How long have you been writing?
Since I could scribble on a piece of paper and command people to “read” my “story” out loud. (I have little memory of doing this, but apparently it was quite harrowing for the adults in my life, who had to face my toddler wrath when they failed to read my “words” as written.)
Before you started, had you written any fan fiction? If so, what fandom?
No, I wish! I love fan fiction and read it like I read books. In fact, I don’t know how many other people are like this, but I’ll happily become obsessed with fandoms without ever bothering to check out the original work. Is that bad? I just love how each fandom develops its own culture, tropes, and emotional aesthetic, almost like they’re genres in and of themselves. I was obsessed with Shingeki no Kyojin fics for like two years without having ever read or watched the show. So if I wasn’t such a weird lurker, maybe I would have written in that fandom.
Are you in agreement that writing fan fiction is a great way to hone ones’ craft – why or why not?
Hard yes. The more you write, the better. If fan fiction is what motivates you to let those words fly, and if that’s where you find that uncanny desire to tease out some hidden dimension of a character or story, write all the damn fan fiction you can. And publish it! Give yourself the chance to find out what readers respond to in your work, and develop your antenna for what resonates with you AND them. What I would have given for a venue like Ao3 when I was a young writer!
Do you have a favorite character from one of your books? Why?
I love Hunter from In Strange Woods. He’s got this kind of quiet, peaceful confidence I find impressive, like he’s figured out who he is and doesn’t feel any need to explain himself. And at the same time there’s this incredible sweetness that you can tell he’s just yearning for a chance to express. Awww, now I miss him! But I also have to shout out Theo from Merrick, since I’m working on his book next. I love writing fun-loving, shamelessly rude trickster characters who’ve been forced to bury their tender hearts under mountains of cynicism, and Theo is so peculiarly dainty and hilarious on top of it all that I always have a blast writing him.
What is your favorite sub-genre to write?
Paranormal romance. I’m a goth person at heart, so I love spooky stuff. But more than that, I love how supernatural circumstances make room to explore psychology and relationships in unexpected ways.
Is there one genre you haven’t tried but you see yourself writing in the future?
Horror romance. Like a real, actual, terrifying horror romance.
Name your favorite authors and some of their stories you’ve enjoyed? What do you like about the writing?
My current top new favorite is Samantha Hunt. I first discovered her novel Mr. Splitfoot, then immediately read The Seas, which made me cry because I hadn’t written it. Her writing is so unpretentious and yet so richly dreamy and evocative. I could drink it, bathe in it, live with it. Also, while they’re not romance books, I definitely appreciate her taste in men/love interests.
What book are you reading at the moment? It’s okay to give a fellow author a plug!
I just started the erotic short story collection Nymph by Francesca Lia Block and I’m obsessed. I’m also reading The Indifferent Stars Above: The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party, which I’m also loving. And, because it’s spooky season, I’ve been swimming in my personal library of old ghost story collections. Wild times over here.
What are you currently working on?
I’m just wrapping up my Spooky Season newsletter event, where I send out a free short, spooky m/m story every Friday for six weeks. It’s been tons of weird fun. Now I’ll be gathering the stories into a collection called Spooky Smutty Stories 2 (the first volume came out in 2019). After this I’ll be working on Theo, the long-delayed book about everyone’s favorite character from Merrick and William.
When creating your characters, do you have models/actors/real people in mind or are they totally fictional?
I don’t know if they’re totally fictional, but I’m more inspired by strangers whose stories I can only guess at than by people whose stories I know. I’ll see a woman standing on a corner looking at her phone and my brain will write a whole scenario based on her outfit, facial expression, what time of day it is, and so on. I’m fascinated in general by people and all the different ways we can be, so I’ll build a character around, like, some very specific strain of melancholy compassion that I’ve imagined while listening to Elliot Smith or something..
If you write gay romance or erotica, just how descriptive are you in their sex scenes?
It depends on the vibe of the story, but on a scale of 1-5, I think I’m usually at a 3-4. Sometimes I’ll feel like I’m at a 5 and then I’ll read something by someone else that makes me feel like a big vanilla dork. Then I’ll make some silly resolution like “Next time I shall write a more detailed rimjob!” Honestly, I’m pretty invested in making sure my sex scenes keep getting better and hotter with every book. Always room to improve.
Fun questions
Name two male celebs that you’d like to see in a hot make out session?
Chris Hemsworth and Keanu Reeves.
Create a gay scene for your two gay stars in 5 sentences or less?
Wait, were they supposed to be gay? Oh, well: “Night ride on Keanu’s motorcycle.”
Your favorite gay TV show or movie?
I suppose it’s Happy Together by my all-time favorite director, Wong Kar-wai. More recently, the films The Handmaiden and Portrait of a Woman on Fire.
Your favorite gay celeb?
Kristen Stewart. Don’t @ me.
Thank you.
In the stormy coastal woods of the Pacific Northwest, roots run deep and passions run wild.
Book Title: In Strange Woods
Author: Claire Cray
Publisher: Self-Published
Release Date: August 28, 2020
Cover Artist: Sneaky T
Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Mystery, M/M Gothic Romance
Trope/s: Instant attraction, Hurt comfort, Tortured protagonist, Family secret,
Long lost relative, Country boy/City boy, Rural romance, Fish out of water
Themes: Healing, Found family, Redemption, Heritage, Belonging, Homecoming
Length: 71 370 words /204 pages
It is a standalone book.
Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited
Blurb
Reeling with grief after the mysterious massacre of his wealthy family, moody New York photographer James Worthington Crane decides to take his downward spiral somewhere far away: to the rural Oregon Coast, where he’s just inherited a random piece of property hidden somewhere in the woods upriver.
But when James pulls into the decaying seaside town of Brooks, everyone thinks he’s someone else—an elusive local outlaw named Beau. Now James must fight through his grief to unravel a tangled web of family secrets and forgotten history…with help from a soft-spoken local hunk named Hunter Quaid.
Hunter’s been on his own since he left his fundamentalist family at the age of fifteen. It’s taken years of hard work to build the steady life he has now, fixing up seaside houses while living alone in a trailer by the river. Then James blows in like a winter storm, disturbing the peace and stirring up a hunger like nothing he’s ever felt.
As Hunter helps James search for the truth, their lives intertwine in unexpected ways—and they begin to discover what it means to find out where you really belong.
Hunter pulled his truck into one of the slanted parking spaces along the Brooks sea wall and turned off the ignition, cutting off Bobbie Gentry in the middle of ‘Ode to Billie Joe’ to let the roar of the waves take over. It was windy out, and he took a second to rake his dark-blond hair into a stubby ponytail at the nape of his neck before getting out of the truck.
His work boots hit the asphalt with a heavy thud, and he strolled over to the rustic stone barricade to look out at the dark ocean. A wave immediately exploded up in front of him, white foam fanning out and dissolving like a burst of fireworks, and he filled his lungs with the sharp, salty air. It never got old, no matter how many times he came here. None of it did, though. Not the trees, the rivers, the sunsets, the storms. This rugged little chunk of the coast had been his most consistent, and sometimes his only, source of joy since the first summer his parents dropped him off at his grandma’s place upriver, where he now lived alone.
Today had been long as hell, but satisfying. He was in the middle of renovating a beautiful midcentury house on Cedar Crest, a wooded cliffside high up on the north edge of town. It was the biggest project he’d ever landed since striking out on his own as a contractor, and it was turning out to be a dream come true. The owner was some Portland banker who didn’t give a shit what he did as long as he stayed within budget, and Hunter relished the freedom to make actual design choices.
Matter of fact, life was pretty good these days, wasn’t it? Business was good, anyway, and that was a lot. Yeah. Steady work with nobody telling him what to do, a place to sleep by the river, all the ocean air he wanted every day…what more could he ask for? There was a time when he wouldn’t have dared to dream so—
A car alarm went off suddenly, jarring him from his thoughts, and he turned his head. Several seagulls were scattering noisily from the sea wall near a black hatchback several spaces away, its horn blasting and lights flashing. He couldn’t see what had set it off. A nosy gull, maybe, or the splash of a wave. At any rate, that wrapped up his relaxing after-work sit by the ocean.
But just as he was about to turn back to his truck, the driver’s side door of the hatchback clunked open and slowly creaked ajar.
Hunter watched, intrigued, as a hand slipped out through the crack, followed by an arm, and then a mop of wavy dark hair. Then, to his amazement, an entire tall, slim man slid out onto the pavement, pooling there in a tangle of long limbs and dark clothing.
The alarm was still making a ruckus. The man groaned low and rolled to his side, wrestling with himself for a moment before yanking a key fob out of his back pocket. He jabbed it toward the car several times until the alarm stopped, then fell on his back with an unintelligible mutter. Just then, a big wave spouted over the wall and showered him with seawater.
Hunter winced sympathetically. Hell of a place to be drunk off your ass. Dude definitely wasn’t from around here. He looked about Hunter’s age, stylish in a cool, classic kind of way. Black jeans, black boots, battered brown leather jacket. Nothing flashy, but obviously outside the local dress code of Carhartts, hooded sweatshirts, and rain gear. Hunter couldn’t help admiring the long lines of the stranger’s body, his carelessly tousled hair.
With a shake of his head and a soft sigh, he turned his gaze back toward the ocean again. Life was good, and all. He loved it here. So what if it wasn’t overflowing with romantic options for a quiet gay man with a taste for tall, slim guys dressed like drifters from the 1960s? No one got to have it all.
Life is good, he told himself stubbornly. Life is fine. Life’s going just great.
The sound of an approaching engine made him glance back over his shoulder, and suddenly he sprang into motion before he could think.
The drunk man was staggering onto the highway, his dark silhouette backlit by the high beams of a log truck that was roaring around the bend.
Another half-second would have been too late. The driver didn’t even seem to see them. The air from the passing truck threw him off balance as he yanked the drunken dumbass out of the road, and they both fell back on the pavement.
“You okay?” Hunter asked breathlessly.
Claire Cray writes gay romance featuring hot, complicated men in weird situations. Offbeat and character-driven with a gothic bent, her work has been described as deeply atmospheric and a little bit strange.
Born and raised in the rural Pacific Northwest, Claire takes inspiration from its rich, moody vibes: the ancient forests, rugged coastlines, eccentric characters, and whispers of dark mystery in even the tiniest little towns. Combine all that with steamy sensuality and psychological drama, and you’ve got a story by Claire Cray.
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