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charliecochrane [userpic]

The definitive (at present!) chronological list of Jonty and Orlando stories

May 4th, 2020 (11:58 am)

Early twentieth century:

Lessons in Love November 1905

Lessons in Desire August 1906

Lessons in Discovery November 1906

Lessons in Power Spring 1907

Lessons in Temptation July 1907

Lessons in Temptation missing scene July 1907

What the Mathematician said to the Statue Summer 1907

Lessons in Seduction September 1907

What the Mathematician said to the Engineer November 1907

My true love sent to me December 1907

My True Love sent to me postscript

Lessons in Trust Summer 1908

Resolution January 1909

Lessons for Suspicious Minds Summer 1909.

On the occasion of their anniversary November 1909

Wetting the baby's head missing scene, November 1909

Bloody Mathematicians Spring 1910

Lessons for Idle Tongues Summer 1910

May our days be merry and bright Winter 1910

A fit employment for a gentleman Summer 1912 (crossover 'fanfic')

Once we won matches Aug 1912

Ring in the New December 1913

Game of Chance 1916

All Lessons Learned Spring 1919

Lessons for Survivors, Autumn 1919

Lessons for Sleeping Dogs 1921

The Boy from Kings 1932

A random collection of silly things:

The Inadvertent Adventures of Johnny Stewart, Jonty's great-nephew.

Orlando's opinion on Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake.

Pride, Prejudice and all the rest.

Drabbles 1 Edwardian

Drabbles 2 Edwardian

Splitting Infinitives Edwardian, crossover 'fanfic'

Ten plus five plus eight = twenty three Edwardian crossover 'fanfic'

Love Letters, 1911 to 2011

Lessons in Disco 2010

charliecochrane [userpic]

LGBT books suitable for teenagers

September 27th, 2016 (08:02 pm)

In advance of UK Meet I was contacted by Michael from Breakout Youth - we were due to get together for a chat in August but the universe conspired against us so it was great to meet him today to swop ideas and contacts and generally put the world to rights.

Breakout Youth does great work with LGBT youngsters in Hampshire and the Isle of Wight on the smallest of budgets, although Michael didn't come begging bowl in hand. We talked about ways that our community could support this charity - of which more anon - but the two main things which emerged were:


  • Boosting the signal. Please help get the word around about the great work they do.

  • Donations of books. Michael wants to set up book clubs for his groups, so if anyone can donate something suitable, it would be most welcome. Fiction or non-fiction, books about relationships particularly welcome, but NOTHING not appropriate for teenagers. No smut or other restricted content, please. All books to "Breakout Youth Book Project" c/o Breakout Youth, 35 The Avenue Southampton SO17 1XN

charliecochrane [userpic]

Harvest home!

September 25th, 2016 (08:02 pm)

Had a smashing time this morning at a Harvest service, where number one daughter was singing in the choir. No "We plough the fields and scatter" alas, but some interesting songs I'd not come across including For Everyone Born A Place at the Table.

For everyone born, a place at the table, to live without fear, and simply to be.

Amen to that.

IMG_0811

charliecochrane [userpic]

The ugly side of the golden age

September 23rd, 2016 (05:13 pm)

Everyone knows what a huge fan of golden age mysteries I am. Little pleases me more than finding one I've not read either, in a second hand shop or among the latest batch of re-issues. They have to be read with understanding of the era they were written in, though - the past was another country.

I just about tolerated Josephine Tey's "The Man in the Queue" even though it was terribly xenophobic and the continual use of "the Dago" to describe the unknown suspect (as well as the stuff about the method of murder being un-British) began to grate.

I've just finished one of the "Wallace" spy books from the 1930's, which I started with high hopes as it read a bit like one of the adventure stories for boys I so like. However, the levels of xenophobia, homophobia and the excruciating chief villain who was - yes - disabled, was too much, even for my "remember the context" reading. In the end I devised my own back story for one of the spies (deeply closeted homosexual, hiding it behind condemnation of anything camp) which began to accord really well with the text, much to my amusement.

No more Wallaces for me, unless they come with a Gromit.

charliecochrane [userpic]

New author picture

September 22nd, 2016 (08:05 pm)

Care of the lovely Temple Dragon.

dsc_0036-001annlaird

charliecochrane [userpic]

Talk like a pirate day - The Adventures of Admiral Coppersmith

September 19th, 2016 (01:23 pm)

Oh aar and avast me hearties. It be the day the whole world do speak as we pirates do, and Saucy Ms Cochrane - the scourge of the River Test - has been pillaging an old story or two, rigging it up jury-mast wise into summat new in honour of the day. Here it be:

"It was a dark and stormy night. Admiral Coppersmith walked his deck with calm authority, reassuring his men and instilling a confidence that had waned in them as the clouds lowered. Suddenly—”

“Suddenly the pirates came. I know. They always do.” Orlando sounded distinctly displeased at the thought. “As a story, this lacks originality.”
“But you like it.” Jonty sighed in exasperation. “It’s always amused you. Especially when we get to the bit where Admiral Coppersmith falls upon the pirates, kills several with his bare hands, saves the life of his handsome flag lieutenant—that’s me, in case you’ve forgotten—then takes the pirate ship in to Valparaiso as a prize.”
“Yes, I do enjoy that part.”
“Then there’s the episode where you get made Lord Coppersmith for your services to keeping the seas free of pirate scum. That always makes you happy.”
“It does.” Still Orlando sounded grumpy.
“And what about the bit where the Admiral and his incredibly handsome flag lieutenant get to spend some well earned leave together? Don’t you get excited when they finally hmphphm?” Jonty prised his lover’s hand from over his mouth. “Don’t we like to hear that part anymore?”
“Of course I do. It’s just that...”
“Yes?”
“My feet are freezing. I can’t concentrate on anything, they’re so cold.”
“Oh, that’s what it is.” Jonty chuckled. “I thought somebody had left a block of ice in the bed. Put them on mine.”
“I tried that, when you were reading your book by the lamp’s light. It didn’t help. That book must be good, though, because you didn’t notice.”
“I did, actually, but I hoped they’d go away. Which they did.” Jonty fumbled under the covers. “Your hands are perishing, too. What have you been up to?”
“Sitting in the study, planning how to torture the dunderheads. I hadn’t realised how low the fire had burned. While you idled your time away on reading by the parlour hearth.” Orlando’s voice, grumpier by the minute, had descended into a hiss.
“I did not idle my time away. I had to prepare something for Dr. Peters, and if he sees fit to trust me with the most delicate of tasks, one that require diplomacy and a light touch, then who am I to argue?” Jonty rubbed his lover’s hands then made an investigation of other parts. “This remarkably prominent object is cold, as well.”
“Leave my nose alone! I wish I could warm that on you, too.”
“Feel free. I do admire your proboscis. In fact, all your extremities are worthy of praise. Especially this one.”
“Oh. Oh.” Orlando’s voice descended through several tones.
This one isn’t cold. In fact I’d say it was positively glowing with warmth. Blooming. Flourishing. Throb—hmphphm.”
When Orlando broke from the kiss he’d used to shut Jonty up, he murmured, “Do be quiet. Or none of my extremities will be making contact with any of yours.”
“That would be the best way of warming you, certainly. Friction. I seem to remember being taught about it somewhere. ‘The resistance encountered by an object moving relative to another object with which it is in contact.’ Doesn’t sound as good as it feels.” Jonty proved his words with an appropriate scientific demonstration.
“Oh yes. Quite right.” Orlando’s voice was now hoarse to the point of breaking. “And I’ll add some learning of my own. ‘Cold hands, warm heart’. That’s what my godmother used to say.”
“She was right. Your heart is warmer than any other part of you. And only I get to experience it.”
Jonty sighed happily, then let friction to get to work.

charliecochrane [userpic]

And the next freebie for my newsletter people is...

September 18th, 2016 (08:41 pm)

A flashfiction piece, 'Murder in the Cathedral', for everyone signed up to my newsletter by the end of November. Sign up at my website!

charliecochrane [userpic]

Newsletter 158

September 16th, 2016 (01:19 pm)

You’ll be pleased to know that a) UK Meet went really well and b) it was suitably short skirt weather. We’re having a year’s sabbatical, so let’s hope the old pins are up to being aired in 2018.

News:

My very first published story, Aftermath, was in a now defunct anthology, “Speak Its Name”. It’s been unavailable for a while, but – tah dah! – here it is again, with an entirely new epilogue.

I resisted all temptation to rewrite the earlier part of the story as my writing has developed an awful lot since 2008, but I decided against that. Take it as evidence of how my ability with words has improved!

My newsletter subscribers can access an exclusive download of the story (I do like to give them freebies) for a fortnight, and then it’ll go onto my free fiction page.

And with the Paralympics in full swing, I’m pleased to remind people that I have possibly the only Paralympics swimming themed story in existence, Tumble Turn.

Writing:

Have got the rights back to some of my early short stories, with a view to self publishing them. More news when I have it.

And finally...

It being Olympic year, here’s something to rekindle fond memories of the Olympic stadium, Super Saturday 2012

charliecochrane [userpic]

More goodies from the local bookshops

September 15th, 2016 (08:30 pm)

I picked up a nice 1938 spy story that reads, so far, more like a Westerham story than James Bond, of which I very much approve.

Also got a cracking Peter Lovesey book about a murderous vicar and a book about Prince Eddy. My bedside table is creaking under the strain of my TBR pile.

charliecochrane [userpic]

If you're enjoying the paralympic swimming...

September 13th, 2016 (07:54 pm)

And fancy a story along that theme, why not try Tumble Turn?

