Sloe Gin: A Christmas Classic - but Now

This berry-infused delight is usually reserved for Christmas, so why am I bringing it up now? Because it's been a rough start to 2025, and I could use a lift.

Besides, I’m working on a Christmas novella for you all - and honestly, this drink sounds too good to wait for December. Before we get to the recipe, let’s take a quick dive into the fascinating (and slightly thorny) history of its key ingredient.

The Blackthorn Hedgerows: Nature’s Barbed Wire

Before the 1600s, much of England was common land, freely accessible to everyone. That changed with the Enclosure Acts, which saw large swathes of public land fenced off for the aristocracy. Enter the blackthorn tree - an affordable and highly effective natural barrier.

Thick, nearly impenetrable, and armed with menacing needle-like thorns, blackthorn hedgerows became the perfect way to separate private estates from the outside world (and keep out pesky poachers).

Nestled within these formidable hedgerows were small, ruby-red fruits known as sloes—essentially miniature plums with a tart bite. On their own, they can be eye-wateringly sour, but when steeped in alcohol, magic happens.

Gin: From Questionable Origins to a Holiday Staple

Back in the 1600s, gin wasn’t exactly the refined spirit we know today. It was a rough, often adulterated drink - mixed with sulphuric acid or even urine (yes, really). But by the Regency era, gin had cleaned up its act and was no longer just the drink of the poor.

Sloe gin, in particular, became a holiday favourite, especially during the traditional Boxing Day hunt. It was often served alongside game meats like venison, followed by a slice of ginger fruit cake, and—because why stop there?—washed down with even more sloe gin.

Now that you know the history, let’s make some!

Sloe Gin Recipe

Traditional sloe gin starts its journey in autumn when the berries are perfectly ripe—typically around October. In grand country estates, entire bushels of sloes were harvested to keep up with the drinking demands of a lively hunting party. This recipe, however, is designed for a more manageable (and less raucous) gathering.

Ingredients:

• 500g (17.5 oz) ripe sloes (blackthorn plums)
• 250g (9 oz) golden caster sugar
• 1 litre (3.5 pints) gin

Method:

1. Harvest your sloes (or buy them if you don’t fancy foraging).
2. Rinse the fruit and pat it dry.
3. Prick each sloe with a fork or cocktail stick. This helps the juices infuse the gin. Place them in a 2-litre glass jar (or divide into smaller jars).
4. Add the sugar and gin, then shake well.
5. Shake daily for at least a week, until the sugar has completely dissolved.
6. Strain the mixture through a muslin cloth or fine sieve.
7. Let it rest.

Store your sloe gin at room temperature for at least two months—though the longer you wait, the smoother and richer the flavour will be.

By the time Christmas rolls around, you’ll have a beautifully deep, ruby-hued liqueur that’s perfect for festive sipping. Or, you know, you could always enjoy it in July—I won’t judge.

Cheers!

Overlord is here with a juicy bonus inside...

Hey all, AK Nevermore back with you! This month I'm here to tell you that if you're a fan of spicy dystopian romance and haven't started reading the Price of Talent Series in Kindle Unlimited, now's a great time to start, because book 4, Overlord, was just released, and at the back, there's a bonus novella, Conspirator.

About the Series...

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…

About the Book..

Be careful what you wish for...

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…

Twenty-eight years before the events in Breaker, Nora Jester will do anything to aid the Reunification of her people.

Dedicated to the clandestine movement to disenfranchise the Source and unite Talents from the North and South as one free people, conceiving a female heir to marry their two cultures together shouldn’t have involved her heart. But her feelings for the Commandant are undeniable, even three years after their disastrous breaking. When it becomes obvious he’s moved on and that there is something horribly wrong with their son, she agrees to try again.

But entering into a new contract with a broken heart is a recipe for disaster.

