The golden tears of the desert.

You know that moment you see your child grow and suddenly they aren’t a child anymore … nope, sorry I don’t, but what I can say is, I can relate to that. Last year I released my first story with the M/M group on Goodreads and with that story I found three precious betas who has now accomplish putting out their own story.

One has grown so much and I can see it clearly with her story for M/M group; Moondrake can be found here;

Another two of my betas has released their story with this event this year.

Now before we go further, I need to say; releasing a story is extremely brave, fucking scary and it takes a hell of a lot of courage. I know so many people who says; “oh, I’m writing a book!” Two years later, they are still writing that book, then years later they are still writing that book. There is difference between actually fucking doing it and saying you are doing it.

So here’s to those who said I’m gonna write a book and actually fucking did it and then either self published it or published with a publisher. You are my fucking heroes!

After publishing more scary shit happens; reviews.

Just on a side note, readers! OMG, where did we lose the perspective of rating literature for literature, instead we are bitching and moaning about content and triggers and I don’t know what other crazy shit.  We are completely failing in focusing on what literature is. (But I won’t go into that now, maybe in another post, because, yes; even I, myself, is guilty of this.)

 Tears for the Sand by S. van Rooyen is brilliantly written piece of poetic literature. It’s about two gay South African men, trying hard not to but end up to. 🙂 see that, its called undertone, this story has a lot of that (And so do some of mine) but it’s something I see very rarely used in fiction.

 Tears for the Sand is not your normal M/M. It take appreciation not just for the story but for the writing and how the words are beautiful woven. Something just to mention, if you ever read an Afrikaans piece of literature, it is a lot like this; it how we Afrikaners mostly write in our native tongue.

The story about sand and what its value is worth, how beautiful cruel it can be and how devastatingly quick it can take your life. A silent picture captured only in time. The writing itself gives you that taste of being in a far-off unfamiliar place, a strange place with an anomalous beauty.

The characters are true to what is present in your typical gay Afrikaner men mostly from those of the older generation.

This is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I ask you just give a little bit of a read, read it slowly and try to appreciate it for the beauty of what it is; fictional poetic literature. In all honesty if this was published in South Africa it more than likely would receive a literature award.

But you know something; sometimes getting to know the author first helps a bit so without further due here is Mrs. Van Rooyen.


You are a new Author, tell us a bit more about yourself:

Do we really have to use the BIG “A” WORD… it’s scary… I don’t like it!!

As for myself… I believe that events that profoundly affect our life happen mostly by accident. It’s normally large, smelly and invokes shudders and writhing as shit goes up in smoke.

One such event left me a broken girl, with too many walls and a complex that brought empathy to others emotions roaring to life. It’s that empathy that drives me, that hurt that defines me and makes me the person I am today.

As a story teller I want to take people on a journey, show you places untouched by time, have you touch and taste the words itself. I want you to live the passion itself.

What made you decide to pick up writing, and why M/M?

Because life should be a crazy ride… a roller-coaster… a piece of eighty percent dark chocolate. And it should be shared like a single malt aged whiskey, preferably straight from the lips.

But I can’t go around kissing everyone … so words will have to do.

I have always loved telling stories… a natural day dreamer to escape reality, so sharing them on paper… it sort of came naturally.

Why MM…

It’s not necessarily the label MM that should be defined, but the draw of something real.

When any person, man or woman pick up a “romance” novel, we are transported to a world where the norm don’t apply. It’s fantasy… at its best, entertainment in a written form.

What specifically drew me to MM or GLBT literature was something more real. A personal journey, one that brought to light a subject that I perhaps would not have looked into.

Favorite genres to read?

Science fiction, fantasy and paranormal. I sneak in a bit of poetry once in a while. And Dante… don’t forget Dante

How does your writing process work, what inspires you to write a story, and what had inspired you to write this one?

My writing process could be as simple as fucking around with my characters until it makes sense or plotting a story line from memoires, experiences and emotions. The later normally runs over, and the story develops before I have any say in it.

Tears for the sand was a personal journey, one I wanted to share with someone special, a chance meeting… the “accident” that profoundly changed me. But things don’t always play out as we plan and in the end the expedition was mine to take and the storm mine the weather.

The emotional pain that followed shaped the story, a series of misunderstanding, miscommunication when unconditional love and acceptance should have been the only road taken.

“Amor, ch’al cor gentile ratto s’apprende
prese costui de la bella persona
che mi fu tolta; e ‘l modo ancor m’offende.

Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,
Che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona…”

“Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart,
Seized him with my beautiful form
That was taken from me, in a manner which still grieves me.

Love, which pardons no beloved from loving,
took me so strongly with delight in him
That, as you see, it still abandons me not…”

Dante Alighieri, Inferno: A New Verse Translation

Favorite Horror Icon?

Hannibal Lecter – it’s the deeper emotion and whit that induce the feeling of total possession and absorption, it’s not just the play on dialog but the intellect and mind games he wraps you in.

If you could be a gay man for a day you would….

Just be me, interact with people… live my life… take it all in. Memories and emotion defines me… empathy molds me. I might just plant my ass under a tree and watch the clouds go by.

