I am honored to welcome guest author S.A. Garcia. Let's give her a warm welcome and learn more about her and about her book "An Elf for All Centuries."
I often wonder why more people don’t write quality romantic fantasy. Apparently, romantic contemporaries sell far better than anything else. Why is that true? Do people want a touchstone that keeps them in the real world? Alternatively, does something about romantic fantasy not strike the proper chord? In reading certain fantasy groups, it seems that mixing romance with fantasy is like that old commercial where people acted outraged about, “you put your peanut butter on my chocolate!”
Better yet, I am writing gay male romantic fantasy. Yes, plenty of hot and steamy sex filled the pages. Granted my characters never drop and roll around during a battle, but they do plenty of rolling across tables and walls. They enjoy loud and proud S-E-X in their fantasy realm.
Wait, wait, I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s face it, the best thing about writing fantasy is that the writer controls everything. No one can complain that the dangerous Monster of Makeet-ta Dolan-eeka doesn’t exist. The critter exists in my world. Nit-picky history buffs can’t swoop in and bitch that a certain sword or hinge or shoe style didn’t exist in 1675.
When my editor, who did a bang-up job of slapping my words into shape, pointed out that a tyripa vine does not exist, I almost yelled, “busted!” The vine exists in my fantasy world.
Let’s push even farther. “An Elf for All Centuries” is a, drum roll, gay male romantic fantasy that is also a comedy. Dearie me, I think I broke something along the way. A gay romantic fantasy comedy featuring elves having wet and wild S-E-X? Whoops, a few diehard Tolkien fans just fainted at the mere concept of such erotic corruption.
The thing is, I have been reading fantasy for an extremely long time, and hate pigeonholing anything. My, what a weird cliché. I feel sorry for the pigeon.
Yep, I read “Lord of the Rings” back like when I was 13, then I graduated to Roger Zelazny’s marvelous “Amber” series. If you haven’t read the Amber series, please right that wrong. What super story telling.
Michael Moorcock, Robert E. Howard and Fritz Leiber hijacked me during my high school years. I disappeared into their magic realms for many stirring hours. Their sword and sorcery novels rocked my world. I remember hiding in the basement “rec” room, as my parents called it, burning incense and candles as I read.
Even as I read fantasy, I never strayed away from reading romance. I read romance, read fantasy, read science fiction, read horror; eventually the genres became a messy stew in my head which influenced the gay male romance stories I wrote on the sly, many of them written in the safety of the rec room.
I scribbled fantasies across the pages, particularly the sword and sorcery variety, only with a major twist. I never wanted a warrior to get the girl. Instead, I wanted a wizard to seduce the hunky, pissed off warrior who washed up on the beach below the wizard’s castle since said wizard had pitched a temper tantrum and summoned a storm which destroyed the warrior’s ship. The wizard is pissed-off since his race has vanished from his world and he wants to…STOP!
Of course there is conflict. The hunky warrior does not want to be seduced by the wizard because, drum-roll part whatever, he feels scared of succumbing to his hidden emotions. That is a fine example of what hides in my notebooks.
If I concentrated, I could probably crank out a few gay male sword and sorcery novellas. The trouble is I want those stories to develop into grand fantasies, develop into worlds which deserve a map and appendixes.
My modest attempt at world building began with “Canes and Scales” which involves an Elf but no comedy. The book is a different species. Alasdaire is the angst Elf always battling torment and turmoil. In fact, I subject him to further angst in another document a mere click away. Can you sense his worry?
As much as subjecting elves to angst and torment is fun, the great thing about “An Elf for All Centuries” is the story told me that writing funny romantic fantasy is a joy. Yes, conflict and danger rock the story, but fun, silliness and lots of hot, wet male elf sex counter the conflict. How can anyone turn down elf sex? I mean they are strong and fairly tireless. Yummy.
Hmm, maybe hunky warrior and the irritated wizard could, yeaaaahh, end up more light-hearted than I even imagined. Hey, when I wrote these fantasy stories back in my late teens and even into my thirties, they needed to be serious.
Now, hey, not so much. Hot damn!
Now that I have confused the issue, how about an excerpt from “An Elf For All Centuries”?
Elf Prince Fabion enjoys the perfect supermodel lifestyle until wizard Matradorian chucks him back in time to save Henda, the sexy, powerful elf king. Since the death of his lover, Henda has lingered in a half-alive, half-dead state. Surprisingly, Fabion is a spiritual match for Henda's dead lover, so only he can save the dying king.
Fabion uses his sexy bod and sweet lovin' to revive the elf king. All seems well until he realizes that by saving Henda, his own timeline was destroyed and he must stay in this ancient land forever. Fabion pitches the biggest temper tantrum of any century.
Soon a new threat emerges which puts his life in fresh danger. Now who wants to kill him?
Matradorian reached out and urgently grasped Fabion's right wrist. "Fabion, hold, this isn't who you—"
A hiss related to a snake in heat erupted from Fabion's lips. He rudely smacked Matradorian's controlling fingers off his precious flesh. "Shhhhit, you crusty, old ass-wipe, back off. Don't squeeze the precious goods unless I give you permission."
Why did his flaky Hestran dwell in this backward century? Fabion spread his silk-clad arms wide and grinned in happy relief. "Hestran, hey dude, did this crazy wizard drag your pretty ass back here too? Wow, your clothes come from the same old-style place as mine. But—whoooaaa-a-doggie." A confused Fabion stared in shock. A second Hestran jogged slightly behind the first. His lower lip dropped down toward his chest. "Wow, sweeeeet, two Hestrans? How kinky!"
