Claire Davis's Blog

Al Stewart and I are delighted to introduce you to our first full length novel, released March 30th. We're both struggling to know how to talk about it and what exactly to say. When I have some coherent lines, I'll come back and add them!
Available for pre-release and published by the wonderful Beaten Track Publishing;



Oskar Braithwaite is bold, brash and gorgeous. Just ask him.

Armed with designer backpack full of make-up and retro music galore, Oskar sets off for college. And, with attitude even spikier than his heels, nothing is going to hold him back. Except maybe one thing…his past is shouting louder than the 80s songs he adores and it won't be ignored. Behind the effervescence are secrets, lies and sadness. Try as he might, not even Oskar can hide forever, and one day it isn't only pop icon Simon Le Bon who's going to catch up.

Who is writing letters? And why is a spy secretly following?

Enter Bear, with dancing eyes and secrets of his own. Bear's kindness sparkles brighter than Lycra leggings, and everyone knows Oskar loves shiny things. Like every prophecy, their fates seem inevitably linked. As the walls of Oskar's defence crumble, Bear shows his hidden strength, but will it be enough to save them?

Find out in this far-out, zany tale of fame, first love and retro DJs.

It’s December and that must mean one thing – it’s time for Al and I to release the Christmas charity book. The first was The Invasion of Tork, now free, which was our very first publication and part of the Beaten Track anthology. Proceeds from this anthology went to The Trevor Project. Last year we wrote If I Should Stumble, and this year…
I said no thank you, Al Stewart. In 2017 we scribbled one full length novel, two novellas and a fair few failed endeavors currently hiding within the laptop. I just didn’t think I had another one in me. “Write it yourself,” I said, snarling. And charity comes down to that, doesn’t it? Who still has capacity and empathy time after time? Because need doesn’t go away. I’m not a bad person, but I’m not a 100% empathy machine either. Writing is hard, and time, time I could be spending with my family. I work full time in a very demanding job with people who aren’t always polite. I already spend way too many hours prodding at key boards….Me, me, me.
Long story short, my son, Al, and a few other people made me think again. My son called me a Grinch. LOL. Our book is released tomorrow. Momma admits defeat.
Nobody’s Butterfly is about young adults being forced to live in a struggling care system. Like all our books it is researched from our own lives and employment experiences. I wish I could say events in the story could never happen but unfortunately I know they can, and do.
People keep asking us why we write YA books when all our fans want adult. Al has a different reason, but this is mine. I don’t. I write a story and as it comes together it becomes clear what kind of book it is. I never think of labels such as YA until we have to categories. It’s a story that can be read by anyone, but I doubt children under twelve would be very interested.
As I’m not here very often, I wish you all a very happy set of holidays and a successful new year!

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK

Jonathan is a spy.

Anton is Jonathan’s ‘keeper’.

Jonathan is a spy with a code implanted deep in his subconscious, so deeply he can’t remember—anything at all.

Anton is an interrogator intent on retrieving the code, whatever the cost.

But sometimes they dream of dark tunnels and locked-up rooms, and then they both scream.

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK

Along comes Harry, who seems to have all the answers…but who is he, and which side is he on?

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK

Bang!

For many months, Jonathan and Anton live apart from the world in a hazy, dreamlike state, only interrupted by interrogations and a healthy fear of HQ. One day, they watch a dance performance, and memories begin to unwind… A ticking clock… Betrayal… Missions… Always the scent of oranges. But with clarity, comes a return of powerful emotions…

Dance of the Sugar Plum is an exciting spy thriller with as many twists and turns as a maze.

--

Beautiful cover by Noah Homes

Al and I hope to finish four books this year and maybe a few freeby short stories. We both have urges to keep trying new formats and styles until we either get bored or satisfied. Last year we finished the Tork and Adam series though I do believe there may be a surprise Summer freeby short on the way. So on to pastures new.

Our first release of 2017 is full of twists and turns. If you like a mystery that unfolds and layers then this could be for you.

And yes. There is indeed substance to the rumour that a Davis/Stewart werewolf howls it's way from the computer screen begging to be free.

What else ? An anthology story for Beaten Track which promises to smash free of all MM Romance norms.

And a Tork and Adam summer dalliance . Because we think they deserve a summer holiday :)

There could also be a cheeky Easter freeby . If the wind gets behind us and there is vodka !

