A warm welcome to author Lucy Carey joining us today to talk about her new release “Carolyn for Christmas”.
Welcome Lucy 🙂

Write What You Love – Is That Always the Best Choice?

Most writers I know are caught in a Catch 22 situation: Do you write what you love (and hope that it makes some money) or do you write what sells and pick up an easier cheque?

I’ve written, under a variety of pen names, books, articles, and stories of all genres, styles, and lengths. But the one thing I always wanted to write was lesbian and bisexual fiction and romance, set in Ireland.

There are two parts of that previous sentence that many people will tell readers don’t want:

1. Lesbian romance
2. Romance written in an authentic Irish voice

The reasoning behind both pieces of advice always sounded funny to me. Here’s why:

1. Women make up the vast majority of book buyers, especially buyers of romance. Why wouldn’t they want to read about women, like them, who faced the same trials, tribulations, and (hopefully) triumphs that they do? Sure, not every reader identifies as lesbian or bisexual, but if male-male romance can sell in big numbers, why not lesbian romance?
2. There are some great lesbian presses out there but a lot of indie and small presses don’t offer any lesbian romance. It’s another Catch 22, this time for readers: How can people read great lesbian romance if not many people are selling it? (That’s why I’m so glad I found LGBTQA publisher NineStar Press. They’re focused on publishing fiction from all across the LGBTQA spectrum.)
3. When I wrote my first lesbian romance, some people commented on the distinctly Irish voice of the story. Sure, I could have written it in an American or British voice (as I have done under other pen names). But for me, part of the joy of reading books is finding stories from outside my culture, my experience, or background. I wanted to share a little bit of the real Ireland with readers—and that’s what I’ve done in my novella Carolyn for Christmas.

So, as you can see, I’ve gone with writing what I love. I love my culture—the real warts-and-all Ireland—and I love lesbian and bisexual romance. I decided that to be truly happy with what I’m writing, I wanted to share a little bit of myself with readers like you.

I set Carolyn for Christmas in Ireland at (as the title suggests) Christmas time. It follows two women in their twenties who think they hate each other; they’ve been rivals for a long time. But underneath all that tension, lurks some truer feelings—feelings about each other both have been pushing down for years.

I worked hard to make these two women believable and to showcase how lovely a place Ireland is at Christmas. This book comes right from my heart. I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks,Love Bytes, for hosting me—and a very Happy Holidays to everyone reading this, wherever you are in the world.

Lucy

Author: Lucy Carey

Title: Carolyn for Christmas

Release Date: December 14, 2015

Genre: Lesbian Romance

Length: Novella

Purchase Links:

NineStar Press | Amazon | Barnes and Noble | iTunes | Kobo| Goodreads

Book Blurb

Christmas. It’s supposed to be a time for peace, love, and goodwill to all men. But not for two women when it comes to nabbing the solo spot in the big Christmas concert. To get that spot, they’ll do whatever it takes…

Carolyn Roche and Saoirse Barrett have known—and hated—each other for a long time. Their lives have been dedicated to one-upping each other. Carolyn has worked hard to shake off her poor roots, landing a top job at a major accountancy firm. Saoirse has worked just as hard to set up her own business in the vain hopes of impressing her tough father.

They’re equally matched in life—and in vocal talent. But neither is willing to let the other woman win.

That is, until they find themselves trapped in their old school, with just a bottle of vodka and their memories for company. There, they discover that the hatred they feel for each other might not be hatred after all…

Who the hell did that one think she was?

Saoirse Barrett narrowed her eyes and took a long sip of her Chardonnay. She was momentarily distracted from her irritation as the wine hit her tongue and she grimaced at the taste of it. Pub wine was just the worst.

It certainly wasn’t making the sudden tension any easier to take. She did her best to look nonchalant, like she wasn’t bothered by the rudeness that had arrived at her table. At the other end of the table, Carolyn bloody Roche was staring in Saoirse’s direction, with an expression on her face like she’d just got a whiff of dog shite.

Saoirse had watched Carolyn and her friend in the too-high heels tottering this way with mounting dread. The closer they got, the more Saoirse had started to wish that Carolyn would maybe just fall into the big, crackling, open fire beside Saoirse’s table. It was bad enough she had to put up with Carolyn once or twice a week at rehearsals; spending a Saturday night looking at her sour face was anything but her idea of fun.

And now, to add extra insult to the matter, Carolyn was trying to drag her friend away from her seat at the end of Saoirse’s table, like Saoirse was the troublemaker.

That bitch, she thought. Like I’d even offer her a seat.

She nudged her friend, Lorna, who was feigning interest in a conversation about the recession with some random guy in an expensive shirt. As pleasantly as she was smiling, Lorna had gone dead behind the eyes. She’d welcome Saoirse’s interruption.

“Jesus, they’ll let anyone in here,” Saoirse said.

Shit. Saoirse had meant to whisper the barb but it came out louder than she’d been expecting. Must be that cheap Chardonnay.

Carolyn whipped around from dragging her friend away and gave Saoirse a stare that sent a shiver down her spine. She’d obviously heard.

“And a Merry fucking Christmas to you, too,” Carolyn snarled, then curled her lip and turned away.

Thank God, Saoirse thought. That could have turned really ugly. As much as Carolyn had changed in the past few years, Saoirse knew her of old—she came from one of the rougher estates in the town and would likely make mincemeat of Saoirse in a fight, if she was so inclined.

The heavy, aggrieved clatter of Carolyn’s heels on the stone floor was like music to Saoirse’s ears. She took a swig of her Chardonnay to hide her relieved expression.

“God, the state of her,” Lorna whispered as they watched Carolyn’s retreating form. “You’d think with getting that job, she could afford not to dress like some sort of goth reject.”

Saoirse didn’t quite agree with the assessment—she thought Carolyn’s shape in her tight, black jeans tucked into studded boots and her short leather jacket, impractical for the cold, suited her. She kept the thought to herself and continued guiltily appreciating the swish of Carolyn’s hips as she strode through the crowd.

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