The Wulf Chronicles

Wulf Chron Book 1

Wulf Francu Godgluck

Gay Fantasy

Release Date: 06.11.18

COVER DESIGN:  KELLIE @ BOOK COVER BY DESIGN https://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk/

AMAZON US: https://amzn.to/2tTz2jo

AMAZON UK: https://amzn.to/2KI5uPo

Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is happy to have Wulf Francú Godgluck here today talking about his release The Wulf Chronicles.  Welcome, Wulf.

♦︎

10 Author Confessions from Wulf Francú Godgluck

Hi everyone, I want to thank Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for the opportunity of a guest post.

Em Denning tagged me in a FB post of #authorconfessions. Though I think it calls for me to post five confessions of me as an author, I’m gonna bump it up to ten for you guys.

So without further ado, here is my ten author confessions, or more correctly, it’s time to get real.

ONE

While writing a book, or self-editing (revisions) it, before I send it off to my editor, I look up similar book with the same tropes and story lines to compare them to my current WIP. With the last one, The Wulf Chronicles, I looked up a lot of werewolf books (not shifters, because there are no #Shiftershere in WulfChron) I wanted to see and compare the actual transformation. Now this has always bother me about werewolf, lycan and shifter books, why the transformation from human to beast is always brushed off or written in such a short line or paragraph, with very limited or no description. I wanted to do this right, because ultimately the transformation is as much part of being a werewolf/lycan/shifter as is being the beast.

TWO

Death carries very prominent and heavy themes throughout most of my books. Why? Because ultimately it is my biggest fear, something I spend way too much time pondering about, it’s both fascinating and terrifying. Not so much a death in itself, but the question of what happens afterwards, do we stay conscious, where do we go, are we reincarnated or do we all join some linked celestial consciousness, or the more scarier possibility; do we just become nothing after death, no thought, no conscious?

THREE

I cry while writing my characters’ death scenes. Because I know I’m saying goodbye to these characters, and it’s not a factor of but “you only met them a few month ago,” no, most of my books that are out, the characters have been with me for years and years before I even write their story.  So writing their death, hurts a lot. These aren’t just characters to me, they are in some strange way friends, almost family. And there was one character’s death that still haunts me to this day, and probably always will. All I will say about them is, we have yet to meet the man responsible for thinking that character’s life.

FOUR

I need to write in absolute isolation, I can’t write while my husbaer is around, nor while anyone else is around. I get totally grumpy and growly, my creative process feels disjointed and I struggle to find my mojo while I know there’s someone else in the apartment. Even if the husbaer was to sit in the bedroom with the door closed, I still can’t focus, but strangely enough, background noise, like cars in the street, sirens or dogs barking doesn’t bother me.

FIVE

I listen to dark, very dark ambient sounds and music as well as dark chanting and ritual industrial music while I write, even during sex scenes and fluffy scene, I need something by Cryo Chamber or Marilyn Manson playing in the background. And Cryo Chamber is one of my go to writing music to listen to while working, I should probably start paying them part of my royalties for it.  What is dark ambient, for those that don’t know?

Dark ambient is a genre of post-industrial music that features an ominous, dark droning and often gloomy, monumental or catacombal atmosphere, partially with discordant overtones. It shows similarities towards ambient music, a genre that has been cited as a main influence by many dark ambient artists, both conceptually and compositionally. Although mostly electronically generated, dark ambient also includes the sampling of hand-played instruments and semi-acoustic recording procedures, and is strongly related to ritual industrial music.

SIX

I have major issues with how dark romance seems to be portrayed these days in the romance genre in general. Many authors and readers believe that grotesque, vast amounts of violence, rape, dubcon and noncon as well as taboos means that they are writing dark. It’s not.

Dark was once use to refer to the emotional psyche, question ourselves and our morals, enticing and exploring our darker nature, it had more to do with the psychological aspect and the darker corners of the mind, soul and heart than it had anything to do with sexual acts, physicality or the depravity.

Am I saying that violence, rape, dubcon and noncon and taboos etc. can’t be considered dark romance?

No, that’s not it, the issue I’m having here is, it’s the lack of focus on the emotional side and the destruction of character’s morals or the stripping away of their humanity that is causing the confusion among readers and authors. But genres are constantly changing, the romance we read and write today was not the same type of romance that was being read and written ten, twenty, fifty, years ago.

I think the bigger issue here is with me, myself; struggling to accept how the genre is changing.

SEVEN

I don’t plot, I don’t outline, I know as much about the characters as the reader does when they first open the book, sure the characters have been by my side, whispering into my ear for years but I don’t know the story of them until I start writing. Yes, I understand their personalities, quarks and mannerisms that makes them them, but even I don’t know their deeps secretes until I put them down into words. What I do know before hand is how each and every one of these characters’ story will end. I know the ending of every manuscript or story arch I am working on before I know the beginning.

EIGHT

I hate being interrupted, especially once I’m in my flow of writing, or trying to get into my flow of writing, it can for example pull me out of a whole day of writing. I start early in the morning, and that is a very crucial time for me, if I don’t find my flow and mojo in the morning I know beforehand if words will flow from me for the rest of the day or not, (this is maybe one of the major factors why it takes me so long to finish a book.) And when I do have my mojo going being interrupted can spoil my entire flow, so much so that the rest of the day is lost, because getting into that flow and mojo is not an easy thing.

NINE

I hate, HATE having to write sex scenes, I hate it more than most authors hate to write the evil blurbs. It’s exhausting, frustrating and annoying to no end. I cringe every time I have to write one, it’s one of the things in writing that also takes up most of my time, one sex scene took me an entire month to write, because I am so anal about details and showing instead of telling. My sex scenes tend to be a whole chapter long, between 7-10k words. If I could get away with fade to black or even no sex scenes in my books I would, but I think readers would crucify me for it. I also hate books that have sex scene, upon sex scene, upon sex scene, I mostly skim over 90% of those while reading.

TEN

I rarely take photos of myself anymore, its way I have the same damn photos circulating my profile for the last six years, the reason? I suffer from severe plaque psoriasis, it’s so bad that it’s on my face now, and about 85% of my body. It’s not a fact that I feel insecure about it, I’ve been living with it for twenty four years, I have accepted it, it’s more a fact of making other people feel uncomfortable around me.

I can’t move without flakes of dead skin dropping off of me. In high school the comments I use to get from kids ranged from; AIDS boy to scale kid to reptile. Then being gay on top of that, in a community where beauty standards are so vain was hard. I can’t wear white because if I do, I risk the chance of blood staining the material, and if I wear black, well flakes, flakes of dead skin everywhere. I also have to be selective of the type of material and the thickness. If it’s too rough it will irritate my skin, if it’s too thick, it’s like I’m wearing four coats of thick wool; see, psoriasis is not a f*&^ing skin condition or disease.

Screw every doctor and dermatologist that says so. Psoriasis is an immune disorder, my immune system is basically on overdrive, hence why I very rarely get sick, and when I do I tend to recover quicker, cuts and bruises heal faster and my nails and hair grow quicker than a normal person does.

Psoriasis is identified by scales and itchy, dry patches on the skin, hence why so many associate it with a skin condition, the reason for this is, my skin cells reproduce quicker than normal, so the patches of flaky skin is basically just dead skin that needs to be shed.  What’s that got to do with too thick clothing, well the patches I do have are on fire, see when we are sick we get a fever, the fever is basically a sign that your immune system is responding and fighting back, If I were to place my hand on a patch of Psoriasis and a normal aria of skin is next it, one can clearly feel the different temperatures between the two, so yeah, thick textiles is just gonna make me feel hot.    

I have grown a thicker skin than most people, living with Psoriasis. Employers won’t take me on for a job because of my psoriasis, hence why I threw myself and am trying to create a steady income from writing. Treatment is costly to keep it under control and manageable, and unfortunately it needs to come straight out of my own pocket, we do have medical aid (medical insurance) but most of the creams I use are considered cosmetic and beauty products, and not covered by our medical aid. Heliotherapy alone for one month’s worth of four sessions would deplete our medical savings for the entire year completely. It’s an ongoing struggle I have to live with every day and the itching, man, the itching. You know when you have a cut or wound or even sunburn and it itches because it healing, that’s basically your body trying to shed the dead skin cells, now try to imagine feeling that every second of every day over your entire body. It’s enough to make most people irritated or crazy.   

And there you have it, ten author confession for a crazy person.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

They come to me in the night, creeping into my head. Their voices are all different, their stories all dissimilar, but they keep saying the same thing…

“Show us, tell us to the world. Bring us into yours, and make us known.”

Then I sit and they take over. They tell their tales of love, loss and sinister misfortune, not all of them get a happy ending, but they are pleased when their part is written.

I sometimes find myself lost in my own mind; a world very similar to our own yet so different. Things don’t go bump in the night—they squeal, and crawl under your skin, making you grind your teeth, and your stomach turn over and put your nerves on edge. Then there’s the drama. Oh, the drama!

I write because I must! There is so much inside of me that needs to get out. So many stories to tell, characters that want to be heard, and hearts lost and won. Words and art are my way of bringing my world to others. I enjoy telling tales of the human condition but working in elements of the supernatural. Werewolves, Vampires, Zombies, Witches and the unexplainable all set against the human world or worlds of their own.

Wulf Francú Godgluck hails from South Africa. His work is not for the faint-hearted! In his books, you’ll find… all the beasties with their nasty claws and teeth, and some you didn’t even know existed. But the monsters aren’t all real. Some live inside us. Who knows what he will make you discover about yourself, lurking in your heart, behind the closed walls of the deep, black recesses where no light penetrates? Wulf will steal your heart and never give it back. More than likely, he’ll pin it to the wall with a bobby pin and sit there sipping his tea while you writhe and squeal on the floor… STILL sure you want to read a Wulf Godgluck book?

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The Wulf Chronicles. Now available on Amazon: https://goo.gl/pWWi65

SYNOPSIS

What if werewolves were real?

