I write gritty novels, energetic short stories and often quite dark poetry.

It strikes me that authors talk a great deal about what they put into their characters, and that’s a very good thing indeed, and quite right too – but understanding is a two-way encounter and in this article I’d like to talk about the things I’ve learnt from my fictional gay men, at least the ones that appear in my novels. Because actually, when I look at it, there’s a surprising amount:

1.    From prostitute and would-be artist Michael Jones in A Dangerous Man (Cheyenne Publishing, to be published 2010), I’ve learnt how to put to one side the people who say you can’t do something and pay closer attention to the instinct that says you can. I’ve also learnt that it’s okay to really go for what you want even if everyone around you thinks you’re insane. I’ve also learnt, from Michael’s bad experience and his ultimate failure to learn it, that love is more important than any obsession and occasionally you have to back off from yourself in order to regain perspective.

2.    From private investigator Paul Maloney in Maloney’s Law (PD Publishing 2008), I’ve learnt that sometimes you simply have to move on, and if love is damaging in any way then it’s not actually love at all. I’ve also been reminded that friendship is hugely important and, sometimes, even worth being willing to die for. At the same time, vengeance, if handled correctly and done in the right spirit, can be a positive thing. And finally, with this man, I’ve relearnt the incredibly important truth that nothing, however painful, is ever worth killing yourself for. You can get through anything, given time.

3.    From young model and actor Craig Robertson in The Bones of Summer (Dreamspinner Press 2009), the sequel to Maloney’s Law, I’ve learnt that optimism and a wry, perhaps very British, sense of humour can be a positive asset in any situation. I’ve also seen once more that walking back into a situation that you might have just walked out of in high dudgeon in order to say sorry is often the bravest and most decent thing to do. I’ve seen too that facing up to the past, however difficult, is sometimes the only way to move forward and that giving love a chance and continuing to give love a chance is always the wisest option.

4.    From closeted Jamie Chadwick in The Hit List (Amber Allure Press 2010), I’ve been reminded that facing any kind of truth about yourself isn’t necessarily a quick or easy task. Some things take time, and that’s okay too. I’ve also, on a lighter note perhaps and from Jamie’s failure to do so, seen the value of always carrying a spanner, just in case someone is stuck in the toilet and you need to get them out fast … The trials and tribulations of a life in event management indeed. I’ve also been reminded – and indeed it holds true in my own romantic life too – that the person you’re meant to be with might just be the person you’ve known for a lifetime and you’ve just been too damn blind to see it.

5.    Finally, and really it’s no show without Punch, as we say in the UK, I can’t finish without mentioning the gorgeous Uncle John (AKA Jolene), owner of The Den nightclub in Pink Champagne and Apple Juice (Bristlecone Pine Press 2009). He may be a secondary character rather than a main one but he’s certainly left his mark on me. From Uncle John, I’ve been made startlingly aware – as he’s never backward in coming forward – of the incredible gifts of make-up, a good glass of champagne and kick-ass attitude. With those three close at hand, you really can’t go far wrong.

For more vital Life Lessons in Literature, visit: http://www.annebrooke.com/Novels.html. You never know what you might discover!


[When not puzzling over exactly what her characters are trying to say to her and whether or not it’s legal, you can often find Anne at http://www.annebrooke.com or at http://annebrooke.blogspot.com. She may occasionally seem a little strange but she has a heart of gold. Honest …]

 

Jay didn’t expect to be one of the very few survivors of the virus that decimated the country, leaving shambling, ravenous zombies behind.

Ryan Gracin had a good life until he told his parents he was gay. Since they yanked their support for college he had to find a way to pay for it. Little did he know that joining the Army was going to change his life forever.

Fed up with his desk duty in the Imperial Arcane Library, book hunter Colin Bliss accepts a private commission to find The Sword’s Shadow, a legendary and dangerous witches’ grimoire. But to find the book, Colin must travel to the remote Western Isles and solve a centuries’ old murder. It should be nothing more than an academic exercise, so why is dour -- and unreasonably sexy -- Magister Septimus Marx doing his best to keep Colin from accepting this mission -- even going so far as to seduce Colin on their train journey north?

After completing Navy SEAL training, Cooper Fitch and Eli Jones face assignment to different platoons. Since the strength of their mutual physical attraction is exceeded only by their emotional reliance on each other, the idea of being separated for a year or more is a bitter pill to swallow.

It’s 1955, Las Vegas is swinging, and David Lonergan has the chance of a lifetime when he accompanies his cousin to be the headlining act at the Thunderbird Casino. A pianist who cut his teeth in the jazz clubs of Chicago, David is “dazzled by the lights, the music, and the anything goes” attitude of Las Vegas. But he’s not knocked off his feet until he meets Vincent “Shorty” Accardo. Vincent is a full-time bodyguard and sometimes hitman for the mob-controlled casino.

 

As a straight writer of GLBT fiction, the question of categorization comes up fairly frequently and in a number of formats. Lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s time I look briefly at the questions, especially in this brave new decade that we’re now in. So here they are, in no particular order: