Greetings, all!

Time to check out some Hump Day Hooks! We are currently exploring the world of my gay, gothic novella, Seawrack. If you would like to catch up on the previous clips, click here.

Sherwood repeated the question, calling him from his thoughts. Jesse marshaled his resources. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“Good!” Sherwood set the paper aside and rose. A thrill shivered along Jesse’s spine—the man was indeed handsome. Even-featured with a strong, square jaw, Sherwood’s face was dominated by striking blue eyes beneath straight, black brows; the man extended his hand, and Jesse shook hands. “Come along, Masterson. Walk with me.”

Back through the house, up thickly carpeted stairs and along a corridor, Sherwood led, chatting amiably as he pointed out, here and there, curiosities obtained through his travels. Jesse could easily fix his type—offhand and cheerful and kind—and happily it never dies out. His anxiety faded as he walked along, pleasantly entertained by his host’s soliloquy.

The men settled at last in what was clearly Sherwood’s study. Books and papers lay haphazardly about the room, which, otherwise, was elegant and gracefully appointed. Sherwood grew somber as he filled a pipe. “I am grateful to Livingston for recommending you—and am even more grateful to you for considering this position—as mine is a truly awkward situation.”

“Truthfully, Mister Sherwood,” Jesse spoke into the lull while his host fired his pipe, “Doctor Livingston has told me little of the position; although I am happy to begin immediately. I understand that there are two children—a boy and a girl.”

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Be sure to check out more Hookers here.

‘Til next time!

Greetings, all!

It’s once again time for a Hump Day Hook and some more from Seawrack! If you’re here for the first time, or would like a refresher, click here.

Self-consciously, Jesse lowered his arm and stepped across the threshold. The hall was well-appointed with pale walls and heavy, masculine wood; a hint of tobacco, dark and herbaceous, hung about. His hat and coat were relinquished, hung aside to dry.

“Mister Sherwood is expecting you. Follow me.”

The retainer escorted Jesse through the house, past spoils of travel and trophies of the chase. He conceived the owner as rich, but fearfully extravagant—saw him in a glow of high fashion, of good looks, of expensive habits and charming ways. He was led to a morning room, where warm yellow lamp light fended off the steely gray day. The remains of breakfast—a rack of pale toast and sausages congealing in grease—sat on the table, pushed to the side in favor of a newspaper.

“The tutor, sir, Mister Masterson.”

“Thank you, Withers. That will be all for now.” The paper never moved.

Jesse stood, damp and awkward, unsure whether to speak or sit. He chose to stand, silently.

“Masterson, eh?” The paper rustled as a page was turned. “That seems a good name for a tutor.” More rustling, another page. “Are you a good tutor, Masterson?”

Jesse was distracted from the question by Sherwood’s voice. A thick, rich baritone, the sound was warm, bold and pleasant, reminding Jesse of honey and smoke. He imagined the man to be handsome and tall and dark; that type that was gallant and splendid.

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‘Til next time!

Greetings, everyone!

I know… long time no see! Lots of irons in the fire—edits, a mystery I’m plotting, plus the usual writer’s ADD. But it’s Hump Day… and time for some hooking!

I’m doing a little more from Seawrack today, so if you’d like to check out the first bit, click here.

Doctor Livingston had been gracious enough to provide him this reference—although Jesse suspected in his heart that the position was somehow less than desirable—yet he was grateful to have even such a thin opportunity for a new start in this damp, sodden town. Only his grandfather’s letter to Livingston, a colleague from Papa’s days in seminary, had secured him this small piece of fortune.

With a muttered prayer, he pushed aside his dark thoughts and knocked upon the great front door. The soggy morning air swallowed the small, dull sound, and Jesse wondered how anyone not immediately near the door would hear it.

His belly rumbled. Ill with anxiety, he had broken his fast with nothing but half a biscuit and one or two sips of water. He’d not felt so sick since he had taken ship in Norfolk. Four days he’d been unable to eat, lying weak and nauseated in his cramped, smelly cabin. At least I’m not in prison.

He rapped again, fearing he might bruise his knuckles. This time the knock was answered by the sound of heels on hard wood. The door opened to reveal a tall, elegant older gentleman.

“Yes?”

Jesse swallowed with difficulty, yet thrust his hand forward. “Good day, sir! I am Jesse Masterson. I’ve come for the position—Doctor Livingston sent me.”

The man eyed the outstretched hand, one brow eloquently arched. “Ah, yes, the tutor.” He stepped back. “Come in.”

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Be sure to check out the other Hookers here.

‘Til next time!

Greetings, all!

We’re half way through the week, which means it’s time for a Hump Day Hook! I’m stepping away from Subeo for a bit to explore the world of Seawrack, a gothic romance work in progress.

Jesse referred again to the limp piece of foolscap, his spidery scrawl beginning to run in the damp air of a misty Boston morning. Squinting did little to clear his vision. He clasped his umbrella beneath his upper arm, all the while juggling his portmanteau in an effort to wipe the drizzle from his spectacles. Despite his hat the lenses continued to be spattered.

Not for the first time, he reconsidered his decision to come north. Compared to Williamsburg, Boston felt cramped and claustrophobic, huddled as it was on its peninsula. His years at William and Mary seemed a lifetime ago. But that life was gone. Torn away by a chance encounter.

Hunched into his coat, Jesse strode across Beacon, stepping around its muddy puddles, and made his way up the narrow lane. Joy Street belied its name, looking gray and dreary in the muted daylight, as townhouses stood shoulder to shoulder along the slope. He stopped in front of a red brick home, its edifice guarded by black wrought iron.

This was the Rubicon. Unlike Caesar, though, he had nothing to which to return. With a swipe of his kerchief, he cleaned his spectacles, squared his shoulders and went to face his Pompey.

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Be sure to check out the other Hookers here.

‘Til next time!