"Matradorian! Mighty wizard, we sensed the disruption signaling your return, exactly as you warned. Hail the Gods, you have located our father's ultimate savior." The identical black-haired elves halted before Matradorian and Fabion, bowed in welcome, and straightened up to sexy height.
Their brilliant blue stares swept over the near-drooling Fabion. He welcomed their intense curiosity. Still, the stunned yet intuitive Fabion realized that neither elf was his Hestran. His pretty, slender Hestran always acted like a nervous, high-strung brat. These two lovely elves offered steely, muscular virility. They seemed fully capable of using the lethal hardware hanging provocatively from their leather belts. Since long swords weren't common in Fabion's time, he had never thought of them as sexy until now. Man, these dudes displayed more shiny hardware than a master plumber. Unlike any plumber Fabion had ever encountered, these twins exuded erotic confidence and command. How luscious. Woof-woof, their ancient me-so-strong-and-butch attitude almost gave Fabion a primo woody.
Hmm, how did that old commercial go? Double your pleasure, double your fun? Hubba-hubba, if that gum had these twin sweeties selling it, then boom, they would own the candy industry. These intense males looked divine. Fabion admired their swishy little braids, colorful beads, and elaborate, silver hoop earrings decorated with mini conch shells, tiny starfishes, and seahorses. The flashy look worked for these stern dudes.
As Fabion hungrily eyed the delicious twins, Matradorian performed the introductions in a frosty tone. "Hestran, Hestro, sons of King Henda Naster and princes of the realm, meet our renewed Fabion."
Fabion's eyes widened in sincere interest. No way, these hunky hotties were Henda's kids? Yum. Waaay impressive. While Fabion gaped in lusting shock, Hestran, the twin with the fey-violet beads, reached out and gripped Fabion's right hand in a dangerously bone-crushing grip.
"Ouch! Quit it!" Fabion squeaked in annoyed pain.
Confusion clouded Hestran's face. "What is it, dear Fabion? Is something amiss with your hand?"
Muttering in fresh annoyance, Fabion angrily snatched his aching hand from Mr. Macho Elf's bear-trap fingers and examined his perfect, pale flesh for blood or broken bones. "Fuck, pal, I'll say something is amiss. You tried breaking every bone in my hand! Crushed bones aren't my favorite fun, get it? What's with the me-so-male nonsense? Normally, dude, a nice, polite handshake works fine for me or maybe even a friendly hug."
When it came to framing Fabion's stunning face during a photo shoot, his long, graceful fingers proved invaluable. He never let anyone harm his fingers. In this weird situation, the highly turned-on Fabion thought that a long, intimate hug sounded much nicer. Better yet, why couldn't they sneak off and enjoy a naked hug?
A tense minute passed. Fabion massaged his aching fingers and examined the twins.
Hestro's lips released a mocking sneer. He cocked his head in doubt. "Matradorian, my friend, I fear unlike our, departed Fabion, this soft, pretty elf is no brave warrior."
Fabion huffed in annoyance. Fuck, time to roll his eyes for like the thirtieth time. This frustrating place supplied his optic nerves a great workout. He shook his head and returned the annoying sneer with high-percentage interest and a bucket of sour cream.
"Well duh, bucko, aren't you a kick-ass, certified genius! I'm not a warrior. Here's another news flash for you, this soft, pretty elf is a well-paid supermodel who has been kidnapped by yon asinine wizard and hauled back here to fuckin' Fairy Tale land. Believe me, being trapped here without my permission isn't my idea of big-time fun."
Hestran raised his black brows. "Hold, what do you mean?"
These big boys excelled in looking confused which added to their attraction. The trying-not-to-laugh Fabion sighed in mute frustration. Super, he dealt with monumental, ancient ignorance worthy of an herbal-drink addicted human. How gruesome. Fabion held out his pale hands and maintained a calm tone. "Boys, listen, I am a special elf who gets paid oodles of money because I am beautiful and everyone wants me. Do you comprehend the concept? Do I need to speak more slowly? Can you read my lips? Do I need to write this information down for you in big block letters? Wait, can you big dolts even read?"
To Fabion's surprise, the twins stepped back in horror. They gasped in sick alarm. Hestran's skin tone abruptly matched bleached cotton before his disgusted grimace imitated an elf swallowing a pound of manure.
Hestro stared at Fabion with an expression reserved for finding something nasty wiggling under a rock.
Fabion bristled in annoyance. He so did not deserve such a fucking malicious look. He prepared to offer this dude a little lesson in manners.
Before Fabion lashed out, Hestro's stunned gaze flicked away from him toward the wizard. "Matradorian, you brought our dying father a pretty whore?"
What? Fuck! No one, no matter how big, hunky, and hot, ever called Fabion a whore! He never fucked for money! Admirers often presented him expensive, glittery baubles, but that was a different story.
Thanks for reading and thanks for Lily for hosting me here today.
Who Am I?
Thirty years ago, I started writing m/m romance. My writing remained a secret lest my friends thought me a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy and Larry Kramer helped me fill in informational gaps. Yes, I read those books only in my bedroom.
As the years progressed and I discovered my sexual path, I still wrote m/m romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer.
Now I am glad I kept the writing faith. Five published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the silly challenge.
Facebook: Sandra Ann Garcia