Breathess Monday: Enough

1. How did you start writing erotic romance?

My big thing as a writer has always been characters. I love to pick them apart, examine them, play with them, see how they react. I love people. I'm that sadistic Sims player who tortures them all then gets bored, locks them in the house, and sets fire to the whole building. I want to see how people tick. (In fiction. Ironically my day job is data analysis, and the people side of it bores me to tears.)

Romance is the perfect genre for that, especially as I am not romantically inclined and I quickly discovered that my grittier, very British version of romance gets attention. Apparently I'm not the only one who rolls their eyes at gushy sappy love scenes.

The erotic part was a bit accidental. I tried my hand at writing some porn, way back in my fanfiction days, and accidentally discovered I have a thing for dirty talk. So every now and then, the mood for some filth hits me, and off I go!

2. Plotter or pantster?

Six of one, half a dozen of the other. I have to know where the story is going. I usually have some scenes in my head that must happen along the way. I usually write a chapter-by-chapter plan, but several times I've gone back to the plan (to use to write the synopsis) when I'm about to pitch a novel and gone, "Hang on, this is nothing like the book!" So I plot, and then pants my way off the beaten track.

3. What are three things you have on your writing desk?

Currently, several dirty cups and an empty bowl that used to contain soup. And tissues. You see where this is going...I've been ill lately, but time waits for no man-flu. My writing desk is my general-life-the-universe-and-everything desk, so pretty much anything ends up on here.

4. Favorite food?

Right now I seriously want a homemade two-bean chilli. I have no idea why.

5. Tell us a little about your new release. What character in the book really spoke to you?

Enough is the story about - being enough. Its main characters, Jesse Dawkins and Ezra Pryce, have been together a few months, but Jesse has some pretty big self-esteem issues that Ezra's disapproving family and gorgeous ex-boyfriend don't help. Jesse really feels the relationship is running on borrowed time - until Ezra's accident opens Jesse's eyes and lets him see himself the way that Ezra sees him.

Both Jesse and Ezra spoke to me in different ways - Ezra is temperamentally very like me, in that he lets his prickly guard down for this one important person in his life, and otherwise he is very sharp and hostile. So I click with Ezra very well - write what you know and all that, eh? - but it's Jesse's story that got this book going.

Jesse is very much for people who aren't 'supposed' to have problems like insecurity or low self-esteem. Jesse is good-looking, he's affable, he loves his job, he has a gorgeous boyfriend, and he's happy. He's a firefighter and built like a brick shithouse. He gets a lot of positive attention in the bars, yeah? He's not 'supposed' to have low self-esteem; he's the guy you look at and think 'he's got it all, what's he moaning about?' Jesse as a character was, for me, a way of saying it's not that easy and just because someone looks confident on the outside doesn't mean they're confident inside too.

I guess both characters and Jesse's story went down well with the readers too, as Enough was an immediate hit when it originally came out - so much so that the publishers, Breathless Press, decided to put it out in print format as well. That was a huge moment for me, and one I'm not entirely over yet either!

The ebook can be bought here, the print book here, and  a free chapter sample here, for anyone who's interested.

6. I write because ____...

It's more socially acceptable than pathological lying.

Seriously. I made up really crazy shit as a little kid. My sister dubbed me 'the storyteller' before I even started school. Learning to make (vaguely) legible words on paper turned lies into stories, and once my five-year-old brain worked out you never got smacked with a wooden spoon for writing down a story, that was it. I've been writing ever since. The stories have gotten better, but the handwriting is still shoddy.

So...I guess I write because I do. It's not as vital as breathing, but life without writing would be like a life of work-eat-sleep-work-eat-sleep. No joy, no love, no friendship. I'd survive, I'd live, and I would be pretty fucking miserable while I was at it!

7. What is your favorite type of character to write about?

Thoroughly British ones in company with their close friends. The British are generally incredibly nasty (banter!) to their friends and it's really fun to write dialogue that's heavy on the insulting and banter, whilst the body language and tone is being affectionate. It makes for interesting relationships.