Happy 2017

It’s that time again when we take a deep breath, open the door and watch them leave. Yes that’s right – I’m talking about the washing of my socks ! Oh, and the release of Lunchtime Nipples and If I Should Stumble. So Claire and I thought we might write a few things including a release song :D
The Release song !!
She pulled my hair
I smacked her arse
But then we had a giggle
There is nothing like
The writing madness wriggle

Good, eh ?? :D
Now all that remains is to give you a few quotes from our production team during the writing process ...
Noah Homes ( cover artiste and philosopher) ...“Pass me the carrots” .... “I do it for love not money”
Claire Davis .... “More vodka”
Claire’s husb ....“Bastards.”
The cat ..... “Miaow”
But seriously, I really hope you like them.
And a sincere thanks to the awesome blog sites 
A few final quotes from reviewers ...
Truus, from If I Should Stumble
" Let us see them and look out for them and never let them down....everrrr...."
Ele
"P.S. "arsecock ecstasy" is my new favorite phrase."
Dani
"And then there's the sex. Let's just say it was worth the wait"
William Shakespeare
Bull’s Pizzle

Claire and Al



https://www.amazon.com/Lunchtime-Nibb...
https://www.amazon.com/Should-Stumble...

Al and I have two books due out December. See Al's blog about the first of these, which is already up for pre-order.
https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog...

The other book is two short stories rolled into one - like a lunchtime treat of nibbles.

Lunchtime Nibbles
Two short,fiery stories with enough spice to satisfy the biggest carnal appetites.
Cheese and Pickle
Harvey and Greg work in the same office. Of course Harvey notices Greg – who wouldn’t notice the beardie hottie with muscles aplenty to silence even the noisiest team meeting? Then a home visit turns into a car – rocking tryst of spectacular proportions and suddenly Tuesday lunchtimes become the highlight of Harvey’s week.
But will a quickie with the recalcitrant Greg be enough, or will something more meaningful develop?

The Detonator
Featuring Tork and Adam from The Invasion of Tork series
Adam is a sex god. At least that’s what he tells himself.
Tork is a green haired mind – reader.
They haven’t been together long but when Adam realises Tork’s birthday is coming up, he knows this has to be the best birthday ever. But what to buy someone like Tork? And how much to spend?
Every time Tork rings, Adam’s knees turn to jelly and he’s not so much a sex god as a whimpering idiot.
Can Adam take control and make the birthday dinner perfect ?
What happens when the kitchen sparks end up in the bedroom with Tork and Adam naked?
Cameo appearance by Dickens the cat

The character of Tork, from The Invasion of Tork appeals to many readers. Is it his lack of pretentions? Perhaps. Or is it watching him take the first tentative steps out of hell then on to a better place that grabs us? He has to fight, and face up, and dig for bravery when he feels he has none left. Or is it watching him create beauty from scraps of paper and lighting a torch to ignorance and arrogance? Certainly. Don't we have to believe that it is always possible to hope, to strive, to succeed ? The character of Tork endures, and endures, to me, not least because he was born from my own experience of working with people in trouble and distress.
For years I listened and tried, and watched them falling back and failing, sometimes coming out then going back to prison in an endless cycle. Their stories affected me profoundly. I saw their lights even during the darkest hours of their lives, and I cannot say I lost hope in anyone. Obviously I couldn't help them all and in the end my job came to an end.
But the story of Tork, and people like Tork, lives on. Perhaps now more than ever there is a need to give substance and voice to the faces in the crowd. To keep looking for meaning and to notice the metaphorical origami figures made from someone trying to find a purpose. A home.

Meet Kaz :)

( extract from 'I met you on the Pink Spot of Procrastination'.) Though I doubt that title will stick LOL

