bright and full of promise.

Marc breathed, “Love,” and took a step closer, but Brendan released him, backing away, and holding on hand to Marc’s forearm.

“Wait,” he said, and Marc’s chest filled with thwarted desire, Brendan so close, yet stopping him and just such a distance.

It was always this game between them. If in life Brendan was bolder than Marc, when their touches went beyond tender affection, he turned between wild and seductive, to cautious with his back up like a haunched cat backed into a corner.

But Brendan smiled, fingers brushing away the water on Marc’s arms. “Let me look after you.”


Photo by Tom Bech found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (reflective water)

Moonlight on the water

Continued from here.

The water Brendan shook around him was quiet compared to his words, deafening for all their softness. Marc sighed, and entered the water. The coolness encased him, silky, soft, like a glove, or a balm, soothing the scratches on his shoulder.

The water enveloped his cock. It rose and fell easily between his legs as he stepped over the smooth pebbles, heading to Brendan who now hovered with his nose at the water line, peering at Marc with glimmering eyes. Marc reached him, and stroke his hand over Brendan’s curls.


Brendan rose, his head lilting into Marc’s palm, like a panther allowing itself to be tamed. Marc never wanted Brendan tamed, yet somehow, he’d done just that.

“I try to forget,” Brendan said, a confession, and a scolding aimed not at Marc but at himself.

All Marc did was nod. He swept his hand around Brendan’s cheek and jaw, thumb finding Brendan’s lower lip. Brendan’s eyes fluttered, and he sunk his teeth into the pad of Marc’s thumb.

Continue here

Photo by Brian Smithson found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (swing)

(Because L asked me to continue it. Thanks love. :) I’ll pick up where I left off.)

Water hole at night

Continued from here

Marc chuckled, but his face burned as he peeled off the jeans, his cock shyly slipping out and hanging loose once he’d unbuttoned. No one was around, and yet his nakedness felt all the more stark outdoors, no walls to protect him.

As he kicked his jeans away, Marc said, “Remember the water hole near Broken Hill?”

Brendan stopped moving, and the lapping of the water stilled, the silence compressing the night air.

Marc frowned; he could see the glint in Brendan’s eyes, a darkness concealled by their apparent shine. “Brendan?”

Brendan sank under the water, and suddenly emerged, shaking the water from his hair.

“There’s a lot to remember about Broken Hill.”

Continued here

Photo by tourist_on_earth, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (lilly)

Moonlight on the marsh


Brendan slipped in the water. It rippled, a distorted mirror, fracturing and wavering the trees in the reflection. Marc lowered what he carried to the ground. Once, the sight of Brendan naked and wet, his skin reflecting the moonlight, would have sent blood rushing straight to his cock. Now, as he watched Brendan glide through the water to the centre of the pool, his body filled with the warm hum that comfortable and familiar bring when they surprise you with an image of stark beauty.

Brendan glanced back, face serious. “Are you coming?”

Marc started to take tentative steps over the rocks to the water, when Brendan laughed.

“Jeans off, you fool!”


Photo by mira66, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (reflective water)

Lagoon at night


They weren’t long back in the trees when Marc realised their destination, and he smiled.

The pool lay like a bright shield, silver in the moonlight, quiet and undisturbed. So bright that they almost didn’t need the lanterns. The trees, long black fingers, stood like silhouettes against the shimmering light.

When they came to the water’s edge, Brendan put down both the lantern and the rifle. The yellow light behind the glass seemed to vanish with the brightness of the moonlit water. Brendan yanked off his boots and tossed his bathrobe aside, Marc catching his breath as the light made Brendan’s pale skin glow.


Photo by tourist-on-earth, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (reflective water)

Forget what (little) happened before? Read here. If you’re just coming into this, it’s a short m/m piece, each part approximately six sentences long. Aiming to be more romantic and a little sensual rather than overly smutty. 😉

Grass in the night


Marc started. The usual excuses came to his mind: it’s late; we should sleep early; the lights and the radio are on. He didn’t need to voice them, though, for in his mind he heard Brendan flick each one of them off with a solid, reasonable rejection. This land was theirs. They didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission, or wait on expectation. They’d built the fence to protect their sanctuary. Now they could enjoy it, and live their own rules.

Shaking off the old ways of thinking though was, for Marc, like trying to step out of his own skin. While Brendan walked with an assurance, whistling as his lantern swung, Marc couldn’t rid the tension from his chest.



Photo by PinkMoose, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (conspiracy of cartographers)

It’s nice to be reassured that sometimes writing isn’t just putting down the words. It’s also the time taken to think and consider and wonder why the hell this story you’re working on right now just lacks a certain something. Turns out the past few hours or so I’ve had shifting words about, being a little distracted by other things, and tapping my fingers to my temple were more fruitful than I first thought. Found the missing ingredient. Now to go back and incorporate the damn thing. Will make the piece longer than I anticipated, but not that much longer, and probably worth it in the end. Nice what just one additional bit of plot can do for you. I think I may put this one aside for the afternoon though and focus on something due at the end of the month. (Actually, that would be a very wise idea – end of the month is fast upon us!)

Also, I have finally sorted out the cross-posting between here (the WordPress blog itself), Tumblr, Dreamwidth, and Twitter. So am very pleased about that. Saves me a lot of copy and paste jobs I was doing before. ;) Which leaves Facebook, but I kind of prefer posting the link straight there so that one little thing is fine.