8. What is the sexiest scene you ever wrote?

A particular 'game' played by the main characters of Thicker Than Bone. It came out of nowhere, involved restraints and toeing very close to the edge of a comfort zone for one of them, but it was weirdly hot given it was such a short scene. Apparently filthy talk followed by loving aftercare does it for me! Hopefully that scene will be available to read next year - provided I get Thicker Than Bone polished and accepted by a publisher!

9. What advice would you give new authors in the erotica/romance field?

Don't be neurotic. Seriously.

There's been a lot of neuroticism going around lately - authors attacking reviewers, readers ,other authors, publishing houses going to hell, bloggers going crazy - just don't. Don't get involved, don't be 'that guy' who goes batshit because someone one-starred your book. It hurts. It does, I won't lie. But it will happen - because honestly, if you never get a negative review ever, your book has flopped and only your buddies have seen it. Someone is not going to like it. If one person says 'your dialogue is crappy' then big deal. One person doesn't like it. Accept it, move on. Only when several people have the exact same complaint do you have a problem with your actual work that you might need to fix. And even then, do not go nuts in public about it!

There's way too much crazy in the world already, and this industry will not forgive an author for behaving badly.

10. What is next on your writerly horizon?

I am currently polishing up an adult manuscript, Thicker Than Bone, and a young adult manuscript, In The Blood. Neither is as creepy as it sounds! Thicker Than Bone asks this: if you could someone's life, would you? What if that person was your own brother? And what if that brother nearly killed your boyfriend? In The Blood is about finding happiness even when the entire world - and you - say you're not allowed it. They're both intense books about intense issues, but were loads of fun to write and hopefully will be polished up and finding homes soon.

About Matthew

Matthew J. Metzger is the front for a British author working a difficult day job and from the inside of a closet. When he's not writing or working, he's asleep. That, really, is how six books in two years is possible. Matthew writes LGBT fiction about contemporary issues, from 'gay issues' such as coming out through to wider issues such as domestic violence, racism and terminal illness. Matthew is open to some low-level stalking once in a while, and can be stalked on Twitter, Facebook, and at his website.

Enough - Blurb

Jesse has never had a real boyfriend before. He's a firefighter, and that's all that anyone's seen before—a quick and thrilling screw, and a story for the future. So when he lands Ezra Pryce, the most beautiful man in the whole of Brighton, Jesse can't quite understand why Ezra is still here eight months down the line.

Not that he's going to complain. Ezra's sexy, sarcastic, and doesn't treat Jesse like he's stupid, but Jesse can do the math. Ezra is nothing short of perfection; and Jesse falls a very way short of it. Jesse isn't going to be enough for someone like Ezra in the long run, and he is living—and loving—on borrowed time. When a disastrous weekend in Norwich introduces Jesse to the staunch disapproval of Ezra's family and the six-pack of his ex-boyfriend in one fell swoop, Jesse's fate is sealed. He cannot hope to live up to an ex who has every intention of getting Ezra back, and all the looks and charm to do it too. Jesse is not enough for Ezra and he's never going to be.

Until the accident forces Jesse to re-evaluate, and shows him exactly what he looks like through Ezra's eyes.

Buy Link

http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=22&products_id=633

Enough  - Excerpt

Jackie's was a loud cross between a bar and a club, with a sticky dance floor populated by both straight and gay couples, and a tiny LGBTQ flag above the bar with a sign declaring it to be a "safe space." Jesse had no idea what that meant, but he grasped that it was okay to be gay in here, and slid an arm around Ezra's waist at the bar.

"You're clingy," Ezra said lightly, but tucked his head briefly against Jesse's neck in a kind of half-hug pose. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jesse said, and slapped Ezra's hand down. "I'll get this round. I want you to get tipsy, and you'll never do that if you stick to your bloody lager."

"Mr. Dawkins, are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Yes," Jesse said, handing over a twenty to the bored bartender. In the pause as the guy wrestled with the till, he twisted to kiss Ezra soundly, transmitting his exact intentions with his tongue and his hand possessively low on Ezra's hip.