Biggest influences:

I would have to say the people and life itself influence me the most. The lessons we take from it and how we evolve as part of us.

They have just announced the zombie apocalypse is upon us, what would you do?

Park my pretty fat behind on top of the ammunitions bunker in Wingfield, my dad was a sailor that overhauled cannons at sea, and watch everyone else freak the fuck out.

Fav author of all time (I don’t count) 🙂

Edgar Allan Poe and Dante Alighieri

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

 Edgar Allan Poe

Anything we can look forward to after Tears for the sand

Tears for the sand will someday lead into a series called Tears for the desert, a collaboration of stories entwined with the sand of Mama Africa. In due course I would like to translate the first story and the rest of the series into my mother tongue, Afrikaans.

I do have a few other non-contemporary tales hidden in my dusty journal, they might make it to paper soon.

Manacles to see the sky

The slide of the scalpel, beautiful pain. Salt, smoke and copper permeated my senses. Moist wet heat trickled from my fingers. Clattering of steel on steel barely registering.

None mattered. It was over.



Two; bound, broken. The same, but not.

Knees buckling, I felt the first licks of heat. It would be over soon.

My world stated to grey, but vibrant burst of colour flashed before my eyes. My life. If there was seven deadly sins, there was seven deadly absolutions. Yes, that was fitting. Dante’s sins, his absolution.

Chains of flesh – Black sun

Chains rattled. A silent reminder that he still hung in the middle of the courtyard. The sun had set and the evening temperature gave little relief to aching bones and joints. Fresh blood that had attracted bugs earlier was now sticky and heavy on the jagged edges of torn skin.

Silently the clouds as if summoned, called to one another, collected in a dark blanked of grey.  The taste of sweet rain filled the darkened sky bringing redemption to those chained in this night.

A final wisp of tempered air flowed over his body, lifting once sweat soaked hair, in a thick matted mess.  Soon even those clumps would be drenched and washed clean

Redemption was mere moments away, but snatched away as light shining from an opening door was shadowed by two menacing figures. The barest of whimpers escaped his lips as one lifted the tethers from their suspension hooks and tightened the bonds once again.  This could only be interpreted as punishment. Again, still. He had yet to give the masters what they most wanted.


Book blurb

So this is what they called a midlife fucking crisis. Fucking. Perfect.

Events that profoundly affect our life happen mostly by accident. Dirkie and Campbell learn this the hard way and a series of misunderstanding, miscommunication and just plain deluded sanity colour their journey.

Old Jacky and his pink parachute panties do all but intervene, and send Campbell on a ride that will change his life forever.

One can only hope that when the sand settles from is silent creep over the horizon that they would have lived the desert and survived.



A scene from Tears for the Sand

Silence settled as morning broke and gave breath to a new day. Dirkie found himself in a place long forgotten by others, the ancient desert holding a small piece that brought old memories to life. The stone path leading down the ravine was barely visible. Sand and dust covering its presence as if inclined to hide it from those that had no right to be there.

The old farmhouse, weathered and long forgotten loomed in the distance, rusted barbed wire running in patches off its boundary. Dirkie turned away from the path heading away from the house that once held childlike laughter and bright potted sunflowers in its garden. A small whitewashed wall and grumbling wooden gate his destination.

Fate had brought him here, to a place in the past where he could now face the goodbye. Dirkie hesitated with his hand on the slightly parted gate and looked over his shoulder to the home he visited as a young boy. So many memories, many eclipsed by pain, but what he felt now was a simple peace, a calm that had long eluded him.

Dirkie crouched down at the single headstone. He removed his worn riding gloves and ran his fingers over the name etched into the stone.

Philips van Staden
1980 – 2011

“I’m here,” Dirkie started. “It took me a long time.” He lifted an old quill off the ground next to him and started drawing little lines into the sand before him. “I lost my way, baby. For a long time I’ve been running.” A little wisp of wind caressed his face. The skin turning cold from the moisture that pooled below his eyes. “When you got sick, when you left…” Dirkie took a deep breath and looked up to see a lone falcon gliding along the drifting breeze. “I was so angry, hated you for what felt like forever.” Dirkie looked down at the lines he drew in the sand. Words eternally etched in stone. Forever loved.

He stood, brushed the loose grains from his knees and smiled down at the little lizard darting across the sand. “It’s time to stop running.

“I’m not alone anymore.”

download link:


Author Bio:

I use way too many F-Yous… and can outswear most sailors. Vodka is my drink of choice and yeah… that comes with the territory of being my father’s daughter as well.

I dream in my mother tongue— as the real Dirk once said, “It’s always vivid with the colours of my homeland.”

I believe in something more… I could elaborate… but then you would be here all day.

Some call me angel… others not so much. They don’t know me though.

Life is like… yeah, I could get all warm and fuzzy here… but Fate… and all that… She’s a bitch that can’t get Karma to love her… so she ends up messing with us.


Contact & Media Info:

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About wulfginn

Indie writer nothing more crazy tn my imagination though trust me you don't want to go there its not safe...
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One Response to The golden tears of the desert.

  1. sanet says:

    awwwwww…. thank you sweetheart ❤

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