Interview with Suzanne Johnson Author of Frenchman Street
Speed Round (one word only answer): Yep, I know torture for a writer!<evil laugh>
Favorite movie: Lord of the Rings trilogy
Favorite book: Stephen King’s The Stand
Last book read: Kevin Hearne’s Hounded
Favorite color: Teal
Stilettos or flipflops: barefoot!
Coffee or tea: coffee
Ebook or audiobook or paperback: ebook (*ensue guilt*)
Pencil or pen: pen
Favorite song: “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen
Streak or not: not
Favorite dessert: NY-style cheesecake
Favorite junk food: Cheetos (*ensue guilt again*)
Favorite thing to do to relax: binge-watch reality TV
Champagne or gin: gin
Paranormal or Historical: paranormal
Wonder Woman or Top Model: Top Model
Favorite TV show: The Deadliest Catch
Hot or cold: cold
POV: Deep
I’d die if I don’t have: diet soda
Review or Not: Sure
A peek between the pages of FRENCHMAN STREET!
“So, what’s the plan…” I trailed off at the sound of the front door slamming, followed shortly by the appearance of a very wet merman in the doorway of the study. Water dripped from Rene’s jeans, his t-shirt was plastered to his chest, and….was he bleeding?
“I hate elves. They should all be shot. And cats. Why would any sane person have a damned cat if it can’t shift into a bigger cat?” He stalked to the corner cabinet, helped himself to a drying charm, and, within seconds, was no longer dripping. The side of his face was covered in dried blood.
“How did you get injured?” I was going to tear Quince Randolph a new one. He had promised not to hurt Rene. Never mind that the shifter’s face had already healed.
Rene threw a bag in my lap on his way to the bar to wash off his face; he also poured a drink. We needed to get out of Barataria before all of us became alcohol-dependent. The white paper sack, which smelled of fried shrimp and fresh French bread, also had a long rip along the side. Somehow, he’d managed to keep it dry.
He came back and took a seat next to me, drink in hand.
“Rene, you didn’t answer me. What did Rand do to you?”
The toasted merman turned on the sofa to face me, and leaned close enough for me to think, not for the first time, that he might have the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen—almost a liquid black, with long lashes. He’d also let his hair grow out into a messy tangle and grown a short beard. It looked good on him. “Did you know the elf’s transport was guarded?”
Well, no. “So his guard cut you?”
“Yep. Leaned over and sniffed me like a dog. Or a freaking cat. I might have swatted it on the nose before it took a swipe at me. Cats and merfolk don’t get along, babe. They think we’re sushi.”
Signed print copies of all books in the series available from the author: https://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com/shop
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Frenchman Street!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Freenchman Street, Sentinels of New Orleans, Suzanne Johnson, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 3 comments.
Interview Beth Woodward Author of Embracing the Demon
Give a warm welcome to Beth Woodward, author of Embracing the Demon!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Beth Woodward and Embracing the Demon, Book Two of Dale Highland Series. Pssst… Don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter at the end of this post!
What inspired this particular story?
Writer’s Digest used to run a monthly flash fiction contest where they ran a prompt, and you could submit a 750-word or less story based on it. The prompt one month was, “You wake up covered in blood, with a knife in your hands, a dead body next to you, and no memory of what happened.” Most people, in that situation, would probably have a reaction of, “Oh no, this couldn’t be! I would never kill anyone!” But my twisted brain came up with a character who woke up, looked around, and thought “Oh, no, not again.”
I was too late for the flash fiction contest. But I really like the piece, so I brought it to a writers’ workshop I participated in at the time. I got peppered with questions about why this particular woman would kill the man. Someone even suggested she was possessed. But my mind just started spinning and I thought, “What if the demon is just part of her?”
The original flash fiction piece became the prologue of The Demon Within. It’s one of the few parts of the story that’s remained relatively unchanged from the first draft onward.
Did you tell friends and family that you were writing a book? Or did it take a while to come out and tell friends and family you were a writer?
I’ve been writing since I was a kid, so my friends and family all knew I was a writer. But what has surprised me through the years is how many people—friends, family members, and significant others—treated it like a pipe dream, as if I were saying, “I want to be a fairy princess,” instead of a real, attainable goal. This attitude diminished my confidence in my writing, and I was reluctant to share it for a long time.