What if one of them was different?

What if you were a defective werewolf?

This is not the story of how one night I got bitten and my life changed. Nor is it the story of how I went on a savage killing spree that left me tormented with guilt and dread the next morning.

No.

This is the story of a boy, a boy who’s spent his life running from the shadows of monsters. A boy who never understood why the world hated him with so much odium. Why his mother would throw away her only life to protect his. Why he was never allowed to have friends. Why he never had the childhood every child should. Why he was never allowed to cherish happiness.

This is the story of a boy becoming himself, embracing his vulnerability and learning to accept and love.

This is a story about a werewolf, trying to find the answers to why he was born defective.

And maybe that’s the very reason I become the main course on the menu.

EXCERPT

A lycan’s sexual orientation was a completely nonproblematic topic. Most lycans, before meeting and knowing the gender of their mates, tended to be bisexual, however, there were the few cases, as with Leo, where a lycan knew beforehand what gender they were drawn to. And, luckily, the mating call was never cruel in that regard.

Contrary to how prejudice and discriminatory the Council and lycan community’s views on females were, homosexuality had never fazed the lycan race. It was part of their ancestry, as natural and accepting as bleeding.

“Go,”she growled at him, “before you shatter my stoic façade and have me in tears. I’m honored to know this beautiful thing is happening in my presence.”

Leo smiled, turned, and ascended the stairs, his grin fading as he neared the bathroom the Beta occupied.

He clutched the doorknob, squeezing his eyelids and drawing in a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down.

The knob ripped from under Leo’s grasp as the door swung open, the momentum of Cooler’s movements and of Leo’s stumble at the abrupt occurrence, sent them colliding into each other.

Cooler grabbed Leo by the throat and shoved him against the bathroom wall, his one eye glowing a furious blue fire as he glared up at him.

“If the pretty puppy wanted a kiss, all he had to do was whimper.”

Leo swallowed against the clutched grip squeezing his windpipe, any response stuck in his throat. Cooler leaned in close, released Leo’s neck, and cupped the back of his head, pulling him down before sealing their lips together.

Fire screamed through him, heat gnawed to the tips of Leo’s fingertips and toes as Cooler wrenched open Leo’s lips with nip of his teeth, shoving his fat tongue into Leo’s mouth…

No one said a lycan claiming his mate was a pretty event.

The kiss that followed was a soft and gentle devastation of sweet hunger.

Cooler’s lips were pure lightning against Leo’s, every hair on his body pulsated to attention. His growl simmered through their mouths, giving Leo ample knowledge of how much power resided within his mate, the vibration, a thunder, rattled him to his soul.

He didn’t dare touch Cooler. Just because they were sucking lips, didn’t mean the Beta had accepted Leo as his.

Cooler pulled back, his eye a bone-chilling dark as he glared up into Leo’s gaze.

Fat fingers slid from behind Leo’s neck, mapping their way along his cheek to brush over his lips, only to catch him by the chin.

Leo closed his eyes, both needing and dreading the words about to spill from his mate.

But time stretched, and it stretched, and it stretched as he waited.

His lips moved involuntarily, quivering, ready to speak, but only a whimper undulated through him. Cooler grunted, halting Leo’s tongue and washing hot air up into Leo’s face, reminding him of how close the Beta’s lips were to his own.

His insides squirmed, anticipating, hoping and wanting Cooler to bless him with another taste.

No kiss came, no words either. Only the scent of his mate. A spicy, intoxicating, rugged musk. Prime Bloods tended to have a heavier, far more domineering scent than half-breeds. That and, of course, the raw power they emanated were the only physical truths that set them apart.

They come to me in the night, creeping into my head. Their voices are all different, their stories all dissimilar, but they keep saying the same thing…

“Show us, tell us to the world. Bring us into yours, and make us known.”

Then I sit and they take over. They tell their tales of love, loss and sinister misfortune, not all of them get a happy ending, but they are pleased when their part is written.

I sometimes find myself lost in my own mind; a world very similar to our own yet so different. Things don’t go bump in the night—they squeal, and crawl under your skin, making you grind your teeth, and your stomach turn over and put your nerves on edge. Then there’s the drama. Oh, the drama!

I write because I must! There is so much inside of me that needs to get out. So many stories to tell, characters that want to be heard, and hearts lost and won. Words and art are my way of bringing my world to others. I enjoy telling tales of the human condition but working in elements of the supernatural. Werewolves, Vampires, Zombies, Witches and the unexplainable all set against the human world or worlds of their own.

Wulf Francú Godgluck hails from South Africa. His work is not for the faint-hearted! In his books, you’ll find… all the beasties with their nasty claws and teeth, and some you didn’t even know existed. But the monsters aren’t all real. Some live inside us. Who knows what he will make you discover about yourself, lurking in your heart, behind the closed walls of the deep, black recesses where no light penetrates? Wulf will steal your heart and never give it back. More than likely, he’ll pin it to the wall with a bobby pin and sit there sipping his tea while you writhe and squeal on the floor… STILL sure you want to read a Wulf Godgluck book?

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