Sunday, February 8, 2015

Better Than Fifty Shades February

Present tense is one of my biggest pet peeves in writing. My publishing house will not take a work done in present tense.

 And yet... It was always tolerable for Syd McGinley's work. 
Her Dr.Fell series is one of the hottest ever. I even have a Dr. Fell coffee mug.

 John Fell is a strict dom, who serves the local community as a pet-sitter and extra trainer. His own boy, Rob, was murdered years ago, and he hasn't taken another.

 The stories have been collected into three paperbacks now.
  Buy link


 ~~~ A scene that has stuck with me from "Samhain," in Volume 1.

 Right on cue, I hear Dexter squeak and Laurie drop a cup.

 “He tried to hex me,” taunts Laurie. “Pagan-boy thinks he made me break the cup.”

 Dexter sits with his mouth open. The light has gone from his eyes. I pat his wrist as I pass by on my way to Laurie. “Carry on, Dexter. You’re fine.” He holds out his hand in mute rebuttal – his finger is bleeding and that’s why he squeaked. I summon twink to first aid duty – it’s just a puncture from a sharp twig – and Dexter doesn’t need physical comfort. He needs to see his tormentor suffer some retribution.

 Laurie has a stupidly triumphant look on his face, as if he’s got what he wanted – me mad and Dexter squashed.

 I snatch up a handful of discarded sage branches, and march Laurie out to the porch. I bend him over the railing and thrash his ass. He howls and pleads in no time under the switching he gets from the rough twigs. I’m pissed, and I don’t care that his butt is bleeding from dozens of scratches. It’s not the erotic D/s scene he’d dreamed about – it’s real punishment and he hates it. When I stop, he’s mewling and sniffling. His ass is a mess. I holler for twink to come out with hot water, antiseptic, and tweezers. I feel a hair bad about the slivers, but not really when I see Dexter’s crushed spirit.

 I sit down at the kitchen table with Dexter and gamely make a smudge stick. I induce him to explain why he needs to bury apples tomorrow. His light is still dimmed, but he’s smiling a little by the time he’s taught me to braid stalks together before tying them up.

 “Why are you being so nice?” he ventures.

 I raise my eyebrows. “Well, I can stop if you like.” I’m pleased that he dares a giggle. “Boy, training isn’t just punishments. It’s making you into the best boy you can be. I can’t whip what you need into you.” He smiles properly for the first time, and reaches over to correct my miss-bundle. His hands are sure as he does it. “You can plant my garlic tomorrow.”

He looks a little surprised. “You have some already?”

 I laugh. “I planned the crop to go in next week, but if Samhain is the right day, then you can do it for me.”

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