So my advice to anyone who wants to be a professional writer is to support yourself with people who support and encourage you. It’s a tough road, but it is achievable. I’m lucky that the people I’m around now, especially my husband, always cheer me on.
Why do you write what you write? Ie. Contemporary, paranormal, suspense, etc.
I write science fiction and fantasy because I love the idea that the world is more than what meets the eye. Working within the sci-fi/fantasy realm gives you the permission to invent and create and just be as weird and crazy as you want. Sci-fi and fantasy allow you to explore the world—or an entirely new world—through the realm of possibility. They remind you to always keep yourself open to possibility.
I also tend to include a lot of romance in my stories because…well, because that’s what I enjoy reading. My favorite kinds of romances are what you might call “complicated romances.” Much as I dig reading contemporary romances, there aren’t very many things, logically, that can keep two consenting, modern-day adults from being together. But the sci-fi/fantasy aspect adds a whole new layer of complication. We can’t be together because our races are bitter enemies, or because you’re mortal and I’m immortal, or because I can only come out at night and you live where the sun never sets. My favorite romances are the ones where you have no idea how the leads will get their happily ever after, or if they even can. That’s what keeps you turning pages.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do?
I lost both my parents young: I was 13 when my dad died and 30 when my mom passed away. I’d love to see them again one last time. I’d go back to a time when they were really happy, maybe to their wedding day. I’d toss the invisibility cloak (I hadn’t been born, so no chance of being recognized), don my very best 80s shoulder pads and poofy hair, and crash the wedding. The good news is, it’s one place where no one would be surprised to see someone who looks suspiciously like the bride. (“Oh, don’t you remember me? I’m cousin Sally!”) The bad news is, my parents’ wedding was very small, so hopefully my time would be up before anyone realizes the bride doesn’t have a cousin Sally. Maybe I’ll bring the invisibility cloak, after all…
A sneak peek between the pages of Embracing the Demon!
He wore a gray suit with a dark shirt and a blue tie that fit him so perfectly I knew it must have been custom made for him. His dark blond hair had been combed and gelled into submission. Normally, it stood up in random spikes around his head—not as a stylistic choice, but because he had the tendency to run his fingers through it nervously until it went in about 14 different directions.
Until that moment, I hadn’t been convinced he’d survived the fall off the roof of Amara’s estate. Every night in my dreams, I stared at his broken body, tears running down my face. I wasn’t sure why I cried: because I had killed him, or because he had destroyed me.
But here was John, very much alive, looking like the fantasy of some billionaire boss about to have hot monkey sex with his secretary on the desk. He didn’t look like the John I remembered, who’d spent most of our time together wearing blood-covered t-shirts. Which one was the real John, I wondered, the suave businessman or the urban warrior? And then I noticed the pin on his lapel: a flaming angel that matched the ones on the others’ pendants. John had declared his allegiance, and it wasn’t to me.
“My apologies for the mess,” he said. “Ephraim, Leah, please clean that up. Make sure you dispose of the body well. I don’t want him coming back to haunt us one of these days.” A man and a woman jumped out of their seats and scooped up the body, leaving just a puddle of blood behind. Guess they’d be getting that later.
John turned to the rest of the group. “Let’s not forget why we’re here. This illness is already devastating our community, and it’s getting worse. The Zeta Coalition created it with the intent of wiping out supernaturals—angels and demons. And if we can’t cooperate, they will succeed.”
“She’s the daughter of our worst enemy!” someone shouted.
“Amara is dead. And Dale is not Amara.” He paused. “Covington is right. We need more information if we’re going to survive this, and Dale is our best hope of gaining access to their records containment facility.”
“What about taking an army and storming the compound, like we talked about a few weeks ago?” someone asked.
To my surprise, it was Tina who answered. “The compound is too heavily fortified, and its underground architecture would make it difficult to strong-arm. We’ve run the scenario many times, accounting for the different variables. The most likely outcome is that we’d end up trapped down there while the Zetas pick us off.”
“There must be another way,” a woman said.
