Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook Group that invites authors to post 6 sentences of their work each weekend. It can be from anything you like, your current WIP, a recent release, the golden oldie that even you had forgotten you had written, or just a scrap of an idea (as long as it has 6 coherent sentences). Nothing of your own work worth mentioning? How about a 6 sentence review of your favourite LGBTQ+ story.
No Rainbow Snippet last week because I was at ComicCon.
Edits are finally finished on Resistance and I'm in the process of formatting the manuscript so I have some ARCs available for reviewers when the cover reveal takes place.
I thought we'd have another clip of Rick and Mal. Since we've already had a clip from Chapter Three in an earlier snippet, here's a few lines from the beginning of Chapter Four.
It was amazing how quickly he’d become used to Mal’s presence in his life, in his home, even if it was only at the weekends. Seven weeks since Mal’s first ever visit and Rick found it hard to imagine his cottage without Mal in it: the scents and sounds of somebody cooking for him, Mal’s clothes in the laundry basket, waking up on a Sunday morning with long legs twined in his own and safe arms wrapped around him. Last weekend, he’d given Mal his own key. No fanfare or grand gesture. He’d simply pressed the spare key to the cottage into Mal’s hand and told him to let himself in, any time. He might have laid too much stress on those last two words.
Edits are finally finished on Resistance and I'm in the process of formatting the manuscript so I have some ARCs available for reviewers when the cover reveal takes place.
I thought we'd have another clip of Rick and Mal. Since we've already had a clip from Chapter Three in an earlier snippet, here's a few lines from the beginning of Chapter Four.
It was amazing how quickly he’d become used to Mal’s presence in his life, in his home, even if it was only at the weekends. Seven weeks since Mal’s first ever visit and Rick found it hard to imagine his cottage without Mal in it: the scents and sounds of somebody cooking for him, Mal’s clothes in the laundry basket, waking up on a Sunday morning with long legs twined in his own and safe arms wrapped around him. Last weekend, he’d given Mal his own key. No fanfare or grand gesture. He’d simply pressed the spare key to the cottage into Mal’s hand and told him to let himself in, any time. He might have laid too much stress on those last two words.