Mirrored from Edge of Genre.

jacquelineb: (lonely Lawrence)

More from ‘Water and Dust’.

Continued from here

Marc looked back at Brendan, whose eyes were still on the sky.


Brendan indicated back onto their land with his head. “This way.”

As the dogs settled back to their post, Marc followed Brendan into the trees, he said, “We should be getting back.”

Without turning, Brendan said, “For who?”

Continue reading

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (stark raving sane!)

Been a full on week, and mostly dancing related; Tuesday teaching kicked off again, as did the Wednesday night class I go to, followed by a meeting on Thursday and a very late night dem-ing and helping run a ceilidh at a local barracks on Friday.

So today have done little that is productive. Met up with a friend for coffee, and watch Red Road in the morning on LoveFilm instant. Initially had it on my list because Tony Curran is in it (oh man, he’s lovely to look at, and on a fraction less shallow scale, impressed me as Vincent van Gough in Doctor Who and King Stephen in Pillars of the Earth), but came away exceedingly impressed with Kate Dickie’s (who I knew I’d seen before but it took a net search to realise she is Lysa Arryn in Game of Thrones performance, and curious about director Andrea Arnold’s other films. Atmospheric, beautifully made and gripping (and just to show what a one-track mind I have, it also featured a very compelling sex scene, which I suspect one wasn’t meant to find hot, but, well…Tony Curran as I said.)

(Tangentially, I wonder what Arnold was trying to say with the many inclusions of random and not so random shots of dogs – I have my thoughts but that would give away the ending a bit much and it works better not knowing where it’s all going. Update: Interesting review (with spoilers) here that theorises not only on the dogs but the use of other animals in the film.)

But, now for some more sentences.

Continued from here

Brendan reached out to Marc’s shoulder, brushing over his skin, frowning as his fingers found the scratches. “You’re hurt.”

Marc’s eyes fell to Brendan’s fingers on his shoulder. Holding the rifle and the lantern, Marc couldn’t touch him back. He shrugged. “Just scratches.”


Brendan’s gaze shifted up to the night sky. Marc followed it. In their hurry, they hadn’t noticed the moon, not quite full, hanging in a cloudless sky.

Brendan grinned. “Now there’s a thought.”

Continued here

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.

jacquelineb: (Default)
No update yesterday due to SOPA blackout, so today, before I settle in for a night of writing (eep...), some more sentences of 'Water and Dust'.

Continued from here

The other dogs kept barking, until Marc, his voice cranky and harsh, barked himself.


The dogs whined, but reluctantly obeyed, and the barking gradually ceased, giving way to heavy panting, and large doggy eyes peering up, eager for praise.

Marc shook his head, and exhaled, lowering the lantern. The shift in light played with the shadows on Brendan's face, making his cheeks seem gaunt, and his eye sockets hollow. Until he turned his face back to Marc, and smiled. The serious, suave features always became shy when he smiled, and it still, after all this time, burned at Marc's belly.

jacquelineb: (swing)
So now this has a title AND plot that it didn't have before yesterday. It was meant to be a vignette! My brain sometimes, I despair of it (though do enjoy the little surprises it decides to fling up my way too.)

Continued from here

A rustle through the grass, and Marc's body stiffened. Brendan's rifle went up.

The dogs barked and leapt around, one making a dash for it from behind Marc, only to be jerked back by the leash. When a flash of furry ears bounded above the line of grass, Brendan snickered.

"Fucking rabbits." He put the rifle to his shoulder, and sauntered back to one of the dogs, bending to rub its head with his knuckles. "Daft mongrels, this lot." Brendan cupped the dogs jaw, shaking it with mock sternness. "Be the death of us one day."


Original post here
jacquelineb: (reflective water)
Going to do a new lot of six sentences daily - I enjoyed doing it before. This time is a piece I have already begun, but I can't quite figure out what to do with it, so I figure this may be the place to explore a little - with such a short limit of sentences it means I have room to breath as a writer.

Not exactly erotica, maybe a little sensual? I'm not overly fond of labeling my work 'romance' as I feel that implies following the conventions of Romance Novels, but it is about a relationship, so there is an element of that I suppose.

No title yet either.

And this is actual eight sentences. Tomorrow only six. Promise. ;)

Shot of twilight over a field

The dogs at the perimeter fence barked; rough, ringing sounds reaching the house, a distant warning. Marc and Brendan shot out the door, time only pull on rubber boots, and grab lanterns, and their rifles.

Ahead of Marc, Brendan's bathrobe flapped and snapped, his slender body a dart through the trees. Marc cursed, not slowing down but wishing he'd thought to pull on a shirt, as the twigs and branches and sharp leaves scratched his bare skin. Brendan wouldn't even break a sweat by the time they reached there, while Marc's ribs were already heaving from exertion.

At the fence, once pasted the gate, Marc lifted the the lantern up, casting the light outward from them and the three dogs going still going wild, a ring of yellow in the darkness. Brendan, leaving his on the ground, ventured further into the night, towards the long grass, rifle held forward but not at the ready. The hairs on Marc's chest stirred in the hot night air, and even though he needed the air, he held his breath, and his rifle, tight.


Photo credit: Toni Kaarttinen at Flickr under the Creative Commons License.

Original post here

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