"Mm," Ezra hummed as he pulled back, and his eyes were just a little darker. "Maybe I'll get a little bit drunk."

"You do that," Jesse said, and pressed the glass into his hand.

Jackie's livened up a little as the bar slowly filled and the money kept changing hands. Jesse kept Ezra on the vodka, relishing the chance to be able to get him drunk. Ezra didn't like to get drunk if Jesse couldn't, and Jesse often couldn't drink because of the risk of being called to an emergency at work, so it was nice to get to let go a little, to drink a bit more than the two-pint maximum, to feel the first fuzzy edges of poor coordination and disjointed thinking take over his brain. The music was kind of shitty - late nineties stuff he hadn't heard in years - and the bartender was stingy with the doubles, but it was fairly cheap and it was nasty enough to work, and when that wide, beautiful smile bloomed across Ezra's face when a tiny little lesbian and her girlfriend dragged him to dance with them, insisting they knew him as insistently as he said that they didn't, Jesse felt happy. Despite Mrs. Pryce, despite Audrey Hepburn being a lesbian, despite the crucifix on the gatepost, he felt happy.

He drained his glass and went to the bathroom, relieving himself clumsily in a definitely nasty bathroom with the telltale streaks of sticky white powder on the counter that said that at least one part of the sex, drugs and rock and roll was going down in here on your average evening. Rinsing his hands off, he wondered if another round was called for, or another bar. Obviously they'd keep going a bit longer. He could still think, for one. And thinking was counterproductive for later, when he'd get Ezra's long legs wrapped around his waist and try and suck all the alcohol back out through his mouth. Or his neck. Or other places.

Then he left the bathroom, and saw him.

Ezra had escaped the tiny lesbians, and was leaning very precariously against the bar, a fresh drink in hand, and smiling—beaming—at a man who was just offensively good-looking. He looked like one of those underwear models or something. Tall in a too-tight-T-shirt, with spiky dark hair in a style that could have been achieved with an electric razor but he'd probably paid fifty quid for at a salon aimed at women. A waxed chest, judging by the naked v of skin that was visible below his neck. He was flashing a chiseled, perfect, cologne-ad smile at Ezra. People could model cologne and underwear, right? Because this guy definitely did.

Jesse hesitated at the bathroom door, and felt a shaky warmth bubbling up in his stomach as the underwear model reached into his back pocket and passed Ezra a thin bit of card. His number, maybe? Why the hell was some underwear-cologne model giving Ezra his number?

Why the hell was Ezra putting it in his pocket? Ezra turned from the bar, eyes scanning the room, and that placid, drink-smudged smile widened when he locked eyes with Jesse. He leaned back against the sticky wood, weight on his elbows, and beckoned with one long finger, and it was like an invisible rope reeling Jesse in. The underwear model glanced Jesse's way and melted back into the crowd on the dance floor and Jesse's anger went with him. He planted his hands on either side of Ezra's waist, bracing himself against the bar, and crowded Ezra against it to kiss him and taste the drunken want on his tongue.

"You ran away," Ezra accused, tugging on Jesse's hair lightly.

"You started talking to other guys," Jesse murmured, and yet with Ezra's hand playing with his ear and the wide, blissfully peaceful expression he wore when he was drunk, it somehow didn't matter.

"Only because you ran away," Ezra teased, and bumped his nose against Jesse's clumsily.

"Can we go?" Jesse whispered, dropping a hand to slide it around Ezra's hip and down to the top of his leg, rubbing against the denim of his jeans lightly. "Back to the hotel? I have designs."

"On what?"

"On you and the bed and being bendy."

Ezra grinned, and downed the rest of his glass in one expert motion, his back and neck flexing like liquid in suspension. "I knew you got me drunk," he accused, and Jesse laughed, putting a hand into Ezra's back pocket to hook him in and guide him out. The night air was cold after the heat of the bar, and the underwear model had vanished like an ugly, sexy mirage.

"You shouldn't talk to underwear models," he blurted out, and Ezra laughed too loudly in the street.