This time, the Alpha is nothing like the Commandant. Violent, jealous, and dominant, he’s unsympathetic to Nora’s angst, and brooks no rivals. Shackled to him for the next three months, she’s running out of time, because if she can’t survive his attentions long enough to conceive, the Reunification may never happen. The Source has turned its eyes North, and if there isn’t a child ready to lead the South in rebellion before the Harvest, there may not be any free Talents left.

Excerpt:

Nora closed her eyes, head throbbing beneath the glare of the harsh plaz lights. Why did it have to be so bright? The mirrored plex running the length of the breeding pod amplified the uncomfortable florescence, and if the walls facing them were any whiter, she’d go blind.

Not that there was much to see…for her, at least. The observers behind the plex were about to get a show, but all there was for her viewing pleasure was a bare mattress in the middle of a sterile room. Maintained at 76.3° Fahrenheit and a balmy sixty-two percent humidity; the Source’s breeding pods were touted as the optimal environment for lab-assisted copulation.

Assisted. Mandated. Semantics.

She shivered as she waited, vulnerable behind the thick curtain of mahogany curls hiding her nude form. How silly that a few millimeters of fabric over one’s skin could provide security. The illusion of it, at any rate. But then, outside of this, it was all an illusion, wasn’t it?

There was no security. This was the reality of her existence.

Not the fêtes, or the quiet days at the tower. Her binding skills ancillary to her primary purpose.

Breeding.

Her nails dug little half-moons into her palms as she fought to calm herself. Everything in here was monitored, measured. Her respiration and pulse. Oxygenation of her blood. Moisture content and saturation of her mucus membranes.

Nora’s eyes squeezed shut, exhaling a shaky breath. Calm. She didn’t need them spiking the room with Zanthium or another one of their mind-numbing aphrodisiac cocktails. She wanted to be present for this.

Glory, this.

It shouldn’t be like this. It was wrong—

Metal disengaged and her eyes snapped to the portlock.

It hissed open, and Marcos stepped through, tensing when he saw her face.

He knew.

She fought back tears, rising to meet him, her lips brushing beneath his jaw. Not caring how it looked to the ticket holders gathered behind the plex. Having to say it. To be the one to tell him. Her voice a thread of exhalation. “I’m pregnant.”

His fingers tightened on her hip, fear and loathing roiling through their bond as he pulled her closer. His breath hot on her skin, touch more ardent. Kisses deeper. She arched against him. Feeling him, his love. Everything that wasn’t safe to say.

Everything that was about to be taken away.

For the last time, she lost herself in him, and was brought back too soon.

He lay beside her, fingers tracing her face like he was trying to fix it in his memory. Would she see him again? Bitterness filled her. Across the room at a fête. Passing in a hallway. What they had now, gone. Ripped from them and assigned to another.

Their bond—broken.

It had been so unexpected…exhilarating and unwelcome…undeniable. Why did she have to love him? The thought of someone else’s hands on him, their fingers riffling through his honey blond hair… Would those crystalline blue eyes look at them the same way?

A sob choked her.

“Shh…” He pulled her against his broad chest, anger simmering deep inside him. Everything she was feeling, echoed and repressed. “Titus will send me south.”

Nora’s stomach dropped. Marcos was her first—her only—contract. She still wasn’t entirely certain how it all worked, aside from them being kept apart now that she was bred, and the inevitable breaking once the child was born. The legalese was confusing and no one liked to talk about the actual mechanics. “When will you come back?”

“They won’t recall me until our breaking is scheduled. Until then, I’ll do my duty, as will you.” It was a bald statement of fact, belied by what she felt from him. He was so controlled. Nothing like the animal she’d expected, been warned about, the depths to him… Her gut twisted, and he laced his fingers through hers.

“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.

“Here it won’t.” He placed her palm over his heart. “You’ve marked me.”

Despair stabbed through her. “All of this is wrong. What they do to us—it shouldn’t—”

His lips stopped hers, then murmured against them. “Your passion is dangerous, Nora. For the both of us.” His eyes flicked to the mirrored plex.

An impotent rage filled her. She pushed him away. “I don’t care!”

