Welcome Guest: Sue Brown

This is blog number 3 today. I’ve been working up to this. The lovely Lee (and this man is lovely) said anything as long as there was no nudity. I can do that. You don’t want to see me naked anyway. That was a joke, Lee. I’d never subject your readers to that.

Hello, my name is Sue. I want to make a confession.

I would like to be a Pollyanna. Do you all remember Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter? She was an optimistic little orphan who turns the dispirited inhabitants of a New England town into happy, shiny people after she teaches them The Glad Game, making the best of every situation. Even when she loses the use of her legs, and feels miserable (as you might in the circumstances), everyone comes to visit her and encourages her to see the best of things.

Now, unfortunately, I am no Pollyanna. I would have told them to eff off. I’m not a glass-half-empty girl. I am reasonably optimistic and I do like to see the world being happy but I’m also cynical, and always waiting for the other shoe to drop. So why am I burbling about this?

In our little world there are an awful lot of people out to damage our fragile egos. Some do it unintentionally. Betas can trample over our manuscripts with the best of intentions. The hurt of a rejected submission. That one star review that leaves you weeping in the corner and declaring war on the reviewer’s first born.

There are also the people who tell you that you shouldn’t be here in their little playground; you don’t have the anatomy, you’re not gay/straight/black/white/Bagpuss or the Muppets. Whatever reason, there is always some reason why you shouldn’t be writing.

People say these hurtful words for a number of reasons. They genuinely believe what they are saying (preserve me from certain religious leaders), some have been affected by life experiences, and some people are just genuine arseholes who like causing trouble.

We are told over and over again don’t respond. Don’t cause a confrontation. It always backfires. It does. There’s no doubt about it. I hate confrontation, yet watching it unfold over the course of the days is nauseatingly mesmerising.

So what is the point of this blog? It does have a pointy part, I promise.

Sometimes the people you hurt when you go out, righteous swords waving to tell the villain exactly what you think of him or her, are not the intended recipients. Sometimes, it’s the quiet person in the corner who needed that person, or the one who looks up to them for reasons you know nothing about. Sometimes the person that is hurt is you, because people have long, long memories.

Maybe sometimes you need to think of the nice things, the happy things, think about playing the glad game, rather than the playground bully. Pollyanna maybe have been intensely irritating but I think she had the right idea in making the world a happier place.

Author Bio: Sue Brown is owned by her dog and two children. When she isn't following their orders, she can be found at university listening to lecturers discuss long-dead theologians. In her head, however, she's plotting how to get her cowboys into bed together; she just hopes the lecturer doesn't ask her any questions.

Sue discovered M/M erotica at the time she woke up to find two men kissing on her favorite television series. The series was boring; the kissing was not. She may be late to the party, but she's made up for it since, writing fan fiction until she was brave enough to venture out into the world of original fiction.

Buy Link for Light of Day = http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2745

Excerpt for Light of Day

MAX saw Chris just before he left London. It took remarkably little time to hand in his notice and sublet his flat to one of the hotel staff. It was strictly against the terms of the lease, but Max’s landlord didn’t care as long as the rent was paid on time. He’d booked his flight to Dallas before he met Chris for coffee at their usual café. 

Chris glanced up at him from reading the newspaper as he slid into the booth they called “theirs.” The cracked and dirty plastic upholstery with the yellow foam exposed seemed almost like home away from home now. 

“Jesus, son, you look like shit.” 

“Why, thanks, Chris. You’re so good for my ego.” Max slumped down on the seat, looking for the waitress to take his order.

“He did a real number on you, didn’t he?” Chris looked angry.

Max was touched by his concern. “It was my own fault…,” he began.

He jumped as Chris slammed his fist down on the Formica table.

“Too fucking right it is! Are you a total fucking moron? What did I tell you? What were my rules? 

“‘Don’t look, don’t touch, and definitely don’t fondle the merchandise,’” Max quoted obediently.

“They were rules two, three, and four. What was rule number one?”

Max pressed his lips together. He wasn’t a fucking child, and he didn’t need to be pulled over Chris’s knee in public for a spanking.

“The first rule, Max. After the last fucking time you got yourself into this state? What was the first rule?”

“If they’ve got a dick, don’t offer them a seat in the cubbyhole.”

Chris tapped the table with his fingernail. “And what did you do?”

“Invited him into the cubbyhole.”

 “And what did he have?”

 “A big, thick dick. It was just a shame he didn’t get the chance to shove it into my cubbyhole.” Max said crudely, but he was unable to prevent the flush at the memory of exactly where he had shoved it. 

Rolling his eyes, Chris said, “And did you ask him before or after he checked in?”

Max glared at him. “It wasn’t like that. He asked for a drink.”

Chris sighed. “There’s a fucking bar, Max. Most people have a drink in the bar. You don’t have to fuck them all.”

 “I didn’t, I don’t,” Max protested. But he had. He fucked Robert ’til the man was a boneless mess beneath him. He shivered.

 “No?” Chris gave him the fish-eye. “Do you even bother to say hello? Or do you just go straight for the fucking?” His voice was rising and Max saw the couple in the next booth look over. 

 “You wanna say that slightly louder, Chris? I don’t think my mom heard you.”

 “Sorry.” But Chris didn’t sound sorry. He sounded pissed.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know I’m stupid to keep doing the same thing.”

Max stopped when his plate of eggs and bacon was put in front of him. Rosie, the elderly waitress, was the same one who had served them since they discovered the café in the railway arches.

She looked at him critically. “You look like death, luv. Been burning the candle at both ends, have we?”

He gave her a wan smile. “Something like that.”

“You need to find a nice boy of your own to settle down with,” Rosie told him.

Choking on his first mouthful of eggs, Max reached for his glass of water. Through the tears streaming from his eyes, he saw Chris cracking up.

“He’s not so good at understanding the part about finding a man of his own… Ow! Fuc….” Swallowing the curse, Chris clutched his bruised shin, newly decorated by the toe of Max’s sneakers.

Rosie patted Max on the shoulder and left them alone. 

Chris glared at Max. “That fucking hurt, dude.”

“Tough.” Max forked more eggs into his mouth. He swallowed and said, “I’m going back home.” When Chris didn’t say anything, Max looked up. “Say something.”

Shrugging, Chris pushed his empty plate away. “What is there to say? I think it’s a good thing.”

 “You do?”

 “Uh-huh. You’re fucking up here, son. Go home. Screw up over there. Your mom can look after you instead.”

“You’re all heart,” Max said drily.

Chris’s face softened. “Go home, Max. Let your momma look after you and get some perspective. You’re an intelligent guy stuck in a dead-end job. That’s why you keep doing these stupid things. Go back to school and get a real degree. Do something with your life.”

Max grinned at him. “I’m gonna miss you, y’know?”

“Gonna miss you too, fucker.” Chris sat back, letting out a satisfied belch. “I’ve been thinking of going home too. It’s time I went somewhere that can cook a steak without incinerating it.”

“Thought you hated the thought of going back to Hicksville?”

“Yeah, well, America’s a big country. One or two places are even civilized; somewhere there must be a place for me. And at least they understand what I’m saying. I get sick of having to repeat myself to these hoity-toity nonces.” 

Laughing at Chris’s appalling upper-class English accent, Max picked up his empty coffee cup and waved it at Rosie. Today was a day for changes. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

You can find Sue’s HEAs here – well, kind of HEAs: http://suebrownsstories.blogspot.com/