He’d pissed himself again.
“Urgh,” Kaz said feebly and closed his eyes, trying to re-capture the blissfulness of sleep. It was just beyond his reach – tantalising, delicious and oblivious. It had nothing to do with the nasty coldness against his legs and crotch or the scratchy things attached to his cheek.
He was glued to the pillow by his own vomit.
“Eeeee,” he said feebly. If life was fair, next time he woke up he’d be sitting on a beach drinking one of those amazing cock tails with glass balls and a ladies skirt on top, just like on the adverts.
But there was something else. As if concrete on his face and acid on his jeans weren’t bad enough! He carefully opened one eye and was assaulted by painful swords of light. Yes, there was most definitely a ‘something else’ in the room.
He snapped his eye shut instantly, which began a chain reaction of terrible aches and pains around his body, but mainly in his head.
But the something was insistent.
“Whaaaaaa?” Kaz croaked.
“Kaz! Get your lazy arse up now, we’re already late. You’re on the last warning remember?”
The words went in, but then they just waltzed right back out, dancing across the room and making no sense.
But the awfulness he now identified as banging, only got louder.
“If you don’t open this door in five seconds I’m going to reception to tell them you died in your sleep,” Tork said crossly, and then Kaz made sense of the words. It was Wednesday and that meant the world had indeed gone bleak and all the horrors were waiting for him.
Placement day.
“I’m coming,” he said pitifully. “I don’t feel very well.”
“No, and that’s because you were shitfaced again last night.”
“I wasn’t.” He hunched forward and made an attempt to get to the door by shuffling his feet and clutching his stomach at the same time. It was only as he unlocked and opened the door to let Tork in, that he realised the room stank. “Please, come in,” he said politely, and ushered Tork inside as if into a magnificent palace.
But Tork shook his head firmly. “No – oh “he waved his hands in front of his nose in distaste. “You need a shower.”
“ Yes, I was just about to have one,” Kaz said cheerfully. The room began to sway in a very alarming manner. “As soon as I can let go of this wall, that is.”
Tork sighed. “I don’t have time for this.” He grabbed Kaz’s arm and yanked him unceremoniously across the landing towards the showers. “One day you’re going to push them too far, you know. Get in. You have to be outside ready for the bus in one hour.”
“An hour? You mean I could’ve stayed in bed for ages yet,” Kaz whined, and considered staggering back.
“Kaz, it’s going to take you at least an hour to sober up and get clean. Go on.” Tork put his hands on his hips and glared, and Kaz knew defeat. He slid into the bathroom and locked the door, in case Tork came in to check. Kaz wouldn’t put it past him to stand outside waiting, like a sergeant major.
Bleach and deodorant smells began mixing up with the piss and vomit, and then everything went black. Just in time he grabbed the edges of the toilet as poison and loss and sadness poured out. With each wretch, his stomach ached and his head pounded. If he just lied down here in this bathroom and closed his eyes, maybe he’d feel better.
“You ok?” Tork called.
“Yeah,” he called back as strongly as he could.
“Good. Get in the shower then. I’m not going until I hear the water.”
Tork’s serious voice made him giggle, which popped out like a donkey snort. Kaz never was any good at being told off, but there was no answering laugh from behind the door so he crawled across the floor, and got in the shower. “I’m in the shower,” he called, feeling bad now that Tork went to all this trouble just for him. He didn’t have to, he just did.
It took him at least a moment to remember he was still wearing his clothes, standing there in the shower with his head against the cool wall of tiling.

We're very excited to reveal the date of our new publication is Thursday May 26th. Between now and then I shall be contacting blog sites for ARE's, so if you want one please just contact me or Al.

Shut Your Face, Anthony Pace!

First love – coming of age – family – acceptance ...

When Charlie was eight years old, his mum bought him a microscope for his birthday. Since then, he’s known how he wants to spend his life. There have been trials, and challenges, but now – finally – the day is here for him to start college with his lifelong friend Anthony Pace.
Anthony is a red - haired force of nature. He writes poetry about their enemies and eagerly participates in all Charlie’s science experiments without understanding a word. Every morning, he waits at the end of their street so they can get the bus together.
But things are changing.
Families are important, and complex. Charlie’s mum hasn’t been well, and his relationship with Anthony begins to shine like a different star in the sky.
Can everything come together in this explosion of physics and chemicals that Charlie calls life? Will Anthony Pace ever share his poems with the world, and can the Chihuahua, Princess Arabella, ever learn to stop licking?

Is chaos.
Is frightening.
Is wonderful.
Just is.

My husband says we should write something about the process. So here it is.
Al is a poet. I write prose. I turn his poetry into sentences and he turns my lines into poetry. There is hair pulling and bright lines wavering in the dark universe. If the lines come together, we have a story.

Then there is Noah Homes. He listens to our demands and puts them inside a churning box of magic. He has a magic wand :D

Then we have a cover. It changes the bright lines. Adds colour to the weave.

The we knit, and knit. Our heads hurt. We miss appointments and birthdays.

But then it's done.