“Maybe, but this is the best way,” John replied. “We all know Dale can do things that no one else can. Her return may have been a coincidence, but we should use that to our advantage.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I managed to get out through gritted teeth.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Beth Woodward, Embracing the Demon, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 2 comments.
Interview A.J. Wharton Author of Rebirth
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about A.J. and her new release Rebirth, book one of the Birds of Change.
What defines you as an author? As a person? Are they one in the same?That’s a really tough question, I’d say I’m defined by my experiences and relationships. I pull a lot of what I create from those around me, and I try and focus it and sculpt it into something enjoyable for my audience.
What inspired this particular story?
I had a lot of inspiration when writing this particular story, I had dreams for several weeks outlining the events in the book. After awhile it became hard to think of anything else, and I sought an outlet to express the ideas that I was having. I find I draw a lot of references and imagery from current sci fi and anime tv shows. Heavens lost Property being my favorite.
What secret do you use to blast through writer’s block?
When I’m stuck in a certain section I will attempt to write what is happening in someone else’s POV. Actually, some of the scenes I wrote trying to get through the writers block ended up in the final manuscript.
What inspired you to write?
For my day job I travel for long hours and I find comfort in audiobooks. One author really stuck out to me and I fell in love with her style (Susan Illene). After completing the sensor series, I felt more capable of really voicing what I wanted to relay to the audience in book format.
How long have you been writing?
Off and on for several years, this book would make my first completed manuscript though.
Did you tell friends and family that you were writing a book? Or did it take a while to come out and tell friends and family you were a writer?
I did, and they couldn’t be more proud. My father is spreading the word with everyone he knows. I first mentioned it off handedly and surprised them. I have been so passionate about this book that I tend to not shut up about it.
Do you see yourself in your characters?
Not really, I mean there are parts of each character that will correspond to how I’d act or react. If I had to pick one I saw the most of myself I’d say Korarina.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
I feel that Rebirth really conveys a lot of strong feelings about self-identity. Its important to know who you are, to feel comfortable in your own skin. There are several moments when people are thought less of because they are unique. It’s important to remember that being unique is one of the best things someone can be.
Where do your story ideas come from? If they come to you in the middle of the night, do you get up and write them all down?
Mainly in the form of dreams, and yes sometimes I write them down. Other times I will blurt them own to my partner who will contribute thoughts on it.
Do you find it easier to write from a male or female point of view? Why?
No not really, I find when I’m really thinking about what the character would do its more about personality than gender.
Why do you write what you write? Contemporary, paranormal, suspense, etc.
I write what I write because the paranormal has always fascinated me. Along with Mythology, there is always a different avenue to explore with all the possible variations of creatures and beings out there.
If writing is your first passion, what is your second?
I am definitely passionate about writing, for a while I would have said my first passion was photography, but I think writing has taken its place as number 1.
What do you like to do when you are not writing?
I play a lot of video games on my PlayStation or I watch any one of a number of sci fi or anime’s.
My usual go to for television would either be Dragon Ball Super, Heavens Lost Property, or Seven Deadly Sins. For games I’m currently playing the 2nd Tomb Raider in the reboot series.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do?
I’d go to the future, probably at least 100 to 200 years. Learn about some of the most popular technology or stock trends, and when I get back I’d invest in profitable endeavors.
I hear that!
Click on the cover to read more or purchase!
A peek between the pages of Rebirth.
A rustling chain nearby; my body feels weak and heavy as the darkness surrounds me. Cold numbness fills my body. The razor-sharp wind cascades past my face. A shattering noise wakes me up to the icy wind whipping across my body. The current turns me over and over as if I’m a mere plaything for the air around me. My eyes spring open and struggle against the oncoming current. I am high in the air above the city. Beneath me, bright lights of buildings stretch as far as I can see. I panic as I fall faster and faster toward the ground.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhh!”