Winning isn't everything...except when everything rides on being first.

Ben Edwards is the rising star of British Paralympic swimming, with a medal at London 2012 firmly in his sights. Love isn't going to be allowed to get in the way -- until he meets Nick, who proves to be a big distraction from training. With his times sliding, and a family illness, to worry him, it looks like Ben's Olympic dreams are in tatters. Until Nick comes up with the most outrageous incentive for winning.

Excerpt:

Fate's a cruel mistress. Or master. Or something. I got to my seat-eventually, after battling through crowds and then signing autographs for some real swimming fanatics-and I was settling in when something slapped the back of my head.

"Ben!" It was Matty, of course, looking pleased as punch and plonking his backside in the seat behind mine and two to the left. "That's a stroke of luck. I'd forgotten I hadn't got your number on my new phone."

That made me even more angry. Matty pulling the "long lost friend" thing on me when he hadn't bothered to keep my number. I scowled at him, and at the weasely looking bloke sitting to the left of him, who was evidently the ghastly Nick and every bit as horrible as I'd imagined him. There was another bump to my head and I spun round one hundred and eighty degrees, about to give some clumsy sod a mouthful. There was gorgeous-guy-withthe- coffees smiling at me and being terribly apologetic.

"Sorry, did I thump you?" He smiled, revealing the sort of set of lovely teeth that would have been all the better to eat me with, if I'd been lucky. "My fault. I've always been clumsy. I think it's dyspraxia but Jenny just says I'm a prat. With dys-prat-sia." He grinned.

This horrible hot flush-remember my habit of blushing?- started to clamber up the back of my neck, which is hardly my best look given that there's more than a trace of ginger in my hair.

I managed to stammer something like, "No worries," although I could have been spouting gibberish, for all that I was aware. All I could think of was that I'd nearly gone and cocked everything up with my, "Ring me but I won't answer the phone" ruse. At least fate had saved me, and redeemed itself at the same time.

Unless I was buggering things up again by making an assumption too many, this must have been Jenny's brother, and he wasn't the spotty nerd I'd expected.

"I'm Nick." This gorgeous vision of tall, dark handsomeness stuck out his hand. "You must be Ben."

"Yeah, that's right." I managed to shake his hand without shaking too much myself. Sometimes I get a bit clumsy if I'm overexcited.

"We saw you on the telly-Paralympic World Cup, earlier this year. You won."

"You don't half state the bleeding obvious," Matty chipped in, grinning. "I suspect Ben remembers that for himself."

"Just a little." I was hoping the red flush was starting to subside.

"Matty was so proud of you. Kept pointing at the screen and saying that was his best mate from school days. He started to cry when you won." Nick rolled his eyes. "Great Jessy."

I was starting to well up, too. Maybe Matty had redeemed himself a bit. "We said we'd be here, being a part of it. Even back when we were horrible, spotty schoolboys, we knew we'd have to

make London 2012 happen."

"And you did." Matty ruffled my hair, just like we were fourteen again. "I've got tickets to see you, next month, so you damn well better make the final. And get a medal. No pressure."

"Not much. Only from you, Mum and Dad and the whole bloody street."

"Me as well." Nick had got himself settled into his seat, and given that I was in the row below I got a distinct eyeful of his crotch every time I turned to speak to him. I wasn't sure it was helping my coherence.

"Will you be there to cheer me on as well?" I tried a) not to sound too hopeful and b) not to keep staring at his trousers.

"Try and stop me. If you win I'll be basking in the reflected glory for months. We're sport mad in our house and even the friend of a future brother-in-law would count as one of the family if he had an Paralympic medal."

Future brother-in-law? No wonder Matty had been full of the lovey-dovey talk. "Wear your lucky y-fronts, then. I'll need all the help I can get."

"Gah. False modesty." Matty whacked my shoulder with his programme. I was about to launch into a great spiel about how I was up against a really tough field when Nick got there before me.

"No, Ben's just being realistic. There are some really fast Aussies in his event, and this guy from the US is starting to make a splash. No pun intended."

"Which guy from the US?" Matty pulled the face I remember from school, the one which usually appeared when we did algebra.

"The one who placed fourth in that race we watched. When Ben won." Nick gave me a wink. "Was he this thick at school?"

"Worse." I listened in as Nick gave Matty a comprehensive rundown on the top runners and riders in Paralympic swimming. Gorgeous, knowledgeable, funny; he seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch and I had an awful feeling the catch was insurmountable. He was going to turn out to be straight and only here for the swimming. All my conspiracy theories about Matty finding out I was gay and engineering a meeting would turn out to be hot air and leave me with just daydreams.

"Rebecca Adlington going to do the double again?" Nick's voice woke me out of my reverie. I'd gone off on a mental tangent-mainly involving him, me, a swimming pool and a double bed.

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