He flipped her onto her back, and she slapped him. His eyes flew wide, a different kind of tension running through him, darkness licking at their bond. His breath came fast, pupils dilated. Fighting with something. Nora swallowed, afraid to move. And then like a cloud passing across the sun, it was gone.

His exhale was slow. “If they ever mate you to another Breaker, don’t do that. You’ll get hurt.”

“Nothing can hurt more than this.” She hoped she died when they broke their bond—

“Don’t tempt fate,” he said, kissing her. “As Beta, I’m entitled to a bellwether when I’m retired from field service. I swear I’ll earn the merits to request you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes again. Twenty years. If they granted it. If he didn’t die in some conflict—

If he didn’t promise the same to someone else.

Marcos nuzzled at her neck, his voice a rough whisper. “There will only ever be you…”

She smiled, their ability to read one another uncanny. She softened beneath his caresses, her calf sliding up the length of his thigh, breath catching as he rocked into her.

“Tell me you’d say yes…”

“Yes…” Her head dropped back, watching their reflections move together in the plex. Glory, in a different world…tears tracked down her temples.

The plaz lights pulsed, and Marcos’s pace sped. She gripped his shoulders, kissing him desperately as he spent himself.

The portlock rolled back. “Time.”

Marcos raised himself up on his forearms, breath heavy, licking the sweat from his lip. He caught the towel the tech threw into the room and met Nora’s eyes as he cleaned himself.

“Time won’t matter.”

Want more? Download the Breeder, the series prequel, for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/91ffk852qo

and get your copy of Breaker to start the series click here: https://books2read.com/BreakerOne

You can find out more about my books on my website, https://aknevermore.com/ or see what I'm up to on my sadly neglected socials:

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AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. 

AK pays the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She belongs to numerous industry organizations, volunteers for far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

Writing Process...or the Lack of...

 

 

I've been writing books for years, and the stories and the motivation have always been there, unquestioned, just there. I relied on my ability to put ideas together, talk to my muse about character and plot development, and write what came to mind to fill in the details. My editors and readers have told me for years that they love the innovative twists in my books and that I create vivid and believable characters.

I usually write in the fall and winter, because in the spring and summer I spend a lot more time outdoors with my horse and in my garden, so I rarely sit down to create a new plot. However, I do take notes and string them together into a story when the days get shorter and the weather gets cold.

I started my latest work in progress in January 2024, and I haven't gotten past 40,000 words yet. Yes, the book is coming along in bits and pieces, and the adjustments I have made are good, but I still lack the spirit that has carried me through other stories and kept me going. I've devoted too much time to other hobbies, like reading and long walks in the woods, so I've fallen behind and can't get into the mood to write. I sit down, read what I have written so far and then... Some days a few scenes come to me and I write them down because writing something is better than writing nothing. I wouldn't call that progress in the true sense of the word. I would like to take a long vacation with the simple project of getting the book over the finish line. I don't see it yet.

If you as an author, editor or reader have any ideas for me on how to get back in the mood and find the push to write more often, I'd love to read them.

 

Here's a short excerpt from the last book I published, Dirty Work.

Nicolas tries to get a hold of the criminal who beat him before...

 

Nicolas’s world was reduced to a single goal—to catch Kruskov before he could get away again. He raced down the fire escape, taking two steps at a time and leaping over the railing at the end, completely focused on the silhouette that was the fence on the run. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the police officers. Their guns shone in the dim light of the streetlamps. Nicolas knew that no police officer would fire a shot when another one was in hot pursuit. The risk of shooting a colleague was far too high, and he was grateful that none of the young men in uniform were so high on adrenaline that they forgot that basic safety rule.

The officers cut off Kruskov’s route, leaving him with only one option—a ramshackle building that had once been built for business and law offices, but had long since fallen into disrepair. The fence pushed against the dilapidated metal door, kicked it open as he ran, and disappeared inside.

