Today's author is E. B. Purtill. Let me introduce you.
E. B. lives in San Francisco. She studied law and arts at the University of
Western Australia and is now married and has an adorable daughter. The Lamb is her first novel. Besides
writing, she is also passionate about coffee, photography, travelling and
teacups.
Thanks so much J.L. for having me as a guest on your blog.
I’m thrilled to be here. This past year has been a very busy one for me. In
April I published my long awaited debut novel, The Lamb. And then in June I also published a short story titled A Japanese Man in Yangshuo. As your
readers may have guessed from these titles, I’m not a typical romance writer.
In fact, The Lamb started out as a
romance, but ended up as a romantic thriller, and my short story falls into the
ominous category of literary fiction. Here are the blurbs for both.
The
Lamb
a novel by E. B. Purtill
Beth
Urtz and her husband, Hamar, work for Worldwide Strategic Outcomes, Inc., a
private military service provider, in an undisclosed location known as S.P. 4.
When their orderly lives are upturned after an encounter between Beth and the
CEO of their company, Beth struggles through a crisis of conscience while Hamar
may have to pay the ultimate price for her sins. A modern-day retelling of the
King David and Bathsheba story, The Lamb explores the themes of power, control,
isolation, and the East-West divide. It’s a penetrating story of truth and
lies, of psychological surprises and unexpected developments, of unlikely and
difficult love.
A
Japanese Man in Yangshuo a short story by E. B. Purtill
Takeo,
a photographer based in New York City, returns home to his native Japan, and
while there is caught in the middle of a national disaster. What should have
been a short vacation home abruptly turns into a struggle for survival and a
desperate search for his missing family. A Japanese Man in Yangshuo is a
mesmerizing and compelling portrait of life, death, and family love.
Purchase
In Gail Kretchmer’s Friday Feature posted on June 20,
Gail discussed the daunting subject of sex in the literary world. Reading this post
brought to mind some advice a favorite writing teacher once gave me about
writing sex scenes. She told me that there were two options a writer could take
with sex scenes. One approach is to describe fully the minutes and moments
leading up to the sex and then allow the reader’s imagination to leap off from
there. Or, alternatively to give the scene the fully monty, so to speak—to try
and give a sense of the actual full-blown sex. Aka a blow-by-blow description. As
a writer I’ve used both of these approaches, but I can attest that as fun as
sex scenes are to read, they can be very difficult to write.
My teacher went on to stress to me the importance of
remembering that a sex scene should be like any other scene, in that it should
be significant and move the story forward, and maybe even surprise the reader a
little. It's about two particular people, in their really specific relationship
to each other. A writer should therefore try to capture what is specifically
arousing, necessary, important and revealing about the characters interaction.
Will it be an "interaction," or something much more emotional? Will it have something mechanical about it,
or will it surprise each person with sensations and feelings?
Here is an example of one of my scenes from The Lamb.
David’s
hand was still on my back when we stepped into the elevator together after we
departed from the bar. He left it there while we rode up, even though a bellhop
joined us a few floors later. The bellhop was another immigrant, one of the
many seeking work in this part of the world. His name tag told us his name was
Nathan. He glanced at us after he stepped through the elevator doors, quickly
assessing us. He soon frowned and turned to face the metal doors that had just
closed behind him. Three floors later he stepped out of the elevator without
looking back.
David
guided me out of the elevator when we reached his floor. I stumbled, tripping
over my own feet, while we walked along the short corridor to his room. David
slipped his arm farther around my waist. “Steady there.” We walked toward the
only door I could see ahead of us. Before we reached it, we stopped beside a
security panel installed in the wall. David punched in the code. Once inside his
room, David led me in the direction of the couch. I sat down, sinking into the
cushions.
The
room smelled like polished wood. Plush woven rugs with intricate patterns were
laid atop the tiled floor and pieces of carved furniture were placed around the
room. The bed, made up with silk linens, was behind the couch that I sat on. I
took off my jacket and watched as David poured us each another thimble of
whiskey.
“Here
you go Scotland’s finest.” He stood, examining me for a moment before handing
the glass to me and sitting down next to me on the couch. I set the glass
aside, knowing that I couldn’t drink it. Seeing this, David reached over and
placed his unfinished glass next to mine. Then he moved closer to me, and
wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him. He leaned in and kissed
me. A soft buttery kiss at first. Then it became firmer, and I greedily
accepted it. I was hungry for it. I pressed my lips against his and ran my hand
along his leg. In an instant his hands were on me—all over me—along my side,
under the skirt of my dress . . .
I love to hear from readers! Check out my website or reach out via social media.
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