Today I have Em Woods visiting my blog. She's here as part of a blog tour to promote her new book which takes the story of Dickens' A Christmas Carol and re-imagines it as an m/m romance. Over to you Em!
Hello! Have you ever noticed how hard it is to talk about yourself when asked to? I mean, I think it might be a fear of mine! Lol....
I'm not sure how many here know me, so I guess I should start with the basics. I have been writing seriously for about three years. Before that it was just for my own sanity and never anything lengthy or worth talking about. But then I took a Creative Writing class at my local community college (it was waaay better than Bowling 101) and the teacher became my friend. She encouraged me. She helped me with the purple prose - and while purple is a worthy color I adore, it sucks when it is tucked into flowery language in my story.
Because of my teacher, I joined the Romance Writers of America. And despite some writers opinions on the group, I feel they are an excellent organization with so much an author, or aspiring author, can learn from. They are growing, and learning to accept my chosen genre, but they have a great foundation. I am grateful to them.
Currently I am multi-published with Total-E-Bound, and A Christmas Carol is my latest release with them. I love that TEB is constantly challenging the boundaries of romance, that they listen to their authors...and that they've taken the leap with the Classics. As soon as I heard about the Clandestine Classics line I knew I wanted to be a part of it. I proposed A Christmas Carol to them, and despite the story not lending itself to traditional romance, they believed I could do it.
What evolved is a wonderful, heart-wrenching, heartwarming story that - if I've done my job right - will have you smiling and tearing up and rooting for Ebenezer to find a worthy lover. Many might not appreciate what I've done, or what any of the Clandestine authors have done, but I think the love story I've created here will amaze you in its depth. So, what say you...will you give Scrooge a chance to wow you? What do you think?
You can visit Em Woods at the following links:
Blurb for A Christmas Carol:
Love at first sight is a beautiful thing, but sometimes, true love waits a lifetime to shine...and then needs a little help from the Three Ghosts of Christmas.
As a young man, Ebenezer Scrooge felt the sharp pain of loss and resolved to protect his heart from all others, taking solace in his gold and silver. Years of discarding his own emotions, and those of anyone around him, has turned Scrooge cold.
When deceased lover and partner Jacob Marley pays miserly Scrooge a late night visit, pride and disbelief buoy Scrooge's courage. As the fabled Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet-to-Come arrive to show Scrooge the error of his ways, they also give him brief glimpses of a love so strong it has stood the test of time.
In an inspiring tale of change, a deep-seated need flares to life, leaving Scrooge without a doubt that love and family are what really matter at Christmas.
Buy A Christmas Carol by Em Woods
Here is a little sneak peek of A Christmas Carol:
Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker’s-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. That one piece of a far away life, of filled evenings and nights, Scrooge was but loathe to relinquish.
They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including—which is a bold word—the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge would not concede to have bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven years’ dead partner that afternoon, not even to himself. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change—not a knocker, but Marley’s face.
Scrooge held in place, his heart near a standstill at the unbelievable image he had surely conjured with having spoke of his dead partner just that afternoon. Damn that sod for dredging up ghosts to haunt him.
And out of all of it, Marley’s face.
It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if in memory by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
To its point, the horror seeped into Scrooge. His skin bore that chill to its depths; the icy grip of something to which he had long ago left to die as surely as his partner had those seven years ago. His nephew! His nephew had rambled nonsense of love and it had addled Scrooge's brain, he was certain of it.
As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon of Marley's face, it was a knocker again. To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue. Fear and loss so keen seared his bones and hammered at his mind. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley’s pigtail sticking out into the hall. Hope sprang forth to war against fear in those seconds within Scrooge and gave discredit to the moment. But there it was. Scrooge had one fleeting weakness, one wish, to see taut shoulders and arse trapped under linen. To catch a glimpse of long, muscled legs beneath woollen pants.
But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang.