How does one become an artist? Personally, IDK. For me I have always liked writing, but it never came together until around 2006. (Before that it was poetry and beginning chapters of stories.) Let me tell you, to tinker with writing for years and never finishing a story was fine, it was fun; but to write a story from beginning to END was exhilarating! It was sci-fi, and I still have it. 285,000 words (or something like that.) One day I will pick it up again, which will be cool for all those sci-fi fans, but until then I am sticking to the genre I am in now. How did I get there? Originally I wrote a "romance for a friend." Funny how something that seemed to simple turned into another "complete" story, which led to publication, which brought me here. To you. I am a gay romance author because I dare to push my artistry to whatever bounds necessary. My friend is gay, and I wrote a story for him. If he was straight, perhaps I would have written a straight romance?? Who knows. My muse doesn't discriminate, but the tales I have inspiration for right now are all gay romances. I'd also love to write gay horror so maybe I need to read more of Rick Reed to get inspired for that. lol.
Anyway... I fell into writing when I had an idea and ran with it. Only then did writing become something real and something maybe I could learn to do more professionally. I tend to desire the topics that are controversial. Not that the "gay" part isn't controversial on it's own, but I want to explore topics that readers don't see often. Maybe that is partially why I chose suicide. I surely felt very depressed and writing a broken character really helped release some one my pain. But suicide is not talked about often. It happens, yet I have not come across books about it like I have written. (feel free to correct me since I live under a rock and don't get out into the world much.) I feel like I want to write something different because not every romance starts with a young gay grad getting a new job and the hot boss is gay too! Ya know? I want to branch out in my thinking. My publisher does gay fiction mostly, so for now that is what I plan to write. I HAVE a publisher, why write something else and have to find a new one?? For now I'm not. If I write horror, sci-fi, paranormal, it will be with gay characters.
So, question, have you read WHEN LOVE IS NOT ENOUGH? Is it on your Kindle and TBR pile? I ask because the next Wade Kelly book to come out will be the sequel to that novel called The Cost of Loving. (projected for August/ September) Here is an excerpt to get you excited:
When Love is Not Enough. Chapter 18...
“I think I’m ready to say goodbye to Jamie, but you have to go
with me.” He saw Matt’s eyes go wide. “You don’t have to do or say
anything. Just stand near me, okay? If I know you’re there, I think I can
do it. I have to do it.”
“You got it.”
Darian felt cold when Matt let go of him, but he knew he had to
make it through the next few minutes unassisted. “I can do this.” He
chanted his mantra one more time.
He made it down the hall. He made it into the room. Darian even
made it all the way up to the casket without feeling his knees buckle.
When he saw the whiteness of Jamie’s surrealistic face, all the air was
sucked from the room. He stood there frozen in his tracks. “Jamie,” he
He could not pull his eyes away. He was glued to the morbidity of
embalmment. Here was the body of his lover and friend, made up to
look as though he was sleeping. It was sick. Jamie didn’t look like that
in his sleep. Jamie smirked in his sleep, most of the time. He dreamed a
lot and talked gibberish, but he definitely didn’t look serene in his
sleep. He looked amused.
This was gross.
Darian shook his head and took a step closer. “Oh, Jamie, what
did they do to you?” He reached out and touched Jamie’s fingers. They
were hard and cold. Darian shivered. “This isn’t you. It’s just a shell. It
isn’t you.” He backed away and glanced at Matt before running from
DARIAN sat in his mom’s house, fingering the syringe on his desk.
This world was too much! How could he get through one more day?
He’d thought he could say goodbye, but that corpse was not Jamie. It
was a shell. Now he’d have to say goodbye during the funeral… or
even worse, days later by Jamie’s tombstone. He couldn’t do it. It was
too much. The pain was too much.
Darian picked up the syringe and flicked the housing. A bubble
floated to the tip, and he squeezed just enough fluid from the needle to
allow the air to escape.
“Escape. I need to escape.”
Darian held the tip to the inside of his elbow. The vein bulged as
if it knew what was coming. He broke the skin and felt his heart rush
with anticipation. But before he pushed the plunger and injected his
veins with liquid bliss, Darian heard Jamie’s voice whisper, “Please
Violently he ripped the needle from his skin and threw the syringe
across the room. He heard the glass break, and he started to sob
uncontrollably. “I can’t do this, Jamie!” he yelled. “I can’t do this
alone!” He rocked his body in the chair, holding his head. “I can’t do
this.” His strength was all but gone.
Jumping up, he grabbed his coat and headed for the only place he
knew he could escape the pain.
What do you think? Does it make you want to know more? This is one of my favorite scenes. (Sorry about the format. I copied and pasted from the PDF file.)
Later this week, or early next week, I'm post an excerpt of The Cost of Loving. K?
I keep blogging because for some reason I can not think this week. Mind is all over the place. Stress, I guess. I will be writing book 3. I WILL! I just need to clear my head. If you saw my notes I think you'd be more encouraged to know that I have made progress. :)
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