Not long now :)

He couldn’t stop the dust and yesterday he burnt the chicken and for a dark moment he almost couldn’t cope...
Bang went the door in his head.
In three hundred steps, he could make out the outline of Anthony’s garden in the distance. It was only the end of the street but sometimes it seemed much further away, too far away.
Anthony was out the front garden with Kylie, tied up with scarves. Princess Arabella sat regally watching, wearing a tiara. It looked messy and silly and Charlie’s heart hurt.
“Charlie, you can be my prince,” Kylie shouted enthusiastically. “We have a bad prisoner here who doesn’t get any tea.”
Anthony winked at Charlie, which had a surprisingly strong suppressing effect on the stomach itching. “But I’m starving. Don’t prisoners have any rights?”
“What did he do, Kylie?”
“He sat on froggie and farted and that’s so offensive. Isn’t it princes Arabella?”
Anthony erupted into peals of laughter, or maybe it was Charlie laughing. Sometimes he couldn’t tell. Whoever it was, it made Charlie’s shoulders feel much more comfortable. Kylie glared at him. “I think you need to be a prisoner too. Laughing at a crime is not very nice. Sit down there.”
He obediently sat next to Anthony, who leaned his head on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’re in proper trouble now.” Charlie leaned his head gently back at Anthony, because he didn’t want to accidentally head butt him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the red hair mingling with the blond.
It was a long way from his own house and the dust.
“Yes you are. You have to hold hands while I think what punishment you need.” She stuck her hands on her hips and thought. Princess Arabella climbed onto Charlie’s lap and stared at him balefully.
“Ok. You know upstairs in my room?” Anthony took Charlie’s hand and squeezed. Charlie’s throat and heart simultaneously leapt.
Kylie nodded. “It smells in there.”
“Well. If you go up and look on my desk, there’s a ...”
“No. Not going to work. That’s just a trick.”
Anthony’s thumb began stroking the top of Charlie’s hand. Usually he hated it when Kylie made them play, but he began to wish it would go on for a long time.
For ever.
A light breeze brushed past making him shiver everywhere except his hand and arm.
“You ok?” Anthony suddenly asked, turning his head so they were face to face, and a lot of hair. Charlie thought.
“How do you mean?” Because, he was very much ok with the hand holding but not with the bills or the broken tumble dryer. He was not ok with mum, and he was not ok with princess Arabella standing on his crotch.
But then he looked back.
Faces, faces. When Charlie was younger, people talked a lot about faces. Mum had a set of little cards but she gave up when he once said faces were like countries, and no-one in their right minds would ask you if a country was happy, deeply resentful, or filled with unrequited desire.
Anthony’s eyes stopped him every time. They weren’t a colour, more a blue forest of colours and reflections, and memories. Blue forests and green oceans, and everything he knew was right seemed dubious.
But now, they were cross eyed, and it was probable that Anthony Pace was about to make a joke.
“You’re not feeling well are you? So, we have to get you inside and make you a nice cuppa, eh Kylie? And I think princess might like a little snack ‘cause she’s starting to nibble Charlie’s leg.”
“Don’t eat him he’s a criminal, stupid” she shouted, and ran off into the house with the dog yapping behind her.
But still, Anthony didn’t let go of his hand. It was bad, really, really, bad, that Charlie could enjoy this so much after what just happened at home.
Anthony’s hand slid around to stroke Charlie’s wrist. Lungs and wrists weren’t connected as far as Charlie knew so the weird embarrassing gasp that bubbled out must be something explainable, like hay fever.
“Do you ever wonder,” said Anthony casually, “If there might be parallel universe worlds of us?”
There were many things that Charlie wondered, but this wasn’t one of them. Mostly what he wondered was why that hand felt so unlike anything else. Anthony Pace touched him plenty of times – not in a touching way, obviously – as they exchanged books, took cups, slapped each other round the head. Anthony Pace had long bony legs and a thin face with a medium shaped nose. He was just flesh and blood, but what was coming from his hand was something else.
Charlie realised Anthony was waiting for an answer, which didn’t happen very often. And he was staring.
“Blue,” said Charlie. “Your eyes are blue.”
If there were other universes, at that moment Charlie would gladly have swapped places with any of them.
“Well, durr.”
The stroking stopped and somehow it happened that Anthony Pace and Charlie Woods were sitting in the front garden of Anthony’s house. Tied up and holding hands. Charlie’s nothingness was completely gone, but he wasn’t sure what had replaced it. Only that it felt like they were strangers from a parallel universe.
“Read me your new poem?”
Anthony’s face lit up. “Really? Come on up then.”
And just like that, whatever it was vanished ...
****

So, what is next on the horizon for me and Al?
This year, we decided to write both serious and not-so-serious stories. Neither of us want to become formulaic, or predictable. I like to take chances even if they don't always work out. C'est la vie.
A few weeks ago, Al had a dream about a spy, and this got us thinking about secrets and hidden worlds. Before I could say chocolate biscuit, it seems we
're now almost 7K into a sinister world of mystery.

We'll also be bringing out a series of lunch hour reads, to be consumed with guilt. The first story is being edited now and hopefully out before too long. The second may feature some old NA friends :)