A bright light emanates from behind me and lights up the night sky as the pulse of power fuels an explosion above me. I twist and turn as I rocket toward the ground. Something is attached to me and squirming to get out of my reach. Got to hold on; got to hold on just a little longer. A black, crumpled mass tears from my body, its claws ripping at my flesh as it disappears above me. My body rocks from it, picking up pace as my arms flail around, helpless against the downward pull of gravity. Beneath me, I recognize the building as the one they had shown when Praetor Fraus delivered his announcement. It isn’t how I remembered seeing it though. When I last saw it, it was charred and broken, but this building looks pristine. The city fills my vision as I soar closer and closer. Brilliant glistening buildings formed almost a perfect circle: the edge of the city outlined by crystalline magenta walls.
A mangled voice comes from behind me, but the wind makes it hard to make out what it is saying. I see through the glass ceiling of the building and I try to change my path, but I burst through the glass as fire surrounds me.
Tumblr- https://angelawharton90.tumblr.com/
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime.Good Luck with Rebirth!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged A.j. Wharton, Birds of Change, Rebirth, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 1 comment.
Interview with Casey Wyatt, Author of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Casey Wyatt and Dead GIrls Don’t Sing. I’ve got to check this one out!
What inspired this particular story, Casey? My main character, Cherry Cordial aka Charity Belmont is a former vampire stripper who ends up living on Mars (see Dead Girls Don’t Cry). In the first book, Cherry finds her true love, Ian and they settle an undead colony on Mars. I don’t want to say more (spoilers!) but, while that adventure ended, Cherry’s past was an unexplored treasure. I had so many unanswered questions about Cherry’s family. I knew Jonathan (her maker and first husband) had to be holding things back. Did her brother and her sisters go on to live quiet, mortal lives? And who were the visitors that appeared at the end of book one? I needed answers!! And so, Dead Girls Don’t Sing was born. I may have answered those questions, but there are more for Dead Girls Don’t Lose.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books? I want my readers to have fun and to go on an exciting adventure. I write the kinds of books that I like to read too. My eyes gloss over if a book is “important” or has dense walls of descriptions because I’m the kind of person who gets impatient reading long greeting card prose. I’m all about dialogue. Banter is the best, and so is a story that makes me stay up half the night wondering how it’s going to end.
What do you like to do when you are not writing? I love to read but my favorite activity is to go to museums with my younger son (and sometimes my older son too). We enjoy museums so much that I created a website, Museum Maniacs (museummaniacs.com) and a Facebook page too (https://www.facebook.com/MuseumManiacs/). At the moment, the website is bare bones (the day job and writing consume most of my day) but the Facebook page sees more action. I’m also a crafter (knit, crochet, embroidery, cross stitch) and I’m a lapsed artist. I grew up drawing and painting mostly from life and now I’m learning Manga/Anime styles. I recently bought a HUION Kamvas digital drawing tablet and CLIP Studio Paint to “help” me learn. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it J.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do? First off, you’d never get the time machine or the cloak of invisibility back. Because seriously, I’d want to see everything. The past, the future, even the present (I’d probably sneak onto movies sets and Doctor Who). I totally get why Doctor Who stole the TARDIS. I have a degree in anthropology and I have no idea where I’d start first. So many choices!! But if I have to choose, I’d visit Heron of Alexandria (and that famous library).
Thank you so much for hosting me today. I love to chat so if anyone has any questions or comments, fire away! My social media contacts are listed toward the bottom of the page.
Click on the cover to read more or buy!
A peek between the pages of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Tiny pokers stabbed my eyes.
Another body, warm and hard, spooned against my backside.
Ian always felt so good, comforting and real.
His hand wrapped around my waist, cupping the underside of my breast. A cool sheet slid off my bare shoulder.
I was naked and in bed. A snippet of memory interrupted my appreciation of my husband’s hand.
Wasn’t I running from something . . .?
Fingers trailed along my spine, heading south. The touch was wrong, unfamiliar and rough.
Hold on. That wasn’t Ian. I shouldn’t feel the warmth of sun against my skin either. We lived on Mars, where it was colder than a witch’s tit.
If not Ian, then who was touching my inner thigh?
My eyelids snapped open like a shade on a spring. Bolting upright, I bared my fangs and grabbed the man’s wrist.
Oh, holy hell. I was in bed with another man. I rolled away and slammed into a different body. Shit, make that two other men. Two eye-poppingly gorgeous men.
Hey, I might be dead, but I’m not dead dead.