"I only talk to your underwear," he retorted, and then all the sense of it was slipping away, and Jesse simply forgot in favor of other things.

For the moment.

Breathless Monday: Some Mistakes

Author Interview 

1. How did you start writing erotic romance?

I was writing romance, and sex happened.

No, seriously, that's what happened the first time. I had an affectionate cuddling scene going, then they were kissing, then hands started roaming, and I suddenly had a sex scene and wasn't sure what to do with it. I ended up deleting it, actually, but the seed was sown (so to speak!) and after that some of my books turned out erotic romance and some just romance.

I've always liked romance as a writer (bores me to death as a reader, ironically) and it was a fairly simple progression for me. That said, I don't write out-and-out erotica because if there's no good story, I'm not interested on any level.

2. Plotter or pantster?

I still 'pants' the sex element most of the time - Some Mistakes was always going to be an erotic romance because that was such a huge part of the story, but literally every other manuscript with sex in it wasn't planned as either sweet romance or erotic romance. I plan the romance part, and if the sex comes naturally, then so be it. One of my current works-in-progress actually turned out quite filthy in the end!

I plot quite loosely. I like to think I know what each chapter will contain - especially if there's particular scenes I want in them - but the end result has often wandered off a fair bit. If I have no plan at all, the momentum fizzles out and the idea ends up in the ever-growing pile of 'stuff I'll do one day.

3. What are three things you have on your writing desk?

Post-it notes. I cover the wall opposite my laptop in them. They're not always about writing, but some of them are. Right next to each other are 'Blog post - Alice Jones (!)' and 'Salzburg/Ljubljana???'  All my little reminders go up there, and the master-pad sits by the laptop ready for stray thoughts.

Secondly is a used ticket to Avenue Q in May. I don't know why it's there, but it is.

And thirdly are a couple of bright orange plastic tumblers, because once I'm settled in to have a good writing binge, I will not move. So drinks have to be here. There's a line of Pepsi bottles under the desk, and tumblers ready and waiting on top!

4. Favorite food?

Right now I'm having a serious craving for chicken tikka masala. You can tell I'm English!

5. Tell us a little about your new release. What character in the book really spoke to you?

Some Mistakes is the story of mistakes - how some mistakes can completely destroy somebody's life, and how others can work out for the better if you just ride it out. The main character, Craig, had his life ripped apart ten years ago by someone else's careless mistake, and ever since he's pretty people-phobic in terms of having friendships and relationships. His sex-only, no-feelings-involved affair with Damian is just another mistake - but it's maybe the first one to go right in over a decade.

It's about Craig, but as I started writing it, Damian was the one who shouted louder. Craig's quite wary and watchful, but Damian's a little more carefree and wild. He's not what he seems - in some ways, he's a bigger mystery than Craig - and I felt like I was finding out about him as Craig did. He wasn't letting me in on any secrets, that's for damn sure!

The title - and Damian's approach to life - was very much inspired by a single line in a country song. The rest of the song didn't apply, and I don't even like country music, but Brad Paisley sang, 'Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.' That's pretty much Damian.

6. I write because ____...

I write because...I do. I can't actually pin it down or clarify it. I've been writing since I could hold a pencil, and making shit up for even longer. My mother used to call me the little liar in the family because I would make up total bullshit about my day at nursery school and come off completely convincingly. I won my first story competition when I was ten years old, and it was the first one I ever entered. I never had a moment of wanting to be a writer or an author - I just always took it for granted that whatever I did when I grew up, I'd be writing too. Luckily, I eventually went professional with it anyway!

7. What is your favorite type of character to write about?

Bastards.

Seriously.

Absolute, utter bastards. Not even evil bastards, necessarily, but characters who just don't give a shit. They can be fun and entertaining side characters - best friends who cameo with one-liner jokes every now and then - or they can be huge villainous gits swanning in to mess things up. I grew up on Stargate and loved Jack O'Neill for his bastard tendencies. Voyager bored me until Seven of Nine came along because everyone was too nice. Even heroes have to have their crude or cruel or bastard-y moments for me to love them.