“See if there are other exits!” Nicolas shouted to the officers. “Don’t let him get away!” Then he was inside, breathing heavily, his legs quivering with strain. Streetlight fell through the broken windows, illuminating the scene. Homeless people had gathered the remaining furniture to live in, but also to light small fires. The stench of soot and burned plastic filled the air. To the left, Kruskov stumbled over something lying on the floor, and when he regained his footing, Nicolas was already on top of him, crashing with him into a pile of planks, crumbled partitions, and broken chairs. Kruskov grunted as Nicolas’s heavy body pinned him into the rubble, but tried to grab a leg of a stool to use as a weapon. They struggled for control of it, and Kruskov brought his knees up, pushing and shoving Nicolas backward. He lost the weapon but got back on his feet.

Nicolas grabbed Kruskov’s legs and forced the thug back to the ground. Kruskov raised his right leg and kicked back, aiming for Nicolas’s face, but hit his shoulder instead. Free again, he stumbled forward, away from his enemy. Nicolas lunged, but the distance was too great. Out of the rubble and back on his feet, Nicolas forced his legs to run again. Kruskov saw him coming and took a stance. His lips were skinned back from his teeth in a fierce snarl. This time Nicolas knew what to expect. He was fired with anger, determined not to be beaten again. As Kruskov swung his fist for a hook, Nicolas turned into the move and threw the thug over his shoulder, letting him crash to the ground only to be above him, pounding his fists into the man’s face and not giving him a chance to beat back.

It took Nicolas several seconds to see that Kruskov was unconscious. The fence’s head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. His face was battered and would feature all colors of the rainbow within a few hours. Blood trickled down from his nose and a wound to his cheekbone. Grimly satisfied, Nicolas sat back on his heels and wiped his nose. The dark room turned around him, and he waited a minute until he got up again.

From behind him, two officers entered through the back door or a broken window. He heard their careful footsteps crunch on the soiled floor. “Sir? Are you okay?”

“He’s out…out cold.” Nicolas put his hands on his thighs and took deep breaths. His right shoulder hurt where the heavy boot had hit him, but he enjoyed more than suffered the pain. “I…I’ll take him in for interrogation.”

“Are you all right?” Officer Gardner asked worriedly. “Did he hurt you?”

“He needs the medic,” Nicolas replied as he straightened. He judged from Gardner’s expression that he didn’t look like the victorious hero he felt he was. “I’m okay.”

* * *

 

 

 

Glossy or matt?

 Which do you like best for a cover? 

So far this year I've published three paperbacks, two in matt and one glossy. I can't decide what I like best. Glossy is so nice and shiny, but it reflects the light. Matt is so rich and warm. 

I did a TikTok post about it too where you can see the difference. You don't have to be on TT to view the video either. Click on over to see it HERE

My newest release is AFTER THE HURT is now available everywhere in ebook and paperback. Here's a one stop link to all the retailers.

A provocative novel features a resilient fighter going round for tantalizing round with the one that got away—a headstrong woman bent on seduction.

Pepper Chapman refuses to throw in the towel. Six months ago, she made the biggest mistake of her life. Blinded by grief after her mom’s death, Pepper abandoned the man she loves. Now she wants a second chance at everything she gave up: strong hands driving her to ecstasy . . . a deep voice whispering naughty promises in her ear . . . the future they’d planned since they were teenagers. So Pepper comes home looking for forgiveness, ready for a new beginning—if he’s willing to give her a shot.

Retired MMA star Tank Sherman may be used to low blows, but Pepper’s emotional sucker punch left him reeling. Trying to ignore the pain and forget the pleasure of her body beneath his, Tank is prepared to ring the final bell on their relationship. Then Pepper shows up out of the blue, radiating pure sex. But Tank won’t let himself get hurt again, and that means resisting the heat that still burns between them. Because if he takes Pepper back, he knows he’ll never be able to let her go again.

After The Hurt. Re-release with the same wonderful characters, a brand new cover and updated story. First published with Random House, Loveswept in 2016.

For Valentine's Day: Other Ways of Seeing Love

 True love is like the appearance of ghosts: everyone talks about it but few have seen it.

 

 François de La Rochefoucauld