“Mistress? Have I displeased you?” said the man whose wrist I was about to shatter. Stunning blue-gray eyes. Dark stubble lined his chiseled jawline. His dark hair was mussed and complimented his swarthy skin tone. Dried blood smeared his neck. A red trail led to puncture marks.
The other man’s brown muscled chest rose and fell in rhythmic sleep. His body was fully exposed on the white sheet. Puncture marks lined his neck, his groin and his very erect penis.
My cheeks heated like a furnace. Clearly, we’d had a good time.
“No. Leave me. Both of you go to your rooms.” I dropped his wrist. The man woke his drowsing companion, and they left as I’d commanded.
Damn. I wished I could get the other men in my life to be so compliant.
Other men? There were other people important to me. Why couldn’t I remember them?
I’d kill Jonathan if he was messing with my mind again.
But yet… that idea didn’t feel right.
Somewhere in a dead corner of my memory, this moment seemed familiar. Jonathan, sensing my unhappiness with our “arrangement,” had spent the early years of our relationship attempting to please me.
This must have been my slut phase, where we’d bring home gorgeous men and I would feast and fuck while he watched. I enjoyed knowing it bothered him that I wouldn’t sleep with him. Only the mortals that we found in gaming dens, brothels, even at society events. The only other thing I would take from Jonathan besides his money was his blood, and only out of necessity.
Fucking hell. Ian’s go-to phrase—I remembered him now—helped resurface the reason why I was reliving this not-so-proud moment in my past.
The plague. The Lost Ship. The time stream. My daughter.
Oh, dear God. I hoped she was safe.
“Good morning, my pet.” Jonathan read a page of the morning newspaper while sipping tea from a dainty cup. He sat on the balcony situated outside my bedroom. From his vantage point, he could view the bed and my doings in Technicolor glory.
My heart lurched at the sight of his arrogant beauty. I had forgotten how full of life he’d been, especially in this time period. And, oh, how handsome he was. His raven hair glossy with blue highlights sparkled in the early morning sunshine. The strong line of his jaw and perfect Roman nose coupled with full lips made it hard not to stare at him. He hadn’t yet acquired the weariness that having a Family would place on him.
In later years, after much bitterness between us, I no longer saw him anymore. The beauty was tarnished, and we became as passionate as two coworkers passing the time until their shift ended. He had become someone I had to endure rather than enjoy. Not that I ever really “enjoyed” him because of the circumstances surrounding our sham marriage.
The horrid image of his death, when he’d knelt, offering Thalia his head, shattered the peaceful moment. With a plaintive look, he commanded that I accept his fate and mine. We both knew that Thalia, the dead queen’s heir apparent, was a vindictive bitch. She blamed me for her mother’s death and Jonathan refused to bow down to her. So, he did what he always did. He protected his Family by sacrificing himself so we could escape. In his last moments, regret had filled his eyes. The wish that we could have been different together had been silenced forever.
Seeing Jonathan again and remembering was worse than reopening a wound and rubbing salt in it with a lemon juice chaser. If only I could apologize to him for how awful I’d been. I hadn’t been blameless in wrecking our relationship. I could have tried harder to accept my fate instead of punishing him at every turn.
The temptation to blurt out the truth bubbled inside, until I had to force myself to look away from him. Would this Jonathan be willing to help me? Or would he use my current predicament to his advantage?
No. I couldn’t, wouldn’t chance it. Not with the entire colony’s lives hanging in the balance.
Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve. Sew it on a patch and you’d have my life’s motto.
Yup. Regrets sucked.
Jonathan placed the teacup down and smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed a bit surprised when you awoke.”
Surprise didn’t cover how I felt. That word was too puny, too inadequate. After a few seconds, I found my voice again.
“Yes, we had a good time. Thank you.” It sure looked that way.
He acted like finding his wife in bed with other men was no big deal. It wasn’t like I would keep them. To him they were more like pets or meals with legs.
But now, with a century of wisdom tucked under my belt, instead of relishing in his annoyance, I realized something. He was sad. With himself or me, I wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. I had a mission to accomplish. A future to save.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Casey Wyatt, Dead Girl's Don't Sing, Time travel, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 8 comments.