8. What is the sexiest scene you ever wrote?

Until last month, I would have told you the shower scene in Craig's flat in Some Mistakes (now I'm not giving that one away for free, what do you take me for?!) but...

But recently I wrote a manuscript called Thicker Than Bone. And it wasn't intentionally erotic, but then one of the main characters turned out to absolutely love sucking cock. It was his thing. He was an honest-to-god cocksucker, and this blowjob scene just came out of nowhere. And it was easily the hottest blowjob I have ever written.

So yeah. Stay tuned for that one.

9. What advice would you give new authors in the erotica/romance field?

Never, ever, ever use the word 'turgid' to describe a penis. Ever. It's wrong. Just don't.

There's loads of advice all over the shop for new authors, but specifically for erotica and erotic romance: sex is not romance. It sounds obvious, right? Apparently it's not because I see this way too much. You can't replace romance with sex and say it's love - and believe me, I have tried this.

Basically, if I see two people having loads of really hot sex all over the place, I will believe they are in lust and I may even believe they have passion. I will not believe they are in love. If you want me to believe that, you have to put in some affection. Some dates, some hand-holding, some kissing, some interaction that doesn't lead to shagging. There's a sad lack of it in favour of rampant sex everywhere, and if you want to be convincing in saying they're in love, then you have to provide the evidence - and sex isn't it.

(And never use the word 'bulbous' either. It might well be, but it's not sexy.)

10. What is next on your writerly horizon?

I currently have one young adult novel - Private - seeking a home, about coming out in a conservative military family. The Kershaws are easily the most fun and incredibly British family unit I have ever written, and I'm insanely proud of them.

I also recently finished an erotic romance, Thicker Than Bone. Would you save someone's life if you could? Anyone's? Really? This is about a frankly gorgeous little relationship between Yazid Al-Batari and Alasdair Barraclough, and the ever-present shadow of Alasdair's older brother, who...disapproves. Shall we say. That one's still being tidied up, but I will hopefully pitch it soon and find it a home too.

And my current work-in-progress is another young adult novel, In The Blood. I have no real explanation for this one yet, aside from an absolutely hilarious scene of two sixteen-year-old boys discovering you can blow up condoms like balloons and release them to fly across the room, farting the whole way. (Nope, totally didn't take that from real life...)

And after that - who knows! (But it's my birthday today, so the writerly horizon can wait for 24 hours.)

Buy link http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=1&products_id=628

Author bio

Matthew J. Metzger is a British author living, working and drinking just outside of Bristol in the south-west of England. As much a character as those in his books, Matthew was created out of both the desire and the need to keep the writing world away from the day job and the family. Both Matthew and his author are as queer as they come, and more than a little mad.

Matthew's books, unsurprisingly then, address a wide range of issues both LGBT-specific and not. Depression, mental illness, domestic violence, abuse and illness have all featured in his works, both past and current, and probably will continue to do so.

Matthew can be contacted on his Facebook page, Twitter feed, or at his website. He's flaky and a bit sarcastic at times, but he doesn't bite. Generally.

Blurb:

Craig's life is defined by ugly mistakes. This 'arrangement' with sex-mad Damian is another - but maybe some mistakes aren't so bad after all...

Craig is not good at commitment. Relationships are to be avoided at all costs—but when Damian and their evolving coffee-order code fail to elicit anything more serious than Damian's last name, Craig begins to think that this is not a mistake at all, but an opportunity for guilt-free fun, without the prospect of breaking any hearts. Craig cannot afford to be found out, but it looks like Damian isn't interested in asking the right questions.

Then his mother dies. The mistake that ruined Craig's life in the first place is dragged kicking and screaming out of the past—and this casual arrangement with Damian begins to show its true colours.

Book excerpt:

         

The party is in full swing. P!nk is singing something about glasses. The DJ already looks high as a kite, but Craig suspects anyone who styles himself as "Timmy-G" and has violently pink dreadlocks has probably been permanently high for several years. He ignores the music, skirts around the dancers, and raises his hand at the bartender. "Lager," he shouts at her over the noise. There's no point specifying a label, because they only serve Foster's. It's shit, but it's cheap.

Lager—gnat's piss—in hand, he turns to scope out the room, leaning against the bar. It's vaguely sticky already; the floor is distinctly sticky, but then the floor always is. Craig scans the crowd. It's almost half nine, and that's after Damian usually turns up, so he's expectant. Likely he has found a dance partner already, because some people just reek of sex appeal without even trying, and Damian is definitely one of them.

It doesn't take long.

As the song changes, the dancers shift, and a neon light ricochets off that fair hair. Craig necks the rest of his glass and moves. He rolls off the bar, predatory, and advances on the shadowed dancer like something on the hunt. Damian is dancing with someone, not quite touching but almost there, and Craig hooks a finger into the top of Damian's tight jeans to turn him, cupping those narrow hips in both hands.

"Hello," Damian says – or, rather, mouths. The music is too loud, but Craig doesn't need to hear him. The way those lips lift at the left side of his face is enough, and then Damian drapes both arms oh-so-casually over Craig's shoulders and begins to sway idly against him. He's wearing those jeans that do something sinful to his arse, and Craig slides both hands into the back pockets. Damian just grins.

"Buy you a drink?" Craig asks against Damian's ear, audible only by the extreme proximity, and bites the lobe lightly when Damian squirms against his hands. Damian has a bony arse, all things considered, but he can move his hips better than any woman in the frankly sensual way he dances, fluid as water, and it more than makes up for it. He twists and flexes as he sways, and if Craig didn't already know his measurements, he'd be able to calculate them now.

Damian nods; Craig guides him to the bar, one hand still in a back pocket, and they lounge against it waiting for the bartender to be free. Damian slips a hand between Craig's shirt and jeans, and his fingers are hot.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, just about audible now they're off the dance floor itself. Craig smirks. Damian's asked this question every Friday night since the second time Craig picked him up, and Craig never gives the same answer.

"Keeping tabs," he says this time, and Damian grins. He's had a few drinks already, judging by the lax way the smile blossoms, and the way he tips his head like his tight, almost strict, control over his own body has slipped a little. It's enticing, and Craig pulls him in and nips at his neck. When there's no shivery wriggle, he bites harder, and Damian sighs. Yep. Not quite drunk yet, but definitely heading there.

"On what?" Damian murmurs and kisses Craig's stubble.

"On who else you play around with."

Damian laughs. There's no illusions here - no strings - and it's what Craig needs. There's no expectations with Damian. They don't go on dates, and they don't know each other outside of sex and a coffee code about sex. Damian doesn't come here to pick up Craig, specifically. And when one of them loses interest and this all stops, it won't matter. There'll be no hideous fallout.

That knowledge is freeing, and it's why Craig keeps a hand in Damian's back pocket— literally—and orders for him at the bar. He knows what Damian drinks by now. The nasty, paint-stripper variety of vodka that Edge of Pleasure serves. Sometimes with a mixer, sometimes straight. Craig always orders it mixed with something, because he hates the taste of vodka alone on Damian's tongue.

"You trying to get me drunk?" Damian asks when Craig slides two double vodka and Cokes along the top of the bar.

"Yeah."

"Why?" Damian asks, but knocks the first one back despite the question.

"You're easier to handle when you're smashed," Craig says honestly.

Damian smirks, knocking back the second before looping his arms around Craig's neck again and whispering in his ear. "You can't handle me drunk or sober."

"I can try."

"Mm, you could." Damian peels himself away. Craig watches him, watches who else watches him, and follows to cup those narrow hips and dance with him. He doesn't really know the music, and he's not much of a dancer, but it's easy enough to match Damian's rhythm and get his attention now and then with another bruise on his neck or another kiss. (Once the taste of the vodka dies down, many other kisses.)

Craig hooks a finger into the top of Damian's jeans and keeps him close. He kisses his neck and glowers over Damian's shoulder at another man who keeps hovering. Craig has plans for tonight, and the only unpredictable variable is when Damian has had enough of dancing.

Or rather, enough of dancing vertically.